#why he be looking a little too fine though
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OIKAWA AS YOUR MUTUAL THAT YOU HATE IRL
oikawa x gender neutral reader
you and toru have been mutuals on twitter for almost a year as you both run and met through twice fan accounts. you talk to him more than your irl friends atp. on the other hand you and oikawa don’t get along irl, as you’re both on opposing college teams and constantly competing for nationals. since then he’s always picked on you at games, but that all changes when you finally decide to meet your favorite oomf in person.
notes — karasuno is a mixed gender team in this to keep it gn, and instead of highschool these are college teams / the messages in the first section are like throughout the week before you two meet up
ooc idk? it’s been a while. assume everyone is 20ish, i cud make this a cute mini au one day but rn i’m lazy so this is fast paced
also here’s the soobin version i wrote a while ago
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Your stomach was swarming with nerves as you made your way inside the cafe, the scent of freshly made coffee and sweaty college students from the stadium surrounding you as you slid into line. Admittedly, you never thought you'd get the chance to meet Toru, he was just your cute internet friend and nothing would ever happen.
That was, until today.
It was a bit embarrassing that you stared at the selfie he'd sent for longer than you should've. It was difficult to comprehend the boy you'd been talking to for so long was hiding such a pretty figure. Even with the emoji hiding his face you could tell he was cute.
You eye the display of cakes and decide to pick one up for the both of you as Toru had already promised to get you guys coffee. You felt bad going empty handed after finally meeting him.
You reach down to grab onto the last chocolate slice and your hands meet another. Usually, you'd let it slide and choose something else even though you touched it first. But, when you looked to your left and locked eyes with your self-proclaimed enemy, Toru Oikawa, those thoughts washed away. You were going to fight for that slice of mediocre cake.
"Not you again," Oikawa sighed, tugging the slice towards him, "Don't be obnoxious."
"Says you," you scoff, tightly grabbing onto the plate, "Why are you always so rude towards me? Is it because we annihilated you in the game?”
"You were just lucky," He grins, his large hands tugging the cake closer towards him, "Choose something else.”
"You choose something else. Losers don’t deserve nice cake! I got to it first!”
"Ok and?" Oikawa questions, like the little shit he is.
"Fine, just take it," you sigh, not wanting to make Toru wait. Good Toru, not this evil one beside you. But as you let go of the cake and step back you notice Oikawa’s outfit. He was adorned in clothes that oddly resembled the photo Toru had sent you.
"You made me lose my appetite," Oikawa mutters, dropping the cake and shuffling past you. You shake off the familiarity and make your way towards the back. Most men wore the same clothes, it was nothing.
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You eye the walls of the cafe until you come across the wooden tables from the photo.
You start scouring the seats for someone that resembled Toru but the only person in your vicinity was Oikawa.
You inch your way closer towards him with morbid curiosity, hoping that your suspicions would be proved wrong. But as you got closer the drinks on the table and location of your rival were too similar to the photo Toru had sent you.
Unfortunately, Oikawa locked eyes with you.
"What do you want? Are you here to apologize?" he questions, playing with the straw of his drink as he barely gave you a glance.
"Toru? From twitter?" you tentatively ask, your voice hoarse from the nerves. This couldn't be happening.
Oikawa pauses.
"What?" he slowly asks, turning to look at you, "What did you call me?"
"Oh my god," you gasp, "Are you ruluvyeon?"
"What..," he starts, catching on, "You're urmomoyn?"
Your username sounds foreign on his tongue but it was him. Oikawa was your Toru. Evil Toru was your sweet Toru.
Your beloved Toru was the same guy you've been on bad terms with all year. Just your luck.
Before Oikawa could comprehend anything or you could answer, you decide to do the most mature thing anyone would do in that situation.
You run.
And he doesn't follow.
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a week later
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The street was dark apart from the flickering lamps on the side of the walkway as you made your way towards Oikawa - or well Toru’s - house. It still felt odd.
Your palms felt clammy and you were clad in your pajamas, in too much of a rush to change. Which was a decision you were regretting since the flimsy fabric did nothing to protect you against the wind.
Before you knew it you spotted the complex Toru supposedly lived in, and as you walked closer you could see his tall figure waiting for you in the dark. It would've been rather creepy if not for the fact he was drowning in a large hoodie and sweats with a beanie tugged on his hair.
His arms were crossed across his chest as he rocked back and forth due to the cold.
You swallowed your nerves and made your way towards him, not quite knowing what to do with your hands other than give him an awkward wave as he spotted you.
"Hey," he breathed out, gesturing for you to follow him inside.
The warmth of his apartment was far more welcoming than the freezing night. He shut the door behind you both and tugged off his beanie as he gestured for you to sit down.
"Hi," you greeted back as you sank down on his couch. The entire place felt very lived in.
Toru’s face scrunched up into an sly smile.
"I missed you," you added, "I'm glad you reached out."
"I am too," he hummed, reaching out to take his hand into yours. His palms felt warm against your own freezing ones.
"What was your last text about?" you question as his thumb rubs circles on your palm.
"I don't know what you’re talking about?" he smiles, "What did I say?"
"You know damn well what you said," you huff.
"Okay, well I meant it," he answers, "I convinced myself to try and forget you since you were an online friend. But having you right in front of me changed things."
"Changed things how?" you say, warmth creeping up your cheeks.
"Well, for one I can actually see you," Oikawa notes, "And do things like this," he adds, his voice going quiet as he reaches over to push a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "And, instead of fantasizing about kissing you, I could actually do it."
"You fantasized about it?" you ask in disbelief, still flustered at the touch of his hand so close to your face "You didn't even know what I looked like!"
"You were kinda just a blob in my mind," he shrugs, a smile tilting his lips at your offended face.
"A cute blob though, right?”
"Of course."
“You never imagined me as my icon?”
“Only when you changed it to Gojo.”
“Oh fuck off,” you laugh.
"So, you really don't hate me?" you muse, playing with his fingers, "It's so weird seeing you be so gentle."
"Would you rather me go back to being rude?" he replies, "But I really don't. I feel a shitty at how I used to treat you. You just get me riled up.”
"It's okay, I did the same," you assure, patting his hand, "Let's start fresh."
"Okay," he agrees, clasping your hand in between his, "Let's go out."
"Straight to the point?"
"I don't think we should waste any more time," he replies, “And my entire team thinks I made you up.”
“I need to make it up to you,” you sigh.
"Kiss me and consider yourself forgiven," Oikawa easily grins, looking at you with the usual look of arrogance he sends you through the net when he wishes you a terrible game. But this time it looks different. Like he wants you to win.
“Alright,” you manage to croak out, your throat closing up at your false confidence.
Honestly, you were qute irritated with yourself on how you treated Oikawa for the past few months. You desperately wanted to move on and start fresh.
Oikawa let out a surprised laugh and you wanted to ingrain the sound into your mind. He brought up his free palm to his mouth and let out a small giggle into it.
“Go ahead then,” he smiles.
"Okay," you manage to say, taking a deep breath.
"Any day now,” Oikawa smirks.
"Shut up, I need a moment-," you started, but were interrupted as he reached over and yanked on your top to slot his lips against yours. He stumbled and you both fell backwards onto the couch as he caught himself above you, both knees outside your hips as you snaked your hands around his waist.
He stared at your for a mere moment in disbelief before leaning down to capture your lips with his. His lips felt pillowy against your own and his warm body right on top of yours made it feel just as good.
You had to remind yourself not to laugh into the kiss.
#oikawa toru x reader#oikawa smau#oikawa x gender neutral reader#toru oikawa x male reader#oikawa x y/n#oikawa x reader#oikawa x you#oikawa tooru x you#oikawa toru smau#oikawa tooru x reader#oikawa texts#toru oikawa x reader#toru oikawa#haikyuu oikawa#oikawa headcanons#haikyuu smau#haikyuu x gender neutral reader#haikyuu x reader
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𝜗𝜚 The Girl Next Door.
Spencer Reid x Neighbor!reader
series masterlist
Summary: If Spencer thought being secretly in love with you was hard, having to avoid you in the hallway was even worse.
Words: 4,8k.
Warnings & Tags: mention of jail. painting!reader. post prison reid. spencer’s pov. lack of communication. the reader has a cat. angst, so much angst. english isn't my first language (sorry for my mistakes, be kind please).
Note: I struggled a lot writing this because it's a roller coaster, so sorry in advance.
“How long? It's not a problem to take care of everything, but I'd like to know if you'll be okay or—” Your voice almost cracked for a moment, your eyes still trying to adjust to the sunlight streaming in through the bedroom window. Spencer's sheets were still wrapped around your body, and you felt so connected to them that the thought of getting up while still watching him toss and turn looking for his shoes was too much.
“I don't think more than a day or two, I'll be fine.” He stopped his chaotic steps for a second and stared at you as if to make a promise. He paused, glancing away as if to compose himself before adding, “I have some work in Mexico. It came up last minute, or I’d have told you earlier.” His voice faltered, almost imperceptibly, and the words sounded rehearsed, like he was repeating something he’d practiced.
You frowned slightly, confusion flickering across your face. “Work in Mexico?” you echoed. “Since when do they send you out of the country for cases?”
“It’s not that kind of work,” he said quickly, his tone just a little too smooth, a little too practiced. “It’s…consulting. A conference on forensic advancements, some behavioral workshops—things like that.” He kept his gaze on the floor as he spoke, as if afraid to meet your eyes. “I won’t be gone long.”
You didn’t question him further. Why would you? Spencer wasn’t the type to lie, and the way his brows knit together, the way his voice softened with the promise, “I’ll be back soon,” made you believe him. But something about the way he shifted his weight, the way he avoided looking directly at you, left a faint unease in your chest.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t have dinner with you yesterday. And breakfast now. I’ll make it up to you when I get back,” he added, his words tumbling out in a rush, as if trying to fill the silence.
You tightened the sheets around yourself, curling into their warmth, feeling the lingering heat from the side of the bed where he had been only moments before. It felt like he had never really left, the space around you still filled with the faint echo of his presence. Watching him now, his movements a little frantic, his gaze flickering toward the clock every so often, made you feel like he was slipping away too quickly. A part of you, small and selfish, wanted to ask him to stay. To sit back down, to let the world and his trip wait just a little longer.
But the words wouldn’t come. Instead, you whispered, barely above a breath, as if afraid to disturb the fragile moment, “Promise?”
Spencer’s gaze softened even further, a tenderness washing over his features as he moved closer to you. His lips curled into a faint smile, one that didn’t quite touch his eyes but was filled with something that made your chest tighten. “Promise,” he replied, his voice firm but gentle, as though sealing a pact between the two of you. He leaned down, his warm breath brushing your forehead before his lips followed, pressing a soft, lingering kiss against your skin. The kiss was tender, quiet, and almost reluctant, as though he didn’t want to pull away from this moment either. For a moment, his forehead rested against yours, the space between you vanishing entirely. It felt like the world had narrowed to just this—just the two of you—and all the invisible lines you had drawn between friendship and something more blurred into nothing.
But before you could do something stupid, he pulled back, with his eyes lingering on you, still filled with a softness that made your heart flutter. “Have you seen my shoe?” he asked, his voice playful yet tinged with the usual frustration of his misplaced belongings.
You let out a small laugh, still wrapped in the sheets, the warmth from them mingling with the warmth of the moment. “Oh, you’re a mess, little boy,” you teased, your voice light and affectionate, the fondness for him slipping out in every word.
“Mittens take it again?” Spencer asked, his eyes glinting with playful exasperation. He had grown accustomed to your cat’s antics, and he could hardly be surprised at this point.
You nodded, grinning as you pointed to the underside of the bed. “Ding ding, genius,” you replied, your voice light and teasing as his gaze followed your finger. Sure enough, there it was, tucked under the bed—another casualty of your mischievous cat’s nightly adventures.
He grumbled good-naturedly, but a soft smile tugged at the corner of his lips, as if the chaos of the morning didn't matter when you were here with him and everything felt so domestic. As he bent down to pick up his shoe, you couldn't help but watch, your heart swelling at the sight of the man you were so in love with, even in his messiest moments. There was something about him—something in that moment—that made him feel so good, as if everything else could wait and the obvious fact that he didn't feel the same way about you didn't matter. Anyone outside the room generally didn't matter. For now, it was just the two of you, tangled in sheets and laughter, clinging to a piece of time that was all yours and would be the only thing you'd have left when he was gone.
“She loves you, that’s why she does it…I guess she wants your attention,” you said, your voice trailing off, and the taste of the words felt sour in your mouth. It sounded too much like you were talking about yourself rather than your pet, and the realization hit you like a cold wave. It made your chest tighten in a way you couldn’t explain, and you immediately wished you could take the words back. But you didn’t.
He glanced at you, a thoughtful expression crossing his features. “I read something about that,” he said, his voice light, but you could tell he didn’t entirely understand the weight behind your words. It didn’t matter. You were used to it by now.
“You read about everything.” You gave him a small, rueful smile, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes, the bitterness of the moment creeping into your voice. You were fine with it, you told yourself. Fine with everything.
He glanced at the clock, a quiet sigh escaping him. “I have to go…it’s late,” he said, and you could hear the quiet resignation in his voice. The moment, it seemed, had reached its inevitable end.
“Okay.” The word slipped out of your mouth more dryly than you intended, and you hated the way it sounded. You didn’t want him to leave. You didn’t want the moment to end. But it was already slipping away, and you knew it. “But before you go…come here.”
He hesitated, looking at you with uncertainty in his eyes. But then, slowly, he took a step toward you, his face softening when you reached out to touch his cheek. The moment your fingers brushed against his skin, he shivered, and your heart skipped a beat at the contact.
“Is…is something wrong?” he asked, his voice softer now, as if sensing the shift between you.
“No, I just want to say goodbye properly.” You shifted closer, your heart hammering as you moved toward him, your lips hovering near his. The temptation to close the distance, to kiss him, burned inside you. But you didn’t. You couldn’t.
“Take care and come back,” you whispered, the words carrying more weight than you meant. You kissed his forehead gently, your fingers instinctively smoothing his hair down as you did. “Now it’s like you have my blessing,” you added with a faint smile.
He smiled at you, the warmth in his expression a bittersweet thing that made your heart ache. “Thank you, and good luck tomorrow with my godchildren’s.” His voice was soft, but the moment was already passing, slipping away, and with it, the space between you both. He gathered his things, gave you one last lingering look, and then turned toward the door.
You stood there, watching him go, the weight of what you didn’t say crashing down on you. The door clicked shut behind him, and you felt a hollow ache in your chest, a longing you couldn’t quite name.
God, you really wanted kissed him.
God, he really wanted you kissed him.
When Spencer opened his eyes for the first time in a cell and felt a sickening jolt of disorientation. The dirty walls and a rickety bench stared back at him, mocking the comforting image of his organized room and, more painfully, the thought of you. The absence of your laughter, your touch, your presence—everything that had once grounded him—hit him like a freight train. He knew something was wrong.
As the days blurred together and the evidence piled against him, he clung to the belief that this nightmare wasn’t real. Every hearing, every damning piece of evidence that chipped away at his freedom, felt surreal. Even when the judge handed down his sentence, condemning him to months behind bars, the finality of it didn’t register. What shattered him was the moment he filled out his visitation schedule and consciously omitted your name. He hadn’t wanted you to see him like that. He didn’t ask anyone to explain, didn’t try to soften the blow of his absence. That, he thought, was the point of no return—the moment he lost everything.
But Spencer was so wrong. The true breaking point came when he walked out of that hellhole, finally free, and climbed the stairs to his apartment. Each step was a physical ache, the pain in his chest sharper and heavier with every step. His hands trembled as he reached for his keys, the jangling sound unnervingly loud in the empty hallway. His gaze fell on your door, just a few steps away. The familiar sight sent his stomach into knots.
For the first time, he wished you wouldn’t be there.
The thought was alien, unnatural. You had always been there, and he had always wanted you there. When he was too drained to cook, you’d suggest their usual coffee spot, your smile lighting up the grayest of mornings. When his back ached from long nights bent over case files, you’d massage his shoulders, insisting scented candles could fix his bad posture and his bad days. When his mother’s health took a downturn, and he felt his world crumbling, you’d hold him, stroke his back, and promise that everything would be okay. And when his social battery was drained at reunions, you’d step in with your bad jokes or your art facts, making the world feel manageable again.
Now, standing in front of his own door, his fingers clumsy with the lock, all he could hope for was silence. He didn’t know how to face you, didn’t know if he could explain the broken pieces of himself.
His door creaked open, and he was greeted by the familiar scent of the home he had only dreamed of for the last while. It was overwhelming: clean clothes, slightly sweet candles, and something undeniably yours. The apartment was exactly as he remembered it, as if time had stopped the moment he left three months ago and never returned until now. His heart shrank as he took it all in: the blanket you insisted on leaving on the couch, the pile of books you always meant to return to his library but never did, his fish swimming around as if nothing had happened, and even the plants by the window, thriving despite his absence because you had surely watered them without fail.
And then there were the little details, things that told him that you had not moved away from this place, from him. The plate you always left for his cup of coffee, the one you gave him last Christmas, was still on the counter. His favorite cardigan, the one he thought he had misplaced, was folded neatly on the back of the chair and smelled of the baby softener you liked to use. His books were exactly where he had left them, although one of them had a bookmark you had made, a telltale sign that he had read it and was waiting for him to come back to comment on it, as you always did.
But he hadn’t returned.
Not then. And maybe not now at all.
Suddenly, the phone in his pocket rang, its shrill tone slicing through the heavy silence like a sharp reminder of reality. The vibration against his skin startled him, his body tensing as he pulled the device out. His gaze flickered down to the screen, and the name that appeared caused a knot to form in his stomach: JJ. His thumb hovered over the screen, his mind racing, unsure if he was ready for the conversation he knew would follow. But deep down, he knew there was no avoiding her. Jennifer wouldn’t let him slip away unnoticed, and if he didn’t answer, she might show up at his door, demanding answers he wasn’t sure he had.
With a resigned sigh, he swiped the screen and lifted the phone to his ear. “Is everything okay?”
The concern in his own voice surprised him. Maybe it was instinct, or maybe he was just desperate to shift the focus away from himself.
“Everything’s fine,” JJ replied, her voice steady but laced with something deeper. “I just wanted to check in. You’ve been…quiet.”
He exhaled slowly, staring out the window, the city lights stretching before him and the memories cutting deep. “Yeah,” he said, his voice low. “Just trying to catch up on things. All good here.”
“Okay,” she said softly, and there was a pause—a hesitation that made his pulse quicken. He could almost hear her thinking, weighing her next words. Then she cleared her throat, the sound small but deliberate. “Have you seen…her?”
The question hit him like a physical blow, stealing the air from his lungs. He turned away from the window abruptly, pacing the length of the apartment as if motion could somehow ease the tension coiling tighter and tighter in his chest. “No,” he said quickly, too quickly. His jaw clenched, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. “I don’t know if I want to.”
The lie tasted bitter on his tongue, and he wasn’t sure if he believed it himself. How could he say that when every thought of you still made his heart ache? When the idea of you haunted him, so vivid and constant it felt like you were in every shadow of his empty apartment?
Jennifer’s sigh crackled over the line, heavy and filled with the weight of unspoken truths. “She’s been asking about you,” she said softly, her voice tinged with that unshakable sadness she tried so hard to hide. “Every time I see her. I think…” She hesitated again, and Spencer could hear her swallow hard, choosing her next words carefully. “I think you owe her an explanation.”
