#which is actually not too far apart not gonna lie

[clone-futon]

This is how I ship them no need to put words in my mouth tyvm

Happy new year btw

[sheepispink]

The Perfect Pair

Masterlist AO3

WC: 7.6k Tags: fluff, marriage of convenience, leon kennedy/ reader

Summary: Leon can barely hold himself upright most days and you've finally decided to ditch the DSO life in pursuit of happiness. However, that'd mean leaving all those beautiful tax benefits and medical insurance behind. Turns out Leon and Chris are pretty persuasive, landing you as Leon's 'wife' but you cant help but start to feel something more, unaware that Leon's already set his eyes on you for life.

It’d been a long day at work, the usual really— Chris had roped him into dealing with another bioweapon appearance, thus leading him to take a helicopter to some trashy place, locating the bioweapon, and promptly knocking its freaky nature out of action. Now he lugged his weary feet home to the apartment you shared, his stomach craving a taste of something only your skilled hands would prepare for him. After a short elevator trip that thankfully alleviated the ache of his feet for a moment, he reached the front door and, with a quick fumble with the keys he had inserted the right one inside, opening the door.

“I’m home.” He calls out, his raspy voice filling the silent yet serene space before him. He somehow grew used to this; the sight of two sets of keys on the hook, the vast difference in style as he places his shoes on the rack, and the two coats on the bannister, one far smaller than the other. “Smells good..” He mumbles beneath his breath, making his way towards the kitchen where you stand, back facing him as you work your hands through a ball of minced meat.

“Welcome home.” You turn to meet his hungry gaze with your typical warm smile, heart warming at the exhausted look on his face and even more so that he’d soon find relief in the food you had made.

“You’re lucky, we had just enough mince meat in the freezer for your favourite beef burgers.” That was a lie. You had woken up early this morning and decided he had looked far too tired recently, and it’d been far too long since he’d had his favourite meal. So, as any good wife does, you wanted to make him feel better and took to the nearest supermarket, picking up all the ingredients you needed and some for a tasty dessert too. He always denied that he enjoyed sweet treats, but he would always be the first to finish them, whether it was a sweet chocolate mousse or a tasty doughnut you picked up on the way home.

He chuckles, his hand disappearing into his work jacket as he slips off the leather and lays it on the back of a wooden chair. It then migrates to his collar, tugging on it to alleviate the heat through his body, which is proven by the thin layer of sweat covering his limbs.

“Oh? Thanks, I was sure you finished it last week when you gave Kitty a gourmet meal for once.”

This home wouldn’t be complete without its resident cat, a Siamese fur ball that Leon graciously named ‘Kitty’ though he has no doubt referred to it with a million different names anyway.

“I guess I must've missed a bit. I really treated her for nothing.” While he was smirking, your mind was far from the lightheartedness of this conversation, currently panicking over his words. He had seriously caught you out there; of course you finished the mince, last week but was he actually accusing you of lying or worse—did he know? As you let out an awkward chuckle, he speaks up again, undoing his belt with one hand as his other grabs a glass from the shelf to fill with water. “I’m not complaining though; they really are my favourites for a reason.” He drinks down the glass of water in one swig, letting out a satisfied breath before rolling his shoulders back. “I’m gonna take a quick shower—I don't want to drown your nose with my sweat.” He chuckles again, finally leaving you alone in the kitchen again as he takes his path up the stairs to your shared bedroom.

To say your relationship with him was complicated was a massive understatement; it was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions, feelings that felt illicit, and signals that were impossible to decipher. Well, for you it felt like this—you’re not so sure about him. In fact, for someone who sleeps beside him nearly everyday, cooks him meals, eats dinner with him, and even drops off his lunch, you barely knew anything about the man.

This all began when you decided to quit the DSO, finally having enough money to move to a more peaceful job with flexible hours and still end up supporting yourself. You had only worked in communications at the DSO, but that was still a pain in itself. Before you left, they had an informal work dinner. A bunch of agents and other workers came along to a diner for some food before heading to mess around at a karaoke place before the weekend hit. With so many people around, it grew far too hot too quickly, and you soon wandered the halls seeking a breath of fresh air before you heard your name called by an agent. The voice belonged to Chris Redfield–your superior—who was beckoning you to come over, cigarette in hand, to where he stood with Leon right beside him. They were both your superiors in the work field but were perceived as far more important due to the missions they accomplished and lives they saved.

“Yes..?”

You were more confused than scared or anything of the like—why did they even want to talk to you? It’s not like you often saw them. Even so, you walked over to them, trying to reduce the awkwardness when you slipped your hands into the pockets of your jacket, tilting your head slightly.

“You’re gonna leave soon, right?” Leon asks, taking a swig of the golden whisky in his glass whilst Chris blows another puff of smoke off to the side.

“Yeah, I wanted to move onto a different job, a quieter one that isn't so taxing.” You shrug, having only thought out a bit of it so far.

Chris and Leon shared a glance at each other before Leon spoke once more, rolling back his shoulders a little. “You see, I have a bit of a predicament, and Chris thought you could help.”

Before you know it, he’s explaining how busy his work is and that he barely gets home in time for a sip of water before he knocks out, and you’re not really sure how this is your problem until Chris butts in.

“So basically, he needs a wife. You, on the other hand, won't have any of the perks of the DSO since you’re leaving, which includes medical insurance, tax benefits..” He trailed off as you started to ponder it, you really would lose a lot of the things you had grown to exist around. It would be very difficult to manage, and you can't say you’d miss a lot of those perks greatly. The two men give each other a glance as you speak up, nodding along. “You’re right, I will miss out a lot, but I really don't want to stay here longer..” Before Leon can even try and slide it in, Chris has already blurted it out.

“Well, you won't lose anything if you marry him.”

So, after a bunch of awkward talks and surviving interrogations from your coworkers, you ended up with a small wedding, which was mainly done to please your own parents rather than yourselves. Now you’re here, almost a year into this non formal contractual marriage, and your feelings are muddled. Very muddled. It’s hard to not catch feelings when you’re somewhat of a hopeless romantic yourself, or maybe the teenage girl mentality came back full force now you have a lot more free time. You owed him a fair amount to be fair—he didn’t realise how stress-free your life was these days. Wake up, eat a healthy breakfast, maybe watch some television too, head down to the small little bakery you own and teach the part time teenager there before wrapping up at four o'clock and heading home again. Your skin had cleared up, you were actually able to sleep in on the weekends and actually do whatever you want— pick up new hobbies, eat proper meals, and read books to your heart's content.

What you’ve concluded is that your life has drastically improved and you are more relaxed than you’ve ever been. The problem with that is that with the new addition of all this free time and air to breathe in, you’re able to actually think about the man you’ve married. In simpler terms that you tried to deny for a year now, you’ve caught feelings—a lot of feelings for him. That’s why you’re currently stuck in a conundrum; you’re technically allowed to pursue said feelings, as you’re married and no longer ‘colleagues’ needing to act professionally, but does he want the same?

The pan starts to sizzle, snapping you out of your daydreaming as you place the flattened patty into the oil, lightly frying each side. Being his wife meant looking after him as much as he did to you, so cooking was often your chore to handle. Even though you were more than happy to do most of the chores, he’d still help with the dishes after dinner and often cooked when he could—when he was exhausted from another mission. Plus, he did his own laundry. He would’ve done yours too, though after the first time he tried, your cheeks had flushed immediately when he handed you a pile of your freshly washed underwear and t-shirts, and you quickly told him you’d do your own.

The staircase groans as he steps down the stairs, his movements a lot slower now that he had let the tension ease from his muscles in the shower. So far, you’ve managed to cook four patties, which was more than enough to satisfy his stomach and yours. But you had an extra two for his lunch tomorrow and because he tended to have a third burger “just because it’d be a shame to let it go to waste.That’s when you hear him curse softly under his breath, turning back to glance at him in confusion. “What’s wrong?” His hair is damp, still dripping with water onto the white tee he wears. It’s loose and the one you bought him last month when you went on a shopping spree. You try to ignore the way your eyes naturally drift towards his chest; a small sliver of his pale skin peeks out where his hand disappears under his shirt, rubbing his abdomen in a strange way. “Did you get hurt?” You continue, turning down the heat on the hob so you can turn to face him better.

“Oh? This?”

He lifts the shirt a little, revealing the bruise on his right side of his stomach, and also gives you a perfect view of his toned abs. Damn. “It’s not as bad as it looks..” He mumbles, but his eyebrows are still knitted in a frowning gesture. “I’m annoyed because I missed an opportunity..”

That makes you blink, wondering what he could’ve missed in the time he went for his shower and came back here. Did he get a phone call? Or perhaps something happened this week you hadn't picked up on?

“An opportunity?”

“Yeah. I completely missed the chance to ask you, ‘What's cookin, Good Lookin?’. Damnit..”

Did the corniest line to ever exist really just make your chest tighten for a second?

You can’t deny the fact that the line itself had made your lips part as you stood there dumbfounded. Leon had a history with corny one-liners; in fact, whenever his colleagues happened to see you, they’d always mention whatever stupid thing he said during a mission. He’d say it to you occasionally too, usually random puns that he’d quietly snicker about, but he’d never quite openly flirt with you like that. Was it supposed to be a joke? Was it real? You couldn't tell, and so you quickly turned back around before your patties ended up burnt.

“O-of course only you would worry more about that than your own injuries.” His snickering is obvious behind you as you place the cooked patties onto a small plate. “Stop pestering me and go sit down at the table.” You feign annoyance, grumbling as you hide the furious flush of pink upon your cheeks. Unfortunately for you, he didn’t intend to give up that easily, walking up behind you and peering over your shoulder with his hands planted on the counter on either side of your waist.

“That was a good one, c’mon.” He argues, the most exaggerated pout on his face quickly disappearing when he watches the burgers sizzle in the pan. He loves your food so damn much.

“That was not a good one, shoo.”

Thankfully, he ends up leaving you alone in favour of Kitty, who had just woken up from her nap— eager to play with him even if it just means chasing after a wrapper he had thrown across the room. You place down two plates at the table, as per usual, along with a plate full of salad, a bowl of fresh chips you fried, and the small plate of patties— six to be exact. Then, you place down the two fancy glasses you bought last week and grab your usual favourite canned drink while grabbing a Coke Zero for him. Finally, you place Kitty’s dinner on the floor which she runs over for, immediately gobbling up the food. “She’s just like you.” You giggle, watching as she hungrily wolfs down the food, thus making him groan in return. “I do not eat like that.”

Dinner is the same. You’ll ask about his day in which he usually retorts in grunts and moans about the government, incompetent workers, and that woman.. Ada. Just the mention of her name used to make him go quiet back when you worked at the DSO, and even in the first few months of your “marriage”, he would shrug off the subject quickly. Now he talks about it here and there, mentioning how she suddenly appears and always seems to know his location. For some reason, it puts a sick feeling in your stomach, like someone is dragging their nails across the flesh of your insides.

“Ada.. was there. Ever since I saved the president’s daughter, it’s like she’s followed me everywhere. She helps me.. but then she claims to not care..?”

His words stopped registering in your mind after a while as your teeth grit against each other and you absentmindedly dipped your chip into ketchup over and over again. You can’t believe he could be so naive. She had played him once in Raccoon City, faking her identity and using him to her advantage. The same played out in Spain even if she ‘saved’ him. You didn't care about her damn motives; she worked for the enemy, and it irked you—she just used whatever she could to gain her benefit, and it seemed like no one could stop her.

“Earth to my beautiful wife, hello?” He waved his hand in front of your furrowed eyebrows and the obvious scowl upon your face. “You look like you just ate something you find disgusting. I thought you liked this too.”

You immediately realise you had zoned out, your face shifting to something sheepish before you finally stick the ketchup-soaked chip into your mouth. You didn't even get a chance to process what he just called you.

“No, it’s not the food; I was just thinking. Sorry, it’s nothing.”

That only serves to make him all the more curious, though he doesn't push it, instead continuing his story. “Where was I? Oh, right, then Ada shot—” He cuts himself off as your eyes immediately narrow, and you lower your head, picking with your food again subconsciously. It doesn’t take much to piece the clues together, his lips twitching upwards as a smile threatens to spread. Though he wants to test his suspicions one more time.

“Wanna hear something crazy? Ada tried to kiss me again.”

“What?!” You immediately sit up straight, the scowl returning just as fast and teeth grit, but it quickly softens when you see the smirk on his face.

“I knew it. You hate her, don’t you?” Leon always saw right through you, thankfully not with your growing feelings yet, and it made it all the harder to keep his marriage… Well, just as a contract.

“Fine, maybe I don’t like her. So what? She’s not exactly the most moral person.” You say, shrugging your shoulders nonchalantly as you take a bite out of your burger and chew it down. “She helps Umbrella, can you really blame me?” That only makes his lips twitch again, and he leans his elbows on the table, eyes trained on every feature of your face.

“Are you jealous of her?” That almost makes you choke on the burger, and you have to take a large gulp of your drink to swallow down the rest of the food, your face immediately pinkening. It can’t be possible—there’s no way you’re jealous of that cunning, manipulative, hot, extremely hot woman. How did she even look that good?

“Ha— she should be jealous of me.” You scoff boldly, finishing the last of your burger soon after.

“Oh, and why’s that? Because you’re the one wedded to me?

A moment earlier, your heart would’ve described his face as a perfectly carved sculpture, the ones that people bid thousands to place in their homes because not showing off such a perfect creation would be a crime. Right now, he wore a sly grin with his eyebrows raised as he eyed you suggestively.

And that look was very punchable.

“Because I'm living the dream. I’ve got a bakery, a ton of free time, and I guess you’re there too, I suppose.”

With a roll of your eyes, you dismiss his words quickly, even though the faintest blush on your cheeks betrays your true thoughts. What if you said yes? What happens then?

“I should’ve known you wouldn’t give me that satisfaction.” He feigns a pout before his grin returns as he takes a massive bite into his second burger of the night. Of course, he just has to make an exaggerated moan, one elbow leaning on the table as the other covers his face dramatically.

“This is heavenly, you know? One day I swear I'll start dreaming about these burgers.”

There he goes again, babbling on about Lord knows what and his corny lines again. You can't help but flash a small cheeky smile, winking as you pour yourself a glass of water from the pitcher.

“Another reason for her to be jealous of me.”

Once the dinner has been packed away by his speedy hands, he’s returned to make the couch his home again, stretching his whole body against the length of it like a cat would. You’re placing the dishes into your dishwasher before inserting a tablet and putting it on for three hours. As you walk over to wipe down the table, you notice his eyes have fluttered close as he groans and gets comfortable on the cushions. You can't say you didn't feel a tinge of affection—well, much more than that, like a heap almost—every time he crashed out like this, completely exhausted from a mission. “Weekend tomorrow..” You remind him with a gentle hum, swiftly removing any stray stains off the table. “Don’t you want to have a good sleep, y'know, in bed?”

He lets out a muffled grumble in response, burying his face into the cushions before he reluctantly sits up, making you smile a little more—you’d scold him regularly about lying down after eating. “What movie d’ya wanna watch?” He says even if he would usually wander his way to the bedroom after you said that. It’s been at least a month since you had been together like this to watch a movie. A lot had changed in that month, specifically your growing feelings for him. Perhaps distance really does bring fondness, you think.

“I don’t mind; you like action, no?” You finish wiping down the dirt from dinner to glance over whatever he’s doing on the television, only to find him flicking through your favourite genre of movies. Shoving down the warmth on your cheeks is near impossible as you speed walk back to the kitchen. Were these signs? Were you reading too much into it? Your teeth graze against each other nervously as you look up to see him waiting expectantly on the couch for you to join him. What the hell is happening right now? He had always gone to bed immediately or scrolled through his phone for a while— so what’s with the sudden change?

Moments later you’re sitting beside him on the couch, knees tucked to your chest as he presses play on the movie he picked—the one you had mentioned you wanted to watch when it first got announced that it was in production. Despite your excitement, you could hardly concentrate on the movie when he was practically centimetres from you. He was leaning back against the cushions, one arm resting around the back of the couch where you sat and the other comfortably against the armrest. If you had just moved your head back slightly, you would brush against his arm. If you did that, would he wrap it around your shoulders? Just the thought makes you shudder a little, your chin moving forward to sit comfortably on your knees. It was like you were a teenage girl again, sitting in the movies with your crush while you wondered if he thought of you as a friend or something more. You couldn't even believe you were acting like this—hell the two of you were married legally, not to mention you were both grown adults! Who cares if he had just stretched out his arms, his shirt riding up, and you could see the scars on his stomach? Your breath hitching when he had shuffled up to you was completely unnecessary; the warmth radiating off of him was irrelevant, no matter if the characters were kissing on the screen right now. You practically jump when he pokes your shoulder with his hand, your head snapping to him instantly, and you can barely even form a noise when you see how close his face is to yours. His eyes had to be one of your favourite things about him, or was it the messy mop of dirty blond hair on his head? It could even be the sharpness of his jawline, the lines of wear beneath his eyes, how perfectly his nose seemed to be carved, or perhaps, crazily enough, the way his voice rang out in your ears in the mornings.

“Do we have any dessert? I’m craving something sweet.”

Every step back into the kitchen is like torture from how hot your cheeks are, the cold fridge air doing nothing to soothe the embarrassment as you grab the microwave puddings you had bought today. You can't believe you had been so flustered by the proximity that all that had escaped you was a strangled noise before you just hurriedly nodded and escaped to the kitchen. Those five seconds between the poke and his words felt like a millennia— an incredibly romantically tense millennia— where for those whole five seconds, you stupidly thought he’d kiss you right then and there. You fan yourself as if that’ll soothe the metaphoric rush of warmth in your face right now, incredibly embarrassed by your own thoughts and desires. When you sit back down again, you quickly hand him the hot pudding and sit further away from him this time. If you even felt that again, you felt like you’d simply explode altogether.

Unbeknownst to you, he was now wondering if you were annoyed that he had interrupted, and he frowned as he glanced down at the plate with just a singular spoon. Weren’t you going to eat too? Not to mention, you were all stiff and sitting further from him than before—now you’re really twisting the knife in his heart. First he had agitated you by teasing you about Ada, then he laid on the couch right after dinner like you always told him not to do, and now you even refused to eat dessert! Maybe he isn't putting enough effort into all of this as he originally thought. After all, you did a lot to run a bakery in town and still cook, clean, and look after his cat. So, he decides to take a shot and scoops up a particularly chocolatey part of the pudding, the part he always eats first, and holds the spoon up to your lips.

“I know you’re mad, but you can't deny this.” He plasters his typical boyish grin, nudging your lips with the metal of the spoon. But he’s caught off guard when you pull back in surprise, waving your hands around frantically in denial. “H-huh? I ate a lot of sweet things today already—”

“Shut up. Don’t you dare even say you’re on a diet either; you’re perfect already.”

He pushes the spoon against your lips which you accidentally part in surprise at his words, the warm chocolate filling your mouth immediately like an instant boost of serotonin.

“See, it's good, told ya.” He says smugly as you swallow down the tasty pudding and sauce. That’s only for a moment before he notices the smudge of chocolate around your lips from his struggle, casually wiping away the crumbs with his thumb before licking it.

He had just wiped the crumbs.

He wiped it from your lips.

He wiped it and then licked it off his hand.

He didn't even think twice.

“I-its not bad-” That was all you could mutter out before he committed the crime, and now you were left dumbstruck as you watched him casually lick his thumb and then take another spoon of the dessert—the same spoon you just ate from. He leans back against the couch again, about to shove another in your mouth once he gets comfortable enough, though he quickly realises that you still haven’t spoken since. “You can’t still be mad; I’ll shove another one in your mouth, you know—” At that, you know you’re sure to blurt out the truth, and you scramble up, about to make an excuse about needing a glass of water, before your wrist is caught in his hand, and you’re promptly pulled back against the couch again.

