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satorhime · 1 year

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. ･｡･ right where you left me ࿐gojo satoru.

── ◜ ⪩⪨ ◞ content : angst, fluff, dad!gojo (reader ‘n’ gojo have a daughter), set in 2018 and 2023, reunion, beach trips, established relationship ! f!reader. ･｡･ w.c. 3.7k & not proofread.

── ◜ ⪩⪨ ◞ synopsis : time remains the one enemy gojo can’t defeat. ໒꒰ྀི ´ ꒳ ` ꒱ྀིა notes: ik there’s a gazillion reunion fics but this has been sitting in my drafts since oct n i suddenly felt like finishing n sharing so i hope u enjoy <333 ‘m gna go cry over this fic now ;u;

satoru is having a damn good day.

it’s suspicious, it feels like a fever dream, and he can’t really pinpoint where the dubiousness comes from. maybe it’s because he feels as if he doesn’t deserve it, like if he allows himself to relax like this something terrible will happen while he slacks off. or maybe, it’s because he’s only ever had those truly good days in his youth when he was devil may care and his concerns for the wellbeing of the world slid off his shoulders weightlessly, like sheets of rain on a rooftop. a wild and selfish kind of happiness that begun in spring and ended too quickly in winter.

but today is a good day. he forgot to charge his phone last night, he is in the best mood he’s been in all year, and he can’t stop fucking smiling. gojo satoru is thriving, on top of the world, a little bit of that nostalgic, adolescent joy warming up his chest.

and it’s all because it’s a sunny day, the water is cool, and he’s on the beach with you and his baby girl.

the three of you decided to steal away on a spontaneous trip to okinawa that forced him out of his work uniform and into swim trunks with a bare chest, simply because you burst into his office with big droplets of tears in your eyes declaring yourself a terrible mother because you realized that your daughter was already three years old and she had never seen the ocean before.

it had taken him ten minutes to book three first class tickets and secure the private family villa for the weekend, fifteen to get packed, and twenty to board after hearing that.

he would do anything to please his girls, after all.

“‘anna go into the bathtub, mama!” your baby whines impatiently from the embrace of your arms, squirming and squiggling for you to let her down as she points towards the rolling ocean waves behind you. ever since she learned how to walk, she’s lost all patience for her doting parents carrying her around— especially when something catches the attention of those big, pretty blue eyes. it didn’t take long for her to become enamored with the sea, wanting nothing more than to get out of your hold and toddle towards the shallows.

“it’s called an ‘ocean’, cupcake,” you correct her, voice full of amusement and affection as you crane your head forward to kiss the soft skin of her chubby cheek, bouncing the toddler in your arms. “too bad we’re being held hostage by dada right now.”

“i heard that,” satoru mumbles with a pout, his third melon popsicle of the day hanging from one side of his mouth. droplets of green slush drips onto the broad planes of his chest in a sticky mess as it melts but he’s wholly focused on the two of you, one summer blue eye winked closed as the other peers through the lens of the polaroid camera looped around his neck. “but wait, just one more photo of my two favorite girls!”

“you’ve been taking photos for the last twenty minutes, satoru,” you huff. “we aren’t going anywhere, you know. you don’t have to take so many.”

“our baby needs to see what the three of us looked like in our prime, before we grow old and gray together.”

“you’re so ridiculous, gojo satoru.”

but despite your exasperation, you remain put. it’s hard not to feel the same way he does on a perfect day like this— contentment, light in the heart and full of love because of this little trip. the camera focuses in on you and your daughter before the shutter clicks, each snap immortalizing the sight of you and your baby girl illuminated by the lazy autumn sun.

“and done!” he cheers, catching the polaroid in his palm as it slides from the slot. it wobbles between two of his fingers as it develops, but he can already see that it’s a perfect picture. he feels his heart sink in his chest, melting into a syrupy sweet puddle of happiness that makes him lightheaded and anxious.

oh, you’ve never looked as pretty as you do right now. like a dream, a forever kind of love he never plans to let go of. wearing that cute little swimsuit he likes so much with his sunnies perched on top of your head and his baby propped up on your supple hip. the two of you are beaming, cheeks squished together, your daughter’s hand cupping your face fondly.

it’s the kind of picture that others would coo at and fawn over if he framed it in a museum, but satoru retrieves his wallet from the pocket of his swim trunks, tucking the polaroid safely in the trifold for his own selfish keeping.

“i think she really likes the beach,” you tell him, squatting to set your daughter on her feet. she waves to you and satoru before waddling toward the shallow surf, her little legs stumbling in the thick body of sand. “this was good of you, satoru.”

“what? you think i’d miss the opportunity to spend time with my best girls?” he asks you, a hand on his chest with an affronted look on his face. you resist the urge to snort as the two of you follow closely behind your stumbling toddler, rushing towards her every time she gets distracted and attempts to eat the sand or chase one of the seagulls.

“you’ve been busy lately, that’s all,” is how you respond, the accusation washed out of your tone for the gentle words instead. you don’t bring up how many milestones, how many little memories he’s already missed, just by being who he is— that no matter what, he’ll always belong to his duty first and his family second. no, you’ve always shown patience and understanding. never complaining when his side of the bed is empty before morning or your girl requests for her father to read a bedtime story in that animated, comical way you can never replicate for her. making her settle for your offkey, wobbly lullabies instead.

“i know,” he says quietly, suddenly serious— keeping one eye on your baby girl who is currently splashing her hands around in the sand and water. “one of my first year’s a vessel so the curses are getting more pesky. i don’t think that’s a coincidence.”

“you think something’s about to happen?” you ask, looking up at him, but he presses a kiss to your temple and you wrinkle your nose at the sticky feeling of his lips.

“nah,” he replies, and you almost roll your eyes because you know he’s lying. even though satoru has done his best to keep you hidden from his world, you’re no fool. you already know why he rarely comes home at night, why he was absent for christmas last year, why your daughter has never met her paternal grandparents. you know that with the reappearance of several ancient cursed objects, there is thunder crackling among the clouds. “don’t worry your pretty little head about that.”

satoru turns up the volume on the waterproof boombox half-buried in the sand next to your belongings. he can’t stand your choice of music, finds it noise most of the time, but it’s the distraction the atmosphere needs to throw off your questioning. he pulls you to sit down between his legs, your back pressed against his chest and his arms wrapped around your body.

ocean foam splashes against the tips of your toes as the two of you sit at the surf of the tide in peaceful silence, time getting away from you both in the warm sun as your baby girl plays, her energy endless— waddling around and squealing at the different curiosities and wonders the beach has to offer.

whatever will happen, satoru won’t allow it to be today.

“satoru,” you call after a long quiet, craning your neck to look up at him. “if you—”

“what, you think i’m gonna croak sometime soon?” he shoots back, already knowing where the conversation is heading. so he holds you tighter, his strong arms a protective cage around your body as his shades slide down the attractive slope of his nose. he cracks a grin at you, another obvious deflection because he knows you can’t resist when he looks at you that way. not with his hair mussed from humidity, a strip of sunscreen on his nose as he chews on that damn wooden stick from his ice pop earlier.

“i know what you’re doing,” you shake your head. “and it’s not working. i’m just worried, i’m allowed to, as your wife. you think you’re invincible but if something happens to you that’ll… it’ll—” it will break us.

satoru’s smile fades, but he thankfully doesn’t need to reply because your daughter is waddling up to the both of you now, her sand-caked hands full of seashells and stones that glimmer in the sunlight. he wants to scoff because if anyone understands the consequences of failing those you love, it’s him— it’s all he’s ever known.

“what ya got there, princess?”

“fish—!” she cries in her sweet, babyish voice. some of the shells tumble from her hands, and you watch as her expression switches from happiness to dismay to finally confusion. you have to bite your lip to hold back laughter when instead of picking them back up, she dumps the rest of the seashells in your lap. “now i don’t have any fish.”

“i think those are seashells, princess,” gojo says with a grin, picking up a shell that rests on top of your thigh and holding it up to the sunlight. “this shell looks like it belongs to a hermit crab, like your megumi-nii.”

“you’re a terrible influence on our daughter, you know.”

“i’m just setting up future dynamics, angel face,” he grins.

“look look look!” your daughter gasps, bringing your attentions back to her. “this swee-shell looks like dada—!” she squeals excitedly, her new finding held delicately in her little sand-covered palm. she stands up on your thighs to reach her father sitting behind you, holding an iridescent blue seashell next to gojo’s eyes, her tiny mind comparing the colors in wonder. meanwhile, satoru wears a smile that burns so wide it hurts his cheeks.

“it looks like you too, princess,” he boops her nose, gently taking the seashell and holding it to her eyes next. her answering giggles sound like a sweet bell calling him home to heaven, but he can’t answer it because there are two people on this earth who laugh and smile at him like he hung the moon and painted the stars. “if you put it in your pocket now, the ocean won’t call the cops on you for stealing it.”

“no, this one ‘s for dada,” she insists, shoving the pretty blue seashell back into his hand.

“thank you, my mini angel,” he ruffles her hair, and you smile softly at the little exchange because though she may be enamored with her new discoveries at the beach, her father will always be one of her favorite wonders of the world.

“i ‘anna go find one for mama now!” she announces, and you wonder how she hasn’t run out of energy yet, but you nod and stand to your feet, dusting the sand away from the bottom of your swimsuit. your baby’s entire hand curls around your pointer finger, and she pulls you along with great effort.

you glance back at satoru and find that he’s watching the two of you head closer to the water, that uncharacteristically genuine smile still on his face, and you part your lips to call him to your side— where he’s always supposed to be.

“you didn’t think we’d let you slack off, did you? finding seashells is serious business, satoru!” you tease, pretty eyes crinkling with unbridled happiness, haloed by the waning sun and the orange dreamsicle sky that holds it. “hurry up!”

“wait for me just a little while, i’m coming to you,” he calls back, a lopsided grin spreading across his mouth before he raises the polaroid camera to his face, snapping one last candid photo of the two of you before he jogs towards his little piece of heaven.

but he doesn’t think he’s imagining things when the distance between heaven and earth keeps growing further and further apart—

“satoru, you can’t stand outside forever,” your voice is gentle as it speaks behind him, your hand laid delicately on his back in comfort; breaking the sorcerer out of deep reverie, the edges of the old memory fading, replaced by the pink paint of his daughter’s bedroom door that he’s been standing in front of for the last thirty minutes. his thumb brushes over the polaroid in his hand, the one that had been his salvation and his undoing in the prison realm. he’d taken it out without knowing, his eyes reading over the date written in his handwriting.

october 30, 2018

the picture of you with your daughter on your hip that he took at the beach all those years ago— that had been the last time he’d seen her.

four, no, five years?

his feet are nailed to the floor because change makes satoru shut down, and everything has changed since then.

while time was immeasurable and immovable inside of the prison realm for him, the clock had ticked on outside of it and just like that, his little girl is no longer three years old, giving him seashells that matches his eyes or hitting the back of his ankles with her big wheel or—

“you can’t keep doing this to yourself,” you sigh. “you’ve been unsealed for months. you’re her father, no matter what.”

“i’m a stranger to her,” and to you, but he doesn’t say it. you had waited for him, in every aspect of the word. held out on hope and faith in his strength that he would return to your side, where he’s always supposed to be.

“you’re n—” but you’re cut off when the door opens to reveal your daughter standing on the other side. the child standing before him is almost unrecognizable. she’s much taller and older, wearing track pants underneath her school dress with ribbons in unruly waves of white hair. the last time he’d seen his daughter, she had been three years old and still learning things like colors and sight words and that feeding megumi’s demon dogs her vegetable purée was against the rules. now, gojo satoru was the father of an eight year old and he’d missed everything because of a mista—

“you can come in,” she says, blinking up at satoru with an expression void of emotion. “but i’m not finished with my homework so if you stay too long, you’ll bug me.��

“how did you know i was outside?” he whistles nonchalantly, unbothered by the attitude that she gives him. it fills him with bitter satisfaction that she isn’t excited to see him, that someone is angry that he failed, regardless if he won in the end. he can handle bratty children who hate him and only look at him as a tool for their success, he can’t handle a daughter who cried herself to sleep every night waiting for him while he was losing his sanity away in a cube.

or at least, that’s what he tells himself.

“i could see you and mama through the door, duh,” she replies, hip cocked to the side in an amount of sass she had to pick up from you. “mama says i have your eyesight. i don’t really get it, but it makes it easy to cheat on tests.”

he could see it in the bright blue of her eyes, even if she hadn’t confirmed it. plain as daylight, she’s exactly like he was at that age. easily irritable and bratty, cocky and spoiled rotten. suffering from the weight of being an uncontested heir to an ancient dynasty at the age of elementary.

“i used six eyes to cheat on tests too,” he relates with pride, and then he bends down to her height, waving his palm. “sooo you probably got some questions about where i was—”

“not really. grandfather said you were sealed because you’re foolish and let weakness distract you.”

“you shouldn’t say things like that,” you scold, “apologize.”

“why? i don’t want to.”

your daughter turns, disappearing back into her room after that and seeming like she doesn’t care if satoru follows or not. your hand travels up the long expanse of satoru’s back in a soothing circle as you step closer.

“huh, that’s new.”

“sorry, she’s… i don’t know if acting out is the right term,” you say, pain in your voice. “she doesn’t really understand why she’s so different, or why you were … gone for so long. i know you didn’t want her around your family so i kept her away as best i could, but she started to have crippling migraines because she didn’t know how to use her ability and well… they were the only ones who knew how to help. filled her head with foolishness every time she visited the estate, though and it’s changed her.”

“huh,” is all he says, a broken record, tongue running across his inner lip in thought.

“do you need me?”

“what, you think i can’t handle her?”

“well, you were outside the door for a half hour, ‘toru.”

he shoots you a lopsided grin before he’s stepping into his daughter’s bedroom, glancing around at the unfamiliarity of it all. you follow close behind, watching with a heavy heart as he takes in the difference eight years can make.

her tiny baby crib has been traded for a poster bed decorated with a sanrio duvet and various stuffed animals where a laptop and study papers lay scattered on top. the angel themed decorations, along with her first ultrasound photo you and satoru had hung up in her nursery had been replaced by pink paint and pictures of her with a group of friends from school and a photo of her on a volleyball team.

he has to rip his gaze away.

“so,” he starts, standing in the center of the room and trying not to feel like an intruder, desperate for something to say— something to relate to her with. “how many episodes did i miss? did aya-chan ever get married?”

“i’m too old to play with dolls now, father,” she huffs, scrunching up her nose, and though satoru expected that exact answer, it doesn’t stop his heart from shattering into a million pieces. he feels that familiar itch, anger welling in his body until it burns at his fingertips because this is no one’s fault but his own. “don’t you know anything about me?”

“my bad, you’re a big kid now,” he snorts, even as his chest aches. he sits on the edge of her bed, flipping up one edge of the coloring book laying next to her laptop. “maybe you should start paying taxes.”

“i’m also too young to pay taxes. you really don’t know anything about me anymore,” she snaps, and she’s right— he doesn’t and it burns like saltwater on a wound. now he knows why you asked if he needed you; he’d hide behind you if he could, but he settles for flickering his eyes up to you helplessly.

you realize that neither of you can be upset with her for being angry that one of her favorite people vanished out of thin air. that while he was sealed, his clan had taken advantage of his absence and your powerlessness against them, and had begun spoiling your child rotten, teaching her how to use her ability— plumping her up for the inevitable day that she becomes her father’s successor, turning her against him.

“i think,” you say softly, leaning against the frame of the door. “that your dada— your father— would like to learn, though. he’s missed a lot, baby.”

she considers this for a long while, then she heaves a great sigh, hackles lowering. she scoots off the bed and before satoru can feel the hurt of figuring she doesn’t want to be near him, she does something unexpected. she moves one of her trophies out of the way to open her closet door, rummaging around for the longest before she yanks out a cardboard box you had labeled ‘donate one day since my snotty kid is a hag now’— it’s a box full of old dolls, covered in dust. she sits on her knees in front of the box, peering inside.

“aya-chan didn’t get married, but hinata-chan did,” she explains with an exasperated sigh and a roll of her eyes, taking out the dolls one by one and setting them on the floor in front of satoru’s feet.

“to the mailman that lived in your ugliest dollhouse?”

“you remember,” her eyes widen a little in surprise before her expression shutters again, smoothing out the doll’s colorful polyester dress before reaching back into the box and retrieving a brush covered in synthetic hairs. she looks at it for a while before extending her arm and offering the brush to her father. “aya-chan decided to be independent and explore the world. she’s planning to go on a trip soon so she needs to get ready. do y’wanna brush her hair?”

satoru is sliding off the bed and sitting cross-legged on the floor before he knows it, barely wanting to breathe because he doesn’t want to shatter the fragility of the moment between them. he takes the brush, and seconds later she hands him one of the dolls that had once upon a time been her favorite one that no one was allowed to touch. you would giggle at the delicate way he brushes the doll’s hair with utmost care and precision if you weren’t about to cry at the scene instead. “oh, and where’s she headed?”

“okinawa.”

“ponytail or messy bun then?” you don’t think you’re imagining the wobble in his voice. “to compliment her swimsuit.”

a tiny, hopeful smile twinkles over your lips at the two of them on the floor, babbling away to each other about the outlandish stories they’ve created together with her dolls. how many times had you offered to play with her, only for her to burst into tears because it wasn’t the same? you know that this won’t bridge the gap between the years that have been lost, but it’s a start. just hearing the soft murmurs of their conversation, the sound of your little girl giggling for the first time in ages, makes your heart swell.

time may be an undefeated opponent, and with it comes change that no one can control, but something tells you that as long as the three of you are together— everything will be okay.

you tiptoe out of the room, because they need time to catch up and apologize and reconnect, to learn one another once more, but before you close the door, you don’t think you’re mistaken when you hear, “can we go back to the beach too, dada?”

#little novels.#jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk fluff #jjk angst #gojo fluff #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen fluff #gojo angst

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roosterforme · 3 months

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Covering the Classics Part 1 | Bob Floyd x OC

Summary: Bob is happy for his friends, but feeling like the fifth wheel every weekend has gotten old. Anna's main goal is to fly under the radar as she starts work at San Diego State University with her shiny, new graduate degree. She is convinced that the only company she needs is her own, but a specific flyer in the faculty lounge catches her interest.

Warnings: Fluff, angst, adult language, eventually 18+

Length: 2800 words

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Female OC (this story is part of the Beer Boy/Sugar and Jake/Jessica universe)

Covering the Classics masterlist. Check my masterlist for more! Thank you to @mak-32 for the beautiful banner!

Bob hated it when Natasha was deployed without him. He always ended up feeling like the fifth wheel now that Bradley was married and Jake was dating Jessica. Well, both of those were actually understatements. Bradley was devoted to his wife, and Jake was soppy now that Jessica moved in with him. And Bob's feelings on the matter were never more evident than on nights out at the Hard Deck.

Without fail, a girl or two or three would hit on one of the other guys, and they would deftly try to pawn said girl off on Bob only for the girl to look rather disappointed and kind of wander away. He just had that effect on women. He was a lot better with the written word than with the spoken, and something just didn't translate well for him when he was met face-to-face with an intriguing smile and an attractive body.

He groaned as he watched another woman head off in the direction of the bar as soon as he nervously stumbled his way through a sentence where he tried to introduce himself. How exactly was he supposed to compete with Jake Seresin anyway? Nobody who originally wanted him was going to settle for Bob.

"I got you more peanuts." Bob looked up to see Bradshaw's wife smiling at him and holding out a cup. Ever since he visited Chippy's bar, he didn't want to admit to Penny that hers weren't quite as good, but if someone went out of their way to bring him a cup full, he was going to eat them. And it was also nice of her to make sure he was included tonight while Mickey was babysitting his nephews.

"Thank you," he replied softly, and she patted his shoulder.

"I saw you talking to that girl?" she asked, nodding her head toward the bar. "She's really cute."

Bob shook his head as he looked down at his ginger ale. "I mean, yes, she was very pretty, but I wasn't really talking to her. She didn't want to talk to me, actually." He could feel the heat rising in his cheeks as he looked up at her from his stool. "She wanted to talk to Jake."

She rolled her eyes, and Bob kept his fingers occupied by cracking open a peanut. He craved the familiar intimacy he saw when he looked at his friends and their partners. Maybe jealousy wasn't the right word, but he always felt left out of the loop. They all knew something he didn't, and he craved to be on the inside with someone of his own.

"I'd choose you over Jake any day, Bob. You're smart, and I like talking to you."

He smiled at her as he said, "That may be the case, but you'd choose Bradley over me."

"You got me there," she said with a laugh as she kissed his cheek, making him avert his eyes to the floor. "I'm probably not the best judge of character though."

Bob looked toward where she was smiling now and saw Bradley with his hideous tie dye shirt and idiotic looking backwards baseball cap as Jessica slaughtered him in a game of pool. "Yes, you are," Bob told her quietly. Because as soon as Bradley looked at his wife, his expression became one of complete wonder.

"Sugar! Come here! Jessica is being mean to me again!"

She squeezed Bob's shoulder and then took him by the hand, bringing him along with her to the pool table. He blushed again as he looked a little nervously at Bradley, but everyone knew Bob was harmless. He was the one just drinking a ginger ale since he had to drive home.

"Baby," Bradley whined. "She won't even let me try to make a shot."

"That's not her being mean to you. That's her being better than you," his wife replied. "And what's the moral of the story again?"

"Women should never be underestimated," Bradley and Jake said in unison.

"That's right," Jessica said as she sunk the 8-ball into one of the corner pockets. "Especially ones who have a PhD and tenure." She handed her pool cue to Bradley and did a little dance. Then she reached into Bob's cup of peanuts and said, "Chippy's are better."

"They are," he agreed with a nod and a grin. He cleared his throat as Bradshaw's wife finally dropped his hand. "So I heard the new semester starts on Monday?"

"Yes," Jessica gushed as she fixed her glasses. "And Brian took a position at the community college, so this should be my best semester yet."

Bob already knew that Jake was relieved that his girlfriend would be going to work in a more comfortable environment every day, but it was nice to see how excited she was.

"You know what I was thinking?" Jessica asked Bradshaw's wife quietly. Bob wondered if he should step away and give them some privacy, but they both kept helping themselves to the cup of peanuts. "Maybe we could put something up on the notice board in the main building, kind of inviting the other female teachers at the school to have lunch together one day? I felt so embarrassed and excluded from things because of Brian, I just thought it might be nice for anyone else who feels marginalized?"

Bradley's wife nodded. "I think that's a great idea."

Bob listened to them for a few more minutes before he wished them good luck as they started back to school for the fall term, and then he excused himself for the night. He stood outside in the dark parking lot for a few minutes and listened to the sound of the ocean before he climbed into his truck and headed for his silent house.

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

"Dr. Webber."

Anna looked at the name placard on her office door and bounced up and down. "Dr. Webber," she read out loud again. She had the worst office on campus, no doubt about that. It was miniscule and kind of smelled like stale bread since it was so close to the cafeteria, but she loved it. All of the shelves were crammed with her books, and she could lock the rest of the world out when she needed a minute to herself. She just hoped that the tiny office wasn't a sign of bad things to come after San Diego State University willingly hired her less than a month before the start of the term.