He swallowed saliva and tightened his fingers around the phone. JJ was right, of course. She always had been. But the idea of facing you, of trying to explain everything without drowning in tears, seemed impossible. How could he tell you the truth? How could he look you in the eye and admit that he had spent the last three months in jail, paying for a crime he had not committed? That he had done things that he deeply regretted, that made him sick and a horrible person?
You deserved better. You always had.
You were a blessing to anyone who had you around, and he knew that better than anyone. That's why he recommended you as a babysitter for JJ's kids, that's why he insisted that you come out to the bar with him and the team several times, that's why he told his mother about you, and that's why he gave you unlimited access to every single part of his life and told you things he'd never told anyone else. You were the one he thought of during those long, sleepless nights behind bars when JJ brought drawings from her boys. He imagined you there with them, sitting cross-legged on the floor, helping Henry with his homework or letting Michael pile blocks on your lap. It was silly—heartbreaking, even—but the thought of you, of your warmth and your kindness, had kept him going.
“I have to go…clean some things,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, so desperate to run away from the topic.
“Okay,” JJ replied softly, her voice tinged with sadness. “Tell me if you need anything.”
Before Spencer could find the strength to speak, the line fell silent. The hum of the apartment filled the space around him, oppressive in its quiet, and he stood there, phone still clenched in his hand. The weight of it, the weight of everything, settled deeper into his chest, making it hard to breathe. He stared at the counter as if it could offer him some sort of escape from the quiet agony that had overtaken him. With a long exhale, he dropped the phone, his fingers lingering on it for a second longer than necessary, before pulling away with a heavy sense of finality.
Just as he was about to move, his mind already drowning in the whirlpool of thoughts he was so desperate to escape, a soft, muted thud broke the oppressive stillness of the apartment. The noise was faint, almost imperceptible, but in the suffocating quiet, it reverberated like a crack of thunder. His breath caught, his heart skipping a beat as his body went rigid. Slowly, he turned his head toward the source of the sound, his eyes locking onto the open balcony door.
A sleek black shape emerged from the shadows, moving with a practiced elegance that seemed almost ethereal in the dim light. Mittens.
“Hey,” he murmured, his voice breaking on the single syllable, hoarse and unsteady as if even addressing his might shatter the fragile thread of control he was clinging to.
The cat paused for a moment, her head tilting slightly as if considering him, her eyes gleaming in the dim light. Then, without a second thought, she padded over, her steps confident and unhurried, the soft click of her claws against the floor the only sound in the room. She jumped lightly onto the couch, then onto the small table beside him, her movements fluid and practiced. As she reached him, Mittens sniffed his hand delicately, then nuzzled it gently, her warm, soft fur brushing against his fingertips. The familiar rumble of her purring filled the air, a soothing, almost hypnotic sound that cut through the tension and wrapped around him like a blanket.
Spencer let out a shaky breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “I didn’t think I’d see you again,” he whispered, his voice barely audible in the quiet of the apartment. He hesitated, his fingers brushing the soft fur of her head, unable to stop himself from reaching out.
Mittens leaned into his touch, her purr intensifying as her little body pressed against his hand, seeking warmth, some affection. She didn't care about the months she hadn't seen him or just heard his name spoken a thousand times by you. To her, he was still Spencer, the same one who had fed her, played with her, and cared for her whenever he could. That was enough. She was very happy.
“You still remember me,” he murmured, a faint, fragile smile tugging at the corners of his lips. It was the first time he’d smiled in what felt like an eternity.
The cat blinked up at him, her green eyes half-lidded with contentment, as if to say, Of course I do.
For a long moment, he just stood there, his hand resting on her soft fur, letting her purring fill the empty spaces inside him. It was such a small thing, her presence, but it reminded him of you—of the life he’d left behind, the warmth he hadn’t realized he’d needed so desperately until now.
But the calm didn’t last, and Spencer’s heart nearly stopped when he heard a soft knock on the door. His gaze snapped up from the cat, who was now lazily sprawled across the arm of the couch, her purring uninterrupted. The knock came again, this time paired with a voice that sent a jolt through his chest.
“Mittens?”
The voice was muffled through the door, but he knew it instantly. It was you.
Another knock followed, gentle but insistent. “Are you here, baby?”
He froze, every muscle in his body tightening as he registered the sound of your voice. You were here, in his apartment—or at least on the threshold of it. The thought was both thrilling and terrifying. He wasn’t ready for this. He wasn’t ready to see you again.
The cat, oblivious to the tension that suddenly filled the room, stretched lazily before hopping down from the couch. Her tail flicked behind her as she padded toward the door, her movements casual, as if she belonged here. Her eyes were fixed on you as you stepped through the open door, your figure partially silhouetted by the light from the outside.
“There you are,” you said softly, your voice brimming with relief. The warmth in your tone hit him like a physical blow, and he had to bite down hard on the inside of his cheek to stifle the sound threatening to escape.
You crouched down to scoop the cat into your arms, your movements gentle and practiced. “You scared me,” you murmured, cradling her against your chest. Your voice softened, carrying that familiar tenderness he’d missed so desperately. “You’ve been running off so much lately.”
Spencer pressed himself against the shadowed wall, willing himself to disappear. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, couldn’t even look at you for fear his body might betray him. The apartment was dark enough to hide him, but he knew the signs of his presence were everywhere—his phone abandoned on the counter, the faint indentation on the couch, the way the air seemed to shift with the weight of him being there.
You didn’t notice. Your focus was entirely on Mittens as you stroked her soft fur, your touch so gentle it made Spencer ache. “I know you miss him,” you murmured, the words falling from your lips so quietly they almost didn’t reach him. “I do too.”
The confession tore through him like a blade, sharp and unrelenting. His chest tightened, and he bit down hard on his lip, tasting the faint metallic tang of blood. Tears burned in his eyes, but he refused to let them fall.
You lingered for a moment, your gaze sweeping over the apartment as if you could feel his presence, even if you didn’t see him. Then, with a soft sigh, you turned back toward the door.
“Let’s go home, baby,” you whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of Mittens’ head before stepping into the night.
The door closed with a quiet click, and Spencer was left alone once more. His knees buckled, and he sank onto the couch, his hand trembling as it pressed against his face. The silence was deafening, a hollow, aching void that swallowed him whole.
Maybe it was for the best. Maybe fate didn’t want you to see him again—at least, not yet.
But then, the next morning, it happened.
You were returning to your apartment, groceries in hand, when you saw him.
He was standing at the end of the hallway with his back to you, as if he was leaving his apartment. As soon as you saw him, your heart skipped a beat and all your rational thoughts vanished. It seemed like an eternity since you had seen him, even though it had only been a few months. Your first instinct was to run to him, throw yourself into his arms, and demand an explanation, but something about his posture made you hesitate. He was stiff, distant, almost sad. His usual warmth was nowhere to be seen. And yet there was something different about him: his long hair, now a bit wilder and more unruly, framed his face in a way you had never seen before. Some curls fell over his eyes, and his beard had grown thicker and darker. The change in his appearance was shocking.
Without thinking, you dropped your groceries at your door and hurried toward him. “Spencer!” you called, your voice trembling with a rush of emotions you had bottled up for months.
He turned slowly, and for a split second, his eyes locked with yours. There was something in his gaze—a flicker of recognition, maybe guilt, but it quickly faded, replaced by a cool distance you had never seen in him before, at least not with you. Before you could stop yourself, you reached out and pulled him into a tight hug. It was instinct, more than anything, to wrap your arms around him like you always used to do. The warmth of his body felt like home, like everything you had missed was right there in your arms. You held on tightly, breathing him in as if this would somehow make up for the absence. You’d been so lonely without him, and this, just holding him again, felt like it would fix everything that has been wrong lately.
But to your surprise, Spencer didn’t move an inch. This time his body was rigid, unyielding, as if he didn’t feel you or want you around. He did not return your hug. He didn’t even seem to acknowledge it or really want it. His arms remained stiff at his sides, and you could feel his breath hitching against your neck, but he didn’t respond. It was like hugging a stranger, someone you once knew but no longer recognized.
“God, I missed you…” You pulled back slightly, looking up at him, trying to gauge his expression, but his face was unreadable. His long hair now brushed against the collar of his shirt, the unruly beard framing his jawline. But his eyes were the only thing that stayed the same—cold and distant, void of the tenderness they once held. “Are you okay?”
He didn’t answer immediately. The silence hung between you, thick and oppressive, before he finally spoke, his voice flat. “Sorry, I…I don’t think I’m the best person for that right now.”
Your heart sank, the warmth of the hug and reunion evaporating into a hollow chill. “What happened?” you whispered, feeling the pain creep into your voice. “Where have you been? Why didn’t you say anything? I was so worried for you and JJ don’t say so much.”
He didn’t smile. He didn’t even look like Spencer, not the one you had known—kind, warm, and always ready to offer comfort. His face was hard, closed off, and distant. He seemed…different, almost cold. “I’m sorry, I needed to get to…work,” he said, his voice clipped and curt. “I didn’t think you’d be awake at this hour.”
You felt a pang of confusion and hurt at his words. “What do you mean? You didn’t want to see me? You haven’t been here in months,” you said, the bitterness creeping into your voice. “You just disappear, and then you show up here, like nothing happened? You sleep here? I came to your apartment last night, and you weren’t there.”
He didn’t react. No apology, no acknowledgment of the pain he’d caused. He just stood there, cold, distant. “I’m sorry,” he said, the words almost sounding like an afterthought. “I had work to do. It’s…complicated.”
“Complicated?” The word tasted bitter on your tongue. “That’s all you’ve got after disappearing for three months?”
Finally, his eyes met yours again, but there was no warmth in them. No tenderness, no familiarity. His gaze was hard, as cold as his words. “I don’t owe you an explanation,” he said sharply, his tone final, cutting through the air like a knife.
It felt like a punch to the gut. The warmth that had once filled your heart whenever Spencer entered a room, the gentle care he had shown you, was now replaced by something colder. It was as if the person you had known—the person who had been your friend, your confidant—had vanished along with the man who used to leave you sweet notes and show up with your favorite food after a rough day.
“You…you don’t owe me anything?” you whispered, your heart breaking with each word.
The silence stretched between you again, suffocating. When he spoke, his voice was quiet, almost hesitant. “I’m sorry.”
But it was hollow, empty. A formality. Not an apology that meant anything.
And then, just as quickly as he had appeared, he turned, walking away. “I have to go,” he said, his voice softer now, but still detached.
Before you could say anything else, he turned, leaving as quickly as he had appeared. And just like that, he was gone again—leaving you alone with the deafening silence and a heart full of questions.
Just like your worst fear: Spencer was avoiding you in the hallway.
#criminal minds#criminal minds fanfiction#criminal minds x reader#spencer reid#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x fem!reader#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid x fanfiction#spencer reid x you#spencer reid angst#matthew gray gubler
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Younger Years Pt. 4
Masterlist
Summary: Damian gets temp de-aged to 6yrs old; cue him asking where his twin is. This is how everyone finds out about Danny's existence Word Count: 2088
Explaining to them what Talia had said did not make the situation any better. While her information had been helpful it wasn’t nearly enough to calm the storm that raged in them. If anything caused the winds to roar even stronger. They had to know what happened in that room, and the only one that knew was currently 6 years old. Which meant everyone would just have to wait; something this family was never good at especially when it came to personal matters.
“Talia doesn’t know what really happened to Danyal. Ra’s could have just lied to her, and made Damian swear to never tell her the truth. We all know how much he idolized that man. It would have been easy for Ra’s to convince him it was for the best.” Tim suggests as he types hurriedly at the computer.
“If Talia thought for a second that he had done something like that it would have come to light by now.” Bruce counters, “Ra’s would still have needed help getting Danyal out of Nanda Parbat, and one of them would have most definitely let it slip to Talia if he had done that.”
“Which is why Ra’s would have everyone involved killed before they could have done so.”
“Tim-”
“Crazier things have happened Bruce; multiple people in this family have come back. Why not Danyal?” Tim looks away from the screen for but a second as he interrupts Bruce before focusing back on the screen. A clear sign that he doesn’t want to continue talking about this.
Bruce leaves Tim to continue his investigation; a part of him hoping that Tim is right. He could never admit that though. It would just be that much more crushing if proven wrong. So he turns attention to Dick, who is still near the med bay ready to rush in if need be.
“Chum, why don’t you take a rest? Damian is perfectly fine right now, and you look like you need a break.”
He knew that the reveal of Danyal’s death would hit Dick partially hard as someone who was very protective of his younger siblings. It wouldn’t matter to him that Danyal died before he even knew of his existence. Bruce expected Dick to be consumed with sadness right now. He wasn’t though he was overcome with fury.
“A rest Bruce? We all just found out that Damian’s twin is dead; that Ra’s did something to make sure Damian wouldn’t tell anyone. And you want me to take a rest?” Dick eyes burned into him as he spoke. “I’ll take a rest once I know what that psychotic old man did.”
Bruce knows Dick well enough to read between the lines of what his son is saying. He’s angry at Ra’s, yes, but Dick’s angry at himself too. He’s probably wondering why Damian never felt comfortable enough to mention such a big part of himself to them.
“And we’ll make sure Damian knows that whatever Ra’s said or did was wrong, but you look exhausted right now. At least let me bring a chair over here for you to sit in.” Bruce calmly states to his eldest son.
It looks like his words haven’t calmed Dick in the slightest, but before he can speak up again a chair is being pulled up next to Dick by Jason. “Jesus Christ Dick, just sit down already. And that’s me agreeing with B on something so you should know that it's not just the old man saying some b.s.”
It doesn’t take much for Jason to force Dick to take a seat; one hard shoulder shove and he was collapsing into the chair. After which Jason pulls his own chair up next to him. “I’m gonna need you to put an end to this little pity party in the corner, Dickiebird.”
“I’m allowed to be upset, Jason. We just found out that our brother is dead, and I should have been able to do something.
“You think I don’t get that? The only difference between us right now though is that I was there; I could have done something to save the kid if I had known.”
“Jaylad-”
“No Bruce, if Dick here wants to blame himself for not doing something then he can blame me too.” Jason gives Dick an annoyed look then turns his head towards Bruce, “You’re free to get out of here old man. Can’t believe I’m the one that’s gotta talk some sense into Dick here.”
He really doesn’t want to leave this conversation where it’s currently at, but when Dick gives him a nod he knows that he should withdraw. Bruce does make a mental note to ask about how the discussion went later; for now though he’ll do as they want.
So for now he moves on to check on his final son, Duke, before doing so though Bruce stops by his office once more for a moment to just sit and think. Once there it doesn’t take long before he is reaching into the bottom drawer where he keeps a bottle of whiskey hidden away. When he doesn’t feel it though Bruce knows that Alfred must have taken it.
Of course Alfred knew he had it; that man knows everything that goes on here.
It’s for the best that it’s gone anyhow he doesn’t need to be repeating past habits from when he lost Jason. That’s the last thing this family needs right now; not when there are still so many questions that need answers.
In the end it’s Duke who seeks him out first. A mere 10 minutes goes by where Bruce is sitting in silence before a few light knocks echo against the walls around him. After announcing that the person knocking entrance Duke almost hesitantly approaches him. His habit of always tapping his fingers on whatever he was holding a dead give away for how nervous his son must be feeling right now.
“Hey B,” Duke started, “everyone seems to be going through it right now huh?”
“It would appear so. What about you chum? How are you doing with all this?”
“I’m … not fine, but I know that that’s ok; I don’t think anyone wouldn’t be somewhat affected by the recent news. I actually wanted to talk to you about something else though if that’s ok.”
Bruce takes a quick steady breath preparing himself for whatever this conversation may bring. “Of course, what did you want to talk about?”
“About what’s going to happen afterwards; when we find out the truth from Damian. Because- If Danyal is … dead then I think asking Damian about who Danyal was as a person, and setting up a memorial of sorts might help everyone with their grief.”
“That,” his throat feels tight, “that sounds like a wonderful idea, Duke. I’m sure Damian- everyone would appreciate having a setup for Danyal in the manor.”
Duke seems satisfied with his answer, and with a small smile makes his way out of the office. Before he leaves though he says one last thing, “I’d also make time to call Cass and Steph to give them an update on this before they get home.”
After that the silence once more takes control of the room while Bruce thinks about the what if’s and the could have been.
He’s not sure what the future holds for them now, but Bruce does know that whatever comes they’ll deal with it; together. That means he can’t keep sitting here in sorrow; he can’t fall apart again.
“It’s time to get to work,” is his last thought as he leaves to make his way back to the cave.
-
The rest of the day seems to go by in a blur, and not in a good way. Damian spits fire anytime anyone steps into his room. He has only willingly allowed Alfred inside to deliver food to him, and even that was met with cautious anger.
At the very least Damian isn’t trying to escape; some piece of evidence they showed him must have convinced him that what they were saying was the truth. That conclusion is a double edge sword though as now Damian for sure knows that Danyal is gone. Why else would his brother not be here?
Red Hood and Red Robin are the only ones that go on patrol when the time comes. Dick refuses to leave his station at the med bay door knowing that Damian could be transferring back to himself any time now, and Bruce doesn’t want to leave him by himself if that does happen tonight. The two don’t talk much while alone in the cave, but Dick does allow Bruce to momentarily take his place at the door while he takes a moment to refresh himself.
While it doesn’t actually happen that night the family is definitely in for a surprise when they check in on Damian the next morning, and find the now normal 14 year old boy asleep on the bed.
Everyone had to hold Dick back so that he wouldn’t wake him up, and in the end it was Alfred who finally managed to convince him to let Damian rest without interruptions. Unfortunately for the sleeping child though this only gives the rest of the family more time to think about what they’re going to ask, and heaven knows he already has a lot to answer for.
-
Damian feels himself slowly waking; his body feels stiff and slow when he attempts to sit up, but otherwise fine. He knows he must be in the med bay since the last thing he remembers was being on patrol with Nightwing and encountering a blinding light.
When enough of his strength finally returns to him he cracks his eyes open to see his father and brothers all looking at him with varying degrees of concern. Whatever happened must have been a lot bigger than he had originally thought if they are all here with him.
Slowly he rubs a hand across his face and groans out to everyone in the room, “What happened?”
No one says anything for a few beats. In fact they all seem to avoid meeting his eyes entirely. Eventually though his father clears his throat before speaking in a voice far too soft and gentle, “Well chum, you got hit with a spell while on patrol. It- It reverted you back to your 6 year old self.”
Oh.
Oh no.
That was probably the worst thing he could have been told right now as Damian thinks back to what he was like at that age; to who had been by his side since birth. There is absolutely no way that his long gone other half wasn’t mentioned, or brought up in however long he was in his younger state.
“I’m frankly surprised to see you all still standing. I was very dedicated to the league at that age.” He’s not going to admit to anything just in case he is wrong though. Danyal is not someone who Damian is ready to speak about. His twin, his brother, and his biggest regret; he’ll never forgive himself for being so brainwashed by Ra’s that he allowed Danyal’s death that day. That he was prepared to do it himself because the older man said it was for the best.
“You did manage to break Jason's nose!” Duke lightly chuckles as the mentioned man throws a glare, but otherwise remains silent. Followed by more deafening silence from everyone else.
Dick is the one that finally brings up the elephant in the room, “Dami … who’s Danyal?”
Why did he have to be right about them knowing? Ready or not it seems the truth about Danyal was coming to light it seems. “Danyal was my twin; the other half- the better half of me. I understand that now.”
His eldest brother gently grabs his hand, and holds it in a firm embrace of comfort. He’ll allow it for now. “And what happened to him?”
Damian can’t keep his past hidden anymore, and Danyal deserves to have his story told. “When we were 10 Gran- Ra’s took Danyal and I away from our studies early one afternoon. He said that he had a couple lessons of his own that he wanted to teach us personally.”