“Hm? Where are you going, pink cheeks?”

He says it teasingly, instantly making you flush all the more. You couldn’t understand how anyone could even be so casual about these things, not that you had little experience in the area, but seriously— he had literally just licked the chocolate on your face. That was an indirect kiss!

“Do you do this with all your friends?” The frown on your face is suddenly a little harsher, accusing, and suddenly there's a hint of betrayal. That only serves to confuse him more, you’ve been acting off for a while now, had he cheated in his sleep or something? “What? You’re not my friend, though? That's not comparable.”

He doesn't even see you as a friend? You can't help the way your heart drops in a way you’ve never felt before in your life; it almost hurts the way he can just so easily dismiss you after all the time you’ve spent together—contractual or not. “I- I see how it is..”

“See how what is? You’re not making much sense.” His eyes narrow as you suddenly turn your head away from him, arms crossing firmly on your chest, but what doesn’t escape him is the sudden daze in your eyes. Gently, his hand grabs your chin, squashing your cheeks as he forces you to face him, and his mind instantly clicks all the pieces together.

“.. (Name).” He says firmly, making you let out a small hum in acknowledgement, unaware of the way your eyes are suddenly a lot wetter than they had been before.

“What did you drink earlier?”

“What? All I drank was water, mostly.”

“What about when I told you about Ada, was that water?” Your eyebrows furrow as you hear him repeat her name again, immediately growing more frustrated. “What about her now?”

He lets out a heavy sigh, wrapping a firm arm around your shoulders before he forces you to settle against the couch against him. “You drank some of my drink, didn't you? You were way too annoyed to even notice the whiskey I mixed in.”

The thought immediately clicks into your head; everything is suddenly a lot clearer now, even though you still weren't quite sober yet. Plus, you were pretty much a lightweight when it came to his strong stuff. It perfectly explained the warmth spreading through your chest, the uncoordinated actions, and the way nothing seemed to follow the way your head wanted it to. “S-still, you said I’m not even your friend.” Gently, his thumb rubs the tears that have formed in your eyes and tucks you close into him with his arm snugly around you. Just in case you decide to face plant off the couch as you seemed to want to do before. “You’re not my friend; you’re my wife. Who else would I treat like that?”

“I’m not your real wife though.” You slowly look up at him, turning your head, so your glossy eyes can stare up into his, searching for the right answer— the truth.

“Those papers seem pretty real to me. The way I feel is also pretty real to me.”

He grins at you like he hadn't doubted that fact for a second, and he hadn't, not since you both had signed and received the certificate, one he sometimes sneaks a small fond peek at whilst you’re sleeping. Not that he’d tell you, at least not yet.

“But— I’m not your wife; that’s my title, but I don't act like that.”

“So? I still love you as anyone would with their wife; do you really think I wouldn't fall for you? You’re even more perfect than I imagined.”

You’re momentarily stunned into silence, not quite expecting that but still not believing it quickly, your tipsy mind making you say things that you never would before.

“That's because I do everything for you— not that I mind b-but, I just act like a good partner. You don't feel romantically for me.” You huff, your teeth gritting together as you pettily narrow your eyes at him. What you hadn't considered is that he’d tuck your hair behind your ears, carefully pull you into his lap, and take one of your hands in his. He fondles your hand beneath his, his thumb rubbing gently over the skin before he brings it up to rest on his cheek, smiling fondly at you.

“I’ve been busy, I know. It’s quite hard having an agent as a partner, no? I already regret all the love I've lacked to give you.” This time, you’re positive that your cheeks are reacting to him, breath hiccuping when he turns his face in your grasp. His lips press a kiss to the palm of your hand before intertwining that hand with his and holding it against his heart.

“You just had to go get tipsy, didn't you?” The warmth of his hand on yours as he squeezes it gently is like a drug, one that squeezes your heart at the same rhythm whilst his teasing voice dances in the air around the two of you.

“Not my fault you always have to have a glass with dinner..” You grumble, not happy with how fast he had proven you wrong even if he had just confessed to his deepest feelings. He finds it quite endearing how stubborn a little bit of alcohol can make you. ”Alright, we can blame me for this one. How about you finish this pudding with me, and we can get you settled in bed, how does that sound?”

Before you know it, he’s wiping chocolate stains from your lips again as you sniffle in his lap, mumbling some nonsense about your so-called lack of lovelife while the movie plays in the background. He enjoys all your little comments about the movie, even when you subconsciously glance back at him when the couple starring do something romantic. Taking you up to bed is easy enough considering you’re only just bordering tipsy at the moment and you hardly weigh anything compared to the things he usually deals with. Your head just lolls lazily as he helps you upstairs, your eyes slowly blinking up at him when he sits you on the edge of the bed. “What pajamas do you want, pretty girl? How about your favourite?” The water he helped you drink before had sobered you up a little so you’re starting to feel better already. However, your mind is still a little hazy so you just nod along, not minding if this is the first time he undresses you.

Making sure to be gentle with you, he strips you down to your underwear before helping you pull on your warm sweatshirt and plaid pants. His lips twitched upwards when your own fingers tried to beat him with dressing yourself, finding it adorable how you still insisted on doing everything yourself. He could just put you to bed, but after watching for countless nights how you slave away at your skincare routine and keeping your teeth brushed well— he’d feel awful if he broke that. Before you know it, you’re sitting on the sink as he gently holds your jaw, his other hand using the electric toothbrush to clean your teeth. You’re a little uncooperative, swerving your head away at first until you just settle into a sleepy calm and he handles you with no problems. In no time he has you back on his lap, sitting at your small vanity as he carefully attempts to remember the order of your night time routine. What even is this? He thinks as he picks up a suspicious looking serum, labelled as snail mucin and gives it an experimental sniff. He thought it’d smell worse to be fair.

“No, you have to put the toner first and then the serum.” You mumble at him, gently tugging at his hands with your fingers and before he knows it, you have a toner pad all up in his face, wiping over his nose and cheeks before you cover the rest of his face.

“Hey- i’m meant to be doing your skincare. I don't need this stuff.”

He almost feels a pang of hurt in his chest as you raise an eyebrow at him, as if accusing him of having bad skin. With a huff, he removes the toner pad from your hands and throws it in the bin before gently pulling at your cheeks. “I have great skin, thank you. Dont give me that look.”

You immediately frown and attempt to puff your cheeks, causing him to have mercy and let go before he grabs a new toner pad and repeats your actions to yourself.

When you come back to your senses, your head is smushed against a pillow whilst he changes by the closet behind you. Your thoughts don't feel as hazy as they used to be, and you’re even starting to contemplate everything that happened earlier. Did he really mean what he meant? Did he actually like you.. romantically? You physically cringe at your own thoughts and hide your face behind your hands, groaning just quiet enough that he doesn't quite hear it. Sleeping next to him had always felt odd to you, but you always slept at different times so it never really felt romantic in any sort of way. You liked to stay up late and he liked to get a decent rest before the next morning. It was only recently that you started glancing at his sleeping face beside you, admiring the peace in his expression when he lost himself to his dreams and no other worries. Otherwise, it just felt like a roommate, nothing more nothing less.

But now his trousers were falling to the floor behind you, and you were laying in bed not quite falling asleep nor attempting to stay up. Suddenly, he wanted to sleep with you, not only beside you. It suddenly felt all too real that you two were actually married, actually partners and actually slept beside each other each night. What next, were the notes you left in his lunch romantic too? In truth, you were slightly freaking out but that might’ve been the alcohol making things a hundred times worse than they should’ve been, especially since you had started crying unannounced earlier. That’ll play in the back of your mind forever but for now you’re focused on his soft footsteps as he approaches the bed, dressed in a much looser shirt and pants. He always slept like this but this time he looks down at you, one finger gently poking your cheek as he sits on the other end of the bed.

“I actually prefer to sleep with my shirt off. But we always fell asleep at different times so I never got to ask your permission.”

He hums quietly, the finger now gently rubbing along the soft curve of your cheek instead.

“You can.. I don't mind.” You say quietly, eyes trailing over his form as he settles himself against the headboard right beside you. Touching you.

“Are you sure your cheeks won't get too red?”

He teases, hand moving towards the top of your head to gently card his fingers through your locks. You push yourself up to a sitting position, letting out a soft yawn as you do so before you blink at him hazily again. This time, you press forward and place your hand on his abdomen, absentmindedly rubbing your finger there back and forth. “I want to see your injuries.”

Not even he can stop the way his face softens at that and he tucks you into his side again, his other hand pulling the shirt up and over his head to discard onto the carpet beneath the bed. This view is only for you: his paled skin, the fresh scars, the old scars, fading bruises and fresh bruises, stitches that fall out and others that are pulled tight but most of all, his body. All for your eyes only, only for you. Your hand runs gently over the outline of his newest bruise, a deep purple that covers the entire expanse of his hip. It’s blooming into something worse and you’re sure it’ll hurt more tomorrow, not that he’d ever complain about that anyway. “You always come home with injuries, and you just play them off. Don't they hurt? Don't you want me to care for you?”

You say quietly, voice even softer now that you’ve sobered up, and he just lets out a breath, his face turning to watch the way your brows furrow and your lips press together. To have someone fuss over him like this is something he never thought about much, but it didn't mean he hadn’t craved the idea before. Yours was genuine worry, and you always held that genuine care for him. But it felt different now, more natural, more intimate. Like he was the only one you would worry about like this— he loved that feeling.

“I don't ever want you to worry about a thing, even if I do like the way your eyebrows crease when you do.” He chuckles softly, leaning down to press his lips affectionately against your hair before sitting back up properly again. “I suppose if you really want to.. I couldn't deny I'd be flattered to have you care for me.” The curve of your lips is what makes him smile as well, finding it all too endearing how easily a grin can form on your face.

“You’re such a flirt..” You mutter, trying to play it off and wiggle out of his hold on you, only serving for him to raise an amusing brow at you. “I’m only making up for what I can’t do to a tipsy girl.”

“I’m not tipsy..” You argue, sitting up a little straighter which makes his arm gently rest on your lower back instead.

“Oh? Really now? Let me test you then, since I used to be a policeman.”

“Fine, give me what you’ve got.”

“Sing the alphabet backwards if you’re sober.”

You instantly splutter, shaking your head quickly.

“Hey! Not even a normal person can do that. I knew you didn't actually like me.” He has to stop himself from rolling his eyes up at your grumbling, squashing your cheeks to make you shush.

“Is it really a crime that I don't want you to forget our first kiss because of some stupid whiskey?”

“Your stupid whiskey.” He finally rolls his eyes at your retort, gently pushing you back into bed and pulling the covers up and over you. “Alright fine, my stupid whiskey. Now, be honest with me, are you sober?”

The little frown on your face has disappeared with the hope his question brings, and you nod quietly, wide eyes looking into his.

“Are you very sure?” You were definitely sober now, his voice immediately lowering to a rasp as his hands travel up to cup the soft curves of your cheeks as they begin to turn pink. Just like that, he’s the man you’ve fallen for all over again, soft strands of fair hair framing his chiselled face as if they’re perfectly placed to put you under his spell. His index tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, gently rubbing the skin of your cheek with his calloused thumbs. His skin is so rough and yet you can't help but feel he is so soft at this moment; his eyes are like gentle waves, looking at you so fondly that you finally remember to reply.

“I-i'm sure.”

He doesn't hesitate, leaning in closer until his nose just touches the tip of yours, eyes locked onto every small movement you can even think about doing. “Can I?” The nod you give is the green light he’s always dreamed of; this day is all he has ever thought about since you joined his life. You let your eyes flutter closed, feel the warmth of his breath that tickles your skin as he draws closer and closer until his lips meet yours so gently. You have to physically stop yourself from giggling, probably the alcohol still trying to make a fool of you, but you just can't believe he’s the one wrapping you in his touch. Likewise, you wrap your arms around his neck, and he lets out a small gasp when you suddenly gain the strength to meet him upright, almost as if you’re threatening to pin him instead. Of course, he couldn't just let that slide easily. So, as anyone would, he pushes you back down into the mound of pillows, causing you to squeal as he leaves his touch all over your face, fleeting kisses painting your skin a rosy red. “You better not forget this in the morning.” He scoffs playfully as your eyes squeeze shut, giggles that spill out your mouth while he gives the affection he’s craved to gift to someone for years.

His job is hard, his life has been hard, and even this marriage initially felt the same. It wasn't so much the fact that he had essentially tied himself down to someone he barely knew, it was the realisation that he would never find his one person. That's why he did this after all, it seemed like it’d benefit the both of you and the day where he’d actually have a woman by his side slipped away with each mission. You, you were different though. You may have been an agent before, but outside of work you were the sweetest thing. Always subconsciously fussing over him, delaying sleep to prepare his lunch no matter how much he insisted you didn't need to, taking a personal duty to look after his cat, and still not being afraid to ask him when he seemed low or uncomfortable. You were everything he never had, even the annoying nagging of trying to get him to not lay on the couch after he ate or the fact that's his third whiskey yet.

Corny lines, the occasional flirty remark, dragging you to watch a movie— he wanted to do all of that before so you’d become actually his, actually the one he could say he loves and loves him back. But things got in the way, life got in the way, and he was starting to see his opportunities dissolve with each tired return from the mission. Despite his grumpy attitudes some days, his exhausted look as he collapsed into bed at eight, you still managed to fuss over him all the same— never once did you treat him differently, if not for the fact you’d cook him a slightly nicer meal after missions.

He was still busy, yes of course, but somehow he had managed to win you over. Maybe it was his silly jokes, though he’d seen you stare at his hair many times before so maybe that caught your eye. In any case, he’s happy to give any part of him to you, if not all of him. So when he’s pressed the last kiss on your nose and pulls the covers high over you, he tucks you into his chest, a final kiss to your temple as he looks down at your angelic expression. The way your smile curves at literally nothing but his touch is enough to make him fold right there, but he doesn't right now, squeezing you against him.

“Goodnight, sweetheart. I love you.”

He whispers out, and you can't ignore it, eyes snapping up to look at him just from those three words. He sees the wonder in your eyes, the way they question the truth and if this really is real. Then you nod slowly, tuck your head into his chest, nestled against the beat of his heart.

“I love you too.”

[enwoso]

i have a request for awfc x teen reader

basically reader is quite a shy and anxious person who hates getting in trouble so they never speak up and always do as they’re told, even if it negatively impacts impacts them in some way e.g. helping clear up at the end of training even if it means they miss their bus home and have to walk. r also doesn’t talk much and therefore hasn’t made any friends on the team as they’re so shy. one of the older players (maybe kim or viv?) notice this and take reader under their wing to try and bring them out of their shell. basically just a very cute fluffy fic

YOUR NOT ALONE — arsenal wfc

i feel like this doesn’t really flow the way i wanted it to so soz if it’s choppy but enjoy!

masterlist

north london was were you lived, but it wasn’t home. home was in the north, nearly four hours away from london in manchester. that was home.

not london where you didn’t know anyone, where you were all alone at a new team.

and it wasn’t that you disliked north london, the people were actually quite nice and some days it was actually a lot warmer than living in the north. but nothing compared to being home in manchester. where your friends were, your family, your childhood club.

you in some way felt like you had been abandoned, you’d been let to go by man city your childhood club. a club you thought you’d be at until you retired but they didn’t even fight for you when arsenal put the deal in, they let you go as if you meant nothing to the club.

meaning when your first day at arsenal came around, you closed yourself off to everyone. you were already a pretty shy person to begin with but now trying to talk to you was like trying to draw blood out of a stone — impossible.

you kept yourself to yourself, and made sure you stayed out of trouble. helping the coaches tidy up after training even though it meant you missed the last bus that went past your apartment which would mean you would have to do the thirty minute walk back.

you would stay and watch were you could improve your game even though it meant you were pushing your self far too hard and then getting frustrated when you didn’t see the progress you wanted to see.

the team had began to notice your behaviour and had tried their best to involve you in everything possible but you were having none of it.

the most any of the girls had heard you talk was a light hum just acknowledge the person so it didn’t seem like you were being rude.

“we need y/n to be fully apart of the team as i think she feels like she is still and outsider” kim said thinking out loud as they watched you help the coaches pack up for the evening. picking up the coloured cones as you hummed on to whatever the coach was saying. you weren’t much of a talker.

“does she always do that?” leah asked as she looked towards kim and beth who nodded.

“she always offers, just like she always offers to fill everyone’s waters and other little things around the facility’s it’s like she does it just so she can avoid us” beth raised her eyebrows as the three took another glance over to you.

“i’ve tried just talking to her but she not really full of words” kim sighs as leah nods she had tried too along with a few others but nobody could seem to get more than a hum or a small smile out of you.

“she’s just a kid, it’s gotta be hard for her getting let go by her childhood club like she meant nothing and then to be in a place miles from her family, it’s natural that she’s not gonna be comfortable around us” viv butted in after hearing the trio talk about you, a few sympathetic nods being done from the three.

viv had been amongst those who had tried to talk to you, she hadn’t gotten many words from you but instead of asking the usual questions of how you finding london which made you want to scream every single time someone asked you as you had run out of ways to lie and say you were loving it.

instead viv asked about you wanting to know you on a personal level not just on the outside and what would be the obvious to ask.

“like leah cmon imagine how heartbroken you’d be if arsenal let you go after being here for so many years-“ viv pointed out as leah hummed feeling her heart pang a little. her blood was arsenal and she doesn’t think her heart would be able to handle if she was playing for another team.

“okay first of don’t put that in the open, but i can’t even begin to imagine what she’s feeling” a sad smile rushed over leah’s features as viv nodded.

“exactly”

“why don’t you take her under your wing vivvy, she’s said in countless interviews that she looks up to you. so i’m sure if there’s anyone who would be able to crack her shell it would be you-“ beth put the idea into the open, now viv wasn’t opposed to the idea but she also didn’t want to overwhelm you cause that could push you further from the team.

“i’ll try”

the next day had came and gone, viv had been watching you throughout the day trying to pick the best time to chat to you but a good time never seem to come around. viv telling herself tomorrow she would do it

viv had stayed late to chat with the physio about her knee, the rest of the team long gone as training had finished already. well so she thought.

“hey kleintje what you doing here so late? training finished an hour ago?” viv asked as you looked up from your phone, you were watching your few minutes from the last match you played. analysing each pass, each touch, each movement to see what you could work on next.

“missed my bus” you mumbled very quietly viv almost missed what you said. viv nodded to herself as she took a seat next to you on the bench peering over slightly at what you were concentrating so hard on.

“that’s a stupid thing to do” viv blurted out, immediately regretting it when your head snapped up with a puzzled look on your face, a frown flashing across your lips.

“well cause all you doing is focusing on the negatives” viv shrugged as you still held the same look on your face, “like don’t get me wrong it’s helpful but i bet you, you have twice as many negatives in your head than positive things you did in the match” viv continued as you slowly nodded, she wasn’t exactly wrong.

“but how will i know how to get better if i don’t focus on what needs to be improved?” you asked quietly, your phone falling into your lap. viv was a little shocked, not by the question but by the fact that you hadn’t just hummed at her.

“cause you end up focusing on trying to get the bad better that the what was good starts to get bad and you enter a cycle that you can’t get out of” viv explains as you do your signature hum, you weren’t just thinking about football now.

you were thinking about how your life had changed in the past months and how much you had focused on the bad and never gave it a second thought about what was good.

“so your saying i should focus on the positives?” you trailed off staring into the distance in front of you as viv nodded, not that you saw it.

“yeah, your not alone y/n. we’re a team. we’re here to help you” viv pointed out, “and that’s not just with your football skills either” she lightly bumped your shoulder with hers a smile tugged at your lips nodding alone to what viv was telling you.

“thanks viv” you smiled sincerely, you felt as though your eyes had really been opened and you hadn’t have your self a chance at your new chapter, you hadn’t gave london a chance yet.

