#where i get on a train and then get off and find somewhere new and exciting to eat

[paucubarsisimp]

Hey luv, can you write one where Pedri and y/n are dating, but no one can know because she’s a teacher at la masia. One day Lamine and Pau (or someone else who you’d want) show up unannounced at Pedris house and then they find out and the boys are super shocked because she’s their English teacher or something

caught in the act

pairing: pedri x reader

summary: in which pau and lamine find out that pedri is dating their english teacher

warnings: none!

a/n: let's js pretend that lamine still goes to school

it was a quiet evening.

you had music playing low on your phone — one of those mellow spanish playlists pedri loved — and the soft bubbling of sauce on the stove made the apartment feel warm and lived-in. you were barefoot, standing in the kitchen in his hoodie, sleeves bunched at your elbows, hair pulled back with a pencil because the actual hair tie had disappeared somewhere in the couch cushions.

behind you, pedri was lying half-off the sofa, flipping aimlessly through a book he wasn’t reading. every few pages, he’d glance over at you like you were the only thing worth looking at.

you didn’t mind. you’d gotten used to it.

"smells good," he murmured, voice a little hoarse from a long day.

"you always say that before you’ve tasted it."

he grinned, sitting up just enough to rest his chin on the back of the couch.

"yeah, but i mean it more when you cook barefoot in my clothes."

you rolled your eyes, trying not to smile.

"charming."

"honest," he said, stretching. "i don’t know how we’re still getting away with this, by the way."

"because we’re careful," you said, then softened. "and lucky."

you’d met pedri at a training event, before you officially started teaching at la masia. one shared look had turned into coffee. coffee turned into evenings like this — domestic, quiet, safe. the only problem? you taught english to a few of the younger players — boys who looked up to pedri like a god — and there was no way in hell anyone could know.

so you snuck around. carefully. no photos. no shared exits.

but it was worth it.

you’d just started pouring pasta into the pot when the doorbell rang.

pedri’s head shot up.

"you expecting anyone?"

"no. you?"

he shook his head and stood, walking to the door as you wiped your hands on a dish towel, still distracted by whether or not you’d added too much oregano.

and then—

"hermanoooo, finally! you home or what—"

a voice you recognized. too well.

you froze.

pedri didn’t even get a word out before lamine and pau came walking straight into the apartment like they owned the place. lamine had a bag of chips in hand. pau was holding a new ps5 controller.

and then they saw you.

in his hoodie.

barefoot.

staring like a deer caught in the most chaotic headlights.

"miss y/l/n?" pau said slowly, his mouth already halfway open.

you blinked. "uh—"

lamine's eyes went wide. then wider.

"wait. no. no way. no way. is this—"

pedri looked like he wanted to teleport out of his own apartment.

"guys, it’s not—"

"don’t even try, bro!" lamine practically yelled, spinning in a circle like he couldn’t believe his own eyes. "you’re dating our english teacher?!"

you looked at pedri. pedri looked at you. no one said anything for a second. the silence was loud.

"this... this is crazy," pau whispered, eyes still bouncing between you two. "you’re, like... our teacher. and he’s..."

"pedri," lamine finished, raising both hands like he was narrating a movie trailer.

you felt your face go hot.

"i—okay. yes. we’re... together. but it’s private. and it has to stay private."

pau immediately nodded. "of course. yeah. we won’t say anything."

lamine, on the other hand, looked like he’d just been given the best blackmail material of his life.

"so this is why you always smiled weird when we talked about pedri in class," he said. "i thought you just had a crush or something, not that you were literally in his hoodie cooking pasta."

"lamine," pedri warned, though he couldn’t help but laugh a little under his breath.

"what? i’m impressed!" lamine said, turning to you with a grin. "he pulled the cool teacher. you know the other guys are gonna freak out if they find out."

you gave him a look. "they’re not going to find out."

"promise," pau said again, more seriously this time. "really. you don’t have to worry. you both... seem happy."

pedri walked over and touched your hand gently. just a small brush, but grounding.

you gave him a soft smile. "we are."

and you were. even now — even with two kids standing in your boyfriend’s apartment, looking like they’d just discovered santa claus was real and dating their english teacher — you still felt... okay.

lamine flopped on the couch like he lived there.

"can we at least stay for pasta? i feel like this is a historic night."

you laughed, finally relaxing. "fine. but if either of you mention this in class, you’re both writing essays on ‘hamlet’."

pau groaned. "worth it."

after they’d left, and the dishes were done, and you were sitting on the floor of the living room with your legs over pedri’s lap, the room was quiet again.

he brushed his fingers along your shin absentmindedly, looking tired but content.

"i thought you were going to panic," he said softly.

"i was panicking," you replied, eyes half-closed. "i just covered it well."

he smiled, then leaned forward and pressed a slow kiss to your forehead.

"i like seeing you here," he said quietly. "in my hoodie. in my home."

you leaned into him, heart full.

"me too."

maybe the secret wasn’t so secret anymore.

but maybe that was okay.

[hargreeves-duncan]

⎯⎯ I GUESS I’M IN LOVE

visual is for vibes only, reader’s appearance is nondescript!

pairing: mickey “fanboy” garcia x fem!reader

summary: in which reader learns how to love again when mickey garcia wants to be more than friends with benefits

warnings: mentions of sex/sexual acts, alcohol consumption

word count: 1.9k

a/n: the papasito mv had me wanting to write something for danny, so here i am, enjoy😩

You hated to admit it but you were a sucker for a man in uniform.

And, living in the big, beautiful city of San Diego, California meant that you had more than your fill.

With servicemen constantly cycling between deployments and training, you never had trouble finding a guy or two to fool around with before things even had a chance to get serious.

Not that any of them minded. After months at sea, they were just as insatiable as you were, never thinking past the night in front of them.

It was practically a fact: Navy men were notoriously disloyal, always chasing flings, and you had the firsthand experience to prove it.

When you’d first moved to San Diego, fresh out of college and still a little naive, you’d fallen hard for a naval aviator.

And it hadn’t ended well.

He’d promised to keep in touch when he was inevitably stationed somewhere else, and for a while, he did.

But the texts got shorter, as the days went on. Less frequent. Until one day, they stopped entirely.

You found out why soon enough via a blurry Instagram post where he had his arm slung around some new girl, down in Florida.

You’d sworn then and there to never fall in love with a military man again.

And it was going pretty well for you.

Until you met Mickey Garcia.

You’d met him at The Hard Deck - an aptly named bar always buzzing with chatter of swaggering servicemen.

He was surrounded by a gaggle of aviators, laughing loud like they owned the place. And in San Diego, they practically did.

In spite of that, every few seconds, he was glancing your way, lingering on your legs for far too long. God bless the Californian heat for letting you show them off.

You could tell that he wanted you.

And how could you not want him?

Broad shoulders, a neat buzz cut, and the Navy service khaki uniform hugging his body. He looked disgustingly good in it and your eyes drank him in from across the floor.

You bided your time, watching him play pool for a while before heading over with your own friends, sliding up to the table next to his.

When it came to your turn, you fumbled clumsily with the cue stick, missing shots and laughing with false embarrassment as your friends jeered. And like a moth to a flame, he took the bait.

With a smirk and a quick nod to his boys, tossing his own cue to one of them, he stepped up beside you and asked, “Ma’am, you need some help there?”

You didn’t need his help. You’d been playing since you were twelve.

But you had a read on the guys at this bar, they couldn’t resist a pretty girl pretending not to know her way around a pool table, so you let him move closer and asked more about him

You quickly learned his call-sign, and the meaning behind it, when he slid his arm around your waist and leaned in so close you could feel the warmth of his breath against your ear as he adjusted your aim.

He was all over you and you craved more.

Fanboy.

You were determined to make him a fan of you.

And it didn’t take long.

He bought you a drink, leaned in close to say things, he definitely didn’t need to be so close to say, and let his knee brush against yours with almost every word.

Even after you’d sent him back to his friends, with a playful order to “go be social”, he kept drifting back, always finding a reason to restart the conversation.

Eventually, the conversation stopped restarting, it just never ended.

He barely got the sentence out before you slid off your barstool, purse in hand, and slipped your fingers through his.

He grinned like the cat that got the cream, letting you pull him out of the bar like he was a lost kitten; only you could take him home.

Out in the car park, your eyebrows had shot up in surprise when he’d clicked his car keys and the headlights to a red Mustang had come to life.

Clearly, you were worse at profiling than you thought because this car did not match the image of Mickey Garcia that you’d built up.

He opened the door for you, guiding you down into the passenger seat before walking around to the driver’s side.

Sitting back against the headrest, you were about to give him directions to your place when he cut you off with a sly grin, turning the key in the ignition.

“I’m actually living off-base while I’m stationed here,” he’d explained, “I’m sure it’s quicker than heading to your place. Five minutes, tops.”

That was a refreshing change.

Most of the guys you’d been with insisted on coming back to your place, citing how you couldn’t get on base to theirs. Made you wonder how many of them were actually telling the truth versus those that just didn’t want you to know where they were staying.

You found yourself more and more curious about him. Mickey was honest and upfront. It felt treacherous to the image you’d come to know of a naval aviator.

For example, his call-sign. He hadn’t introduced himself as Fanboy, like some of the others you’d been with, who’d insisted you use their service-given nicknames, even in bed.

Despite that, you still couldn’t remember the blonde lieutenant from a few months back’s call-sign or even his real name, which told you everything you needed to know.

Mickey was different.

He didn’t disappear the next morning.

He stayed.

And kept coming back.

Once. Twice. Three times.

Until you lost count.

It becomes a rhythm: drinks, laughs, soft touches that linger too long to be accidental, late-night drives with the windows down and your legs propped on his dashboard, his hand resting dangerously high on your thigh.

A rhythm so steady, you almost forget how this all started with your personal vow to stay away from military men.

And then there’s tonight.

You’re back at The Hard Deck, dressed in something you only ever wear when you know he’ll be there.

A dress casual enough to pass for effortless, but short enough to make Mickey’s eyes drop from your smile to the curve of your thighs the second you walk in.

You’ve learned, over your more impassioned nights together, that he has a fixation with your thighs and you’re not above using that to your advantage.

Tonight, you’re on a mission.

He’s at the bar when you spot him, nursing a beer and leaning into a conversation with Payback, but the moment he senses you, his focus shifts.

You don’t even have to say a word, just a look and a tilt of your head, and he starts moving.

He slides up beside you at the bar like he’s done it a hundred times before, the grin he gives you still feeling brand new.

“You gonna let me buy you a drink, cari?” he asks, voice low and familiar.

Cari.

Short for Cariño.

That’s something else that was different about Mickey.

He’d started calling you that after what you’d both agreed was the first of many “not-dates”. The nights together that felt suspiciously romantic but neither of you dared to define.

And unlike the ick most guys gave you when they got too familiar too fast, his little nickname for you made you feel warm inside.

You give him a look, smiling coyly, “Have you ever known me to turn down a free drink?”

He chuckles, flagging down the bartender with two fingers before leaning in, his arm brushing yours as he rests it against the bar, “Never. But I like to ask. Makes me feel like a gentleman.”

You raise an eyebrow at him, smirking, “I’m pretty sure that ship sailed the night you left a hickey the size of Texas on my thigh.”

He cringes, eyes flicking away from yours to focus on the bartender shaking up your drink across the counter, “Yeah, right.”

It was subtle, but you’d noticed it more and more lately, how he seemed to flinch at any mention of sex. It was strange.

When you’d first met him, he’d thrived on the crass nature of conversation. He’d whisper the filthiest things in your ear in the middle of the bar, so vivid you’d be squirming in your seat.

But lately, something was different. A shift in the way he looked at you. Like he wasn’t just watching your lips when you spoke but listening.

That threw you off, and you didn’t like to be thrown.

You sip the drink he bought you, letting the citrus-y bite of tequila chase away the unease curling in your stomach.

“You okay?” he asks, quieter this time as he looks back at you. His eyes are on you, not your legs, not your lips, you. And that was the problem.

Your resolve was quickly crumbling.

You nod, deflecting with a sweet smile, “I’m just trying to figure out if I’m imagining things,” you say, keeping your tone light, “Or if you’re going soft on me.”

That earns a smirk, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“I’m not going to apologise for it.”

He’s still close, his arm is brushing yours, his eyes are steady.

You set your glass down and lean in just slightly, “Mickey,” your voice is low as you test his name on your tongue.

His eyes lift to meet yours without a second thought.

“Yeah?”

“…What are we doing?”

The words hang heavily between you and you regret them the moment they leave your mouth.

You hadn’t meant to ask. Not really. You’d told yourself a hundred times not to ruin this with feelings but you’d asked anyways and you couldn’t take it back.

He doesn’t answer right away, and for a second, you feel stupid. Vulnerable. Exposed.

But then he sighs, like he’s been waiting for this conversation just as long as you’ve been avoiding it.

“I don’t know,” he admits, “Honestly? I’ve been trying to figure that out myself.”

You nod, swallowing hard, your lips pressing together in a thin line.

He notices.

“I just think that we both like being around each other,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, “And I wouldn’t mind if things between us got serious.”

“It’d be difficult with me being away all of the time, but… cari, I really want this.”

You should roll your eyes. You should say something flippant and remind him that you don’t do relationships but instead, you only whisper:

“I know.”

A brief silence stretches between you.

Then, he steps closer, shielding you from view of the other servicemen as he slides an arm around your waist, trapping you against the bar, “You wanna get out of here?”

You raise an eyebrow, “To your place or mine?”

He smirks, “To talk, gatita.”

You blink, “Talk?”

The word shouldn’t feel so intimate, but somehow, with Mickey, it does.

His hand brushes yours on the bar, “We can do other things later, but, yeah. Talk first.”

You shake your head, laughing under your breath and pulling your hand away, “Jesus, who are you and what have you done with the Mickey Garcia I met at that pool table?”

He looks slightly hurt, but he doesn’t give in just yet. He takes your hand again, “He’s still here. He just wants a little more from you this time around.”

You turn to face him fully, and this time, when your eyes lock, you don’t feel like running. He’s completely serious, holding your gaze and looking with a determination that feels like he knows you, soul and all.

You want to say no, but you don’t.

Instead, you simply nod once.

“Alright,” you say softly, “Let’s talk.”

And as Mickey takes you back to his place, to talk, not fuck, for the first time in a long time, you feel loved.

[amrv-5]

pained by the idea of spending $17 on a sandwich but these are calling to me so bad

[teaboot]

I've never had a cat before and I'm hoping to get one soon. Do you have any advice?

Treat a new cat as you would a new roommate. Give them space and time to settle, establish a pattern and a rhythm, and in time they may choose to become friends and spend time with you. Dont force a friendship.

Use simple words and repetition to establish communication. Words like breakfast, treat, snack, lunch, supper, dinner, food, and eat all basically mean, "I am feeding you; expect to be fed", but it's a lot for a little guy to remember. I just say "Dinner" when I mean "cat food is coming", and so my boy knows exactly what I mean when I say it. As a plus, using only one word for snack time means he has no idea what the other words mean, so I can talk about food in front of him without ruling him up.

Pay attention to body language. Cats all have different personalities, and you'll learn their likes, dislikes, and messages over time this way. Son boy here loves anything with plumbing but dislikes getting wet- his favourite blanket to chew and snuggle goes on his favourite chair, and he gives me a specific gesture when he wants me to kneel down so he can jump onto my shoulder.

Read into problematic behaviour. Cats pee in weird places when they're hurting, in distress, or have insufficient of unclean litter box space. Biting, attacking feet , and knocking things off tables often means they're understimulated and need you to play with them, or at least need some kind of enrichment or puzzle to tackle. Tail flicking can be frustration or irritation. Purring is usually good, but may also be self-soothing behaviour to alleviate pain, encourage healing, and relieve anxiety, like over-grooming.

Like children, "bad" behaviour isn't malicious- it usually means there's something you aren't seeing.

Learn how your cat expresses love. Loads of people think cats are uncaring, cruel, and indifferent, but the truth is, they're just not dogs. Spending time near you, showing an interest in tools you're using or projects you're working on, sitting the way you sit, laying on their back, rubbing on your legs, wiping their face on your shoes when you get home- these are signs that your cat is enamored with you. You're their family, they feel safe and protected around you, they're curious about things you enjoy and want everyone to know you're family.

Set reasonable expectations. Again, cats are not dogs.We bred dogs to desire our approval- cats walked into our lives themselves. They have no human-programmed need to fulfill a duty or perform a task to your standards.

Training cats to do tricks isn't as hard as people say, but the willingness or interest in doing the trick is more heavily reliant on personality and mood. Some cats will refuse all but the most basic requests- I'm lucky in that Ollie understands and is willing to do several, provided I don't abuse his trust and he's not crowded or overwhelmed or just bored of doing it over and over in a short period.

Ollie, for example, knows Up to stand on his back legs and hold my hand, Down to get to a surface I indicate, Out to emerge from a closed space, Come to find me where I am, Help? when I'm offering to let him use me as an elevator, Dinner when I understand he's hungry and am getting food, and when I put on his collar he knows to climb into his carrier 'cause we're going somewhere. And he'll do any of these about 90% of the time, either ignoring me or phoning it in when there's something interesting somewhere else, or if he's feeling anxious.

Lead by example. If you dread taking them to the vet, they'll see the anxiety in your body language and behaviour and likely learn to hate it, too. Again using my guy an example, I starred taking him on walks long before his first vet appointment, just to get used to his carrier and leash. Then his first checkup was relaxed and informal, with plenty of treats, and I let him explore the examination room with permission from the tech. Now he loves going, so I'm not stressed about taking him, so I don't stress him out in turn, and the vest doesn't have to deal with a stressed out cat slowing things down and fighting with them.

Make sure your sources are good ones, and also good ones for you. I will recommend Jackson Galaxy's YouTube channel for cat advice because a lot of what he does matches up with what I've learned and know to be true. I don't personally recommend Ceasar Milan because I personally find his methods distressing to recreate regardless of efficacy, so even if that advice was useful, *I'd* be miserable, and it'd just be trading one issue for another.

Have a person who can help. You never know when you might end up out of town overnight unexpectedly, or when your place may need serviced or fumigated, or if you may be called out of town. Before getting a cat, research reliable pet sitters, house sitters, pet daycares, whatever, just in case.

Consider pet insurance. No long spiel here, just think about it. Especially if you don't know your cats ancestry or potenyial health risks. An on top of that, fucking vaccinate them.

Dont let them free roam. At all.

I grew up on a farm with free-roaming barn cats. Do you know how many times child-me cried over having to bury them? Illness, disease, pregnancy, vehicles, other territorial cats, ticks, fleas, litter, poisoned prey, malicious humans, local wildlife, predatory birds, scrap metal, extreme heat, freezing temperatures, tainted water sources, poisonous or venomous critters, getting stuck in small or high places, tapeworms, loose nails, old equipment, falling branches...

I've seen some truly body-horror slasher-movie shit- just truly nauseating visual fuckery- and I'm telling you not to let your cat free-roam.