For one it was a life lesson, and for the other a death sentence.
… 4 years ago …
“Damian, Danyal, come. You two are about to learn what it truly means to be an Al Ghul.”
#dc x dp#danny phantom#dc x dp crossover#batfam#damian and danny are twins#danyal al ghul#angst#de-aged damian wayne
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there's a part of him that knew Price was right. a part separate from the nausea. a part of him that knows that he does talk too much, too loud, too often. Price is so often right, it's why he's a captain.
it's weird. he goes on walks now. in the times there's nothing to do, when he would usually go find someone to talk to. he goes on walks instead.
It's nice a little bit.
not really.
lonely. he's lonely. nobody talks to him really. not unless it's convenient. he keeps it at that.
which is... good. ultimately.
price doesn't question it. Soap doubts the man even remembers yelling at him. why would he. he has so many other things to worry about. soap's okay with that.
sometimes (a lot of the time) Ghost comes with him on his walks. it makes it hard to not talk like he used to before. harder to convince himself that it's fine if it's just them. Ghost always looks at him weird on those days. like he's expecting something from him. Soap doesn't know what it is. but he likes the time with Ghost.
and sometimes (most of the time) he follows Ghost back to his room. sometimes Ghost has paperwork, sometimes he reads. sometimes he talks to Soap. he talks more than he used to. it's good. he finally has time to talk without soap getting in the way. but he seems to like his time with Soap.
and sometimes Gaz comes with him on his walks. it's exponentially harder not to talk with Gaz. he used to tell him everything. and it's harder when Gaz doesn't even question him. he just accepts it. because he knows that Soap could never do silences. except that's all Soap can do.
it's better this way though.
he's better this way.
Price gets some bad news, soap just so happens to be there to take the brunt of the wave of negative emotions that washes over price, and he roars something along the lines of "DO YOU EVER SHUT YOUR FUCKING MOUTH, SERGENT!" And so soap shuts up, a nauseating hurt washes through him, but he swallows it.
It's obvious in the coming hours, days even, that soap is hurt, but price is to stuck in his own head to see.
Gaz becomes privy to what happened to make price lash out. At some point he goes to soap to try and cheer him up, and he tells him why price lashed out at soap like that.
Only soap himself is privy to the hurt that flashed through him. Because now he understands, he can't even be mad at the man. He sympathizes with him.
And it's only more reason for him to do as he's told. And he doesn't cave when Gaz spends time with him; he's not silent, but he's quiet, more amicable. And he only caves a little bit when Ghost is with him; jokes and laughs, but less firey and abrasive. And he still talks to price, still spends time with him; with all of the team; but he speaks less, says what he needs, resigns to listening more often than not. Price said shut his mouth, so he has.
And Ghost nags him about it, notices the obvious change after a day to chalk it up to an off day. He asks, and looks, and pokes. But soap doesn't tell him. It's Price’s business, so it's not his to tell. And he won't rat him out because he knows Ghost will do something about the supposed injustice. He'd do it for any of them, and had done it before. And soap appropriates it. Truely. But it makes it harder to do what price told him to. Luckily he's not so easily beaten by his own wishes. Hasn't been for awhile. Because as much as his desire to simply be able to talk to Ghost again like he did before is so much stronger than his desire to be in a relationship with him, his want for a relationship with the man has persisted for far far longer. It gets easier with time. He just needs to wait for the plateau.
#the more I write about this the further and further it gets from the original angst I had in mind.#will probably make a new post about what I actually wanted it to be. in the future#el rambles#el reblogs#john soap mactavish#simon ghost riley#ghostsoap#soapghost#call of duty#cod#cod mw2#kyle gaz garrick
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okay so it’s not a really good or specific idea or anything buuuuut… could you please please please do soft dom!jason x bunny!reader? i loved your other bunny!reader😔
btw feel free to ignore this if you don’t like it or anything, love ya🫶🏻
MDNI 18+
soft dom! jason x bunny! reader
jason todd smut
you were horny. so fucking horny. but you never initiated sex, ever. so all you could do was lay in bed with a pout until jason got home, and would hopefully catch the hint. jason had been working in the garage for hours during the past week, where you were left alone in the house with only your fingers shoved up your tight cunt, pretending it was jason’s. after moving in you threw out all of your sex toys, not because jason was against it, but because they came nowhere close to the pleasure jason would give you.
but you didn’t think about how short your fingers were, how they barely gave you anything, god you never regathered throwing out the toys more than now. whilst jason was at work you were sprawled out on the bed, your tiny fingers pumping in and out of cunt. the whines and moans that left your mouth were pathetic, to say the least, god you couldn’t even give yourself an orgasm. hence why you started to dry hump his pillow. there was something about smelling his musky scent that turned you on. the pillow did more than your fingers, you came hard.
the pink floral pillowcases that you insisted on getting was now stained and damp with your slick. the sight made you embarrassed. you were literally a bunny in heat. jason would never make fun of you for it, he would never do that. but there was something so embarrassing and tainting about seeing your cum on his pillow. immediately, with flush cheeks you threw the pillowcase away, putting on a fresh one.
your legs were still slightly sore from riding his pillow, and your post orgasm glow was visible, your cheeks with a small flush of pink, hair sticking to your forehead and your eyes teary from how badly you missed him. so when you heard the front door open, a sign that jason had returned your stomach dropped. you jumped back into bed pretending you were relaxing as usual, though when he walked in the bedroom he could sense something was off.
“hey bun,” he cooed softly sitting by the edge of the bed where you were. you smiled shyly, the nickname that would usually make you blush reminded you of how you were humping his pillow, like a literal bunny. “how are you feelin’?” he smiled, tracing the soft contours of your cheeks.
god you prayed that he didn’t see the flush of your skin, jason knew what you looked like when you came, and that was enough to make you panic. “j-just a little tired,” you smiled. that wasn’t exactly a lie. you were always slumped after an orgasm.
“what’s wrong bun? you are heating up,” he frowned as he placed his large hand on your forehead. you shook your head, slightly panicking. “n-nothing, the summer air is just making me a little hot.” though jason was smart enough to see through your lies. his large hands grabbed you by the waist, and easily placed you down on his lap, where you were straddling him.
“tell me the truth. you know i don’t judge,” he said softly, his hands rubbing small soft circles against your soft thighs. you couldn’t tell him the truth, it was embarrassing, what would he even think of you? you shook your head, “really, i’m fine jay.”
a small frown appeared on his face. “don’t lie.” gently, he bounced you ever so slightly, a way to get you out of your shell. “come on bun, tell me what’s in that pretty little mind of yours.” deep down he wouldn’t judge, but there was always the inkling of doubt that ran in your head.
“i just missed you, that’s all,” you mumbled shyly, snuggling deeper into his broad chest. he let out a low chuckle, “i missed you too bun.” gently he tried to push your face away from his chest, him wanting to see your face. “but something tells me, it was more than that,” he nudged softly. “let me see that pretty little face of yours, and look me in the eyes and tell me what’s wrong.”
he gently brushed the hair that was stuck to your forehead away, “you got this glow on your face bun, the kind of glow you only get when you come.” of course he caught on, he was the one responsible for giving you leg shaking orgasms. “i just really missed you,” you mumbled softly, refusing to look him at him in the eyes. “i missed your touch, i missed everything.”
he nods, his gaze never leaving yours, it was full of understanding and softness. “so you touched yourself?” he gently asked. you nodded, your hands clutching onto his shirt tightly. he let out a small chuckle, holding your fists in his hands, “want me to help with that?”
**
jason was always soft and gentle with you in bed, treating you like a princess, prioritising your pleasure first. “how are you feelin’ bun?” he mumbled softly, his lips gently nibbling your earlobe. he has you pinned down in a mating press, his large muscular frame on top of yours. you were in no place to talk, the pleasure was too much and your mind was going blank. the most you could do was a small pathetic nod.
“such a pretty little thing, you are doing so well.” jason gently kissed the tears that were on your cheeks, you always struggled to take him fully due to his size, hence why he would always give you small kisses and whisper words of encouragement. “taking me so well,” he groaned as your cunt gripped onto his cock.
“think you can handle it if i go a little harder?” he gently kissed your forehead. he knew your answer, and you knew it too. he was always so reassuring and gentle you would do whatever he asked. you nodded, “yeah jay,” you whined.
slowly he increased his pace, despite how deep he was going in you, his soft words of encouragement never stopped. “doin’ so well for me,” he grunted. “makin’ all those pretty sounds just for me.” he was balls deep inside you, your cunt was making the most lewd noises. “such a pretty little bun, all for me.” he praised softly.
you clung onto his neck, holding him tightly like he was going to disappear. “next time, if you need me just tell me ok? no need to hump the pillow.” you nodded, your grip tightening. jason saw how well you took him in, his cock disappearing between your swollen folds. “atta girl,” he groaned, kissing your neck.
“so pretty for me,” he mumbled leaving hot kisses on your neck. “j-jay, ‘m close,” you whined. gently, he squeezed your lower stomach, gently caressing just where he was buried in. “you can do it, i’ve got you.” he groaned at how tightly you were squeezing him. “come bun, just let it go.”
the moment he pressed on your lower stomach, you came. your moans echoing through the room. “there we go, that wasn’t so hard was it?” he grinned, kissing your forehead. you gave him a small smile, completely exhausted though you knew that you only received your first orgasm of the night, there was plenty more to give. “god, you’re so pretty so nicely fucked out for me, i have to give you some more.”
#ch: jason#jason todd#dc smut#jason todd smut#jason todd x fem!reader#jason todd x reader#jason todd x y/n#jason todd x you#red hood smut#red hood x reader
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A temporary goodbye (Front Man / Hwang In-Ho x reader)
summary: The first game is about to begin, and the Front Man needs to talk to his right hand man - who happens to be a little more than that.
tags: secret relationship, established relationship, fem!reader in mind
note: I had this scene in my head and just had to write it.
You’re standing next to the Front Man in the control room in silence, patiently waiting for his orders as always. There’s a lot going on in your head, so it’s not a surprise that you find yourself stealing a glance at him more and more often, because he’s the reason why you’re a little distracted today. This is the first day of the games, and while normally it’s a routine task, this year things are different. Everyone can feel it, but very few know the reason.
“I’ll watch the first game in my room,” he suddenly announces, and before you could react, he walks away. You let out a sigh under your mask, disappointed that you can’t talk to him before he springs into action, but then he calls back, his voice cutting through the silence. “Bunny, with me.”
The mask luckily hides the wide grin that appears on your face upon hearing him say this. You were supposed to have a proper code name, but he decided that Bunny suited you more, which is why you began to use it, and he even got you a bronze rabbit mask that matched his own in style. As usual, you follow him without a question, passing by the staff members who are preparing for the first game.
In his private room, the Front Man sits in the armchair and pours himself a drink, and eventually he takes off his mask too, feeling comfortable and safe enough to let it go temporarily. You can feel your heart beating in your throat as you wait for him to show any sign that he remembers you’re there. Sometimes he gets so lost in his job that you have to remind him of your presence.
But not this time. Now he clears his throat and raises his hand to signal you to go closer. “Say it,” he orders, although his voice is gentle, as it is every time he talks to you.
Since you’re obedient enough, you pad closer and stop by his side, a small smile creeping on your lips when you look at him. Four years. You’ve been working together for four years, but he only took off his mask around you two years ago. This was his way of showing his trust, something you truly appreciated.
“Take off the mask, we’re alone.” He finally looks up at you, a faint smirk visible as he watches you follow his order. Once it’s placed on top of his, he sneaks an arm around your waist and pulls you into his lap. “So? What’s on your mind? I can see something’s bothering you.”
Letting out a long sigh, you wrap an arm around his shoulder and lean in to give him a tentative kiss. “Are you sure about this? Joining the game, I mean,” you clarify.
In-ho lets out a quiet, humorless laugh. “You know perfectly well why I’m doing that. But it’s okay, you don’t have to worry,” he assures you as he rests his hand on your thigh, his fingers digging into your skin to ground you. Because he knows you. He knows you’re spiraling, he knows you think something bad will happen, which always kicks your brain into overdrive.
“If you don’t get out in time, I’ll be stuck babysitting the VIPs,” you say with a pout.
“You’d be fine.” When you give him a sceptical look, he kisses you again, and he even moves his hand closer to your inner thigh. The moment a soft moan escapes your lips, though, he stops. “Since when do you doubt me?” he wonders, his eyes examining your face to see the reaction.
Shaking your head, you rest your forehead against his. “I don’t doubt you, I’m just… Look, I know you can protect yourself, and you thought of everything, but we don’t know what he’s planning. He’s a ticking time bomb in there,” you explain.
“Keep an eye on the team while I’m in the game. Everything’s supposed to go smoothly, but if something happens… take care of it.”
You nod without hesitation, after all, that’s why you’re here. That’s why you became his right hand man. What’s happening between you–the stolen moments, the shared life back home when you’re not busy preparing for the next games–is a secret you’re keeping to yourselves. You’re the only ones who should know about it, no one else. It’s personal, and if anyone knew about this connection, they could easily use it against him.
In the beginning, you tried to resist the pull, you tried to escape his gravitational field, but then In-ho made you understand that it was okay, that you could make this work. He would make sure you can make this work. By now, you’re sure he would go to great lengths to protect you, he would get rid of anyone who ever dared to even look at you the wrong way.
The moment is ruined when you hear the instructions of the first game, a sign that it has begun. You both turn to the screen to watch it, but his hand is still teasing you, even if it’s nothing more but a subconscious movement. The comfortable silence between you is based on the deep understanding of each other, but you’re a little startled when he speaks up, not bothering to look at you.
“I love you, Bunny, never forget that,” he says quietly, as if he was telling this to himself.
A warm smile crawls on your lips. “I love you too.”
#front man#frontman#front man x reader#frontman x reader#hwang in ho x reader#hwang in ho#front man x you#frontman x you#hwang in ho x you#squid game
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Rest is the Mission
Pairing: Task Force 141 x reader
Warnings: Fluff, Sick Reader
Authors Note: Hope you enjoy, I wrote this because I’m sick right now and feel like crap sooooooo enjoy :) I don’t know if I would label it a Poly fic go it’s gonna be with the boys
Masterlist
MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+
You’d felt it creeping up on you for days—a scratchy throat, a dull ache behind your eyes, and a fatigue that weighed heavier each morning. But you brushed it off. A cold wasn’t going to stop you. Not when your team needed you.
It wasn’t until today’s training session that the sickness became impossible to ignore. Each step felt like trudging through quicksand, and your vision blurred as sweat beaded on your forehead. You pushed forward, determined not to falter, until your foot caught on uneven ground and you stumbled.
A strong hand caught your arm. You blinked up to see Price, his piercing gaze scanning your flushed face.
“Right, that’s enough,” he said firmly. “Out with it. What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” you croaked, your voice betraying you. “Just a little tired.”
Price’s expression darkened. “Don’t lie to me, love. You’re burning up.” He pressed the back of his hand to your forehead and let out a low whistle. “Bloody hell, you’ve got a fever. Why the hell didn’t you say anything?”
“I can handle it,” you protested weakly.
“Handle it?” Soap’s voice cut in as he approached, eyebrows raised. “You look like you’ve been hit by a truck, lass. You’re handling nothing but bedrest from now on.”
Before you could argue, Ghost appeared silently at your side. His gloved hand replaced Price’s on your forehead. He clicked his tongue in disapproval.
“You’re a liability to yourself like this,” he said bluntly. “Get to bed before you collapse. I’m not dragging your sorry arse off the floor.”
“I’m fine,” you insisted, though even to your own ears, the words sounded pathetic.
“Enough.” Price’s tone brooked no argument. “Soap, take her to her quarters. Gaz, get some water and medicine. Ghost, you’re with me—we’ll cover her workload for the day.”
Before you knew it, Soap was steering you back to your room, his arm a steadying presence. “You’re lucky we like you, hen,” he teased, though his eyes were soft with concern. “Otherwise, I’d leave you to learn your lesson the hard way.”
By the time you were tucked into bed, a wave of exhaustion washed over you, making it impossible to argue further.
---
The next few hours were a blur of fever dreams and muffled voices. Each time you stirred, one of them was there.
Price sat by your bedside, a warm mug of tea in his hands. “Drink,” he ordered gently, his tone softer than you’d ever heard. He waited patiently, his steady presence grounding you as you sipped.
Soap was a constant whirlwind of energy, refusing to let the atmosphere grow too heavy. “Y’know, I once caught a cold on a mission in Siberia,” he said, perched on the edge of your bed. “Nearly froze my arse off. Thought I’d lose my nose to frostbite.” His exaggerated tales pulled weak chuckles from you, and he grinned, satisfied.
Ghost was quieter, but no less attentive. He lingered in the corner of your room, his masked face unreadable, but his actions spoke volumes. He adjusted your blankets when you tossed them off, refilled your water without being asked, and made sure the room stayed cool to help bring down your fever. Once, you woke to find him sitting on the floor beside your bed, his hand resting lightly on your arm. The touch was brief, but it sent a wave of comfort through you.
And then there was Gaz, the self-proclaimed team medic for the day. He bustled in and out, armed with medicine and a determined expression. “Take these,” he instructed, handing you a handful of pills. When you hesitated, his brow furrowed. “Don’t make me pin you down, because I will.” His fierce protectiveness made you smile, and you took the medicine without further protest.
---
You’d hoped the worst was over, but as you sat up to sip the tea Price offered, a sudden wave of dizziness washed over you. The room spun, and nausea coiled tight in your stomach. You barely managed to set the mug down before leaning over the side of the bed.
“Easy, easy,” Price said quickly, his large hand resting on your back. He steadied you as you breathed heavily, fighting against the rising bile in your throat.
“Soap, get a bucket!” Price barked, his commanding tone snapping Soap out of his half-asleep state.
“On it!” Soap scrambled to his feet and darted out of the room, returning moments later with a small bin. He handed it off to Price, who placed it in your lap just in time for you to heave into it.
“Shh, you’re alright,” Price murmured, rubbing slow circles on your back. “Let it out, love. You’ll feel better soon.”
The nausea subsided after a few minutes, leaving you trembling and exhausted. Price set the bin aside, careful not to spill it, and handed you a damp cloth to wipe your mouth.
“Sorry,” you croaked, your voice barely audible.
“None of that,” Price replied firmly. “You’ve got nothing to apologize for. We’re here for you.”
Soap crouched beside the bed, his brows drawn in concern. “Poor thing. Looks like it’s hitting you harder than we thought.” He reached for your hand, giving it a light squeeze. “Don’t worry—we’ll get you through this.”
Ghost silently pressed a cold compress to your forehead, his gloved hand steady. The coolness was a relief, but the pounding behind your eyes continued, relentless and sharp.
“Headache?” Gaz asked, his voice soft.
“Bad,” you whispered.
“Alright. Painkillers it is,” he said, heading for the door.
When he returned, he coaxed you into taking the pills with a few sips of water. “Good. Now close your eyes and rest,” he instructed.
---
The pounding in your head eased slightly as the day wore on, and the nausea subsided into a dull ache. Each time you woke, one of them was there—Price’s steady voice soothing you, Soap’s jokes lightening the mood, Ghost’s silent care easing the worst moments, and Gaz’s gentle persistence ensuring you stayed hydrated and medicated.
When you finally woke the next morning, the sunlight no longer felt harsh, and your stomach was calm. You looked around to see all four of them still there—Price in a chair by the door, Soap curled up on the floor, Ghost leaning against the wall, and Gaz sprawled on the edge of your bed.
A soft smile tugged at your lips as you whispered, “Thanks, guys.”
Price stirred, his sharp eyes meeting yours. “Feeling better?”