In a matter of eight weeks, she had finally- finally- graduated with her PhD in English Literature and secured a job on the other side of the country. She sold everything she could think of, including her rings, and moved from gloomy New Jersey to a studio apartment in sunny southern California. Sure, all she had in her kitchen was a toaster oven and a mini fridge, but she was on her own. She had nobody to answer to. And she never would again.

"I guess everything is smaller here," Anna told herself as she locked her office door and went in search of the classroom where she would be holding the first lecture of her teaching career. She was too early for the class, but she was filled with nervous energy and decided that walking around would help.

She looked in classrooms and listened to a poetry lecture on the third floor. She found a really secluded ladies' bathroom as well as a reading nook. Eventually, she and her copy of A Tree Grows in Brooklyn managed to wander all the way to the main building where she found a faculty lounge.

It smelled like coffee, and there were snacks out on the counter, and everyone was talking in pairs or small groups. She should probably get to know her colleagues, but she also didn't mind the anonymity that came with observing everyone without engaging. She was good at that, and she'd spend too much time around people who needed to be in the spotlight all the time. As she reached for a donut with pink frosting, she saw a notice board across the room and went to take a look.

The hum of conversation around her was comforting as she read about a yoga class in the quad, alumni night, and a teacher appreciation banquet. Then her eyes caught on a single piece of paper with a plain black font. It wasn't flashy, and somehow it reminded her of a page from a favorite book.

WELCOME BACK FOR THE FALL SEMESTER, LADIES!

If you're interested in getting to know some other women who work on campus, let's meet for a friendly lunch on the first Tuesday of the term! Noon in the quad next to the weird tree.

Anna laughed. She knew where the quad was, but she wasn't sure which tree was the weird one. They actually all seemed a bit out of place to her since she wasn't used to living near palm trees. She started to skim a notice about how to recycle old textbooks, but she didn't get far before she was re-reading the one about meeting up for lunch.

If it was truly meant just for women, then it sounded kind of nice. She could eat her sandwich outside. She liked weird trees. The idea of having zero men around made it even more appealing. The last thing she wanted was to develop an interest in anyone right now. Or maybe ever again.

She took out her phone and snapped a picture of the page before checking the time and leaving with her donut. Twenty minutes later, with her class assembled before her in a small lecture hall, she cleared her throat and said, "Welcome to English 205. I'm Dr. Webber, and this semester we will be covering the classics."

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"You can do this. You'll be fine," Anna said as she walked slowly across the quad toward a palm tree that looked like it somehow started growing sideways about six feet up from the ground. "It's just some people."

But she wasn't good with people. Kevin had been quick to tell her that all the time. He liked to point out that she was awkward unless she was talking about literature or poetry or something from the New York Times bestseller list. Apparently she didn't know how to talk about normal things. Her hands started to sweat as she held onto her brown paper bag and can of ginger ale.

"Oh god," she groaned as she got a little closer. Truly, there was nothing to be afraid of. It was just two women smiling as they talked to each other with their lunches. But they were both beautiful. Like the kind of stunning girls that Anna was always afraid to talk to when she was a teenager. One was wearing a suit and high heels, and the other was wearing cute brown loafers and some tweed, and she felt like her own outfit looked awful now by comparison.

It wasn't too late to just walk past them and loop back toward her office and never try to socialize again. "Yes, let's do that." She nodded and picked up the pace a little bit. She could turn left at the weird tree and then maybe even make a run for it. "What are you doing?" she whispered, slowing down again. It was one thing to swear off men, but it wasn't going to be an enjoyable existence if she never tried to make a single friend here.

With a deep breath, she forced herself forward, and then soon two sets of eyes were on her. All she saw was matching smiles as she approached and said, "Hi. I'm Anna Webber. Is this the weird tree?"

"It's the weirdest tree I've ever seen," said the first woman as the other one jumped to her feet.

"Hi! Are you here for lunch?" she asked as she adjusted her glasses. "I told you someone would come," she whispered to the first woman before sticking her hand out. "I'm Jessica Reed! I work in the physics department, and this is my friend, and we are so, so happy you're joining us."

Anna smiled at how bubbly she was as she briefly shook her hand. "I just got here," she said with a wince. "I mean... it's my second day working here? I just got hired. In the English department. I'm teaching literature." God, could she sound like any more of an idiot right now?

But Jessica gasped in response. "Advanced Literature!" Then both women squealed, and soon the other one was introducing herself and talking about the math department and pointing out a building Anna had never been inside yet.

"It's silly, we know, but we kind of have code names for each other. I'm Advanced Calculus, and Jessica is Advanced Physics. You can be Advanced Literature. If you want." Now she looked a little uncertain while Jessica bounced in her high heels. "Wow, we sound like absolute nerds."

"We are nerds," Jessica confirmed with no shame as she looked at Anna. "I collect scientific journals. She uses math as foreplay with her husband. Do you want to eat lunch with us, Anna?"

Her response came with an ease that she hadn't felt in a long time. "Yes. Please." Then both women were shifting their lunches down and making room in the middle of the bench. Anna took a seat and watched Advanced Calculus pick a carrot stick out of the most beautifully organized lunch container she'd ever seen. She also had a tie dyed lunch box that was charming in a hideous way.

"How's your first week going?" Jessica asked as she bit into a delicious looking sandwich on fancy, multigrain bread. Anna knew she didn't fit in here at all as she pulled a plain turkey sandwich and some peanuts from her bag, but it was all she could afford right now.

"Well," she said with a sigh. "It's better than New Jersey."

Both women squealed again. "You're from the east coast!"

"Yeah," she replied as she opened her ginger ale. "I grew up in New Jersey. I went to college and grad school in New Jersey. I attempted to move to New York, and then somehow I ended up here." She left out the heartbreaking parts about Kevin, because he didn't really belong in a conversation where she was surprisingly kind of enjoying herself.

She learned the two women were from Massachusetts and Virginia, and that they both had PhDs from prestigious universities. They were both in committed relationships with naval aviators who also happened to work together. And both of the men loved packing their ladies lunches.

"Lucky," Anna muttered as she popped a peanut into her mouth and thought about the kitchen in her studio apartment. It was so small, it almost didn't exist. She was almost thirty and essentially still lived in a dormitory. How sad.

"Hey," Jessica said suddenly. "If you like peanuts, you'd probably love Chippy's!"

"What's Chippy's?" Anna asked curiously.

"Eww, no. Don't listen to Jess. Chippy's is a disgusting dive bar on the other side of campus."

"It's not disgusting! He just doesn't clean the floor."

Anna laughed. "I actually do love peanuts, but I'm not a big drinker." Then both women silently studied her, and she could feel heat rising in her cheeks. She'd said something wrong already. Of course things couldn't be this easy.

"Huh. You like ginger ale," said Advanced Calculus as she sat paused with a carrot stick halfway to her mouth.

Anna nodded as she said, "My... well, a guy I know used to make fun of me for being a ginger and loving ginger ale." She gestured to her auburn hair which was clipped up at the back of her head.

"Are you married? Or in a relationship?" she asked, and she finally bit into the carrot.

Anna didn't even have a chance to reply as Advanced Physics gasped on her other side. "You like peanuts. And ginger ale. How do you feel about men with glasses?"

"How do you feel about men with greenish blue eyes?"

"How do you feel about sweet men who blush?"

"Would you ever date a guy in the Navy?"

"Are you fond of beat up pickup trucks and country boys?"

"Do you want to come to the Hard Deck this weekend?"

Anna was starting to get whiplash as she looked back and forth between the two of them. "Wait, I'm sorry. What? I thought we were talking about a place called Chippy's?"

"We were. But now we're talking about a man called Bob."

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

Omg omg omg. Okay, here we are with a story for our lovable Bob. Thanks for reading about the Sugarverse. I'd love to hear your thoughts. Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 2

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#bob floyd x oc #robert floyd x oc #robert bob floyd #bob floyd #bob floyd imagine #robert floyd imagine #robert bob floyd x oc #bob floyd fic #bob floyd fanfiction #robert floyd fic #robert floyd #top gun imagine #top gun maverick imagine #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick fanfiction #roosterforme #covering the classics

583 notes · View notes

justmystyles · 3 months

Text

Baby-Baby-Baby

read my other work here!

pairing: Harry Styles x plus size reader

*i say it's a plus size reader, but it is not something that i focus on explicitly in my fics, because your size should not define you. it will only come up if it comes into the story organically.*

word count: 2,993

summary: Harry meets his niece for the first time, the joy and excitement are quickly replaced with a whole new set of feelings when his best friend, Y/N joins him at the hospital.

a/n: throwing my hat in the unclerry ring with this big ball of fluff. i actually just thought of a new series idea that this would have fit so perfectly with, but i'm nowhere near ready to start releasing that, so here's a little bestierry fluff instead!

tags: @abby8694 @allthelovehes @ameerakane20 @ash-craze @bethanysnow @blue-ballad @blueraspberryreader @brightlightsinlife @creativelyeva @cute-as-ducks420 @deannaard @fanficismydrug @gem1712 @golden-hoax @gothmingguk @groovychaosavenue @hillzrry @iceebabies @indierockgirrl @jerseygirlinca @jng4kook @jooniesbabie @kaverichauhan @laurxn-robinson @lexiecamposv @likeapplejuicenpeach @lilfreakjez @mrs-anna-styles211994 @n0vaj3an @potterheadandsherlocked @rach2699 @ravenclawdirectioner @stylesfeverr @superchrystaldrug @tenaciousperfectionunknown @tiaamberxx @thechaoticjoy @theekyliepage @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @youknowwhaaat

The sound of her phone ringing breaks Y/N from her deep, peaceful slumber. With an annoyed grumble, she blindly slaps her hand around until she finds it and answers it with a grunt.

“It’s happening Y/N, it’s happening!”

As she slowly starts to come to, she rubs the sleep from her eyes and sits up. “Harry? Wh-what’s happening?” She responds groggily.

“Gem! She’s having the baby! She’s at the hospital right now!” He shouts, causing her to furrow her brow and pull the phone away from her ear slightly.

“Okay, Harry, deep breaths, calm down.” She says trying to talk him down. “Are you going to the hospital?”

“Not yet, mum’s there with her and Michal now. They’re going to let me know when she’s here and then I’m going to go.”

She could hear the anxiety in his voice, she could see it clearly in her mind, Harry pacing back and forth in his living room, likely with a glass of wine in his hand. “And what are you doing until you get that call?” She says knowingly.

Harry notices her tone and knows exactly why she’s asking. “You know, just taking it easy.”

“Liar.”

Harry sighs and rolls his eyes. “Well what do you want me to do? My big sister is having a baby! I’m going to be an uncle!”

“I’m coming over.” She replies as she slides out of bed and starts grabbing some clothes to change into.

“You don’t have to…”

“Yes I do,” she interrupts. “If I don’t, I’m just going to get a bunch of stream of consciousness texts and phone calls from you while you sit alone freaking out. I may as well just get them in person.”

“I don’t need a babysitter.” Harry says. She can hear his pout from the other end of the phone.

“I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”

There’s a brief silence on the other end of the phone. He definitely wanted her to come over, he didn’t want to wait alone, he just felt bad dragging her out of bed and demanding her time. “Thanks, Y/N.”

She smiles softly at his appreciative tone. “Of course.” She hangs up the phone and gets dressed.

Thirty minutes later, Y/N was standing at Harry’s front door knocking gently. When he answers, he’s noticeably frazzled.

“Hey, Uncle Harry.” She says cheerily.

In that moment, Harry’s nerves and anxiety drift away and the corners of his mouth turn up into a wide, dimpled grin. He takes her hand and leads her into the house. “Wine?”

“Half a glass.” She says as he leads her to the kitchen. She takes a seat at the kitchen island as he pours her some wine, and a little more for himself. She arches a brow at him.

“It’s only my second, and I’m only having it so you aren’t drinking alone.” He says defensively.

“Fine, we have one now to pre-celebrate, and another when you get back from the hospital.” She holds up her glass. “To Gemma and Michal.”

“Mhm,” Harry hums in agreement, clinking his glass to hers and taking a sip. “Wait, what do you mean when I get back from the hospital?”

She looks at him like he’s crazy. “Isn’t that what this is all about? You’re waiting to get the call so you can go meet your niece.”

“Yeah, no I get that, but you said when I get back, not when we get back.” He arches a brow.

“Because we’re not going. You are. I’ll just wait for you here, or go home and sleep…”

“What do you mean go home? You’re coming!”

“Harry, this is a family thing, your sister will have just gone through labor. This isn’t some party I can just tag along to.”

“Don’t be an idiot!” Harry laughs and shoves her playfully. “You’re practically family, you know Gemma loves you.”

Y/N rolls her eyes and shakes her head as she takes a sip of her wine. “So, should we narrow down what baby gift you’re bringing to the hospital? I know you have a room full of toys and outfits for her.” She expertly changes the subject.

“Probably just one of the stuffies, she’ll only be in the hospital for a few days, I can bring everything else to the house when she gets home.”

She chuckles at his answer. “God, you’re already spoiling the hell out of this kid.”

“You’d better believe it!”

The two of them continue to chit chat and laugh, passing the time and successfully keeping Harry distracted, and then his phone rang. Harry looks at the screen, his gaze flitting up to Y/N. “It’s mum…”

“Well answer it!” She insists.

“Mum?” Harry answers the phone, Y/N watches Harry’s expression, his eyes quickly light up, a bright smile growing on his face as he gives her a thumbs up, indicating that everything went well.

“That’s great! Yeah, okay.” He continues to respond to his mother on the other end of the phone. “Yeah, on my way.” He looks up at Y/N. “Oh, Y/N is here, do you think Gem would mind if she came too?” His proud brother smile is quickly replaced with a shit eating grin. “Great, we’ll see you soon. Love you too.”

“She said it would be wonderful if you came. Now they’re expecting you, so you have no choice.” He says smugly, causing her to roll her eyes.

***

They enter the maternity ward of the hospital, and walk down the hallway to Gemma’s room. When they arrive in front of the door, Harry pauses, his hand resting on the door handle.

“You ready to be an uncle?” Y/N says softly, placing her hand on his back.

His smile widens and he nods his head, turning the handle and pushing the door open. The friends enter the room together, Harry going straight to his sister, while Y/N goes to greet his mother, Anne.

“Congratulations, mum.” Harry says to his sister with a chuckle.

Gemma laughs and hugs him tightly. “Thank you.” When they pull apart, Gemma nods to the bassinet beside her. “Say hello to your niece, I know she’s the reason you’re really here.”

Harry looks down at the sweet little bundle before him, reaching down and running a finger over her small cheek. “She’s perfect,” he coos as his eyes travel over every feature, wanting to memorize everything about this moment.

“You can pick her up, you know.” Gemma teases.

Harry rolls his eyes and reaches down gently, lifting his niece into his arms for the first time. He takes a seat in a nearby chair and cradles her closely in his arms, whispering softly to her, promises of protection and love, and being spoiled rotten.

As Y/N and Anne catch up, Y/N watches Harry out of the corner of her eye, for as long as they’ve been friends, any time she saw Harry with children, it would give her a warm fuzzy feeling. He was such a natural with them, but to see him with his niece was on an entirely different level.

Y/N was so focused on Harry that she didn’t notice the knowing glances shared by Gemma and Anne. The two of them had always noticed the chemistry between Harry and Y/N, they’d drop hints now and then, but ultimately wanted to leave it to the two of them to figure out for themselves.

Eventually, Y/N pulls out her phone, knowing Harry is going to want a picture of this moment. She snaps a few candid shots, a warm smile spread across her face.

“You should hold her too,” Gemma says, pulling Y/N from her impromptu photo shoot.

She looks up and smiles at Gemma, walking up to her and giving her a hug. “Congrats, Gem. I’m sorry for tagging along, I’m sure you’re exhausted, the last thing you need is extra people tagging along.”

“You’re not an extra person,” Gemma scoffs. “You’re practically family.”

“Told you so.” Harry says smugly from his seat, the baby still in his arms.

“Oh shut up and hand her over.” She teases.

Harry laughs quietly, not wanting to startle his niece. He stands from the chair and waits for Y/N to be seated before carefully placing the baby in her arms.

Once she’s holding the baby, she looks down and smiles. “She’s so beautiful, Gemma.”

“Yeah, we’re pretty fond of her.” She chuckles in response.

Y/N’s eyes stay locked on the soft features, her light eyelashes fluttering across her delicate cheeks. Her petite mouth opens in a wide yawn, and Y/N swears her heart is going to explode.

“You are just the most precious little thing in the whole world, aren’t you?” She coos at the newborn. “Don’t worry, when your Uncle Harry gets too annoying, you can just come find me…”

“Heyyy!” Harry whines. Y/N looks up and sticks her tongue out at him, while Gemma and Anne laugh at the exchange.

“You look like a natural holding her, Y/N.” Anne redirects the conversation.

Y/N smiles up at her. “Thanks, I love kids. I’d love to have a couple of my own someday…”

Those words, combined with the sight of Y/N holding a baby cause a switch to flip inside of Harry. It’s as if his world of black and white suddenly turned to color right in front of him. In that moment, he thinks about what it would be like if she were sitting there with their baby in her arms.

His mind starts racing with thoughts, sure during their years of friendship, there have been a couple of lingering glances and drunken kisses here and there, but they were friends. He’d never even considered going beyond that, not even with the not so subtle hints that his mother and sister would drop anytime Y/N’s name would come up in conversation. But now, it was all he could think about.

After spending a bit more time at the hospital, it was clear that Gemma and the baby needed their rest, so Harry promised to come by again in a few hours, and the pair made their way back to Harry’s house.

The car ride was surprisingly silent, Y/N was sure that Harry would be talking nonstop about meeting his niece, and how cute she was, rehashing every gurgle and squeak that came out of her tiny little mouth, but he kept his eyes on the road, looking as though he was deep in thought. She didn’t say anything, she figured he just needed some time to process everything that had happened, and she was happy to give him that.

When they arrived back at his house, they go inside and hang up their coats. “Wine?” Y/N asks, hoping it will open the lines of communication between the two of them.

Harry looks up, hint of surprise on his face, as if he forgot that she was there. “Hmm? Oh, yeah, wine would be good.”

When they get to the kitchen, Y/N pours them each a glass, they clink them together and take a sip.

“Oh, I got some really cute pictures of you holding her, by the way.” She pulls her phone out of her pocket and shows Harry the photos. “I’ll text them to you.”

“Thanks.” He says, a dreamy smile plastered on his face. Has Y/N always been this thoughtful? Of course she had, that’s one of the things he’d always loved about her.

“Hey,” Y/N says softly, pulling him from his thoughts. “You okay? You’ve been quiet since we left the hospital.”

Harry smiles nervously, waging an internal battle on whether or not to disclose what’s been going on in his mind. “Yeah… yeah, I’m good. It’s just been a big day.”

“I get it. I swear, if this is how you get just from becoming an uncle, you may go catatonic when you have your own kids.” She chuckles and continues to sip her glass of wine.

Harry feels his heart rate pickup, and he decides that he needs to get it out, he needs to tell her. “You know, you looked pretty at home holding that baby…” He says, opening the door for this conversation, that could either end really well, or really poorly.

“Yeah, I think I felt my ovaries stir a little while I was there.” She chuckles, completely unaware of the conversation to come.

Harry lets out a soft laugh as he takes a sip of his wine, trying to play it cool, even though he felt anything but. “You know, I had this crazy thought when I saw you holding the baby…”

“Oh yeah? What kind of crazy thought?”

Harry smiles softly and looks down at his feet, swirling the wine in his glass. “Well, the way you were holding her, the look on your face, you just bounding her in your arms so gently, her smiling up at you, her tiny hand grabbing your finger, it just got me thinking…” He looks up, locking eyes with her, searching for some kind of reaction.

“Thinking what, Har?” She asked tentatively.

Harry shrugs shyly. “I dunno… it got me thinking, what if that was our kid you were holding?”

Y/N’s eyes go wide in surprise. “Ours? Like yours and mine?”

Harry nods sheepishly, but there is an intensity in his gaze. “I know we’ve never talked about that before, but, I don’t know, I saw you holding her, and it seemed so natural… and that look on your face… it changed something in my heart, and I just realized that I want that.”

“With me? You want that with me… your best friend?”

“Yeah,” he nods, his expression never wavering. “With you, but not as my best friend, as my wife.”

“Harry…” She gasps softly. “This is all kind of out of the blue…”

Harry takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “I know, I know, but can you honestly tell me that you’ve never thought about what it would be like if we were together?”

Y/N is silent for a moment as she considers his question. “I mean yeah, of course I’ve thought about it, you’re sweet, funny, good looking. I’d be crazy not to think about it every now and then. But I just always assumed I’d been friend zoned since day one.”

“That’s fair… and honestly, I think you kind of were. I don’t know, something changed today. I realized that I want to spend the rest of my life with you.” He pauses for a moment, but continues when he sees that she’s still trying to process.

“Think about it, we know each other better than anyone else. We’ve been there for each other through so many breakups, we know exactly what the other wants and expects in relationships. I know for a fact I’d be way better than most of those idiots you waste your time with.”

She lets out a soft chuckle, he was definitely right about that. Y/N thought about it for a minute, and she was right, there had never been a more constant, supportive presence in her life. She considered all the things she wanted in a partner, and realized that Harry was all of those things.

“You realize if we do this, there’s no going back. It’s all or nothing…”

“I don’t want to go back, only forward. Only with you.” Harry says confidently.

Y/N takes a deep breath and nods. “Okay, yeah… let’s do it…”

Harry’s eyes light up, his expression mixed with relief and joy. “Yeah? Are you sure?” Y/N smiles shyly, biting the corner of her lip and nodding.

He places his wine glass down on the counter and takes a step towards Y/N, taking her glass and putting that down as well. “So, I guess we should probably kiss now?” He asks softly, reaching up and brushing a strand of hair out of her face.

“Seems like the next logical step…” She replies quietly.

They both start leaning closer until their lips touch. The kiss is gentle at first, but Harry quickly runs his tongue along the seam of her lips, she parts them, granting him access. He places his hands on her hips, pulling her flush to him as they explore each other’s mouths. Unlike the drunken kisses they had shared in the past, this wasn’t sloppy or rushed. It was slow and deliberate, taking their time to truly explore this new side to their relationship.

When they finally separate to catch their breath, they keep their foreheads pressed together, and look into each other’s eyes.

“So what, we’re like engaged now, or something?” Y/N asks in a slightly teasing tone.

“No way,” Harry says promptly. “If we were engaged, you’d know it. You’re gonna get the big, fancy elaborate proposal, and a big ol’ rock to go along with it.” He says confidently. “But it’ll be coming. Probably soon…”

“Soon?” She asks, slightly surprised.