Leash training isn't hard. Supervised walks aren't hard. Even keeping your cat physically fit and entertained indoors isn't an impossible feat. Don't let your fucking cat fucking free-roam. Fuck

Also read up on foods and plants cats can't do, like every houseplant in existence is toxic it's insane

Anyhow yeah that's like. A couple things I guess

Here, have an Ollie Pic

[bats-and-the-birds]

I am thinking about the batkids and their rooms at the manor.

When Dick was first brought to the manor, Alfred put wooden letters that spelled out his name on the outside of the door to his room. He wanted the boy to feel like he belonged, and denoting the room as his seemed like the best way. At first, they spelled out "Richard", and were painted in red, green, and yellow -- the colors that his parents had worn for their circus act, that didn't have any other meaning yet. Dick pried them off the door and threw them away. He didn't want to accept that this was permanent yet. There were new letters on the door a few days later, blue this time, and spelling out "Dick" instead. Those letters got pried off much the same and shoved in a drawer, and they didn't get put back until a year later. He was too short to put them in the same place, so they ended up crooked, and Alfred found it too endearing to fix.

When he left the manor years later, he considered ripping the letters off the door and throwing them in the foyer on his way out. But he left them, and there they remained, crooked as ever.

Jason got his own letters when it became clear he wasn't going anywhere. He helped Alfred put them up on his bedroom door, standing on a step stool to make sure they got in the right place. His were evenly spaced and neatly aligned, and he refused to tell anyone that he cried over them that night. He'd spent months wondering if he'd ever live up to his predecessor, not just as Robin, but in the family as well. And now he had his own letters, just like Dick's, and they weren't going anywhere.

And they didn't. Even after he died. Bruce and Alfred both considered taking the name down to make walking past that empty room less painful, but in the end, they didn't dare touch the letters, just like they didn't touch anything else in the room. Years later, Jason would sneak into the manor through his old bedroom window and find his school uniforms still hanging in the closet, his textbooks on his desk, an open novel on his nightstand, and, of course, the letters still on the door, more of an epitaph than the one on his actual tombstone.

Tim fought for his name on a bedroom door. It took a while, but he trained, and he learned, and he forced himself into the role that he knew he could fill. Part of him thought that no matter how good and useful he made himself as Robin, he'd never really fill the role that the two before him did. He thought there might not be room for him after Jason's death, but he did it. He was older than the other two when Alfred finally put the letters up on his door, but he did it.

Later, when he left in search of Bruce, he didn't think for a second of taking his name down off his door. He'd earned it.

Damian's name got put up practically as soon as he got to the manor. He didn't think much of having his name on a door. If anything, it irked him a bit, being lumped in with the others, but it would have annoyed him more if he didn't get his own name. For a while, his name on the door, marking it as his from the hallway, was the only reason you could tell it wasn't the guest room that it had previously been. He had no photographs, had arrived with no personal affects.

That changed, eventually. As he gained friends, he also gained photos of them. He put up sketches and watercolor paintings of his animals. A dog bed got put on the floor for Titus. But the letters had been there from the beginning, and he grew to appreciate them eventually. His room, with the name on the door, was safe, and he liked it there.

Cass's letters showed up without much fanfare. They were simply there when she exited her room one day. "Cassandra" in black wooden letters that matched all of her new siblings'. She ran her fingers over them with reverence. She'd never been allowed to leave a mark before. Her life was predicated on being a shadow, but there was her name, in big letters, somewhere where other people could see it.

Steph had a room. She didn't want to admit it, but when she crashed at the manor, it was always in the same room. Her name was put up, and she took it down, and it was put up again, and she took it down again until it became something of a game between her and Alfred. If Steph was staying at the manor and Alfred didn't find a wooden S in a random cupboard, then have to search the house for the rest of her name, then he knew she was in a bad mood, and he usually made her favorite cookies and left them outside of the door with her name still firmly in place.

Duke's letters were waiting for him when he moved in. His name in bright yellow letters that matched his suit already in place. Of course it was, it's tradition at this point, and he's part of the family now. He had bounced around for a while now, and the letters on his door made him feel...calmer. It was a sense of permanence, and one he could learn to enjoy.

Barbara didn't need a room. She had her own room, in her own house, but Alfred still offered to mark out a space for her. She declined. When she did stay over, it was either in the cave or Dick's room, she didn't need her own. Still, that didn't mean her mark wasn't left somewhere. There was a study downstairs with a desk that she sometimes did her homework on as a child if she was staying over for the night. Now, the desk held a computer that was wired into the Batcomputer's network, a photo of her and her father, and, of course, tiny wooden letters affixed to the side that spelled out 'Barbara'.

[glutengoblin]

The Anatomy of Trust (Part 1)

Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III x Reader

Summary: Training under Gothi to become the village healer, Y/N often found herself alone on Berk. It didn't help that her icy personality (and dragon to match) seemed to chase everyone away. But, when a plea to a childhood friend is finally accepted, Y/N finds herself in for the ride of her life.

A/N: This is my first time writing for HTTYD in... years. So please forgive me if I get some details wrong and feel free to correct me in the comments! It's been ages since I've watched the shows.

This fanfic is set around the time frame of Race to the Edge, although I want to age up the characters to about ~22 just because of some mature themes I'm planning on including later on.

Anyway, please let me know if you enjoy this and if I should continue!

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: Aged Up Characters, Canon Divergence

Even though everyone knew it was almost impossible to see a nightfury, it didn't stop Y/N from squinting up at the night sky.

Well, she personally hoped that she wouldn't see one flying towards her, Y/N was hopeful she would at least catch a glimpse of Toothless. At least something to let her know that they were alright and they had finally made it back safe.

As she stood with her arms wrapped around her to protect herself from the chill of the wind, she hoped she had remembered the date correctly.

“We'll leave the day after next, then return about 5 from then,” Hiccup had shared a week ago, as she had carefully wrapped his arm from his last misadventure.

Nowadays, infirmary visits seemed to be the only way she would even see him. He and his posse were too busy off exploring for him to have time for someone as simple as the town medic. Someone so independent, who always made it clear that she could survive on her own.

That didn't stop her from looking for him though. Staring at the night sky when she knew he was supposed to return, hoping to catch a peek of him when he finally did.

The cold was starting to truly seep into her bones when her dragon, Snowmist, tried to nudge her back inside the small building that housed the infirmary. Y/N and Gothi had worked together to design it when it was clear that Gothi's hut wouldn't be enough to house the injuries that came with the increase in visitors and misadventures.

Despite Snowmist's incessant bothering, Y/N just stood there stubbornly and took another sip of her tea, which had gone cold from the snow wraith's nearness.

“I'm fine Snowmist,” Y/N said, rubbing her dragon's snout exactly where she liked it. “I'm just worried about them, that's all.”

Snowmist gave her a look, as if to say ‘we both know it's more than that.’

And somewhere, stored deep inside, Y/N knew she was right. She had had feelings for Hiccup since they were children, playing tag amongst the wildflowers on the hills towering over their town. She had always wished for him to be something more than a friend, but in the wake of him bringing dragons into their lives, she had tried her best to shove those feelings down.

The Hiccup whom she had once lamented with about not fitting in with the other kids had turned into Hiccup, future chief of Berk. She knew that at his core he was still the same kind, funny, and clever boy she had first cherished… but something had definitely shifted within him. With the sudden adoration of the entire island had come a confidence, one that helped him make new friends and leave her in the dust.

She did know that it was partially her fault too – the fact their friendship seemed to have all but disappeared. She was stubborn, like most of Viking kind, but to the point where she had a tendency to ice people out, act as if she didn't need anyone else in her life to feel fulfilled. Just her dragon and her work with Gothi, becoming the village healer.

But still she stood, watching the early winter night sky for any sign that a nightfury may be approaching. And eventually, she saw it. The sudden disappearance of stars from the sky, a dark shape moving ever closer. She set her mug down on the table, and rolled up her sleeves, unsure of what state she may find them in.

Toothless sat down gently on the ground, carefully avoiding the trees that littered the outskirts of the infirmary. As Y/N drew nearer to the familiar dragon rider, her eyes traveled over his figure.

Hiccup Haddock sat still strapped into his saddle, hair tousled from the wind and breath gone from his chest. While his armor looked completely intact, his face became etched with pain as he reached to unlatch himself.

“What on earth have you done to yourself this time?” Y/N demanded, as she raced over to his side and offered him her hands to help him down.

Hiccup let out a pained laugh, as they began to move through the field and towards the infirmary, as Toothless trailed close behind. “Nothing that you can't patch up, for sure.”

Y/N rolled her eyes at that, letting out an exasperated sigh. “You know one day, you will do something to yourself that I can't simply ‘patch up’. Have you thought about what you're going to do with yourself then?” She shouldered open the door, and led him over to the small bed in the center of the room, helping him lie down slowly before moving a step back.

“I don't think you have enough faith in yourself, Y/N. I've never seen you stumped before.”

She stared at his leg as if in argument.

“Okay, well that's different. There wasn't anything left for you to work with.” Hiccup let out a laugh which quickly turned to a pained cough that rattled his form. Y/N quickly brushed off the heat that his flattery had caused, turning her attention back to the matter at hand.

“Care to show me what my challenge is this time?” Her eyes traveled once again over his form, but she still couldn't see what the issue was. She always wished that she had something more than just fire light and few measly lanterns to work with.

When Hiccup began to peel off the layers of his armor, Y/N quickly closed in to help him. Mentally, she did her best to will herself to not think of the implications these actions could have in another context. No, they were not two lovers helping each other out of their constraints – Hiccup was her patient, and he deserved her undivided attention just like anyone else.

When he finally had pulled his shirt up to reveal his torso – and the lean muscle that definitely had a crimson crawling up her cheeks now – she saw what was causing so much pain. He had two large bruises, marring his torso in an ugly black and blue splotch.

“How did this happen?” she asked as she reached out to feel the spots, checking for signs of broken ribs. Thankfully, she didn't feel any signs, but the yelp that Hiccup let out definitely indicated his ribs were bruised.

Once she finished her examination, she moved across the creaking wood floor over to her workbench, beginning to prepare a salve to lessen the pain as Hiccup answered.

“Got hit by the tail of a bone snatcher, unfortunately. We stumbled upon its nest by accident, and before I could try to explain that it was an accident, WHAM, straight to the torso. Thankfully, Astrid was there to help; otherwise, I may have also become part of the collection.” Hiccup let out another soft laugh at his own joke, but Y/N's spine stiffened at the mention of her name. Astrid. She had never disliked the girl for any tangible reason, other than the claim that she seemed to have over Hiccup's heart. He had confessed his feelings for her multiple times when they were children. But for some reason, now, even after Hiccup had become the most eligible bachelor on the Isle, they still weren't together. Y/N wasn't sure why, but it wasn't exactly her place to go asking questions. Thus, she just returned to her rhythm, grinding until the paste-like consistency she was looking for was achieved.

When she didn't answer, a silence overtook them. Y/N was used to it at this point. Despite the popularity Hiccup had gained, he was still quite awkward, sometimes lacking the right words to fill the situation.

It was only when she moved back over towards him and began to apply the salve that he finally made noise again. A whimper escaped his lips as her fingers trailed across the wound, applying a thick layer.

As soon as she was done, she pulled up a stool to his bedside and perched, eyes analyzing his form for any other signs of injury.

“Any other mortal wound you'd like to share with me?” A small, rare smile twitched at the edge of her lips – prompting Hiccup to return the expression.

“Not at the moment, but I'm sure I'll have some more in no time.”

Y/N snorted as she stood up, and began to collect his armor from the wooden table she had placed it on. She watched as he began to dress himself again, the firelight illuminating his figure as he pulled his shirt over his head.

“Just… try to be more careful Hiccup. Or, maybe, actually consider my offer.”

Hiccup stiffened at that, as if he was expecting the argument that was bound to ensue. As he finished pulling his armor on, he finally dared to look her in the eye.

The infirmary was still relatively small, and thus only a few feet separated them. She stood with her arms crossed over her chest, the sort of posture that meant she was on the defensive.

Hiccup knew what she was going to push for again.

“I'm just saying,” her voice cut clear, with its typically icy slice, “that bringing me with you makes sense on multiple fronts. Having a healer at the Dragon's Edge would ensure that you don't have to ride so long in pain.” Hiccup still looked unconvinced, so she quickly added, “also, you know Gothi and I have been running low on supplies. I can use the Dragon's Edge as a jumping-off point to find more resources. I might even be able to find and research some new medicinal plants.”

Hiccup sighed, running another hand through his hair. At this point, it had to be a nervous tic of his. “I'll consider it. But it's dangerous and I–”

She quickly cut him off. “What? You're afraid I'll hurt myself? Let me remind you, Hiccup, that I completed the trial of flame just like the rest of you. I just decided I wanted to be a healer more. And don't you dare say that it's because I'm a girl, because we both know you let Astrid do whatever she wants.” Y/N couldn’t help the vitriol that tinged her voice.

The flabbergasted look on Hiccup's face might have been humorous, if she wasn't so angry at the moment.

“I–It's not that at all,” he sputtered, “I know you're strong Y/N… I just get worried–”

“Well don't.” She cut him off with a snap. “I can handle myself. Just let me know when you decide.” She turned away from him again, packaging up the leftover salve before handing it to him. “I would suggest reapplying that every 6 hours until the wound heals.” She began to clean her hands with a cloth that was attached to her apron, anger obviously painting the movements. “Come see me if you need more.”

Hiccup left silently with a nod, making it evident that words still escaped him.

“And if you ever decide you truly want me back in your life…”

Her softly whispered confession followed him out the door.

⋆｡°✩

The next day in the Great Hall, Y/N sat at her table.

Her table, which she was usually alone at in most instances, including now. The silence truly didn’t bother her, given that it just gave her more time to read.

Books were sometimes hard to come by on Berk, but thankfully the recent increase of trading had caused an influx on the island. Y/N often found herself bartering with traders, hoping to get her hands on any new pieces of medical literature she could find.

It was something she enjoyed immensely, but not many other vikings seemed to take a liking to. She could occasionally talk over some of findings with Fishlegs… But that was more so if they had to do with Dragon’s. While Y/N enjoyed knowing how to help dragon kind, for some reason she found herself drawn towards helping her human companions more.

She had helped herself to the majority of Gothi’s library at this point, so having access to new knowledge was always a special treat – one she thought was best served with lunch.

The hall was rowdy as ever, given Vikings were never a group to keep quiet. Thus, Y/N didn’t notice that someone had sat down in front of her until a hand waved between her nose and the book. It was it.

It was a hand she was ashamed to admit she’d be able to recognize anywhere. Long slim fingers, strong wrists with visible veins that appeared just enough to get her heart thrumming. It was Hiccup’s hand, alright. The only question was: why was he sitting at her table?

Y/N furrowed her brows and shut her book, looking up at him with confusion written across her face. “Is something wrong? Do you need more salve?” The expression he wore only served to confuse her more. His jaw was uncharacteristically tense for Hiccup, and he thrummed his other hand on the table, as if unsure about what he was going to say.

“I considered your request… About going to Dragon’s Edge.” Y/N’s eyebrows raised in surprise. After a couple of years of begging, she hadn’t expected him to finally relent after the tense conversation that they had had last night. If anything, she half expected his next words to be no, and the decision was final.

Hiccup swallowed nervously before spitting the words out. “You can go, but so long as you agree to one condition.” Y/N found herself nodding vigorously, in a way that was much too enthusiastic for the cool facade she often maintained. “You need to stay with me the entire time.” Hiccup only met her eyes then, in a look much too timid for the future chief of Berk – as if he was afraid that she would say no.

Instead, Y/N’s eyes widened in surprise before she blurted out, “That works for me but… why?” While she was worried that her question didn’t make sense, Hiccup seemed to catch on right away, his green eyes locked on hers.

“I just want to make sure you stay safe.”

[gpcwsl]

Could you do a Leah Williamson one where reader is a chef and has restaurant establishments worldwide and just located one in England a couple months ago and the England girls are a having a camp in London and since everyone is all together for camp they want to celebrate with a fancy dinner and they start discussing restaurants and readers restaurant is put out there, but some of the girls disagree because they tried to eat there but it was always booked up, so when Leah gets home she talks to reader and gets them a table, so Leah texts the team gc and say dress fancy tomorrow night and the location of the restaurant and the gc starts blowing, but she ignores it, and when they all go to the restaurant and ask questions and Leah’s like she has connections, but come to find out that Leah is dating reader then reader sits down beside Leah and the team gets to know her a little and when they go to pay reader says it’s already taken care of.

Warnings: a kiss?

Leah Williamson x Chef!Reader

- Dress fancy -

MasterList

Leah Williamson kicked her boots off at the door, the satisfying thud against the floor signaling the end of another long day. Training had been intense, but it wasn’t the drills or tactics replaying in her mind—it was the chaotic group chat blowing up her phone during the drive home.

She pulled her phone from her pocket and glanced at the screen, scrolling through dozens of messages.

Tooney: “We should go to that new restaurant tomorrow.”

Brightness: “What’s it called? The fancy one that’s always booked?”

Backheel: “You mean Palace Place? Impossible. I’ve been trying to get a table since it opened.”

Brightness: “Same. That place is like gold dust.”

Tooney: “We need something special, though. We’re all together. Ideas?”

Leah smirked, leaning against the kitchen counter as she typed her response:

Captain: “Sorted. 7 PM tomorrow. Dress fancy.”

The chat exploded.

Tooney: “LEAH.”

Backheel: “How?!”

Brightness: “You didn’t even say where!”

Walshy: “She probably means Nando’s.”

Tooney: “I swear, if this is a joke…”

Leah tossed her phone on the counter, ignoring the continued barrage of messages, and walked into the living room. The soft hum of classical music filtered through the space, and the faint aroma of roasted garlic and herbs greeted her.

“Smells amazing,” she called, rounding the corner into the kitchen.

You stood by the stove, dressed casually in an apron, hair tied back, moving with the kind of effortless grace Leah never tired of watching. You glanced over your shoulder, a smile already forming.

“Hey, you. Dinner’s almost ready.”

Leah walked up behind you, wrapping her arms around your waist and resting her chin on your shoulder. “I don’t know how you do it. Training kills me, and you’re here cooking like it’s nothing.”

“Years of practice,” you teased, leaning back into her embrace. “How was camp?”

Leah hesitated, her lips brushing lightly against your temple. “Good. The girls want to go out tomorrow night. Celebrate being all together.”

You turned in her arms, raising an eyebrow. “And let me guess, they want to go somewhere fancy?”

She grinned. “They were debating places, and your restaurant came up.”

“Did it now?” you asked, amusement coloring your tone. “And what did you say?”

“I didn’t.” Leah shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “Didn’t want to out myself as having an in with the chef-owner who happens to be my girlfriend.”

You laughed softly, running a hand down her arm. “So you’re here to use your connections?”

“Obviously,” Leah said, leaning down to press a kiss to your lips. “Any chance you can fit us in tomorrow?”

You rolled your eyes but smiled. “For you? Always. How many?”

“About 20.”

You blinked. “20?”