“Much,” you admitted.
“Good,” he said, standing and stretching. “But don’t think for a second you’re jumping back into work. You’re on bedrest until we say otherwise.”
Soap cracked an eye open and grinned. “Aye, we’ll pamper you whether you like it or not.”
“Get used to it,” Gaz added, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
Ghost didn’t say anything, but his gloved hand briefly brushed your shoulder as he passed, a silent promise that they’d always have your back.
For once, you didn’t feel guilty about accepting their care. You knew they wouldn’t have it any other way.
Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnight💜
#x reader#141 x reader#tf 141#task force 141#tf 141 x reader#cod 141#mw2 141#simon ghost riley x reader#ghost x reader#simon ghost x reader#task force 141 fanfic#141#tf 141 x you#simon ghost x you#john price x reader#captain price x reader#captain john price x reader#price x reader#soap mactavish x reader#soap x you#john soap mctavish x reader#john soap mactavish x reader#soap x reader#soap call of duty#gaz x y/n#kyle gaz x reader#kyle gaz garrick#gaz x reader#kyle gaz garrick x reader#gaz x you
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K. BAKUGO SHORT STORY ᡣ𐭩
Hands Off:
You sat on the couch, your eyes fixed on the movie playing on the screen, but your focus wasn’t on the plot.
Instead, you kept glancing over at Katsuki, who was sitting stiffly on the other side of the couch.
“Katsuki, are you mad at me?” you asked softly, your voice breaking the silence.
He didn’t answer right away, his crimson eyes flicking toward you for a moment before looking away.
His arms were crossed tightly over his chest, and his usual confident demeanor seemed unusually reserved.
“No,” he grumbled, his voice low.
“Then why won’t you come over here?” You patted the space beside you, trying to coax him closer.
“I’m fine right here,” he replied, his jaw tight.
You frowned, sitting up straighter. “Okay, what’s going on? You’ve been acting weird all evening.”
“It’s not a big deal,” he muttered, still avoiding your gaze.
“Katsuki,” you said firmly, sliding closer despite his attempt to create distance. “Tell me.”
He sighed heavily, finally uncrossing his arms and letting his hands rest on his knees.
His palms were glistening slightly, and he clenched them into fists as if trying to hide the evidence. “My damn hands won’t stop sweating,” he admitted through gritted teeth.
You blinked, caught off guard. “Your hands?”
“Yeah,” he snapped, frustration clear in his tone.
“They’ve been like this all day. I don’t want to touch you and—” He stopped himself, his expression darkening. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
Your heart softened at his words, and you reached out to place your hand gently on his arm. “Katsuki, I’m not afraid of a little sweat.”
“It’s not just sweat,” he said, pulling his arm away. “You know how my quirk gets when my hands are like this. I’m not risking it.”
You moved closer, ignoring his protests, and gently took one of his hands in yours.
He stiffened, his eyes wide with concern, but you didn’t let go.
“Katsuki,” you said softly, looking up at him. “I trust you. You’ve got more control over your quirk than anyone I know.”
He swallowed hard, his gaze flicking between your face and your hand in his. “But what if—”
“No ‘what ifs,’” you interrupted, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. “You don’t have to pull away from me just because you’re worried. We’re in this together, remember?”
He sighed, his shoulders relaxing slightly as he finally let himself hold your hand.
“You’re too damn stubborn,” he muttered, though the hint of a smile tugged at his lips.
“And you love me for it,” you teased, leaning your head against his shoulder.
“Tch. Maybe,” he grumbled, his free hand coming up to rest lightly on your back.
As the movie continued, Katsuki’s grip on your hand grew more confident, the tension in his body melting away.
And though his hands stayed warm and slightly damp, you didn’t mind one bit.
FANFIC RECOMMENDATION ᡣ𐭩
Adult Bakugo x Female Reader Fanfic
#anime#bakugo x you#bakugou katsuki#bakugou x reader#bnha bakugou#katsuki#katsuki bakugo mha#mha bakugou#mha fanfic idea#mha fanfiction#bakugo katsuki#katsuki bakugou#bakugo#bnha#bnha x reader#katsuki bakugo x reader#bakugo x y/n#bakugo x female reader#adult bakugo#bnha bakugo katsuki#mha#my hero academia fanfiction#my hero acedamia#bakugo katsuki short story#katsuki bakugo x y/n#katsuki bakugo x female reader#female reader#bakugo x reader#k bakugo x reader#my hero x reader
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The Heart Of The Woods
Hi my loves! I wanted to give you guys a peek into our grumpy mountain manrry! He’s different to some that I’ve written before but I think you’ll like him if you give him a chance
Read the series ( 9 parts ongoing) and 220+ exclusive writings on our Patreon!
WC- 1.4k
Warnings- tiny bit of rejection, asshole h
He hadn’t been sure what he was thinking.
Hiring a housekeeper had not been on his agenda, but it put his mum at ease. Being far from her, up in his large cabin in the middle of the mountain, she had said she worried a lot about not only his well being, but about him overworking himself. His days started early, working on splitting wood, emails, driving down to deliver it, and all of that. His group of employees that worked on the lot not too far from his own place up the mountain were his main source of socialization and even they knew not to bug him too much.
Harry preferred to be left alone.
So why hire a housekeeper? It sounded okay at the time. Someone to keep the fire stoked and the house warm so he could come home and not have the house be cold for him and his animals, someone to cook and clean and… another body in the house. Make it less lonely. Maple was a good companion, Ash was too, but a dog and a cat didn’t replace human connection. Perhaps that’s why he had found himself feeling more irritated lately.
Watching the car pull in, he had to wonder how she could fit her belongings into such a small vehicle. Weren't women supposed to have a lot of stuff? The question was answered as she stepped out of the car, light wash jeans clinging to her thighs and pink sweater hanging on her form as she waved up to him. "Hi!" she grinned a tad bit too brightly for his comfort, jogging up to the wraparound porch. "I’m so sorry l'm a little late. I got lost at the turn- the split in the road? and I didn't have good service to call and let you know. I usually try and do that.”
She was rambling.
He grumbled, wiping his hands on his work pants. “Late's fine. I didn’t have any plans today, just don’t make a habit of it.” Glancing at her car, then back at her, he gave her a little bit of a look. “You got everything you need?” He wasn’t the best at socializing, famously, but she wasn’t aware of that yet considering their talk had mainly consisted of emails. It would be something she quickly found out.
“Oh!” Her chuckle was nervous as the man stood tall above her on the wooden porch, making her look up a bit at him. “Uh, yeah. I.. I kinda had to get out of my place in a hurry, so this worked out.” She smiled up at him before looking back to her car. “Did you want me to grab my stuff now or did you want me to do it after you give me the run down of what you want me to do?”
He sighed, stepping aside to let her pass. “Follow me.” He led her inside, shutting the door behind her. It was weird feeling someone else in his space. It had been a long time since he’d heard footsteps other than his own or his pets in the hall, and he wasn’t quite sure how he felt about it yet. Leading her down the wooden hall, he brought her towards the main part of the house- a large step down living room he mentally referred to as the den. The stone fireplace was lit with the fire going already as he gestured to a chair by it. “Sit.”
Y/N was distracted a little by the skylight- and then the view outside. It was absolutely gorgeous. The whole place was. She had slightly underestimated it despite the size of the place when she had applied to work eyes but she would make it work. At least the view was great. She could see that there was a deck outside, the view of the mountains sprawling behind them sort of blowing her away. The awe only lasted a few moments though, when she heard him clear his throat. Oops. “Sorry.” She smiled nervously. “The view distracted me. You’ve got a beautiful home.”
He grunted, not really used to compliments. Small talk wasn’t his thing. He sat down in his recliner, stretching his legs out in front of him before resting his hands on his knees. “So, as your employer, I expect you t’keep this place clean. Cook meals, do laundry, that sort of thing.” He paused, looking at her critically. “M’not home most of the day, and when I am I’m usually in my workshop. It’s the building out to the side that you saw.” He clasped his hands together. “We don’t need to have a ton of interaction. I need you to keep the fire stoked, maybe feed Ash for me if I get back late. I don’t have a lot of rules, but I ask you to respect my space.”
“Uh, alright.” She nodded, taking out her phone to take notes. “I figured the normal house stuff. I…” Her body felt the cringe as she went to ask it. “I haven’t really stoked a fire longer than it’s taken to do a bonfire while camping so, if there’s some sort of magic you know to keep it going longer I’d love to know it.” The girl didn’t want to fuck it up. The man worked with wood. The last thing she wanted to do was waste it.
It did make her a little unsettled to hear the other part, though. “Um, and what do you mean exactly by not needing to interact? Like, you don’t want to see or hear from me?”
Harry paused, his gaze sharpening a little on the girl. He was used to being alone. He liked being alone. He didn’t want to come home to some sort of chatty roommate. “I mean exactly that.” He said gruffly.
“Oh.” She replied quietly, swallowing the lump on her throat. Her gaze averted when his sharpened on hers, looking towards her lap. He was a little intimidating and she felt embarrassed for some reason- but logically she knew she hadn’t done anything wrong. Didn’t mean her body knew that, though.
“O-Okay. I’ll make sure to give you your space.” Her head nodded, convincing herself it would be good for her. Maybe akin to rejection therapy. She had hoped for something a little different, but this was the escape she had needed- she couldn’t complain. “Can you tell me what kind of foods you like, or don’t, so I can make what you’ll eat?”
Harry grunted, his expression relaxing slightly at the mention of food. He hated being bothered with small talk, but food was something he could appreciate- it was part of her job, anyways. He could talk abojt that. “I like meat and potatoes. Steak, roast chicken, mashed potatoes, that sort of thing. Don’t bother with fancy shit. Just straightforward, hearty food.”
He paused, thinking for a moment before continuing. “And coffee. Black coffee. None of that fancy latte crap. Just straight up coffee.” He stood up, stretching his arms over his head. “That’s all you need to know for now. You can start preparing dinner and I’ll be back later.”
“Oh! I… are you sure?” She stood up too, following him. “Where should I put my things?” Part of her felt a little nervous she had fucked up with how fast he seemed to want to get out of there, but she didn’t know what she could have done to offend him. Was this just the way he was? Probably. She shouldn’t take it personally- but part of her did, just a bit. “I don’t know which room I should set my things up in.”
Harry turned around, his expression still stern. “You can set up in the spare room down the hall. It’s the first door on the right.” He pointed down the hallway before continuing. “I don’t need any help with my things. Just worry about your own shit for now.”
Her eyes fell down towards the floor, nodding at his words. It must just be the way he was, she concluded. He didn’t bother saying goodbye as she heard the door close, the ticking of the large grandfather clock in the den the only sound until the start of his pickup was muffled outside.
Who the hell was this man? And what had she gotten herself into?
#jarofstyles#harry styles one shot#harry styles fanfiction#harry styles fanfic#harry styles smut#harry writing#harry styles imagine#harry drabble#harry styles blurb#harry styles writing#mountain man#mountain manrry#grumpy h#grumpy Harry styles#harry styles au#harry angst#harry styles fic#harry styles book#Harry styles angst#harry styles fluff#harry styles fanfics#harry styles one shots#harry styles fanfictions
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Congratulations on the followers! Please can I request some angsty fluff with Fox and a female reader with this prompt - 24: “Who hurt you?”
Maybe reader got attacked and he found her and tends to her wounds which leads to some feelings being shared? Thanks if you do 😊 I love your work
Medical Feelings
🫧 Pairings: Commander Fox X Female!Reader
word count: 1.8k
prompts:
• “Who hurt you?”
Plot: After a risky mission that left you injured, Commander Fox helps nurse you back to health.
Warnings: Safe for work, hurt whump, idiots in love, Reader scared of droids momentarily, needle mention, slightly injured reader, minor blood mention.
Authors note: Sorry for the wait 🩵
“How are you holding up?”
You blink, trying to focus as the voice cuts through the haze in your head. But your vision blurs and swims, the light above stabbing behind your eyes like a viroblade.
“Like someone who’s been hit in the head,” you groan, wincing as you sit up on the medbay cot. The room tilts for a moment and you feel like you may be sick but luckily it settles, and your eyes finally set on the figure perched nearby. Thire.
The mission hadn’t gone as planned. What should have been a straightforward retrieval of intel left you caught in the crossfire. You weren’t a soldier so when the fighting started, you’d been forced to rely on pure luck and very minimal training. Clearly, neither had been enough.
Your memory of the incident was weak as all you could recall was a sharp pain to your head followed by the sight of clankers looming over you before everything went dark.
“You took quite a hit,” Thire says, his voice lighter than the situation warrants as he pulls up a stool to sit beside you.
“I noticed,” you mutter, rubbing gingerly at your temple that felt sticky and as you pull your hand back, a splodge of blood painted your fingertips. A dull ache radiates from where the blow landed, and your entire body feels stiff and battered.
Recovery is going to take a while.
“You know the Commander’s going to want to see you.”
The comment makes you freeze for a beat before you force a painful shrug, hoping to look unaffected. “He’s busy. I doubt he even noticed.”
Thire snickers. “Not too busy for his favourite girl.”
You roll your eyes, already regretting letting him sit down. “Oh don’t start with all that.”
But Thire doesn’t let up, grinning like a loth-cat who’s cornered its prey. “Come on. You’ve seen the way he looks at you. If Fox stares any harder, his visor’s going to fog up.”
“Shut up, Thire,” you grumble, though a reluctant chuckle escapes before you can stop it. The movement makes your ribs ache, and you hiss softly in pain. “And no, I haven’t seen the way he looks at me. It's you lot putting that notion in my head.”
Instantly, Thire’s grin fades, replaced by concern as he notices your pain. “Should I call a med droid?”
“No!” you blurt, a little too quickly. Thire raises a brow, clearly catching on.
“Not a fan of droids, huh?”
You cross your arms, or at least try to; the motion is stiff and awkward. “I’m fine. Really. I don’t need—”
“Who hurt you?”
The sudden voice freezes you mid-sentence. Both you and Thire turn toward the door at the same time, and your heart stops.
Commander Fox. The visor of his helmet glints under the overhead lights as he strides toward you, exuding that no-nonsense authority he’s known for.
Thire shoots you a smug, told-you-so glance before rising to his feet. “This one took a blow to the head, sir. She has a possible concussion.”
Fox’s attention shifts to the datapad in Thire’s hand. “Why wasn’t this reported to me immediately?”
“I figured you had more pressing matters,” Thire replies smoothly, clearly unfazed by the irritation in Fox’s tone.
Fox huffs, the sound sharp and metallic through his helmet’s vocoder. His gaze snaps back to the datapad, scanning the details. “And why hasn’t a med droid been dispatched?”
You groan, throwing your hands up in exasperation. “I’m right here, you know. Maybe someone could ask me what I want instead of talking like I’m invisible.”
Both men turn toward you at the same time. Thire’s expression is sheepish, though it doesn’t quite mask the amusement in his eyes. Fox, however, is unreadable as always, his emotions hidden behind the stoic facade of his helmet.
Thire clears his throat, stepping back. “I’ll, uh, leave you with the Commander.” He’s gone before you can protest, disappearing through the door with a suspiciously quick pace.
The silence that follows is thick enough to cut with a vibroblade. Fox stands rigidly near the cot, his arms folded across his chest. You can hear the faint tap of his boot against the durasteel floor as he shifts his weight, clearly uncomfortable.
Finally, he breaks the silence. “How are you feeling?”
You shrug, regretting it immediately when the movement sends another sharp ache down your spine. “I’ve been better.”
His head tilts slightly, a gesture that might be concern. “You should’ve reported your injuries sooner.”
“You think I wanted to end up in here?” you counter, the bite in your voice softened by exhaustion.
Fox doesn’t reply immediately. Instead, he steps closer, his broad frame almost casting a shadow over you. For a moment, you think he might argue. But his next words surprise you.
“You’re lucky,” he says almost quietly. “It could’ve been worse.”
There’s something in his tone—a rare softness that catches you off guard, even if it is for a moment. You both seem to snap out of whatever the hold that ensnared you both and you close your eyes, leaning back with a soft agreement of his words.
Fox pauses for a moment, then steps away. You crack one eye open, expecting him to be halfway out the door, but to your surprise, he returns moments later with a medical droid trailing behind.
You suddenly sit up straighter, tension rippling through you as the AZI droid glides closer, a stim injector held in one of its arms.
“I’m fine. I don’t need a droid to see me,” you declare quickly, glancing between the droid and Fox with what you hope is a convincing look of confidence. But Fox is already standing there, arms crossed, and his helmet tilts slightly in a way that screams ‘you’re not fine’.
“The patient requires an injection to reduce inflammation and prevent complications,” the droid announces, already grating on your nerves.
Your heart skips as the droid raises the injector, the gleam of the stim making your stomach twist. You instinctively lean back, trying to put more space between you and the advancing machine.
“No. I don’t want it,” you snap, panic slipping into your voice despite your best efforts.
Fox’s gaze shifts to you, then to the droid. He holds up a hand, “Stop.”
The droid halts mid-motion. “Commander, the patient requires—”
“I’ll handle it,” Fox says firmly.
Before you can process what’s happening, he steps forward and plucks the stim from the droid’s arm.
“What are you doing?” you ask apprehensively.
He doesn’t answer immediately, instead inspecting the stim injector with almost practiced ease. “You need this,” he says finally, his tone calm but resolute under the modulator. “If you don’t want the droid to do it, I will.”
Your mouth opens, then closes, words failing you as he pulls a stool closer and sits beside the cot. He’s quiet, efficient, and unbothered by your flustered state as he rolls up the sleeve of your tunic. His gloved fingers brush against your skin, sending a jolt through you that has nothing to do with the injection.
“This will only take a second,” he murmurs, his voice softer now, almost soothing. “Just relax.”
You nod stiffly, your pulse racing as he steadies your arm. The sharp pinch of the needle is over in a heartbeat, but the warmth of his proximity lingers far longer.
“There. All done.”
You exhale, tension slowly bleeding out of your shoulders. “Thanks,” you murmur, your voice quieter than you intended.
But Fox doesn’t get up. Instead, his gaze shifts to your temple, where the bruising from the blow to your head.
“Let me take a look at that,” he says, leaving no room for argument.
You look at him, eyes wide. “It’s fine—”
“Sit up,” he interrupts, standing and motioning for you to move to the edge of the cot.
Reluctantly, you scoot forward, your legs dangling over the side as he steps closer.
Much closer.
He stands between your knees, his hands are surprisingly gentle as they cradle your face, tilting it slightly so he can get a better look at your wound.
The proximity makes your breath hitch, your heart pounding so loudly you’re begging he can’t hear it. His touch is careful, his thumbs brushing along your jaw as he examines the cut near your temple.
“This should’ve been cleaned properly,” he mutters under his breath “You clones are always too stubborn for your own good.”
“But i’m not a clone,” you mumble, your voice embarrassingly shaky even though his comment amused you.
“No,” he replies, glancing down at you for a moment. “But you’re just as stubborn.”
You open your mouth to retort, but the words die in your throat when he dips his head slightly, focusing on your injury with laser precision behind his visor. His presence is overwhelming, the sharp, clean scent of his armour mixing with something distinctly him.
“This might sting,” he warns, holding up a sterilising wipe.
You barely register the faint sting as he cleans the wound, too distracted by the way his hands move so deliberately, so gently. His thumbs brush against your skin again, steadying your head as he works, and you find yourself leaning into his touch without meaning to.
“There,” he says after a moment, stepping back just enough to toss the used wipe onto the nearby tray. His hands linger on your jaw for a second longer before he finally lets go. “That should help.”
You glance up at him, your cheeks warm, and manage a small, “Thanks.”