“Sure, the whole point of dating is to get to know someone. We’ve seen each other at our best and our worst. You know all my little quirks, and I know all those annoying little things about you, and I still want this…”

“Heyyy,” Y/N protests, causing Harry to laugh.

“I know all the cute, sweet, endearing things about you too.” He adds, kissing the tip of her nose.

She narrows her eyes playfully, her wide grin giving her away. “You know we do have one little problem…”

Harry’s brow rounds in concern. “What?”

“Gemma’s gonna take credit for this.”

Harry throws his head back in laughter. “You’re not wrong, but it’s a small price to pay if it means I get to spend the rest of my life with my best friend.” He leans in and kisses her again.

374 notes · View notes

voxmortuus · 10 months

Text

✧*̥˚ PAIRING: *̥˚✧ Yandere!Count Vronsky x F!Reader!Wife ✧*̥˚ UNIVERSE: *̥˚✧ Anna Karenina ✧*̥˚ WORD COUNT: *̥˚✧ 3.6k ✧*̥˚ PROMPT: *̥˚✧ This was given to me by the lovely @bettytaylorversion || Okay, okay I'm lately obsessed with yandere Count Vronsky, so how about yan Vronsky suspecting that his wife is seeing someone or like in love with someone and it doesn't help when his mother keeps feeding his suspicions so he ends up locking the wife/reader up in their house in countryside/ another country house where no one can reach them and where he makes sure his beloved wife knows exactly how much he loves her. ✧*̥˚ TRIGGER WARNINGS: *̥˚✧ Dead Dove Do Not Eat | Yandere Count | Possessive Count | Aggressive Count | Stalker Count | Demanding Count | Accusations of Cheating | Toxic Mother | False ideas | False Suspicions from mother | Toxic Marriage? | Isolation of Reader | Slapping | Pushing or Shoving | Yelling | Slamming doors | Gripping readers throat | Passionate making out | Throwing reader on bed | Stripping reader | Unprotected PiV | Aggressive sex | Reader fights a bit but stops fighting | Dub-Con? | insinuated Cream Pie | Crying Reader | Fluff | Reader questions if she loves him at the end | Relationship conflictions | PLEASE TELL ME IF I FORGOT ANYTHING!!! I want to make sure readers are fully aware of what they are getting themselves into when they read this… ✧*̥˚ NOTES: *̥˚✧ I've been wanting to write for him for a long while! Thank you love for this request! I hope this is along the lines of what you were hoping for... Sorry if it doesn't hit exactly what you're looking for but I tried!!! Anywho.... I hope this brings you some joy. ✧*̥˚ DIVIDER CREDIT: *̥˚✧ @nyxvuxoa ✧*̥˚ TIME PASSER DIVIDER CREDIT: *̥˚✧ @voxmortuus ✧*̥˚ IMAGE CREDIT: *̥˚✧ @peachyspaceslvt ✧*̥˚ ATJ TAGLIST: *̥˚✧ @earth-elemental18 @nyxvuxoa-writes ✧*̥˚ My Master Masterlist | Aaron Taylor-Johnson Masterlist *̥˚✧

It was this gnawing feeling, this feeling of dread, sorrow, a pain in his gut he couldn't shake. Watching you go as he leaned against the window frame, he knew where you were going. He knew, he just had this gut feeling that he couldn't quite shake. It ate at his heart, it ate at his brain, it was like these cogs and wheels working, but not in a way of rationality. His thoughts were completely irrational. Looking out that window as your carriage vanished into the thick fog of the dawn, he felt so lost, so angry. He wasn't happy, and not happy may be quite an understatement.

Placing a hand-rolled cigarette between his lips he grabbed a match from the fireplace and lit it. The smoke bellowed above, tossing the match into the fire he turned to see his mother sitting at the table.

"She does not have love for you anymore, Alexei." She stated. Her tone appeared caring, honest, maybe even having pity, but it was just because she didn't like you.

"She must love me. That is my wife, she must." He stated he didn't seem demanding about it, he seemed sad, heartbroken even.

"But she does not. She will never love you as she loves him. What married woman is happy with her husband? She has grown bored of you. Had she not she would not go to him as she does." She points out.

His heart, if it was a glass a cat had pushed off the counter it would have shattered. He only hoped that you were as enraptured by him as he was about you. He looked up at the wall, the painting of you seemed to be watching. He closed his stormy blue eyes and looked back at his mother.

"She does love me. I know it to be true. You speak lies, like a snake in the garden." He snapped and walked to the table and had taken a sip from the slightly sweetened tea he had poured only moments before your leaving. Sitting there he tapped his smoke against a small crystal ashtray and his mind became overrun, thinking of everything his mother had stated. Thinking of those possibilities. What were you doing? Were you spreading your legs for him? Was he satisfying you? Were you unhappy with him? Did you not love him? Did you grow bored of him? He rubbed his lip a moment as he took another drag before looking at his mother.

"When she comes home, I will settle this." He stated. Taking the cup and his almost-gone smoke and had vanished to the bedroom. He sits on the edge of the bed after putting the cup on the bedside table and looks over your side of the bed. It was too much, these feelings he had, it was like they were just bubbling up, ready to overflow and put out the fire that kept the pot lit. Feeling the stinging in his nose from the slight anger he ran his hand through his curly blonde locks and his jaw clenched as he put his smoke out in the ashtray and grabbed his clothes for getting dressed before he slammed the bedroom door.

His mother had heard the slam and had made her way to the room. Letting herself in she looked over him and sighed. "I just want what is best for you."

"I said I would take care of it. I do not need your help. She is my wife, not yours." He sort of snapped.

"You are right, she is your wife. And your wife is off with another man, spreading her legs and enjoying her time away from you. So how are you going to handle that Alexei?" She asked.

"I will take her away from here. I will take her far away from everyone. Including you." He snapped. "Now if you do not mind, I am getting dressed. Go find something else to bother." He snarled slightly as he escorted her out of the doorway and closed and locked the bedroom door.

Looking out the bedroom window and looking over the garden, he watched the flowers bob from the heaviness of the heads that were filled with the morning dew. It was something so simple, and yet even looking at their beauty, he saw you, he saw your smile, your smooth skin, your curves, he saw how your hair fell, that glow in your eyes when you were happy. You had to love him, why was he questioning it? Why was he standing there, looking out on those flowers questioning if you loved him?! With a clenched jaw and a knitted brow, he threw open the closet door and grabbed his attire for the day.

After fastening the last button on his coat, he makes his way back to the kitchen- it's like he doesn't want to acknowledge the other parts of the home without you here. Feeling lost, and one track minded. He didn't like that you were gone, it loomed over him like a dark cloud heavy with rain looms over the dirt countryside roads. He needed to know where you were going. He needed to know what you were doing. He needed to know what you were saying. Were you tired of him? Were you unhappy? It just gnawed at him like a beaver gnawing on a log.

Why was this even a feather of a thought? It's not that he didn't want you to have friends, it's just, why did they have to be male friends? And even then, it wasn't the idea of male friends that bothered him, it was the embedded, plated thoughts from the snake in the garden that made him believe that you were unhappy, that you were not in love with him any longer, that you were looking for a way out of this relationship. Well, that was going to be nipped in the bud right away. There was going to be no second-guessing it, not after this.

He decided to gather himself a little more and decided to head out to find you. He had these questions that needed answers. He turned to look at his mother who was still there. "Watch the house while I am away. We will be gone for a while." He states. His mother went to speak but before she could retort with a comment he was out the door and off to the stables.

After a few hours of looking and getting a general idea of where you were he stopped, getting off the carriage he approached, standing a good distance behind as you stood there, talking to another man. Oh, this did not sit well with him, but he watched and observed. With a lick of his lips and a look of heartache, as you touched the other man's face, he couldn't help but feel that slithering snake of a mother of his was right.

The more he watched, the more you laughed, the closer this man seemed to be getting to you, and the more it climbed up him like ivy claiming lattice fencing. This green envious monster coils around his every nerve, his nostrils flair as he walks toward you and clears his throat, but you don't pay much attention until he grabs your arm and pulls you to him.

You gasp and look over his face. "My Love, what are you doing here?" You ask him.

"I could ask you the very same." He states. His stare was cold, his stare pained, and his stare… it bore into you like a hot glue gun into plastic.

"I am just out with a friend, we do this every week. It means nothing." You state honestly.

"Does it? Does it really mean nothing? You were touching his face, and laughing with him like you do with me. Do I not make you happy anymore? Have you grown bored and weary of me?" He asks you with a small shake in his voice almost as if holding back tears.

"Of course you make me happy, why would you ask such a thing?" you respond back looking into his stormy blue hues.

His jaw clenches and he looks at your friend and back to you. "We are leaving." He states as if dismissing you from your date with your male friend.

"What? No. Alexei, no." you stated.

"I do not know him, nor do I like how you were touching him, we are going somewhere. You'll like it. Get in." he states and gestures to the carriage.

"Alexei, no." You state firmly.

He clenches his jaw and looks over you. "Do not make me put you in there myself. Now. Be a good wife, and get in the carriage." He snarls lowly.

Licking your lips you look over his face and let out a slight breath before getting into the carriage. Feeling the shake of the carriage from the door closing. Placing your hands in your lap you look down, studying them a moment before you close your eyes almost in defeat, and wonder where he is taking you. It was clear he wasn't taking you home. Why was he suddenly acting this way? What was it that made him feel like you were unhappy? You began to study yourself, you even began to question yourself. But why? His actions alone.

His actions just then made you question if this was really where you needed to be. But the more you thought about it, the more you realized that maybe he was seeing something you were not seeing. Were you really happier with your friend than you were with him? Was he not seeing how much you loved him? Were you really doing something bad? You turn back and look at him as he stops the carriage and climbs into the back of it with you as someone else takes over. Someone he had paid to drop you both off and take the carriage back to the house.

You sit there, in silence, and you study him, you study his face, his eyes, how his jaw twitches, how his brow knits, how his eyes seem to be full of sorrow, and maybe is that hate? You look down, and you think about all you've done, but you can't help but shake your head. You love this man, and he was blind to false things. Was there a way to fix it? Was there a way to get him to see that you love him just as much as he loves you?

"Where are we going? There is nothing for miles." You point out looking out the little window of the carriage door.

"We're going someplace secluded." He states.

"Secluded? Whatever for?" You ask with a slight bit of worry in your tone.

"Enough with the questions, you will see when we get there." He states, short in his tone.

You lick your lips and hike a brow before looking back down at your lap and letting out a slight sigh. You feel this could get problematic.

By the time you get to where you were going, the sun had already set and come back up. You look over his face as he offers to help you off the carriage. Your jaw clenches and you shake your head.

"Are you serious? Why are we here? We are days away from home at this rate Alexie." You point out.

HE shakes his head and looks at you and looks over the country home before looking back at you. "You will survive. This is for a reason."

"THIS IS ABSURD!" You scream. The only thing you cause to stir is birds out in the field. Your jaw clenches and you look over him shoving past him and heading toward the inside.

He sighs slightly and shakes his head, he isn't expecting you to understand. Rubbing his brow a moment he looks up at the gray skies and then over on the vast rolling fields of nothing. A small smile creeps across his face as he listens to the front door being slammed. Another soft sigh escapes his lips as he heads toward the house.

Upon walking in he looks around and spots you standing there in the living room. As he walks toward you to join you, you turn and look at him.

"What is all of this about?" You ask.

"You need to see how much love I have for you. I cannot do that back there." He stated honestly.

"So you isolate me?!" You raise your tone.

"Yes! It keeps you away from another man touching you!" He snaps.

"NO ONE ELSE IS TOUCHING ME!" You snap back.

"HOW DO I KNOW?!" He steps closer to you.

"No. You don't get to ask me that question! How do you not see that I love you!? I have always loved you!" You snarl as you step forward challenging him.

"Well, I suppose now you can show me just how much you love me as I show you how much I love you." He stated coldly.

"Don't be so pigeon-livered." You growl to yourself. "You're being a floozer Alexei. What has ever gotten into you?" You ask him.

"Are you really going to throw insults at me? Pigeon-livered? Floozer? Do not." He grips your arm and pulls you close. "Do not cross me."

You shove him and look over his face. "Or what?" You ask with a tightly knitted brow. "What are you going to do?"

Stretching his neck from left to right he licks his lips and his jaw clenched.

"WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO?!" You snapped.

"WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO DO?!" He snapped back. He began to pace. "All I ever do is shower you with love and attention, I do nothing but prove to you how much you mean to me. I make sure you always put your best forward. And you do this. Run off with another man doing god knows what." He states.

Crossing your arms over your chest you stare at him a moment and blink a few times. "Are you blinded by your own selfishness right now? Can you not see past your own nose? I am not laying with another man Alexei! I have never laid with another man!" you snap.

"HOW DO I KNOW THAT?!" He snaps. "How do I know that?" He asked you. A complete and utter look of defeat sprawled across his features.

Walking to him you slap him across the face. Not once, but twice. Reaching forward he grips your throat and moves you through the house. Kicking open a door he shoves you into the bedroom and starts to unbutton his jacket. Looking over you his eyes hungry. His snarl was fierce, his jaw clenched so hard you could hear the bones grinding and you could feel the flex of his jaw. You try to shove past him but that wasn't happening.

"What are you going to do rape me Alexei?" You ask.

He scoffed and looked over at you. "Do you think that little of me? Strip." He demands.

"No." You cross your arms. At this point, you were fighting him to fight, how far could you push?

"I said strip!" He demands again. Walking to you he spins you around and starts to untie your skirt.

Layer by layer you fight, until you are both stripped down to mere thin layers. Tears staining your face, you look over him and shake your head, a small thumping sound of your heart feeling like it was echoing in the room.

"All I have ever wanted was for you to love me. You have to love me, you must love me." He states. He steps closer to you, looking over you he grips your face and pulls you near. "You will love me. You will." He states firmly.

Scared at this point you cannot find your words. He presses his lips to yours and at first, you give in, you cave, you wrap your arms around him and kiss him deeply, lovingly, longing for that affection he wanted to give you, but then you start to push away, saddened by the fact that he couldn't believe you, that he had no trust in you.

"No…" You start to push away, but you didn't want him to at the same time, it was this conflicting feeling.

"Do not tell me no, you want this…" he points out as he listens to your breathing.

You have no means of responding.

"I'm not taking that as a no." he states.

You give him a cold stare, looking over his face, his lips press against yours and you shove him back, and he throws you to the bed. You bounce once before he climbs on top of you and looks you over. He tilts his head and looks over your face and takes your wrists and places them above your head and looks over your face intently.

You attempt to wiggle free but he hovers over you, his body pressed against yours. In one hand he has your hands gripped together, in the other hand hikes up your skirt, he looks over you, and he leans in and nips at your lips. Your breathing becomes heavier, and you close your eyes. Shaking your head you begin to breathe heavier. It felt good, his hands on you, it always felt good, but there was this sense of fight that also washed over you.

As his lips found your neck he kissed up your neck to your jaw, finding your lips. While you loved his affection, you were terrified. Literally scared of him.

"Get off of me." you demand.

"Let me show you. See how much I love you." He takes your hand and places it on his hard cock. "This is how much I love you." He states.

You pull your hand away and turn your head in another direction. His senses overwhelm him, and unable to control himself he groans softly as he presses himself against you. You turn your head away from him, maybe checking out, but at the same time ever so present in this moment. As he thrusts himself into you you take in a deep breath. A whimper leaves your lips as a groan leaves his.

Looking over you he observes your features as he turns your face to look at him, leaning in he kisses you again. And it was then you cave, just a little. Your lips pressed against his, your hand moved up his arms to his hair and you pull him closer. Your hips roll against his thrusts and you begin to whimper against his lips. The feeling of him against you was something you always loved. Truthfully you never questioned this man's love for you. But you were conflicted because of how he was coming at you. You didn't know if you should fight him, or cave to him a little more.

The more he thrusts the harder he becomes in his motions, the more you fight. But the more you fight, the more he growls, it was a conflicting feeling all over again and you aren't sure what to do, it was overwhelming. You push him away, shoving him but he pulls you closer.

Feeling your body flush against his you let out another soft whimper. You move your hands to his shoulders as you feel him thrust deeper into you, your moans escaping you were almost pained but yet pleasure-filled. Your hips rolled against his as he continued to thrust with a fever. He pulls you even closer to him, pulling you into his lap as he guides you along his stiffened cock, nuzzling into you, nipping and biting at you.

The moans fill the bedroom, bouncing off the windows and the walls, and while you might be fighting him because of his choice of actions, this man was your life. You kiss him deeply as you both moan in pure pleasure. Your bodies collide in such a raw motion. Thrust after thrust, grunt, and groan after grunt and groan, screams of pure euphoria leaving you both. It all came to a halt with a trembling body-shaking finish, feeling as his cock twitched inside of you as hot ribbons of seed coat your velvet walls. He snarled against your skin, and you bring a hand across his face, and you begin to cry.

Holding you close, he looks down at you, smoothing your hair he presses his face against you.

"Shh… now now, everything is alright. I love you, so much." He whispers. "You have to love me back, you just have to." he says softly.

"I… I do love you, Alexei. I do. I wish you would see that." you say between sniffles.

He holds you close, nuzzling against you. "Shall we draw you a bath?" He asks.

Nodding your head he looks over your face and nods. "I shall draw you a bath. Think about what I said." He states.

"Are you isolating me? From everyone?" you ask as he gets up and slips his pants back on.

With a firm stare, he looks over you. "I am, and it's for our own good. You won't be seeing him, we will stay here as long as it takes." He states truthfully.

And like that, your heart becomes conflicted, you love this man, but you feel scared of this man… but then you look at him, and you don't feel afraid anymore. You just want him to see that you do love him. It's conflicting, and it's terrifying, you love him, but is it true? Staying here, you're only choice is to grow to love him. But that's been his goal all along, for you to love him, and for him to show you in so many ways how he loves you.

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 1 year

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Hi!

I just wanted to say that I absolutely love all of your COD fics! Your Price fics made me fall in love with him (I saw a recommendation for See No Evil on TikTok and just went down the rabbit hole from there (it’s also my comfort fic)) and Laughing Poets made me buy Ghosts for Keegan. Your writing is so beautiful and poetic and has inspired me to start writing again after a really bad writing’s block!

I also did want to put in a request for Ghost (because I love him so much) but given his hype, I understand if you don’t want to write for him or if it may be hard. But I was hoping that this hasn’t been done before (much) and that I could read it in your words since you are so amazing!

I was thinking of the reader being a CIA agent that was working undercover to get classified information and 141 was sent in to extract her after she was compromised. And her and Ghost don’t really get along at first, like they don’t hate each other but they could just care less about one another. But then they get separated and one of them is injured and the other fights tooth and nail to get to them, realizing how much they care. I was thinking that her callsign could be ‘Reaper’ but it can be anything else if it fits better. It can be angsty (because that’s the absolute best genre), fluffy, nsfw, whatever you want to do with it.

I know this is asking a bit much and I’m sorry for that. Feel free to change it as you see fit and do whatever you want with it, if you want to do it. I really appreciate and love your work!! Thank you!!

'Til it Hurts

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader

Synopsis: You thought that it would be easy - moving on and blazing your own trail, but at every step, memories seem to come back and haunt you. And the biggest memory takes the shape of a man with a skull mask. Can you still deny what you had always felt when he stands at your side once more?

Word Count: 12.5k

Warnings: This duology will be 18+ and contain the following: intense gore, blood, violence, vulgar language, angst, fluff, suggestive content, (smut, p in v sex, virgin!reader (relevant to plot) all in part 2), abuse of power in the past, toxic working environment in the past, copious flashbacks, soft!simon because I love him like that (I guess considered ooc), banter, etc...

A/N: Part 2 will be posted tomorrow after I edit it and the link will be added to this part as well for ease of access. But, anna, that's wild that people post about my work on tiktok, lmfao. I'm so glad I helped you out of that writer's block, though! Enjoy part 1, Love (I did change it around a bit)!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You often think of the friends you had when you were six. The neighborhood you grew up in was full of other kids your age, and there was practically a horde of young boys and girls outside at any given moment. Early mornings were ripe for adventures – ears perking up from your pillows at the sound of bird songs and lawnmowers like an instinctual call to cause mischief. Days would run long and nights would end late with games of tag.

It was inevitable, at this point in your life, to not think about where your friends would be now. Were they happy? Starting families and getting married on island resorts; white sand underfoot and a gentle lapping of ocean water? You’d lost contact a long, long, time ago – never bothered to get back in touch, though you know things might be better if you had.

God, you’d never have friends like that again.

Selfless. Genuine. Without competition or a need to stab each other in the back. Friendships built on a childlike innocence that was never meant to stay or grow with the brutal stretch of years. People mature. They harden, sharpen.

They break themselves to fit a mold of what they want to be without even realizing…Or maybe that was just how you grew up.

Your feet pound against the cobblestone streets of Bergamo, Italy, as you make your way through the packed road of the Upper Old District. Under your chin, your fingers go up to grasp the scarf around your neck and pull the thick navy fabric up farther. Fast eyes flicker over faces as a fake plastered smile splays over your lips, and your jaw holds a tension that seeps into your shoulders.

Keep the act up, you have to remind yourself, fingers heavy at your hips, don’t let the facade slip, or else it’s over before it begins.

At your sides, past the unending sea of loudly speaking humans and loyal animals alike, the broad expanse of ancient architecture calls to the history of this city; red-terracotta roofing, extravagant greenery, and pillars as tall as the buildings themselves. A picturesque land filled with mysteries lost to time, stories never told beyond the scratch of a pen and moth-eaten parchment.

A city now filled with killers.

“Sitrep,” you grunt into the open channel, the earpiece fizzling as it sits in the clutch of your canal. No one answers and, slipping past a family of tourists, you glare at the ground; heart going so fast you feel like it could jump-start a car. “Damnit!”

The seconds draw on and as you pick up the pace, now shoving your way through the crowd, you feel eyes on you. Slithering over your skin like oil.

Not good.

Shit. Karver, where did you go!?

Karver ‘Rigs’ Massarini was an informant – someone who’d been giving you everything that you needed to know about the cell in this area; along with a grouping of eyewitnesses to a stash of ICBMs. A stash that could do some serious damage if they stayed here with the wrong people. Intel suggests that those very missiles were going to be shipped off to Mexico in only a few days, smuggled across the border into United States territory with the intent of doing some pretty awful stuff and framing the US.

If you and Rigs weren’t quick with this, so many innocents would suffer.

You’d already gotten into contact with Mexican Special Forces yourself, warning Alejandro Vargas and Rodolfo Parra of a possible breach and to watch for any unregistered shipments on the docks or coming in from the air.

But now Rigs was missing, and you had a funny feeling you were being trailed.

Back alley. You take a quick right, boots slamming to the ground and heart hammering. Get away from the civvies in case someone decides to go trigger-happy.

This cell was known for being deadly, Mr. Massarini had sent the file over to CIA headquarters before you were shipped out; Laswell had set you on it right away without even taking the time to read it entirely.

“Extremely high Kinetic; I’m giving you full Execute Authority on this, Reaper. We’re running out of time. Find those missiles.”