Leah winced. “Yeah… full squad.”

“Good thing I like you,” you teased, reaching for your phone to call the restaurant.

Leah sent the address to the group chat in the morning, and as expected, chaos ensued.

Tooney: “No way. THE Palace place?!”

Backheel: “Leah, I’m actually screaming.”

Daily mail: “I tried booking for my mum’s birthday and couldn’t. HOW?”

Brightness: “She must know someone.”

Tooney: “Leah Williamson: captain, legend, and apparently a magician.”

Leah ignored it all, casually walking into the training facility as if her phone wasn’t buzzing nonstop in her pocket.

The team arrived promptly at 7 PM, dressed to impress. The restaurant was stunning, its interior sleek yet inviting, with warm lighting that made everything glow. They were escorted to a private dining room where a long table awaited, set with pristine white linens, sparkling glassware, and fresh flowers.

“This is insane,” Ella muttered, taking in the surroundings.

“How did you pull this off?” Millie asked Leah, narrowing her eyes suspiciously.

Leah smirked, leaning back in her chair. “I told you. Connections.”

The team was halfway through the meal—an exquisite multi-course experience—when the door to the dining room opened. You walked in, your chef’s jacket pristine, a warm smile on your face.

“Good evening, ladies,” you greeted.

The table fell silent, all eyes turning to you. Leah tried to suppress a grin as you approached.

“Everything to your liking so far?” you asked, your gaze briefly meeting Leah’s.

“The food’s incredible,” Keira said. “Are you the chef?”

You nodded. “And the owner.”

Murmurs of amazement rippled through the group.

Leah cleared her throat, sitting up straighter. “Everyone, this is Y/n.”

“Wait…” Rachel’s eyes darted between you and Leah. “This is your connection?”

Leah shrugged, feigning innocence. “What can I say? I know people.”

“Hold on.” Ella leaned forward, pointing at Leah. “You’re dating the chef?!”

Leah’s smirk widened. “Didn’t think it was relevant.”

The table erupted in laughter, teasing, and a flurry of questions directed at you.

When the bill arrived, one of the players reached for it, but the waiter quickly informed them it had already been settled.

“It’s on me,” you said with a smile, standing beside Leah. “You’re all family to Leah, which makes you family to me.”

The team groaned, joking about being spoiled, but their gratitude was evident.

As everyone filtered out of the restaurant, Leah lingered by the door with you, her hand slipping into yours.

“Thanks for tonight,” she said softly, her voice full of warmth.

You leaned up, pressing a gentle kiss to her lips. “Anything for you.”

The team’s laughter echoed down the street, and Leah pulled you closer, her heart full as she watched her two worlds collide perfectly.

[woniwontons]

dead end - CHAPTER TWO

bob reynolds x therapist!reader

summary: after being assigned to monitor bob reynolds’ recovery inside the new avengers tower, you try to keep your fears hidden. but between quiet training sessions and unsettling therapy logs, you start to realize he’s watching you more than he should—and that something inside him never stops whispering.

w.c: 2.1k

warnings: abuse by parent, psychological thriller, inaccurately depicted mental illness, emotional manipulation (by void), nightmares, slow burn, possessive themes, combat violence, unreliable realities, hallucinations, left some yearning crumbs for y'all in here since its shorter...

chapter nav: one | two | three | four | five | six

⋆｡°✩⋆｡°｡⋆

ANONYMOUS POV

Transcript Log | INTERNAL FILE [REDACTED] Access Level: TOP SECRET Date: [REDACTED] Location: Off-site - Audio Transcript Only

Scientist 1: “Vitals?”

Scientist 2: “Stable. No unexpected rejection so far. Slight fluctuations during REM, but within limits.”

Scientist 1: “Neurological?”

Scientist 2: “That’s where it gets interesting. Her activity spikes in proximity to ▇▇▇▇▇.”

Scientist 1: “And the Void?”

Scientist 2: “We can’t detect it directly. But ▇▇▇▇'s energy readings dropped 17% during yesterday’s session. That’s the first time we’ve seen a suppression event without sedation or one of the New Avengers present.”

Scientist 1: “▇▇▇▇ doesn’t know?”

Scientist 2: “No. She thinks she’s been ▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇. She was flagged in her old unit. High trauma index, low emotional volatility, adaptable but guarded.”

Scientist 1: “Are you saying ▇▇ ▇▇▇▇▇ is working?"

Scientist 2: “There's too many variables here to know for sure, but I would say we're working towards a successful run.”

Scientist 1: “Continue observation. Let's try to introduce physical contact. If ▇▇▇▇▇ starts to escalate, we’ll pull her.”

Scientist 2: “And if he doesn’t?”

Scientist 1: “Then we’ve found the answer to our biggest problem.”

End of File

READER POV

You were barefoot.

The floor beneath your feet was sticky with something—beer, grease, maybe both—and the carpeted hallway stunk of cigarette smoke that had long since stained the drywall yellow. You knew, instantly, this wasn’t your memory, or at least nowhere you had ever been before.

You turned your head slowly.

A battered recliner sat in the living room, worn through at the armrests, facing a television that loudly blasted a wrestling match. The broken blinds cast sunlight across the floor. Outside, you could just barely make out a patch of dying grass.

"Where am I?" you asked yourself, feeling so lucid in this dream.

Down the hall, a door slammed.

"Useless piece of shit!" a man's voice roared from the other side of the house. You froze.

A crash. Glass shattering against the floor.

"You thought I wouldn't find out what you said to your uncle about me? Fucking liar, can't even man up and say it to my face."

Heavy footsteps approached the room you were in. Fear shot up your chest as you held your breath, slowly backing away from the hall before running to the nearest door. A set of steps appeared before you as you yanked the door open, and you ran upstairs to escape whatever was coming in your direction.

An attic.

You creeped quietly inside, looking for somewhere to hide if the footsteps continued to follow. It was a mess up there, filled with boxes and old furniture.

A broken patch in the floorboards appeared itself to you, drawing you to it. You crouched onto the floor and took in the scene underneath.

It was a small bedroom. On the floor, hunched near the edge of a mattress stripped bare, sat a boy. Knees to chest. Head down. Breathing shallow.

You recognized him.

Even this young, even under a mop of sweat-drenched brunette hair, you knew it was Bob. Thin. Shoulders curled inward, ready to disappear.

And across from him, towering in the doorframe, was his father.

Drunk. Flushed red. Breathing hard as he held a folded belt in his grasp.

His hand balled into a fist and slammed the doorframe hard enough to splinter it.

"Look at me, boy! Have you got something wrong with you in the head now?"

Bob didn't move. He didn't even cry, and you felt your heart throbbing in pain at the sight.

You leaned back from the floor as you felt a change in the energy of the attic, your senses screaming in paranoia.

A presence.

Your body swung around and your eyes met with your reflection in a mirror propped up in the corner of the attic. The air around you dropped in temperature, and behind you, stood a proper reason to shudder.

The Void.

He didn’t speak immediately, only stood at your back—close enough that you could feel the shape of him. His voice came low and deep, curling beneath your skin.

"No one came for me then."

You made in a sharp intake breath, unsure of what to do about such a powerful being standing right behind you. The crack of a whipped belt stung your ear from the room below you, causing you to wince at the following sound of younger Bob's cries.

"Why... why am I here?" you whispered, your voice cracking.

"I remember every time I wished I could simply burn this house down to get the peace I wanted. Every moment in this house turned me further into this."

You watch him reach toward you in the mirror, and you shut your eyes in horror, squeezing them in a grimace. But the touch that came was not in aggression, but a gentle grace of your forearm that made the hair stand up in goosebumps. You felt the tingle of his exhale meeting the back of your ear as he bent down to whisper.

"Is it wrong to want you to see it all?"

Your voice trembled. “This isn’t my memory to have, I shouldn't be here.”

"Well you've already seen it now, haven't you?"

You opened your eyes again to watch him. He tilted his head further forward, his gaze sweeping over the outline of your side profile. Refusing to look over, you held your gaze to the mirror, ignoring the sight of his blurred face in your peripheral. Examining you.

"You make it so quiet, I ought to consider you a threat." His hand on your forearm creeped downwards, his finger tips sliding down to the back of your palm. "But I can't help but to feel so intrigued."

You couldn’t breathe now. Your heart beat so loudly, you swore he could hear it hitting the inside of your chest.

"Let me keep you, y/n."

The training room on Sublevel 3 was colder than you remembered.

Bright, clinical lights shone down from above, reflecting off the polished floors. In the center of the mat, Bucky stood with his fists raised, sweat darkening the fabric of his T-shirt. Across from him, chest heaving but posture composed, was Bob.

He hadn’t seen you enter.

Neither had Bucky. But Yelena had.

She sat on the edge of a supply crate, legs crossed, examining the scene in front of her with careful precision. Her eyes flicked to you the moment you stepped inside and she swung her legs over the wooden crate to talk.

"You weren't on the schedule for today," she said, voice low.

“I’m not here officially,” you replied, watching as Bob ducked a punch and countered with a clean elbow to Bucky’s side. “Harding asked me to monitor some responses.”

That was a lie, but you needed to see Bob again. Or rather, you felt a strong, impulsive urge to do so. Especially after the dream.

“Again,” Bucky barked.

Bob nodded once. Then lunged.

The fight seemed brutal to you, all just weight and momentum. Bucky dodged the first blow and swept Bob’s leg, but Bob twisted midair, landing hard and kicking upward in the same motion.

You stepped closer to Yelena, clipboard clutched to your chest more out of reflex than necessity.

"Always with the clipboard, do you carry that around with you 24/7?" Yelena asked sarcastically. You scoffed back a laugh, realizing how nerdy you likely looked at all times. She eased your nerves a bit and you relaxed, letting your shoulders down as you watched the show.

Except, you couldn't help but notice that Bob was holding back. You could feel it.

Each punch he threw stopped just short of full force, like he was afraid of what would happen if he let go. But every time Bucky hit him, especially when it was hard, sharp, or unexpected, you saw it.

His eyes.

Brown. Then gold. Then back again.

A flash. So quick, you might’ve thought you imagined it. But the next time it happened, his hands changed too.

From flesh to something blacker than shadows, a smoke crawled up his wrists. Then, flickering back to normal as if nothing had happened.

Bucky didn’t flinch. He just kept pushing him.

"Does that always happen? It's in the notes, but I've never seen it with my eyes before," you question Yelena.

She shrugs, looking at you curiously. "Usually it's a little crazier than this. I'm getting a bit bored if I'm being honest."

Your reply is interrupted by Bucky's shout, “Focus, Bob. Control it.”

Bob gritted his teeth, catching Bucky’s next blow with a forearm. “I am.”

The room felt like it was vibrating slightly. Just under the surface.

You took another step forward.

"Let m̷̻̑e̸͔̍ ̵̙͋o̸͖̕u̵̡̓t̸̫͛."

The hairs on your arm sparked up again in shock. It wasn’t spoken aloud, but you felt it. Like pressure against your ribs. A whisper from inside someone else’s lungs. Something that had never occurred to you before. You looked to your side, but Yelena didn't seem to have heard the demonic voice that you had.

Bob swung wide and missed.

Bucky came in low and landed a blow to his ribs.

Bob staggered—and his eyes flared gold for just a second too long.

CRACK.

The floor beneath his foot cracked outward like broken glass.

Bucky immediately backed off, hands raised. “Bob—”

Bob doubled over, clutching his head.

“I’m fine,” he growled through his teeth, though his fingers had turned black again, wrists trembling. And simultaneously, a pressure grew in your own chest as he slowly lost control.

Bucky didn’t move.

Yelena stood, walking closer to the center of the room where the boys stood still. You followed closely behind her, ready to assist in any way you could.

"Bob?" Yelena spoke as she stopped in front of his crouched form.

And that was when Bob’s head snapped up, golden eyes searching the room like an animal sensing something off.

Then he saw you.

His posture stilled. His chest heaved once.

All of the blackness in his hands retreated at once.

“Did I lose control again?” he said softly, voice raw. It seemed like a question for the room, but he was staring directly at you. "Why do you make it so... quiet?"

You felt pathetic as your heart dropped as the memory of what the void said to you in the dream. "What?"

Bob straightened up quickly, smoothing the bottom of his shirt.

"Nothing," he exclaimed quickly, walking off to retrieve his water bottle at the corner of their training room.

Yelena looked between the two of you, confusion knitting her brows together. "What the hell was that?"

"Also nothing," you say curtly before spinning on your heel and walking away, noting the event on your clipboard.

The walls of Dr. Harding’s office were too white. The kind of professional warmth that pretended it wasn’t designed to contain people.

The artificial daylight panels made you squint as you sat in the stiff-backed chair across from her desk, hands folded politely in your lap. Your ridiculous clipboard rested beside you, useless for once.

Harding looked up from her tablet, glasses perched on the bridge of her nose. “Thank you for coming by on short notice.”

You gave a small nod. “Of course. Is this about yesterday’s training observation?”

“Partly.” She adjusted something on her screen. “I just wanted to check in personally. After all, this assignment came with… heightened expectations.”

That was her way of saying: You aren't meeting them.

“I’ve been logging everything daily,” you said quickly. “Vitals. Verbal behavior. Motor regulation. There’s nothing I haven’t reported.”

Harding smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I know. Your notes have been thorough.” She paused, then added, “Surprisingly intuitive, actually.”

You sat up a little straighter.

She tapped her stylus once, then looked at you again. “How have you been sleeping?”

You blinked. “I’m fine.”

“Okay,” she repeated. “Any dreams? Emotional disturbances?”

You hesitated, just a second too long.

Harding noticed.

You cleared your throat. “I really don’t remember most of them.”

She smiled again. “That’s normal, especially under cognitive strain. The stress of being near dangerous people can elevate cortisol, even unconsciously.”

You gave a tight nod. “I’ve managed worse.”

“I’m sure you have.” She leaned forward slightly. “Still, Reynolds is… uniquely sensitive with his emotions. His feelings vary amongst the different staff members. But with you,” She gestured idly. “he seems to have a preference for.”

You looked at her. “I hadn’t noticed.”

Harding hummed. “Mm. That’s what makes it so effective.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. Your hands folded tighter in confusion.

“Have you noticed any… changes in your own behavior since starting the assignment?”

The question was clinical. Neutral. Like she was measuring you against a standard you weren’t aware of.

“No,” you said, but your voice came out flatter than intended.

Dr. Harding didn’t argue though. Just tapped her stylus again.

The silence dragged.

You stood a little too quickly. “If that’s all, I have reports to finish.”

She nodded, but you could feel her eyes following you even as you turned.

“Thank you,” she said politely. “And y/n? Please let me know if your dreams become more memorable to you.”

You sincerely hoped they did not become more memorable than they already were.

link to chapter three

hi everyone! a bit of a shorter update that i think is a good segue into the events of chapter three. i wanted to get this one out quickly since i know we're all starving for more bob content... or at least i am.

if you have any requests for bob one-shots, please feel free to let me know! link to my requests is in my pinned post <3

ALSO: if you are not currently on the taglist, please comment down below if you want to be! if you already commented on chapter one, don't worry because i've already added you :)

[coco-loco-nut]

Sparks Fly

pairing: lando x ex!reader, oscar x reader

summary: doesn’t she know that there is nothing you do better than revenge?

a/n: thank you sm for the request, i’m so sorry it took longer than normal

masterlist part one requests open

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Lando’s eyes stayed trained on yours throughout the whole performance. Your knowing smirk makes his stomach sink. Somewhere deep inside you are satisfied watching Lando squirm in his seat, words cutting through him like a hot knife.

“I didn’t know she wrote that! I love that song,” his girlfriend gushes. Lando nods wordlessly, unsure of what to say. “You should introduce me to her,” she stands up, ready to drag Lando backstage as the house lights brighten.

“I’m not sure about that,” Lando protests but gets dragged anyway to where you are talking with the venue manager. He’s a little confused at why his girlfriend seems to suddenly love you.

“Hi, I’m Camillia, Lando’s girlfriend,” she introduces herself before Lando can speak, interrupting your conversation.

“One moment,” your saccharine voice and sarcastic smile greets them as you turn back to finish your conversation, leaving both of them standing awkwardly. You are unsure where this new confidence is coming from.

“Great, thanks for your patience,” you turn to them. Lando can’t believe his eyes, you aren’t the same girl he remembers but you always were able to put up a strong front.

“Y/n,” his voice comes out begging but your sharp eyes stop him.

“Lando,” you reply.

“Anyway,” his girlfriend claps her hands happily, grabbing your attention. “My birthday is coming up soon, I want you to perform at the party,” she says making you scoff.

“I’m a songwriter, I don’t perform like that,” you reject the offer before you can consider it further.

“I’m an actress, there are some producers who will be there and they are looking for music in upcoming productions. It could be a good opportunity, not to mention a very very nice payment,” you hate that the words make you stop, your narrowed eyes widening for a second.

“Are you trying to bribe me?” you ask, slightly taken aback.

“Is it working?” she asks, meeting the challenge your eyes.

“This is my agents details. If I think it’s doable, maybe we will have a deal,” you hand a business card to her. As you turn away, a familiar hand catches your arm.

“Can we talk?” Lando asks, voice pleading for you to hear him out.

“Actually, why don’t you let me talk this time. I didn’t get to do that much last time,” you step towards your gear, starting to pack as Lando steps closer.

“I’m really sorry,” Lando apologizes but you choose to ignore it, lowering your voice so only he can hear.

“Sorry for cheating on me? I find that hard to believe. Congrats on moving on with her, I heard she’s great in bed,” you roll your eyes and scoff. Resisting the urge to slam your guitar case closed, you spin around to face him. “You know what, Lando? I am going to do this, and I hope you hate every minute of it,” you end the conversation, taking one last glance at his girlfriend who sports a frown of some sort.

“Y/n,” Lando says as you walk towards the exit, you give him the finger behind you and leave the building.

The birthday party also happens to double as a black-tie end-of-summer party on some super yacht in Monaco. You spend the summer writing new songs and furiously planning your revenge, professionally of course.

When the day arrives you look drop dead beautiful in your sleek black evening dress, not unprofessional but certainly making you stand out. It is one that begs to be taken off by someone at the end of the night, and you aren’t sure who that will be, but it’ll be a nice way to end the night. The birthday girl is wearing some vintage couture dress that screams for attention. A party planner directs you to the small stage you are performing at. You catch her roll her eyes at you while talking to friends, but you ignore it. Instead you focus on setting up and making sure your set list is perfect.

Oscar really didn’t want to attend Lando’s girlfriend’s party, but he couldn’t think of a good excuse in time. Tugging uncomfortably at his collar he boards the boat just before it leaves the dock.

“You made it!” Lando greets Oscar, clearly already a little drunk.

“Yeah,” Oscar tightly smiles, looking around the boat.

“Bar is open, I’ll see you around,” Lando says before being dragged off by his girlfriend who doesn’t care to say anything to Oscar. Oscar follows the noise of a guitar tuning and finds you preparing to start.