“no problem kleintje, now come on let’s get you home. it’s getting late”

it had been a few weeks since the conversation between kim, leah, beth and viv and progress had definitely been made. viv had managed to take you under her wing, showing you the ropes introducing you slowly to others so that it didn’t overwhelm you.

you had started to come out your shell more, you didn’t sit by yourself anymore at lunch or on the bus.

instead you’d found yourself sitting steph and kyra for lunch as you discussed your dream holiday of one day going to australia as they gave you recommendations as well as promising that when you do finally go they will happily be your tour guides.

and on the bus during away day you’d found yourself sitting with lotte quite a few times, the way she spoke was similar to viv it was wise words and someone you could listen to for a while as well as lotte being able to sit and listen to you and give you good advice if you truly needed it.

it was game day today, as you walked into the ground with viv. having gotten a ride from viv and beth to save you from having to get the bus. beth had spotted steph and leah in front, running off towards them.

“so do you think london could start to be home?” viv asked, her heart beating a little harder as she asked the question. the topic of london being your home still being very raw.

“it’s becoming home, it’s not quite there yet-“ you paused as some worry came over viv as she began to stutter.

“-but i think it will be home” you finished with a smile as you looked up at viv a sigh of relief coming over her as she swung her arm around your shoulder pulling you in a little tighter for a side hug.

“kleintje you had me worried for a minute but i’m glad your starting to feel more comfortable here, just remember your not alone. we’re a team for a reason” viv nudged you as you nodded taking in every word viv told you as you walked into the stadium.

“got it”

“anyways are you excited about your first start? imagine you score-“ viv said with a hopeful look as you slightly shook your head. you were happy about the start but scoring wasn’t the main focus of today. you were just happy to be getting minutes instead of the scrappy ten final minutes you were used to at the moment.

“excited, nervous? the goal won’t happen though so don’t get you hopes up” you dismissed as viv rolled her eyes playfully opening a door for you to go through.

“gotta have the belief kleintje!”

and maybe somewhere you had some belief cause that’s exactly what happened. you scored your first goal for arsenal, when the ball hit the net you froze. you were expecting for it to go over but when it didn’t you didn’t know what to do.

reality was brought back to you when you were surrounded by your teammates who were lifting you up in a circle as the crowd cheered. a big smile on your face as you looked around spotting vividly on the bench and sending her a knowing look as you tapped the your chest where the arsenal badge was. viv giving you a knowing nod that she understood.

your teammates lifted you down back onto the ground as they all patted you on the back or the head as you soaked up the moment a little longer walking back to your starting position.

“we’re so proud of you, our superstar!”

“get in y/n”

looking around and seeing the fans chanting and having a good time it felt for the first time since you made the big move you felt like you weren’t alone, these people that you were lucky enough to call your teammates and friends were your new family.

and maybe just maybe arsenal and north london was your new home and you weren’t mad at the idea.

in fact you loved the idea.

yourusername

liked by bethmead and 629,015 others

yourusername forever grateful for my found family❤️🤍

comments

viviannemiedema we love you kleintje!!

leahwilliamson our superstar ⭐️

kyracooneycross yeahhh for our very own 🌟

[luffysprincess]

LIE DETECTOR TEST : BACHIRA MEGURU

⊹ summary : the blue lock boys are invited to take a lie detector test, but they’ve got to answer twitter’s unfiltered questions

⊹ pairing : bachira meguru x reader (established relationship)

⊹ wc : 640

⊹ warnings : fem!reader with she/her pronouns, reader is referred to as a “wife”, suggestive/nsfw. MINORS DNI

⊹ a/n : i recommend reading isagi’s version first for more context and a hugee thank you to @nymphsdomain for finding the link to a rb and to aali <3 (@tteokdoroki ) for reblogging this and isagi’s parts in the first place bc shes the reason these could even be found again!! 

⊹ isagi’s version I kunigami’s version

Isagi could only huff out as he tucked his phone back into his pockets. He should’ve expected this honestly, considering he’s known the man for years now.

It’s been quite some time since Bachira’s been hooked up to the machine. Only a few minutes were spent calibrating it with some straightforward questions, but since then, he’s gone into full, honest detail to every question Twitter had for him. And it had every person in the room looking at him with either pure shock and/or amusement.

“…and that’s when I had her squirting all over the back of the team’s bus”

Kunigami spit out his water, and Isagi’s eyes grew wider than ever before as they both turned to him.

“What?! When did this happen?!”

Bachira chuckled at their reaction, “Last match ♡”

“Milo?”

“No lies so far,” Milo laughed.

“Wait…don’t Rin and Barou always sit in the back…“

“Yup” Bachira answered proudly.

“Oh my god. They’re gonna kill you when they watch this.”

“That’s if they watch it. Which they won’t.”

“Alright next question! Twitter user @/bachirasbitch asks What’s your wildest sexual fantasy and why does it include me?”

Kunigami whistles, “Your fans are just as shameless as you”.

“They’re right though. It does include them. And the rest of my fans too.” Bachira chuckles at the looks he’s getting from his teammates before continuing, “I’ve always wanted an audience for what me and Y/N do behind closed doors. I think it’d be pretty exciting knowing someone’s watching me pleasure my wife.”

“You should make an only fans account then,” the interviewer suggests. “Your fans would probably love that.”

“Now who says I don’t already have one,” he winks back.

“Well do you?”

“I don’t have to answer that. I’m here to answer Twitter, not you” he grins.

“Fair enough,” the man sighs. “Let’s see, we’ve got time for one more question for you. @/bluelickmyclit asks What’s the most awkward thing that’s ever happened between you and one of your teammates?”

“Ooh I like this question.”

“I don’t” chimed Isagi.

“So before my wife and I moved into our apartment, we used to be next door neighbors with Yoichi. The way the floor plan was had us sharing a wall between our bedrooms. I know, silly design. Now this happened quite some time ago; before I got married, and back when this guy—” he points his thumb over to Isagi who’s hiding his face in his hands “—was single. I don’t know if I’d call this the most awkward incident but it was pretty awkward, ‘cause there wasn’t a single night we went to sleep without hearing him moan out Y/N’s name. And I mean every night—“

“Ok!” Isagi interrupted, cheeks and ears tinted pink. “I think they get it”

“I don’t know why it took him so long to realize the walls were paper thin. Y/N and I aren’t exactly the quietest people out there. He had to have heard us every night too— ow” Isagi cut him off with a punch to the arm, sick of his teasing which only furthered Bachira’s amusement.

“I hope you know Y/N found it very flattering”

“Shut up and take the cuffs off.”

“She thinks it was cute”

“Kunigami, hurry up and connect to the machine.”

“I’m rather enjoying this, actually. How often was this happening again?”

“Every night” Bachira and Kunigami continue to tease Isagi, laughing at him as he attempts to unhook one teammate and attach the sensors to the other instead.

Bachira had never had so much fun in an interview before. He couldn’t wait to go home and tell you all about it and then watch it with you when it aired. But for now, he’d enjoy messing with his friends like this. And now that Kunigami was up next, he was looking forward to it even more.

[scoonsalicious]

Unwanted, Chapter 1: Unarmed, Pt. 1

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Fem!Reader

Summary: (For this part only) Following the events of CA:CW, Tony Stark has offered Steve Rogers an olive branch of sorts to bring The Avengers back together. You, CTO of Stark Industries and head of Innovation & Technology for the Avengers' Initiative, have your doubts, as you're not quite ready to forgive Captain America for ripping your family apart just yet. Steve had one condition, however, when agreeing to return to the team, one that's going to turn your life upside down and inside out: If he's coming back to join The Avengers, he's bringing his best friend, Bucky Barnes, with him.

Warnings: (For this part only) Language (obviously), minor mention of alcohol, I'm obviously on Team Tony during the CW; don't come for me, awful jokes, minor use of (Y/N). As always, if I missed any, please let me know.

Word Count: 3.2k

A/N: Here's a little preview of Unwanted. In it's current form, it's standing at about 50k words, with about 25k still in editing, and I'm maybe about half done with writing the entire thing? I'm not going to lie, it starts out cute and fluffy, but it's gonna get real angsty and painful. Dear Reader has unresolved emotional trauma and Bucky doesn't understand the importance of boundaries in 21st century relationships. This piece has been my baby for several months now; I really hope ya'll enjoy reading it as much as I've enjoyed writing it! Banner By: The absolutely amazing @mrsbuckybarnes1917

Taglist: (Please let me know if you'd like to be added!) @blackhawkfanatic

"You're sure you're cool with this, Boss?" you asked Tony Stark, for what was probably the ten thousandth time in the last hour. The two of you were sitting by yourselves off in a corner of the common area of the Avengers Tower while the rest of your team congregated around the bar, eagerly anticipating the official return of Captain America to the Avengers. That, by itself, would be enough to warrant a gathering of Earth's mightiest heroes, but what had everyone in attendance talking was the fact that Steve Rogers wouldn't be returning alone.

Your billionaire employer sighed and swirled his glass of Laphroaig, the amber liquid sloshing along the sides of the tumbler. "I don't love it, Pocket, but it was Cap's only condition for coming back into the fold, and since Barton, Wilson, and Maximoff all went off the reservation with him, it seemed a small price to pay to get everyone back under one roof." He took a swig of his whiskey and smacked his lips.

You couldn't help but smile at his use of your nickname. Thor had inadvertently given it to you when you first met the God of Thunder years ago, remarking for everyone to hear that you were so small and tiny, he could tuck you into his pocket and abscond away with you to Asgard. Somehow, it stuck. You'd hated it at first; it had felt dismissive and condescending, which of course meant that it soon became the only thing the members of your team called you, but the more they used in their daily lives, the more you actually came to love it. It was a brand new, unique identity that came to embody the person you’d become, and the past you’d worked so hard to put behind you. You were more likely to answer to 'Pocket,' now, than you were your legal name, and you were grateful for it.

"Besides," Tony continued with a shrug, "if letting the Barnes thing go means we get the band back together, I'm willing to be the bigger person about it."

You stared at him, impressed. "Well look at you. When did you get so emotionally evolved?"

"Since Pepper told me I needed to start seeing a therapist or she’d leave me once and for all," he admitted to you with a cheeky wink; you both knew that, though Tony drove his partner, Pepper Potts, absolutely insane sometimes, she loved him far too much to ever walk away from him for good. That didn’t stop the threats, though. Lord knows he tried her patience. In your opinion, the woman was a saint.

Your eyes widened at the revelation and you let out a low whistle of appreciation. "You're going to therapy? Wow. Tony, That's amazing. I'm proud of you."

"Oh please," Tony scoffed, "I have much more important things to do than sit on a couch and spill my feelings. Besides, my secrets are too valuable to divulge to an actual human being. I just trained FRIDAY on therapeutic conversational datasets so she can handle all that psychological mumbo jumbo and then I paired that with BARF's augmented reality-- it's seriously the platinum standard in mental healthcare. No awkward silences or judgmental stares, just pure efficiency. You should try it; it’d do you wonders. And the best part? No copays."

You chuckled as you took a sip of your pineapple and Malibu. "Yeah, okay. That completely tracks for you," you told him with a smile. "So, what did Dr. FRIDAY tell you that got you to change your mind about the Barnes situation?"

Furrows appeared between Tony's eyebrows as he took another sip of whiskey to buy time for collecting his thoughts. There was still so much pain in him where Bucky Barnes was concerned. You'd worked for him in some capacity for nearly fifteen years and you'd never seen him as defeated as he'd been when he got off that Quinjet from Siberia. He'd been bloodied, battered and utterly broken, body and soul. Seeing him like that had shattered you, and you never wanted to live through something like that again.

Tony ran you through his experience with his therapeutic innovation, and you had to admit, it was impressive. The system had helped him realize that Bucky Barnes wasn't responsible for the heinous crimes Hydra had brainwashed him into completing, and so his anger over the death of his parents, while justified, had been misdirected.

"Once I processed that, it was a quick jump to realizing we can't be the best version of the Avengers if we only have half the team at home, and it's innocent people who would pay the price for it. So, when I reached out to Cap and he agreed to come back if I agreed to let him bring Barnes with him, well..." Tony trailed off, gesturing vaguely with his hand toward the where the rest of the team was waiting.

"So, you and Rogers are just, what? Good then? All water under the bridge?" you asked him, mild irritation clouding your voice.

"Oh, absolutely not." Tony took another sip of whiskey. "I can work with him again, and I'm glad to, but we're not going to be braiding each other's hair anytime soon."

"Good," you said, raising your glass in a mock toast to Tony. "I'm not quite ready to forgive him on your behalf just yet." Tony had essentially saved your life when you first met him, and he’d continued to support and guide your career to heights you could have never imagined. You'd started as a systems analyst and mechanical engineer at Stark Industries fresh out of college, and under Tony’s mentorship, it wasn’t long before you found yourself rising to the position of the company’s Chief Technical Officer, second in command only to Pepper, now that Tony had passed on the reins to her. All this happened long before he'd ever brought you in to work with him on the Avengers Initiative, and now you spent the majority of your time heading up their Technology and Innovation Department, as well.

Any kind of healthy respect you might have had for your boss had died out a long, long time ago, because Tony Stark  was Tony Stark, but now he was just Tony-- more like an annoying older brother you loved dearly,  whose name just happened to be on your paychecks. You owed him everything and that had earned him your unwavering loyalty. You'd follow him to hell and back again if he asked it of you, though he knew he’d never have to; you’d be paving the path there right alongside him.

The sound of laughter made its way across to you from the other side of the room and you felt warmth at the sound-- everyone, together again and happy. Just a few short months ago, you never would have been able to imagine the scene before you, not after the fight in Berlin and its brutal aftermath. You had thought for sure that this little family you'd found yourself in the middle of had been destroyed beyond repair.

So, you might have had your own reasons to be pissed at Steve Rogers.

"What's Barnes like?" you asked Tony. Having only ever glimpsed him from a distance, or from behind a computer monitor, you'd utilized all the resources at your disposal to dig up as much information on the Winter Soldier as possible, but even your skills hadn't been able to get you what simply didn't exist. "You know I don't like unknown quantities."

Tony seemed to think for a moment. "You mean, aside from being a brainwashed, murderous assassin?"

"Tony," you chastised. You knew that Barnes had spent a good deal of time in Wakanda before coming home to New York, working on having the words that triggered his homicidal alter-ego neutralized. Rogers may not always acted rationally when it came to making decisions about his oldest friend, but you were sure he wouldn’t be bringing Barnes back to the Tower if he posed a serious danger to the rest of you. Right?

"Fine," Tony said, with a typical exaggerated sigh. "Aside from being a former brainwashed, murderous assassin; better?" You rolled your eyes but nodded. "Don't really know, didn't care enough to ask. I'll be happy as long as he doesn't start murdering us all in our sleep. Cap vouches for him, so that counts for something. Maybe not as much as it did once upon a time, but something. But T’Challa seems to think he’s harmless enough now, so that’s good enough for me."

You nodded, taking another sip of your pineapple and Malibu, then leaned back, pensive. "Oh, God," you said after a moment of thought, sitting up in alarm. "You don't think it’s going to be like having an entire extra Rogers around, do you? All '40s morality and emotional repression? Because I am so over having him police my language." It wasn't that you had anything against Captain America as an Avenger, but there was only so much of the Boy Scout act you could take before you started getting nauseous. And okay, fine, you weren't too proud to admit it-- there was a not-so-small part of you that still hadn't forgiven him for what you saw as his blatant betrayal of Tony when he refused to sign the Accords. You'd promised to play nice, though, for the sake of your family, but your personal relationship with The Star-Spangled Man had taken heavy damage since Berlin.

Tony chuckled. "As if you'd ever let Cap's presence keep you from a good profanity. I should put out a swear jar. We could fund that crisis algorithm project of yours off your mouth alone."

"Fuck you, Tony," you uttered with a chuckle, fully aware that he had your number. You never met a four-letter word you didn’t fall immediately in love with.

"And look at that," Tony said with a smirk, "I just made another dollar. Hey FRIDAY, open up a new savings account and deposit a dollar into every time Pocket has a potty mouth."

"On it, Boss," the AI replied cheerfully.

You swore at Tony a few more times for good measure. "I fully intend to financially bleed you dry now, asshole."

"Oh no, I'm shaking in my custom Tom Ford's," Tony mockingly bemoaned, putting his feet, enclosed in the aforementioned ridiculously expensive loafers, up on the coffee table.

Raised voices from the other side of the room caught your attention. You stood up and craned your neck, trying to see what had caused the commotion. "I think they're here, Boss," you said.

"Alright," Tony said, standing up and putting an arm around your shoulder, "big smiles, kiddo. Remember, we're supposed to be happy about this." You suppressed a chuckle as you watched Rogers present Bucky Barnes to the rest of the team. Everyone was welcoming; you wouldn’t have expected any less, but as you watched their body language, the only word that came to mind was guarded. And you completely understood; The Winter Soldier’s reputation had preceded him, after all. There were hugs for Rogers, of course, but no one made any attempt to reach out to his friend.

Despite your overall annoyance with Rogers, you couldn't help but feel some degree of happiness for the giant oaf. When you'd been assigned on a mission with him (which happened fairly frequently, as he was so pathetically abysmal with anything having to do with technology) and ended up having to hole up in a safehouse for an extra couple of days while waiting for extraction, he'd started opening up to you about James Buchanan Barnes, and the reminiscing had made him so happy, you encouraged Steve to tell you everything about this Bucky. After that, the trouble was getting Rogers to stop telling his Bucky stories. If he wasn't sharing tales about growing up with his best friend during the Great Depression and all the absolute mischief they got into, he was sharing war stories of their time together with the Howling Commandos. He'd even shared his grief with you– how painful it had been to watch Barnes fall from that train and the guilt he carried for not being able to save him. He’d confessed to you once that, when he went into the ice, fully prepared to die, there was a part of him that was relieved to be reunited with Barnes in the next life, and waking up some 70 years later to a world where he was still alive but Bucky was still gone had broken his heart all over again. And yet, here they were– together in the next life, after all. If you were a different kind of person, you’d say it was a goddamn miracle. 

Because of the way Rogers described his best friend in those old stories, you were expecting Bucky Barnes to come swaggering along next to him, with a cocksure tilt to his head and a panty-dropping smirk playing along his lips, but the man who accompanied Steve was the furthest thing from that.

He shuffled behind Rogers slowly, looking at the floor and avoiding making eye contact with anyone else from the team. His hair hung long and limp, curtaining off his face as though it were a protective barrier. Though, if it was keeping him away from everyone else, or everyone else away from him, you couldn't be sure. He was much thinner than you'd anticipated, especially for a super soldier– though still extremely muscular, giving you the impression that it had been a long time since he'd let himself indulge in anything more than the bare minimum amount of calories he needed for survival. Tilting your head, you tried to steal a glance at his infamous metal arm, the thing of legends that had turned him from a run-of-the-mill assassin into the stuff of waking nightmares.

But the sleeve of his jacket hung limp, only empty space where the appendage should have been.

Curious. He'd come to Tony Stark's home unarmed. Your hand flew to your mouth to try and stop the uncontrollable snicker that broke loose at your own stupid joke. Tony elbowed you gently in the ribs to shut you up, and you hoped you were too far away and the others too distracted by Steve's introductions to notice you, but that thought flew right out the window when Bucky Barnes' head snapped up at the sound, his eyes locking onto yours from across the room.

"Holy shit," you breathed, knowing another dollar would go into Tony's digital swear jar, but damn if the man didn't have the most striking blue eyes you had ever seen. There were dark circles under them, and he looked incredibly tired, yeah, but they were beautiful. You didn't mean to stare, but you found you couldn't look away, either, and so the two of you were locked into some sort of impromptu staring contest. The longer you looked at him, the more you could sense an overwhelming sadness coming from him, as well as a level of wariness at being in a room full of strangers. It was almost overwhelming.