Torture, kidnappings, mutilations, the list went on for this group and how far they would go to keep secrets. No one had gotten any clear insight as to what their motives were – just that they needed to be put down in exactly the ways they had been doing to others. Ruthlessly, before they grew bigger or spread their influence beyond borders, and created a group that could rival what Al-Qatala had been.

So that was where you came in.

God, you wished Farah and Alex were here with you – at the very least you could rely on them to help, even if you sectioned yourself off from others more than a dying cat. There was a reason you preferred being sent in alone with only your wits.

Mostly because of situations like this.

“Rigs, sitrep. Where are you,” you try again, the close walls shrouding in your shadows. Throwing looks over your shoulders, you take down deep breaths, a growl gradually digging itself a hole in your esophagus. Desperately, you say, “I’m heading back to the safe house ASAP. Wait for me there.”

Your right hand gravitates to your pocket, slipping through the fabric and pushing aside the ripped seam at the bottom. The sheath at your thigh pinches you with every step, but you’ve endured it for years, calluses breeding where the leather had chaffed the flesh to toughness. To an ingrained perfection. Flinching when your fingers bump against the handle, the metal adornments feel cool to the touch despite the sweat dripping down your spine; temperature and nerves leaving your palms sweaty.

None of this was going to plan.

You caress the small Dirk blade strapped to you, and when the first footsteps enter the alleyway behind you, your hand clenched into a loose fist around it. Your eyebrows pull tight with annoyance.

Taking a slow breath as the trailing stranger begins to move faster, you take a corner, halting the second you were out of sight. You nonchalantly turn on your heel and lean into the wall, feeling your body conform to the building and the stone dig into your back.

The material is cold, and as you raise your Dirk up, you flip the blade parallel to your forearm, wrist lax, and fingers still. A slow breath flows from your barely-parted lips.

3 seconds. You don’t blink, only gazing out across the space and noticing the dark shadow gaining ground. 2…1…

Your body jerks forward, free hand snapping out and grasping the fabric of a shirt. Twisting your hips, you plant your feet and wrench the stranger around the corner, breath coming out in a loud snarl. Without a shout, you have the person’s back shoved to the building in an instant, blade held above an Adam’s Apple.

A man, then.

“I’m going to give you one full minute.” Your Italian was only surface level – far better at understanding others than speaking full sentences. But you think whoever this man is comes to a conclusion well enough. “Before I cut you open and watch the life spill from your eyes.”

You don’t recognize this person, his sharp face or dark, sly, eyes, and with a quick assessment of his large stature you figure out he’s the basic definition of a man sent to complete a job. One that would have left you dead if you were anything less than a contracted CIA Agent on a job. You had been trained among the best from your time in the Marines – years on Special Ops forces; taking point. Even if they were the worst times of your life, you still learned a great deal from them, particularly, how to know when to cut your losses.

With one look into his smug face, you know that this stranger would tell you nothing.

Your lips formed a grimace, teeth flashing under flesh at the rod-straight form of the man under you. He was smirking with eyes seeming to be laughing at you. Arrogant. Self-assured.

“You’ll get nothing out of me, Reaper. We are already on your trail.” Your head tilts, a numb huff escaping your throat and pushing the individual's hair back as a breeze would. There was a small pause; tiny shiftings of your feet as your blade digs ever deeper.

A thin trail of blood falls from the placement, and your muscles writhe under the epidermis. There’s no thought behind the laugh that enters the air, that cold, dark, thing that’s more of a bark from a hellhound. It was just a realization that no matter where you went, there could never be anything unique anymore. Everyone was always the same.

“You’ll never get it out of me-”

“Break my bones; rip my flesh, you will never make me talk-”

“If you want to see me beg, you’ll be disappointed-”

There were countless memories you could bring to the precipice of your mind and re-live; moments ingrained into your psyche like a tattoo is to skin. So you can only smile and nod, scarf swishing around your neck. The man looks confused now, if not slightly nervous. That self-assured attitude leaking to the ground. Eyes as dark as obsidian beginning to snap back and forth – looking for a saving grace in the make-up of ancient stone that wasn’t going to come.

You wondered how many people had died in this city throughout history. The stories lost to time. Have these alleys seen war? Famine?

Have they seen murder?

But you are a woman of your word. A minute passes in tense silence, your eyes never leaving his own and ears carefully in tune, twitching like an antenna, to the joyous shouts and laughter just a street over. Here you wait like a rat in a trap, though you like to believe yourself more of the metal Hammer than the unknowing participant in a dance of death and wits.

You tighten your grip on your Dirk, shrugging up at the man. Your face is nonchalant as an understanding smile grows. As simple as a server at a restaurant.

“I believe you.” And you run the knife’s edge across his flesh like a match to a striker before he can scream.

Stepping back, you’re suddenly thankful for the scarf over your sweat-slick neck because as the spray of blood splatters over your nose bridge and forehead, you swipe it away with one of the ends of the thick fabric. You let the body drop, watching large hands snap to the gushing wound like that alone would stop the cold grip of death.

Your mark has been met.

The External Carotid Artery was easy enough to cut, though you had to dig deep for it, and it seemed the man had moved mid-slice. Frowning while the man gasps and gurgles; flails as a fish would, you study your work as you flick the blade clear of blood. Your brows furrow.

“Nicked the Thyroid Cartilage, hm.” Sighing and shaking your head, you sheathe the Dirk and twist on your feet, still intent on making your way back to the hotel safe house and trying to find a lead on Rigs. The slumping of a body reverberates a moment later, a grandiose death rattle, and still, only a street over you hear animated conversations – the bustle of traveling feet, and the sound of the breeze.

You often think about the friends you had when you were six. But, now, instead of being the one who fought off the monsters at the ends of the beds, you had become it. The monster. The boogeyman.

The Reaper.

Oh, what would they think of you now?

You swipe at the blood along your fingertips, seeing the red bleed under your nails with such a numb feeling that it scares you more than anything. Taking down a gathering of saliva that feels more like a slug in your throat, you wonder when you lost the ability to value human life. Of course, the answer was slated in those early years in Special Ops, but you don’t dwell on those times.

In fact, it was better if you never thought of them at all.

Taking a left, you hum a tune under your breath and listen to the birds sing as the blood dries.

—

The meeting room wasn’t even a room, just a vacant air-craft hangar that had been fitted out with two rows of metal fold-out chairs and a projector. Shadows danced over the floor, long streaks of darkness over concrete.

“...I’ll be giving you full Execute Authority – but this mission is completely Black. Host weapons only. No Evac team.” Laswell’s voice echoes off the ceiling, and Ghost’s eyes flow over the projected intel, memorizing the faces and locations with nothing more than a blink of his blue eyes. Fluttering eyelashes caress the hard material of his mask before settling.

Task Force 141 was being sent off on another deployment again, deep into Belarus and near the Russian border.

“Time frame?” The Captain asks, standing a small distance away and leaning against a crate of ammunition. His arms are crossed; jaw is loosely set.

Kate looks at him, above the heads of Gaz and Soap, and nods her head before she comments, “one week.”

Gaz huffs from ahead of the hulking form of Ghost, and the silent man shifts his attention back to the group.

“One week, Kate? No offense, but we don’t even know if the bastard’s in Belarus.”

“‘fraid to get dirty there, Garrick? Ah, we’re good enough for it.” Soap elbows the male at his side, and the masked man releases a puff of breath one row back. The Scot twists in his seat, mohawk tendrils falling over his forehead, and smirks. “C’mon Lt. back me up here. We’ve got this in the bag already.”

“Bit confident, Johnny?” Ghost grunts out, accented voice low and muffled from under the black fabric over his lips. His hips shift over the chair, legs splayed and arms crossed as he reclines back; letting the bulk of his gear weigh heavy. “Just wait until you’ve got us sitting on a pile of dry leads and rotting corpses.”

“Eh, nothin’ we haven’t dealt with before.”

“Focus, you three.” Kate interrupts as Gaz rolls his eyes to himself, fixing his ball cap over his head with a fast flick of his wrist at the antics of the other two. “You’re going to be shipped out at 2000–”

An easily recognizable ringtone starts to play.

Blinking in surprise, Laswell takes a glance at the table that had been long forgotten and spies her phone buzzing over the metal. Her light brown hair, kept securely tied back, swished at the nape of her neck. She wastes no time.

Briskly walking over, the rest of the men in the room watched intently, heads perked up. Ghost couldn’t stop the pique of interest at the strange behavior, though his form remains still, only making a noise under his breath in contemplation. In the hold of his crossed arms, his fingers tighten.

“Not the person I’d imagine keeps her phone on for just anyone…” Gaz makes a slow comment, and John slides up beside him, hands hooking onto the sides of his combat vest. Watching.

“Hm,” their command affirms.

Kate picks up her phone and immediately answers, brows furrowed. She shifts her weight as an inhalation reverberates. The conversation on the other side was too muffled, a small droaning the only signal that someone was on the opposite.

Unconsciously, Ghost straightens in his chair as the rolled-back sleeves of his undershirt leave his black ink tattoos on display. A deep intrigue spilled in his chest but otherwise, he was still focused on the previous instructions for the next Op. This was just another cog in the wheel, perhaps a location change for their safe house, or an accelerated timeline. No matter, they would get it done regardless–

“Reaper?” Laswell speaks, and blue eyes slide to stare at the Captain, whose legs had tensed. “What’s happened–”

The Lieutenant knows something was wrong just by the simple fact that he’d never seen their Station Chief talk on her personal phone with that look on her face before – he’d seen it mirrored on the Captain and he’d clocked it from her just as simply. The wrinkled skin at the side of her eyes, and stiff-set lips peeled back in a frown. She’d always been serious, but the air was different.

Reaper? He runs through the database of his mind and ignores Gaz’s and Johnny’s muttered words and glances.

“Now who do you think that is, then?” Soap grunts out. Ghost doesn’t answer.

Brows furrow.

Sounds familiar, the man can’t help but admit.

“Patch me through. Now.” Kate slips to the computer a few steps away and opens a fresh tab, sorting through files and months of intel as if it mattered just as much as a bug under her heel.

“Kate?” Price prompts. The woman only holds up a finger and keeps the phone in between her shoulder and cheek, hands fast across the keys.

Soon enough, a feed pops up on the projector, and the three previously sitting all rise to their feet in an instant.

An open wound is in the process of being stitched and displays itself over the entire available space, violent red internal flesh puckering over the edges of…Ghost narrows his eyes, unphased.

Was that a fabric needle and thread being used for sutures? Resourceful, he admits.

“Bloody fuckin’ hell.” The manchester man levels thought the blandness of the tone contradicts itself. “Where’s this feed from, Laswell?”

“What the fuck…?” Soap growls out, and the Scot blinks at the screen in shock as the Brit beside him lets off a sound of disgust akin to a sick cat.

“Reaper, sitrep.” Kate doesn’t flinch, rushing off into procedure as steady hands delve back into flesh, blood falling from their fingers like water to splatter to a rundown wooden table. The world-away computer was most likely getting a rain of crimson all over the keys at this rate.

Price grunts under his breath.

“Shit,” a distinctly feminine voice wafts out, a harsh sigh held back, though the annoyed tone was noticed immediately, “can’t a girl stitch herself up in peace? Besides, Watcher-1 answer me this, huh?” The computer is jerked, its screen going staticky as Ghost watches with roving eyes to take in the background when the visibility returns. A bed, nightstand, and sitting by the floor of the front door, copious amounts of weapons. The man takes stock – an M13 assault rifle, X12 handgun, and Arctic .50 sniper rifle. Ammunition lines the floor in a way that leaves Ghost’s lips thinning under the mask.

Someone’s in a hurry. But from what?

“…what goddamn hotel doesn’t have mirrors in it?” Kate’s sigh can be heard a mile away. “No, I’m being serious here, Watcher – how the hell does that happen?”

Watching you take a step back, Ghost as well as the other three all blink in surprise when you come into view. Your top was off, only a sports bra covering your flesh, as your focus stays on the digging needle you send into yourself over and over.

Yet again a feeling of intense familiarity strikes the Brit in the chest. Your soft face, your hair, your voice. It was infuriating.

Who are you? The inability to call forth a memory leaves the fists at his sides gradually clenching under his gloves.

“Reaper.” Seriousness grows in the Agent’s voice, and Price lets out a slow chuckle that leaves Gaz turning to him in confusion.

“Sir?” But the inquiry is ignored.

“Still as stubborn as ever, then, Reap?” Everyone sees your hurried stitches stop, head snapping up as they clock a veiled panic behind the iris’.

Your eyes tell all the story they need, and Ghost’s body freezes as the color evokes a physical twitching of his hand.

“Holy hell,” he utters under his breath so silently no one even realizes he spoke; eyelids pulling back before settling like nothing had even happened.

“You know, you're the first person who’s been nice to me out here.”

“...Then I’d tell you to get better friends, Sergeant. I’m not sticking around.”

“I never said they were my friends, Ghost, and I never expected you to stay, anyways. That’s not how this works.”

“You’re right. It’s not.”

“Bravo-06?” You ask, voice sometimes cutting out over the line. A laugh breaks out, and a small smirk twitches the corners of your lips, “Hey, Old Man, how’s it going over there? Been a while.”

“What have you got yourself into now?” Price asks, chuckling under his breath with a groaned continuation, “and how do you need me to get you out of it?”

The spectral man now watches with a newfound fervency, blue eyes boiling so violently that if anyone had seen, they would have thought he was about to attack. Like a split second of eye contact with a wolf before it rushes. The build of his shoulders was still loose, however, and the only indication of shock was his optics; the mask shrouded all.

But there was a subtle movement of his hips, feet transferring over the floor to stand shoulder-length apart.

“Oh, this,” you point to your injury with a free finger, tying off a knot on the last line of sutures. “Nah, it’s nothing. A couple of assholes tried to get the jump on me a block back, one had a knife on ‘em.” Your hand tosses the needle and thread to the table, a muttered, thunk, sounding off. Looking down at your work with a raised brow, everyone watches. “Took care of it – they gave me a name, too, but with the trail of bodies I left today, I wouldn’t be surprised if it didn’t pan out.”

A pause before you turn your head back up, face now completely serious as you focus on Laswell.

“But we have a bigger problem, Watcher. Rigs is gone; I think my position’s compromised. I’m going black.” Your form leans to the side, and a wrinkled t-shirt is thrown over your head. From your mouth, a stifled groan releases. Ghost blinks in surprise.

The Captain’s lips thin, and he looks at a tight-wound Kate.

“I have a contact in the lower levels, Reaper, meet up with her and she can have you out of the city by tonight. I’ll send over her info.”

“No can do, Watcher.” You sigh, and Ghost simply stares, following your figure as you back up, heading to the X12 and shimmying it into the back of your pants before looking over your shoulder. Kate hums under her breath. “If they’ve got Rigs,” Walking quickly back over to the computer, one of your hands grasps the top of the frame, thumb poking out from the corner. You tilt your head. “I ain't leaving without him right behind me. I’ll be in contact in a month – if I’m not, then I’m dead already.”

Your chuckle strikes a cord through the room and Soap snorts in answer.

“Glass-half-empty kind of person, then?”

“I’d say,” Gaz mutters.

Continuing, you’re about to say something else – lips already partially parted and breath sucked in – before your eyes lock onto Ghost. The atmosphere of the room flips like the page of a book.

You stare at him with what seems to be a million emotions flying past the glossiness of your optics; lids already peeled back and whites showing in a display that showed more than told. The man could only begin to imagine what you were thinking – how long had it been since he’d seen you last? You’d obviously gotten out of your Marines Special Ops unit.

Not quite how I remember you. It wasn’t hard to recall that small branch of the MRR – Marine Raider Regiment – and how they treated you. But that wasn’t any of his business. He’d been there to do a job, and he’d accomplished it. Quite thoroughly, if anyone would have checked the file after it was all over.

Ghost’s life was counted in the sands of an hourglass, small, molecular, bits hitting the bottom one after the other; rarely was that time wasted on pointless squabbles and words but at that moment, he was conflicted.

The Brit had never expected to see you again, and the sand briefly halted when you spoke. Hm.

Yes, he remembered that voice… he’d just never heard you this confident before.

“Ghost.” He watches the emotions on your face settle, and he was thankful for the mask covering his visage because he knows he would have left at least a small twitch of his lips slip. “Long time no see.”

“Mutt.” The Lieutenant nods in a monotone greeting but notices a slight jerk of your shoulders at the name. His eyebrows furrow, but mentions nothing as his pulse slows.

Your neck moves as you swallow, looking to the side as a dark curiosity fills the space in Ghost’s lungs; head nanoscopically tilting to the side like a vulture.

“Nice seeing you, Bravo-06,” You tilt your head toward the Captain before clearing your throat and addressing Laswell. “I’ll be around.”

It wasn’t hard to tell that the title had made you freak, a kind of bad cloud suddenly springing to life above your head.

Seems to bother her more than being in a Hot Zone, Ghost tells himself, the deep well of dark water in his gut still. That didn’t make any sense. He watches your hand slaps over the computer and the feed goes dark in an instant.

The room is more silent than Ghost is.

“Kate, she’ll need our help.” Price shakes his head from side to side; body moving to the front of the room. “I’m not asking.”

The two talk it over as Ghost’s mind trails, head tilting down more towards his chest as his eyelids narrow.

“Hm,” He grunts, arms tensing as his grip shifts. Soap turns around as Gaz goes to join the conversation between the Captain and the agent.

“What? Know ‘er or something, Lt?” The Scot asks, slapping a hand on the taller man’s arm. Ghost eyes lock on the grip before he blinks, looking back up and leveling the Sergeant with a dead stare. Johnny laughs awkwardly and moves his limb back to his side. “Just…didn’t peg you for the type to start relationships.”

The Lieutenant turns down the aisle of chairs and lets out a bland, “negative. Leave it, Sergeant.”

Why did you react badly to the namesake you’d gone by for the entire time you’d been in Special Ops? Mutt was when everyone had called you when he had been around for that short time.

He felt no great concern for you – no hatred or care – you were just another Agent that would probably end up dead like everyone else. Another time, maybe, he’d have gone in a heartbeat, and if the team decided to go after you, he’d follow. A mission was a mission, it wasn’t like it largely mattered.

But there was something in the back of his mind. Intrigue? Yes, perhaps. The blue-eyed Lieutenant wasn’t one to dwell on these types of things, but a colleague was still a colleague.

Whatever the outcome, he’d do his job with all the ruthlessness and tact he always did.

Ghost’s hand goes up to fix the position of his mask and glances at the blank projector stream, eyes boring into it as they darken. A moment later, he was leaning against the ammunition crate that Price had previously been on, arms crossed and ears twitching at the ongoing battle of wills; isolated to himself as his intimidating form towers ever upwards. Spine straight. Bones stiff. Eyes grim.

You’d been nice to him – a person that, for the limited time he’d interacted with, had left an impression that was only just starting to come back full force. Smart and resourceful; not too bad on the eyes.

He takes down a sigh. Stubborn…but undoubtedly loyal.

His thumb brushes your cheek, and you look up at him as if he wasn’t the one in a mask – as if his entire being was laid bare before you. He swipes away the trail of blood with one firm press. The gentleness of your skin is known even through his glove.

“You’ll live, Sergeant.” He utters, teasing in his monotone voice, “now, where the hell are we goin’? Gun’s itchin’ to lay a few out.”

Ghost would have smirked at the way your eyes dilated if he had the ability, but in the end, he brushes past. Because if he hadn’t, you would have seen his own do the same.

‘Reaper,’ he frowns, feeling the ammunition crate dig further into his hip, they never called you that one.

Perhaps the real battle of wills was happening inside of him – not five feet away between his Captain and his Station Chief.

—

You remember every interaction like it was yesterday, and although he might not, you can’t help the memories from flooding as you gather your gear. Stuffing guns into duffel bags and intel into crossbody sacks that weigh you down like boulders.

Fuck, you open the back window and shimmy out into the back streets, knowing that your position is compromised and not waiting any longer to test your luck. Your side burns something awful; horrible stitches peeling back skin as you groan in pain. What the fuck was Ghost doing with Price? I didn’t know they knew each other. And the two other men in the room…eh. Not the problem right now!

“I shouldn’t be surprised,” you pant, swinging your legs out of the window frame and sharply inhaling when a suture tears. “I’m never in the loop.”

In all honesty, you don’t want to be – too complicated. It’s better to just stick around and be told what to do.

Glaring down at the ground with glazed eyes, you only take a breath of hesitation and let off a curse before dropping.

Your knees take the brunt of the force, and the ricochets of landing on cobblestones travel up your ankles and leave your legs shaking. If you weren’t running on adrenaline, you would have come up with a dirty joke to mutter to yourself.

The discomfort can only last so long, you tell yourself, and ignore the spreading liquid on your side, only thinking of Rigs and the mission.

And Ghost.

Gritting your teeth, eyes vulnerable, you turn down the backroad and stay away from others, drowning in memories more deadly than blood. It had been a while since you had thought of it – the lockbox in the back of your mind keeping all under tight watch; guard dogs with metal teeth and chained necks.

But that title; that namesake you’d scrubbed your skin raw over. Mutt and all the others said in cruel breaths. Oh…but Mutt.

Mutt was the worst of them.

Your hands were vibrating, the tremors traveling up your wrists and arms – past elbows and bruised flesh under skin; bloodied nose and quivering lips. Why did they always yell at you? But worse, why did they always make you do the dirty work?

The Captain, everyone just called him Alke, was standing in front of you, berating your accuracy on the last round of target practice. Fortunately, this deep into the Unit itself, you’d found a way to let it go in one ear and out the next, eyes as blank as a starless sky.

You could see the spittle flying from the man’s lips and some even splashes across your cheeks like acid, but there was something artful to the way you didn't react. A culmination of crafted numbness that bleeds like trauma. It was a constant, everlasting, void.

What they were making you into was not what you wanted, but what possible other option was there? Resign? No, this was nearly an unimaginable position to be in at such an age. You deserve to be here. Should you report the blatant unprofessionalism and favoritism in the ranks? And be blacklisted by these people's friends so that you never ascend the line?

Your ears twitch.

“...You’re not sleeping until your marks are perfect – else we’re overthinking your position in this Unit. Can’t have a Mutt in our ranks, can we?” The last sentence is punctuated with a ruffling of your hair almost like a brother would; teasing, but you know that isn’t what it symbolizes. Harsh laughs and mocking remarks from the bystanders. “Least of all one that’s gonna get us killed. Tch.” When you don’t answer, staring off in a daze at his nose in a perfect image of formation, the Captain raises an eyebrow. “Affirmative,” he smirks, “Mutt?”

“Sir!” Your mouth shouts, though the action is more instinctual as your back straightens. He frowns at that, perhaps wanting to torment you more, but huffs and files out, ordering the rest to follow with one last call.

“I expect you to be up for morning drills an hour early. I’ll be checking your shots myself.”

“Sir!”