“I’m Y/n L/n, songwriter of many hits, and I’ll be playing some of my hits and unreleased songs tonight,” you smile into the mic, warm summer breeze gently blowing your hair. Oscar steps closer to the stage as you start to sing, being pushed by groups of people talking loudly. He’s close enough to touch and you hope he can’t read your mind. All you can think about is how you want to get to know this mystery man.

You meet his eyes and he smiles shyly at you, a light blush on his cheeks. Teasingly, you send him a wink before refocusing on the music. Oscar is enchanted by you, the way you can elicit emotions from the audience using your words and a guitar, so he stays near the stage to listen to you.

Oscar is the only driver here anyway, most of the paddock doesn’t seem to care for Lando’s current girlfriend. He heard the stories about what happened, but he never met you. You didn’t attend races anymore by the time Oscar joined F1, instead being the girl at home waiting for Lando to return. By the end you didn’t pay any attention to F1 either, you still assume Daniel is his teammate. Oscar never even saw a photo of Lando with the girl he cheated on, you.

“This will be the brief intermission,” you say after performing your most recent hit, carefully placing your guitar on its stand and turning off the mic.

“You must be thirsty,” Oscar hands you a water bottle.

“Thanks. Have you been enjoying the music?” you ask, gratefully sipping the water.

“You are incredible, I don’t know how you haven’t blown up,” Oscar compliments you, making you blush.

“No, no, I prefer being behind the pen. Thank you though,” you chuckle. “I should get back to the stage. Talk to you after?” you ask, trying to figure out how you know him.

A crowd a little larger than when you left the stage has gathered this time, including Lando who happens to be nearby.

“I’d like to start this with something new, a little Punk. I’ve titled it Better Than Revenge,” you flip your hair over your shoulder and out of your face. The aggressive start to your song capturing the attention of the crowd. You detail the start of your summer, the way Lando was stolen from you, and your feelings about it all. You see Lando talk to your mystery water-giver, trying to act unfazed by the song.

“She’s great, where did you find her?” Oscar asks, watching you jam.

“She’s um, an old friend,” Lando answers awkwardly.

“Is that so, how did you meet?” Oscar breaks his gaze, turning it suspiciously on Lando, not quite believing him. Oscar observes Lando fidget and avoidance of watching you.

“Fine, she was my ex,” Lando admits, looking at you as you slow it down with a new song. He finds you eyes looking at him as well, but not with the fury he expected. There is a sadness, disappointment even about how things happened.

“The one you,” Oscar trails off, listening to your words, silence falling between him and Lando as they listen.

“I fucked up,” Lando sighs, admitting it aloud. “She deserves to let her feelings out,” Lando watches you perform.

“You didn’t fight for her?” Oscar asks, not really knowing the full story.

“I hurt her in a cruel way that no amount of apologies can fix. Not to mention I broke up with her. Some cruel twist of fate isn’t letting us move on,” Lando explains, looking away. Oscar nods, not revealing what’s going on in his head. Lando walks away and Oscar stays, watching the final half of your performance.

Before Oscar can steal you again, someone who looks much more important pulls you into a conversation after your final song. Oscar doesn’t mean to listen in, but he is a curious person.

“I’ve been looking for someone to write songs for a soundtrack and I think you are my person. It’s a teen film -think Mean Girls- that has heartbreak and your songs, Better Than Revenge and that song right after it, um,” the producer struggles to thing of the song name.

“Last Kiss,” you offer the name, masking your emotions. It’s a raw song, one of the first ones you wrote after the breakup. You bared your soul. Those two songs represent your two immediate feelings post-Lando, the heartbreak and the anger.

“That’s it. Who is your agent? I want to send a contract and script as soon as possible,” Oscar distracts himself, not wanting you to notice him listening. He does such a good job that he doesn’t notice you slide up next to him, arm lightly brushing his.

“Hello again,” your soft smile makes him startle, but also blush. “I don’t think I ever got your name,” you gently nudge him with your elbow.

“Oscar,” his voice cracks slightly with nerves.

“Nice to meet you, I’m Y/n,” you know he knows your name from when your introduced yourself on stage, but this feels more intimate, more personal. “How do you know Lando,” you ask, genuinely curious why they were talking.

“I’m his teammate,” Oscar answers, a little shocked that you didn’t know, especially since you broke up at the start of the season and they have been teammates for two.

“Oh no, Daniel,” you frown, maybe you should reach out. Then again, who knows how long Oscar has been Lando’s teammate. Unsure of what to say next, you simply say “Thanks again for the water.”

“Maybe I could buy you a different drink sometime?” Oscar asks in a moment of boldness.

“I don’t know, I don’t want to be seen as the paddock whore,” you shift your weight.

“One drink and if it is too much then you can forget we’ve ever met,” Oscar replies making you reconsider him.

“You believe that much in yourself? Consider it a thank you for the drink then. A boat is coming to bring me back to shore in five minutes,” you wink, leaving him standing, watching you.

With your gear loaded onto the boat, Oscar races down the stairs to meet you on the boat, making it just in time.

“I didn’t think you’d make it,” your smirk makes him want to wipe it off your face with a kiss.

“I hate stuffy parties,” Oscar shrugs, his shy smile matching his awkward position. He doesn’t move closer, unsure of how to approach the situation. You are sitting on a bench with your leather notebook on your lap, open to a page at the back, and a pen in your head.

“I don’t bite, you know. Unless asked,” you add on. Your eyes sparkle in the moonlight as Oscar steps closer, a wave making him stumble onto the seat beside you. “Smooth,” you laugh, closing the journal and tucking it away into a bag.

“I meant to do that,” you don’t see his flushed cheeks, but the awkwardness seems to be slightly alleviated.

Oscar calls a car as you make sure your gear gets picked up by someone and taken to your hotel. At the bar you don’t miss how your bodies touch and you laugh like you are drunk.

“So, after one drink are you ready to get rid of me?” Oscar asks, his smile making your heart beat slightly faster. You both look a little out of place in the bar meant for someone in jeans and a t-shirt, but you both haven’t paid much attention to anything besides each other.

“I might need another to make that decision,” you smile, Oscar’s heartbeat meeting your own as he orders another round, then another, and another before he finds himself tangled in your hotel sheets.

As you stare at him in the darkness, trying to memorize everything about him. Moles, the way he smiles, his soft hair that feels wonderful tangled in your fingers, the way he leans down to kiss you with those soft lips for no real reason other than he’s wanted to since he first saw you, his calculating eyes that also hold a softness when he looks at you.

It seems to strike both of you in the moment that you don’t want this to be a one time thing or a casual thing. There’s something in the way that your hand fits perfectly in his, or the way Oscar never wanted to please a woman more than he wants to meet your every need and more, and the natural feeling of you underneath him.

Oscar doesn’t mean to fall asleep beside you, but he can’t fight it with your bodies pressed together and his exhaustion from the day. You slip out of bed when he’s in deep sleep, searching your bag for the worn leather journal and red glitter gel pen.

The top of the page where you write the song title is empty, your lyric lines that you wrote while waiting for Oscar just below them. The cap of your pen comes off with a satisfying pop as you write for an hour, not keeping track of time before the title comes to you. Dress. You bring in moments and feelings of the day but also creating a story between two fictional characters. Yawning, you slip back in bed before Oscar notices you gone. He pulls you close to him, his subconscious needing you.

You stir to soft kisses being placed on your shoulder and an arm tightening around you. You enjoy it for a moment before turning around to join your lips, Oscar’s touch setting you alight as the morning takes a passionate turn.

“Good morning to you too,” Oscar says breathlessly as he collapses at your side.

“Mm, good morning indeed,” you smile at the ceiling.

“When do you leave?” Oscar turns to his side, reaching out to brush a hair that has fallen over your face.

“This afternoon. I wasn’t expecting to stay here any longer,” you admit. “I have work in London tomorrow, can’t stay any later,” you fight a yawn and the urge to stay tangled in the sheets with Oscar.

“I understand. I’ll be passing through on my way to Woking, maybe I could take you to dinner sometime?” Oscar asks, wanting to make sure you know he isn’t only interested in having you in bed with him.

“That sounds nice,” you agree, stretching slightly. “In the meantime, I should shower, mind helping me get some hard to reach places?” Oscar practically chases you into the hotel bathroom. He offers to take you to the airport as well, but you turn it down, promising to let him know when you return to London.

As you wait for your flight, you send a text to Daniel, who teases you about your heavily belated message, but thanks you anyway and expresses sympathies for your break up. You also send a text to Oscar so he has your number.

It only takes a week for you and Oscar to make plans and meet up again, this time at a tucked away restaurant you love. Everything is going well so far, almost too good and by the time you get to the middle of your meal, you need to say what’s on your mind.

“I need to say this,” you pause your normal conversation and set your utensils down. “I need to be in either one hundred percent or not at all. I don’t want to risk the fallout unless I know both sides are committed,” you tell Oscar, searching his eyes for an answer.

“I agree, and I wouldn’t want to bring you into the paddock unless I was sure you are who I want to commit to. I would really like it if you were to be my girlfriend,” Oscar replies, voice even. Your eyes widen slightly and your brain short circuits slightly. “You don’t have to answer that now, we have the rest of the night,” his hand stretches across the table, gently grabbing yours and squeezing it. His smile tells you that he will wait for your answer and you can feel your heart flutter.

“Thank you, but I know my answer,” you don’t even need to say yes, Oscar knows. It feels so wrong that it feels right, dating your ex’s teammate, but you just know Oscar is different.

After dinner you decide to walk around the city, talking about whatever crosses your mind. Every time you remember that it isn’t a great idea to date your ex’s teammate, Oscar brushes your hands with his and you forget. Rain slowly begins to fall from the sky without warning so Oscar wraps is arm around you, pulling you close in an attempt to shield you.

“My apartment is a few blocks from here,” you notice the street signs and try not to sink into Oscar’s warmth more.

“Lead the way,” Oscar smiles, tightening his grip slightly around your shoulders as you make a mad dash in the direction of warmth. You pass a pub on your way and stop in your tracks.

“I love this song,” you blurt, the music amplified through the empty street, warm early-fall rain soaking your clothes. The slow song that has the whole bar singing alone brings a smile to your face as Oscar confidently takes your hand.

“Let’s dance then,” he smiles, eyes lighting up in the dim streets.

“Now? In the pouring rain?” you give him a look of both admiration and confusion.

“Why not? We’re already soaked, the rain won’t make a difference anymore,” Oscar pulls you closer, giving you a small twirl. Both of you giggle as you dance outside the pub. You sing along terribly with the song as you slow dance with Oscar on the slick sidewalk pavement. He teases your singing, adding his own off-tune take on the song.

As the song ends you both are slightly breathless, heaving chests pressed together. Oscars hand moves to your temple, pushing back a wet lock of hair and tucking it behind your ear. Your breath hitches as you both inch impossibly closer to eachother, his face leaning into yours. His lips are cold from the rain yet still soft as they connect with yours. The hand that pushed your hair back now cradles your neck, sending sparks through you as his other hand holds firm at the small of your back. Your right hand finds itself in his hair, wet and long. As you pull away from each other, the rain intensifies and the temperature drops slightly, just cold enough to make you want to find somewhere warm and dry quickly.

“This way,” your hand finds his and you tug him to your apartment building in a delirium of lust. As you fiddle with your keys to get in, Oscar sweeps you into another kiss, hearts racing faster in anticipation. He leads you up the staircase towards the top floor, Oscar remembers you telling him about your apartment one night over text. You stop him on the third floor landing, tugging the collar of his shirt and kissing him again, like a drug addict getting their fix.

Oscar speaks, voice low with something almost deeper than lust and admiration. “You’re so addictive, so captivating,” he whispers, making you want him more. Before you can do anything else your body shivers, cold from the rain.

“Then show me, I have a warm shower waiting for us,” you smile suggestively, this time leading him to your apartment. Once you step inside you make your way towards your bedroom without a second thought, but Oscar pauses as the door closes behind him. He looks around, observing the space you live in. It’s slightly messy in one of those ways people say they know where everything is, clearly lived in. In the corner of your living room is your own little studio, a guitar, piano, amp, other recording devices you need. Fuzzy blankets and pillows are thrown on your couch and the coffee table has a mug resting on it and the leather notebook Oscar has seen you with before is laying open beside it.

“Nice place,” Oscar smiles, looking over to see you leaning against the doorframe with the sound of running water coming from behind you.

“Thanks, sorry it’s a little messy,” you return his smile, pushing off the wall when he gets closer to you.

“It’s okay, makes it homey. Now, I believe I was promised a shower,” Oscar’s voice dips low, practically on your heels as you turn around and head to the shower.

“My poor water bill,” you laugh, towel drying your hair while walking into the bedroom where Oscar lounges on your bed.

“I’ll pay the difference,” he winks, opening his arms and inviting you to cuddle. You happily fall into his arms like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Stay the night,” you mutter, exhaustion from the day hitting you and the strange comfort of Oscar in your bed threatens to drag you further into sleep.

“Everything I have is back at my hotel,” Oscar says hesitantly, mind running through what he’d have to do in order to get to work on time.

“I have an extra phone charger, your clothes are in the dryer, and I have some laundry day clothes that probably fit you,” you reason, eyes growing heavy.

“I have to be in Woking tomorrow. Why don’t I stay until you are asleep and my clothes are dry then I will see myself out?” Oscar suggests, running his hand up and down your arm.

“Yeah. That could work,” your yawn slows your words.

“I have another free night tomorrow and the day after it is completely open. We can get a late dinner and I’ll make you breakfast the next morning,” Oscar promises with a kiss. You happily nod, resisting your head on his bare chest as you drift off.

Oscar startled awake as the dryer buzzes, surprised he dozed off. He glances down at your hair slightly damp against his chest, cheek smooshed in a way you would be embarrassed about how you look but he thinks is adorable, and your hand rests on his shoulder. Carefully, he slides out of your bed and pulls your duvet up a little so you stay warm. Oscar feels bad ordering the uber and dressing in the dark, but he does find a stack of sticky notes near the door and he writes a good morning message for you. As he falls asleep in his hotel room, he wishes he never left.

By the end of the week, Oscar has spent more time in your apartment than he has the hotel.

“When can I call you my girlfriend?” Oscar asks one night as you cuddle on the couch watching a movie.

“Let me think about it,” you wait a second, building anticipation and watching Oscar grow nervous. “Now, I suppose,” your grin melts any anxiety Oscar held as he draws you in for a quick kiss.

“Well, I can’t wait to fall asleep with my girlfriend in my arms tonight,” he says, giving you a rare, genuine smile, the one he reserves for moments that truly deserve it. It makes you fall even more as your heart flutters.

You both keep things on the down low for a while. Not just for privacy, but to avoid the inevitable awkward moment when you return to the paddock on Oscar’s arm. Oscar has said many times that he doesn’t care how fans react, but you just aren’t ready. You are happy to watch from home and send texts to his phone during the race. Oscar enjoys reading them after, especially when he’s made a move you deem to be too dangerous. Once you’ve hit the one year mark though, Oscar knows you aren’t going anywhere and you are finally ready to step into the Paddock again.

The natural choice is Melbourne. Oscar did give Lando a heads up, the latter found out about the relationship when he caught a glimpse of Oscar’s phone background. It was a photo he took during a trip to celebrate six months together. Lando freaked out, but soon learned to live with it, especially since Oscar doesn’t speak much on his relationships.

“I’m excited,” you smile in the mirror, clipping on your earring. Oscar’s bedroom is slightly messy from the contents of both of your luggage, but it feels so homey.

“You look incredible,” Oscar tells you as he enters from the attached bathroom. You both match unintentionally. His navy blue linen button down and white shorts perfectly complement your white sundress. You look like you both are about to spend a day on the beach, not go to the paddock for the first session day.

“So do you. You always do,” you gently fix his collar.

“Oscar, you are going to be late,” Nicole calls from the kitchen.

“After you,” Oscar opens his bedroom door, letting you exit first. He gives a quick visual check to make sure you both have everything and checks his bag to make sure all paddock passes are accounted for.

“Are you sure you don’t want to attend today?” Oscar hears you ask Nicole, munching on a pastry.

“No, I’ll be there Saturday and Sunday. Hattie is going with you both though,” Nicole refers to the girl entering the room.

“Someone has to protect Y/n from the crazy fans,” Hattie shrugs, ignoring Oscar’s offended look. “Most girls still think he’s single when in reality he’d be married right now if given the choice,” you stifle a laugh as Oscar’s mouth hangs open, not able to find a response. Nicole doesn’t have the same restraint and does chuckle at her son’s reaction.

“Thank you for braving all of the Oscar stuff for me,” you wrap an arm around Hattie, giving her a quick side hug.

“Is it hate on Oscar day? Was I unaware?” Oscar finally replies.

“Yeah, Osc. Sorry to break it to you,” you giggle. If Oscar weren’t deeply in love with you and didn’t know of Hattie’s affectionate bullying, he may have had a different reaction. Instead he just shakes his head and grabs his car keys, giving his mom a quick goodbye and heading to his car. You and Hattie follow behind, chatting enthusiastically about something Oscar isn’t sure that he wants to know. Oscar watches as you slide into the back seat with Hattie, not choosing the front seat to be near him. You’re supposed to hold his hand while driving. You notice his slightly confused expression.

“Sorry, Osc,” you lean forward and press a kiss to his cheek before sitting back. Oscar watches you both start to record yourselves in his backseat. Hattie likely convinced you to do a tiktok with her.

Once you get to the Paddock, Oscar loses you and Hattie as soon as you enter, Hattie having dragged you off to film a tiktok.

“Lost your girlfriend?” Charles asks in amusement, Alexandra in tow.

“I think she loves my sister more than me,” Oscar shakes his head, walking with the two towards the team motorhomes.

“I can’t wait to meet her,” Alexandra says, excited to have a new WAG in the paddock.

“I’ll make sure she finds you,” Oscar nods, adjusting his shirt.

“Us girls are having lunch, Charles will send you the details,” she squeezes Charles’ hand as they part ways from Oscar.

“How did you guys beat me?” Oscar asks when he spots you and Hattie inside waiting for him.

“It’s a secret,” you grin.

“Oh, you guys are matching. How… cute,” Lando says awkwardly in passing, like a part of him wants to die and another part wishes it were him. You and Oscar meet eyes but don’t respond.

“Five bucks and I punch him. Scratch that, I’ll do it for free,” Hattie comments, watching you and Oscar try not to laugh.

“Please don’t, wait until the end of the season at least,” Oscar replies. “Oh, you both have a lunch invite from the WAGs.”

“Oscar, I don’t think I qualify,” Hattie points out, not looking up from her phone.

“Charles said the invite is extended to you. I’m forwarding the texts to you now,” Oscar says before someone pulls him away.

“Hey,” Hattie turns to you, distracting you from people watching. “I finished editing the tik tok, want me to post it?” she turns around the phone to let you watch. You don’t even notice the short clip of you and Oscar walking hand in hand.

“Yes, it’s so funny,” you agree before you both head off for lunch before FP1.