He straightens, his imposing frame still far too close. “You need rest,” he says firmly, though his voice is softer than before. “No arguments.”
You nod, swallowing hard. “Got it. Rest. Sure.”
For a moment, neither of you move, the charged silence stretching between you.
For a moment, you don’t think about your actions. Perhaps it was the blow to your head that made you act in a certain way. As he was about to turn and leave, you reach out and grasp his wrist.
He looks back, his helmet adorably titling to the side as you gesture him to come back by pulling his arm. And he does.
“Thank you, Commander. You’ve… you have always been kind to me.”
Then, you lean up and rest your forehead to his, eyes closed. His visor made it a little difficult but you heard his shallow gasp pop through his modulator.
But, he doesn’t move back. He lets it happen and only moves when you finally break away, a soft and nervous smile on your lips.
“Thank you.”
“G-Get some rest.” Then, with a curt nod, Fox finally steps back, his presence still lingering long after he’s gone.
And as you lie back on the cot, staring at the ceiling, you can’t decide what’s more distracting: the ache in your head or the memory of his hands on your skin.
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#fox x reader#commander fox#commander fox x reader#clone trooper x reader#tbb#star wars#commander fox x you#clone wars#the bad batch#nahoney22 writes
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exes - reader x niki ✶⋆.˚
warnings: very suggestive content, cursing, angst, break up, etc.
it's first day of school for everyone but it would also be the first time you will see niki after the break up.
before, you just suffered alone. uninstalling all social medias so you wouldn't see anything about him but every time you closed your eyes, you would imagine his laugh in your head, the warmth of his touch, his smiles...
you will scroll through messages. his texts that are full of teasing words and reassurances, it's there, all untouched. your fingers would hover over his name, your chest tightening as you debated whether to reach out or not.
"i lost him." you'd whisper to yourself then you would cry and cry and cry every night you wake up with a headache.
the hardest part is realizing that deep down, you just might be replaceable cause he's niki, he can get whoever he wants without even trying so hard.
niki though, he didn't just became distant. he became irritated and short-tempered like... the smallest things would just set him off.
teammate joking about something? niki would snap with his sharp words enough to silence the entire locker room. accidentally bumping into him? his glare would freeze them in their tracks.
and at home, niki would push his food around on his plate, appetite gone. his mom would ask if he was okay and he’d just nod without looking up, muttering a quick, "yeah, i'm fine." sometimes, he wouldn't even eat at all.
he would also sleep too much, oversleeping so often that his friends stopped bothering to wait for him in the morning. the mornings where he usually wake up crying.
you were his first girlfriend, one person he actually loved.
you were sitting at your table, surrounded by a group of people from your class, all of whom were currently losing their minds over something you'd said.
"wait, wait- say that again!" one of them choked out, clutching his stomach from laughing too hard.
you smirked, leaning back in your chair with that effortless confidence that somehow came and went depending on the situation.
the table erupted into another round of laughter and you couldn’t help but grin, enjoying the attention.
across the room, niki can't help but to watch. he leaned back in his seat with his arms crossed over his chest while one eyebrow raised in a mix of confusion and irritation.
he saw the way you had those guys wrapped around your finger. loud laughters, they leaned in a little too much...
he rolled his eyes, "the fuck?" he muttered under his breath.
"bro, are you mad again?"
niki looked away from you for a second, glaring at his friend. "i'm not mad."
"you're mad." his friend shot back, smirking. "and for what? don't you realize you could get literally anyone you want? like, just pick someone and boom, problem solved."
niki scoffed, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table. he's becoming very tired of hearing it. "you think i care about that? i don't want anyone."
niki looked back to you. he watched the way you casually flicked your hair over your shoulder and how your eyes sparkled as you delivered another punchline that sent the guys around you into another laughter.
it annoyed him sure but more than that, it reminded him of why he fell for you in the first place.
when niki first transferred to the school, he was used to people staring. everyone wanted to know him, talk to him, be close to him. it was almost exhausting how predictable it was... girls blushing when he walked by, guys either trying to be his friend or acting threatened.
then you came.
you like him, just like everyone. you were shy at first but you weren't afraid to flirt with him in your own way.
you had this maddening ability to make him actually feel something, even when you were just teasing him.
one moment, you'd barely meet his eyes, acting like he was just someone you know.
the next, you'd hit him with some sly remark that left him wondering if you actually like him or if you were just messing with him.
and even after you got together, you didn't stop. you flirted with him at every chance, sometimes so casually that he didn't even realize it until later.
it drove him insane, in the best and worst ways.
you didn't know it but you made him need you. you were niki's constant, his balance, someone he always look forward hanging out with, and person who could make him smile even when he didn't want to.
and that’s why it makes him so much angry now.
whenever niki look at them, he saw himself. the way he used to hang on your every word and the way you could light up a room just by being there.
he sighed, dragging a hand through his hair as his friend nudged him. "you're staring again."
you were both invited to a small house party. it was alive with music and chatter when you walked in.
some of them greeted you, casually mentioning how good niki looked, unaware of the what had unraveled between you and him. others, who knew, just exchanged awkward glances.
niki was across the room and yeah, he looked good, like always. he was leaning against the kitchen counter with a cup in his hand as he nodded along to whatever one of his friends was saying. then he was approached by a girl right after another.
"niki, are you even listening?" she asked, pouting slightly.
he blinked, realizing she was still talking. "uh, yeah." he said though it was obvious he wasn't.
the girl huffed, crossing her arms. "you know what? never mind." she rolled her eyes and walked away, leaving niki standing there and barely noticing her departure.
niki decided to left the party the moment he saw you talking to another guy again. the rain started to pour hard just when he got outside. he cursed under his breath, pulling his jacket over his head as he jogged down the street.
he spotted a convenience store up ahead and stayed under the shed outside, shaking water off his arms as he muttered to himself about the miserable weather.
after a while, he heard the sound of hurried footsteps splashing through puddles.
you were running towards the convenience store, your arms raised over your head in an attempt to shield yourself from the harsh rain. and when you were about to reach the shed, you saw niki standing there. you froze.
your eyes met and niki gulped. quickly, you turned around and ready to just go back at the party.
niki rolled his eyes, muttering a curse. of course, he wouldn't let you stay out in the rain.
grabbing an umbrella from the corner of the shed, he ran after you. "y/n!" he called, but you didn't stop.
he reached you in a few quick strides, grabbing your arm and pulling you to a stop.
"what?" you asked, your voice sharper than you intended.
"you're gonna get soaked, idiot." he said simply, opening the umbrella and holding it over both of you.
the two of you stood there for a moment, and without waiting for your response, he started walking, his hand still loosely holding your arm.
you followed him. not because you wanted to but because it felt easier than standing in the rain arguing with him.
when you reached the shed, niki released your arm and leaned against the wall, keeping the umbrella angled to shield both of you. you crossed your arms over your chest, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye.
niki then sat down down on one of the available chairs, his back's facing you.
and it wasn’t long before you felt someone watching you. you glanced up and saw a man who's clearly drunk, swaying slightly as he approached. his bloodshot eyes were fixed on you with an unsettling intensity.
"hey, there." he said, his words slurred but grinning wide. "what's a pretty thing like you doing out here all alone?"
you took a small step back, clutching your phone tighter. "i'm fine, thanks." you said, trying to keep your tone polite but firm.
he didn’t take the hint, though. instead, he stumbled closer, shamelessly scanning you up and down. "c'mon, don't be like that." he said, reaching out and grabbing your arm. his grip wasn't harsh but it was enough to make your heart race.
"let go!" you said while trying to pull your arm free but his grip tightened slightly.
niki turned around at the sound of your voice. he stood up immediately, chair scraping against the wet concrete. "back off!"
the drunk guy barely had time to process what was happening before niki shoved him back with enough force to make him stumble. "i said back off or i'll beat the shit out of you."
the drunk guy ran, stumbling away.
you blinked, slightly stunned at niki's sudden aggressiveness.
"you okay?" he asked.
you just nodded, still trying to process what had just happened. "ye- yeah, i'm fine. thanks."
niki looked at you for a moment, his eyes scanned you to make sure you were really okay. he exhaled then sat again as he ran a hand through his damp hair. clearly tensed.
he patted at the chair. "can you sit here?"
"no."
niki shook his head and his lips twiched in disbelief.. "yeah, stand there so your legs will ache."
you scoffed. "why do you care?"
"oh, i don't. i really don't." he said. laughing dryly as if the idea itself was ridiculous.
"i shouldn't have stayed here." you muttered but niki heard it.
"then leave." niki said bluntly. you were about to let it go but of course, he just couldn’t stop there. "you're good at that, aren't you?"
you jaw tightens. "oh, don't start with that. you’re the one who-"
"you think this is all my fault again?" niki interrupted you. his tone's sharp as he raised his eyebrows at you.
you exhaled harshly, holding back whatever retort was on the tip of your tongue. niki looked away and you both fell into silence.
you both calmed down and ignored each other. but he's right... you're legs were starting to ache from standing. you glanced over at niki who's comfortably leaning back as he dried himself, you sighed. hesitating but eventually, you sat down beside him.
"when did you start beating people up?" you asked, half-joking just to break the tension.
he looked at you with a serious expression. "few months ago."
your eyes widened as you leaned backwards. "seriously?"
niki gave you a confused look. "no, of course not."
you let out a soft laugh, shaking your head at him. you watched him dry his hair, his damp strands falling messily over his forehead. you look at his face longer than it should have and you quickly bit your lip, letting your thoughts wander too far.
you can't believe you had that face between you legs before-
niki turned to you suddenly, squinting as if he could read your mind. you stuttered. "i- i swear i'm not thinking about anything weird!"
but he knows you too well. you gulped and just looked away.
however, niki did not stop staring. at first, it was just like "this girl..." then suddenly questions ran through his head. wondering when's the last time he heard your laugh, when's the last time you're this close to him...
and before he could stop himself, he leaned in, pressing his face to the side of your neck. and his hands crawled to your legs, gripping it gently.
"what are you doing?" you asked, caught off guard.
"who told you to wear this short-ass dress?" he whispered.
a small smile formed at your lips despite the ache in your chest. slowly, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, your fingers brushing against his neck and one hand found its way to his hair, twisting the strands softly between your fingers.
he pulled back just enough to look at you. his eyes started searching yours, desperate and unguarded. then slowly, niki started to lean in.
you leaned too, meeting his lips halfway and his hand gripping your legs harder. niki kissed you like he was making up for lost time, pouring every ounce of his frustrations and longing into each movement.
he groaned softly against your lips. tilting your head gently, allowing him to deepen the kiss.
as his lips pressed harder against yours, your own lips started trembling. the weight of everything... the breakup, the pain... it hit you all at once. tears formed at the edges of your eyes.
you tried to hold them back.
"i miss you so much." niki said between the kisses.
you broke down, a sob escaped your lips and the tears began to fall freely. niki pressed a quick kiss. "why are you crying?" he whispered.
"because!" you choked out, the words catching in your throat.
he smiled. he didn't want to see you cry but somehow, the sight of you crying filled him with relief. to him, it meant that you still care and that you still feel something.
he cupped your face care and his thumbs brushed against your cheeks. he kissed you again and again, very slow as he savored every moment.
niki hugged you, your arms wrapped around his waist as you cried. he gave you multiple kisses on top of your head.
you started touching his body, his chest up to his neck and jaw, everywhere as you rested your head in his chest, "there's no one like you." you said, adding "i was so lucky."
he's just perfect. truly one of one in the world
after hearing those words, niki kissed you again, smiling. "please be my girlfriend again."
you nodded and laughed. "but i think i'll actually kill myself if i lose you one more time." you continued.
niki just smiled again, doesn't matter if you lose him 'cause he'll just always find his way back to you.
you both began walking down the street, still hugging and touching each other as if you couldn't bear to let go. niki’s hand occasionally grabs your arm or he'd wrap an arm around your shoulders or your waist to pull you close.
"you should sleep at my place tonight."
you bit your lip, shaking your head while smiling. "mmhm, i can't."
"why not?" he stopped walking, and turned you to face him.
"because... i might not be able to walk for weeks if i'll go with you." you said with a smirk.
his heart started racing for a second before laughing, he leaned in close, his breath warm against your ear. "you're right." he whispered, arms snaked around your waist. "it's gonna be so rough."
you pulled back, your mouth dropping open in shock. "i... i can't believe you just said that."
niki shrugged with a cheeky grin. "hey, when it's you saying things like that, it's fine. but when i say it, it's weird?"
"no... it's not weird." you muttered, looking away with a small smile. "i know you're sexy but you just became even sexier. what the hell?"
niki smirked when he heard your last comment, and before you could take another step, he bent down and scooped you up effortlessly into his arms.
you squealed, your hands instinctively grabbing onto his shoulders for balance.
"what?" he said with a teasing grin, holding you like you weighed nothing. "your legs are going to hurt anyway. might as well save you the trouble now."
read part-timers!niki x reader
read part-timers!niki x reader part 2
read snitch - reader x niki
read touché - niki x reader
read touché - niki x reader part 2
#enhypen fic#enhypen ff#enhypen imagines#enha imagines#enha fluff#enha smut#enha x reader#enha#enhypen#enhypen fake texts#enhypen fanfiction#niki nishimura#enhypen niki#ni ki fluff#nishimura riki#niki smut#niki fanfic#ni ki#enhypen riki#riki x reader#riki nishimura x reader#enhypen angst#enha angst#niki angst#enha soft hours#enha scenarios#enhypen scenarios#enhypen smut#enhypen soft hours#enhypen series
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Heyo!!
Loved all the writing so far! Had this random idea. Like Gojo and the puppy but imagine one of the jjk men that reader chased down their new kitten that ended up cozying up to said man of choice.
Again just my random mind LOL.
You got me as a supporter of your works.
BONGO'S GUIDE TO LOVE ౨ৎ VARIOUS JJK X (GN!) READER
summary: naming your cat bongo seemed fun at first—until he started treating every man in your orbit like his personal enemy. from perching smugly on the shoulder of your tattoo artist mid-ink session to single-handedly (or single-pawedly?) trashing your neighbor's bakery, bongo is on a one-feline mission to ruin your life. or maybe, just maybe, he’s actually trying to fix it? because amidst the chaos and claw marks, there might be a paw-sible chance he’s onto something you’re not.
content warnings: gender neutral reader (no use of y/n, specific pronouns or gender mentioned). 100% sfw and crack, unestablished relationship, meet-cute. bongo cat's breed is not mentioned, only descriptor is that he is chonky. drabbles of various characters, including: stranger! sukuna, tat artist! choso, bakery owner! nanami, moving helper! toji, actor! gojo. — ( full length cat dad! geto fic here )
— RYOMEN SUKUNA ₍^. .^₎
you watched in absolute horror as bongo, your self-declared king of bad decisions, flung himself at the most terrifying human in the park. his fur fluffed up like some sort of possessed cotton ball as he darted straight for the man’s massive combat boots. the man—ryomen sukuna, as you'd later learn—looked like he moonlighted as a death metal frontman when he wasn't out intimidating random park-goers. tattoos spilled down his neck, across his face, and from what you could see, probably over most of his terrifyingly ripped body.
“bongo, no!” you shouted, but the little menace had already committed.
sukuna's brow furrowed as he crouched, grabbing bongo by the scruff of his neck like some kind of annoyed parent dealing with a particularly unruly toddler. bongo dangled mid-air, his expression entirely unbothered, his tail swishing lazily as if to say, this is fine. you froze, half expecting sukuna to punt bongo into the stratosphere. but instead, sukuna tilted his head.
“the hell is this?”
“oh my god, please don’t kill my cat!” you blurted, sprinting towards him with all the dignity of a car alarm. sukuna glanced at you, his crimson eyes narrowing. “why the fuck would i kill your cat?”
“i—uh,” you stammered, gesturing wildly at his tattoos like they were some sort of official cat murder license.
bongo, clearly bored of dangling, chose this exact moment to lick sukuna’s face. one looooong, obnoxious lick, from his chin to his cheekbone, leaving a trail of cat slobber behind.
you winced. “oh no—”
but sukuna just blinked. then let out a low chuckle that sounded like a chainsaw revving. “bold little shit, huh?” bongo purred louder, smushing his entire face into sukuna’s jaw like they were old pals. sukuna, to your utter disbelief, reached up with his free hand and gave your traitorous cat a solid scratch behind the ears.
“what’s his name?” sukuna asked, his tone entirely too casual for someone covered in dark tattoos and holding a cat like a teddy bear.
“…bongo,” you muttered, now questioning every life choice that had led to this moment. he smirked, finally lowering bongo to the ground, though your little idiot immediately flopped onto sukuna’s boot like it was a throne. “bongo, huh? fitting. looks like a troublemaker.”
you stared. “yeah, well, he usually doesn’t go around licking strangers.”
“good taste,” sukuna said, smirking wider. “smart cat.”
smart? your cat had the brain cells of a soggy sponge and the survival instincts of a lemming.
“right, well,” you said, attempting to scoop bongo off sukuna’s foot, but the cat clung like velcro. “sorry for… all this. he doesn’t usually—”
“don’t worry about it,” sukuna interrupted, crouching again and giving bongo another scratch that sent your little demon into a full-body wiggle. “might be the best thing that’s happened to me all week.”
“…seriously?”
“yeah.” sukuna’s grin turned sharp, teasing. “most people just run the other way.”
you raised an eyebrow. “wonder why.”
he laughed, low and deep, then stood, towering over you in the most obnoxious way possible. “guess bongo knows a good guy when he sees one.” bongo chose this moment to leap back into sukuna’s arms like some kind of feline rom-com lead, rubbing his cheek against sukuna’s chest. “traitor,” you muttered under your breath.
“looks like he’s mine now,” sukuna teased, shooting you a grin that made you feel uncomfortably warm. “not a chance,” you shot back, but your tone lacked conviction.
ryomen sukuna: terrifying, tattooed, and apparently now your cat’s best friend. god help you both.
— CHOSO KAMO ₍^. .^₎
it was a bad idea, you knew that from the start. but bongo’s separation anxiety had you by the throat, so there he was, your chunky feline menace, perched on a folding chair like a judgmental little gargoyle as you prepared for your tattoo session. everything was fine until choso kamo walked in.
your tattoo artist was the living embodiment of a rain-a-sauce—uh, renaissance painting. his long black hair was pulled back in a low ponytail, his dark eyes framed by perfectly smudged eyeliner that made him look both mysterious and mildly intimidating. his loose black tee hung just right, accentuating broad shoulders and strong arms that you were definitely not admiring. and then bongo decided to ruin your life.
the cat launched himself like a furry cannonball straight onto choso’s shoulder. not his lap, not a nearby table—his actual shoulder.
“bongo, no!” you hissed, half-rising from the tattoo chair. but choso, calm as a goddamn monk, didn’t even flinch. instead, he turned his head slightly to glance at the literal furball now draped across him. “he’s fine,” choso said, his voice low and smooth, as if this was a completely normal occurrence. “guess he likes me.”
you gawked as bongo, the little traitor, made himself comfortable, kneading choso’s shoulder like it was a deluxe memory foam pillow. “i… i can get him off—”
“don’t worry about it,” choso interrupted, grabbing his tattoo gun with one hand while his other casually scratched behind bongo’s ears. you stared. he was petting your cat. while holding a needle. meant for your skin. “uh, are you sure that’s… safe?” you asked, your voice pitching higher as choso began inking the outline on your arm.