After everyone’s gone, you blink back to reality. There’s a second of confusion, creases forming in your forehead at the sound of birds and blowing glass. Head turning side to side, your lips thin at the absence of others as if only realizing how spaced out you’d actually been.

Flashing teeth and heated eyes flash through your mind before you blink them away. Signing away the tense nature of your chest, you clear your throat and relax your legs. Your vision slides to the corners of the concrete dugout, snapping past sectioned-off areas for privacy to search if there was someone who might have stayed back.

Not finding anyone, your hands, clenched behind your back, loosen and fall limp to your sides like bags of rock. One weakly goes to swipe at the trail of blood from your nose, wrecking your already wrinkled sleeve with crimson; but soon an identical trail drips off your chin regardless. Licking your lips and tasting copper, you take a shaky breath and nod to yourself.

You knew what shooting all night would bring on – lesions under the firing pad covering your shoulder; deep-rooted pain leading to nerve damage later on. Blisters that leak puss and blood onto your bedsheets. Not to mention the mental strain, the bags under your eyes burn from lack of rest.

Gritting your teeth, you walk over the tossed rifle on the floor and pick it up with shaky fingers, the tips flinching back from the cool metal before encompassing it tightly.

Silently, you get on your stomach and set the weapon in the crook of your already pain-laced shoulder. Your blood splatters the stock.

—

It had been two weeks with no luck in finding Rigs, and you were starting to get paranoid.

Staring at the dead body tied to the wooden chair, you growl and tear your Dirk from the woman’s chest angrily.

There had been increased police patrols from all the corpses you were leaving, so you’d compromised and limited the chance of being caught at the same time.

Bergamo, Italy, was an ancient place, and the underground was what you were now both metaphorically, and physically, exploiting. Sewer systems. Catacombs. You’d lost track of the paths you’d taken a million times over, and had started to hate the constant darkness only kept back by the small hand lamp you’d stolen.

But there were ups to this constant downward slope.

It made interrogations increasingly easier to pull off with multiple feet of stone all around you. The screams don’t meet the surface.

“Catello Tullio,” you mutter, caressing your sensitive side with your free hand and placing your blade on a turned-over piece of rock. The area reeks of blood and gore, a stack of bodies chucked carelessly in the corner beginning to reek something awful; even as you have another to add to the count. It wouldn’t be long before the rats came in droves.

Another given name, another score. But this one was new. Apparently, the title of the one that took Rigs while he was out getting more rations in the market.

You point a finger at the slumped body, “you better hope I don’t find you in hell if you gave me the wrong damn name.”

Grabbing your light, you stalk off down one side of the tunnel back to your camp, dodging drag lines that strike your eyes with their crimson streaks.

The raggedy blanket and gun-sack you’d been using for a pillow take form in the dark, and somewhere in the corridor a rat squeals; feet pitter-pattering until it disappears altogether. You didn’t even want to think of the spiders living down here. Files and notes are strewn along the floor, perfect hiding places for eight-legged monsters.

You couldn’t do anything until nightfall. It was just too risky.

Massaging your side as you bend down, you grimace at the partially healed wound and scoop up your pistol before plopping to the ground with a grunt. With the deadly object held in your lap, you take a moment to breathe and try to push away a growing headache in the back of your skull.

“This has to be one of the worst Ops on record, huh?” your small voice speaks back to you in bouncing waves of echoes as you begin to fiddle over the gun's small grooves and dents. “How did you manage this, Reap?”

Smiling blandly, the overwhelming quiet and nothingness all around you is like a curse. And in those pockets of a void, your mind always trails to him – or at least it had been for your time on the run. Ghost. That dark and brooding mass of horribly bleak humor and…well…you couldn’t call him mean.

Your eyebrows furrow.

He was never mean to me.

There were soft instances where you would question yourself as to if the Brit had possibly had some affection for you. It wasn’t a long shared history of course, but you had sworn that there was something about the way he looked at you…something that you remember so vividly…

You shake your head and stand after a small while, stretching your feet. Placing your pistol in the back of your belt, the weight brings you dull comfort.

Shining your light on the hand-held radio on the ground in passing, you rove back to it after you scan the perimeter. Its black metal mocks you.

No one’s coming to help ‘cept you. One voice says, and another grunts out, get it together, Mutt.

You turn on your heel to go and take a breather to disperse your dark thoughts but only make it three steps before your eyes widen, lips parting in awe. Nearly falling flat over yourself, you whirl around in an instant.

A static enters the air as if the gods above were laughing at you - toying with your fate like it was a rock tossed to the sky. The familiar British drawl causes your chest to tighten, though the sentence is broken and barely understandable.

Someone’s here for me! A smile slashes your face – fierce hope lighting your eyes. You hadn’t wanted anyone to explicitly come for you, but this was a welcome discovery. Someone to talk to!

“--eper…Copy?” Darting like a cat, you move so fast that you stumble over rocks on the way there. “Lead…cafe…red cloth…Out.”

By the time you snatch the small black object, the garbled and firm tone has already shut itself up. Your mouth parts.

“Shit!” You yell, shaking the thing in your hand with an iron grip, hissing like a snake. You look above you at the cracked ceiling of stone and a growled accusation.“I’m too deep…Fuck. Gotta get up there if I want to be able to respond.”

But it hadn’t all been fruitless. Lead. Cafe. Red cloth. You clip the radio to your belt and make sure your shirt covers your weapon; pat your thigh and tell yourself to stop forgetting your Dirk everywhere before setting off in a jog. The light flashes over dead eyes and stiff bodies.

You snatch the blade off of the stone as you pass it, slipping it into your cut pocket and hearing the satisfying clink of it sheathing.

“Let’s just hope I don’t smell too bad…” You say aloud, chuckling, and listening as the sound echoes off the stone. If no other company, you still had the sound of your own voice.

You couldn’t decide if that was a good or a bad thing. But, you were getting side-tracked.

A Cafe with red cloth, then. Not exactly the place you’d go for an intel swap, but if someone had been trying to contact you for more than a week, you’d imagine they were getting desperate at this point.

If I had known…you frown.

Thinking over the multiple blueprints and pictures of the city in your files, you go through your internal cabinet of knowledge for color schemes - not what you’d have thought you’d be using it for, but, oh well. A lead was a lead.

“Golositá!” You laugh, sudden glee on your face as you dodge a pile of large stones; lips peeling back as you take a fast corner. “Gluttony! Of course, that’s the place.”

The bustling business on the upper side of Bergamo with red table cloths as well as red awnings extending into the street. Anyone would be a fool to miss it.

Like blood lining the street.

You force yourself to run faster.

—

You met him last, despite being a Sergeant. The Captain had you up late last night yet again – running the forest trail this time rather than shooting. In the back of your mind, you wondered if it surprised him when you were still up early with the others; from the looks that he was giving you, you just decided that, yes, he was. Or he was just pissed he didn’t have an excuse to get rid of you.

Blinking away fatigue, you keep your stance relaxed as a gargantuan shadow comes to loom ahead of you.

The man everyone had whispered about called himself ‘Ghost’ and, if nothing more, was certainly intimidating. Shoulders wider than a bench, arms as rounded and as strong as boulders; not to mention the tattoos that made him look like he took cross-country motorcycle rides in his spare time. Tan tactical gear and dark patches for the SAS, the red and white British flag. Gloves covered his large hands, straps carried knives on his biceps and thigh. Something akin to a tan cape that was loose around his hidden neck.

But the mask was what really caught your attention; your head tilting with an innocence that no longer lives in you.

Skeletal. Half a visage of a dead and gone intimidation of humanity. Sewn into a hood of black cloth from which only the eye sockets were open…But the eyes there were no different than if the holes had been empty in the first place; as if the person inside was as dead as sun-bleached bone. Was a corpse piloting this suit?

Ice blue. Freezing blue. Harsh. Colder than a grip of a phantom, you thought as you blinked up at him, colder than the nights you would stay awake working yourself to death. You watched this Ghost’s chest move in a steady inhalation and you stuck out a busted-knuckle hand. Foolish, maybe, but there were worse things to be afraid of than a mask. Then of those eyes that made your spine shiver.

But you didn’t look away.

“Pleasure, Sir.” There was a moment of tense silence where your Captain, at Ghost’s side, was frowning at you silently. The man could say nothing as long as this SAS member was here to assist in your next Op overseas. At your sides, your colleagues on the tarmac shuffle on their feet like nervous penguins.

Ghost glances at your hand, and you try not to show how fast your pulse is running when his eyes leave a cold trail as they grace your split knuckles and torn nails. He ends with a slow look at your name patch.

“Sergeant.” He says and slips past without another word. His shoulder brushes against yours, and you inhale smoke and ash; gun-cleaning solvent paired with a canvas tent. Dirt and metallic blood. Snickers bounce off air particles, striking your ears as an embarrassed heat rises to your cheeks, but that scent stays in your nostrils for days.

Your Captain scurries after.

“Erm, forgive, Mutt. She’s a helluva strange woman, that one.” You keep your sneer hidden, a hiss lodged in your throat and a twitching finger. But your anger isn’t directed at the masked beast that stalks away. That yapping bully of a Captain would hold all of it as long as you were here.

At that point, you were sure you’d seen the last of Ghost until the Op – not really getting the feeling he’s a people person so much as a ‘give orders and follow them’ type.

But that was fine by you, it didn’t change anything. You’d been told to go back to the firing range tonight for opening your mouth and ‘making an embarrassment of the Unit’....whatever that meant. All you did was welcome the guy with the barest hint of a good attitude.

You supposed manners were a foreign concept around here.

The world ahead of you was blurring, red circles in your eyes that gloss over with water every minute you force yourself to stay awake. The stars were out, sky dark, and the area was only lit by large lights situated around the base. In some sort of strange way, you enjoyed the sound of crickets and the cold breeze over your bare arms as if the only sense of peace you got was when you were half-passed out, nailing shots from a rifle.

The stock was where it always is, your cheek pressed to the side; staring down the scope at the multiple holes in the paper targets. Dots surrounded by multiple other dots like a slice of cheese. You suppose that made you the hungry mouse in that case.

‘A mouse with a fucking day before she drops.’ You frown, blink, and pull the trigger as the trees rustle. The force lands directly on your shoulder – the kickback is usually not one to bother you, but seeing as your appendage was one bad day away from being dislocated and forever damaged – you took it with a grit of your teeth.

And you took it because you knew you could. Just as you knew that you felt a pair of eyes on the back of your neck. Freezing, you remove your finger from the trigger and loosen your grip. Turning your head to the side, a free hand goes up and shifts the ear mufflers from your head to your neck in a single movement.

You swear your heart jumps to your throat when you see a skeleton’s icy blues numbly watching you; arms crossed while a nice-looking SA-B 50 Marksman Rifle sits against the wall at his side. How…long had he been there? Watching?

“What’re you doing, Sergeant?” Ghost asks sternly, that Manchester accent making him sound harsh. Grating like a rock being run against concrete. “I’m sure your Captain wouldn’t be thrilled at a scene like this, eh?”

Blinking, you remind yourself to breathe before answering – voice tough and hoarse.

“I have my orders, Sir. You’re free to join me.”

You turn back as a grunted huff falls from behind muted cloth. Ghost walks up to your laying form, standing on your left side and picking up the binoculars from the hanging hook in your station. As you look back through your scope you don’t know why, but you hold your breath; waiting for something.

“...Not a bad shot. You’re prone to firing more to the right, judging from the grouping. I’d fix that, less you miss a moving target runnin’ the opposite.” He lowers the object - staring from the side of his eye. From your position, your neck cranes to see his fingers twitch. “Wouldn’t want that, would we?” For someone you’d expected to be quite harsh – though you had no doubt he still was – Ghost was more sarcastic in his mannerisms.

Backhanded comments that wound sting if you got on the other end of them.

“I’ll keep that in mind, Sir.” Shifting your grip, you move the stock farther up your shoulder, feeling an immediate release of tension, though the expansive trauma still leaves needles in your tissue.

“Hm, pay attention and you just might learn something.” You feel yourself quirk a lip for the first time in months; your mouth doesn’t stop to think.

“You mentor a lot of people in the middle of the night, then?”

“Only the ones stupid enough to be awake.” He takes a step back, going to grab his own rifle as his footsteps don’t even make a sound.

‘Quiet for a guy with thighs that could choke me out.’

Your brows furrow at the heated thought, taking a slow breath and flexing your hands as the shadow disappears from over you. Why were your hands sweaty?

Were you…afraid? That…that wasn’t it.

“You’re up too, you know, Sir. Bit hypocritical.” This was the first time you’d had a full conversation with someone since you’d gotten in with this Unit. A mildly pleasant one, at least…you wouldn't really call this bonding.

“I can always leave ya’ to it, Sergeant.” Deadpanning the words, you clear your throat and fall silent at the threat.

‘No,’ you wanted to comment, ‘no, I want the company so badly it hurts.’

You swallow saliva and reposition your ear mufflers back over your head, heart bruising your ribs, as you bring down a calming breath of air to still your nerves.

The two of you don’t speak again, and you don’t ask why he takes the shooting cubby right next to yours, the nose of his rifle peeking out from the concrete wall. You certainly don’t ask why he’s up, either.

And in return, he doesn’t ask you the same.

—

When you find Golositá you’ve managed to sneak through the city unseen, taking every backroad and alley you could as the heat of the day increases to near sweltering. Panting, you stick to the thin shadows of the path across the street, eyes dancing over red cloth and flicking to faces; studying visages as one would a medical report.

Your chest hurts, and you run a hand over your side, feeling the raised skin under your shirt before digging into the aching ribs. All this running around and little food to help keep your normal strength was troublesome, and it would only get worse if this Op from hell continued.

I need new intel. Badly.

About to retreat, not finding anyone you recognize off the bat, a black-shrouded figure kisses the side of your vision as if a phantom.

On the outside table, the farthest removed, a man sits stiffly with an untouched teacup in front of him. Smirking, you can’t help but scoff at the thought of Ghost using the thing – you’d think his thumb and forefinger would break the delicate porcelain in an instant. Like a spine over his thigh.

Your cheeks heat.

He looked almost identical to what you remember – minus the gear, obviously – and your stomach twisted at the thought. Was a simple look enough to bring you to the breaking point? Why were your lungs tight?

As if feeling your stuck eyes, those icy blues shift from people-watching to lock onto yours immediately. As hollow as they always were, it seemed. He blinks and the blonde eyebrows on his sliver of visible forehead move.

Shit. Your hips trade weight. Look at you.

Loose shoulders under a rugged buttoned-down and painted balaclava make your breath go thin, not able to resist sneaking a glance at those tattoos you remember so vividly. Yes, that was still Ghost.

Jesus, is this how it felt to see someone you barely even remembered suddenly appear? Was it elation or caution that was making your heart race?

Ghost doesn’t look surprised. His eyes don’t widen; don’t soften or light up. They blankly watch you as you shake away the shock and raise a brow in return. A sarcastic finger goes to your head, and you mock salute.

What are you doing? You seem to ask, a mischievous expression growing as you start forward when he dismissively narrows his eyes. You look ridiculous. Are you asking to be spotted?

The man leans into the too-small chair he sits in, one hand going to hang off the back and the other resting on the tabletop. Gloved fingers tapping morse in slow measures.

Clear. Come here. He follows you with his gaze, head stationary, as you enter the flow of traffic, smiling at people at your sides and letting off polite greetings when you could. Steadily striding, you weave through groups and individuals like water, legs steady even as your ears pick up every little sound.

A comfortable middle point of visible excitement and strict business. Why were you so…happy?

When you approach Ghost’s table, you slip up beside him with a sly chuckle, pulling out the chair to his right. You, softy, lower yourself down into it, not turning to him but instead simply making sure no one had followed you with a quick scan. His heat only adds to the warmth of the day like a walk through damnation.

“Well, well, well,” you smile, addressing the SAS member with his shadow hanging over you once more; such a heavy thing, though you don’t mind. Your expression mellows to have it above you again. There was a safety to it, you had to admit. The cold comfort of death. “Trip to Italy, Sir? Take a little vacation?”

“Came to bail out a bird from my past,” You smell that scent again – smoke and ash; gun-cleaning solvent paired with a canvas tent. Dirt and metallic blood. “And if I ever went on a vacation, I sure as hell wouldn’t pick this place. ‘Bout to burst into flames; traumatize a few kids and their mums.”

Hadn’t he changed even a little bit?

“Now that’s dark.”

“Never said it wasn’t.”

Of course he hasn’t, you answer your own question, feet shifting and skin pliable, why would he? He isn’t like me – didn’t have to reinvent himself based on atoms and in the wake of silent nights.

There was a piece of you that believed that Ghost had always been this way, though you knew it was false. Nobody in this profession was just born like this, they were led to it. Whoever it was under the mask or balaclava didn’t matter anymore.

They had died a long time ago.

“Not a fan of the history, Brit?” You tease, bringing up a hand to itch at your undereye, finally taking a peak at the form that nearly swallows you.

Your lids try not to peel back, but you didn’t realize how close you’d sat next to Ghost �� any closer and you would be in the crook of his arm; the relaxed spread of his knee bumping into yours and arm over the back of your seat. Trying to act nonchalant, you ignore the strange swirling in your gut with a hum and a twitching of your leg.

Stop that.

“Don’t care a smidge, just not a fan of the damn heat.” The gruff man responds with his inked arm on the table flexing, as though he was tenser than he showed. Ghost clears his throat, “needs a good downpour, eh?”

“Try living underground for two weeks. Literally. Sun’ll feel like a blessing.”

“Fuckin’ hell…That’s why the radio wasn’t working, then.” While this was all cute – re-learning each other like a shaken puzzle – there were dangers to being this open. The Brit would be fine, but if you got spotted, well, there would be worse things to worry about than an achy side and a pile of bodies in a tunnel.

“You got something for me, or are we here just to stand out like bullet holes in a forehead?” Feeling his head tilt to you, snaking down your form, your body leans forward, palms sweaty as they lock on the table. “Price with you? The other two I saw on the feed?”

“Negative. Op in Belarus. Sent me in alone.” Your knees brush, delicately; like a touch of down feathers. You refrain from taking in a shallow breath, knowing he’s analyzing every movement with a hidden mouth and gentle huffs of air that rises his sculpted chest. Through a grunted sigh, Ghost tells, “The Old Man insisted. Laswell thought you’d be alright by yourself, regardless,” and falls silent.

What was he doing? Why was he talking with that rasp in his tone? Your heart swells at the comment about Kate, but a confusing feeling settles in your lower body. Why did the air feel thick?

The warmth of the sun was making your skin perspire, leaving a sheen of sweat over your arms. But the thought of heat stroke fled as you became hyper-aware of the man beside you, keeping careful not to touch you, though his gaze still bore into the side of your face like prodding fingers anyways.

He can’t quite figure you out, he admits to himself. So much of you was different – and he couldn’t tell how.

She’s lighter, he tightens his face, not the same as when I left.

But there had been an utter satisfaction when he’d seen you in that alleyway, even if you were different in a million ways, that would never change. Ghost’s body had loosened, his clenched jaw let go, and snappy answers to servers stopped entirely.

Because those were still the same colored eyes that he remembered. He takes a long breath.

Through the haze under your creased skin, a red alarm starts to sound off. Not because of the confusing way you felt the chilled form of Ghost on a near internal level, but because of the hooded individual across the street.

When your eyes lock, they back up three paces and bolt down the adjacent street, vanishing into the crowd. Your expression darkens, and Ghost shifts his attention from your face to the streets.

His eyes blankly follow where you were looking.

“Come on,” you get to your feet, hand snatching at the SAS member's sleeve, dragging him with you as a mother would a toddler. It was ironic – if he resisted, you wouldn’t be able to force him to move, not in a million years, but he slid off his chair with fluid muscles.

He doesn’t question you when he’s brought into an offshoot of the road, vacant of tourists or locals besides a stray cat and a few scavenger birds. Flies jump off garbage cans, buzzing through the air above your heads as you level Ghost with a serious stare.

You nearly stumble over your words when you get to look at those long blonde eyelashes that you remember heatedly, but push through as they move to half-lid his blank eyes. Your heart skips beats as you spare looks up and down the space.

What the fuck is going on with me? Focus. This is serious.

But, Jesus, he should really stop looking at you like that.

“You said you had a lead over the radio – anything on someone called Catello Tullio by chance?” You ask, voice like stone.

“Tullio?” Ghost hums in the back of his throat, all business, hips moving under him as he goes to glance at the street. His balaclava moves as he speaks. “Someone made a mention of it. ‘Fore I put a knife in ‘em, ‘o course.” Nodding, he huffs out, “On me.”

Turning on long legs, he starts to walk farther down the path, and you follow at his side, peering up and eager to gain more intel. “You’ve caused quite a panic around here, Sunshine. Cell’s terrified of the ‘Reaper.’ I’m nearly impressed.”

He briefly flashes an optic to you, heart betraying him as he remains locked on your lips. Rotating his jaw, he turns back forward.

“Oh, my,” smirking slowly, you roll your eyes, “whatever will I do without your approval, great Ghost.”

“Dunno – kick the bucket probably.” Shaking your head in false annoyance, the slow, mocking, stain in the man’s tone leaks into your very DNA; coating it with honey. Like a warm sunrise, you clock a small hitch in his chest and equate it to muted chuckles when you laugh.

“Don’t go placing bets, now. I’m not so easily broken.”

“Oh, wouldn’t think of it, Sweetheart. Wouldn’t be my handiwork if it happened,” his tone goes light, “don’t wanna take credit away from you.”

“Brit.” You spit with fake venom.

“American.” He grumbles back, but you clock the small spark in his iris, cold blue bouncing silver light like snow.

He sounded…entertained? Snide in a sarcastic way.

Your mouth rises in a stupid, dopey, grin as you stare from the side of your vision, chest jumping in easy comedy. What a strange pair you two were, but you find you liked his company even more, this time around.

Or maybe he had changed slightly. Or maybe it was just you.

At the end of the day, you were relieved that it was easy to talk to him. Conversations with corpses are a bit one sided, after all.

Ghost’s lips had to be at least quirked under that dark fabric to achieve mischief like what he was spitting out, you leveled with yourself. At the minimum, the man wasn’t annoyed he’d been forced out of his own primary mission because of you.

You remember he wasn’t averse to cracking jokes – particularly dark ones – but it had…it had never felt like his before.

Strange, you admit with a raised brow and a cocked head, cheeks burning for no apparent reason. You’d gotten him to chuckle? Holy hell, you deserve a Nobel Peace Prize for that. I’d think he would be pretty pissed about being sent here. He’s never been one to fuck around.

You both continue in easy silence until you decide to speak once more, intent on asking where you were being led.

Ghost’s head had perked up in what you assumed to be soldier-like attention, but then his head had whipped behind the two of you. Oblivious to his shift in mood, like a dark cloud, you open your mouth.

“Well, where are we–”

“--Get down!” Hands slap on the back of your arm and jerk you to the opposite wall as a loud echo rings out. Whizzing over your head so close that you feel the breeze of it.