The girls get over the initial shock of your return quickly, most agreeing that Oscar is much better for you than Lando, and when lunch ends Lily offers to walk you and Hattie back to McLaren.

“I’m glad we have you back in the paddock, and I can finally add you back into the group chat after you left,” Lily hugs you outside of the motorhome. Hattie darted inside to get out of the sun.

“I didn’t feel right staying in it,” you shrug, squinting slightly to see in the bright sun.

“You didn’t have to turn down invites either,” she points out.

“It was rough, I didn’t want anything that reminded me of him,” you guiltily defend your actions. “Lando didn’t bring his girlfriend?” you ask, slightly changing the topic.

“She wasn’t invited to this lunch. She will be on race day. But we really missed you,” Lily looks behind you and takes a half step back.

“I missed you guys too,” your smile is a blend of sadness and contentment. You are happy to have the support system back, but there is a part of you that wishes you didn’t work so hard to separate yourself from F1.

“Someone is waiting for you. I’ll see you later,” Lily leaves you to go into the motorhome where Oscar waits with Hattie.

“Hattie,” Oscar starts firmly, his hand instinctively finding yours. “Did you just hard launch my relationship?” Oscar asks, eyes narrowing as his hand slightly tightens its grip.

“Oops.”

[umbrellajam]

Tim Drake Reading List - before his Robin (1993) solo

I'm sure this has been done many times before, but I'd been meaning for a while now to put together my own reading list for Tim prior to his 1993 solo, as I so often see that recommended as the starting point for him, but. Well. There's a lot of key material for Tim before that and Robin 1993 also starts very weirdly in medias res smack dab in the middle of the Knightfall event, which throws people off all the time, lol.

So anyway, a list! Not 100% comprehensive, but hopefully a helpful overview to somebody, somewhere :)

PRE-TIM CONTEXT

A Death in the Family (Batman #426-429) – Jason is murdered by the Joker. We all know this one, hopefully.

New Titans #55 – Dick finds out about Jason’s death, and comes to Gotham aiming to both console and confront Bruce about it. They have a fight; Bruce backhands Dick and tells him to leave.

Batman: Year Three (Batman #436-439) – despite the above, Dick returns to Gotham soon afterward due to Tony Zucco’s parole hearings, and we see him continue to worry and reach out to Bruce as the man fails miserably at dealing with Jason’s death; we also have the first appearance of Tim in the flashback to Dick’s origin at the circus.

INTRO AND PRE-ROBIN ARCS

A Lonely Place of Dying (alternating Batman #440-442 and New Titans #60-61) – Tim’s proper intro arc, tracking Dick down at the circus to try and convince him to become Robin again, as Batman continues to go off the rails and “Batman needs Robin”. He ultimately gets accepted for a trial/training period before he can become Robin.

Batman #443-445 – cute training-period issues where Bruce awkwardly starts to teach Tim and Tim is an eager beaver.

New Titans #65 – Tim shows up on an exasperated Dick’s doorstep in New York, and we get a really great Dick & Tim training issue.

The Penguin Affair (Batman #448, Detective Comics #615, Batman #449) – a fun early Bruce & Tim arc that includes the introduction of Harold Allnut as the Bat team's mute engineering genius, Bruce angsting and second-guessing himself about having a new Robin but still wanting to encourage Tim (“Remember to thank him later. The boy needs reassurance.”) and also civilian!Tim taking part in the operation with adorable pre-Robin code names (“Little bat to big bat. Target in cross-hairs.”)

Batman #450, Detective Comics #617, Batman #451 – a short arc about the Joker resurfacing for the first time since being presumed dead at the end of A Death in the Family. Tim appears minimally because Bruce panics and sends him out of the country immediately (along with his entire school class lol), but there’s lots of angst and introspection from Bruce on Jason's death and Robin in general.

Rite of Passage (Detective Comics #618-621) – includes Tim’s parents being kidnapped, his mother’s death, and his father ending up paralyzed and in a coma.

EARLY ROBIN ERA

Identity Crisis (Batman #455-457) – includes Tim’s devastation and struggle in the wake of what happened to his parents, wrestling with the legacy and meaning of Batman & Robin in a way he hadn’t understood before, and whether he’s prepared for it. Also Janet Drake’s funeral, and ultimately Tim’s official graduation to the Robin mantle.

Robin I: A Hero Reborn #1-5 – Tim’s first solo mini-series as Robin; his first of many trips to Paris as part of his training, where he first encounters Lady Shiva and King Snake. This is also where Tim picks up his iconic bo staff for the first time, with training from Shiva.

Batman #465-469 – Tim’s first actual patrols with Bruce, and the return of King Snake.

Detective Comics #635-637 – the “Bruce & Tim have to fight video games come to life” arc, lol. I would call these fun but optional.

Robin II: The Joker’s Wild! #1-4 – Tim’s second solo mini; the Joker returns to Gotham while Bruce is out of the country and unreachable, and Tim as a barely fledged Robin has to thwart the clown’s plans with only Alfred to aid him.

“To the Father I Never Knew…” (Batman #480) – An important issue on Tim’s relationship with his father, especially now that he’s woken up from his coma and is suddenly interested in Tim, when he barely had been before. Lots of Tim angst and struggle, framed through a bitter letter he’s writing to his dad. Alfred also slyly nudges Tim to look into the estate next door to Wayne Manor, when he’s trying to figure out how or even if he’ll be able to continue as Robin now that his Dad is awake.

Electric City (Detective Comics #644-646) – includes Batman’s heart getting stopped due to electrocution, and Tim viciously threatening the villain to get him to defibrillate Bruce back to life. (“You’re going to shock Batman’s heart back online or I’m going to tear you apart.”)

Batman #481 – the notable bit here is Tim and Jack check out the estate next door to Wayne Manor and basically decide to take it.

Detective Comics #647-649 – the introduction of Stephanie Brown as Spoiler, including her thwarting/attempting to off her dad and also the infamous scene where she clobbers Robin in the face with a brick, lol.

Robin Annual #1 – Tim’s first team-up with Lonnie Machin/Anarky.

PRELUDE TO KNIGHTFALL

Batman #486 – Tim driving Jack to his medical appointments with Dr. Shondra Kinsolving, and worrying with Alfred over Bruce’s growing self-destructiveness in the prelude to Knightfall.

Robin III: Cry of the Huntress #1-6 – Tim’s third solo mini, and his first team-up with Helena Bertinelli as the Huntress. Also, Tim’s first meeting with Ariana Dzerchenko, who will be his first girlfriend, and friction/fights between Jack and Tim as Tim skips out on school and tries to cover up his Robin work. Includes a blow-up fight over Jack threatening to send Tim back to boarding school for his misbehavior. ("Who is the son you know, Dad? You don't know me. You never bothered. You shipped me from one boarding school to another and nobody paid any attention as long as my grades stayed high. You and mom were too involved running around the world.")

Batman #488-490 – the Bats start working with Jean-Paul Valley/Azrael, including Robin recruiting him to fill in temporarily as Batman when Bruce is ill. Bane’s plans to exhaust and break the Bat ramp up in the lead-in to Knightfall.

Showcase ‘93 #2-6 – Tim’s first time teaming up with Catwoman as they take on the crimelord Bracuda. This storyline will later cross over with one of Dick’s in the Bracuda & Chulo arc for Dick & Tim's first real team-up.

KNIGHTFALL

I won’t go over this whole period in detail as it’s quite a long storyline (link to the fandom wiki for all the info and issues), but some highlights for Tim are:

Detective Comics #660 – Tim tracks Bane down to his hideout but then gets captured and caught in the middle of a fight between Bane and Croc in the sewers.

Batman #494 – Tim drags himself home and presses Bruce to accept help in the wake of the mass Arkham break-out organized by Bane.

Detective Comics #661-662 – Batman sidelining Robin again while fighting Firefly and Tim again repeatedly badgering Bruce to accept help; Tim later takes down Firefly largely alone.

Batman #497-498 – Bane breaks Batman’s back; Bruce appoints JPV to succeed him as Batman despite Tim asking about Dick. JPV as AzBats goes increasingly off the rails during his time as Batman.

Batman #500 – Tim refuses to be party to the new Batman’s brutal methods, but is blown off by an increasingly unstable JPV. Dick finally shows up in the storyline while Tim is brooding outside the Manor. Dick is angry that he had to hear about Bruce’s devastating injury secondhand and that Bruce chose someone else to take up the mantle of Batman.

The Flash #81-83 – optional context, but this is Dick’s side of the build-up to the Bracuda & Chulo crossover with Tim. Dick and Kory visit Wally after their disastrous interrupted wedding (which Tim attended) and Dick’s ouster as leader of the Titans in New Titans #100-101. Dick ends up embroiled in an investigation of the criminal Chulo.

Showcase ‘93 #11-12 – Dick and Tim’s first proper team-up as Nightwing and Robin! Extremely fun and character revealing interactions as they navigate working together while barely knowing each other. My notes on these quote practically everything in both issues – they're fantastic.

Detective Comics #667-668 – Tim finds out that JPV has walled off the secret tunnel from Drake Manor to the Batcave. He also gets his driver’s license early (at 14) as a special dispensation due to his father’s handicap. This issue leads directly into the first issue of Tim’s solo, ending as he's caught sneaking back into the Cave. AzBats grabs and lifts Robin by his neck, choking him, which is how Robin (1993) #1 opens.

Finally, alongside the early issues of Tim’s solo, be sure not to miss the full Batman: Prodigal arc (https://dc.fandom.com/wiki/Batman:_Prodigal), which covers Dick’s first stint wearing the Cowl of the Bat with Tim as his Robin. This is the period where they first really spent time together and bonded, and includes Robin (1993) #11-13. The whole thing is a banger, and essential reading.

[qwimblenorrisstan]

(new chapters might come later than usual bc my friend went missing and I’m trying to find them, but I hope you guys enjoy this own! i tried switching it up and giving a few different perspectives, and there’s also a lot of seemingly hypocritical and paradoxical emotions, but this isn’t just me forgetting what I made my characters feel earlier, I just think they’d have a large mix and range of feelings)

(edit: my missing friend was found, don’t have any more details but I know they’re safe at least)

tw: panic attack?, zoning out, jealousy, almost distressing, mentions of abuse, tomato soup (ew), more abuse, just a bit of comfort (not rlly tho)

“Where’s—“

“Hush.”

Ghost’s words were quickly cut off with Price’s finger to his lips as he stood outside the door, your door, looking through the thin mesh wired window that proceed the tiniest glance in.

Simon had been looking for Johnny since morning. Soap wasn’t bound to his bed anymore, but that didn’t mean he needed to be all up and about. He was still technically at risk for PTSD episodes, panic attacks, confusion, hell, even the thought of him having to go through that alone was enough to make Ghost nervous.

But curiosity struck him like a train when he saw Price staring so intently through that window. All he expected was you laying there, hiding, still affected by the strange mental state you were in.

However, as he moved closer, he caught the tiniest whiff of it through the door. Underneath Price’s scent, a bittersweet mix of jealousy and guilt, was Johnny’s. In that room.

And Simon should’ve felt happy for the way Johnny’s scent had lost that bitter edge that seemed to have been there since the beginning of his recovery, but all he felt was something building up in his chest, something he thought had left a long, long time ago. Price moved out of the way, a glint of emotion in his eyes as he went to walk down the hallway, his posture stiff and tense.

He looked through the window, the dimly lit room showing Johnny and their alpha curled up on the floor. Simon’s first thought was that Johnny shouldn’t have been on the floor like that, that he might rip a stitch, that he could get cold and that protective urge to provide and keep him safe and warm. An urge, an instinct he’d smothered years ago, had tortured out of him in an abandoned warehouse somewhere in Ukraine years ago.

You were nearly shivering, just barely not because of Johnny, the weakness that was his strong instincts taking over and making him curl up around you in disregard for his own health.

Soap had always had the strongest instincts, never tried to smother them, never been ashamed of his urge to keep his team safe and care for them, make food for them, nest with them. Ghost had never understood it.

His father had been an insecure beta, always angry, always drinking to distract himself from how he felt displaced in society, with no instincts, heats, or ruts for himself. He’d resented his own nature, breaking apart the pack of the family, cruel punishment for any showing of instincts, spewing about how it was weakness.

Price had spent years undoing that ideology, countless gifts, courting for years, and it still lingered.

Feeling an anger terrifyingly similar to what he’d always imagined his father must’ve felt build in his chest, he went to walk off. Johnny would be fine. You would be fine. It wasn’t like he cared. He didn’t want to court you, didn’t want you in their nest. Sure, he felt a bit bad, you’d gotten into this whole state because of him, but the others would handle all the emotional instinctual bullshit.

They always did.

~

John’s eyes skimmed over the paperwork on his desk, trying not to notice the voice in the back of his mind, his omega whispering to him.

“It’s going to fall apart.”

No, it wouldn’t. Their pack had been established for years now, long before you’d ever arrived. One single incident surely wasn’t enough to make it fall apart, even if he felt the bonds fraying more every day, with every cold night spent in his office while the others were in the nest.

Except Johnny.

Poisonous, intoxicating words slipped from the back of his mind and slowly moved to the forefront as he got more distracted from his paperwork, from reality. Words blurred as he closed his eyes, sighing while he rubbed them.

“Your fault.”

It whispered.

It wasn’t his fault, was it? He’d let the alpha into their pack, tried telling his men everything would be fine, despite his own doubts. Maybe they’d noticed the cracks in his usual confidence on decisions and slipped into them. Maybe he had failed them.

God knows he’d definitely failed you.

“Shut it,”

He muttered under his breath, hand coming to rest on his forehead, his arm braced against his desk.

They didn’t shut it. His omega refused to shut it, bullying its way to the forefront of his mind, sowing insecurities everywhere it could.

He could’ve done better. Done more to keep you comfortable, keep you satisfied and content, invited you to the nest, welcomed you to the pack. But he’d chosen to be bitter and think more about Soap’s absence than your presence, living in the past, and the version of the future he’d wanted.

He had failed you as an omega. He had been the leader of the pack; leading everyone else to reject you as well, influencing their decisions and feelings, even if indirectly.

Your condition was his fault.

Now his entire team had to bear the consequences of his actions.

He wasn’t cut out to be a leader.

Maybe he should just—

“John?”

His eyes jolted back open, back to his office as his omega reluctantly retreated with a hiss, leaving him reeling as he tried to pull himself together.

Laswell opened the door up, giving him a questioning look and holding files in her hand, her MacBook in the other.

“Ah, Laswell. What is it?”

He asked, rubbing his hand over his face, knowing there was probably a red mark on his forehead from the pressure his hand had had on it for so long. His arm was a bit red from being pressed against the desk for long.

He glanced to the clock.

Twenty minutes had passed.

“I knocked about 3 times,”

She said with a raised eyebrow, moving to sit on the chair in front of his desk. He sighed, trying to think of some excuse as he blinked away the welling of emotion in his eyes.

“Just…distracted, is all.”

She let out a hum, not seeming surprised. She set the folders down, sliding them across the desk to him.

“There’s the background info you asked for. Their files were hard to pull, but we got them.”

He gleaned over most of it, name, age, weight, gender, scores and health test results, until he got to the section of conditions.

Most of it was blacked out with what he could smell being a sharpie, probably recently considering how strong it was. Whoever had given these to Laswell hadn’t wanted them to know a few things, probably assuming Price would discharge them if he saw anything wrong.

History of Abuse — caution around domineering omegas*

Was written in a sloppy handwriting Price could hardly read. The history of abuse didn’t surprise Price, it probably wouldn’t with anyone else in the pack. But why send you to them, then? A pack of 4 very dominant omegas. It was a paradox in and of itself.

Shock Therapy? — ask Kames*

That was more of a surprise. Shock therapy was outdated, and he wasn’t sure whether it was implying that you’d gone through it in the past, or that it was a potential treatment plan. Who was Kames?

Scent gland — looks scarred, ask Kames about that too (no scent=good?)

He’d noticed it in the beginning. Your fucked up scent gland. Simon had a similar one, making his scent hardly even noticeable. Probably the reason why when you’d asked how he covered the gunpowder in his scent, he’d yanked you down, either offended or annoyed, trying to make you realize he didn’t have a scent.

Originally, Price had assumed it was the gunpowder or Simon’s faint omega scent that had set you off, but with a bit more information, he realized it might’ve been the motion of the action.

A forceful scenting.

And if you’d been a victim of abuse, then it could have been quite the reminder.

He let out a hefty sigh, glancing up at Laswell, knowing he’d have to tell his boys about this and that they wouldn’t be happy.

~

“They fuckin’ what?”

As expected, they weren’t happy. Ghost was sitting silently, brooding per usual. Soap was cursing everything to ever exist. And Gaz had this feral look in his eye. Of course they all hated the thought of an alpha being abused, but it was personal for Gaz, given he had Alpha sisters. He had an almost direct view into how messed up the system was. How cruel it was towards alpha’s.

“Give me a name an’ I’ll focken—“

“This is all we know right now. All we can do is focus on rehabilitating them.”

Gaz had remained silent, anger brewing in his gut into a nasty, bitter stew that would consume him if he continued letting his emotions add more ingredients to the pot.

He took a deep breath.

And he didn’t let it go, no, he would find the bastard that did this to you, but he would keep calm for now. Being angry wouldn’t make anything better.

“I’ll go get them some food.”

He said quietly, getting up from his chair, pushing it in, trying to relax his tense muscles as he walked to the canteen, passing fellow soldiers, giving the proper hello’s, nods, and salutes if he had to.

It seemed like a blur as he entered the large lunchroom, walking to the chef and asking for a bowl of soup, whatever they had on hand. He wasn’t exactly sure what you liked; but since you didn’t seem to be in a talking mood he’d figure it out through trial and error.

It was only his second day of doing this, but it was the thought that counted.

The chef passed him a bowl of what looked to be some sort of creamy tomato soup, and after sticking his finger in, he decided it was warm enough and nodded his thanks before walking to your room.

He knocked quietly first, not wanting to startle you, before opening the door up just barely enough for him to squeeze in.

Ever since Soap had spent a night cuddling with you, you’d at least moved from under the bed to the floor on top of a mattress and some blankets. Better than nothing, in his eyes.

Your eyes were on him as soon as he entered the room, he could tell despite his eyes not having adjusted to the darkness yet.

“I brought you food, thought you might be hungry.”

He tried speaking in a soothing tone, or at least one that hookups in the past had said was soothing. Kyle approached you cautiously like one might a wild animal, sitting on the outside of your ‘nest’ which you’d made to mimic an omega’s.

His heart ached.

Truly, he wanted to ditch any personal space and grab you, hold you and coo to you for hours, keep you from being distressed, but he knew that would throw away any progress he’d made.

Setting the tomato soup bowl on the edge of the mattress, he watched as you glanced at it, then didn’t seem interested, only sitting up the tiniest bit with your back against the now mattress-less frame of your bed.

“You need to eat, look, it’s good.”

He said, taking his own spoonful and eating a bit, trying not to cringe. Kyle had always hated tomato soup, even his own mother’s recipe hadn’t tasted like anything more than mushy baby food to him, but you had to eat. Being as tall and muscular as you were, if you didn’t get at least one meal a day could very well starve.