“he’s not bothering me,” choso replied simply, his focus entirely on his work. bothering you? you were the one about to be permanently marked while your fat, smug cat played parrot. bongo purred like a tiny chainsaw, rubbing his cheek against choso’s jaw. “great,” you muttered, clenching your teeth as the needle buzzed against your skin.
as if sensing your tension, bongo stretched out one paw and lightly bopped your cheek. “oh my god, bongo, stoopp!” you whined, glaring at him. choso chuckled softly, his lips quirking into the faintest smile. “looks like he’s trying to comfort you.”
“he’s mocking me,” you shot back, but choso’s quiet laugh was almost enough to distract you from the pain. almost. “you’re doing fine,” choso said after a beat, his voice soothing in a way that made your stomach flip.
“thanks,” you muttered, your face heating up for reasons that definitely had nothing to do with him. meanwhile, bongo continued his reign of chaos, now swiping at choso’s dangling ponytail like it was his personal cat toy. “you’re really just gonna let him do that?” you asked incredulously. choso shrugged, completely unfazed. “he’s keeping himself entertained. and you, apparently.”
“entertained is not the word i’d use,” you grumbled, but your mouth twitched despite yourself.
“well, at least one of us is having fun,” choso said, his tone light.
and maybe it was the distraction of bongo’s antics, or the way choso’s calm presence made the pain a little more bearable, but by the end of the session, you were almost… relaxed. as choso finished up, he finally plucked bongo off his shoulder and held him up, his strong hands making your cat look oddly small. “you’re lucky you’re cute,” he muttered, though there was no bite to his words.
“you have no idea,” you said, shaking your head. choso handed bongo back to you, his lips curving into that faint smile again. “next time, maybe leave him at home.”
you glanced down at bongo, who was purring smugly in your arms. “yeah, not likely.” choso chuckled, wiping his hands clean. “figured.”
as you left the shop, you couldn’t help but think that bongo might’ve been onto something with his whole shoulder-sitting act. maybe your chaotic little furball had better instincts than you gave him credit for.
— NANAMI KENTO ₍^. .^₎
it’s always the quiet moments when bongo chooses chaos. you were mid-face mask, your skin glowing with the kind of self-care that influencers would kill for, when your furry menace decided to bolt out the backdoor like he had urgent business. “bonggoooo!” you screeched, stumbling after him in your ratty pajamas and slippers that definitely weren’t made for running.
the scent of the bakery hit you like a brick wall. god, how does it smell expensive? buttery, sugary, and somehow elitist all at once. you didn’t have time to contemplate the metaphysics of aromas because bongo had already darted through the bakery’s back entrance like he owned the place. by the time you caught up, panting and slightly disheveled, you were greeted by the sight of nanami kento, the bakery’s perpetually composed owner, standing in the middle of his flour-dusted kitchen. and in his hands, like a prized artifact, was bongo.
kento held your cat aloft like some kind of culinary simba, his perfectly pressed apron dusted with flour. bongo, with his chubby belly and utterly unrepentant face, dangled there like he had no idea he’d just stormed into someone else’s livelihood. “this,” kento said, his deep, even voice somehow more judgmental than any glare could be, “is yours, i presume?” you swallowed hard, your face mask cracking slightly as you plastered on a smile. “yes! uh, that’s bongo. my cat. um, i’m so sorry—”
“he ran across my counter,” kento continued, his tone unchanging as he gently turned bongo to show you his flour-dusted paws. “he stepped in the dough. twice.”
“oh my god,” you groaned, wishing the floor would open up and swallow you whole. bongo, ever the villain, reached out a paw and batted at kento’s tie, smearing it with a bit of leftover flour. “i’ll… i’ll pay for the damages,” you stammered, mortified. “or, uh, write an apology letter. from bongo. he’s very articulate.”
kento raised a brow, lowering bongo but still holding him like he was a particularly troublesome baguette. “a letter?”
“yeah, uh, he’s got great penmanship,” you blurted, because apparently, when embarrassed, you just doubled down on ridiculousness. kento sighed, setting bongo down on the floor. your cat immediately started rubbing his face against kento’s leg like they were old friends. “he’s lucky he’s cute,” kento muttered, though his tone softened slightly.
“he’s really not,” you mumbled, scooping bongo into your arms. “he’s a menace.”
“i’ve noticed.” kento crossed his arms, eyeing bongo like he was calculating the exact amount of havoc the cat had wreaked. “next time, maybe keep him indoors.”
“yeah, definitely,” you said, clutching bongo tighter as he squirmed. “and, uh, if you ever need… cat-signed apology letters, i’m your person.”
kento gave you a long, measured look before sighing. “just keep him out of my kitchen.”
as you backed out of the bakery, clutching your flour-covered feline, you couldn’t help but wonder if bongo’s next target would be a crime that didn’t involve you humiliating yourself in front of absurdly attractive men. unlikely.
— TOJI FUSHIGURO ₍^. .^₎
moving to new york was supposed to be your fresh start. concrete jungle where dreams made of, blah blah blah. instead, you found yourself battling overpriced rent and a cat who had zero respect for personal boundaries.
toji, the moving guy, had been an unexpected lifesaver. with his messy scrawl of a name tag and a physique that screamed, “i bench press refrigerators for fun,” he made quick work of your moving boxes. it was almost comical how easily he hefted bongo’s cat tree—like it was a baguette instead of a glorified jungle gym for your chunky feline. you tipped him with cookies because that’s just who you are: a sucker for baked goods as a currency. and as toji waved goodbye and headed off, you gave yourself a little pat on the back for surviving the first day in the big apple. until you noticed bongo was missing.
cue the meltdown.
“bonggggoooooo!” you hollered, tearing through your barely unpacked apartment like a madwoman. every cupboard, every box, even the bathtub—it was all checked twice, thrice, and then some. no bongo. by the time you collapsed onto the floor, tears welling up, you were already planning the world’s most dramatic cat funeral. there’d be violins, speeches, and a photo slideshow of bongo’s finest “this idiot just ate plastic again” moments. then, a knock at the door.
you practically threw it open to find toji standing there, his enormous frame taking up most of the doorway. in his arms was bongo, looking about as offended as a cat could possibly look, his fur slightly ruffled but otherwise unscathed. “found him in my van,” toji said, his gravelly voice tinged with amusement.
“oh my god,” you gasped, reaching for bongo, who—of course—refused to leave toji’s arms. “he’s such a menace, i’m so sorry—”
“don’t be,” toji interrupted, smirking as bongo nuzzled against his chest like a lovestruck teenager. “guess he’s got good taste.”
“good taste?” you repeated, incredulous. “he literally jumped into a stranger’s van. he’s one step away from being catnapped—i mean, kidnapped.”
“looks like he wouldn’t have minded,” toji quipped, scratching behind bongo’s ear and earning an annoyingly loud purr in return. you groaned, crossing your arms. “great. my cat’s in love with the moving guy.”
toji chuckled, finally setting bongo down. the traitor immediately twined around toji’s legs, shooting you a look that said this man is mine now. “guess i’m unforgettable,” toji teased, leaning against the doorframe.
“yeah, well,” you said, scooping up bongo before he could claw his way back into toji’s arms, “don’t let it go to your head.”
toji gave you a crooked grin, his scarred lip tugging slightly. “welcome to new york,” he said, turning to leave. as he walked away, bongo let out a mournful meow, his paw swiping at the air like he was starring in his own rom-com goodbye scene.
“ugh, big boys,” you muttered, carrying bongo back inside. but as you closed the door, you couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, new york wasn’t going to be so bad after all.
— GOJO SATORU ₍^. .^₎
you knew gojo had a flair for theatrics, but the day he decided to charm everything with a pulse—including bongo, the cat cast for your shared scene—you realized just how far he was willing to go. bongo, a seasoned feline actor with a resume longer than yours, had been nothing but professional. meanwhile, gojo? not so much. “who’s a handsome boy? you are, aren’t you?” gojo cooed at bongo during a break, crouched low and ruffling the cat’s fur like they were old pals.
“you know he’s supposed to like my character, right?” you deadpanned from your chair, sipping lukewarm coffee.
“it’s called method acting, babe,” gojo replied with a wink, scratching under bongo’s chin. “gotta make sure he’s comfortable with me too.”
“yeah, by stealing my scene partner.”
gojo just grinned, letting bongo climb onto his lap like a tiny, furry king surveying his kingdom.
fast-forward to the final day of shooting, and bongo had developed what could only be described as a toxic attachment to gojo.
“aaaand that’s a wrap!” the director called, the crew breaking into applause. you were ready to celebrate—finally free of gojo’s antics—until chaos erupted.
bongo’s trainer approached to retrieve the cat, only for bongo to hiss dramatically and latch onto gojo’s designer blazer with claws sharp enough to shred through fabric and ego alike. “uh, a little help?” gojo yelped, trying to peel the cat off without damaging what was likely a five-figure jacket. the trainer tugged at bongo gently, but the cat clung harder, his claws hooking into the seams as if his very life depended on staying attached to gojo.
“he’s tearing my clothes!” gojo screeched, his voice hitting a pitch you hadn’t thought possible.
“you’re the one who told him he’s a ‘handsome boy,’” you snarked, watching the scene unfold with far too much glee.
“he is a handsome boy! but now he’s a demon!” gojo cried, trying to shake off the cat, who let out a mournful wail and doubled down on his grip. the crew burst out laughing as bongo dramatically clung to gojo’s chest like he was recreating a tragic love scene.
“just let him go, he’s attached to you now,” you teased, crossing your arms and watching the chaos unfold.
“i can’t!” gojo wailed. “he’s got my soul in his little murder mittens!”
finally, the trainer managed to pry bongo off, leaving behind shredded fabric and a very disheveled gojo. “you owe me a new jacket,” he grumbled, glaring at you like this was somehow your fault. “i owe you nothing,” you shot back. “maybe next time, don’t flirt with cats.”
as bongo was carried off set, still yowling dramatically, you couldn’t help but think: if nothing else, that cat had impeccable taste in people to torment.
#works ★#jjk crack#jujutsu kaisen crack#jjk drabbles#jujutsu kaisen drabbles#jjk x y/n#jjk x you#jjk x reader#jjk x gender neutral reader#jjk x gn!reader#jujutsu kaisen x gn reader#jujutsu kaisen x gender neutral reader#jujutsu kaisen x you#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen headcanons#jjk headcanons#toji x reader#sukuna x reader#nanami x reader#choso x reader#gojo x reader#toji fushiguro x reader#nanami kento x reader#choso kamo x reader#gojo satoru x reader#ryomen sukuna x reader
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On Thin Ice
Spencer Reid x Chubby Reader WORD COUNT: 1300+
Summary: After a particularly grueling case, the weight of your insecurities catches up with you. Despite years of toughening yourself against judgment, an unexpected moment of self-doubt has you questioning everything—until Spencer reminds you of your worth.
Content Warning: body image issues, insecurity and self doubt, emotional vulnerability, mentions of childhood bullying, Spencer is a sweetheart, metaphors about falling through ice
────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ──────
You've always been the fat kid.
The one picked last for teams in gym class. The one who endured sidelong glances at lunch when you grabbed a second slice of pizza, even though everyone else was already on their third. The one people were dared to ask out during games of truth or dare.
The one whose confidence had to be built like a fortress over the years of relentless judgement, brick by painstaking brick. You'd grown used to the torment over the years—or so you thought.
The things you've seen in this job are enough to shatter most people—dead bodies and grieving familiar and the kind of darkness that crawls under your skin and refuses to leave.
You've stood on the edge of danger more times than you care to count, facing down killers without so much as flinching, literally been stabbed and shot. None of it breaks you. But tonight, staring at your reflection in the BAU bathroom mirror, you feel like you're crumbling.
Your blouse, which you'd liked when you put it on this morning, now feels all wrong. The fabric stretches across your chest and stomach in ways that make your skin crawl.
It fits—technically—but your brain won't let you believe it. The logical part of you knows it's fine—it fits and it looks good, no one cares. But the voice in your head, the one you've spent years trying to quiet, whispers, Isn't it a little snug?
You press your palms flat against the sink, trying to steady your breathing. Why does this matter? you ask yourself. Why do I care?
You see the worst humanity has to offer every day. You quite literally deal with life and death and unimaginable grief. Your body—how it looks, how it fits into societal expectations—should be the least of your concerns.
And yet, here you are.
Maybe part of the reason everything feels to terrible tonight is because of him—Spencer. He's been talking to you heaps more lately, and though it really should make you feel better, it only deepens whatever this insecure feeling inside you is.
The way he moves, the way he talks, the way his beautiful mind works—everything about him fascinates you, and you've been harboring this ridiculous, all-consuming crush for months.
But no matter how much you try to push it down, it always creeps back in, and with it comes the certainty that you're not his type. How could you be? He's brilliant and kind and effortlessly charming in his own unique way, and you're... you. Soft in all the undesirable places, sometimes a little too loud for even yourself.
It's not that you don't think you're worth something, but when you're next to him, it's hard not to feel like you fade into the background. And you've been next to him a lot more than usual.
The mirror reflects your frown back at you, the tightness in your chest growing until it feels like you might snap. You splash cold water on your face, hoping the shock will pull you out of your spiral.
It doesn't, but you can pretend it does.
The bullpen is quiet when you step back into it, the hum of computers and the rustle of papers the only sounds. Most of the team has gone home for the night, except for Spencer.
You find him in the kitchenette, his tall frame bent awkwardly as he wrestles with the ancient coffee maker.
He glances up as you walk in, his expression softening when he sees you. "Couldn't sleep?"
Right—you were going to nap somewhere before getting back to work before you detoured to the bathroom.
You shrug, leaning against the counter. "Something like that."
Spencer nods, his focus shifting back to the coffee pot. "I think this machine predates the invention of modern technology," he mutters, earning a faint smile from you. He pours two mugs of coffee and hands one to you, his finger brushing your briefly.
"Thanks," you say, your voice quieter than you intended.
For a while, the two of you drink in silence, no words shared. None are needed. It's comforting, standing next to him in the soft glow of the kitchenette light. For a moment, you almost almost feel normal in your own skin. Like everyone else.
Except Spencer has always been too perceptive (especially when it comes to you, but you don't need to know that), and you can feel his gaze periodically flicking toward you, studying your face.
"You know," he says eventually, "it's okay to feel overwhelmed. You don't have to hold it together all the time, not when you're... in this particular profession."
The comment catches you off guard, and you look at him sharply. His expression is calm, his tone heartbreakingly gentle, but the words hit a nerve. You force a laugh, trying to deflect. "I'm fine, Spencer. Just tired is all."
He doesn't buy it. Of course, he doesn't. This is Spencer Reid, profiler extraordinaire, the man who can read you like an open book even when you think you're being subtle.
"Are you?" he asks, tilting his head slightly. His voice is soft, but there's an unfamiliar firmness to it that makes you pause.
You want to brush him off, to keep the walls you've built around yourself firmly in place. But the words slip out before you can stop them—apparently your subconscious is desperate to get it out.
"I don't know," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. "It's just that sometimes I feel like... I don't know, like I don't belong here. Like I'm walking on thin ice, and any second it's going to crack, and I'm going to fall through."
Spencer's brows knit together, and he sets his mug down on the counter. "Why would you feel like that?"
You hesitate, the familiar shame and embarrassment bubbling up in your chest. "Because I've always been the... the fat one, okay? The one people look at and judge before they even know my name. I should be used to it by now. I am used to it, but sometimes..."
You trail off, swallowing hard.
"Sometimes it just gets to me, and I hate that it does, because it's so stupid. There are so many bigger things to worry about than how I look. People are actually dying out there, and I'm sitting here worried about my stupid blouse being too tight..."
Spencer step closer, his expression unreadable. For a moment, you wonder if you've said too much, if he thinks you're being ridiculous. But then he speaks, and his voice is steady, full of quiet conviction.
"It's not stupid. What you're feeling is valid," he says. "And you're not 'the fat one.' You're you—intelligent and compassionate and one of the strongest people I've ever met. The way you connect with people and make them feel seen, even in the darkest moments of their life—that's not something everyone can do. That's you."
The words hit you like a wave, the sincerity in his tone making your throat tighten. You look down at your coffee, unable to meet his eyes.
"You don't have to say that just to make me feel better," you mumble.
"I'm not just saying it to make you feel better," he replies. "I mean it."
He hesitates for a moment before reaching out, his hand hovering near yours. When you don't pull away—you don't think you could ever make yourself pull away from Spencer—he rests it gently on top of yours. The warmth of his touch is grounding, and for the first time all night, you feel like you can breathe again.
"Thin ice can hold more weight than you think," he says quietly. "And even if it does crack, you won't fall. I'll make sure of it."
Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, and you think them away quickly. "Thank you, Spencer," you say, your voice thick with emotion.
"Anytime." He smiles, the kind of smile that feels like sunlight breaking through the clouds. "And for the record, I think you're beautiful."
Your heart does a little flip, your face warming. Maybe one day you can tell him how you feel, how desperately in love you are with him.
Baby steps.
#spencer reid x bau reader#spencer reid oneshot#criminal minds fic#criminal minds fanfic#criminal minds#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x female reader#spencer reid#spencer reid x chubby reader#spencer reid x plus size reader#spencer reid x you#spencer reid x y/n#enderlovez
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Doctor's In - Part 9
Wanda Maximoff x Doctor!R
Summary: New Year, new... relationship challenges? Sharing a home isn't all fun and games.
A/N: Everyone, please don’t tell me how much you hate where this story is going just because it seems like R will cheat on Wanda. There’s more to the plot and it’s not something I’m doing just randomly, I’m spending time and effort into creating a fic that is a bit more nuanced or at least I hope it is.
Natasha is not a people person.
Which is funny, considering her profession. She’s created a system that allows her to interact with patients as little as possible, and to focus on what she understands best: the human heart.
Not as a metaphor for sentimental stuff, but as a perfect machine.
She’s out of her element now, and considering the stupid drunk that is shouting in the middle of the ER, Natasha thinks it’s better to check if you’re around later.
“Is anybody going to take a look at this?” the man raises his messed up hand, slurring his words. He approaches Natasha, and she busies herself reading a chart. “Are you going to help or not, hot stuff?”
“I don’t work here” she grumbles, deciding that she’ll have to wait for you somewhere else.
“I was hoping you could take care of me. Where are you going? I'm talking to you” he says when she turns to leave, his good hand flying to grab her by the elbow.
Natasha is ready to throw a punch, but she never feels his touch in any part of her body.
“Lay a hand on her and I will strap you to a hospital bed and give you a colonoscopy without anesthesia” you say, surprising him with your strenght. “Now, sir, sit the fuck down and someone will be with you shortly”
“I’ll handle it” Barnes, the new nurse, approaches with his signature frown. He is equally attractive and terrifying, though most of the nurses ignore the latter.
“Thank you” you smile, watching the man become quiet as Barnes grabs him by the shoulder, knowing he won’t be able to say anything stupid to him. “Hi, Nat”
“Hey, stranger” she smiles at you. “I was hoping I’d run into you here”
“Is that why you were wandering the ER? You could just text me” you smile, walking with her to the cafeteria. “My shift ended an hour ago, which is why I wasn’t the one dealing with that asshole”
“Thank you for that, you are such a gentlewoman. I am dissapointed, though. I was hoping you’d stay for our first lesson today”
“Of course I am. I wouldn’t miss it for the world”
Most of the hospital was buzzing with excitement at learning the new surgical technique that had earned Melina Romanoff a Nobel Prize. The exception was Tony, but that was only because he was convinced the Romanoffs had a secret, evil plot to take over. Even Pepper had told me to chill in front of everyone.
You sit at the front, saving a spot for Darcy and follow every word Natasha says. She’s just going over some of the theory and the process of how the research came to be, which is still very interesting to you. Medical research required patience and focus that you did not have, so you had turned your professional development to trauma, as well as search and rescue training.