But then, just as suddenly as it began, the spell was broken. Blinking once, Bucky looked away and you felt the tension vanish from between you.

"What was that about?" Tony asked you in a low singsong voice.

"I have no idea," you answered, honestly. There had been so much pain and loneliness in his eyes. You'd seen eyes like that before, when you were younger and looked at your own reflection in the mirror following a scalding shower with your skin scrubbed raw and bloody. You suppressed a shiver.

Finally, Steve managed to disengage himself and Bucky from the other Avengers and began making his way toward you and Tony. Up close, you were struck by how tall Bucky was. He had to be at least a foot taller than you, if not more. And God, he was handsome. Granted, in a kind of heroin-chic sort of way, but still. A couple of good nights' sleep, a few good meals, some light personal grooming, and... well, there was a very good chance you were going to be in trouble once he got his shit together, that was for sure.

"And Buck," Steve was saying, drawing you out of your ogling, "This is our resident computer genius, Pocket (Y/L/N). You ever need help with anything technology-related, she's your girl."

"A bit of an over-simplified version, Rogers," you said, sticking your hand out to shake Bucky’s, "but yeah, that about covers it."

Bucky looked at you, then down at your hand, making no move to take it.

"What the hell kind of name is Pocket?" he asked, voice rough as though he hadn’t been using it a lot. Pulling your hand back, you shot him an annoyed glare.

"I don't know," you oozed back sarcastically. "What the hell kind of name is Bucky?"

"It's his nickname, Pocket," Steve supplied helpfully, though not without a trace of confusion. You gave him an annoyed, pointed look.

"No shit, Rogers." You turned back to Bucky and spoke slowly, as if to a child. "So, what do you think Pocket is, then?"

"Oh," said Bucky, catching on. The corners of his mouth turned up ever so slightly. "Gotcha; m'sorry about that. My manners are rusty from a severe lack of use."

You didn't mean it, but your mouth curved up into a hint of a smile, too. And then, almost as if you couldn't stop yourself from doing it, you found yourself saying "I see you've arrived unarmed."

There was a long, heavy beat of silence as Steve and Tony stared at you, mouths slightly agape, and you wondered if you'd made a critical error. You were just about to punch yourself in the face and claim you had a concussion and therefore couldn't be held responsible for what you said when Bucky burst into laughter.

It was the most beautiful sound you'd ever heard, and it was contagious. Through your own laughter, you risked a glance up at Steve. He was looking back and forth between you and Bucky, an indiscernible look in his eyes, and you couldn't help but wonder how long it had been since he'd heard his best friend laugh. Hell, you wondered how long it had been since Bucky Barnes had laughed at all.

"Pocket," Tony groaned, palming his face, "that was truly terrible, even for you."

"I'm sorry," you said, trying to catch your breath through your burst of giggles. "It just slipped out-- I couldn’t help it. You know once these things come into my head, they just bounce around in there until they fall out. I didn't mean it."

Steve smiled at you. "So that's what you were snickering at," he said, amused. Damn that enhanced super soldier hearing. Rogers didn't need to be so nosy with it.

You shrugged. "What can I say? Bad jokes are my superpower. Don't be jealous that all you got was super strength and a six pack, Rogers."

Bucky laughed again, then nudged Steve playfully with his elbow. "I like this one, Stevie," he said. "She's funny."

You weren't sure why, exactly, but something in Bucky's words turned your insides into a warm puddle of goo.

Oh, you were going to be in trouble, indeed.

Next Part ->

[macfrog]

call me

idea came to me in a dream. enjoy also! i made a notifs blog! taglist life is NOT for me, babies. feel free to head on over, follow and turn notifs on to be updated anytime i post! 👉 @macfroglets 👈 you’re gonna wanna do it before this sunday…😉🤠

inspired by @bageldaddy who is the author of the dreamiest series on this site, my biggest crush, and also told me not to tag her but i respect my elders so.

pairing: joel miller x call girl!reader

summary: you moonlight as a call girl, receiving mediocre call after mediocre call. one night, one joel miller dials in, and grants you the most exciting ten minutes of your career

warnings: 18+ (minors dni!!!) this fic is pro-sex work. reader is a phone sex operator, mentions of anal and oral, dirty talk, couple mentions of daddy, praise kink, mutual masturbation, alcohol consumption, cursing

word count: 3k

main masterlist

“What now, baby?” you whisper, laughing to yourself. You’re palming at your breast, your fingers pulling in around your nipple. Your core begins to throb. “You’re gonna touch yourself.” “That what you want?” “’s what I want, angel. Do it for me.”

It started out as a joke, if you’re being honest.

A wine-drunk night with Liv, sat at opposite ends of the couch, legs intertwined somewhere in the middle of the cushions. Her blouse was stained pink – your fault, apparently, for making her laugh too hard. Her glass tilted a fraction too far and before you knew it, you owed her a new shirt.

“Say it again, say it how he said it,” she snorted, patting her chest down with the damp towel you’d handed her.

“…quite frankly, disappointed with your performance,” your head tilted back and forth, mocking the nasally voice of your fifty-one-year-old, receding-hairline-equipped boss. Ex-boss. Asshole.

“Oh, fuck,” she heaved, still catching her breath. “That’s so fucking funny.”

You sighed in agreement.

“So…what are you actually gonna do now?”

You shrugged. “Sell my body.”

“Dare you.”

“I would.”

“I know you would. And you’d be good at it, too. ‘s why I’m telling you to do it.”

You kicked her ankle. “I got bills to pay, dude.”

“What about one of those call girls?”

And, well. That was that.

You’d googled it after seeing her off to her own apartment, watching her wobbly form stagger across the hall and stab her key a few times into the wood before it landed in the lock. The door closed with an accidental slam which echoed up the stone stairwell, and you crept back to your own place.

Palms either side of your laptop on the counter, face lit in a blue glow, dripdripdrip of your busted tap echoing around your dark kitchen. They asked for an email address – you used the one you’d made up before you realized email addresses were permanent – and a phone number. Said someone would call you to discuss it. You shrugged, hit Sign up and went to bed.

Within hours, you’d spoken to some sharp-accented woman who asked quick, snappy questions and uhuhed her way through your answers. Her name was Erica. She told you she’d look after you, told you to call her with any questions or concerns you had.

All she wanted from you were the basics: you liked sex, you masturbated, you knew how to dirty talk. You sorta knew your way around things like anal, and could manage a convincing pitch for things of a more…exploratory nature.

And then she asked when you wanted to start. You told her that night.

Your first caller – like, ever – was some guy with a midwestern accent who asked you to narrate fucking him. Like, spanking him with a paddle, calling him a bad, bad boy. You threw your nerves to the wind and went along with it, and honestly, had a pretty rad time. He was cool.

But one was enough for your first night. You logged out and went to bed. You told Liv the next morning, and she punched your arm a little too hard and yelled, That’s my fuckin’ girl! Was it hot? Did you…y’know?

No. You never get that lucky. Some calls you can lie idly on your couch and let your limp hand surf beneath the hem of your underwear, push lazy circles against your clit as the dude moans in your ear or gasps when you whine.

Sometimes their mics can pick up the faint sound of them jacking off, and your brain slips you an image that makes your stomach flutter. Sometimes you’ll hang up and take yourself the whole nine yards with your laptop sitting on your mattress, porn on the screen, and your vibrator between your open legs.

It’s pretty intense work. Sometimes.

But all in all: no. You never…y’know.

One week in, you were cooking dinner whilst telling Trevor – thirty-nine, Buffalo, New York – how you’d take his huge, throbbing dick in your throat and let him fuck it. He asked to hear how turned on you were, just talking about it. You lowered your phone down to the pot of macaroni and gave it a stir.

“Oh, fuck,” he groaned down the line, “you’re so fuckin’ wet right now, huh?”

Huh.

Tonight, you had pizza rolls. Less sexy.

You just got off another call. Thirty minutes of describing how good you’d take him up your ass. You’re bored, turned off by this point, and tired. It’s almost 3AM.

You pace around your apartment, flicking switches off and tossing cushions back into place. Spilling small sips of wine from your glass onto your tongue as you’re plunged into darkness, one click at a time.

You don’t get much while the sun’s up. Most days, nothing at all. That works for you, though. You can run errands, grab groceries, do sweet-fucking-nothing whilst waiting for the influx of calls that will inevitably come your way by nightfall. When the streetlights come on, the rush hour traffic dies out front, the shuffling of tired feet up the concrete staircase outside your front door slows down – you just log in, and your cell will eventually start to ring.

Your cell, which now lies wedged between the couch cushions. You notice the sound of it vibrating as you’re pulling your curtains closed. Half-way shut, you desert them and wander over. Intrigued.

No Caller ID. The usual. You swipe right. The robotic voice tells you there’s a request on your account for a ten-minute call. Tells you to dial 1 to accept, or hang up.

Ten minutes? At three in the morning?

Usually, at this time of night, they’re longer. They’re drunk, or their partner finally fell asleep, or they just want your attention for a bit. See them through the uncomfortably quiet night.

But ten fucking minutes?

Ten minutes would make you somewhere around thirty-five dollars. They had the option as the timer ran out to extend the call, if they wanted. Most of them did. And that worked fine for you.

You’re unemployed. Who knows what money you’ll have in a week’s time? An extra thirty bucks – probably more – right before bed? A little nightcap?

You dial in and answer the call.

He doesn’t say anything when it connects. You hear the ruffling of clothes.

Your voice naturally dips a couple octaves, coats in something smooth and husky. Glistening, gleaming, sex-driven. “Hello?”

He clears his throat. His voice is deep, rich. More vibration than speech. He speaks with a Southern drawl, like bare skin running over silken sheets. It’s smooth, and sensual, and sexy. “Evenin’.”

You knock the last light switch off with your hip and doddle through to your bedroom. Mornin’, actually. “Hi. What’re you after, baby?”

He takes a beat to reply. More ruffling. He chuckles a little before he says it. “Baby? That what you wanna call me?”

Your glass scrapes softly across your nightstand. You bounce down on your mattress, springs moaning as you roll onto your stomach. Knees bent, your ankles link in the air. “What do you want me to call you?”

“Guess we can figure that one out together.”

“Alright. I like a challenge. You wanna start with your name?”

Another pause. He sucks in a deep breath. “Joel.”

“Joel,” you repeat, thumb picking at your nailbeds. “That’s a sexy name.”

He doesn’t respond. Just gives a non-committal grunt, and a smile pulls across your lips.

“What are you into, Joel?”

He sniffs. “Thought we could figure that out, too.”

Something in the way he says it, the curve in the words, maybe, tells you he knows damn well what he’s into. What he means is: you can figure that out by yourself.

Like you said: you like a fucking challenge.

“You like nicknames? Daddy? That kinda thing?”

A low growl passes his lips. “Not this early on, I don’t.”

You know from the hitch in his voice that he likes it. That little catch at the bottom of his throat, the way the words stumble on their way up. Know you’ve plucked a string deep inside.

“Well, you know you only got ten minutes, right?”

“I’m aware.”

“’kay,” you sing, flipping your hair over your shoulder. You exhale, drawing shapes on the pattern of your bedsheets. “Why don’t you tell me what you’re thinkin’ about, then? What’s on your mind, cowboy?”

Cowboy. It’s the accent. He sounds Texan, or something. His words float through the receiver all wound, coiled up and tight.

Joel doesn’t seem to care. He answers your question truthfully.

“Thinkin’ about what you’re doin’ right now.”

You smirk. Sometimes you like the attention, too. You turn your head, check the clock by your bed. Two minutes have passed.

“I’m…lying in bed, in the dark. Had a couple wines, feelin’ pretty good. But this is all about you, so.”

He chuckles softly. “’m lyin’ in bed, too. In the dark.”

“You feelin’ lonely?”

He takes another deep breath. You figure he does this before he gives most answers. He sounds the contemplative type. Always double, triple checking his sentences before he lets them go.

“Just need somethin’ to take the edge off.”

“Okay,” you breathe, “let me. What do you need?”

There’s a long break between the end of your question and the sound he makes before he answers. You pull the phone from your ear and glance at the screen to make sure it’s still connected. Time says another two minutes have passed.

Joel grumbles. It echoes around your ear like thunder in the distance. “You touchin’ yourself?” he eventually asks.

“Uhuh,” you reply, nails picking at a loose thread on your comforter.

“Yeah? How’s it feel?”

“Good,” you mewl, tugging at the seam. Your teeth grit as you yank at it. “So – fucking – good.”

There’s another growl from the other end. It vibrates through your speaker, purrs in your ear.

“You ain’t fuckin’ touchin’ yourself.”

Your hand stops. Your eyes stick on the thread. “I am.”

“You are?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me how.”

You roll your eyes, turning onto your back. Your fingers play with the buttons of your shirt. Fuckin’ – tell me how. “I’m…” you sigh, “…I’m laying in bed, on my back. My hands are –”

“What you wearin’?”

“Isn’t that the sorta stuff you oughta ask when I first pick up?”

He speaks calmer. Clearer. You can hear the smile on his lips. “’m askin’ you now. What you wearin’, sweetheart?”

Sweetheart. So he’s that type. Whatever. He’s kind of pissing you off.

“A shirt. And socks. And panties. No bra.”

“’n where you touchin’ yourself?”

You huff. “Between my –”

“Watch the attitude.”

You almost fucking laugh. Your breath escapes your chest in a silent burst. “Between my legs,” you tell him, flat and annoyed.

“Mhm. Above or beneath the panties?”

“Beneath, daddy.”

A tiny groan passes his lips. He doesn’t mean for it to, and a second, angry grumble follows, like he’s pissed at himself for letting it slip.

You take a lock of hair and twirl it around your finger, pulling tight until the tip whitens. “You touching yourself?” you ask, voice sickly sweet.

Joel ignores you. “Take it off. The shirt,” he clarifies, when you don’t answer.

You shuffle around a little, making sure he can hear the movement. You unbutton the shirt until it’s lying loose over your breasts, then tug it down over one shoulder.

“Alright,” you tell him with a heavy breath, laying back on the mattress, “it’s off.”

“Yeah?” he asks, and your eyes flutter closed.

“Mhm.”

Joel chuckles under his breath. “Know when you’re lyin’, angel. Take – it – off. Don’t be a brat about it.”

This is half the game for him, you realize. This is his thing. He gives commands, you disobey them, and he kicks you into line. Tells you to behave.

You figure you like it almost as much, going by the heat pooling between your legs.

Your shoulders lift and you tug the shirt over them, tossing it to the floor. You lie back, bare against the sheets, and your hand instantly cups over your breast.

“Better,” Joel breathes.

“What now, baby?” you whisper, laughing to yourself. You’re palming at your breast, your fingers pulling in around your nipple. Your core begins to throb.

“You’re gonna touch yourself.”

“That what you want?”

“’s what I want, angel. Do it for me.”

You don’t take much more convincing. Your hand slips down your front, cups over your mound. You gasp when your fingertips brush against your clit.

Joel hears. “Yeah,” he hums, “’s a good girl. Take those panties off ‘n rub that pretty little clit for me.”

Your fingertips give one last kiss to the fabric of your panties. Your mouth tips open a fraction. You suck in a quiet breath, and push your hips up off the bed. The lace slips down your thighs in one motion.

Joel’s grunting steadily now, small noises slipping past his lips and into your ear. You spread your legs and push against your bud again, massaging the sensitive skin.

“Fuck, Joel,” you whine, and he groans in response.

“I know, I know,” he’s saying, and you hear the metal tinkle of his belt buckle. The fraying sound of denim being shifted. One slow, relief-filled groan.

His hands are on his cock.

You’d put more effort into caring that he’s been fully clothed this entire time, if you could think straight. You’re applying more pressure to your clit, rubbing faster, harder, then letting your fingers drift downward, move between your gleaming folds.

“Wish I was there with you so bad,” Joel purrs, and your eyes flutter open.

“Yeah?” you choke.

“Yeah.”

“What would you – do to me?”

He shudders. “Would fuck you real good, sweetheart.”

“Fuck,” you breathe, fingers circling faster.

There’s a gentle tugging; a rhythmic breathing. The odd break in his voice when his hand tightens, or you make a sweet little sound, or he catches himself giving too much away.

“Fuckin’ – be all over you. Nice ‘n hard. You want that?”

“Mhm,” you mewl, panting. “Want it so bad.”

“Yeah, you do,” Joel says. You can hear the sticky sound of his precum, leaking from his tip and running between his fingers, being pumped down his shaft by his fist. “Feels good, angel, don’t it? When you do what you’re told?”

“Y-eah,” you whisper.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, and you picture a tight fist choking a thick cock. Picture that same fist unwinding, curving around your mound, fingers pushing deep inside you.

“Joel,” you whimper, and your fingers move down again, dipping nearer your tight, wet hole.

He grunts in response. “Don’t – not yet,” he tells you.

You whine.

“You got somethin’ else to use?” he asks, then interrupts before you can answer. “Yeah, you do. Go get it, sweetheart. Tell me what you got.”

“V-vibrator,” you mumble, hoisting yourself up and lunging across the bed to your nightstand. You haul the drawer open and sift between balled-up socks until you’re clutching the long, thick shape, fingers tight around the dips and curves.

“Let me hear it, angel.”

You click the button and the toy whirrs to life, vibrating strongly in your hand.

Joel hisses. “Alright, sweetheart, lie back. Gonna put it on that pretty little pussy, alright? Gonna make yourself cum for me.”

“Uhuh,” you murmur, one hand lowering the vibrator between your legs, the other holding the phone to your ear in a vice grip.

You push the round tip down to your clit and your head falls back with a loud moan. Joel sends one straight back at the sound of yours. It fades into a whimper, a desperate cry as you massage yourself with your toy.

Your legs clench as you dip it lower, letting the head nudge against your entrance, sending flutters of pleasure across your dripping cunt.

“Don’t fuck yourself,” Joel instructs, and your hand quickly pulls back. “Save it.”

This mystery man, who you’ve known for – if your clock is right – eight minutes, now; whose name is the most information you’ve gotten out of him; and whose face you couldn’t pick in a lineup…has such a hold on you, that your body instinctively reacts to his every word. An automatic reaction to do exactly as he says, when, five minutes ago, you couldn’t wait to get him off the phone.

You fucking listen to him. Save it for what? your head asks, and you ignore it. You don’t push the toy any closer to your center.

It drives hard against your clit, fast vibrations rippling down on the hot, swollen skin. It sends floods of warmth between your legs, drawing your arousal slick and wet from between your folds.

Your chest is damp, gleaming with sweat. Your breath cuts short in your throat, guttural noises replacing it as they reverberate through your mouth, across your tongue and into your dark bedroom.

Your walls start to clamp around nothing. You angle the vibrator so that it sends deep pulses across your pussy, shutting your eyes to picture Joel’s thick cock burying deep inside you as you climax with a loud, broken cry.

“Yeah, good girl. That’s it. Sound so pretty, angel. ‘s a good girl.”

You’re whimpering his name as you come down, holding the toy to your clit and letting your high wash over you. Your chest jumps, breaths heavy and staggered, gasping for air and then letting it rush out of your lungs in desperate pants.

“You know how good you are at that?” he asks, when your breath steadies again.

You giggle softly. “’s why I do it, baby.”

“Worth every fuckin’ penny.”

You sit in the post-orgasm haze for a few seconds, waiting for the room to stop spinning and your body to feel like yours again. You pull the phone from your sweat-stuck cheek and glance at the time. You have less than thirty seconds left. Joel seems to do the same, for his voice returns to your ear in a gentle, low whisper.

“Alright. Speak soon, angel. Be good.”

The call cuts.

----------

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[wordsarelife]

—ivy

pairing: knox overstreet x fem!reader

summary: you and knox are not allowed to be together, but can’t bare to be apart

warnings: none i think

"you're too loud!" you scolded, when knox tried to whisper something which was clearly spoken loud enough to echo off the walls and make it's way right into the headmasters chambers in the entryway of the school.