Your narrowed eyes pinned him down as he took another spoonful of the soup and offered it to you, holding the spoon to your mouth.

For a moment, Kyle thought you might slap it away or just throw the bowl at him. He wouldn’t protest if you did.

But instead, you opened your mouth, taking a bite of the soup. He saw the cringe in your eyes, as well, when you tasted it, but you swallowed despite it. He’d fall out of a helicopter ten times over just to see you eating after so much protest and refusal yesterday.

As he lifted the spoon again, and you took another bite, he got the feeling that you weren’t doing this because you wanted to, simply for the fact that every instinct in your body told you to keep your omega happy, even in spite of your own feelings.

And Gaz didn’t know if that was good or bad.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

[2698rr]

saddle up

jason todd x fem reader | smut | cowboy au | 3.7k words

notes; gets a little lazy at the end cause i got sick of having it sit in my notes app, was supposed to be a small Drabble but.. yeah, and check out my other work! (if u want to)

—

he had been trying to lay low, trying to find a way to stay near the ever growing and bustling city without making a new name for himself.

the bounty he had obtained wasn’t much to dwell about. but he wasn’t too keen to get back to his operations until it was cleared.

another factor, he needed a back-up place, somewhere to hide when things were too risky, or if someone where to go knocking asking about ‘red mask’

and well, he hadn’t meant to find it, he had just been strolling through the growing city. his eyes had flickered around noting all the law that hung in every crevice.

and then, he saw it. a flyer, for some ranch not that far from here. yes, it was still a way ways out but it was close enough to keep him keen.

he had rested his hands into his belt, fingers wrapping around the worn leather as he leaned forward, lips pulling into a puff as his eyes lazily skimmed every word.

some ranch needs extra help, the pay ain’t too horrible, they offer living and if you got no experience they’ll train you. His lips curl into a smirk and he rips it off the lamppost.

after all, he didn’t need any competition, and everyone in this city needed a new dollar here and there. his boots smack against the concrete as he continued his walk, it was getting far too dark to appear at their ranch now.

but next morning, he’d be determined.

even if it wasn’t just some handy thing for cash or even a place to lie down until his bounty washes over, it was still a damn good deal.

—

when morning came he was already on his horse, in-fact he’s been on his horse since before the sun began rising. the misty air could be smelt, a morning that was damp in the early hours only to become gruelling heat later on.

birds chipped loudly, the grass remained sticky and wet, glossed over with it’s own residue of water and ice. the sun was the only comfort of some warmth, it lacked for now but with the somewhat cold morning he’d woken to, it was pleasant.

the ranch wasn’t too far, about a fifteen minute ride. however, he decided he wanted to find a way to get there without using the main paths.

after all if he was ever in a sticky situation, the main paths would be a fools mistake. and Jason was taught to never be a fool.

maybe he hadn’t been taught how to be a gunslinger, an outlaw. but people only ever listen to outlaws, the law ain’t doing much except teaching people of the new ways.

and a lot of people, especially the older folk, they don’t like the new ways. it was all just a big mess.

when he finally saw the wooden fences appear he gave a hum, it seemed generations old, maybe made when people first settled here or what not.

the wood wasn’t old, but it sure wasn’t new. he could hear cow’s and some sheep, maybe even some chickens. the same few you’d see on any ranch, out the corner of his eye he noted some horses.

when his horse trotted all the way to the entrance of the ranch he could see some beautiful swivels, an old faded green. it marked the name of the ranch and he gave a nod to himself.

he continued on, eventually pulling up and giving his horse a few pats, maybe some self confidence to himself more than anything.

Jason was never taught how to apply for a job, never taught nothing except how to fend or fight, and as his boots crackled at every step on the porch, he was very aware of those facts.

he rang the bell a few times, trying to position his body to come off relaxed yet not lazy, however with his muscle and height it just became rather awkward.

when the door opened his breath stuttered, he had not once thought about a woman appearing. which spiralled his mind for thinking so lowly.

but here she stood, her fingers tapping against the door as she offered a polite smile, hair decorated into a beautiful up-do that compliments every feature on her face.

her mouth parting to speak only for Jason to hold out his hand and stutter his own words out. “I saw your flyer, need help on the ranch or something like that..”

a chuckle left her, as her hand dropped from the door and she moved to make room for him to step in, as he did he was aware of how homely the place was.

every light was warmly tinted, candles flicked despite night not yet creeping. a dog could be heard yelping from somewhere. there were portraits, paintings, some carpet here and there—although looking a little old.

“Finally” she spoke up, a laugh leaving afterwards. moving to step infront of him and redirect him to wherever she had in mind, Jason was still marvelling at how peaceful the house was.

her heels tapped against the floor, the corset hung around her body and blended so carefully into her dress. “We’d put it up a while ago, but.. we’re growing quite fearful it might not work” she hushed out, only to give a laugh afterwards.

she sat at a table, putting her hand out to motion for him to join.

only for them to get into the interview. the entire time Jason would direct his attention momentarily to something else, weather that be the softness of her palms as she waved them around.

or possibly, it would be the animals chirping from one part of the ranch to the other. eventually, Jason had left with a job, a stomach full of food and a new home to stay at.

weeks would further pass, getting to know his other ranch hands. laying low so perfectly he hadn’t heard nothing about himself even when he stopped into town.

only problem that had raised since it all was, well, your father. he was a nice man, always helping everybody despite the fact age was quickly getting to him.

he’d help with patching up a fence as his words trailed on to talk about your late mother.

but we’ll, the only problem was. if any man were to direct his attention to you for longer than a second, or to drawl a conversation out longer than needed, he made sure to let the men know he wouldn’t think twice about shooting them.

despite those warnings, Jason had taken to watching you. only sometimes, only ever on your morning walks. your eyes were still a little hazy with sleep, your dress fresh and new as it would trail over the path you’d made for yourself.

you’d walk the entire fence line, taking note of some fixes here and there that would be needed, letting the men know to keep an eye or to fix it if it was too bad.

and jason revelled for these moments, keeping an eye at all times to watch. you held a sense of grace, a sense of beauty he hadn’t been gifted.

he dosent truly belive you’d find him as much of a suitor as he does you, he’s too burly. he has muscles that makes many fear, his hands are only good for hurt—never to cradle nor care.

but those early mornings, where the soft wind is only ever slightly present as it whispers through your hair, as your fingers sometimes cradle a cup of some coffee, the smoke wafting over you face as some warming comfort.

you’ll wave a hand to the small group of men, every single one of them saying their own greetings. and once that’s done you retreat back to the house, doing whatever you do in the days.

you’d only had a handful of conversations with jason, the first one being the interview, the other time being when you had a worry about a horse and wanted him to take a look and the most recent being if he could fill up the feed for the sheep.

but oh he graciously laps it up, the soft sing of you voice, the way the light frames your figure like an angel. he hadn’t realised he’d been finding an attraction for you until too late.

maybe it was due to the fact he was often on the ranch now, maybe it was due to the fact he’d never been graced with a woman so delicate. or maybe, you just had that way to soften him.

—

maybe those thoughts, those moments where he watches you— admittedly not very secretly— had sunk deeper than he thought, because for the last few nights now he can’t go to sleep without thoughts of you.

and maybe some nights, those thoughts drift. not too anything scandalous, he dosent want to disrespect you like that.

but he does wonder how a peck to your neck would cause you to react, how a drifting hand over your lower back would make you shiver, would you cast him a look or not?

he refuses to let his thoughts tempt anything other than that.

—

autumn was dwindling to an end and it wouldn’t be long til winter took its place.

the entire farm was being prepped for the lack of materials it’d be able to sell, pounds of food was brought in and placed into the shed, enough for well past winter and into spring.

and you, you’d grown frantic.

having a lot on your plate mainly due to the fact your father was too old now to do much, aswell as too ill.

you’d been running around, trying to keep the house clean and inviting, making sure your father stayed well fed and rested and making sure every ranch hand had a meal.

you’d been nothing but doting as the ranch prepared for snowfall, and jason couldn’t help but admire it.

your hands swift and precise as you saddled up the horses, most men in the ranch were growing ill, sick with the weather as the reason.

due to the fact you were losing men quicker than bees could sting, you were becoming antsy.

most winters weren’t good, anyone could drop ill—or dead— at any moment, the animals were a further priority and you hardly made any money.

it had been easier when your mother was around, when your father wasn’t as old. but now the property’s of the farm were left to you, and whatever ranch hands hadn’t got ill.

that had only been jason and another guy called john.

the first day snow had fallen you were quite upset, mainly because snow wasn’t meant to come for atleast another week.

you’d had ushered Jason in. john hadn’t been able to make it that morning, his pa or whatever reason he’d given.

“Brush that snow off yer boots” you’d called out, the harshest he’d ever heard. he tried not to think about how delicately that tone had made him feel.

he’d done as told, brushing off any and every speck of snow or dust, making sure to keep your floors top notch and clean.

jason sees how hard you put into it after all, how hard you put into everything.

he’d slunk off his jacket, dusted his hands onto his pants —mainly due to how sweaty they were becoming— and hovered over you, waiting for an order.

you looked over at him, hands fidgeting with the ruffles of your skirt and the laces of your corset, before bringing a hand to your forehead.

“I’d send you home but.. you’d be shivering and that’s not quite fair to you” you said, a tired laugh leaving you as your lips raised with an uncertainty.

he waved a hand around as he leaned into the wooden banister, “It’s quite alright.” he said, his voice a drawl as he tried to stay quiet.

when he’d originally applied for the ranch hand job, few months back now, there had been places for him to stay if he needed housing, but a month ago you’d asked for his permission if you could change it to a storage place.

he’d agreed. (mainly to see your smile) and reassured that he had a place to stay, he didn’t.. kind of, he could set up camp most nights, he was used to that.

however, it truly wasn’t a problem. he had bared worse than a winter breeze or snow.

your heels tapped loudly against the ground as your teeth nibbled against your cheek, huffing to yourself in annoyance.

the ranch was somewhat ready for winter but not to its standards, it was too late to try and work on it now though, the snow was already causing its disruptions.

You turned your head his way and offered a smile, he tried not to focus on the fact he felt larger than usual around you.

he’s aware of his statue, of the fact he’s taller than most of the fact most shirts will dwarf just by the size of his forearms alone, but around you, well..

you made him feel double that size, and something about that caused a heat to settle in him, he couldn’t place if that was pleasant or not.

“Could you get some firewood, should be some under the porch” you said, voice a little quieter now as you raised a hopeful eyebrow his way.

in order to get under the porch he had to go back outside, maybe in your mind you’d decided that was a reason to say no, but it was hardly an inconvenience to jason.

you would say bark and he’d bark his throat raw, kneel and he’d bruise his knees til their bloody.

so maybe it had grown into more than he’d realised, or maybe he hadn’t been faced with you in such close quarters for a long enough time for him to realise what it was.

but now he was, and he couldn’t stop it.

He gave a nod, turning around and putting his boots back on and jacket aswell before he made his way under the porch.

by the time he got back you were sitting in the main room, staring at the dwindling fire. jason plopped the wood in, poking it and blowing at it to make sure the fire stayed. the warmth that carried was met with a gracious sigh from you.

he turned his gaze to you, eyes heavy as he took in your frame, only this time he wasn’t as quick to look away, there were no hay bales to move, horses to tend to or a fence to inspect.

instead he was met with your gaze, catching him admiring you. a part of him felt sheepish for that and he looked away, only for you to softly whisper his name.

“I think we need to talk..”

his body was in flames, every nerve possible suddenly awaken. you were going to fire him, maybe you were so disgusted at the fact some ranch hand had looked at you in a way that you were possibly even gonna shoot him.

he tapped his fingers against his thigh,

gave a weighted sigh, and followed you to the table.

the two of you remained quiet, your eyes on his face as he let his gaze drift outside, although he still watched out of the corner of his eye.

“I’m sorry..” he started only for you to cut him off, “You ever been with a woman?”

even if you hadn’t cut his words off he’d be choking on them anyway. he trailed his gaze to you, a ruggish eyebrow tilting upwards as his mouth sat dumbly open.

when no response came from jason you stepped forward, reaching your hand out to trail the bones of his wrist.

he gave a choked out breath, “Not exactly ma’am” he said, voice suddenly wavering. suddenly nervous beyond belief and he’d be embarrassed about it, if it weren’t for the smile you sent his way.

you put both hands flat on his chest and he had to remind himself to stay upright. “What are you doing..” his voice was shaky, caught off guard and unable to believe what was happening.

you pressed your body into his and he had to bite down a long drawn out groan, his fingers digging into his thigh to remind himself to act accordingly—however that is in this situation.

“I see the way you look at me, i see how hard you work too..” you whispered, your hands moving up and down, the warmth of your fingers making his body shiver.

he couldn’t process words, couldn’t process a single thing. he reached a shaky hand out, and planted it in the curve of your waist.

“Look Miss, i ain’t sure what you’re tryna do, but you don’t have to do it..” his face looked down at you, his eyes taking in every piece of you he could, still admiring the beauty even when he’s refusing whatever you’re giving.

You gave a chuckle, pushed him further back causing his knees to buckle and for him to land flat on one of the chairs. one of his palms smacked down onto the dining table, trying to ground himself.

“What if i want you to?” you whispered, your lip slowly captured between your teeth as you stood in-front of him, both of your thighs pressing against his spread legs.

he threw his head back, eyes shut as he struggled to contain a groan. he was trying to hold himself back, not wanting to do anything incase he was misreading it, but you were tempting it all.

he was swiftly brought out of his thoughts when he felt a kiss to his neck, only for you to straddle his lap next. his hands quickly punched to wrap around your hips as he looked at you.

you only smiled back, he bit his lip. but he wasn’t able to stay contained for long, he gave a feral groan as he dove in, kissing at your neck and feeling up your hips all at once.

the pretty little meek moan you have caused his hands to shiver, making him trace his tongue over that sweet spot right under your jaw.

you were making quick work of your corset as he did the same with his vest. as soon as your corset fell off he was quick to unbutton the floral shirt you had underneath, his hands quick to grab at any every inch of skin he saw.

he dove his mouth onto your breasts, swirling his tongue right over the nip and looked up at you as you gave a guttural whimper.

the cocky laugh he gave reverberated against your skin, and all he could do was appreciate the sight, your hands grabbing at his forearms, your ass grinding into his bulge, the way your lashes fluttered and your lip wobbled.

you were captivating to jason.

after awhile of petting at each other the two of you had twisted your body to end up over the table, jason’s hands flat on your thighs as his heavy cock hung right over you.

you laid like a beautiful meal, and he couldn’t help but stare down hungrily. “Take me.. Please” you begged and he gave a groan as he dove in once again to kiss you.

your tongues fighting against each other as he stroked at himself, pushing himself in. the shiver you gave had him on a high, but he gave you a few moments to settle.

he wasn’t a cocky man, most of the time, but he knew he had a pretty impressive cock.

Your breath was shaking, wilted out yet so desperate. “I’m good..” you breathed and he nodded, pushing in again, the thrusts starting slow, almost teasing.

he had to pull himself back from slamming into you a few times, with the way you dragged your nails down his body or gave some sweet little sounds that caressed his ear.

but eventually you were practically begging for him to go faster, and he couldn’t hold back. his hips fell forward, meeting you every single time.

he held a hand in your hand, mainly so you wouldn’t smack it against the table, but also to kiss you at any moment he wanted to, and he really wanted to kiss you.

he gave a moan himself when your legs wrapped around him, suffocating himself to you. he slapped a plan onto the table as he leaned down closer to you, digging his head into your neck.

he was panting like a beast, unable to suck up enough air in time. “Goddamn miss.. you feel perfect” he held tight onto your hips.

he licked up your neck, pressed kisses here and there. his thumb dragged down over to your clit to give some teasing petting.

“I tried to never think about it.,” he huffed out. “you’re a lady after all, but.. god, this is perfect” he’d groan, heavy breaths sinking into your skin.

you were jumbling out your own words, curses he’d never heard you say of some praises that left his cock swirling heavy, until eventually you lightly smacked his back, voice high pitched and shaky as you practically screamed. “i’m close.. i’m so close”

just the words alone, the way you said it and the fact it came from you caused him to lurch forward, a heat signalling in his gut as he toyed with your clit.

he kissed you, gulping down all your sounds as the two of you came together. he was cautious to pull himself out.

when the moment had settled, the heat of your skin slowly passed and your breaths grew steady he turned his head to look at you.

offering a smile as he moved to grab your clothes for you, settling them beside where you laid as you looked up at the ceiling,

he moved to search for a washcloth, spending an embarrassing amount of time before eventually finding the cupboard.

however when he got back you were already dressed, he stood there, felling a little dumb as the water dripped down his hand before you gave him a soft smile.

you stepped closer and he remained in place, but when you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him down to give a feather light kiss, anxiety washed away.

[batsandbirdbrains]

Super sad idea that I’d love to hear your thoughts about or for you to expand on or write about:

Dick using puppy eyes on Bruce, Alfred, basically every adult to get whatever he wants when he’s a kid. It works like a charm every single time. He wants Clark to fly him around? Puppy eyes, and two hours later he’s soaring. He wants Diana to help him prank Hal? Puppy eyes, and Hal’s suit is somehow banana yellow for two weeks. It doesn’t just work with the adults either. Whenever he wants one of the titans to do something and doesn’t feel like arguing with them, he just brings out the puppy eyes and they get it done. He does for years and he doesn’t plan on stopping.

Then Dick becomes Deathstroke’s unwilling apprentice, and suddenly his puppy-eyed stare was being weaponized in a whole new way. Slade would force him to walk up to targets, bring out his sad eyes and pouty lip, lead them somewhere secluded (usually under the guise of being a lost kid or something, idk), and then watch as Slade killed them.

But that wasn’t the only time his puppy eyes came out when he was with Slade. No, the first time it happened was during “training” (Dick being tortured) when he was exhausted and just wanted Slade to stop. He couldn’t out-fight the man, he couldn’t out-smart him, and he didn’t know how to get him to stop. So he subconsciously fell back on the one thing that had always worked for him in the past - his puppy eyes. To his great surprise, Slade had stopped. He paused for a long moment, staring at Dick’s face, and just when Dick started to have hope that this might actually be the end for today, Slade let out a cruel laugh before kicking him into the floor.

He finds out the hard way that, when it really counts, his puppy eyes only make things worse.

When he finally gets free, it takes a while for anyone to spot what’s wrong, especially considering most don’t even know about his time with Slade. He’s obviously moodier than usual, more paranoid than he was before, and is a lot worse at taking care of himself. But still, it’s a while before someone realizes that he never brings out the puppy eyes anymore. Bruce doesn’t know how to handle it - torn between wanting to ask Dick about it and not wanting to set him off - so he just doesn’t. He ignores it and everyone else follows suit.