“We’ll meet on Wednesday to start the first exercises” she finishes the presentation, and winks at you discreetly.
You smile, leaving the conference room, Darcy right behind you.
“What was that?”
“What? Were you expecting exercises from the get go?”
“I meant the wink. Why was she winking at you?” Darcy insists and you shrug your shoulders.
“I don’t know. Friends wink at each other. I wink at you!”
“If you winked at me, I’d think you’re having a stroke” Darcy insists, and you have to roll your eyes. “It was flirty”
“Natasha knows about my relationship, we are just friends” you say, eager to finish the conversation.
“I just think there’s something fishy about this”
“You too? Stark got to you, Lewis” you mock, nudging her shoulder. “Come on, it’s all fine. I gotta get home, though, I forgot to tell Wanda I was staying longer”
“I hope she kicks your ass for that!” Darcy says as you run out of the hospital.
“Yeah, yeah”
As you drive home, you stop by the shopping street to get Wanda some flowers. You don’t think she’ll be too upset about you being late, but it never hurts to be safe.
Still, as you park in the driveway, you take a couple of minutes inside your car, looking at your old home in the rearview mirror.
Truth be told… you’re stalling. Though you love everyone inside the Maximoff house very much, you’ve had so much work these past two weeks, and it’s always a bit exhausting to get home and find the kids running around or Pietro complaining about something.
As someone who went from living alone to sharing a house with four other people full time, it was definitely overwhelming to say the least.
You take a last, deep breath and step inside the house, Pietro watching a show while the twins play in the backyard.
“You’re late” he comments.
“Work stuff” is all you say, not feeling in the mood to justify your tardiness to someone who isn’t Wanda.
But, as you enter the kitchen and your eyes meet hers, you can tell she’s also a little upset.
“Sorry, work ran long” you apologize, offering the flowers. She tries to smile and you put them down on the counter. “I really am sorry, Wands”
“No, it’s ok. I’m just behind with the book and the kids were a little difficult today… I could have used your help, that’s all”
I could have used some rest, you want to say, but that won’t help. It’s not forever, you keep thinking. Pietro will get better and move out, and things will be less crowded.
“I’ll be here all day tomorrow, I can take care of anything you need” you promise, saying goodbye to the prospect of a good nap. To keep yourself busy, you take out stuff to make a sandwich, sighing when you notice you’re out of cheese. “Like going to the grocery store, I guess”
Pietro keeps eating everything and by the time you’re home, there’s barely any food left.
“And you’re coming to the twins game on Wednesday, right?”
“Oh” you pause, scratching your neck. “I have to go to the hospital”
“Again? It seems like you’re there all week” Wanda protests.
“Well, yeah, we’re understaffed, between people being sick and others taking time off. I have to go and head the department, it’s my job, Wanda” you say, suddenly not hungry.
Nothing’s enough, you’re not good enough.
“I just… miss you. That’s all” Wanda says, and you sigh, feeling like an asshole.
“I know. I’m sorry. It’s always crazy during January, plus we’re doing a new training with a doctor from Boston. Things will settle in a couple of weeks, I promise”
“Ok” she nods, smiling as you approach her, kissing her temple. “But you’ll have to make it up to me”
“I have a few ideas for that, Miss Maximoff” you smile, pulling her against you and kissing her temple. “And none of them include clothes”
“Good” she laughs, standing on her toes to kiss you.
—
You wanted to have a good day, you really did. Wanda needed some work done on her new study so you dropped off the kids and drove to the hardware store, trusting Pietro could be fine on his own for a while.
What really ruined the mood happened on the way back home.
While turning on a busy street, your mother calls and instead of pressing the ignore button, you answer.
“Fuck” you mutter and it’s too late to hang up. “Hey, mom”
Wanda perks up at that, curious about your mother. She has never even heard her voice, let alone watch you have a conversation on the phone with her. She can tell your posture stiffens.
“Hello, Y/N. I missed your call for the holidays”
“Had lots of work” you lie.
“Oh, well. Hope you liked your birthday present” the woman says in a kinder tone and you almost want to laugh.
“Yeah, thanks. Really appreciate it”
“So, I don’t have a lot of time, wanted to let you know we’re flying there next week but we’re just gonna stay for three days. I don’t think we’ll have the time to meet you. Plus, it’s just us family, you know”
“Right” you try to sound disappointed, but are actually tempted to stop the car and dance around the street. “Some other time”
“Just make sure you’re available in case we need anything. It’s the least you can do”
“Of course” you agree, looking out of the corner of your eye at the confused expression on Wanda’s face. “Have fun, say hi to everyone for me”
“Ok, you take care now”
The minute she hangs up, you let out a huge sigh of relief.
“What was that?” Wanda says, frowning.
“Which part, love?”
“Everything! Ok, first of all, the birthday present. What did she get you? I didn’t see anything delivered”
“Wanda, she doesn’t even know where I live. What happened was, someone walked by and she pretended to be nice. She’s always done it” you explain, feeling irritated. All you want is to be happy that you won’t see her, but Wanda is pushing the subject.
“And what about them coming? And not making the time to see you? Just us family? You’re her daughter!”
“Wanda, please, drop it” you plead, parking outside your home and stepping out of the car.
“Why is she like this? Why don’t you call her out on it? And I’m sorry, I just can’t understand someone being so horrible to their own child”
“Wanda!” you snap, slapping the trunk of the car. “I know, she’s horrible. I don’t care if she lies about getting me a birthday present and I don’t care enough about her to call her out for being mommy dearest. I am just so damn happy that I don’t have to be around her anymore, can we please focus on that?”
“I am just trying to understand. You never tell me anything about her” Wanda protests and you can’t believe she’s still talking about this.
“Everything there is to know, you already know, Wanda. What else would you like to learn? That sometimes I went to bed without having dinner because she thought I was getting fat? Or that when I got a summer job and was out too late she only let me sleep on the porch? What other fucking twisted things would you like to learn about that awful woman?”
“I…”
“If I say it’s complicated or I don’t want to talk about it, maybe just listen once. Here” you toss the car keys her way, not caring if she catches them or not. “I’m going for a walk”
You’d do more than walk if you were wearing different shoes and it wasn’t so damn cold. Still, you don’t make it very far, running into a black and white bunny in the middle of the street. None of your neighbors have pet rabbits, not that you can recall.
“Where did you come from?” you say, hugging the little thing and feeling relaxed as it moves its nose and settles in your arms.
“Señor Scratchy!” Agatha yells from her porch, and you turn around.
“I take it he’s yours?”
“Yes, Rio gave him to me. Señor Scratchy, what are you doing outside?” the woman says with a soft voice, taking him back. “I don’t know how he got out”
“Maybe your fence? Let’s take a look” you walk around to her backyard, pointing at an old part of her wooden fence. “Aha!”
“Oh, great. It will take forever to find someone to fix it” she grumbles. “He’ll have to stay inside for the time being”
“I can fix it. It will only take an hour or so” you say, eager to stay out of the house for a bit longer.
“Well, aren’t you a sweetheart?” Agatha squeezes your cheek and then slaps it gently. “Just remember, I’m already taken, hot stuff”
“I’m just fixing your fence, Miss Harkness” you wink. “I’ll be back with the stuff we need”
Wanda seems to be in her study when you go back home. The fact that you feel relieved instead of sad for making her hide does make you a little guilty.
Truth is, you’ve never lived with anyone you had a relationship with, and neither did she. Maybe you’re both expecting things to be perfect, and it’s just not realistic. Disagreements are bound to happen when you share a home.
Right?
As you work on Agatha’s fence, you keep thinking about a way to make things work for everyone, because you’ve had a couple of fights with Wanda in the span of two days and you really don’t want to make it a habit.
“Did that fence do something to you?” Agatha interrupts you, handing over a glass of water.
“Huh?” you look up at her, taking it and nodding your thanks.
“You're nailing that wood a little too hard, hot stuff” she says, dragging a garden chair and sitting next to you. “Spill”
Saying it’s nothing won’t stop her from asking, so you keep working and tell her everything that has been going on. How the house feels too crowded sometimes, and work is kicking your ass. It takes a minute, but you admit that Wanda really upset you, questioning why you didn’t stand up to your mother.
“I don’t know, I guess it’s something I’ve always wondered myself. Why didn’t I say something instead of being weak. It struck a nerve when Wanda said it out loud”
“Did she call you weak?” Agatha says, frowning.
“No, that’s me being dramatic” you chuckle.
“Look, it’s what I told you the other day. Not everyone understands it, because most people have a semi functional relationship with their parents. And from the sound of it, Wanda’s were straight out of a sitcom”
“I guess”
“She doesn’t have to understand it. She just has to respect your boundaries” Agatha says and you nod, still thinking about everything. “Have you ever thought about going no contact with your mother?”
“Is that what you did?”
“Oh, honey, my mother’s dead. So unless I pull out a Ouija board, we’re no contact already” she cackles, which makes you laugh.
“I don’t know. If she needs something, I guess I would try to help her. If she was a bad mother, that’s on her. But I won’t be a bad daughter”
“You’re too good” Agatha pats your back, and you smile at her.
“Alright, well, your fence is fixed. Can we call it even with the therapy session you just gave me?” you stand up, making sure everything’s in its place.
“Nu-uh, you owe me” Agatha jokes, taking the bunny out to the backyard. “You’ll be fine. Tú puedes”
“Duolingo?”
“Rio’s been teaching me Spanish. The other stuff I can’t say it to you because it’s dirty and for her ears only” the brunette winks, which makes you blush. “Bye, Y/N”
“Bye, Agatha” you roll your eyes at her antics, feeling better as you walk back home.
You figure it’s better to start working on what Wanda needs, so you carry the stuff upstairs and knock before entering the guest room turned into a study.
“Hey” you say, as Wanda looks out the window instead of working.
“Hi”
“I’ll fix the lights and then adjust your desk, or do you need to work now?” you ask, unsure if she’s also upset at you.
“No, that’s fine. It’s not even important, you should rest, work has been crazy for you” she finally turns, and you can tell she’s trying hard not to cry.
“Hey… come here” you step closer, pulling her into a hug. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m really sorry for pushing the subject. I can’t imagine someone being so awful to you, and I made you… I should have kept it to myself”
“It’s… yeah. It wasn’t nice and I really don’t like to look back at everything that happened. But I know you didn’t mean any harm, ok? I love you, baby” you kiss her temple, feeling her relax in your arms. “Why don’t you go check on your brother? He’s been too quiet, which can only mean he’s getting into some sort of trouble”
“Or buying more stuff from Amazon. We barely fit here” Wanda grumbles and you laugh, kissing her. “I’m sorry”
“I know. You’ll make it up to me in bed” you joke, which makes her laugh.
“Maybe now that he’s busy…”
In that precise moment, her brother decides to call for Wanda.
“Go” you kiss Wanda again, wishing you had more time just with her.
—
Natasha’s not excited about the day ahead, the only silver lining being that she gets to see you. There’s nothing wrong with that, of course. She’s flirting and constantly eyeing you, but nothing’s gonna happen.
Not on a lack of desire on her part. It’s pretty obvious you’re not the type of person who cheats. Pretty ironic, she finally meets a decent woman and you’re already taken.
What does that girlfriend of yours have that she doesn’t? Aside from two kids that adore you. Is the whole housewife thing really that appealing to someone like you?
As she enters the room for the next lesson, Natasha notices you’re sitting a few rows behind. That’s a little disappointing. Still, your eyes follow her every move and she feels a little surge of pride at that.
If only you were single, Natasha might get you to roleplay that teacher-student fantasy she’s had.
Still, as she finishes her explanation, you walk up to her, smiling.
“That was brilliant, Natasha” a brunette doctor walks behind you, and you reach out to stop her. “Hey, come meet Doctor Romanoff, Darcy”
“Pleased to meet you. We’re loving the lessons” she says, not wanting to make small talk. “Y/N, come on. I’m starving”
“Oh, I was thinking we could go out for a bite if you’d like?” you turn to Natasha, smiling.
“I’ve got surgery in half an hour” Darcy says, glaring at you.
“Nat?” you turn to the woman, smiling. “Bishop can take care of the ER for me”
“Yeah, I’d love to” Natasha says, kicking herself over how fast she agrees to doing anything you ask.
“Awesome, I know this great place” you begin saying, but she gets a phone call. Natasha looks at you apologetically, but you smile, while Darcy is pulling at your sleeve and giving her a strange look.
“I’ll only take a moment” Natasha promises.
“Yeah, that’s fine”
“A word, Y/N?” Darcy finally gets your attention back and you frown.
Natasha doesn’t care much about the new doctor, unless she’s also fighting for your attention. She finds an empty room to take the call, shutting the door behind her.
“What is it, mother?”
“How’s the second lesson?”
“Fine. Do you keep a timer on your desk?”
“I just like to know if the study plan I designed is working, Natalia. That way, when we move to the next one, it can be more efficient until we manage a global, scalable solution”
“We? I’m only doing this here and then I’m going back to my research, you agreed” Natasha reminds her, blood boiling.
“This is your legacy too”
“Then how come I wasn’t up there getting the Nobel with you?”
“Natalia, those are insignificant things compared to what we can acheive” Melina scoffs.
“I’m not going to spend another month in a different hospital just because you’re too paranoid about someone stealing your research”
“Fine, then get me a new Head of Trauma for Boston and we’ll consider it even” Melina says. “You know Yelena wants to focus on that, she needs someone who can teach her”
“There are tons of applicants. Choose one from the pile in your desk, Mother” Natasha sighs, knowing where this is going.
“What about that doctor you told me about? You sounded so enamoured last time”
“She wouldn’t move to another city, her girlfriend’s here” Natasha says.
“Girlfriends aren’t wives. Well, even spouses can get divorced. Maybe she just needs to hear the right offer” Melina insists.
“Mother…”
“You’re not resuming your research until you find a new Head of Trauma. That’s final, Natalia” the woman loses her cool, hanging up on her daughter.
Natasha feels so stupid, of course this would happen. Melina never cared about anything other than herself and her accomplishments.
“Fuck” the woman says, kicking one of the chairs. You walk inside that precise moment, jumping at the outburst.
“You ok?” you say, locking the door.
“Yeah. It’s nothing”
You let out a sigh, sitting next to her in the bed of the on call room.
“We can skip lunch if you’re not hungry”
“It’s not that. I mean, I’m not hungry anymore, my mother just pissed me off” Natasha shakes her head, trying to calm her racing heart.
“You got one of those too, huh?” you chuckle. “I’m sorry, Nat, honestly. It’s the worse feeling in the world. Someone who should support you trying to bring you down, and then no one believing you because there’s this collective denial that mothers can be bad people”
“Yeah, that’s exactly it. To everyone else she’s a genius. To me, she’s the woman who’s always reminding me how ordinary I am compared to her” Natasha fiddles with her hands, not used to being vulnerable. Not with someone who understands her so well.
“You’re not ordinary, Natasha” you say with so much conviction that the redhead looks up, eyes meeting yours. “And if your mother thinks that, I’m sorry to say that she’s not as smart as I thought”
Natasha laughs, blushing a little at the compliment. You nudge her with your elbow, standing up.
“Want some coffee instead? If you’re not hungry anymore” you place your hand in the doorknob, checking if she’s ready to step out.
“Yeah, sure”
As you nod and open the door, Natasha stands up, reaching for your wrist.
“I… thank you. You’re too kind to me” she says in a low voice.
“I guess I know how isolating it can be. If you ever want to talk, I’m here” you squeeze her arm in return, smiling at her.
Natasha is about to say something else, something probably really stupid, when a voice calls behind you.
“Detka, there you are”
“Wanda? Hi, what are you doing here?” you step out of the room now, looking at your girlfriend. Wanda, however, is focused on the very attractive redhead that follows behind you, noticing you were alone seconds ago
“Am I interrupting something?” she says, eyes not leaving Natasha’s figure.
“What? No, this is Nat… eh, doctor Romanoff. She’s the doctor from Boston who is giving us the course” you explain, looking between both women. Natasha is the first one to give up the staring contest, extending her hand to Wanda.
“Nice to meet you. Y/N has told me so much about you and your boys”
“I’m happy to hear that”
Happy that you know she’s taken.
“So, uh… what are you doing here?” you ask, still thrown off by Wanda’s presence. Ever since Pietro was discharged, she has never been back to the hospital. If you recall correctly, she said she had enough of hospitals for a lifetime.
“I need to talk to you for a second. Alone”
“I’ll meet you in a second” you smile as Natasha walks back to the conference room and she nods. When you turn to Wanda she has a strange look in her eyes. “What’s wrong?”
“You never told me she was this pretty”
“Who?”
“Natasha”
“I didn’t notice” you mumble, scratching your neck. “And anyways, that’s not why you’re here, is it?”
“Right. I just… I wanted to apologize again for yesterday. And make sure we’re ok. I know these past few weeks have been hard. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that I had to come over and see you”
“Hey, we’re ok” you promise, pulling her by the waist. “I love you, you love me and we have a pretty nice family, don’t we? Even with stinky Pietro”
“I’m trying to convince him to shower daily” she laughs against your lips. It’s pretty clear that he was clean during his hospital days because he got sponge baths.
“It’s either that or hosing him down in the backyard”
“I’d like to see that” your girlfriend laughs and you take her hand, bringing it to your lips. “I’ll let you get back to work”
“Ok, if I can I’ll leave early” you kiss her cheek, squeezing her waist until you’re hand goes dangerously lower. “And maybe we can have some makeup sex”
“Mmhm you’d like that wouldn’t you” Wanda slaps your shoulder. “Go”
But as you wave goodbye and walk up to meet Natasha, Wanda doesn’t miss the look on the redhead's eyes.
She knows it, because it’s the same way Wanda looks at you. And that’s all it takes for her to decide, she doesn’t like the other woman.
—
It’s not as late as you thought, because when you get home everyone’s finishing dinner.
“She lives” Pietro says when you walk in.
“He bathes” you say, noticing his wet hair. “Did Wanda tell you I was going to hose you down?”
He doesn’t get to reply, because the kids jump in your arms.
“My stinky minions! Did you win the game today?”
“No, you have to come to the next one. You’re our lucky charm” Billy says.
“Pinky promise, I will come to the next one” you nod, moving to kiss Wanda. “Hey, gorgeous”
“Moya lyubov” she says and you smile, always loving that accent. “Come have dinner while the kids shower”
“Can you read us a story when you finish?” Tommy asks.
“Of course. Now go with Mom, I’ll be there as soon as I’m done”
The kids cheer as you get a plate and serve some delicious lasagna. Now you really don’t regret coming home early.
“Alright, I’m calling it a night. I’m exhausted” Pietro says.
“From showering?” you joke, but he fake laughs as he pushes his wheelchair away. “Leave your plate, I’ll clean it up”
“Thanks, sestra”
As you eat, you remember to send a text to Natasha, asking if she wants to have lunch with you tomorrow before she heads back to Boston for the rest of the week.
The kids are ready for bed and you walk upstairs, sitting between their beds and reading Dragon Feathers, which was your father’s favorite bedtime story to tell. Billy and Tommy laugh as you make different voices, the way your dad did when he told you the tale.
As soon as you’re done, they settle in bed, and Wanda’s the one who tucks them in, joining you at the door.
“I missed this” you say against her temple.
“I missed you” she agrees, leaning against your side. “Come to my study, I want to show you the drawings I made for the book”
The new working space was starting to grow on Wanda. Even if it was smaller, she had enough room to fit everything she needed, and her view was much better from the second floor.
You admire the sketches she hands you, looking at every detail and stroke of her pencil.
“Could I see you work one day? I don’t think I’ve ever done that, baby” you say, in awe of her talent.