Gasping, the air is expelled from your lungs in one fell swoop; your spine grating over the rough stone as your legs scramble to keep upright. Wiping away the shock quicker than an eraser over a whiteboard, your neck snaps to the problem; brain already hardwired to get over being shot at and the adrenaline that floods your veins immediately after.

Across the way, Ghost’s fast hand was reaching to the back of his outfit – without a doubt going to grab a concealed weapon. Eyes fiery and arms tight. And as though you were seeing it happen in slow motion, you lock onto the hostile in the middle of the alley back the way you both came. And then onto the hooded silhouette ahead of you.

Boxed in.

Hyperfocused, all of it happens in only three seconds, two trained professionals protecting each other without even realizing it.

One, you realize how this will have to play out if you don’t act immediately. You don’t know how you can trust Ghost to take the other hostile while you focus on the one ahead, but you don’t question it. Two, your gun lays heavy in your hand as your legs pivot. Three, you fire double shots with a loose finger and hear mirrored gunfire from the man beside you.

You don’t bother watching him drop.

Snapping your head backward with a rageful expression to see Ghost’s corpse hit the floor with a cracking of a skull, shouts start to ring over the city. When you lower your weapon, you turn to notice the Birt examining your own downed hostile with a satisfied stare. If you hadn’t had his back, he would have been shot in it.

But what you didn’t know was that he was thinking the same thing about you.

Turning to stare at each other, your widened eyes lock; fingers twitching along the cool X12’s metal as those stormy iris’ only seem to darken further when they dart to your lips. Like staring into a wild animal’s gaze and pretending you’re not in a trance because of it – stuck in that moment of infinity and nothingness with not a single muscle moving. Waiting for either a mouthful of fangs around your supple neck or for the beast to turn away with grace and practiced steps.

You swore Ghost’s mouth parted under that damned balaclava, but whatever he was going to say was lost when the world came back in a violent storm of screams. Panicking, you gape at the entrance – seeing multiple shadows shoving through the crowd to get to you.

“On me!” Keeping your pistol in one hand, you bolt, hearing heavy footsteps pounding behind you as your mind begins to run.

Ghost trails without a single doubt in his mind as to why he’s following you, and it makes him cautious.

Catacombs, you decide, get under the city and backtrack to the outskirts. Survey and have Ghost tell me his intel before making a move…yeah!

“Where are we headin'?!” Ghost shouts, keeping right your heels as you turn corners. Gunshots ring over your heads as you jump up small groupings of tile steps, blood pounding in your ears. You try to remember the maps you had stored in your files underground. Left…no, two rights. Shit! I need to be higher – see the streets like a bird would! “Reaper?!”

“Do you trust me?!” You call over your shoulder, and though it seems deranged, a smile forms over your lips. “I’ll need an answer in the next few minutes, yeah? I’m on a time crunch!”

“What are you on, Girl?” The adrenaline speaks to you, propelling your legs faster and faster. You vault over a fallen trash bin and take the shock to your ankles as it travels to your thighs. Snickering, you feel the brooding man’s presence like you always could – just beside you like a loyal hound. His focus excites you as you put your gun away in the small of your back. “Bloody hell! Not giving me a choice?”

“Not if you don’t want to get shot in the ass!” Taking one more right, you find yourself rapidly approaching a dead end, tall walls, a balcony, and a large dumpster – the flap already closed overtop. Not answering the man as he barks out a comment, you throw yourself atop it with a puff of breath and spasming lungs.

Laughing, your hands don’t falter. Reaching up with eager fingers, you grab at the black metal front of the balcony a small distance above and suck down a hot breath. Your arms strain, sickly sweet sweat on the top of your lip, and eyes wide with glee despite the gaining footfalls rising like a battlefield cry. Jerking your body up with only your upper-body strength, you slide your abdomen over the railing with barely a second passing. Once your feet are firmly on someone's property, you twist around and slap your hands to the metal with a twinkle in your vision; face wrinkled with all the animated amusement.

A wide grin is stuck on you.

Ghost stares up with slightly widened eyes from the ground, arms poised on the garbage bin.

Oh, hell, when she smiles like that…

“But I can’t judge, can I?” Teasing, you extend a helping grip with a smirk. “Everyone has their fetishes, hm, Ghost? Maybe yours is just having a gun pointed at you.”

He blinks at that, but knowing the urgency in the back of your throat, he pushes himself up with a grunt. You try not to watch his muscles strain, but spy the way the veins in his forearms grow larger as his alluring hips flex. They situate themselves under him as he crunches before straightening in an instant.

Fuck, don’t drool, you scold, lips lightly parted like seven devils were flying in the back of your mind. Jesus, imagine the weight those things can carry…shit. Wouldn’t mind losing my virginity to that.

A leather-coated hand slaps into your awaiting one. You snap back to a screaming reality and stare down into hypnotic sheens of ice and…wait…did Ghost have fucking green flecks near his pupils?

“You sure it isn’t yours, Sunshine?” He harshly comments, and his balaclava moves with a rising of his eyebrow.

Clearing your throat, you murmur a weak reply as your face begins to feel like a blazing fire, squeezing his limb before pulling. He chuffs. Grunting violently, you know he does most of the work in helping himself up, though the Brit still slaps your shoulder in comradery when he’s stable. Kneeling down, he forces himself into the wall behind the two of you, fingers weaving to create a cuff over his knee.

Tossing his head up, he motions with urgency.

“C’mon. Be quick ‘bout it.”

Catching one foot in the basin of his clutch, you force down your illicit thoughts about Ghost and jump, pushing off with your opposite leg on his shoulder and his added boost. Scaling the wall, you arch and scramble - with a growing bite in your side – to the terracotta-shingle roof.

Following after and checking your six, the beast of a man joins just in time.

Shadows dart around the corner far on the ground, and the both of you are speeding animals over the rooftops in the meantime. Against better judgment, boots pounding the tiles, you release loud bouts of genuine laughter.

How long had it been since you’d had such fun? Enjoyed someone else's company like this? Running across homes, you look at your side, only to find Ghost’s eyes already digging into you. Unrelenting. Unmovable. Panting, you smile brightly, giggles making your sides hurt something awful but your pace doesn't slow for an instant.

All it took was a glance at the streets – you know where you are now.

“Enjoying yourself, Reaper?” He asks, arms pumping and barely winded, and you wonder for a moment how he breathes under that covering of his – it had to smell horrible by the end of the day.

“For…the first time in ages, Ghost.” He chuckles at that, and it is a betrayal of his nature. How could someone so violent, so cloaked in oceans of blood, produce such a soft sound? A genuine sound that makes your stomach flip?

His bewitched eyes rove back in front of him, and he can’t deny the simplicity of speaking to you. It wasn’t a chore, just a conversation with a person who he wouldn’t mind having on 141 at his side.

There were few people worthy of that.

You swallow thickly and take point, leading the shadow of death to your home underground so you can re-evaluate.

You can only wonder why you don’t feel nervous as he watches over you, skin marked with horrors but his hand had fit so well in your own. And you also wonder how you can come to care for someone you haven’t seen in ages so quickly, as if you’d both been around each other for years.

Had you really ever forgotten him? Or just tried to push the affection, both emotional and physical, for him out? But that was the problem, you tell yourself with a clenched jaw, that physical attraction. All of that was just…tied into a million knots. Complicated.

You’d never had sex before.

And, Ghost questioned himself as he watched your legs move, did he forget you out of necessity? Because those eyes of yours won’t leave him alone, and he so very much enjoyed looming over you.

He sighs heavily and follows in silence.

—

When you first joined them, they all created rumors. This was long before you were permitted solo Ops, long before half of your file was filled and bleeding with black ink that would shame a warlord. When everyone just thought you were signed up because you were some unhinged kid, brimming with unchecked problems and willing to throw everything away just for the chance to prove yourself. Who got into it for kicks.

They would say you enjoyed it, killing. Reveled in it, really. That it got you off when you were covered in blood and crimson guts as they pooled at your feet.

You suppose that was what turned you away from sex in general – those heavy comments said with no remorse that stuck with you. It was fear almost, a genuine twisting of your mind to make it your fault. It wasn’t your fault, you knew that; you could sleep with anyone you wanted and the comments weren’t a brand on your skin.

You could forget about it. You should.

But the words were so mean. Just cruel for the sense of being cruel. And it stuck with you.

If that was all anyone would see, why try and force them to look away? You kept to yourself, never spoke unless spoken to, and shoved all of it down like a kill switch. No sex, no relationships. Nothing to make you think about the rumors.

Getting off on death? You were horrified at the concept, horrified that people would play around like that with you – with your life!

You just ended up telling yourself you wouldn’t feel it until it hurt too bad. In a way, you were right…but you can only force emotions down for a while until they break forward like a fist to the mouth.

Besides Mutt, they had many names for you – titles and backhanded monikers. Rabid. Demon. Devil. Monster. Sometimes, beast.

But they all had the same meaning. Inhuman. Wrong.

It shouldn’t have bothered you that much. It…It shouldn’t have made you stay up at night still thinking about the way they would laugh and pinch your arms as you were left shaking; drowning in gore not your own because they sent you into the heart of the Hot Zone for a few jokes. Teasing you about how you probably touched yourself because of it.

But it was just an excuse to make you too scared to leave. Your reputation…

“There’s that Devil for ya’, always ready to slit some more throats for us. You think you could do the next few, Mutt? You’ll love it, I know you will. I’ll give you a good report if you do it without alerting the guards – see there… ‘Course you will. Fucking freak.”

Your eyes stare forward blankly, Dirk leaving a dotted fluid trail over the dusty ground.

Why did they do this to you?

TAGLIST SIGN-UP || Here

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(sorry that some of these don't work! I have no idea why!)

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melimpostor · 2 months

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Hi Meli!

Glad to hear you're in a good mood today, may the days like this be more frequent for you :)

As for the requests, lol, of course, I would ask for AruAni, some of the Ambassadors domestic fluff :3

Thank you 🫶

Heyy, thank you Anna ! ♥ I'm sorry, it's not as fluffy as i wanted first, but i hope it's still okay YvY... Regular homesteady gentle moments !

#my art #aruani #ask

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pfhwrittes · 3 months

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"you love him. you've loved him since you were 9 and you love him now 20 years later." TW: references to transphobic bullying, angst, fluff, allusions to offscreen smut, alcohol mention, menstruation mention. pairing: kyle x ftm!reader

1.5k words of childhood friends to strangers to friends to lovers. as always i've barely edited it so typos and errors may remain. edit to add: a massive thank you and shout out to @gemmahale for cheerleading me with this one and reminding me to trust my instincts. i love you a lot.

-- you love him. you’ve loved him since he first shared his curly-wurly during break time at primary school. head over heels puppy love. your mum teasing you with a “my little girl with her first boyfriend!” despite the way it makes your cheeks burn (and something twist inside your chest) when you both stand shyly together at 3.15 hand in hand waiting to go home.

you love kyle when he’s the joseph to your mary in the nativity. you love the way the teatowel your mum leant his mum slips into his eyes and causes him to laugh and forget his next line about needing to find an inn. you love him when he wraps you up in a big hug when missus king takes a photo of you both as your mum cheers the loudest from the back of the little crowd in the assembly hall.

you love kyle even when you both grow up and go to secondary school at 11, split up into different form groups and different timetables. you love him even more when he folds you into his little band of miscreants, “one of the boys” he says with a cheeky grin that warms you all the way through.

you love kyle when he chooses you first for the biology practical lesson, flicking little slithers of onion at you to make you laugh, despite the way anna-marie looks you up and down and whispers something cruel about how “he just pities the he-she” loud enough for you to hear.

you love kyle when he skives off school with you the day your period takes you unaware. he sneaks in through the kitchen door 15 minutes after your mum leaves for work, a battered curly-wurly and bottle of oasis clutched in one hand and his rucksack in the other. you love him when he settles onto the sofa, dragging your duvet over the two of you, flicking the telly on so you can both watch bargain hunt together.

you love kyle the day he cuddles you into his chest, completely uncaring about the way your snot and tears mark his t-shirt as you sob, both of you curled up on your bed. you love him so completely when he listens to you stutter out that you think you’re not really a girl. you still love him when he pulls away for the first time, a tiny frown on his face. you still love him when he doesn’t reply to your text asking him if he got home alright later that night.

you still love kyle when he starts ignoring you in school, no longer coming to find you during lunchtime. you still love him when he doesn’t laugh along with harry when you trip during design tech but he doesn’t stop james hissing “freak show” as you rub at your hip from where you banged into their table.

you still love kyle even when your mum sits you down at the kitchen and asks you how you feel about moving schools at 16. you still love kyle when you ask her “but what about kyle?” and her voice catches when she offers you a gentle “oh love” with wet eyes.

you still love kyle when he stumbles into you at mattie’s house party when you’re both 18, a shocked look on his face when he takes in your close cropped hair and wispy facial hair on your cheeks, despite the fact you haven’t spoken in years. you still love kyle even when he calls you the wrong name and your mumble gets swallowed up by cheers from the kitchen as someone spots kyle in the hallway. you still love kyle when you spot him crowd mattie’s older sister georgia up against the bannister and kiss her breathless before leading her up the stairs with his hand on her waist. you still love kyle when you end up sobbing into alex’s neck, their hand rubbing your back gently as the dew from the front lawn soaks the knees of your jeans. you still love kyle even as alex murmurs that “you should just forget him babe” into your hair as you sob anew.

you’ve forgotten how much you loved kyle the next time you run into him, many years later when you pop into the pub under oath from mattie to meet her for a quick pint to catch up. you recognise the shape of kyle’s smile even if he is partially turned away to grin at a man with broad shoulders and a slightly flattened mohawk standing next to him at the bar. you’ve forgotten how much you loved kyle when he catches you looking and his smile slips momentarily as he offers you a tiny nod of acknowledgement before turning back to his friend. you’ve forgotten how much you loved kyle even when your eyes keep drifting over to him and the other three men in the corner booth as mattie fills you in on everything you missed during your years travelling around australia.

you’ve forgotten how much you loved kyle when you bump into him again in the same pub the following week. literally bumping into him as you turn away from the bar with a pint in your hand. kyle steadies you with a hand on your forearm and you feel your heart soar before plummeting into the sticky carpet at your feet. you pull your arm away from him and your drink sloshes over the rim of your glass as you offer him a tight smile before stepping to the side. you’ve forgotten how much you loved kyle, but you can’t help but feel the warmth of his hand long after you’ve rejoined mattie and alex at your table.

you’ve forgotten how much you loved kyle but a thrill goes up your spine when he asks you if he could “have a word with you, mate” as he joins you in the beer garden the week after that. you’ve forgotten how much you loved kyle but your heart aches as he stumbles his way through an apology. you’ve forgotten how much you missed your friend kyle when he makes you stutter out a surprised laugh when he talks about his friend soap knocking some sense into him.

you’ve forgotten how much you missed your friend kyle when he texts you asking if you want to join him and his sisters for a chinese. you’ve forgotten how much you’ve missed your friend kyle when he hands you his vegetable spring rolls without asking. you’ve forgotten how much you’ve missed your friend kyle when after dinner he leads you up to his childhood bedroom and he kicks his dirty socks under his bed like you’ve seen him do many times before. you’ve forgotten how much you’ve missed your friend kyle when your ribs ache from laughing and he’s wearing that beautiful grin.

you’ve forgotten how much you’ve missed your friend kyle when he slips into the open seat next to you at the pub, his arm slung over the back of your chair, much to the matching shocked expressions of mattie and alex. you’ve forgotten how much you’ve missed your friend kyle when he takes alex’s frosty demeanour on the chin. you fall in love with your friend kyle again when he responds to mattie’s pointed rhetorical “you know you broke his heart, yeah?” with a small squeeze to your shoulder and serious “i know, i was a fucking idiot.”.

you fall in love with kyle again when his hands shake on your waist as he leans in to kiss you outside your house under the flickering glow of a streetlight. just like you hoped he would so many years ago when you were both teenagers. you fall in love with kyle again when he pulls away to take in your stupefied expression and he asks if you’re okay, if he can kiss you again. you fall in love with kyle again when he gently turns you around so he can push you up against the front door to trail sucking kisses down your neck as your keys hit the doormat with a tinkling sound. you fall in love with kyle again when you ask him to slow down - wait - please - as he’s reaching for the top button of your jeans. you fall in love with kyle again when he traces gentle fingers over the scars on your chest, adoration in his eyes.

you love kyle when you trip over your boxers and his shirt the following morning as you stumble to the bathroom. you love kyle when you slip back into bed and he sleepily nuzzles into your neck. you love kyle when his phone blares his alarm from the back pocket of his trousers near the door to your bedroom 30 minutes later.

you love him. you’ve loved him since you were 9 and you love him now 20 years later as he presses a kiss to your hair. you love him. -- taglist: @kaadaaan

#binders and boyfriends #kyle garrick x reader #kyle garrick x you #transgender reader #ftm!reader #tw references to transphobic bullying #tw menstruation mention #tw alcohol mention #angst #fluff #allusions to offscreen smut #kg #i hurt my feelings (and healed them again) writing this #also a MASSIVE shout out to gemma for cheerleading this

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harrysfolklore · 2 years

Text

MY FAVORITE FICS, VOL 3

here’s my monthly list of fic recs ! added my fave smut fics this time 👀 i hope you like all of them

MY MASTERLIST

fluff

home ‘sweet’ home by @cherievol6

two in one by @itsallyscorner

sparks by @songbirdstyles

she’s having your baby by @belovedinbloom

motherly love by @harry-writings

movie night by @romcom-s

happy anniversary by @talesofstyles

in love with sleep talking by @pleasingforharry

sparks by @tuliprry

i did something by @harrysmimi

grand gestures by @p0pstars

italian hearts by @finelinevogue

she’s busy by @satanhalsey

a trim by @harrystylescherry

msg n1 by @pancakes4two

1d!yn is jealous by @watermelonsugacry

this by @avatar-anna

hot ones interview by @harryspugh

new beginnings? by @smilesstyless

amor by @harryssethereall

oh anna! by @stylesloveclub

angst

nothing new by @mindofharry

no ring no house by @harrieheaux

forever is a long time by @tokyoharry

nobody is leaving anybody by tokyoharry

public father by @gucciwins

i hate the ending of this movie by @shroombloomm

may by @hstylesloverr

smut

studio love by @kindapinkskies

she can’t finish and they fight by @antiodote

we’re official by @stucktoyou

threes company by @meetmymouth

the law of attraction by talesofstyles

wet dream by @for-fucks-sake-h

apartment 41 by @tobesolonely

needy by @hsgucci94

an afternoon in new york by @teawithcyb0rgs

series

don’t worry darling by @be-with-me-so-happily

opening act!yn by yours truly

even the sun gets clouded sometimes by @itslottiehere

the sun will rise by @watchmegetobsessed

delicate point of view by @matildashoney

#harry styles imagine #harry styles fic recs #harry styles wring #harry styles fanfiction #harrysfolklore #harry styles favorite fics #1k

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backtothefanfiction · 5 months

Text

Super Dad | Dad!Peter Imagine

Summary: Peter fell asleep working on the kids science homework.

Length: Short

Warnings: none, this is mostly fluff

A/N: Just another one of those quick imagines before I sleep.

They had come home with the assignment on Friday. They had exited the school and run straight into your arms all giggles and smiles, sheets of paper in their tiny hands, blowing in the late autumn breeze.

“What have you got there bug?” You asked as your youngest waved the piece of paper, too large for her hands, towards your face.

“It’s science week next week!” She squealed excited, little fists punching the air once you’d taken the piece of paper from her.

“Each grade has an assigned topic.” Your eldest added as she handed over her own assignment to you.

“Well, it looks like we are going to be having a very busy weekend.”

Anna, your youngest’s, project was a model solar system. Your older daughter, Maria, had to do a project on renewable energy. She insisted that she wanted to make a working water mill, but her Father (knowing he’d end up being the one to do most of, if not all of the work anyway) insisted she make a wind mill.

Safe to say Peter had been right. The girls gave up on their projects halfway through the Saturday and with a trip to Aunt May’s planned on Sunday afternoon, your Sunday night had been relegated to finishing off the girls projects, ready for the following morning.

You had put the girls to bed before returning to help finish painting the tiny paper mache planets for Anna’s solar system. You turned the TV on with the volume low, the sounds of Friends re-runs acting as background noise as you both did the work.

You couldn’t help but get fixated every now and again on your husband’s concentration face. The way he squinted his eyes and quirked his lip. Every now and again he’d lift his glasses slightly and survey his work. When he got the motor mechanism for the windmill working he looked so proud of himself and it made your chest swell.

“Right, that’s the last planet painted.” You announced as you placed the cocktail stick attached to it in a piece of foam to be left to dry.

You grabbed your mug and took a sip of your drink. When you placed it back down you realised just how covered in paint you had become as sticky paint finger prints covered the once white mug. “I think I’m gonna go take a bath and salvage what’s left of my weekend.” You announce as you get up.

“Huh?” Peter says as he suddenly pulls his focus away from the job at hand, now that you’re standing. “Uh, yeah, okay.” He quickly follows as his delay in processing your words finally catches up with itself.

You smile as you give him a pat on the shoulder. “Don’t be too much longer with that.” You say giving him a quick kiss before you leave the room.

You end up spending nearly an hour in the bath and then another half an hour after that pampering yourself with a full facial before climbing into your pyjamas and reading for a little bit. When it’s near midnight and Peter still hasn’t started making his way to bed, you reluctantly get yourself out from under the nice warm covers to look for him.

When you make it back out to the main area of your apartment his head is resting on his arm on the dining room table. Both projects are completed in front of him. They look perfect, your girls are going to be so happy when they see them.

“Hey.” You say softly as you shake him awake.

“Hnngggg.” He groans as he slowly rouses.

“Hey super dad.” You coo quietly to him.

“Hey.” He says back sleepily,

“You know, I think our bed is much more comfortable than the dining room table.” You say softly.

“But then who would protect my masterpieces.” He jokes.

“Come on Spider Boy, I think they’ll survive the night just being in our apartment.”

“You promise.” He continues to sleepily play along.

“I promise.” You say holding your pinky out to him and he lazily hooks it with his own. “Okay, come on.” You say helping him up and escorting him to bed.

The following morning there’s a squeal and a crash that makes the two of you race from your bed. When you get out to the dining table where your youngest now lies in a heap on the floor, surrounded by her project, rubbing at her knee, you know you’ve been too presumptuous.

“Survive the night, eh” you hear your husband mutter beside you before he’s bending down to attend to his little girl.

“Hey bug, what happened?” Peter says gently but you know from his tone of voice he’s trying with all his might not to be irritated by the fact his hard work last night has been damaged already.

“I went to grab it so I could look at it and I slipped.”

“It’s okay.” You say as you begin to pick up the pieces of the solar system to be put back together.

“Well, are you okay?” Peter checks in with her,

“Yeah, I just hit my knee.” She replies.

“Do you need Daddy to kiss it better?”

Peter feels you kick him in the side gently. He knows how much of an affect that word has on you and he fights to hold in his grin so he can keep tending to his daughter instead.