They never really speak about it anymore. There are no more jokes about everyone being wrapped around Dick’s finger, no more sighs of resignation when Dick brings out the puppy eyes. Even when Dick gets his peppy attitude back, even when he’s back to cracking jokes and making bad puns, even when he pulls pranks again and his laugh can be heard echoing around the cave, the puppy eyes never come back out. And nobody ever mentions it, but they all mourn the death of the small piece of innocence that was stripped away, they mourn the loss of those eyes.

But time passes, and eventually people move on. It isn’t until years later that anyone mentions the eyes, and by then Bruce has had 4 other Robins, and a whole collection of children. And one of those kids - maybe it was Jason, or maybe it was Steph, or Duke - gets told about the eyes, and obviously they’re curious as to why they’ve never seen them. So the next time the Batfam (or the JL) is gathered together, they decide to broach the topic. Except the bats are profoundly awful at socializing and communication, so the question posed ends up being “Hey, I heard about your puppy eyes, they sound pretty lethal. How come we’ve never seen ‘em before?” And Dick flinches so hard that they’re actually concerned a ghost might’ve attacked him or something. But before anything else can be said or done, Dick just turns on his heel and walks out of the room. And now the poor bat that questioned him is stuck with a very upset Batman (and maybe other heroes as well).

BONUS:

After the fiasco where Dick was questioned about his puppy eyes and he walked out, the rest of the rest of the Bats resigned themselves to never seeing the eyes or hearing about them. Imagine their surprise (and horror, and heartbreak) when, while reviewing cave footage, they come across a highly encrypted video file. Imagine them seeing Dick pleading with Bruce not to go to Spyral, Dick trying to get Bruce to see reason, and then Dick’s face changes and they finally see them - the eyes. And everyone is so desperately hoping that this will be enough to get Bruce to stop. For a moment, he does. It was a short moment - only a split second of hesitation before he’s throwing another punch - and everyone feels their hope shatter as the moment ends. But in the video, there’s no hint of surprise, of devastation on Dick’s face. It seemed like he didn’t have much faith it would work, anyways. At least he’d gotten a reprieve in the fight, at least Bruce had stopped, if only for a moment. It was all he needed to win. Besides, what did it matter if Dick’s puppy eyes didn’t work anymore? Dick Grayson was dead.

How dare u do this to me when I’m about to go to BED now I’m SAD I’m gonna cry damn

I’ll try to expand on this idea maybe tomorrow a little bit? It’s very thorough already though!! But I had to let u know u gutted me right before I try to actually sleep, anon<3 (I mean this in the best way of course)

[ficsilike-reblogged]

Shelter - 7

Summary: You saved Soap's life. And Laswell has news.

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley/F!Reader (No use of Y/N)

Warnings For This Chapter: Continued military and safehouse inaccuracies, mentions and descriptions of suicide, canon typical violence/gore, guns, attempted accents, and more Soft!Simon

A/N: Thank you for all the love on the latest chapter. I treasure each and every comment and they really keep me motivated! Just three more chapters after this!

Previous Chapter

You spent a strange amount of time just poking at things in your room. There had been a secret door between rooms; surely there were other things for you to find. You’d given up on trying to nap after you stared uselessly at the ceiling for an hour, listening to the muted sounds of the city starting to wake and start the day. You were tired. Exhausted. Had been for weeks.

But you couldn’t sleep.

Couldn’t sleep because Simon had kindly offered to show you around a library. What was wrong with you? And how many times have you asked yourself that in the last handful of weeks? And you were so mad at yourself for wanting it. Wanting to see that library with Simon. You knew all of this was temporary. Even if they managed to kill or apprehend Makarov in a timely manner, where did that leave you?

He lived in the UK (when he wasn’t off somewhere around the world doing…whatever it is he does) and you had your life here in Chicago. Sort of. It wasn’t as if you had a job waiting for you. And your lease was nearing its end. And… You really needed to stop this train of thought. It would only hurt you. So, you turned over and shoved your face into the pillow and groaned before getting up and exploring your room a little more.

To your strange comfort, it seemed like your only surprise had been the door connecting your room to Simon’s. There were no secret compartments in your closet or bathroom. The one thing you did find was in the small drawer in the bedside table: a small red button tucked just inside. You knew better than to press it—red buttons usually meant trouble and you weren’t about to test your hypothesis when you finally had a small bit of peace.

Saving you from your boredom for a moment was a new text, chirping on your phone. It was a picture of Kirby and Pauline in the back of a car, bundled up and ready to go, the tiny yellow teddy bear tucked in beside the carrier. “Off on our first adventure!” The picture was probably taken by the post-partum doula or nanny Kirby had hired. Kirby had sent you heaps of potential resumes and then felt content with the two she’d narrowed it down to—and you’d felt a little more secure knowing she had help. She had steadfastly refused any other help you offered, telling you she was determined to do everything on her own. Were you nervous about that? Of course. But she had read every parenting book her doctor recommended, attended every single mothers’ birthing class, researched endlessly about each and every bit of furniture she could buy before purchasing, and went to extra therapy sessions biweekly ever since the situation with Julian blew up.

She’d have help and the money Julian coughed up would probably make everything a little easier. They’d be okay. You could be waiting in the wings if anything came up, and Kirby knew that. Kirby needed to be Kirby. And you needed to be okay with that.

Ugh. You did not need to be having all these emotions before breakfast. You typed out a quick, “love you guys!” message and deleted the perfunctory “stay safe!” you had first added and instead just added a single heart emoji. There. Nailed it.

As if on cue, your stomach rumbled. It had been a while since you’d eaten—a burger and one half of a chocolate bar you split with Kirby before dawn at the hospital hadn’t exactly been a complete breakfast. And thinking of the chocolate had you remembering Simon had been the one to buy it—not that you could ever forget any of this. Or him. And you knew it was stupid. Stupid to hope, to want…but you still found yourself going over to the hidden door and knocking. Maybe he’d get breakfast with you.

But the wall didn’t open and you tried to ignore how something ached in your chest because of it. Well, you could still get breakfast anyway. But first, you decided to give pilates another try, queueing up a workout on youtube and regretting it only a few minutes in. By the time you finished, your arms were shaking and your legs hated you but the shower felt nice. You slathered a bit more arnica cream across your throat when you finished. It would still take time for your neck to look normal, but the red in your eyes had steadily decreased.

You turned your attention to the extensive room service menu that had been tucked beside the sleek bedside table lamp and tapped your finger against the thick cardstock, mulling over your choices. You flipped the menu over, trying to make sure you knew all your options and instead found a small history of the hotel. Apparently it had always been “family owned” since its opening right before World War I. Interesting. Had it always been a safehouse? Either way, the matcha sounded good. Eggs Benedict, too. You ordered, feeling a little ridiculous—you’d never ordered room service before—but the person on the other end of the line was nice enough. It might have been the manager, but you weren’t entirely sure.

Your throat ached as you set the phone back in its cradle. All of the excitement yesterday definitely did a number on it all. Maybe tonight you’d actually sleep well… You weren’t going to hold your breath about that, though.

A knock sounded at your door a few minutes later (after Kirby had texted you back, another picture of Pauline, snuggled in her bassinet), it was probably your breakfast, but you still checked the peephole and felt a small bit of tension leave your shoulders when you recognized the manager on the other side.

She held out the covered tray with a smile. “Excellent choices, if I do say so.”

You returned her smile and took the tray, mouth watering a little at the smell of it. “I didn’t think you’d be the one to deliver it.”

She shrugged. “We don’t let just anyone up here. And the kitchen was busy anyway, two birds, one stone and all that.”

Briefly, you remembered how breezily she checked you all in, smiling at John the entire time. She really must have seen some stuff to not care that a known terrorist was looking for people who were hiding in her hotel. “Still, that was kind of you.”

She waved that away, too. “I’m sure Laswell said you could ask for anything,” she said, a knowing smile on her face.

“She might have said that to the guys.” Not to you. You were sure the no-nonsense woman you’d met back in the UK didn’t particularly want to think about you at all. You wouldn’t hold it against her; you hadn’t made the best of impressions.

She nudged her arm into yours. “Hate to break it to you, but you’re one of them right now. Maybe it’s just for now, maybe it’s just for a little longer, but for now, you are under my care and the hotel’s protection.”

A nervous laugh bubbled out of you. “Sounds like a bit of a steep promise.”

The manager shrugged. “It is. But my family’s been doing this for generations. I know how to keep you safe.” Her watch beeped before you could even attempt to process what she’d told you and she smiled again. “I’ve got to run. Please, enjoy your breakfast.” And then she was gone, disappearing down the hall and into the elevator.

What an enigma of a woman. Again, you thought of Price’s interactions with her. Just what had happened between them? Hmm. Oh well. Probably just another question you’d never get the answer to. You settled onto the overstuffed armchair in front of the giant television and tried not to think about the man on the other side of the wall.

Simon had spent an embarrassing amount of time staring at the hidden door that led to her room. Wondering if she actually fell asleep. Wondering if her short time with her sister and niece was enough to make her happy. Or settled. She’d once asked if he had anyone to get back to after all this was over. He didn’t. And after she had told him about what she had gone through, he thought about his own family. His mum. Tommy. Beth and Joseph. And for a moment, short and aborted, he thought about telling her what had happened to them. She might understand. There could be understanding there, instead of the pity anyone else who knew his story usually met him with. But, again, Simon pushed it away.

Pushed it down, ignoring how the thought echoed and ached.

But it didn’t really matter because Price called them all to his room, telling them that Laswell had called with news. That could have been good. But Simon knew better than to think this all would be over soon. And then a strange, selfish thought struck him, too, as he followed Kyle to Price’s room. This gave him more time with her. She’d been quiet after he offered to show her the library before he watched a small smile push at her perfect mouth. And he thought about it until Price had called them.

But any sort of hope was quietly stuffed away when Price fixed them all with that look that Simon knew well. And maybe he should have been expecting this. Something didn’t feel right. It was too quiet. Simon knew Makarov played the long game. But Laswell had been briefing them about how several more of his caches had been destroyed and more of his men had been killed but Makarov hadn’t been spotted. There was no chatter from him or about him despite Laswell, Farah, and Alex all hunting for him.

Laswell was waiting for them, videoing in on the laptop Price had set up on the small table in his room. Simon stood at the back, letting the others take the chairs closer to the laptop. Price turned toward Laswell, his mouth set in a thin line. “We’re here, Laswell. What do you have for us?”

Laswell sighed. “I found who leaked your location.”

“And?” Johnny said, leaning forward in his seat. He was chomping at the bit to get some sort of revenge. Their families had been targets. No doubt Johnny had wanted to make him feel exactly what his mother had felt. And Simon knew that he hated that she had been hurt. The feeling was mutual.

“He’s dead.”

“What do you mean he’s dead?” The question had an obvious answer but it needed to be asked, if Simon was being honest.

“I don’t know what else you want me to say.” Laswell shook her head. “The man I tracked down when I figured out who leaked where your team was located shot himself.”

Price looked at Simon who looked right back. “Confirmed, then.”

“I was the one who found him, John.” Her breath crackled over the line. “I wouldn’t lie to you.”

No. She wouldn’t. But this still all stank of something he didn’t like.

“I’m still tracking down who he sent his intel to, but I hope to have news for you soon.”

It was someone Laswell had worked with, not necessarily trusted, but relied on in some capacity. That was a betrayal. A deep one. Shit.

The video disconnected soon after and they all seemed to just look at each other. Silently processing what they’d just learned, calculating their next move. What options did they have? Moves to be made. Risks assessed. Before any of them could voice their thoughts, the computer beeped again. Simon watched Price type in a code and then sigh.

“I need a bloody drink.” The captain rose, in search of the morning drink he wanted, and Simon slid into the chair he vacated.

Simon didn’t blame him for wanting a drink. That was an appropriate response. Laswell had sent over a batch of pictures from the leak’s apartment. Probably taken when she’d gone to confront him. He clicked through the pictures, trying to tell himself that this was one loose end tied up in a neat bow. But there was a voice at the back of his head that kept whispering that something wasn’t right. There was more to this than one man’s apparent greed and Makarov playing him for a fool. Simon stopped, pausing on one of the photos of the man, his head back against the edge of his computer chair with blood and bone and brain spattered behind him on the white wall.

Everything on the desk was neatly arranged. Stacked. Organized. Now marred by the mess of his death. And yes, Simon knew death was messy. Could be messy. But people sometimes took care to make sure it wasn’t. And the more he looked at the surrounding room, Simon surmised that this man was a person who would take care to make sure his death wasn’t messy.

It didn’t fit.

The bruising, exit wound, and spatter might match all the hallmarks of a man seeing no other way out after committing treason. But it didn’t fit.

Kyle stepped to his side and bent down, just enough to look at the photos and Simon could see him working through it, too. He knew he would. “Staged. Someone else pulled the trigger. Held the gun beneath his chin while he hoped he could talk his way out of it.”

Simon nodded. Kyle had put the pieces faster than he had, but Simon knew he would.

Johnny was quick to take his place on Simon’s other side, reaching over him to click through a few pictures. “Is Makarov in the States?”

Simon glanced back at the picture before shaking his head. “We would have heard. Laswell wouldn’t’ve let ‘im slip by like that.”

Kyle’s mouth pulled into a thin line as he stood straight, crossing his arms over his chest. “Then there’s another problem.”

Simon almost hated that he was right. All of this just meant it was even more complicated than they had previously thought. And it already was a fucking nightmare. “There’s another person on the inside.”

Kyle grimaced. “Covering their tracks.”

Price walked in, half-empty glass of whisky in his hand and eyed them all. “So you see it, too?”

“Seems like it. Wasn’t acting alone.”

“I have no doubt Laswell saw it, too.” The glass clinked as Price set it down on the window ledge. “But she’s playing it quietly. No confirmation on anything else until she has answers.”

Simon knew that was the wisest way to do this but it still grated at him.

“How high does this go?” Kyle asked. Simon could feel the rage radiating off of him. But he always kept a tighter leash on it than Simon did. It was something Simon respected about him, one of the many, actually. And it was why he trusted him so implicitly in and out of the field.

Johnny frowned and then turned abruptly toward Kyle. “The lass’ flat was untouched, wasn’t it? When ye went to get her stuff?”

Kyle nodded. “Everything seemed fine. Wasn’t exactly looking for cameras though.”

Simon nodded, too. And everything had been in its place. He wondered how long it had taken her to make it feel comfortable. Not home, exactly. But a place she knew she could rest her head, like his flat in Manchester.

“But that bastard knew her name, no? Nearly killed her at the hospital in London. Why would he leave her flat alone?”

Simon chewed on that thought. He did know her name. And while there might be other people with her name but Makarov—or at least one of his men—knew she was American. If they’d taken her purse, it wouldn’t be a stretch to imagine they knew where she lived. But why had her flat been untouched? “Laziness, possibly.”

“And he knew we were hiding her. She wasn’t going home.”

But that small fact was still a glaring part of the picture that someone knew they had been moving her.

“Do we move again?” Johnny asked.

“Moving us now would just confirm that we are here. And if it doesn’t, we are out in the open until we get to the next safehouse.”

“What other options do we have, Captain?” Kyle asked. But Simon didn’t miss the way his eyes went to him first. “She is still an asset and a target. We are still targets and Makarov is in the wind.”

Price leaned forward, mouth pulled into a flat line. “Way I see it, we can move and take our chances or we stay put and get ready.”

They didn’t like running. And the plan had always been to lure Makarov into a trap. Why couldn’t they do that here? And the silent looks between the men seemed to show their quiet agreement.

And then something whispered at the back of Simon’s mind. And then he remembered the curve of her lip. Her smile and the way she simply wanted to see her sister and her baby. “We need to tell her. Get ‘er ready for it.”

Price grimaced but didn’t refute Simon’s logic.

“She deserves to know. She’s in this with us.”

He nodded, but he didn’t look pleased about it. “If you think she can handle it.”

“She will.” Simon had watched her outmaneuver Johnny and fight like hell to live against a trained operative. She could handle a bit of book camp. He knew it.

“And the manager might want to know what’s happening. You seem to know her best, Captain. Want to break the news?” Kyle asked, face straight.

Price sighed.

You were on the last dregs of your matcha when you heard a sharp knock…on the wall. You turned and watched the hidden door open. Simon filled the space, broad shoulders brushing the sides—and no, that didn’t make your mouth water. He wasn’t even wearing any sort of gear, just a hoodie and loose joggers, swapping out the jeans he’d worn to the hospital with you and he looked better than ever. (Shut up!)

“C’mere, yeah?”

You frowned, not expecting the invitation, but stood anyway and let him shuffle you into his room.

It wasn’t that much different than yours. Same color scheme. Same layout. There was just one large, glaring difference. The closet door was open and the entirety was filled with weapons. Mostly guns, but you spied a few knives, too. There were also a few vests, that you surmised were kevlar or something along those lines. It really was a mini arsenal. This hotel kept surprising you.

Gaz and Soap were waiting inside as well and you resisted the urge to think the worst and smiled, feeling it twitch on your face. “Everything okay?” The stretched silence that followed only made your nerves start to fray, like overused yarn.

“Everything’s sorted,” Gaz said, arms folded neatly across his chest. And you wanted to believe him. You did. You could trust him and the others to protect you like they’d done before. But something wasn’t right.

You glanced at Simon, and he was already looking at you over the edge of another surgical mask. Your heart did an embarrassing little leap behind your ribs. And then you looked at Soap. There was a bit of calculation behind those unnervingly blue eyes. “C’mon, Soap. Out with it.”

He smiled, a bit of pink touching his cheeks. But the smile didn’t last long. “We’d like ta teach ye a few things.”

“Things?”

He nodded, overgrown mohawk flopping a bit. “Just in case.”

And those three words had your stomach sinking. “Something happened, didn’t it?”

“It’s just a precaution.”

And that was how you found yourself in the hidden firing range behind another false wall down the hall (apparently you had been right about there being more to your floor than a few rooms on this floor). It was entirely soundproof with a small sparring ring tucked behind it and another wall filled with guns and other weapons. No wonder the manager seemed so sure she could protect you. Kyle was patient as he adjusted your grip on the small handgun he said would be a good fit for you and patient still when your arms shook as you focused on the target. You didn’t like guns. But when he pressed, gently and kindly with hints of his megawatt smile, you promised to keep the gun in the drawer beside your bed. They were doing this to protect you. They liked you at least enough to try and give you a fighting chance. This was a kindness.

Soap was next but didn’t last very long. “Would ye like to learn how to make a bomb? Just a wee one.”

“No, thank you.” Jesus Christ.

To your surprise, Price walked into the large room next and then handed you…a crowbar. He taught you a few moves with it, telling you to aim for the neck if need be. “You might lose a gun, miss a moving target. But you can always hit them with that.” Comforting.

Then, to prove his point he turned and waved over Simon, who had been silently watching along the back wall (not that you were always innately aware of where he was in the room).

“Attack her.” The captain waved a hand at you before clapping Simon on the shoulder.

“Let’s not do that,” you said, words falling out of your mouth before you could think of something else to say.