“I don’t know, I might get too nervous”
“Please?” you pout, hoping that will change her mind. Wanda rolls her eyes and leans forward, standing on the tip of her toes to kiss you. Her movements turn more frantic and she catches you off guard when she pushes you against the small sofa, straddling your lap.
“Tell me more about her”
“About who?” you say, completely lost in the way her shirt strains against her breasts.
“That new doctor”
“Natasha?” you blink, trying to form a coherent thought. “Why?”
“Because. You’re working a lot, and apparently it’s next to a very beautiful woman whose name I hadn’t heard up until I saw you walking out of a room together”
“We were just talking” you mumble, more focused on undoing the buttons on Wanda’s shirt. She takes your wrists and pulls them away, forcing you to look up.
“I hope she knows your girlfriend is incredibly possesive and jealous” she whispers against your lips. “Or I might have to remind you who you belong to”
“I haven’t forgotten” you promise, looking at her lips intently.
“Then show me” Wanda says, her nails digging in your scalp. Whatever you were about to say dies in your lips as she kisses you, biting your lip and making you forget your name. You open your mouth, allowing her to explore it with her tongue and you carry her to the desk, pushing away everything so she can sit on it.
Wasting no time, Wanda holds her hips up so you can pull down her pants and underwear, and you kneel, moaning against her center when you begin to eat her out, desperate for her taste.
It feels like forever since you’ve had the chance to worship her body.
“That’s it” she moans as you bite the inside of her thigh, pleased with the way her legs close around your head. “I’m gonna…”
“Hold it”
“No, please”
“Did I fucking stutter? God, you are so impatient” you say, squeezing her throat as you move up, sliding two fingers inside her wet cunt. “Why can’t you just let me fuck you?”
“Oh, God” she says, getting wetter at your words.
“I think you’re the one who’s forgetting her place, baby” you say, hitting her G spot over and over until she can’t speak.
“Fuck” Wanda sighs, biting your neck as she finally gets her release. You kiss her, muffling her moans until her breathing evens out. “I missed that”
“Mhm” you smile, letting Wanda taste herself in your lips. “Come on. Let’s go to bed”
As you get changed and clean up, your phone pings several times.
“Work?” Wanda asks, but you’re smiling as you type.
“Huh? No, not work” is all you say, getting in bed and kissing Wanda. “Night, baby”
“Goodnight” she says, watching the screen of your phone light up again. You don’t notice because you’re already asleep, exhausted.
Wanda has to resist the urge to look at the text you just got.
You’ve never given her a reason to doubt you.
And yet, as she goes to bed, looking at your sleeping shape, Wanda can’t help but feel, there’s a part of you that’s not being honest.
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nicest guy: 14. between two wolves
word count: ~2k words + 9 screenshots
warnings: profanity, sexual jokes, weed consumption, alcohol consumption, jake and hoon hate each other
“You seem kinda off,” Giselle said, glancing at you from the driver’s seat as you sat there, trying not to spiral. She was driving you to Heeseung’s place, and Sunoo was chilling in the backseat, earbuds in, acting like he wasn’t silently judging the entire situation.
Sunoo was your best friend, which meant he already knew exactly what was going on inside your head. You were on your way to some low-key hangout at this football player’s apartment—who, by the way, was tight with the quarterback that every girl on campus wanted to hook up with: Jake. Oh, and let’s not forget the small detail that Jake had a massive crush on you. Also? The last time you saw him, you ended up sleeping in the same bed as him because he was so wasted he practically passed out mid-sentence. Oh, and did I mention the cops showed up that night? Yeah, that too.
And now, here you were, dragging yourself to this thing. The second time in your entire college existence that you decided to stop being a hermit and actually hang out with people. So, were you feeling weird? Uh, yeah. You were full-on panicking.
“I’m not off. I’m super on,” you said, trying (and failing) to convince your friends.
“Come on, Y/N,” Sunoo finally cut in, pulling out one earbud. “Let’s not pretend you’re not freaking out because you’re seeing Jake.”
“It’s not because of that, and you know it,” you shot back, turning to glare at him. “I just wanted Jungwon to come with us. I’d feel way more comfortable. He knows most of the people at this… party or whatever.”
“It’s not a party, babe,” Giselle said, shooting you a quick grin. “And relax. Jungwon’s coming later with Sunghoon.”
You gulped. And there it was—the real reason for your anxiety. Sunghoon. Your brother’s best friend. Sunghoon, who you’d somehow developed a crush on in the last week. And yeah, he was going to be there too. But the kicker? You were only going to this get-together because Jake invited you. Jake, who had some weird beef with Sunghoon for reasons no one wanted to explain to you.
Sunoo knew, though. That’s why he reached over from the backseat and tapped your shoulder. “You’ll be fine. Slut era, remember?”
“Maybe I liked my vamp era better,” you muttered. Sunoo and Giselle burst out laughing while she parked her car outside Heeseung's condo. You all made your way down the dim hallway, stopping in front of Heeseung’s apartment door. You took a deep breath as Sunoo reached out to ring the doorbell.
It barely took a second before Jake swung the door open, his puppy-dog eyes lighting up like he’d been waiting there all night. If he were an actual dog, his tail would be wagging so hard it’d knock something over.
“You came!” Jake said, his gaze locking onto you like you were the only person in the room. For a moment, it was just you and him, his smile stretching from ear to ear. Then, almost like he remembered there were other people present, he broke the spell, nodding at Sunoo and Giselle with a quick, “Hey, guys,” to make it look like he wasn’t completely obvious.
“Come on in,” Jake added, stepping aside to let you and your friends walk in.
The apartment was exactly what you’d expect from a college football player who was also a certified nerd. The walls were painted a dark gray, making the space feel a little moody, but the posters—classic Pokémon artwork, a few Marvel movie posters, and one suspiciously artsy shot of Pikachu—gave it some personality. Heeseung's personality, you guess.
There were about ten people at Heeseung’s place. You didn’t know most of their names—just vague faces you recognized from the football team. The only person you actually knew, besides Jake and Heeseung, was Niki, your brother’s goofy friend.
Jake introduced you to everyone like he was showing off his shiny new girlfriend, and the way they all glanced at each other only made it more obvious. The only problem was that you barely knew the guy.
Still, you found yourself enjoying their banter. Heeseung was going off about how his phone keyboard was stuck in Greek, which turned out to be a prank by Niki. It totally checked out—your brother and Niki were equally chaotic. Beomgyu was loud but hilariously so, cracking jokes that had you laughing way too hard. Soobin, on the other hand, was chill and introverted, kind of like you. They weren’t at all like the stereotypical football team jerks you’d imagined. They were actually… nice.
And then there was Jake. He was glued to you all night, constantly checking in to make sure you were comfortable. You had to admit, he was fun to be around. What really got to you, though, was how much effort he put into including your friends. That meant everything to you—your friends were your world, and anyone who cared about them instantly earned points.
As more people trickled into the hangout, Jake made it his mission to introduce you to every single one of them. It was kind of sweet how hard he was trying.
“What about we play Uno?” Beomgyu shouted, already hyped.
Everyone agreed, though Heeseung immediately groaned. “You’re so annoying when we play Uno. Please don’t cheat this time!”
“Bro, relax,” Beomgyu shot back, grinning. “If you lose, just blame it on your Greek cards.”
The whole room burst out laughing as Heeseung flipped him off, and they all started gathering around the table to play.
“You wanna join?” Jake asked, turning to you. He was being the perfect gentleman, always checking if you were okay. At first, you’d thought he was kind of a loser, but now… well, the banter between you two was growing on you.
“Actually, I think I’m good,” you replied, smiling. Uno with five people? Fun. Uno with fourteen? A chaotic nightmare.
You were both sitting at Heeseung’s couch, he was not too close to you, but close enough for him to speak in a low tone. Jake leaned in slightly, his voice low but still casual. “We could go outside if you want. The balcony’s got a great view. Plus… we could smoke a joint. You down?”
“Why not?” you said with a small shrug, playing it cool.
Truth was, you weren’t a huge weed person—your brother was, so you’d picked up the basics by association. But the idea of being alone with Jake, on a random balcony, in the middle of this chaotic hangout? That wasn’t something you’d ever pictured in your social life bingo. And honestly? You were kind of into it.
You and Jake stepped out into the hallway, leaning against the balcony railing, taking in the view. You’d had two, maybe three beers. Jake? Probably a few more. He casually pulled a pre-rolled out of his pocket, lit it with practiced ease, and passed it to you without a word. You took a slow drag, letting the smoke linger before glancing at him. He was standing right beside you, watching you intently, like you were the most interesting thing he’d seen all night.
“What?” you asked, holding in the smoke as you raised an eyebrow at him.
“Didn’t think you smoked,” he admitted, his voice soft and a little shy. He was clearly trying to be flirtatious, but the way he kept stealing glances made it obvious he was just happy to be this close to you.
“I don’t. My brother does, so I join him sometimes.” You replied casually after exhaling. “Were you thinking about me, though?” You shot him a sly grin, the kind that had Jake blinking like you’d just flipped his world upside down.
“What do you mean?” he asked, his voice a little more serious than usual, his eyes wide with surprise.
“You said you didn’t think I smoked,” you teased, turning fully towards him and passing the joint back. “So… were you thinking about me?”
You blew out the smoke slowly, letting it drift between the two of you. You were a convicted introvert, but you weren’t shy—not even a little. And that seemed to catch Jake completely off guard.
“I was just…” He paused, clearly struggling to string together a sentence. “Maybe I did think about… you.”
He stopped mid-thought, though, his gaze shifting behind you.
A tall figure was walking down the hallway toward Heeseung’s apartment. Sunghoon. And of course, Jungwon was with him.
Jake’s expression faltered for a split second, frustration flickering in his eyes. Why now? He’d just been getting somewhere with you, and now he had to show up.
As Sunghoon got closer, his eyes briefly flicked between you and Jake. His expression didn’t give much away, but the energy? Oh, it was crystal clear.
Jake needed to get out of your orbit—and fast.
“Yoi!” Jungwon greeted, walking up to you and Jake with his usual energy. “You guys smoking? I’m in!” He slid in right next to you, already reaching for the joint. You shot him a look, silently asking if he really had to interrupt right now. But then your eyes shifted, catching sight of someone else. Sunghoon.
And damn, he looked good.
It was the first time you’d seen him since that party, the one where you decided to let yourself fall into the pit of an unreciprocated crush on your brother’s best friend. He stood there, glancing between you and Jake, his expression unreadable but focused.
You tried to play it cool, but your thoughts were a mess. Sunghoon didn’t seem to care about you the way you’d hoped—so why did he look like someone had just told him he lost ten grand?
You couldn’t help but second-guess everything. Since you realized that probably Sunghoon didn’t give a shit about you, you thought that maybe it was for the better giving Jake a chance. But then, Sunghoon’s eyes lingered on you a moment too long, and suddenly, giving Jake a chance felt a lot harder to commit to.
“Hey,” Sunghoon greeted, his voice quiet but steady. His gaze met yours briefly before shifting to Jake.
“Hey,” you replied, trying not to let your voice betray you. Jake, on the other hand, only nodded.
You weren’t surprised. You’d already figured out they didn’t get along, and now you were smack in the middle of their passive-aggressive standoff. Jungwon, sensing the tension immediately, decided to act.
“You know what? We’re heading inside. I’ll be back later,” Jungwon said, spinning on his heels and steering Sunghoon toward the door with a hand on his shoulder.
Sunghoon hesitated, though. His gaze lingered on you and Jake for a moment longer, clearly debating whether to stay. His jaw tightened slightly. “I think I’ll take a puff,” he said, his voice low but firm. It was a far cry from the Sunghoon you’d seen at that party, where he’d been loose and carefree. Sober Sunghoon had a serious edge to him, and it was kind of intimidating.
Jake’s reaction was instant. His posture stiffened, and his jaw tightened ever so slightly, though he quickly tried to cover it up. He couldn’t let you see him lose his cool—not now. Not with Sunghoon standing there like he owned the place.
Jake’s mind raced, his frustration bubbling beneath the surface. Sunghoon always had this way of showing up and ruining everything. It was like Wonyoung situation all over again. In Jake’s head, Sunghoon wasn’t just a rival—he was a thief.
But Jake knew better than to let you see his irritation. He’d promised himself he wouldn’t blow this, so he plastered on his best fake smile and shifted his tone.
“Sure, man,” Jake said, holding out the joint with forced politeness. “Go ahead.”
You didn’t miss the tension in his voice, but you appreciated the effort. Jake, for all his flaws, was trying. Even if his “nice guy” act was so obviously fake it was almost funny.
Even Sunghoon looked taken aback. Jake—his nemesis—being friendly? That could only mean one thing: he was putting on a show. And for you, obviously. Sunghoon wasn’t about to let Jake one-up him. If Jake wanted to act nice, Sunghoon would be the nicest guy you’d ever met.
“So, is it too crowded inside?” Sunghoon asked casually, taking a hit off the joint and turning to admire the view behind you. At this point, you were literally standing between them, caught in what felt like a testosterone-fueled showdown. You couldn’t help but wonder how your life had gotten to this point—two guys you might be into, silently battling it out in front of you.
“Not really,” you replied, trying to keep the mood light. “There’s about, what, 14 or 15 people inside?” You glanced at Jake, hoping for some confirmation.
“Yeah,” Jake muttered, keeping it short. He was laser-focused on not letting Sunghoon win this unspoken competition. Jake knew exactly what Sunghoon was doing, and it only fueled his determination. He knew that this was a game, and he couldn’t fumble. Which was ironic, because Sunghoon and Jake played for the same football team. But with you? It was a battlefield.
The silence that followed felt heavy. You and Sunghoon didn’t mind quiet moments, but Jake? Jake was like a restless golden retriever—he needed to fill the void. Otherwise, he’d explode. So, naturally, he reached for the joint the second Sunghoon was done with it, deciding to finish it himself.
“We should save some for your brother,” Jake said suddenly, his tone overly casual. “He was excited about this. I’ll invite him out later to smoke one with me.” With that, Jake gently guided you back toward Heeseung’s apartment, his hand lingering on your shoulder just long enough to make a point.
Sunghoon watched the interaction, and it hit him in the gut. The sight of Jake touching you? That wasn’t in his “I don’t care” playbook.
Which was funny, because Sunghoon couldn’t like you. It was an unspoken rule—Jungwon would absolutely lose it if his best friend had feelings for his sister. That’s why Sunghoon told himself he didn’t. He didn’t like you; he just hated that Jake was around you. Yeah, that was it.
Or at least, that’s what Sunghoon kept telling himself to feel better.
The next moments at Heeseung’s apartment played out like this: everywhere you went, Jake and Sunghoon were right there, trailing behind you like overly attentive shadows. Both of them were being way too nice for your liking, and honestly it was starting to get on your nerves. You felt like a lamb stuck between two wolves, both of them silently battling for your attention.
Annoying? Absolutely. But you’d be lying if you said there wasn’t a tiny part of you that was kind of enjoying it. Guilty pleasure much?
Still, it was getting to be too much. You needed an escape plan, and there was only one person you could turn to: your ever-reliable confidant, Sunoo.
When Jake and Sunghoon got momentarily distracted—probably by glaring at each other—you seized the opportunity to bolt. Ducking into the bathroom, you locked the door, leaned against it for good measure, and pulled out your phone and fired off a text to your best friend.
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author's note: literally me when i wrote "nicest guy":
taglist: @jayparked @jungwonsstrawberriesnchocolate @kixri @soobnuuy @dreamiestay @somuchdard @nyyoryyu @atinyrosedoor @enhaverse713586 @miszes @wildtigerlili @hoonkishoe @wilonevys @m1dn1ghtv1olet @who-tf-soddhi @ilovewonyo @nickiminajleftasscheek @ikeulove @payformycoffeeandleave @jvngw0nlvr @qtke @nikirangs @rairaiblog @tinyteezer @catecita @aespaqq @cyberstephzz @jakesimfromstatefarm @maniluvzyou @stormy1408 @missychief1404 @heevrs @shuichi-sama
#enhypen au#enhypen fake texts#enhypen texts#enhypen scenarios#enhypen x reader#enhypen x female reader#enhypen smau#enhypen x you#jake x reader#jake fake texts#jake smau#jake au#sunghoon smau#sunghoon au#sunghoon fake texts#sunghoon texts#sunghoon x reader
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thinking about the early days when their parents first died and ponyboy is turning to soda for comfort more and more because he knows soda gets it because sodas crying so he won’t judge pony for crying. one night pony wide awake crying leftover tears from a nightmare and the general “how come darry don’t like me no more” and sodas comforting him and trying to convince him otherwise.
after a particularly rough day and rougher nightmare he asks soda “how come darry never cries? ain’t he sad too?”
soda who really ought to keep his mouth shut sometimes says “of course he’s sad. i caught him crying in the shower the other day. i think he just don’t cry in front of us; kinda like dally. you know he was upset but instead of crying like the rest of us, he found more trouble.”
pony’s quiet for moment. “why don’t he ever cry with us though? he didn’t even cry at the fune- at the church”
soda sighs. ponyboy isn’t gonna get it; no matter how hard he tries pony won’t get it because he’s not older than anybody. he won’t understand the instinct to protect someone.“you remember in comic books how the superheroes never cry; they just box up their feelings until they explode?”
“yes?”
“…darry’s kinda like that. he’s our superhero; i don’t think he cries because he dont want to scare us. if he cries it kinda proves that we’re all scared and, i don’t know about you, but i’ve never seen darry scared or in a situation he couldn’t handle.”
“i don’t know soda, i think it’s scarier that he doesn’t cry.” his voice trails off but soda knows him well enough to know pony’s holding back from saying something else. “when is darry gonna blow up?”
“huh?”
pony huffs. “you said the superheroes that hide their feelings blow up; when’s darry gonna blow up?” there is no mistaking the fear in his voice asks and now soda kinda regrets that metaphor (analogy? it’s one of them, soda always mixes them up).
soda sighs and shrugs his shoulders. “i don’t know, honey.”
pony sits up and looks at soda incredulously. “what do you mean you don’t know! i thought you told each other everything?”
soda sits up too. “well not everything. how do you even know that— are you reading my journal you little shit?”
“yes but that isn’t the point okay!” pony blushes and shakes his head widely.
“fine.” soda huffs and lays back down. he’s a little shit for reading his stuff but pony was right; him and darry did tell each other everything. but since everything it’s almost like a flip switched and darry decided he had to keep all his emotions bottled up and he couldn’t depend on anyone. “i don’t know ponyboy. he doesn’t talk to me anymore, he doesn’t talk to anyone.”
“…because he doesn’t want to scare us?”
“i think so yeah.”
“soda?” pony asks after about five minutes of silence. he’s lying back down now with his head on sodas chest.
“yeah, honey?”
“i don’t like this darry.”
soda can feel his heart cracking and his stomach dropping. “what do you mean?”
“i want my darry back.” pony’s about to cry again, soda can hear the quiver in his voice asks he tries not to. “i don’t want darry to be our guardian if he’s not my brother anymore. i want my brother, i want my darry!”
as soon as he finishes speaking, pony breaks into sobs again. this time soda doesn’t really know how to comfort him besides holding him closer and stroking his hair. “i know, honey. it’ll be okay.” he repeats those two phrases like a mantra until pony falls asleep.
#this was meant to be a headcanon#i don’t know what happened#the outsiders#outsiders musical#<- bc i had jason!soda and brent!darry in mind#as always though i had movie pony on the brain though#darry curtis#ponyboy curtis#sodapop curtis#the outsiders fanfiction#ig this counts#might polish it and put it on ao3 if if any one wants me to idk#specific dreamer’s fics
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