"it's fine" knox shrugged, opening another door that you had to walk through before you would be able to climb the stairs to his room.

the door squieked loudly, making your eyes widen as you looked back at knox, who seemed to be alarmed now too.

footsteps echoed off the stone walls from he corner in front of you and you exchanged panicked gazes, but it was already too late for you to do something as a grey-haired man turned the corner and looked up from him lamp in surprise.

"mr. overstreet!" he gasped, his eyes widening as he took in the sight of you and knox. his surprise quickly turned to disapproval. "and you! what are you two doing here at this hour?"

neither you or knox knew what to answer. whatever you would say would probably only worsen the situation, as there was no plausible explanation for what you were doing in the halls of a foreign school in the middle of the night. well, apart from the obvious one, of course.

"we will have to call your parents, young lady" the man furrowed his brows, making a gesture for knox and you to follow him.

"please don't, dr. hager" knox tried to plead, but his words fell on deaf ears.

"someone is gonna have to pick her up, mr overstreet" dr. hager shook his head, as if he was seriously regret that he had to drag your parents into this mess. "she's not a student here and we can't send her out alone in the dead of night"

"my parents can't know of this" you tried, exchanging glances with knox. your parents were just as strict as the rules of welton, if not stricter, forbidding you from any contact with boys.

"i'm sorry, children" dr. hager said without so much of a hint of sadness in his voice. "this is the only way"

you sank your head, accepting your fate and sinking down in the chair in front of dr. hager's desk, knox following suit.

"what's the number?"

you sighed, before you told him the number to the telephone in your house, imagining how your parents would dash out of bed, taking the call.

dr. hager would tell your father you were sitting here in his office and your father would send your mother to go look if your bed really was empty, as if it was normal for teachers to call and lie to him in the middle of night.

it took about twenty minutes for your parents to arrive. your mother had even taking out her rollers, the look of disdain all the more evident as her hair was standing up in volumes, the curls circling around her face.

your father did not look less angry, quite the opposite actually. he had to be physically stopped from screaming when he entered the office, as not to wake the entire school.

"i'm sorry" dr. hager excused, as your parents thanked him for informing them.

"me too" knox stumbled up from his chair, before the door was able to close behind you and your parents. all three of you turned around in surprise.

"knox!" you scolded in a whisper, pleading for him not to make the situation any worse than it already was.

knox ignored you. "i shouldn't have brought her here, and definitely not this late anyway."

"damn right you shouldn't" your father burhsed past you, holding a finger in front of knox' face. "and don't you ever think about contacting my daughter again"

"father" you pleaded.

“no, y/n” your father shook his head, unwavering anger on his face. “come on, now”

you hadn’t spoken to knox since the incident. the punishment had been swift and unforgiving. your parents were furious, forbidding you from seeing Knox again. they had imposed strict curfews and even threatened to move you to a different school, one far away from the one you were visiting.

knox didn’t have it any better. his parents had been informed too, promptly visiting the school and scolding him, how he could’ve dared to break the rules.

there was no possibility to see each other again, but knox wasn’t one to give up so easily.

one evening, just after curfew, you were lying on your bed when you heard a gentle tapping at your window. you sat up, confused. there it was again—a soft knock. you moved toward the window and pushed back the curtains.

there, standing on the tree just outside your window, was knox.

“knox!” you whispered, shocked. “what are you doing here?”

knox grinned, balancing precariously on a thick tree branch just outside your window. his eyes were full of that same mischievous spark that had first drawn you to him, but now it was paired with an urgency you hadn’t seen before.

“i missed you,” he whispered, his voice barely audible, but the intensity behind it was unmistakable.

your heart skipped a beat, torn between excitement and fear. “you’re crazy! if my parents find out you’re here, they’ll lock me up for good.”

“i’ll climb the walls every night if i have to,” he responded, his voice soft but determined. “i can’t stand not seeing you.”

you sighed, pushing open the window a little wider. “get in before someone sees.”

knox didn’t hesitate. with surprising strength, he swung himself through the window, landing quietly on the wooden floor of your room. you quickly closed the window behind him and turned, feeling the weight of your current situation. your curfew, your parents’ anger, the fact that you weren’t supposed to be seeing him—all of it loomed over you like a storm cloud.

“you shouldn’t be here,” you said, even though deep down, you were relieved to see him. “if my dad finds out…”

knox moved closer, his expression softening as he placed his hands gently on your shoulders. “i know. i’m sorry for getting you into this mess. i didn’t think we’d get caught that night at helton.”

you looked down, feeling the weight of everything that had happened since that night—your parents’ fury, the strict curfew, the constant watchful eye over you. but seeing knox here, risking so much just to be near you, made your heart ache in a different way.

“i couldn’t bear it,” he continued, his voice hushed but filled with emotion. “being away from you. it’s driving me insane.”

“i know,” you whispered, finally meeting his gaze. the tension melted a little as you looked into his familiar, earnest eyes. despite everything, he was here, standing in your room, just as desperate to be near you as you were to see him.

“what if we get caught again?” you asked, but there was no real fear in your voice now. just a quiet acceptance that this—whatever it was between you and knox—was worth it.

knox took a deep breath, his hands sliding down to take yours. “then we get caught,” he said simply. “i don’t care what happens, as long as i can be with you.”

your heart swelled at his words. you both knew the risks, the consequences, but in this moment, it didn’t seem to matter.

knox leaned in closer, his forehead resting against yours. “we’ll figure it out,” he murmured, his breath warm against your skin. “we’ll find a way.”

you closed your eyes, letting the comfort of his presence wash over you. for now, at least, he was here, and that was enough. even if the world outside was determined to keep you apart, in this moment, it was just you and knox, standing together in the stillness of the night.

[natliyy]

drdt 16 spoilers

I need to spitball my thoughts on charwhit. this reads like I know where I’m going but there’s probably going to be very little connections and cohesion and I am NOT good at analysis pls forgive me. my first actual post of course it’s about it drdt LMAOO

A lot of people have noticed how focused whit was on charles in the latest episode, me included. And now I’m thinking.

and I want YOU to think about it too. whit’s go-to for grieving is to not acknowledge it. everything that happened in ep 16, ace about to die, broken monotv, teruko almost dying, levi getting shot and on the brink of death, so many gorey things. it’s all too much to process, so many unexpected things rapidly happening one after another, and you pile that on top of whits grieving method. he needs to laser-focus in on charles, because there’s a lot of blood, and judging by how min’s execution was, there should probably be more soon. it gives him something to do.

and now this is the part where I Get Confused. And a little Concerned. And things start Falling Apart. triple whammy.

teruko has a machine gun aimed at her. she’s saying what might possibly be her last words, and everyone’s telling her GET OUT OF THE WAY??? HIDE?? (even ARTURO. sounded thoroughly panicked. this isn’t about him but I have thoughts on him too) and you know the weird part? whit likes teruko. he wants to see her smile. he apologizes, and jokes, and knows she doesn’t have to close off her heart the way charles did. but did he say anything to teruko during her execution?

NO?? ABSOLUTELY DID NOT? he says “Charles, stop talking and cover your eyes!” which. Sure. Okay. charles has a pretty strong attachment to teruko. he genuinely likes her. that machine gun would’ve reduced her to bloody mass. he’s gonna be borderline hysterical. like I get it? but dude teruko is about to DIE. you want her to be your friend. I hold some acknowledgement towards mm whit theory but I really think it’s too early for me to believe in that, yet at the same time, if he didn’t call out, didn’t say a word to her, did he like… know she wouldn’t have died? already known how her luck works? I don’t know…

and now we cut to levi getting shot. And this is the part where things start getting more insane with me for no damn reason. there’s blood everywhere, and charles is starting to break down. and you know what whit says?

Hey, dude? What the HELL???

The smell of blood is really strong. Even though I told him not to look, he still…

the choice of words is really messing me up. “Even though I told him.” whit telling charles to cover his eyes was lowk the most forceful we’ve heard him so far. I really can’t decipher this, but I will rewind a little to convey why this line made my skin crawl so much.

in trial 1, whit was pretty damn convincing to the audience. “He’s my friend, of course I’ll argue for his sake!” and telling people to lay off of charles… it was really sweet. very considerate and compassionate.

except in chapter 2, he doubles down. in ep 2, he says something along the lines of, “Oh, I did say he was my friend, didn’t I? Well, that was a total lie! I only said it to make people believe me! But I think he took it to heart, or thinks he owes me…? So, yeah, I’ve decided we’re friends.”

…………. okay my thoughts r falling apart it’s 4 am let me try to think of connecting this somehow

whit seems to know charles is dependant on him. whit also has a history of avoidance and ignoring things that bother him. and let me make it clear, I don’t think these two r some ultra toxic relationship at all. I’m trying to pinpoint their flaws and predict where their relationship will go.

it’s kind of funny? imagine the ultimate matchmaker with commitment issues. though it’s not too far, considering how isolated his childhood probably was.

anyways, I feel like this is all setting up for a shift in dynamic in chapter 3. which is where I get to the part I really want to say: if charwhit’s relationship deteriorates due to Charles’ dependance and Whit staying subtlety dismissive and avoidant, I will be amazed. What seems to be the most sturdy relationship in the series crumbling due to the killing game wearing down on their compatibility is a writing choice that would send me to cloud nine, I think. we know DRDTdev has been subverting troupes since chapter 1. the “tragedy” of this relationship being them growing more unhealthy due to their problems, rather than one of them dying would be so. How can I even articulate it?

although, if whit’s prediction of “Charles Cuevas, dead at 3” comes true, I will simply reach into the screen and strangle him. anyways, that’s all I got. enjoy my braindump maybe

[suzukiblu]

Thank-you Ko-fi sentences for @beatrice-otter; Billy adopts Conner and it actually goes pretty good!

“Um, can we maybe sit for a bit?” Billy suggests, gesturing towards the bean bag chairs. They look comfier than the couch to him. Which is saying something, because the couch looks really comfy. “I wanna tell you something before you decide if you wanna stay here. Well, there’s a few things we should talk about before you decide that, probably? But this one’s kinda the weirdest one.” 

“. . . fine,” Superboy says warily, and they both sit on the bean bags. Superboy looks a little bewildered by them; Billy represses another wince. Maybe Cadmus didn’t teach him about bean bag chairs? 

That sucks, if they didn’t. 

Well, at least Superboy didn't say “no” this time. Although Billy hopes Superboy saying “fine” doesn't actually mean “no”, now that he's thinking of it, because that'd be–

Yeah, okay, Billy needs to not second-guess literally everything Superboy says, so they're definitely gonna have to have the “no” talk ASAP. 

“Okay, cool,” Billy says as he settles in carefully on his own bean bag, which is a little awkward because he’s about twice the size he was the last time he sat on one, but he figures it out eventually. This is a weird conversation to have, definitely, but it’s not really . . . like, it’d be bad to lie to Superboy about this, even if he’s gonna keep lying to the Justice League, so . . . well, lying to his co-workers isn’t like lying to his kid, he thinks. Like–it’s definitely not. “Okay, so the thing is, uh, to be totally honest here I'm actually only like twelve years older than you, so I know this whole situation is a liiiiittle weird, but I think it'll be great! And I've really only been doing the superhero thing for a couple of years myself but I can definitely still help you with your powers and with learning how to get along with normal humans and that kind of stuff!” 

Superboy stares at him in bemusement. Billy has to repress a wince again. Bemused staring is . . . not great. Though it could be worse, really. 

“. . . wait, are you human?” Superboy asks with a slow frown. “You don't look human. You don't have pores or any variation in skin pigmentation and your face is perfectly symmetrical. And your irises don't have spokes.” 

“Uh, well, technically I'm human but, uh, please don't tell anybody cuz I reaaaaally don't wanna explain that to the Justice League,” Billy says, wincing after all, and then adds in a mutter, “At least not any time in the next six years, anyway.” 

“Okay,” Superboy says, sounding skeptical. But he doesn’t sound mad or weirded out, so . . . that’s a good sign, right? Billy thinks that’s a good sign. So–good! That’s good, that Superboy isn’t immediately freaked out by him only being twelve or walking straight out the door. Like, that’s a relief. So this is going great so far! 

“. . . you’re really only twelve years older than me?” Superboy asks, his frown deepening a little as he looks Billy over. Billy grins sheepishly. He’d show him, obviously, but he’s pretty sure Batman’s surveilling the apartment at least a little bit while they settle in and he doesn’t want him seeing the lightning hit, sooooo . . . yeah, not right now. 

Anyway, if he’s being a dad he should be dad-shaped, right? Being dad-shaped is better! And like this he’s big enough to hug Superboy really good and maybe carry him around and stuff like that, and he knows most little kids like being carried, and . . . well, his dad always did that kind of stuff for him, so . . .

He just wants to be a good dad. His was . . . his was really great, and Superboy should get to have a great dad too. 

“Um, yeah, but please don't tell anyone that either, the League would be so freaking weird about it,” Billy says, still sheepish.

“. . . sure,” Superboy says, still frowning a little. Billy beams at him. This is going really good, yeah! Well, Superboy’s gotta be used to weird age-related stuff, considering he’s technically a baby himself but also “old” enough to understand a lot more than a regular baby would be able to. So yeah, that’s pretty helpful. 

Awesome.

[tiedyeflannels]

Never Let You Go

Park Jimin x reader

Word Count: 1.4k

Pt.1 | Pt. 2 | Pt. 3 -- Masterlist

Genre: Angst to fluff

A/N: Yo! Not gonna lie, I thought this was going to be the last part, but I guess there'll be one more! Haha! Anyways... Enjoy!

“Hey, Chim! Though it’s the 12th here, it’s technically your birthday back home, so… Happy Birthday! I hope you’re doing well. Sorry I can’t be there for your birthday, but I did get you a gift so make sure to ask Hobi about that, lol! Anyways, stay safe and healthy. I love you!” Sent 8:07 am, October 12th, 2022.

“Congratulations on your Billboard #1!! I am so, incredibly proud of you!! I remember being with you when you were working on the album and all of those sleepless nights you spent in the studio and I’m so glad that your hard work is being recognized the way it should be! I also saw a performance of your’s and you looked so cool! I’ll be rooting for you, fighting!!” Sent 12:42 pm, May 1st, 2023.

“Hey, I thought that I would send you message before you go into the military. I know you guys were dreading it, but it’ll pass in no time, so keep you’re head up! I texted the others to wish them luck in their service, too. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to be there to see you off, but I’ll see you soon! Be safe, stay healthy, and do your best, which I know you always do! Good luck!” Sent 10:48 am, December 10th, 2023.

“Merry Christmas and Happy New Year, Jimin! I hope you’re well. How’s life been treating you so far? Are you excited for the new year? I been doing well over here. I definitely am a little homesick, but I’ve made some really nice friends over the year so it’s been fun. I’ve talked to the other and they said that you’ve been doing well so that’s a relief to hear, but I’d love to hear from you. I’ll be here for you, just send a text, okay? Miss you lots…” Sent 11:11 pm, January 2nd, 2024.

“Hey, Jimin. Uh… I’ll be coming home in a week. I’m excited to see you guys! I-”

I stopped typing I looked at the last text I sent.

“I miss you…" Sent December 25, 2024”.

It  had been a week since I sent that and it was still unread. I scrolled through all of the texts I sent throughout the two years since we had the argument and I had moved, making me heavily sigh. 

I deleted what I was writing, figuring that I was starting to loss the energy to keep this up. I sat up and shook my head as I went back to packing my apartment up before going back home early next week. I really can’t believe him…

~

“Dude. I just got off the plane. I’m on my way to grab my bag. What do you need because you called me six times,” I asked as I approached the luggage carousel as bags started to appear.

“Oh, nothing! I just wanted talk to you,” Jin said happily and I could practically hear the smile in his voice. 

I quietly chuckled and shook my head as I watched others take their luggage and waited to see my suitcase.

“Anyway, we sent a car over to pick you up from the airport, so be on the lookout for our driver, okay?”

I nodded, though he couldn’t see me and approached the carousel once I saw my bag making its round. 

“That’s sweet, thanks- hold on,” I said, sliding my phone in my coat pocket before getting hold of the suitcase handle and hauling it out of the carousel. Standing it up and pulling the handle up, I started to walk toward the ‘ground transport’ area.

“Anyway, thank you! You didn’t have to do that. I could have ridden the bus home.”

“It was no problem at all! Actually Hobi wanted to make sure you got home safe, so the idea was mainly his.”

I smiled at the concern.

“Aww! Then I’ll make sure to thank him when I get home.”

I followed the crowd as I neared the doors and saw the line of cars outside. I looked around the area to see if I could spot their driver, Mr. Choi, and a man holding a sign with my name written on it with Hobi’s handwriting. I laughed at how unreadable it was, but approached him nonetheless.

Mr. Choi bowed in greeting as I smiled and he led me outside to where the car was stationed. “I should let you go. I found you driver and I’ll be heading home. I’ll stop by to see you you and Hobi tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay! See you soon, bye~” Jin sang before he hung up.

We approached the car and Mr. Choi grabbed my bag to put in the back as the side door of the black van opened and I got in and took a seat on the left side, behind the driver’s seat.

Once situated and Mr. Choi started the car, I turned on my phone and opened Hobi’s contacted as I started typing a ‘thank you’ for sending a car to get me before a voice in the front seat interrupted me.

“So, how was your trip?”

My head shot up as I saw Jin back with a smirk on his face.

I gasped, “You came to pick me up!?” I brought my hands up to cover my mouth in surprise while he laughed and nodded.

“Yeah… I wasn’t the only one that wanted to see you…”

He glanced to the side and raised his eyebrows, hinting at something. My brows furrowed before I heard a happy “Hey, Y/n” from the back seat, making me whip my head at the voice to see Hobi sitting behind me. 

“Hobi,” I happily squealed as he made his way forward and into the seat next to mine. I reached over and gave him an excited hug, happy that two of my friends came to pick me up.

“I was just going to text you! How are you guys?”

Hobi buckled him self in as the car started to move, “Good! We wanted to come surprise you.” 

I smiled, looking between both of them, “Thank you, that’s sweet! How was that military, by the way?”

They both groaned, which made me chuckled as it reminded me how much the dreaded enlisting.

“Ugh! It was boring and I couldn’t do anything I wanted,” Jin whined.

“Yeah, and I missed the members and ARMY,” Hobi agreed and I nodded. 

“Well, you certainly didn’t change at all,” I said.

“Of course we wouldn’t. It was just work we needed to do, but you,” Jin drawed out, pointing a finger at me and gestured to my hair, “Certainly have!”

“Yeah, you look different,” Hobi joined. I playfully rolled my eyes, “It’s just a different hair cut, guys. It’s nothing.” 

Jin hummed skeptical, “Was this little decision because of a certain someone?”

Knowing he was talking about Jimin, I sighed and fell back in my seat, “No. It was just something I wanted to try out.”

Hobi’s eyes softened as he looked at me, “Did you ever get to talk to him about what happened?”

I looked down at my hands resting on my lap and sadly shook my head. “No,” I sighed, thinking of everything I did trying to get him to talk to me. “Looking back, I, maybe, tried too hard to get him to talk to me.”

“He wouldn’t talk to us about the situation either,” Hobi, stated as he sunk into his seat.

Jin crossed his arms and disappointedly shook his head in the front seat, “Yeah. He wouldn’t budge anytime one of brought up that he should, at least, talk about what happened.” 

A sad smile graced my lips briefly before I rolled my eyes, emotionally exhausted by this whole situation.

“Maybe I should've given up the first time he said that we were over,” I mumbled as I turned to look outside the window and watch the cars pass.

“Listen, he could still come around. Jimin comes out of the military in June,” Hobi tried to look at the positives.