Simon, however, stepped closer and held his hands up a bit, as if he were making sure you knew he was unarmed. That wasn’t exactly comforting. “I promise I won’t hurt you. I’d never ‘urt ya.” His voice was low, almost a whisper, and you felt every syllable wash over you. He wouldn’t hurt you but he was trusting you to swing at him with a goddamn crowbar. He trusted you. They trusted you.

Straightening your shoulders, you tightened your grip on the crowbar.

And then he moved. No one that big should be able to move that quickly—it didn’t seem fair—and you were flat on your back. You swallowed the lump in your still sore throat as you looked up at him.

“Try again,” Price called out.

So you did. Again and again. You managed to clock Simon in the arm exactly once and earned a round of applause from the other men, all of them decidedly ignoring that you were supposed to be aiming for the neck. Your arms and legs were screaming at you (again) by the time Price called him off.

“Ye did good, bonnie,” Soap said with another smile. “Proud of ye.”

Oh god, you were going to cry. Tears stung and your battered throat ached with the effort to hold them back as you handed the crowbar back to Price with an uneven smile. “Thanks for keeping me alive.”

“Fair play,” Gaz said, clapping you on the shoulder. “Kept Soap alive. Kept us from eating through the house. You’ve been good to us.”

You cleared your throat, trying to swallow down the emotions. They didn’t need to see all that. “Just trying to-”

“Earn your keep?” Price asked, blue eyes near twinkling. “None of tha’. You’ve done more than enough.”

It wasn’t many words but you didn’t think Price was a man who used flowery prose or words to anyone. But that didn’t stop it from meaning the world to you. How many times has someone said you’d done enough? You could probably count them on one hand. So, you simply nodded and murmured, “yeah, sure. Anytime.”

Gaz, Soap, and Price eventually trickled out, leaving you and Simon alone in the large room. “C’mere.”

You walked to his side, a strange jittery exhaustion pulling at the edges of your mind.

“I want to show ya how to get out of a few ‘olds. Yeah?”

Like the guy who’d try to strangle you back at the safehouse. This training made sense—and no matter how well you (didn’t) shoot or swung a crowbar, you felt like this bit was more practical. And you felt safe with Simon. Simon with his dark, warm eyes and rough hands.

He led you through a few grapples and moves to break a stranglehold—he never aggravated your throat, his grip gentle if not bordering on nonexistent. He even muttered something about getting you more cream when you finished.

As strange as it was—he was pretending to strangle you—you never felt unsafe with him. Not when he came up behind you. Not when he charged forward. Not when he bent you across a bench and coached you through how to maneuver around it while your neck was tucked into the corner of his bent elbow. Never.

“You did good. But I want ya to do better, olright?” He asked as you broke another hold.

You nodded and then the broad expanse of his palm was dragging across your throat and he was pushing you back back back until your spine collided with the padded wall behind you. You tried to ignore how your chest brushed his with every breath you took. The attempt flew right out the window when he wedged a firm thigh between yours.

“Remember whot I told ya.”

Right. Focus. You turned in his loose hold and shot your arm up, remembering the move he’d taught you earlier. But he must’ve moved or you did something incredibly wrong (more likely of the two options) because when you turned to drive your arm down, meaning to break his hold, your finger caught on something and it snapped against your palm.

You watched, a little confused, as Simon’s mask dangled uselessly off one of his ears. A scar, old and jagged, stretched from one corner of his mouth up to his ear. Another bisected it on his cheek. More scars twisted across his mouth and down his chin and-

You smacked a hand over your eyes. “Oh my god. I’m so sorry. I-I didn’t mean to. I’m so sorry. I’ll buy you more masks. I-”

A now-familiar hand, gently pried your hand away from your eyes but you still kept them closed. He wore a mask for a reason. You weren’t about to betray him like that, even if it was an accident. You didn’t mean to. You didn’t!

“You can look. ‘S fine.”

“Not fine.” Eyes still closed.

“I’m saying ‘s fine.” But it was the gentle swipe of his thumb against your cheek that had your eyes slowly opening again. He meant it.

You watched, almost transfixed, as Simon reached up and unhooked the other side of the small mask. The simple act had your heart leaping and racing beneath the cage of your ribs. Your fingers shook with every bit of skin now exposed to you. He had scars. Some big, some small. And you had been correct in thinking his nose had been broken before but you liked how it sat, a little crookedly, on his face. His brown eyes didn’t move away from you as he shoved the small mask into his pocket.

Your hand raised and then froze, uselessly hanging in the air between you. It had been a selfish want to touch him. You hadn’t asked and he hadn’t given permission. Shouldn’t it be enough that he trusted you with this?

Before you could apologize or try to covertly play off why your hand was halfway to his face, Simon reached out and his thick, scarred fingers circled your wrist in a gentle grip and he dragged your hand up up up. The tremor in your hand ceased as soon as your fingers brushed against the warm skin of his cheek. Your thumb traced against the scar that cut from the corner of his mouth and up toward his ear. A cruel slash. And he was so handsome.

Your heart ached when you felt him press a little more into the warmth of your palm. His long blond eyelashes fanned against his cheek as his eyes closed. He was so beautiful.

“Simon.” His name was a prayer. A promise.

He moved closer, the heat of his body bleeding across yours.

And then his mouth brushed yours. It wasn’t a true kiss. Not yet. Just his lips, scarred and cold, against yours. But you kissed him, pressing your lips against his with an embarrassing insistence that you couldn’t stop. But the embarrassment did not get a chance to fester, not with how his large hands framed your face and you could feel him smile.

“Olright?” He murmured as he pulled back the slightest bit, letting his large hands smooth lightly down the sides of your neck to rest over your shoulders, warm and heavy.

Your heart fluttered. He cared. “Yeah. This is good. Y-you’re good.”

His thumb and finger hooked your chin and he tilted your face toward his again.

Next Chapter

A/N: Thanks, again, for reading! Your comments mean the world to me and really keep me motivated.

[arthursknight]

it's a word that inspires more boredom than fear when you're made out of its ingredients, merlin supposes. curse.

men, grown and brutal, tremble at the mention of it. women avert their eyes and murmur apologies to keep it tamed and away, somewhere far from their hearths and doorsteps. kids are taught that jokes are not to be made in its name, and everyone in camelot-- and, by extension, merlin supposes everywhere the sun can reach-- has been taught, from the first crying breath, that magic lurks somewhere behind a shadow ready to catch its claws around your throat and curse you.

arthur is one of those kids, merlin supposes, where the lesson didn't truly land. he's been known to wiggle his fingers at a young knight who lands a lucky blow during training, cock an eyebrow and say in a voice that echoes too much of uther, "you didn't curse me, did you?"

it's funny, merlin can admit, the way their cheeks always stain tomato red as they stammer to prove they're not, you know, ensorcelling the future king by managing to best his parry for once. half the time, merlin knows from the sidelines, arthur lets them, even if he won't admit to it.

but it's arthur's joke to him, too. "i must have gotten cursed," he'll say when merlin's a few minutes behind bringing him his morning bread, "to have been saddled with someone so incapable of being able to tell time. we do have clocks in this kingdom, still, do we not, merlin? or has my father passed ordinances while i've been out hunting again?"

or, when merlin stumbles and spills the last of the wine arthur's been nursing from the skein on his way to try and put it back where arthur can no longer reach it, arthur will moan into his furs, "you can't be serious. is this some d-- devil-- devil--"

"devillry?"

"yes. are you-- 's trying to curse me?"

"by preventing your royal grumpiness come morning?" merlin quips. "nothing gets past you."

it's funny.

arthur can't know the half of it. arthur doesn't know what it's like to live with a curse (and will never, so long as merlin lives and walks this earth beside him, and there's a part of merlin that knows, terrified and ancient in his core, that that will be longer than any man may ever know). arthur doesn't know what it's like to wake every day, live a life that can never be honest, fall asleep listening to the earth calling his name and begging him to embrace his power only to wake up and ignore it with all his might. and-- gods. sure, that's fine. he can mope about the magic all he wants, he'll pencil it in. but-- it's this curse, right. the one where merlin can nod off during an important meeting of some sort or another and look up, only to find arthur secretly laughing at him, smile uninhibited, and his heart will turn to ember. or the one where arthur will already be up and at 'em come morning, somehow wired on energy from a brilliant idea or a new training exercise or just a good night's sleep, for once, and when merlin comes in the door, he'll sling his arm around him and say, "right, so now that you're *here*--," and he'll smell like forest and mulling spice and merlin's skin will sting electric. this curse. the one of arthur's wink across a fire in some woods near the edge of their land, on the precipice of danger, some joke merlin must not get. the one of his smile, bright and wide in the summer sun, women swooning on the side as merlin grumbles about being with an arrogant sod to cover his racing heart. this one isn't very funny at all, is it. and it's one he is sure he'll live alone with, as his other one. pencil this one in, too, beside saving arthur's sorry behind one more extra time this week and the errands he needs to run for gaius. nightmare about magic destiny, then washing up before going to clean the stables, then watching practice, then pining over the crown prince in a way that is horrific, then probably some sort of nonsense beast from a neighbouring kingdom. he'll have time enough. but it's one night of the same-- same as it always is, arthur making some quips, when he presses on the bruise a little too hard. something about how he wishes he could lift himself of the curse merlin brings to him during one of their rare late night card games. "right, well," merlin says, tired and empty from it like he sometimes gets, "i'll take my leave." they haven't finished. "we haven't finished," arthur laughs, confused, looking suddenly boyish. fuck. "wouldn't want to bring you even more bad luck," merlin forces. "curse and all." he doesn't know why it's hitting him so hard tonight when he's normally able to stomach it. maybe it's the weather, the heat. maybe it's the exhaustion. "you-- merlin, i wasn't being serious." "yes, well, it's not-- not a very funny joke, is it." christ. merlin has to steady himself by fiddling with his tunic so he can get his head back on. arthur tilts his head, then. it has been a long day-- a long week-- a long month. this has been a rare moment of reprieve, just the two of them, and merlin's gone and blown it with his cursed emotions. "merlin," arthur says, stern, but when merlin looks at him, it is not the hardened gaze of a bloodhungry father. it's calculating, soft, steady. "do not make me admit to you how much of an honour it is to have you at my side." the air leaves the room, a sudden whoosh. merlin catches himself before he does something stupid and makes the cards explode by sheer force of emotion or something. "oh," he says, a half laugh. "well--" "sit down," arthur huffs, "before i curse you." he already has, merlin knows. and he will, again and again. and merlin, damn him-- merlin will let him.

[writingouthere]

friendswithbenefits!Sukuna x reader

You go on a date with Yuuji's colleague from work and he's nice but you can't stop thinking of Sukuna, your 'friend' with benefits who has made it clear to you that the two of you are not in a relationship.

cw: possessive behavior, smut

"So then the kid and his friends tried to say that there must just be a fire somewhere."

You snort. "And what the fire just happened to smell like weed?"

You both laugh and you take another sip of your drink. It's a little milder than you usually like, but it's growing on you, kind of like your date.

His name is Yuuta and he's a teacher at the same school as Yuuji. He's cute, not much older than you and he's been polite to every member of staff you've encountered at this restaurant tonight. He teaches history to some of the older grades and it's clear he's passionate about what he does. He's spent the past half hour telling you funny stories about the kids he teaches and stories about his co-workers that have you almost choking on your drink. You've heard about a lot of the same staff members from Yuuji so they feel familiar, like you know them, even the ones you haven't actually met yet.

"Sorry, I think I've been going on for a while. I tend to ramble when I get nervous." He scratches the back of his head, the gesture self deprecating, but so charming, and you hate the guilt you feel at being charmed by it.

"I like your rambling, it's cute," you tell him and you find yourself fond of the way he blushes in response.

It's been a long time since you went on on a real date and you've missed the ritual of it. The typical questions and nerves are as banal as ever, but there were the good parts too.

The excitement of getting to know a new person, the way that over the course of the night you imagine how your life may fit with theirs. Which friends could you see them getting along with? Did he keep his apartment clean? How would he kiss you at the end of the night.

A look at his mouth had you thinking he had to be a great kisser.

"What about you? Any crazy co-workers?"

The rest of the night goes smoothly. The food is good, the drinks were lovely, he cuts himself off after his second.

Responsible. Kind. Funny.

He was everything you were looking for and yet.

And yet.

Sometimes when he laughs, you think about another man's laugh. One that's less kind, louder, and so expressive it takes over his whole face when he lets it out.

When Yuuta helps you with your coat, you can't help but imagine his face twisting up in derision at the sight.

What? Forget how to use your arms, princess?

Yuuta and you are talking about a movie you'd both seen recently and liked, and he's so perfect. But he's not yours.

"I had a great time, tonight." You both are taking the same subway home, but your stop comes up first. Your train car is empty and when Yuuta leans in to kiss you, you let him.

It's chaste, sweet and not what you're looking for tonight. The knowing smile he wears when he pulls away tells you he knows it too.

"I had a great time too, text me when you get home?" Your rejection, even an unsaid one, does nothing to change his temper towards you. It's almost a shame, you'd kind of like to see what he could be like with a little more of a spark to him.

"I will!"

You wave and step off the platform and walk home to your apartment. He'd sent you a text checking in earlier but you hadn't answered yet He hadn't sent a follow up, probably distracted. He'd gone out with Megumi and some guys from gym he trained at. He was probably well on his way to being throroughly trashed.

You turn your key in the lock and open the door to your apartment. It's dark and cold. You don't really want to spend the rest of your night alone with your thoughts. You shut the door, lock it and take out your phone. You think about sending a text to Yuuji to see where he is but then change your mind. You don't necessarily feel like sitting a sports bar on a Friday night listening to a bunch of gymbros talk about macros or their upper body circuit.

You could try texting one of your girlfriends, but then you'd have to actually have a meaningful conversation and your brain was one sharp tug away from unraveling.

You bite your lip. There was someone you'd like to see.

"This is a bad idea." You look down at your shoes. "Such a bad idea."

You find yourself outside of bad idea's apartment and your hand is knocking before you can second guess yourself.

The door swings open with your fist still poised to knock again.

"So the date didn't go too well then?"

You bring your arm down, fist still clenched. You had to at least give it to Sukuna, he was fucking consistent. He leaned against the doorway, looking comfortable with how the position allowed him to leer over you and with his choice of casual attire.

He was wearing an old tank top and sweats that looked like they were one wash away from just disintegrating. They did nothing to hide anything and you hated how you couldn't stop your gaze from going down.

"It was a nice date, actually." He hummed and looked over his nails, as if checking his cuticles.

"There's that word again." Sukuna still wasn't looking at you but his smugness filled the air like a pipe had burst that housed particularly toxic fumes. "If he was so nice," the sound came out like a hiss, "then why are you here?"

You didn't answer and when it was clear you weren't going to, Sukuna finally looked up at you.

"I'll tell you why you're here, you know, if you're curious." He stood up to his full height and grabbed your arm, pulling you close to him. When you were right next to each other, he grabbed your chin, pulling you up as he bent down so you were face to face.

His breath smelled like the ginger tea he always had before bed. It was spicy, familiar, it made your hands clench with the urge to hold him.

"You're here because that nice boy wasn't going to fuck you right and that's what you want isn't it," his hand cupped your face, his breath warm on your cheek as he cursed in your ear, "to get fucked?"

You couldn't help yourself from shivering and you nodded as he began to press kisses down your neck. Pulling down the neckline of your dress, probably stretching it, ruining it, and you don't even care, you just want his hands on you.

"Use your words, baby. Tell me is that why you came here? You needed to get fucked right and you knew that I was the only one who could do that for you, isn't that right?" He ends his words with a bite to your collarbone that stops your legs from working right.

You wrap your arms around his neck, your hands going into his soft hair that you know he uses conditioner on and you hate how just the smell of him sends a pulse to your core. That the familiarness of him is just as sexy as his words.

Something about the feel of him in your hands, his words in your ears, his teeth against your neck, it's the same dance you two have done dozens of times and it just keeps getting better. How are you supposed to be satisfied with someone else and when no one else has ever touched you like this, like they know every place that makes you weak, like they were put on this earth just to unmake you?

"Tell me," his words are more urgent now but he doesn't wait for you to answer, pulling you into his apartment and pushing you up against the door after he slams it so hard you're worried the hinges may have snapped. "Tell me, tell me princess. Tell me I'm the only one who can get you like this, the only one who can see you like this."

It's too possessive, too overwhelming. If your mind was still in working order, you may point out these are claims too heavy for a casual hookup. That he was not your boyfriend, or your husband, or anything to you and yet you found yourself nodding anyway.

"Just you, just you Sukuna." For a second he almost seems to freeze and you worry that you said something wrong despite him starting this. That worry is ripped from you when he smashes his mouth to yours, the force of it almost painful. It's an abrupt departure from the other kiss you'd gotten tonight and you wonder if the taste of another man on you fuels him as he starts to pull at your clothes.

You're both barely undressed, only removing what needs to be removed to get him inside you, when he presses his cock against your cunt. It's so hot and you'll never get over how good he fills you, how right it feels when he's inside you and Sukuna finally lets go of your mouth when you let out a moan you're sure they can hear in the hallway. You can feel his grin against your throat and you don't even mind as he settles in you, making you almost uncomfortably full.

"S-Sukuna!"

"Yeah, does that feel good? Like how my cock feels in you?" You don't answer him, not really capable of speech. He hums and pulls out of you just enough for you to feel it when he thrusts back in. You've fucked countless times, it's not even your first time fucking against the front door, which should embarrass you a little more, but something feels different.

Something feels different as Sukuna proceeds to fuck you hard, but somehow gentle, the beat between each thrust calculated for you to get overwhelmed by the feel of him to the point of it being too much just for him to pull away from you, but never fully leave you.

The kisses you exchange are sloppy, more a pressing of mouths together than real kissing and yet it's perfect and he's perfect and you could have tried this with the nice young man you'd gone on a date with tonight, who you're currently forgetting the name of, but what was the point? How could you try and find anyone to take Sukuna's place when he had carved it out himself inside you.

After you've both cum and you feel too tired to even attempt to collect your clothing or your dignity so you can leave, Sukuna lifts you up and carries you to his bedroom. The routine the two of you had previously established was off and you weren't sure what to do about it. You tried not to think about it as he carried you to the bathroom and cleaned you off or as he pulled an old t-shirt over your head. You tried not to think about it even more when he tucked you into bed.

He slid into the bed behind you and pulled you into his arms and you weren't sure how much more you could take before you could ignore it anymore.

He pressed his lips against the back of your neck, his arms tight around you. "Don't do that again."

"Dm mat?" Your words are muddled by sleepiness and the comforter that smells like him that you've pressed to your face.

"Don't go on dates with other guys."

It's not fair, he couldn't ask that of you and you shouldn't let him.

You grab his hands in yours and thread your fingers through them.

"In the morning."

You'll talk about this in the morning, about how you need boundaries and space and maybe this arrangement needs to end. Sukuna hums and presses closer to you, you can feel his lips in your hair.

The both of you can get on the same page in the morning.

Just a little something. Maybe this is a series now? Does the tense change partway through, yes. Does it change in fact multiple times, yes. Idk.