“No. It’s okay. I’ve got it.” She says before getting up to come and join you as you sit at the table and start glueing the planets back into place.

“Come on bug, how about some breakfast.” Peter encourages her towards the kitchen and away from you and the project before she does it any more harm.

When he brings you over a bowl of your favourite cereal moments later you hear him say, “Bet you’re wishing you’d left me to sleep on the dining room table to protect them now, eh?”

“Hey, I said they’d survive the night and they did.” You smile up at him. “Technically nothing happened to them until the morning, after the sun was up.” You wise crack back.

“Yeah?” He jokes,

“Yeah!” You sass back.

“Well I’m sure you would have felt differently if it was you who had done 80% of the work.”

“Hey, I painted the planets.” You reply with mock offence.

“Fine.” He concedes with a sigh. “75%.”

“Thank you very much.” You smile at him in response before there’s a cry of “Daaadd.” From the kitchen.

“That’s my queue.” He smiles.

“That’s your queue.” You smile back as he leans in for a kiss.

“Oh and don’t think I don’t remember you calling me super Dad last night.” You roll your eyes at his own ego, “I’m gonna be using that for a long time.”

“Yeah, yeah:” you say waving him off. But it’s true. Peter is a super dad and you couldn’t be more happy to have him forever by your side.

#peter parker x reader #peter parker #andrew!peter parker #peter parker imagine #spider-man #dad peter imagine #dad!peter x reader

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slightly-smarter-nat · 2 years

Note

If your requests are still open, could you write one where Natasha got really drunk at one of Tony’s famous parties at the compound, and when R helps the Russian to her room. Natasha would ask R to stay tonight, which she does, and Nat reveals she has feelings for R? And then R is caught off guard and because of the alcohol in Natasha’s system, her walls are down and she’s emotionally vulnerable and disheartened because she thinks R doesn’t love her back? But R reveals she in love with her too and hopes she remembers in the morning. And Nat does and it’s a very fluffy ending. Please and thank you! I live your fics!!

Drunk On Love || Natasha Romanoff

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Warnings: Slight angst- ends in fluff; mentions of alcohol consumption; explicit language; intoxicated characters; mentions of painkillers. If I have missed any warnings, please let me know.

Word Count: 9027 words.

A/N: Thank you so much for the request anon, I apologise it’s so late. I kind of went off topic with the request, so to the anon that requested this fic, if you would like me to re-write it more specifically to the request, I’ll happily do so. I hope you all enjoy! Please note this is an au so some character’s behaviours may be different to what is expected.

Please do not repost (on here or any social media platform), copy, translate or take ownership of my work. Reblogs, likes and comments are always appreciated <3.

Masterlist

*Italics/boldness indicate dialogue from the show the Reader and Natasha are watching.

‘Anna please, I-it’s not what it looks like! Me and Martha are-‘

‘What Daniel? Good friends? Platonic or romantic? God, you can’t even make your own mind up until you’re both under each other doing god knows what.’

‘Hey, that’s not fair. You know I loved you, yet you threw me to the curb like I was a piece of trash-‘

“You know what is trash, this show.” You remark towards Natasha as the two of you mindlessly watch TV after promising yourselves to have a relaxing, once in a lifetime day off from being world saving heroes.

Natasha glares towards the screen, concentrating on the drama unfolding in front of the two of you- and attempting to keep up with the current storyline of the show, “You’re the one who put it on, and besides it’s rather entertaining when you figure out what the hell they’re talking about.”

You laugh at her words as you shuffle further into the cushioned couch; throwing your feet up on the coffee table in front of you to replicate the optimum comfort position of complete and total relaxation, “In my defence, there was nothing else on and- wait Martha is walking towards the kitchen where Daniel and Anna are arguing!”

Natasha instantly grabs an Ash shaded pillow from beside herself to hug in support and in anticipation of the drama that is about to commence, “Oh god, this can’t be happening.”

Part of you notices the rare and yet delicate occurrence of Natasha being completely relaxed enough to let out this side of her. A side you often see and cherish; knowing your best friend trusts you enough to see what she’d consider and definitely deny to be her ‘soft side’.

However, escaping from your thoughts, you subconsciously drop your feet back to the carpeted floor as you lean forward towards the TV, losing yourself in the chaotic scenes on the scripted, yet somewhat addictive new reality show playing out.

‘Please, just hear me out-‘

Daniel’s plea is silenced with a deafening strike across his face-delivered by a vengeful hand belonging to Anna.

Having lost yourselves in the show, Natasha and yourself release a gasp in unison; not expecting the rather hysterical character to deliver such a harsh statement through her actions, opposed to her words.

As you study each pixel conforming on the screen in front of you with a newfound interest, you unfortunately start to pick at the skin encasing your nails- a nervous and unbreakable habit you have yet to overcome.

Natasha’s ears pick up on the telltale signs of your destructive actions, knowing the unique clicking sound resounds when you’re in deep concentration or in deep trepidation in concern with something.

“Y/n/n, you’re doing it again.” Natasha gently scolds your habit, causing you to snap out of your TV induced trance and notice your now red and broken skin. You silently curse yourself as the irksome stinging sensation makes itself known on your now raw skin.

Natasha shakes her head as she guides her gaze back to the TV screen, “I thought you were using that nail polish I gave you to stop you from dissecting your nail beds?” You groan at Natasha’s question, knowing she’ll refuse to drop the topic now that she is aware of its occurrence once again.

Harvesting a deep breath, you center your tone before answering the red head, knowing she’s only trying to support you, “I did… but I ended up picking it all off during Steve’s latest briefing on our upcoming mission schedule.”

Natasha smirks at the irony of your conflicting actions with the mechanism designed to refrain you from messing with your nails entirely, “Okay, I’ll cross that one off the list as a failure. What about using bandages across your nails?” Natasha moves through her mental list of ways to help you kick your unwanted anxious habit, knowing it’s becoming an insecurity of yours.

In sync with Natasha, the two of you raise your feet from the ground and bury them underneath your bodies as you move to address each other further, “I tried that one already, they just irritate me throughout the day. Plus Parker thought it was double-sided tape and had the audacity to think I was replicating his ‘sticky fingers’ situation.”

Natasha lets out a low chuckle at your statement, though not hesitating to guide her amused gaze towards your stern one.

However, only a few seconds pass before the two of you break out into laughter; never having a dull moment between the both of you.

“Well, I know one technique we haven’t tried if you’re up for it y/n?” Natasha says evenly, keeping her gaze locked on yours.

You can’t help but fidget under her gaze, long forgetting the show on the TV, but happily becoming lost within Natasha’s ethereal sea of green irises, “W-what is it?” You practically whisper, studying her face intently as you await her suggestion.

Natasha silently reaches for one of your hands, delicately brushing over your skin as she encases her hand with yours in a supportive manner.

You watch her actions in surprise, sure you’ve held hands with her before, but this time you’re convinced that the initial touch of her skin on yours was electric.

Natasha gently pulls the hand taken towards herself to place on the cushion obtained earlier, “This way, if you try to do it again, you’ll have to go through me in order to do it.” Natasha says with a tilt of her head, attempting to ignore but most likely enjoying the heated blush working its way up your neck and across your cheeks from her actions.

You attempt to stagger out a response, knowing your feelings for Natasha are ever increasing, yet part of you wants to deny them in fear that she doesn’t return your affections- in turn the current situation is proving that task difficult. Natasha isn’t exactly the most open book of all, deciphering her feelings towards others is a challenge in itself.

Having words fail you, you allow yourself to bow your head slightly and escape her curious gaze. What she’d do to have a moment to hear your thoughts on her outgoing movement- little did you know, her heart is near enough hammering out of her chest, fearful that you’d reject her motion of love in the most subtle way she can ponder without giving you an opportunity to outright decline her care.

“Y/n-“ Natasha finds it within herself to push you for an answer to silence her tormenting thoughts. That is until she hears the bellowing voices of Yelena and Kate travelling down the hallway and into the living area where the two of you are currently occupying.

Your gaze snaps towards the former Widow and Archer, loosening your hand away from Natasha’s in fear of creating a tense, yet ecstatic questioning session from Yelena at the contact-knowing Yelena is desperate to see you and Natasha become a couple. You’d hate to create a false sense of hope, not only for Yelena, but for yourself too.

Though, Yelena has never shied away from creating ‘coincidental’ circumstances of you and Natasha being paired up for every training session; team task and missions. That cannot work wonders between the fears surrounding rejection surging through Natasha and yourself; but it has made you somewhat closer.

As you turn yourself on the spot to give the two women your undivided attention; you fail to see the flash of hurt run across Natasha’s features at your effort to distance yourself from her in the presence of her Red Room Sister and Kate. Her hands now feel cold from the loss of your warmth that she so desperately craves.

Kate takes quickened steps to reach the back of the couch before Yelena, who wanders over with her hands nestled in a pair of the many pockets decorating her impressive and rather practical hunter green vest.

“Hey guys, what are you two up to?” Kate asks curiously as she goes to lean across the back of the cushioned couch to spy what plays on the screen central to the room.

You smirk as you go to reply to the Archer, “Oh we’re just watching some lame show-“ Before you have a moment to finish your explanation, Kate eagerly and enthusiastically interrupts your words.

“No way! You’re watching ‘Heartbreak in New Asgard?! I love this show!” Kate exclaims as she attempts a graceful clamber over the backing of the couch to lumber herself in between you and Natasha.

You groan in discomfort as she uses a tightened grip on your head to assist herself over- allowing Yelena’s disturbed gaze to land on her disheartened sister, “Sestra, are you okay?”

The saddened features tainting Natasha’s face snap back into that of a stoic nature, displaying an unreadable resting face for the Widow, shielding herself from further pain of sympathetic questioning she’d rather escape, “I’m fine, why are the two of you here?”

Natasha quickly dismisses Yelena’s concern, sending a pang of turmoil through the blonde assassin with her miserly tone. However cryptic Natasha may be, Yelena never fails to notice a shift in Natasha’s demeanour; though she also knows never to push Natasha to open up, she’ll come to her when she’s ready- she hopes.

Yelena clears her throat as she eagerly moves her gaze away from Natasha, “Kate Bishop and myself are planning on working on some well needed combat training. Isn’t that right, Kate Bishop?” Yelena teasingly directs towards her newly acquired friend, knowing Kate’s impressive and enhanced Martial Arts are in no way of a comparison to Yelena’s extensive Red Room training-yet.

Kate moves to rest her elbows on her knees, leaning forwards in fondness of the show commencing, “Huh? Yeah, yeah sure whatever you say Yelena. Sounds awesome.” Kate mumbles out in response, not caring to take in the conversation playing out between the Widows, but directing her entire attention on her favourite guilty pleasure.

You wave a hand in front of Kate’s face, laughing at the way her vacant expression signals out your action to follow along the show, “I think we’ve lost her.” You announce, causing Yelena to groan.

“Ugh, you are impossible Kate Bishop.” Yelena lets out, knowing a mass effort will now be required to remove Kate from her current area of fixation.

“Anyway, we wondered if the two of you wanted to join us. You can see how well I kick Kate Bishop’s ass. My current record is under two minutes.” Yelena proudly announces to Natasha and yourself; secretly hoping it’s enough to entice the two of you to join the training session.

You go to respond positively to the question put forward, until you catch Natasha’s eye; part of you wonders if the furrowed gaze is begging you to reject Yelena’s offer and stay with her a bit longer. Having a sudden urge to bask in the lone company of Natasha, you conform your answer.

“Thank you Yelena, but Natasha and I are having a chill day so no training is allowed- Romanoff’s orders.” You say in a light manner, hoping to not offend the younger Widow, but assert your promise to Natasha.

Natasha releases a relieved sigh, though she adores Yelena, she knows she has a better chance of moving things forward with you if the two of you are alone.

“Sestra, maybe another time we can see your self declaration of superiority over Kate’s skillset.” Natasha addresses Yelena, hoping no offence has been caused towards her sister on her part.

Yelena can only smile in response, knowing her offer was likely to be declined in favour that the somewhat undetected, yet mutual pining between her sister and her friend would advance into something more.

“I’ll hold you to that Sestra.” Yelena moves to bring Natasha into a heartfelt hug; striking the opportunity to whisper supportive words into her Sister’s ear in the hopes that she will lift her dismal mood.

The words remain unintelligible to you, until your attention is peaked from Yelena blowing a wave of nuisance air into Natasha’s ear; causing the redhead to shove the blonde away with an amused mumble of ‘grow up’.

Yelena chuckles in giddiness, never passing the opportunity to tease her Sister in the most troublesome way she can muster to think of, “Okay Sestra, okay we’ll get going and leave you to whatever this is-“ Yelena waves a finger between Natasha and yourself, earning an eye roll from her Sister; “Come on Kate Bishop.” Yelena attempts to remove herself and Kate from the situation.

Kate waves Yelena’s words away with a dismissive hand, “Shhh, it’s getting to the good part. They’re about to make up.” Kate lets out with her enrapt gaze remaining upon the TV.

Yelena releases an unamused sigh as she goes to lift the Archer up by the purple collar of her combat gear; causing Kate to follow the forceful tugs from the couch she wishes to remain on.

Kate releases several protests of annoyance at Yelena’s incessant tugs; grasping the message that it was in fact time to leave.

You and Natasha shake your heads at Yelena’s antics, she never fails to amuse the two of you.

Just as the two women move to leave the room and bid you a goodbye, Tony Stark decides to grace the room with his presence.

Yelena moves to nudge Kate, stifling a laugh enough to let her words out, “Oh, look Kate Bishop, it is the grown man that I made cry the other day. How exciting.” Yelena teases, never one to shy away from putting Tony in his place from his vulgar words.

Tony firmly shoves his hands into the compact pockets placed on his custom made jacket, giving his throat a clear in the process, “Belova, a pleasure as always.” He sarcastically remarks as he moves towards the couch; ignoring the shared amusement being vocalised by Kate and Yelena on the way to their destination.

Tony removes one of his hands to bring it towards your head, ruffling your hair into an unwanted mess as he goes to address you, “How’s my favourite Avenger doing on this fine day?” Usually when he directs such a title to yourself it’s because he wants something from you- you dread to think what it could be this time.

You groan in irritation as you slide away from his vexing movements, “I was okay until you showed up Tony.” You grumble as you try to style your hair down from its now hectic state, courtesy of Tony Stark himself.

Tony smirks in response, loving the practical sibling rivalry the two of you unknowingly created from your friendship.

As Tony is an intelligent man, he knows not to replicate his actions of greeting with Natasha, knowing she wouldn’t hesitate to display an unfriendly manner to his pestering ways.

He nods his head in Natasha’s direction in greeting, “Widow.”

Natasha folds her arms with a gentle sigh in response, “Stark.” She simply lets out, loving the way she can intimidate Tony with just her presence alone.

You stare at Natasha in wonderment, “Okay, you’ve got to teach me how you do that.” You say in reference to the successful taming of Tony that Natasha can so easily manage.

Natasha smirks in pride, grasping onto that small essence of rendering you stunned. That is until Tony invades the conversation.

“You love it really, y/l/n. Anyway I have some very exciting news to share with you y/n.” Tony announces as he rubs his hands together in motion of hyping up his upcoming statement.

You twist your facial features slightly in curiosity, and a mixture of hesitancy, “Oh god, what have you done now?” You question in uneasiness.

Tony scoffs at your words, “What makes you think it’s something bad, in fact I am offended at your negative tone towards my ingenious idea-”

Natasha picks up the conversation from her point of view, “In all fairness Stark, as of late, your plans have ended in complete and utter chaos- no offence.”

Tony waves a dismissive hand towards Natasha, “Offence taken. Anywho, before I was rudely misjudged, I’ll tell you what I need you for. Tonight I’m throwing a totally kick-ass, ‘you have to be there’ party and you’re coming; no arguments.”

You drop your mouth in protest, “Wait, what?! No way, why?!” You practically stutter out, failing to recall even putting your name forward for this extravagant idea.

Tony rolls his eyes as though the reasoning would have become obvious to you upon revealing his request, “Okay, I may, or may not have announced that you’d be a guest of honour per se to show off our newest Avenger to some of the board members at some new, rival tech company trying to out-do my image. Regardless, your ass better be there or I’ll have J.A.R.V.I.S wake you up every morning at 2 am for two months.”

You shake your head in annoyance, “Not like I haven’t been on the team for ten months already.” You mumble alongside a dramatic shift of your body and folding of your arms for good measure.

Tony shrugs at your statement, “You win some, you lose some kid. Widow, you are of course invited, and by that I mean you have to be in attendance also.”

Natasha widens her eyes as she goes to object to Tony's offer, “No, I was serious when I told you I would not attend anymore of your ridiculous charades that you so adamantly hold for no reason. I’m not going; in fact, I have plans.” Natasha simply claims.

The ending of her statement catches your attention, causing you to snap your gaze towards Natasha in a questioning manner- she hasn’t mentioned any unknown plans throughout the entirety of the day.

Tony smirks in a mocking manner, “Let me take a wild guess and put forward that it will include something as mind-blowing as your current activity of choice. I would never have thought you’d stoop so low as to resort to watching trashy TV on a weekday Romanoff.” Tony clicks his tongue on the roof of his mouth several times to add to his disapproval of Natasha’s refusal to go to the party scheduled.

Natasha shrinks into herself lightly, choosing to contain the thought in her head that she may or may not have been considering catching up on the series later on in her room, “…no, plus y/n put this on. I’m not interested in the slightest.” Natasha firmly rejects the idea of being engrossed with the show, avoiding suspicion.

You turn to Tony with a smile, knowing that if you’re going down in regards to Tony’s party, Natasha is going down with you, “Don’t listen to her, it’s her most favourite show in the entire worl-“ Your exaggerated statement is put to a halt once you feel a firm strike to your chest, originating from Natasha’s pillow being swung towards you in hopes of silencing your teasing.

“That’s enough out of you y/l/n.” Natasha playfully scolds, grabbing the pillow once more to place back on her lap.

Tony shakes his head as he attempts to refocus the conversation, “Romanoff, I can assure you that this party will be one to remember. For all the right reasons of course; give me one more chance to prove it to you. If I’m wrong, I’ll even watch whatever monstrosity is captivating you all so much on the screen. What do you say Widow?”

Natasha bites her lip in thought, part of her wants to join in on the fun of having the team together for some drinks and a bit of dancing. Though she also wants to have an easy night as previously planned with you.

Tony attempts his best pout, unintentionally putting Natasha off the idea more with his odd choice of convincing.

You reach over to nudge Natasha’s knee with your hand to gather her attention, allowing her gaze to fall to you, “I’ll definitely go if you go. That way we can still hang out together and control the hectic levels of fun I’m sure Stark is so desperate for us to have.” You say lightheartedly, hoping to convince Natasha to join you.

Natasha thinks on your words for a moment, deciding that a night in your company will be perfect, no matter the setting.

With that notion in her mind, she gives you and Tony a nod of approval, “Alright, I’ll be there.”

If only Natasha knew what she was getting herself into.

———-

*The Party*

You harshly throw yourself down into a sitting position on one of the many couches decorating the frenzied, yet remarkable party playing out within the Compound.

Through your heavy actions, you earn a distasteful glare from Yelena as she mumbles several curses in Russian before addressing you properly, “Watch yourself y/n, you nearly made me spill my beer; this jacket isn’t cheap you know- well so the guy told me as I stole it from him-“

You raise a surprised eyebrow at her words, earning an eye roll from the blonde, “Oh come on, I am totally kidding… well not entirely, I needed information, he wouldn’t give it to me, blah, blah you know how the story goes.”

You let out a light laugh at her words, failing to see where the story was heading, and opting for the safe option of not asking anymore questions in regards to the topic- the less you know the better, “Sorry Lena, I’m just exhausted. I’ve been here for forty minutes and already I’ve had to display fake smiles; engage in exasperating small talk and in all honesty I’ve lost count with how many strangers I’ve had to shake hands with to please Tony Stark himself. That man is a nightmare.”

Yelena smiles at your dismal tone, allowing your features to cross in confusion, “What?” You ask.

“Oh, nothing, nothing. Let’s just say Stark has a surprise waiting for him in his room upon his return, courtesy of Kate Bishop and myself, that he will truly hate, and in your current predicament, I think you will love.” Yelena proudly takes a mouthful of the bitter and intoxicating beer in her grasp- revelling in the knowledge that through the shared boredom of her and Kate they can produce the most mischievous plots known to the existence of the Avengers.

You release a satisfied breath at Yelena’s cryptic words, allowing a surging happiness to course through your system that all this hassle will be worth it by the end of the night- you hope.

“See, I knew I liked you for a reason Belova.”

Yelena hums in acknowledgment, “What is not to love, I am pretty cool. Though, something tells me I am not as cool as Natasha-“

Without even moving your glance towards Yelena, you send her a warning jab with your elbow, earning a menacing chuckle from her as she goes to take another sip of her beer.

Before another word can be uttered, Wanda and Kate take a seat on the opposing couch- having collected their choice of beverage to get them through the night. You give them a nod in greeting as they direct quick ‘hello’s’ towards you; having seen Maria Hill quickly making her way towards your newly formed group.

“Hey, have any of you seen Carol? I’ve literally searched the entire Compound and I cannot find her anywhere.” Maria frustratedly lets out.

Wanda tilts her head in thought until she opens her mouth in realisation, “Oh, yes she is currently challenging Thor to an arm wrestling match. They’ll be on the third floor most likely.” Wanda reveals with a smile, hoping to ease any worry within Maria.

Maria groans in annoyance, “Of course she is, man she’s a hard one to find when you need her. Um, how do you get to the third floor again?” She asks unsure, knowing the Compound is like an endless maze thanks to Tony’s continuous modifications of the building.

You gather yourself up to stand by Maria, readying yourself to point an arm out to direct her gaze to the concealed staircase used to access the third and fourth floor.

Before you can verbally direct Maria, your eyes land on quite potentially the most magnificent sight to ever be graced upon you.

Natasha slowly makes her way into the colossal room, allowing her viridescent eyes to roam the guests dancing and mingling their way across the open space.

Her image is flawless; her wine red and signature hair perfectly reflects the multitude of colourful lights that easily roam their way throughout the room; her chosen outfit entailing a ravishing black dress that hugs her body to an impeccability that can only belong to Natasha Romanoff herself. However, the detail that traps your attention most is the cherry shaded lipstick blanketing her addictive, plump lips.

Having noticed your engrossed state, Wanda takes it upon herself to guide Maria over to Carol herself; biting her lip at the blaring thoughts your mind can conjure in appreciation for Natasha’s goddess capabilities.

The nearing of clicking heels snaps you out of your own mind, as Natasha spots you from a far and eagerly makes her way over to you.

You allow yourself to close the distance at a heightened pace, refusing to withstand another second without Natasha being near you.

Through your diverted attention, you frustratedly stumble towards Natasha; who luckily stabilises you with ease, “Oh, careful y/n. I’ve not even been here for ten seconds and you’re already falling for me.” Natasha teases with a smirk.

You quickly compose yourself and mumble a ‘thank you’ towards her before finding your voice, “You wish Romanoff.”