“Mhm. And if he doesn’t talk to you, we’ll hold it over him for the rest of his days,” Jin said, nodding securely as if that was the final decision.

I chuckled quietly and nodded at their statements, though I wasn’t sure how true they would reign. Would Jimin want to talk after the military? Could this be fixed or am I fooling myself?

I sighed, “I guess we’ll see…”

Part 3

[mangoisms]

circle k (back to you)

summary: in which you're just the graveyard shift employee at circle k bombarded by vigilantes.

━ chapter seven: just get me through the night | read chapter six

━ pairing: tim drake x f!reader

━ word count: 4.8k

━ warnings: none

━ masterlist

Steph believes you when you tell her you tripped and hurt your wrist.

After all, it’s not exactly a lie. That is what happened. It just… happened to occur while you were being advanced upon by, you know, the Batman.

You don’t tell her that last part. It’ll just worry her, you think, and she was worried enough about you that following day, when you told her about how your shift was cut short and how you hurt yourself. She fretted about you coming back to your shitty apartment in Coventry on your own but you made up a lie about catching a taxi. 

(Technically, in a way, you suppose it could’ve been the truth but you don’t imagine Red would appreciate Redbird being referred to as a taxi service; though, at the same time, he drives like a literal maniac, so, it doesn’t fit.

And yes, he did name his car.

And yes, it is actually named Redbird.

He claims he gets around by motorcycle more these days but that obviously wasn’t conducive with the weather, so he used the car instead. A very high-tech, ultra-expensive car that you had to wonder how the hell he managed to get. He’s your age, after all. But you refrained from asking. It’s impolite, considering everything he did for you.)

After Steph’s shift, you both head to her mom’s house, where Crystal Brown, a nurse at West Mercy, generously takes a look at your wrist, as equally as concerned as her daughter when she hears the story. 

“It’s just a sprain,” she says, frowning. “I can’t be entirely certain without an X-ray but I don’t think anything is broken or fractured. No need for a brace, either, but if it keeps bothering you…”

“I’ll get it checked out,” you agree easily. “Thank you, Ms. Brown.”

“How many times do I have to tell you? Just call me Crystal.” 

“You know how she is, Mom,” Steph sighs, folding her arms over the back of the chair you’re in, dropping her chin to your head. 

“As hard-headed as you? Oh, I know.”

You smile bashfully as Steph snickers. Crystal rises from the table, stepping back to the stove, where she has dinner cooking. At their insistence, you agreed to spend the night. 

Crystal has always been kind to you. Both this summer and the previous one did she tell you you were welcome to live with her and Steph here at their shared home, since neither of you could live in the dorms unless you took classes during the summer. Steph abstained from them to get more experience and you abstained because your financial aid wouldn’t cover it, which left you grappling with a three-month lease at the shitty student apartments near GU. 

“No Tim?” Crystal asks, covering the pan, turning to look at you two.

Steph clicks her tongue, pulling away from you to flop into the chair beside yours; underneath the table, her ankle curls beneath yours, shin pressed to your calf. 

“Busy as usual.”

“He doesn’t know?”

“It’s not that big of a deal—” at the looks you get from both of them, you quickly backtrack “—I mean, I’ll tell him later… That new Mission Impossible movie came out a few weeks ago, so I was gonna see if we could watch it together…”

Crystal frowns. “But you don’t like those movies. Does Tim like those ridiculous movies?”

She probably wouldn’t be displeased if he did. Crystal isn’t overly fond of Tim. Steph says it’s because of their relationship when they were kids but sometimes, it feels far too deep for it to be just that. 

Still, she’s civil to him and he rarely says no when Steph invites him (and you) for dinner. If anything, you think Crystal doesn’t mind the opportunity to make him squirm. Steph probably doesn’t mind it, either. 

Steph stretches her arms above her head. “It would be on par with him but no. These two just like watching them and making fun of them. I’m good, though.” 

“I’ll tell him, then. He’d notice it, anyway, since my mobility is still limited, but yeah…”

“Well, be careful,” she says, mouth pursed. For some reason, it doesn’t feel like she’s talking about your wrist but about something else. 

Steph coughs. Crystal looks back to the stove. 

“Well, hopefully you two will see him soon. From what I’ve heard, it’s been a while.”

“Yeah,” you say heavily. “A while.”

Crystal doesn’t pay more attention as she focuses on the sizzle of the chicken breast but Steph does, giving you a lingering look that makes you look away. 

You… try not to give away too much to her. 

You feel horrible enough to be in love with her ex-boyfriend; pining after him in her presence is just the icing on the World’s Worst Best Friend cake. 

That’s why you avoided him, after realizing the culmination of your feelings in May. 

To see if you could shake the feelings, if you could get rid of them.

Considering how hung up you are on him still, it hasn’t worked. 

But you still want to see him again. It’s selfish, probably, to be okay with avoiding him for your own gain and then when he does it on purpose, you want to put an end to it. 

But you know now it wasn’t okay. 

You want to see Tim, want to hear his bad science puns, you just want him around. 

Your feelings won’t go away for a while but avoiding him was the wrong decision. You just have to handle it on your own like an adult. 

You would if you could see him more.

You hope you can. Even if it kills you to act normally, to be okay with being friends. By this point, you’ve started to realize having him in any capacity is more than enough.

It has to be.

newest mission impossible movie came out… i can’t believe they’ve managed five of them and this one is only part one of the fifth one. they need to put that series down already

anyway :D in that case, was wondering if we could see it together? on sunday? i’ll get the tix and you get the snacks? we can get ice cream after and talk shit about it

i can’t, sorry! family dinner on sunday, then some other stuff before then and on sat too. see it and let me know about it, alright? :)

You cry when the end credits start rolling.

Not because the movie is good or moving or even so bad that it makes you cry, you’re just…

So tired. 

Tired of him never having time for you, for you and Steph. 

One part of you wants to give up. What’s the point, right? 

His continued lack of time means you can’t even apologize to him, can’t even ask if your initial avoidance was what led to his in the first place. 

Mostly because it feels like it doesn’t even matter at this point. 

Maybe this is what you deserve and there should be nothing else to say on the matter. 

But that hurts even more. 

You sit far at the back—shitty seats, he would say—but it gives you the privacy to shed a few tears. 

You leave only when the end credits are almost done rolling and the theater is empty. You don’t care about the looks people give you, coming out red-eyed and sniffling from the Mission Impossible movie. You just want to go back to your apartment and hide away for the rest of the summer. 

You emerge from the cinema; it’s only eight, so the sun is still out, warming you up from the chilly theater. Sighing, you start for the nearest station to take the subway back to Coventry.

You only get a couple blocks before your eyes catch the storefront of an ice cream parlor. Wallowing deep in self-pity by now, you easily take the detour. The patio in front of it is busy with people and through the large glass window, you see the line inside is long, too. But since you have nothing else to do, you head for it, anyway.

You’re halfway across the patio when you see it.

Through the window, in line for ice cream, is Tim. 

Your eyes found him immediately, without intention or purpose. Poetic, almost, were it not for the fact of seeing him here breaks your heart.

Here, not just by himself but with friends. Friends you’ve never met but know of from pictures at his place. 

You try to rationalize it initially, still standing there in the middle of the patio, staring into the parlor. Maybe the dinner was canceled. Maybe they dragged him out. 

Maybe, maybe, maybe. 

But then it makes you feel second best. Second choice. That he didn’t think of you when his schedule freed up. 

That’s presumptuous, though, right? What gives you priority? Nothing, especially after what you pulled before. 

But the ache in your chest hardly allows for that much introspection or self-awareness.

Mostly… Mostly, you’re just hurt. 

Seeing him now, separated from you by thin glass, the yawning monster inside you that longs desperately for him is unleashed, because he is so close but he’s not here with you, for you. And that hurts. A physical thing, your chest tight, throat thick with growing emotion.

But then, he sees you. 

His head turns and you go rigid as your eyes meet his, which widen as he recognizes you.

It’s been long, so terribly long, since you’ve seen him. See the soft blue of his eyes, this lovely shade, like cornflowers. 

It makes this so much worse because you don’t think anything will change, even with this, so it’s like a taunt to see him, knowing this might be the last for a while. A long while. 

Another moment between you two, the surprise on his face morphing into something else and you look away before you can see what it is, turning on your heel.

You have to get out of here. 

The subway is across the street but the light just turned green. Too long.

The hiss of hydraulics snatches your attention. A bus, several feet away. One last person climbing on. You take off for it, scrambling for your wallet, ignoring how the rough motions make your wrist throb in protest.

You think you hear your name. You hope you don’t.

You barely wedge yourself in just as the doors close.

The bus driver eyes you with thinly-veiled suspicion but you pay the fare and take a seat at the far back, away from the windows.

You don’t even know where this bus is going. 

You don’t care.

You just have to get away. 

You bury your face in your hands, your tears flowing again as the bus pulls away from the curb.

The worst part about it, you think, is that he doesn’t reach out to you.

Neither does Steph, but you reason expecting that is irrational. Why would he talk to her? Why would he tell her what happened? 

You can’t do it, either. It’s for the best, maybe, that you don’t say anything about it at all. 

Instead, as soon as you get back into your apartment, you collapse onto your threadbare couch and take a nap. Only dragging yourself off it when you have to get up and get ready for your shift, accompanied with the headache throbbing in the center of your forehead. 

You trade off with the evening shift and things are quiet for the most part. To distract yourself (mostly to stop yourself from bursting into tears if you think too hard about what happened), you take on your night shift tasks with renewed vigor. Cleaning the floors, the machines, adjusting displays, doing inventory. 

Your wrist protests throughout it but you ignore it. 

Steph would scold you for it. 

So would Tim.

You pause in the middle of cleaning the counter near the Slurpee machine. Your wrist throbs at your side.

The sharp gust of wind and the sound of your name surprises you.

Shocks you, really, since you’re still a bit on edge from Batman’s visit last week and you yelp, turning around, throwing the wet cloth on instinct. 

Your visitor dodges it easily. It lands on the floor with a wet splat.

“Flash? What are you—what—?”

He tilts his head, grass-green eyes narrowing slightly, mouth pursing, and you get the unmistakable feeling of being scrutinized very closely.

“What are you doing here, Flash?” you question. 

He keeps making that face. “I wanted to see you.”

That surprises you. You blink. 

“Batman won’t like that.”

“Don’t care. I’m not here to cause trouble. Just here to see you. He can’t say anything.”

You don’t think that’ll stop him but you don’t say anything. Flash probably knows. He just doesn’t care. He’ll complain about it sometimes, go to lengths to avoid it, but other times, he just—doesn’t care. 

Flash continues to look at you. Scrutinizing you. 

You don’t bother trying to stop him from doing it. You’re too tired and the way your eyes are still red and swollen is telling, as well as the circles under your eyes. 

“You look like shit.”

“Thanks, Flash.”

His frown deepens and one of his hands comes to your shoulders. 

“Seriously… are you okay, kid?”

For some reason, that does it.

The smallest of splinters to your resolve first, your breath hitching, then it breaks entirely, emotion swelling inside you with tidal wave force, your vision blurring with tears.

Flash reels back in surprise at first, then softens, muttering, “Aw, kid,” and pulling you into a hug. 

It doesn’t feel perfunctory. Like he is doing this out of obligation at seeing you cry, like this is just another one of his duties as a superhero. It feels genuine, the way he holds you tightly against his chest, like you’re a child being comforted. 

That just makes you cry harder.

It takes a while for you to calm down. Then you get embarrassed, sniffling out an apology. 

He hands you a napkin, then pokes you affectionately on the forehead. 

“Geez, what do you take me for? I don’t mind. Besides, worse bodily fluids have ended up on me. Way worse. This is nothing.”

You laugh wetly. 

He squeezes your shoulder. “Seriously, though. Seems like you’ve got some stuff to talk about. What’s going on?”

You squeeze your eyes shut as a fresh wave of tears briefly takes hold of you. You take a deep breath, working through it, blowing your nose. 

Flash grabs two Slurpees, one cherry and one blue raspberry, and hops up on the counter, patting the spot beside him. You manage to wriggle up using just your right hand, your left still throbbing.

With plenty of breaks in between to cry a little bit more, you tell him everything that has gone on for the past month. Including the stuff with Red and the others, then your impromptu visit from Batman last week. 

“That how you hurt your wrist?” he asks, thoroughly displeased as he reaches for it with gentle fingers. It’s more swollen than before, irritated from you ignoring your body’s warnings, warm to the touch. 

“It wasn’t him,” you mumble. “Just me. I tripped and fell.”

He purses his lips but nods for you to continue, which you do, telling him about everything that happened today. 

“It just sucks,” you whisper. “I mean, what I’m doing to Steph, first of all, by feeling like that and then with the stuff going on with Tim. I know I shouldn’t have avoided him earlier because of my own feelings and maybe this is what I deserve for it but…”

He shakes his head, seemingly bothered by all of this. Really bothered. You expected some, along with the concern, but all of that seems tripled for a reason you do not know.

He says your name, solemn. “You don’t deserve any of that. Sure, it was stupid but… you still don’t deserve that.”

“I can’t change it,” you sigh, setting your cup down. Your fingers are numb from the cold of it. “I just… I dunno. Had to get it out, I guess, so thanks. Why did you really come here, though?”

He sips his Slurpee. “I really came here for you. I just had this feeling… I don’t know. But it paid off, didn’t it?”

“True,” you admit.

“You want me to talk some sense into this kid?”

“Absolutely not.”

“I don’t know,” he muses, his thoughtful tone bellying the tension that seems to permanently reside in his body now; he’s really annoyed by it. You’re touched, if not a bit confused at the depth of his feelings. “I think I should. Might be good.”

“It’s not totally Tim’s fault—”

“His reaction is his own entirely. You shouldn’t have done what you did but anyone with any amount of common sense would talk to you about it instead of turning around and avoiding you, too. It’s dumb. Don’t let him off the hook.”

“Don’t let me off the hook.”

“I’m not. But from where I’m standing, his offenses greatly outweigh yours, especially with what seemed to happen today and… everything else.”

“Flash…”

“I’m just saying. I am, admittedly, a bit biased but… still. I’m not wrong, am I?”

You sigh. “I guess not.”

“Exactly. And for that stuff with your other friend… she hasn’t said anything about it, has she? I mean, I told you what it’s like for me and Pipes. We don’t feel like that for each other anymore. If I had some friend who turned out to like him, I wouldn’t care. So, what makes you think Stephanie does?”

You throw up your hands. “Most people would! Flash, not everyone takes that approach to their exes.”

“True,” he concedes. “But they’re clearly still friends and just friends.”

“But that doesn’t mean she’s okay with that. That doesn’t mean it’s okay. I shouldn’t… it never should have happened.”

Flash sighs, watching you for a minute. “This is a mess, isn’t it?”

You laugh humorlessly. “You’re just now getting that?”

“I knew before but this is… a mess of epic proportions. Seriously…” he mutters the last part, shaking his head slightly. 

Before you can respond, the door opens. You can’t see it, the aisle hiding it, but Flash can; since he remains calm, you assume it isn’t anyone bad.

Then you hear your name, from a very familiar voice and—

“Steph?”

She appears around the aisle, her jean shorts and lilac purple t-shirt wrinkled and in a state of disarray, her hair equally as messy, frizzed from the humidity outside; a light sheen of sweat shines on her face. It’s like she rushed all the way over here. 

You hop down from the counter, concerned. “Steph, what are you doing here? Is everything okay? What happened?”

She lifts a hand, cobalt blue eyes on Flash, saying, distractedly, “No, it’s… it’s alright, nothing’s wrong, I just… had to talk to you… Am I interrupting something?”

“Nope,” Flash says breezily, hoping from the counter. “You can talk to her. I was just visiting.”

“Wait—” you don’t want him to leave quite yet but you don’t know how to say that.

“I’ll hang around,” he assures you, tossing your empty Slurpee cups in your next blink; the only indication he did anything is the way they disappear and the breeze that hits you and Steph.

“Batman—”

“Don’t care. If anything, I might like to talk to him.”

“Flash,” you say, nervous, not willing to reveal what happened to Steph but also trying to tell him to very much not do that.

“I’m still thinking about it,” he says, lifting a shoulder. “But I’ll be around. I’ll come back in a few.”

He lifts a hand, then he is gone, the breeze following him much stronger this time.

“I guess you two really are friends,” Steph says when it calms, sending you a small smile, making you relax.

“Yeah…” Though friends didn’t quite cut it for you. Silly, probably, considering you don’t even know who he is under the cowl, but you can’t deny it to yourself. It’s hard to quantify exactly what he means to you—a friend, a big brother, some kind of weird uncle. If anything, it feels like an odd amalgamation of all those things. You wonder if that’s how he feels, too. You won’t ask. You can only handle so much disappointment in one night.

“I’m sorry to come by so suddenly,” she says next, her words oddly formal in a way that puts you on edge. “But I just had to talk to you.”

“About…?”

“About Tim.”

You go stiff. You try your best to school your expression, to not give anything away. After all, concerning him, it could be anything. What happened today, maybe. What’s been happening. 

Or your feelings.

You really hope it’s not that. 

You’ve only just started to realize you might be losing Tim. You can’t lose her. 

You can’t.

“What about him?”

She says your name. Everything inside you tightens. 

“I know. I know how you feel about him—”

Your throat aches when you swallow. Everything seems to come bursting out of you in the next second. 

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Steph, I didn’t mean—I didn’t want—I wouldn’t do anything—” you take a step back, your heart squeezing painfully in your chest.

Her eyes widen and she steps forward, quickly closing the space between you, her hands coming to cradle your face.

“No, no, no, it’s okay, it’s okay—”

“No, it’s not, I never should’ve—god, I’m so sorry, Steph—” your vision blurs with tears. 

She says your name again, keeping you in her grasp. 

“I’ve known for a long time,” she quickly says. “Okay? I knew, but it’s okay. I was never mad at you, never, it’s okay, I promise.”

“But—but—”

She shushes you gently. “It’s okay. Deep breaths, alright?”

A couple tears trace down your cheeks. She wipes them away, a small smile forming on her lips—for you, entirely for you, the warmth there reflected in her eyes. 

“Do you want to know a secret?” she asks, rubbing her thumb over your cheek. “It’s really easy to fall in love with Tim Drake. And this isn’t my roundabout way of telling you I have feelings for him. Those are long gone. I love him and he’ll always be my first love but that time has passed—for the both of us. But for you guys?”

“Stephie…”

“I don’t care that you have feelings for him. I really truly don’t. I just want you to be happy. I want you both to be happy. I think you two can do that for each other.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m not. I think… you’re good for him. He’s good for you. That’s all there is to it, okay? If you really want my blessing, you have it, but… it doesn’t matter to me that you like him. And I’ve known for a while but I just… I assumed you knew I was okay with it. Like it was the thing that was there but we never talked about. Stupid, I know. But… I just need you to know that. Alright?”

She hugs you. You bury your face in her shoulder, hugging her back just as tightly, unable to stop your tears from flowing. 

“I’m not just saying this to try and be the bigger person, either,” she murmurs. “Go for it. It’s been long enough.”

“I don’t know…”

“Why?”

“I mean, he doesn’t… and today…”

Steph pulls away, frowning now. “He likes you, too.”

“No—”

“He does. I know.”

“Then why has he…” You can’t keep going, biting your lip.

“‘Cause he’s an idiot,” she mutters. “In more ways than one. But… I’m going to fix it, okay?”

“No, no, don’t—”

“It’s okay. There’s… there’s other stuff going on right now and we need to take care of that first, then you can talk about your feelings. But I’m going to fix it, okay? I’m going to try.”

“You don’t have to, this is our mess, my mess, I was the one who started avoiding him in May after finally realizing my feelings and then he…” you trail off, sniffling. 

“There’s something else,” she says cryptically. “That’s… just take my word for it. But I’m going to fix it. He’s been an idiot long enough and I’m not going to keep tolerating it, not if he’s going to keep hurting you.”

You shake your head, confused. Is she talking about today? Did he tell her? You have no idea…

“He only did it because I did.”

“No, no, it’s… it’s complicated, okay?”

You snort despite yourself. “You think?”

She smiles finally. “I know. It’s… a lot. But don’t worry. I’m going to get him to see the light. Not literally, though I wouldn’t mind roughing him up a bit just for how idiotically he’s been acting but… another time.”

You’re still confused. Terribly, terribly confused. But Steph is so impassioned, so sure, you let it go.

“Let me help,” you say. “I should be the one doing this but—but let me help. I need to. It’s my mess, too.” 

“It’s all of us,” she sighs. “And right now, I’m in a unique position. So… let me, okay? Don’t worry about it. I’ll tell you more later, but hopefully, I can get something together soon. Just sit tight, alright?”

“You do too much for me,” you whisper.

“I’m doing what I should be doing,” she says, looking… guilty almost before the look is gone. “This has gone on long enough.”

She leans forward to kiss your forehead. “But it’s gonna be okay. We’ll make it better.”

You just nod, going along with it for now. 

You scrape yourself together after a few minutes, wiping your tears away and blowing your nose. Steph hangs around long enough for Flash to return, at which point she bids you a regretful goodbye, telling you she’ll talk to you tomorrow. You worry about her getting home but she brought her car, or so she tells you, and Flash generously sees her out.

After a couple minutes, he returns. 

“So?” he asks expectantly.

“You were right,” you mutter. “She’s fine with it. I’m not entirely sure why she had to rush out to tell me or what she’s planning to fix but… I don’t think I can stop her.”

“No, I don’t think so, either,” he agrees lightly. “I don’t think you should, either. It’s probably important.”

“I guess,” you sigh. “I still don’t think she should be doing it but…”

“There might be more pieces in play than you think.”

You send him a look. “I got enough cryptic talk from her. I don’t want any more from you.”

He holds up his hands, smiling. “No more cryptic talk. Got it. I do, however, come bearing gifts.”

“Where on earth—?”

“Well, I already had them when I came here. I wanted to check on you and give you this stuff, but we got interrupted,” he says. “Give me a second.”

You give him a second. 

He leaves and comes back in that time. You raise an eyebrow. 

“Check it out,” he says, holding out a box.

You take it from him. It’s a small thing, easily held in your hand. You pull off the top. 

And promptly blink as the shiny display of a phone greets you.

“Flash, what—”

He can’t wait for you to finish asking your question, apparently too eager to tell you.

“It’s a phone, for you. But it’s programmed with my contact info, that way you can talk to me, and you can move all the stuff on your old phone over, too. It really is just a regular phone. Well, it does have League-level encryptions on it, but you know.”

“Flash… this is too much.”

“Not really,” he says. “I couldn’t give you that info without making sure your phone was secure and it would’ve been a lot more work to get yours secured, too. Besides, let’s be real, your phone has seen much better days. I think it deserves to finally be able to rest.”

“Jerk,” you laugh.

He shrugs. “Not wrong, though. Anyway, it’s not just for emergencies. You can talk to me. Text me. You know.”

“Flash,” you say, suddenly overwhelmed with emotion, pressing a hand to your face. 

He looks like he wants to say something else but stops himself last minute and just gives you a small smile. 

“Come on. Let’s set it up.”

You agree, not wanting to continue to refuse since it would be rude and… you do want to have a way to talk to him. Not just for emergencies but other stuff, too. This stuff.

So much is still up in the air. 

But you can focus on the here and now, with Flash here to ease your burdens.

reblogs are appreciated!

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[thepixelelf]

Oh Baby, You Part 25 - Completely Surrounded

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You wonder, absently, if hearing the word "dividends" for the fifth time in ten minutes constitutes an emergency signal. Certainly, Jeonghan has heard the word an uncountable amount of times in his years as Mingyu's assistant, but to you, it's nothing rousing.

Choi Seungcheol seems like a nice enough person— well, if you were someone who didn't know he's asked someone out purely to squeeze information out of them. (Which he's doing a terrible job of, by the way, seeing as he's done 90% of the talking since you sat down.) He's good looking, in the guy you'd ask to chop wood for you kind of way (although the three piece suit detracts from that a bit and adds a more you can't afford me aura to his whole thing), plus he offered to buy your drink before he realized you'd already ordered.

But it's just so… awkward. You already know he's not actually interested in you, and you're so tense trying to keep all your secrets under wraps that you can only focus on what not to say rather than what to say.

At least part of what you're going to tell Seungcheol is true. You really do think you're not ready to get back into the dating game. It's not just that you need to keep everyone at arm's length — you're already skirting the rules enough with Vernon and Co. You've also thrown yourself so deep into raising your son that no one has even remotely caught your romantic eye. Or maybe that part of you is broken now. Retired.

You keep telling yourself that you're over Wonwoo and the unfortunate circumstances that tore you apart.

Sometimes it's not a lie.

It's not very nice, you know, to compare Seungcheol to Wonwoo. To think about how you miss the easy way you could always speak to each other; how Wonwoo used to let out these nerdy yet adorable chuckles; how he could make you laugh with just a side eye.

Then again, it's not very nice of Seungcheol to do this to you, either. Both the not-so-subtle interrogation tactic and the stocks talk.

As soon as your phone vibrates with an incoming call, though, you instantly regret wishing for an out.

No news is good news when it comes to babysitting, and a call from Vernon with no precursory text—?

Your heartbeat picks up.

"I'm sorry," you say, completely cutting off whatever Seungcheol was going on about. "I need to take this." Without a second more of hesitation, you bring your phone up to your ear. "Vernon? What's going on?"

He speaks quickly. "Have you talked to Chan?"

"No." You frown, one of your fingers tapping nervously against your leg. "Why?"

"Fuck…"

"Vernon," you repeat. "What is going on?"

"Okay—" Vernon takes a deep breath, and the words flow out of him so fast, you struggle to keep up. "So I had to go pick up my little sister because she found herself in a bad spot so I left Chan with Orion because he's a fully capable human being most of the time except when I picked Sofia up I texted him that I was coming back and he didn't answer at all and didn't pick up the phone when Seungkwan and I tried to call and now I just made it back to your apartment and Chan's car is gone and neither of them are in the room and I don't know what the fuck is—"

"They're gone?" you whisper. Your fingers have wrapped around a napkin, gripping onto it much too tight. Across the table, Seungcheol furrows his thick brows as he observes you, but you can't find it in yourself to keep up any sort of facade right now.

Vernon groans, and you can picture him running a nervous hand through his hair. "I don't know— I don't… wait."

"What?"

"Seungkwan said he might've found Chan's phone GPS location?"

You make a confused noise. "How?"

"I don't know," Vernon says, "but he said they're at the hospital?"

You stand abruptly, the legs of your chair screeching as they scrape against the floor. "The hospital?!"

"I'm gonna head there now." Vernon's starting to sound out of breath, not far off from how you feel despite not moving anywhere. "Do you want me to pick you up? But wait— that café is on the other side of town—"

"You go," you tell him, more concerned with finding Orion and Chan faster than you needing to be the one to find them. "I'll find my own—" You glance outside at the traffic flooding by. "Maybe a bus, or—"

"I'll drive you."

Turning back to Seungcheol, you see nothing in his expression except for concern. Your first thought is that he shouldn't look concerned. He should be smug. An opportunity to see your son in person has fallen right into his lap.

But you're anxious. And scared.

So you take him up on his offer.

You say nothing for the duration of the ride to the hospital, silently stewing over the idiotic choice to bring CEO Choi with you. It wasn't like you had many options, but still…

You ignore all of Jeonghan's frantic texts.

When Seungcheol pulls up in front of the building, you step out of the car so quickly that you almost trip. Before you swing the fancy car door shut, you lean down and give him a genuine smile. This is the perfect opportunity to leave him behind. "Thank you," you say. "For the ride."

The fact that there's a line to the front counter of the emergency room makes your heart clench painfully in your chest, but no sooner do you run up to the queue than you hear your son calling out to you. Frantically, you turn this way and that, until you see Orion sitting, perfectly unharmed, on Wonwoo's lap in the waiting area.

"Orion!" You hurry over to them, your hands immediately cupping Orion's face and brushing through his hair to check for anything amiss. He looks completely fine, as opposed to Wonwoo, whom you refuse to make eye contact with.

His eyes are watering at the edges, and he looks at you like you took his world and crushed it between your evil fingers.

You did, once upon a time.

Gathering Orion in your arms and standing up straight, you press a kiss to his forehead and pat his hair. "You okay, baby?"

He nods, attempting to fit half of his fist in his mouth. You can't help but laugh, relief flooding your veins as it settles in that your son is alright.

Which means…

You look at Wonwoo, despite every cell in your body begging you not to. "What happened?" you ask. "Where's Chan?"

And why are you here? But you don't say that.

Slowly, Wonwoo stands, his eyes never leaving yours. He's trying to read you, his lips pressed in a thin line, his arms limp at his sides as he stands right in front of you.

It's unnerving, and it makes you take half a step backwards.

Wonwoo takes one sideways glance at Orion before his eyes return to yours. "Tell me it's not him," he whispers, voice strained.

You try to brush it off with a breathy laugh. "What? What do you mean?"

This is why you didn't want Wonwoo to see Orion again. You know exactly what he means.

Wonwoo whispers your name like it hurts him to pronounce. It hurts you, too, but you push it all deep, deep down.

"Please," he says. "Please, just… If it was anyone else…"

"Is everything alright?" Seungcheol's voice appears behind you, and you instinctively hug Orion closer, hiding his face against your shoulder. He snuggles up without complaint, completely unaware of the turmoil happening around him.

You break away from Wonwoo's unwavering gaze, only slightly thankful for the reprieve considering the other option is a power-hungry CEO vying for your friend's position in their company.

"When did you—"

"Orion!" Vernon bursts into the waiting room, out of breath and sweating. He jogs right up to you and your son, and he pats his hand on Orion's head. "You okay little buddy?"

Orion shifts in your arms, moving to lift his head and answer, but in your panic, you gently hold him in place. Seungcheol is too close for comfort, and frankly, you don't want Wonwoo seeing Orion's face either.

Wonwoo says your name again, beckoning your attention, just as Seungcheol asks, "What happened?"

Vernon looks between the two men, and pauses on Seungcheol. "Wait, aren't you—?"

"Guys?" Chan emerges from somewhere. You're too disoriented at this point to tell. "What's going on?"

He joins the group, and you can't even chastise him for the dumb shit he did to land you in this situation because your blood is pumping so hard you can hear it in your eardrums. You're completely surrounded, all by people who don't know—

Once again, Wonwoo says your name, but this time he speaks clearly, loud enough for the three other men to go quiet and look at him even though the only one he's looking at is you. He reaches a hand up, and you're frozen in place as he places it gently on your cheek. The touch alone makes you want to cry.

"Tell me," he begs. "Tell me it's not Mingyu."

The silence that fills the space between you is solid and thick. It threatens to drown you.

"I…" You open your mouth, but it's suddenly dry. "I…"

You hear Seungcheol breathe out behind you.

"I have to go."

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oby tagging 1, 50/50: @shiningstar-byulxx @shuabby-woowoo @90s-belladonna @xavi-in-kpopland @kachren @xmessaroundx @chwevernonlover @kwanisms @dalamjisung @1ntaktak @crazywittysassy @butterfliesinthenightsky @ddaengpotate @dorrysstuff @ckline35 @vanishingboots @potatofrieswithketchup @minhwa @oncecaratorbit @sugacookees @royal9 @doodlelibrary @myjaeyunn @yksthings @jundundun @amosmortese @jaeskz @seungmintree @woozarts @my-chaos-in-stars @yoonychoik @ksywoo @kellesvt @candidupped @sharkipoonis @wooahaeproductions @capsiclesworld @hellodefthings @sunshineshouchan @calumsfringe @caratinluv @pinkysinnerbaby @winterwallacehenderson @jvhoons @woo8hao @sxftiell @wondering-out-loud

[monsterswithimagines]

Undisclosed Desires - Part 10

Joe Goldberg x female!Reader

Summary: Twenty minutes before he would have met Guinevere Beck, Joe meets you instead. You intruige him, but it will soon become clear that there is something off about you.

Words: 1457

Smut warning!! Masturbation only.

Masterlist

A/n: of course I figure out how to write longer chapters when there's a smutty Joe Goldberg scene involved... Also, I realized today the whole "but it will soon become clear that there is something off about you" in the summary isn't actually that "soon". I'm just having way too much fun with stalker Joe...

Radio silence.

That's what the past two weeks have been, and it's my own fault. I fucked up. I tried to push for too much too fast.

When we left the festival, everything seemed fine. I got you a cheap burger and some coffee like I promised, and I sobered you up like I promised, and I got you home safely like I promised, and everything was just great. Then, the next day, I texted you:

ME: Do you want to get dinner with me after work tonight?

And you answered:

And I told you of course but then the weekend came along and you told me you had a thing, and then the next week you were busy, and now it's been two weeks of us barely talking. You're not even that busy, (Y/n). I know because you stay in every night eating twizzlers and watching Netflix. You're not even reading, which may have been a good excuse to bail on me if the book was really, really good.

YOU: ugh!!! i can't 😭 i'm sorry this week is going to be the worst

YOU: maybe this weekend? 😁

Well, today, I'm figuring out why you won't talk to me. It's easy as pie. First, I call a plumber about a leak in your bathroom. I make sure to pick a big company, so the person on the phone definitely won't be the person who comes by. Then, after your landlady has opened the door for the guy they sent, I go in and call:

“Babe? I thought you promised you weren't gonna leave the door open anymore! Oh, hello.” I act surprised to see the plumber coming out of the bathroom. “Are you… supposed to be in here?”

“Got a call about a leak. Everything seems fine, though.”

“(Y/n)’s always saying she's sure somethings wrong in there. I keep telling her there's nothing wrong at all.” I make a motion with my hand. “She's just not strong enough to close the tap all the way.”

Your apartment is old. I really hope I'm right about your taps being old, too.

“Well, there are no leaks,” the plumber says. “And you can tell her I said so.”

“Well, thank you for coming out, anyway.”

“Yup.”

I lie on your bed for a while, breathing in your scent. Then I go into your bathroom and smell your soaps. None of this is why I came here, but I can't help myself. I'm drunk on you.

And then the guy leaves.

I am gloriously alone inside your space. It's even better up close than from a distance: your books are all well-read, and on the wall where the windows are, you've got posters of old shows and movies. You've got a cd-player underneath your window which can't be seen from outside, and a cd-pole, too. You’ve got Bowie and Smashing Pumpkins and Nirvana, and you don't just have them to have them either. They're not dusty, which means you actually play them.

Finally, I find your laptop. It's underneath your bed, just where you always leave it. You never close it down properly and you don't have a password, which means I'm in.

You are logged into WhatsApp and Discord. I can read all your texts. Your e-mail is open, too. This is the history of you, right at my finger tips.

I check the time. Four pm. Another hour until you even start to go home.

First, I check your texts. You are texting right now: your mom. Or at least, you sent your last message to her ten minutes ago, and you're still waiting for an answer. It's all in Dutch, though, and if I take the time to translate everything, I'll be here for far too long.

Your texts with Nadia are the same deal. Dutch. I translate the last few, from last night, because I think you might have actually said something meaningful to her, but nope:

YOU: what colour should i dye my hair?

NADIA: No!!! You finally have your own colour back and you TOLD ME to stop you if you tried to bleach it again!

YOU: ok but what if i dont bleach it

NADIA: I will fly over there and kick your ass.

I smile. I still like Nadia.

Below that exchange, there is your work group chat. Then, there are your messages to me. You don't text a lot of people, it appears.

Your Discord is the same: a whole lot of nothing. Most of the messages are years old and while I would love to go through them sometime, to get to know a younger version of you, today is not the right day.

Your email is more interesting. You, (Y/n), have a penpal. Here's the latest in a long, long email chain:

To: Greybird@wirrhino.com

Subject: WHY AM I LIKE THIS

hey hey,

i know we haven't talked in a while (why does every email we send each other start like that omg) but i miss you, and i wanna talk to you, and i figured you don't mind getting a message at like 3 am.

how are you doing? how's your family? how's the manny-ing job going? (is that even how you say that? idk. i'm not english and i will never pretend to understand the intricacies of the jokes of this language.)

a lot has been going on with me, i'll be honest. for one, as you know, i moved to new york!!! fucking finally. we are in the same country now, which means we have to plan that road trip across the states soon. come on, grey. we've been talking about it since we were 16 and we WILL make it happen. i will murder you if you say no!!!

anyway. things are good here. ish. you know how it is. the job is jobing. i don't think anybody there really likes me. actually i'm pretty sure no one there does. it's super lonely.

at least i've made a friend! his name's joe. he works at a bookstore so you just KNOW i have a crush on him. but also he's my only friend here and i don't want to ruin that. but i kind of am ruining it bc now i'm avoiding him bc i'm 100% sure he likes me too and WHY AM I LIKE THIS, GREY?? ANSWERS ARE NEEDED! but yeah. he's really great. and cute. and ugh.

write back!! i need advice and also i need to hear about your life.

love,

(Y/n)

I have never been so happy, (Y/n). I love this Grey, whoever he is, because you told him I'm really great. And cute. And ugh.

Also, you said you have a crush on me. I knew it! You are obsessed with me. You send emails about me at three am. You think I'm great, and cute, and ugh. You are avoiding me because you want to jump my bones. You are so obsessed with me you can't stand to talk to me.

I lie back on your bed and stare at the ceiling and I'm hard. Harder than I've ever been. I press my hand against my cock and then I unzip my jeans and stroke myself and is this love, (Y/n)? Will we one day tell our children you couldn't stand to be near me because you loved me so much?

Great. And cute. And ugh.

Great. And cute. And ugh.

One day soon you will show me that email and you will be so embarrassed, but I will tell you how adorable you are. I will tell you I was in love with you from the start, from the moment we met. Then you'll kiss me and you'll ride me right on this bed, right in front of this window where anyone can see us–

I check the time again. I need to get going soon, or you're going to catch me here. One day it will be expected of me to be waiting for you after work, but that day is not today.

I come hard, all over my fingers but luckily not on anything else. Part of me wants to wipe my hand on your sheets just so you'll smell me tonight, but I know you're not ready for that.

I go and wash my hands in your bathroom. The one where there isn't any leak.

I replace your laptop, make sure your bed is exactly as it was when I came in (messy, so that's easy) and pick up a sock you left on the floor. That'll be a keepsake for me. A reminder of this day, when you told someone you had a crush on me. That I am great. And cute. And ugh.

[tojiscrack]

is it weird that i wish y/n existed in the actual jjk verse. like her personality fits so well with almost every single character, and the chemistry between megumi and y/n is THE BEST ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

her personality is so real and unlike any other reader i’ve come across in other reader x [insert character] fics. the chemistry between her and other characters doesn’t feel forced, if you understand what i mean? i thoroughly enjoy reading EVERY scene because of that! (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

you said to look out for foreshadowing which is what i have been trying to do but perhaps i’m being a little silly looking way too early, considering other chapters have not been released yet. but one thing i have noticed is that megumi only really has shown CLEAR signs of liking her more than just a friend when he is about to leave her (not the scene where he’s silently fighting over sitting next to her at yuji’s place because that could arguably be seen as platonic too despite me seeing it as him liking her) - for example; when he’s going on vacation without her. now i understand that this is only one example but i have a feeling that this may become a reoccurring theme - what was it, absence makes the heart grow fonder? i have a feeling he’ll only ever understand his feelings for her when he is away from her. and given the angst hashtag, it wouldn’t exactly be surprising if for any reason they moved away from each other, whether figuratively or physically.

i could be completely wrong though and if that’s the case, then this is embarrassing ( ᵒ̴̶̷᷄◡̶͂ᵒ̴̶̷᷅ )و

but regardless, i’m so happy i stumbled across this fic. seriously, the way u write is awesome and i can only wish to be as good as you when it comes to writing! the dialogue, the chemistry between the characters is so cute and feels like a coming of age sitcom. i love it i love it i love it and i love you!! (๑˃́ꇴ˂̀๑)

please keep up the good work, soldier. i salut you for your hard work keeping us all sane after gege shattered our souls (stay alive, don’t let him find you) ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

liar, liar masterlist here

oh. my. GOSH. a long message? AJSJWKSJWJSJ STOPPP I’M SO EXCITED TO ANSWER THIS

it is not weird at ALL. i created this y/n with the sole thought that there should be a character as wild as her (i love goofy characters sm you have no idea). like my fav character from aot? connie. fav from jjk? gojo. fav from haikyuu? tanaka and hinata. fav from death note? L (don’t lie, that man was funny af).

read that entire sentence about her chemistry with megumi and the relationship she has with the other characters not being forced with a FAT smile on my face 🙂‍↕️ an author knows they’ve won once someone points this out using their own free will. thank you for that 😭💞

the second i saw the word ‘foreshadowing’ in ur message, JAISJWISJWJSJ. YES, YOU HAVE A PREDICTION? TELL ME MORE (i feel like a mastermind rn muahahahaha) 😋 you are nawt silly for looking for it earlier. i’ve dropped so many hints and no one’s picked it apart yet (surprisingly). some are more obvious than others, but let me tell you now, once you’ve noticed it, you’re gonna smack ur forehead and think ‘why didn’t i see this before?’.

i LOVE how you’re playing devil’s advocate for yourself (you’re so smart omg). like you’ve mentioned how the only in-your-face type of thing we’ve seen so far is the airport scene (i mean, if gojo pointing it out wasn’t so obvious, dk what is, really, lolol). and i also like how you’ve made it so that the arguing in yuji’s room can be easily seen as platonic despite what you might think (we need smart people like you so pls don’t die tyvm).

and OOH, IDK WHAT TO TELL YOU WITHOUT SPOILING IT. distance makes the heart grow fonder… yeah, can’t reveal whether this trope is for them or not. i can, however, confuse you a little and say that you’re half right. maybe, like, forty five percent right if i have to slap a number on it. yeah. but there is something that occurs later on (you guessed it, with the angst hashtag) that makes me want to say that you’re actually fifty five percent right. idk, you’ll see what i mean once the main story’s out 😭

this would NOT be embarrassing for you if you’re wrong, let me tell you that much. this fic’s been out since the end of december (beginning of january?) and no one’s come to a prediction as well thought out as yours. for that, i will NOT forget you when i write out the half-correct prediction of yours in the coming chapters.

i’m so happy you stumbled across my fic too! 😭 i’m having sm fun writing this out and laughing to myself (not at you babe, just as the evil mastermind that i am). i’ll be responsible for your complaints once the angst chapters get out (plural because there’s a LOT of them planned). tysm for ur kind message, i’m so flattered my writing pleases you 😭 dialogue is hard to write, trying to match it with the characters ofc, so i appreciate your support on that 💘

girl, gege will never find me. after what he did to my satoru, i will find him. don’t get it twisted.

on the contrary, i’m so upset you wrote all of this anonymously but i respect it, there might be a gazillion reasons why you’d like to remain anonymous. so if you ever send a message again, just lmk it’s you. call yourself the ‘big brain anon’ (😤) because you’re so smart and ily and don’t be humble about it, you are SO smart <3

[paranormalsaga]

Nebulous (Chapter Seven)

Nagode mentally rehearsed what he would say to his mom while the phone rang.

“Hello?” His mom said in Ujamaan.

“Hey, how are you?”

“I’m fine, but I haven’t heard from you in over a week. What have you been up to?”

Nagode looked at the refined office space around him, the Gladiators’ file was still displayed on the television screen. The Paratroopers and Liu had left the briefing room to give him some space. 

“I’m okay,” he said. “Great, actually. I got a new job.”

“What? That’s amazing, congratulations! What is it?”

“It’s a government job,” Nagode replied, feeding her the lie Liu had concocted for him. “I’m going to work in the defense department. I can’t go into detail for national security reasons, but the money’s good. I’m excited.”

“Why am I just now finding out about this? I’m texting your father right now, and I have to tell your brother and sister.”

“I—I wasn’t sure if I had the job until today.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear it. No more Nullifier.”

“No more nullifier,” he echoed, the words put a small grin on his face, but it quickly faded. He hated lying to her about this. 

Liu cracked the door open a bit, checking to see if Nagode was still on the phone. 

Nagode mouthed that he was almost done.

“I want to catch up with you more, but I have some work to finish first.”

“I won’t keep you, but remember to call me, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Oh, and I’ll have to stop by your apartment to visit sometime soon.”

“What?” Nagode asked.

“Are you kidding me? It’s been too long since we last saw you. Yes, we’ll have to come by so we can all go out and celebrate your new job.”

Nagode groaned internally, wondering how that was going to work when his time was consumed being a Paratrooper. 

“Okay,” he agreed, sighing. “This week is busy, but we’ll get together soon.”

“Perfect. Good luck with your new job. I love you.”

“Love you too, mom,” Nagode said, then he hung up. 

He thought back to what Annihilation had said about his telepathy.

“Jonah,” Nagode reached out.

“What the fuck? What is this?”

Nagode imagined how this must feel for him. The voices in his head would feel real.

“Jonah, it’s me, Nagode.”

“Nagode? How is this possible? This can’t be real. My parents were right, the weed must have made me crazy.”

“No, it’s really me. 

“Prove it.” 

Nagode thought about how to do that for a moment, then an idea came to him.

“We went to a club freshman year and these wannabe hood douches made a big deal out of something stupid, so you matched their energy, and then you ran for your life when they came over to confront you. Everyone laughed.”

“Too far, dude, but I get the picture. Damn, so you really can do mind tricks.”

“Yeah. I’m still figuring it out, and that’s actually part of the reason why I reached out to you. I just wanted to give you a heads-up that my parents might be stopping by the apartment at some point soon, so just make sure it looks presentable.”

“What? When?”

“I don’t know, I still haven’t figured out an exact time yet, which leads me to my next point. I’m gonna keep my lease for now, but I won’t be around the apartment nearly as much.”

“Why?” Jonah asked.

“I’m finally quitting the Nullifier, I got a new job and they want to celebrate.”

“Congrats, man!”

“Thanks. I’m gonna tell you all about it, but it’s a long story. I’ll see you soon, okay?”

“Sounds good, just one final piece of advice on your mind trick thing.”

“What’s that?” 

“Maybe just text instead? You know, I could be driving or taking a shit or—”

“Okay, I get the picture. Noted”

“Alright then, peace.”

“Peace.”

…

“His name is Doctor Isaac Magani.” Liu said. “He’s one of the Gladiator Program’s top scientists, but unbeknownst to them, he’s also our inside man. He defected a year ago and he’s been feeding us important information on the program ever since, fighting them from the inside. However, we’ve never been 100% sure we’re getting the full picture. The trouble with using traitors is that you invite them to stab you in the back, but now we have you and we can finally put our fears to rest.”

“What do you want me to do?” Nagode asked.

“We’ll ask him a series of questions while you secretly observe him. You’ll read his mind each time he hears a question, and then we’ll get to know his honest answers. We’re relying on his intel for that job Masquerade mentioned earlier.”

They were walking through the fifth floor of the DPA headquarters, another biometric scanner granted Liu access through the door they arrived at.

“I guess that makes sense,” Nagode said, entering the room.

“Good because we’re about to get started.”

They sat in front of the one-way mirror, they were situated in a comfortable office space. On the other side of the glass, an older, dark skinned man dressed in business casual clothes sat in a room that resembled the one the DPA had kept Nagode in when they first brought him here. It was Dr. Magani. He looked exhausted and he was currently thinking about what he would eat when he got out of this place.

“What year were you born?” Liu asked through a microphone, initiating the interrogation.

“1974,” Nagode heard the man’s thought.

Dr. Magani repeated the same number aloud.

Liu looked at Nagode for confirmation. He nodded.

They continued with a few more normal, preliminary questions before Dr. Emeagwali grew frustrated.

“What is the meaning of this?” He demanded. “I’ve been nothing but helpful to you people. We don’t have much time, the project is getting closer to launching in Corinthia with each passing day and Indira’s getting suspicious. She doesn’t trust me, she knows something’s up, I can feel it.”

Nagode listened to his thoughts. He wasn’t lying, he seemed truly afraid of whoever this “Indira” person was. 

“He’s telling the truth,” Nagode said. 

Liu didn’t respond, he spoke into the microphone again. 

“We’re aware of the urgency, we know what we’re doing. Just answer a few more of our questions and you can go.”

“Ok,” Dr. Magani agreed. 

“Repeat the intel you gave us a few days back.”

“Indira won’t be at the headquarters next Friday, neither will her usual security detail. From sunup to sundown on that day, our research will be at its most unguarded. With the right team, you could take it right from under their noses and leave them none the wiser. This is your best chance to access that information, you won’t get another opportunity like this again.”

Liu looked at Nagode again. All the words seemed earnest. He’d never used his powers to detect a lie before, but he was fairly certain he’d be able to. When he read people’s minds, their immediate thoughts poured out like a stream of consciousness. A liar would need to know what was going on to deceive him, and by that point he would be unable to read their thoughts anyway.

Dr. Magani produced a thumb drive from his pocket. He held it up toward the glass. 

“I’ve recreated the schematics of our floor plan. If you give me access to a computer, we can go over entrance and exit strategies.”

The doctor’s thoughts corresponded with his words. 

“He’s still telling the truth,” Nagode said.

“Okay then,” Liu muttered to Nagode. “Just one last question.”

“Why did you decide to betray your own project?”

A flurry of thoughts raced through the doctor’s mind as he listened to the question. Nagode’s telepathy had never given him this kind of sensation before. He could feel the doctor’s anguish, he bore his guilt as if it were his own. An image flashed through his mind like a fleeting memory, only it didn’t belong to him, it belonged to Dr. Magani. It was an image of a man’s body being remolded, Nagode could tell that the pain was excruciating from the way he screamed. Dr. Magani just stood there, listening to the crack of the man's bones, he watched new skin grow over exposed patches of muscle as the body grew greater in mass until the man was at least a foot taller. Another image flashed in rapid succession. It was the same man being burned alive, stabbed, shot, drowned, electrocuted, microwaved. He survived all of it, nothing could kill this behemoth. Nagode closed his eyes, attempting to block out the thoughts, the pain behind them was too vivid, too palpable. He had trouble discerning his own feelings from the doctor’s.

Dr. Magani took a deep breath.

“Because I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t,” he finally answered.

“It’s true,” Nagode whispered, opening his eyes.

For a moment, Nagode thought his mind was playing tricks on him, but when he turned to his right he found himself facing Masquerade.

He jumped back immediately, knocking over his chair. 

“You’ve got to stop doing that!”

Masquerade smirked but didn’t respond, then she turned to Liu.

“His powers seem to be working. Dr. Magani never lied.”

“Good.”

“You knew she was here the whole time?” Nagode asked Liu.

“What?” Masquerade asked. “Did you think you were the only human lie detector?”

“Um, yeah—kinda.”

“We needed to be certain your powers were working properly,” Liu interjected. “Maya’s clairvoyance allows her to detect the subtle changes in human behavior that correspond with deception, but you actually know what people are thinking, that grants us all kinds of insights no lie detector could. If you knew she was here, it could’ve affected your answers. I needed to cross-reference your capabilities without arousing your suspicions.”

Liu brought Dr. Magani out of the observation room and introduced him to Nagode, it was obvious that he had already met Masquerade. A DPA agent brought a laptop into the room and they hooked the thumb drive up to it. The doctor, Liu, and Masquerade deliberated over the best infiltration method while Nagode sat back and watched them go to work, feeling pretty useless.

Something bugged him the whole time the three of them talked amongst each other. 

“I don’t understand,” he spoke up for the first time in a while. “If Masquerade can turn invisible, then what do you need me for? She can already get into the building undetected by herself.”

“Normally, you would be correct,” Masquerade said. “But this building is different.”

“We have a state-of-the-art security system,” Dr. Magani explained. “It’s almost as good as the DPA’s. No one gets in or out of any room without inputting an acceptable fingerprint scan. She would be undetected when she got there, but she wouldn’t be able to do anything.”

“Unless…” Masquerade said.

“Unless she had a way to bypass the mechanism,” Dr. Magani said, completing the sentence. “If there was a way to make the doors unlock like they would if someone had input an acceptable fingerprint, then she could get in and out without any trouble.”

“And that’s where you come in,” Liu said.

“But I don’t know how to do any of that.”

“We know,” Masquerade said. “That’s what your training is for. It would’ve been rough even before this new deadline came up, but now it’s going to be brutal.”

Liu pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Maya,” he said. “Some truths are better left unspoken.”

She shrugged.

“But she’s right,” he continued. “You’re really in for it now, Nagode. We’ve got no time to waste. Let’s get started.”

Next Part

Last Part

[golbrocklovely]

i'm gonna make this post since i have like ten asks wondering my thoughts on it. and i don't really feel like repeating myself over and over again.

long story short, i'm disappointed.

so… snc did a video with elton and corey. they addressed the rumors that have been circulating about elton and the things he has done to snc, none of which were true. and i'm glad that that can finally come to a close and the death threats can calm down. bc while i never liked elton, he didn't deserve death threats.

but let me get into the video.

i don't feel like rewatching it, so if i get some things wrong, idc. but what i know for certain is that elton flat out said "the fans drove us apart and made me act the way i did." which, is just a flat out lie. HE started way back in late 2020/21. i have proof. i've seen it with my own eyes. i was literally there while he was tweeting out things against snc. if he is that easily persuaded, he should reconsider his career choices. fans took it too far, i'm not disagreeing with that; but to pretend that him and corey didn't shade snc for years and that the fans started a beef between them is ridiculous and incredibly incorrect. elton started a battle that he didn't think was gonna continue for as long as it did. he believed his ego and thought fans would side with him in his unjust belief that snc were copying him. and it didn't play out in his favor, so he just got more bitter and bitter over the years about it. once ppl started making up lies about him, something he had no issue doing to snc, that's when things went "too far".

again, did he deserve death threats for being petty? absolutely not. did he deserve lies to be made up about him? no. but do not pretend to be an innocent bystander in a war YOU started. you handled things publicly and then got pissed when the public had opinions. idk what you expected. snc didn't do anything to elton. they didn't copy him, they didn't take content that was his and change it around to be their own. that is something elton CLAIMED to have been the case. and now he tries to blame it on fans and that they were the ones that claimed that. his apology is null and void when he turns around and says "yeah i said some things i shouldn't have but it's actually the fans' doing that made me think that way." you are full grown adult man with multiple businesses. act like it.

and i cannot fathom under any circumstance why snc would ALLOW elton and corey back into their lives. they bad-mouthed you two for YEARS. they did it in front of fans on tour! they cultivated a fandom that was happy to see you guys fail or get called out. i get you feel bad that fans took things too far. that maybe you were petty too in some instances, that you could have reached out sooner. but YOU DIDN'T START THIS. they don't deserve loyalty or to be in your lives again bc fans were assholes! and you shouldn't want someone in your life that will believe a stranger over you. bc what is there to say that elton won't turn around and shit on you again? he obviously has issues talking shit out. what about the next time he thinks you slighted him? you think he's gonna be rational and act like an adult and talk to you? probably fucking not.

snc bitch time and time again about feeling used, that they always feel taken advantaged of. they keep their inner circle small bc they can't trust anyone. colby literally talked about not being able to date outside of the industry bc what if the girl he's with wants something from him. they do all of this complaining, only to bring elton and corey back in. two ppl who will only BENEFIT from being their friend again. they have been losing subs and followers for years now ever since they started this war. they have nothing to lose being your friend again. they will USE YOU.

it became very apparent to me that snc only want elton and corey back in their lives for memories' sake. they had a three hour conversation only to go back and talk about the good ol times. there's a reason why those moments are in the past. elton literally still sees you guys as the young 20 year olds he has to "take care of". he literally said he loveD you guys, past tense - bc now he hasn't hung out with yall in so long. and you want that back in your life bc you miss feeling young and have uncle elton around? let go of 2017. that was a life time ago. there is no reason to have this man back in your life. and same goes for corey. neither one of them even wished you well publicly when you were diagnosis with cancer or going thru chemo, colby! what about that screams good friend material??

i know i am one person with one opinion. you don't have to listen to me, and that goes for everyone reading this. if you're happy they're back together, that's great. good for you. but i will not be supporting any content that comes from elton/corey and snc. if they do a video together, go on a trip - i will not watch it. i don't care to see two men who i care about hang out with two other guys that literally wished them the worst for three years straight.

snc are allowed to make whatever choice they want. if they want these guys back in their lives, that's the choice they make. if they accept elton's apology, that's fine. but i will not support it. it is such a disappointing feeling to see the ppl you care about act like floormats personified. you guys are so desperate to be seen as good and positive and it is mind-numbingly annoying. who cares if you're an asshole sometimes?! set boundaries for christ's sake. and follow thru on them. stop listening to fans who have the attention span of a spoon and are only here bc they think you're hot.

…this goes into a longer issue i've had with snc for a while now. and that's that i'm no longer excited to be an avid watcher of them. everything that has happened this year was proof, to me, that they should have taken an actual, long term break, the moment colby got sick. they started out the year not even being with each other on colby's bday. and even before that you could tell something was off with the two of them. it was clear colby wanted a break, was aching for one, and sam was the one that wanted to jump right back into work the moment the new year started. then colby got diagnosed, then sam and kat broke up, then colby went thru chemo, then sam needed to get his shit sorted out so he went to therapy (and still very much needs it). then they celebrated colby being cancer free and jumped back into the amount of work they were used to doing. this doesn't even take into account that colby never got time to recover from even realizing HE HAD CANCER, or the fact he was working all while going thru chemo and before that too. they NEVER took a break. taking a week off to black out in japan doesn't count. they are so obsessed with working and numbers, it's not even funny.

and then this podcast with kris… while i did enjoy it, it became very clear to me that snc are really only making content anymore for views and money. and look, get your coin, this is your job after all. but at what point do you start making content you actually enjoy making? bc the moment they shitted on 25x25, something they very much loved when it was happening, that was enough proof that they only care about views and money anymore. the only reason they stopped that WAS bc no one watched it. and ppl didn't stop watching it bc it was inauthentic. you were travelling during a deadly pandemic… what did you expect fans to do?? not to mention you cold turkey-ed content that ppl signed up for (haunted stuff). of course the views are gonna plummet. it wasn't bc the editing was weird and new, which is what yall love to latch onto even to this day. you guys were so excited for that content, and now shit on it bc it's become the joke to the fandom, half of which wasn't even here when you made that content.

you collab with ppl no one even cares to see you with bc you know it will bring in views. who the fuck wants to see yall and bella poarch at the conjuring house??? none of these collabs make sense anymore, unless you just want to get views. all the content you have put out this year has been mediocre at best. you talk about quality over quantity but really should have just considered not working and taking a break since one of you was literally going thru fucking cancer.

i just feel so deflated. i'm not even excited for the conjuring house. i don't care about hell week. i can't even be pissed that sam is barely helping with the edit still. none of this fucking matters anymore.

yall don't care, so why should i?

do whatever makes you happy, i guess. but don't complain when you realize it doesn't, bc i'm not gonna be here to hear it.

also, if any of you get pissy at me bc you feel like this is a good thing and you want to see them collab and i'm taking it too far... respectfully, i don't give a single shit about your opinion. have yours, i'll have mine.