Unbeknownst to you, she truly hopes she has such an effect on you.

Filling the silence, a sharp pain strikes you at the back of your neck, producing a grimace from you as you notice a metal bottle cap drop to the floor, beside your foot. You turn to the direction of its supposed origin- noticing the impressed faces of Kate and Yelena at the obtaining of your attention.

“When you are quite finished drooling- I mean talking to my Sister. Would you be so kind as to fetch us some more drinks.” Yelena taps her empty bottle in emphasis of its now drink-free state.

You roll your eyes with a shake of your head at Yelena words, turning your sight back towards Natasha who is failing to stifle a laugh at Yelena’s teasing, “I swear I’m going to kick Barton’s ass for teaching Kate that bottle cap trick.” You rub your neck in a soothing motion from the strike inflicted by the Younger Archer.

Natasha hums in agreement, knowing Clint has the tendency to show certain members of the team the more rebellious tricks opposed to the ones instructed for delivery by S.H.I.E.L.D.

“So, can I get you something to drink? My treat.” You remark, knowing it’s an open bar and hoping to catch a smile from Natasha.

She doesn’t disappoint as her alluring smile forms at your offer, “Hmm, surprise me.” She responds, earning an unexpected ‘oh’ from you.

“I’ll be right back, Miss Romanoff.” You take your leave to collect the drinks requested by your closest teammates; hoping to rush back so you don’t get dragged across the room to meet another one of Tony’s guests that he insists you greet.

Natasha watches you go before finishing her journey to the area of couches you were occupying before her arrival.

As she goes to sit down in a vacant seat, she intentionally ignores Kate and Yelena, who in their less than sober state have taken it upon themselves to replicate yours and Natasha’s conversation- with some additional kissing noises and outrageous flirtation that has Natasha contemplating in the not so subtle act of bashing their heads together, in hope of knocking some maturity into them- hope being the key word.

Luckily for you, but not so lucky for Natasha, a rather giddy and lightheaded Tony makes his way over to her; having made thorough use of his own open bar.

“Widow! Natasha! There you are, I have been searching all over for you, you little minx.” The little filter that Tony had in the first place has completely shattered with each dose of alcohol that he has consumed over the party’s duration.

Tony shuffles over to the seat next to Natasha, causing her to move over quickly to avoid Tony’s lack of awareness of his surroundings to cause him to unintentionally sit on her lap.

As he snuggles his way into the seat, he nods his head towards Yelena and Kate, not caring to strike up a conversation with the two, “Now, Romanoff, part of me thought you’d be too, well your earnest self to attend my little shindig.”

Natasha decides to entertain Tony in his current state, knowing he’ll soon move on once his boredom reaches its peak, “Oh really, why is that may I ask?”

Tony sways his movements slightly to turn towards Natasha, intaking a deep breath to keep his thoughts in check, “Well, to put it quite simply Widow; you’ve lost your touch. You’re not as fun and exciting as you once were. We want the old Romanoff back-“ Tony interrupts himself with a strike of a firm hand towards his leg, directing attention to his apparent plea.

Natasha scowls at Tony, “What are you talking about? I haven’t lost my ‘touch’.” She attempts to defend herself, forgetting that Tony’s mind is not of sober thoughts.

Just as Tony goes to open his mouth once more, you arrive back to the area; passing over Yelena’s and Kate’s drink as they mindlessly take them from you, having lost themselves in their own conversation.

“Hey, what’s going on?” You ask cautiously, noticing the unnerving glare Natasha is directing at Tony- who seems completely unphased and unaware of the impact of his words.

“Oh, just telling Widow here how boring she is now, and how we’re all glad she could join us.” Tony rambles on, attempting to grab at the chilled beer in your hand that you gathered for Natasha.

You swiftly pull it away from him, “Tony, stop being an ass. Nat is probably, actually no, is the most entertaining member on this team. Natasha and boring don’t mix.” You effortlessly defend Natasha, knowing insecurities of her impression towards the others has come up in conversation. Yes, Natasha is a confident woman, though the inflicting damage caused by the Red Room still infiltrates her mind in cruel and vile ways in which she feels as though she has to change the person she was created to be, to be the one the team loves and supports.

Tony obnoxiously blows a surge of air through his lips in disbelief, “Please, we all know I am the most interesting member present. I mean, take this example for instance: if we got a rock, a plain, ordinary rock, I would find it highly taxing and difficult to differentiate between Romanoff and this boring rock that I somehow acquired.” Tony loses himself in his mindless babbling.

You look over towards Natasha, feeling your heart pang in turmoil at her disheartened features. All of her tormenting worries are being announced right in front of her; assisting in the miserable tears cascading down her face.

You go to reach out for Natasha before she abruptly stands up and removes herself from the scene.

The sudden action captures Yelena’s attention, filling her with concern for her sister.

“Nat? Sestra!? What is going on?” Yelena loudly questions, noticing your fuming gaze towards Tony.

Tony sleepy looks over each member present, completely unaware of the hurt caused by his stupidity in the moment, “Since Romanoff has left us in such a hurry, can I have her beer?” Tony reaches out once more for the drink furiously clutched in your hand.

You choose to slam the bottle down on the table placed in front of the couches, not caring over the alcohol now tainting the surface, “You’re lucky you’re not wearing it Stark.” You harshly direct towards Tony, opting to leave and find Natasha in hopes of consoling her.

Yelena watches the scene unfold in puzzlement, Natasha has never walked away in such a manner before, allowing her to conclude that Tony has struck a nerve with her.

Tony lazily moves forth to claim the unattended beer; ignorant to the enraged stares being directed towards him by the two younger Avengers.

——————-

You don’t know how much time has passed, but in the duration you’ve failed to locate Natasha.

With endless apologies and light shoves, you make your way through the crowded room; eyes scanning frantically in hopes that you’ll find Natasha and attempt to fix the mess created by Tony.

Frustration gets the better of you, as you rub your hands across your face to centre yourself, you’re running out of not only ideas, but places to search.

As your hand moves to cover your mouth, you spot Wanda, Maria and Carol clambering in a drunk manner up a set of stairs; releasing bouts of roaring laughter as they desperately clutch onto each other to avoid a nasty fall.

With your luck thinning out, you push your way towards them rapidly, considering the possibility they may have seen Natasha.

“Guys, have you seen Nat?” You breathlessly ask, feeling the effects of not only the exertion to travel throughout the compound as quickly as your legs can take you, but the rising heat of the hectic room.

Carol pouts in thought, “Urm, Nat? Which one is that again?” She asks Wanda and Maria, who find her fake confusion comedic.

“Carol-“

“Oh, the one with the shield huh? Or is it the bow and arrow set? I can’t quite remember-” Maria dazedly asks you, struggling to maintain focus on your features as she sways towards Wanda for stability.

“Can you all stop acting like complete and total jackasses and answer my question?!” The raise in your voice snaps a partial moment of sobriety into them.

A flash of red passes through Wanda’s irises as she attempts to assist you with her mystic abilities, “She’s at the minibar, you know the one where Thor stores the Asgardian liquor?”

Your eyes light up at Wanda’s answer, finally being one step closer to finding Natasha, “Wanda, you’re a lifesaver. Thank you so much!” You shout as you jog towards the specified location.

You make it across to the minibar in record time, refusing to waste one more second. As you release that final push through the remaining guests that stand in your way, that’s when you find yourself witnessing the rather destructive behaviour Natasha is displaying.

She readies herself another shot of what can be presumed to be one of Thor’s many alcoholic delights that decorate this area of the room.

With one quick swirl of the liquid filling her miniature glass, she releases a breath and quickly downs the shot in one; barely flinching at the burning sensation making its way down her throat.

As you near Natasha further, the drunken features that have progressed are obvious: her usually impeccable posture is slouched across the bar as she desperately raids the supply available to her; her eyes are glazed with a depressive shine- a battle between the red strain of her tears against her vivid green eyes highlights her sorrow further.

Just as Natasha goes to pour herself another drink, you place your hand slowly across the opening of the glass; preventing her from serving another round of regret and earning a scoff from a displeased Natasha.

“Move your hand, I won’t ask again.” Natasha grumbles, her voice carrying a huskiness to it that is most likely from the continued burn of each drink she has ingested.

You use your hand to slide the glass away from her and across the bar, “Natasha, maybe you should slow down. I know you’re upset, but Tony had no right to-“

Natasha staggers back more forcefully than the two of you would have expected, causing you to reach out to keep her in balance, “God y/n, I’m fine. I’m doing what I’m supposed to at parties, getting wasted and having fun. Since, I-I apparently don’t know what that is-“ Natasha rambles on her drunken words, quickly dismissing your concern.

You sigh at her state, hating the fact that she truly believes drinking her problems away will bury them- though they always find a way to re-surface, usually in the morning with a hangover on the side.

“Nat-“

Natasha shakes her head to silence you, “No, I didn’t ask for your help or your pity. Now you either join me and have fun, or you can go away.” She releases a heavy breath at her own words, knowing the alcohol is catching up with her and flooding her bloodstream.

As you move to grab the bottle Natasha is choosing to hug close to herself, a tightened grip is placed on your shoulder, “Ahhh, there you are Widow, we missed you over in our little corner-“ Tony decides to implement himself in an unwanted scene.

Natasha picks up the bottle of liquor and takes an immense gulp from its contents as she storms away from Tony. You try to follow her, until Tony stops you once more, “That reminds me, I need to introduce you to-“

You audibly groan at Tony’s incessant disregard for Natasha’s feelings, “Tony! I do not give a fuck about who you want me to meet. I’m trying to clean up a mess that you caused since you’re clearly too self absorbed to deal with it on your own tonight-“

Tony turns his features down in a rare calmness, seemingly taking your sour words towards his behaviour.

That is until Yelena rushes towards you, “Y/n, where’s Natasha!?”

“She was just here until-“ Your words are drowned out by the thunderous beat of the speakers placed around the room, as they begin to blast out a steady beat belonging to the iconic song ‘Hypnotize’ by The Notorious B.I.G.

Tony releases an ear-splitting set of whistles as his eyes land on the scene that the crowd around you eagerly rush towards.

As Yelena and yourself look towards your left, you’re met with quite frankly a horrifying scene of Natasha hoisting herself up on a steel table.

Without a second thought, you rush towards the edge of the table. Having to listen to the crowd now encouraging and cheering Natasha on for her drunken performance.

Natasha effortlessly moves to the beat resounding throughout the Compound, playing up to the chants of her name as she swings her arms in calculated movements to the rest of her body.

Each sway of her hips allows her to sink further into her routine, losing herself in the music.

Yelena attempts to catch Natasha’s attention, though the music easily overpowers any protests made, not that Natasha would listen to reason anyway.

Natasha rubs her hands across the darkened material of her dress, accentuating her features concealed by the tailored covering.

You can only watch in disbelief from the side, mortified that the situation has escalated so quickly.

As the music continues, so does Natasha’s movements. She picks up in confidence and drops her knees to surge back up into a twirl, earning a chorus of cheers.

As Natasha drops to her knees completely in front of you, she uses her focused gaze to study you; choosing to thrash her arms and body in rhythmic ways. You shake your head at her behaviour, especially when she chooses to caress your face with a gentle hand before pushing it away suddenly, attempting to get a reaction out of you.

Failing to do so, Natasha shrugs and manoeuvres herself back on her hands and knees, using the flat surface of the table to assist her movements easily. She lazily lets her hair dangle down as she continues to move her body to the music.

With a forceful flip of her head, she resumes a standing position, allowing her feet to mindlessly move for her. Though, the surrounding crowd heightens as the song goes on, causing spillages from glasses to splash wherever they may please. Natasha’s foot catches on a spillage of Vodka, causing her to slip off the table.

You instantly unfold your arms and catch her before she can hit the floor. The crowd failed to notice her fall, too engrossed in the music and atmosphere.

Natasha wraps her arms around your neck as you attempt to stand her up. However, from her drunken state and constant twirls, her head takes a turn for the worst and sends her vision spinning. She chooses to fully relax into your arms, refusing to stand.

Yelena grabs Natasha’s arm in order to pull her up some more, “This is not like her at all, I do not know what to do.” Yelena announces, worried for her Sister.

“Lena, I’ll look after her and make sure she is okay. You go find the others and try and get everyone to go home.” You offer to Yelena, knowing her increased worry may not be the best for the situation regarding Natasha currently.

Yelena nods and gives you a grateful smile; briefly hugging Natasha before making her way across the room.

Having time to ground herself, Natasha stands up slightly. You move a steady arm under her as she wraps one arm across your shoulder, giving her the guidance needed to stagger out from the crowds.

As Natasha is incredibly unsteady on her feet, her constant sways and staggers resort to you practically carrying her to the elevator; deducing that stairs to the Avenger’s living quarters may not be suitable for Natasha at this moment in time.

Taking the last steps towards the elevator doors, you tighten your grip on Natasha as you use your free arm to press the ‘call’ button for the elevator.

In the distance the music slowly dies down, allowing you to hear Natasha’s words, “That was such a good party, we should do more things like that, huh y/n/n.”

You find yourself agreeing with Natasha, hoping to keep her awake enough and in light spirits to make the journey back to her room easier.

As the doors open, you guide Natasha forward, until she refuses your help and leans against the bar fixed onto the wall of the modern elevator. You make a point to stay close to her, knowing her confidence in her own balance is greatly misjudged.

“J.A.R.V.I.S, can you take us to the living quarters level please?” You input your desired floor choice to the A.I. system, receiving confirmation.

“No, let’s go up to the roof, the stars will be out and we can look at each and every one of them.” Natasha slurs out.

You shake your head at her words, “I think what you need is sleep.” You direct towards an unimpressed Natasha.

She pouts her lip in challenge at your words, “Well maybe sleep needs me, did you consider that y/n?” Natasha asks seriously, causing you to chuckle at her confusing remark.

“I do apologise Nat, how silly of me for not considering that option.” You play along, allowing Natasha to rest her head on your shoulder at your agreement.

“Mhm, very silly. Hey J.A.R.V.I.S, did you see me dance?” Natasha sleepily questions the A.I. as the elevator shifts in movement to journey upwards towards the correct floor.

“Indeed Miss Romanoff, it was rather… splendid.”

Natasha closes her eyes and beams at J.A.R.V.I.S’ words, earning an eye roll from you, not forgetting the stress it caused to Yelena and yourself.

As you arrive at the designated floor, you whisper to Natasha in order to not disturb the serenity created from the sudden silence, “Hey, we’re here.”

Natasha intakes a sharp breath through her nose as she goes to move forward, though this time she reaches out for your help- which you gladly provide.

You pace yourself towards Natasha’s bedroom door, only experiencing the odd trip from her unsteady feet.

Once you make it, you’re stopped by Natasha’s curious questioning, “Why are we here? This isn’t my door.”

You frown at her words, “What do you mean? This is your door Nat.”

Natasha shakes her head defiantly, “No, this isn’t my door, my door is charcoal coloured.”

You look towards the charcoal door in front of you, smirking at the realisation that the alcohol isn’t done influencing Natasha’s serious nature.

“Well if it isn’t your door, who’s is it?” You question.

Natasha studies your face intently, quite possibly attempting to gauge an answer from you, “Hmm, I guess we’ll never know.” Natasha sighs out eventually.

You hum in agreement as you input Natasha’s passcode on the Lock Screen sealing the door- having exchanged each other’s passcodes for any late night visits the pair of you have picked up on along the months of your ever-growing friendship.

Once the code is accepted and a successful beep is heard, you push down on the handle of the door and enter Natasha’s well organised room.

Natasha gazes in astonishment at the tech, apparently never having seen it before- rejecting the possibility of her daily use of the tech to enter and lock her own bedroom.

As she slurs out her pure amazement at the action carried out, you guide her into her room and gently allow her to sit on her bed, moving to switch on the closest light.

As the desk light partially illuminates the room, Natasha flinches at the bright source, grumbling some curses at the pain straining her eyes.

She uses her hands to rub at her eyes in an attempt to work out the pain, unknowingly smudging her once perfectly kept mascara across her eyes.

As she looks up at you, you notice her make-up predicament and move towards her en suite to fetch several make-up wipes to remove the excess marks now smeared across her face.

“Come here.” You say as you sit next to her, guiding her gaze towards you as you gently move the damp wipe across her face delicately.

Natasha closes her eyes and relaxes into your movements, not having the energy to do much else and feeling the initial buzz of the alcohol wearing off.

As you continue to clear her face, she mumbles out a quiet ‘thank you’.

“What for?” You speak gently as you concentrate on your task.

Natasha opens her eyes once she feels your movements stop, reaching for another wipe to remove her lipstick, “For looking after me, for always being there for me. For being you.” She lets out slowly.

“Always Nat, you’re one of the most important people in my life, I’d do anything to be there for you.”

Natasha’s head suddenly lolls to the side, causing you to put your hands up either side of her to prevent her from falling until she steadies herself- tiredness settling in.

As a few seconds pass for Natasha to regain herself, she speaks once more, “I’m sorry for snapping at you earlier when you tried to help me.”

You wave a hand to dismiss her words, “Don’t worry about it, you were upset and Tony was being an asshole. I get it.”

As you go to bunch the used and now dried out make-up wipes, Natasha suddenly finds herself asking, “W-would you maybe stay the night?”

Her eyes widen momentarily in fear of rejection, until you smile at her words, “Yeah, of course I will.”

Natasha feels a bubbling of excitement in her stomach, with having you taking care of her and willing to stay, she uses her missed opportunity from earlier in the day to fuel her newfound confidence from what she can only assume to be the alcohol, “Y/n, I have feelings for you. Not like a best friend kind of way, more of a I want to spend every waking minute of everyday loving you kind of way.-“

You freeze in your place, never expecting those words to ever leave Natasha’s mouth- of course you’ve hoped for them, but to hear them out loud is everything you could have dreamed for and more.

Unfortunately for Natasha, she doesn’t have insight to your mind and fails to notice the now heart fluttering thoughts bursting with the idea that Natasha reciprocates your love clouding your mind.

Natasha retreats into herself, silently scolding herself for being so careless with her emotions. How could she be so naive to think you’d feel the same way, she should have never assumed you’d automatically understand her love for you. She should have never got into this state because now she could have cost herself your friendship.

Natasha continues to torment herself, unwillingly reliving the haunting lessons and words originating from the Red Room itself.

That is until you speak up, “Natasha, I have feelings for you too-“

Natasha meets your gaze with tear filled eyes, to which you instantly move closer to wipe away any that dare to escape.

She can’t help the sobs that escape her, pure relief of knowing you feel the same way about her as she does for you.

You steadily bring her into a hug, choosing to shuffle the two of you back towards the headboard of the bed and seeking a more comfortable position.

Natasha moves herself to lay against your side as you draw soothing circles across her arm. From the mixed emotions of the night and the alcohol, it was bound to end in tears, she’s just thankful to have you here to comfort her.

“I was so scared you didn’t feel the same way.” Natasha sniffles out, causing you to give her a reassuring squeeze.

“Nat, I’ve always known how much I love you. Everything about you is so captivating. You never fail to make me smile or laugh; you’re always there for me when I need you. You make me want to be the best version of myself Natasha. I know I’d be lost without you, because without you Nat, life would lose all meaning. You give me so much to look forward to, it was just being able to hang out with you and see your mesmerising smile in the morning; that or some sarcastic remark that I should probably take offence towards but you’re so quick witted, I’ll let it slide. Though now, I get to look forward to so much more, like-“

You choose to look down and come to the realisation that Natasha is asleep, soft snores sounding from her as she uses half of your body as a designated pillow.

Refusing to disturb her peacefulness, you relax your body into the mattress and allow a form of slumber to overcome you, not before whispering a soft ‘goodnight’ to Natasha, finally knowing that the woman that stole your heart all those months ago, is the woman you’ll happily love for the remainder of your days.

———-

A soft heat spreads across your cheek as your eyes flutter open from the sunlight that trickles through the gaps of open blinds across the room from you.

In your sleepy haziness, it takes you a moment to register your surroundings, until the events of the previous night come rushing back to you.

A slight shift from the woman beside you catches your attention, as does the sticky note attached to her shoulder. You slowly move to peel it away, successfully not disturbing Natasha as you move to read the note.

‘It is about time you two declared your undying love for each other!

Y/n, thank you for taking care of Natasha and always being someone we can all rely on.

Sestra, I have left some painkillers and water on the side for your undoubtedly raging headache- and yes I will be back in the morning to remind you of all the embarrassing things you got up to.

Lena. ’

You smile at the handwritten note, looking over to see the stated painkiller and water combo for Natasha’s awaiting hangover on her desk- Yelena must have come in to check on Natasha after everyone went home.

Your thoughts are disturbed when a rather groggy Natasha speaks, “My head feels as though the Hulk himself has played football with it.”

You chuckle at Natasha’s words, loving the way she snuggles further into your embrace. As you are about to ask Natasha how she is feeling, she beats you to the mark with her own question.

“So, you love me huh?” Natasha suddenly asks.

You look down to see her eyes now fixated on your face, “I wasn’t sure if you would have remembered.” You let out, relieved beyond compare that Natasha recalled the conversation from the night before.

“Of course I do, when you love someone for all that time and they say it back; you make a point to remember it y/n/n.” Natasha smiles up at you, admiring your beauty up close, desperate to stay in this moment forever- despite the throbbing head and burning throat.

“Now, if you really do love me, then you’ll get me some painkillers and-“

“Already taken care of.” You pass Natasha the note left behind by Yelena. She squints furiously as she attempts to decipher Yelena’s note, widening her eyes and closing them several times to work the tiredness out of them.

Natasha groans in displeasure once she reaches the end of the note, “Oh god, was I really that bad last night?” She asks as she uses the note to cover her embarrassed features.

You tilt your head in pretend thought, “Well… yes, you were very soft and it was quite the experience but don’t worry, your secret is safe with me.”

Natasha playfully smacks your arm, moving herself to hide her head under her pillow to mumble out a false ‘I hate you’.

You laugh as you remove the pillow from her face and lean down to see her, taking care not to disturb her pained head too much, “I love you too.” You reply in the same manner as Natasha, allowing her to lean up and place a soft, yet well worth the wait kiss on your lips.

As you pull away, you fail to disguise the blush spreading across your face; using Natasha’s tactic of using the pillow to shield your face from her teasing manner.

A few stolen kisses; many whispered ‘I love you’s’ and unlimited heartwarming hugs later, you could finally admit that life couldn’t be more perfect.

It’s safe to say that you’re officially drunk on love.

————————

Taglist: @beefromanoff

#natasha romanoff #marvel #mcu #black widow #natasha romanoff one shot #natasha romanoff x reader #marvel fan fic #slightly smarter nat’s writing #slightly smarter nat #slightly smarter nat’s requests #natasha romanoff fic #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha x reader #anon request #black widow x reader #avenger reader #avengers imagine #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff fanfic

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torialefay · 1 month

Text

☀️ Everyday Idol 🌙 (Chapter 12)

✨ possible bangchan x reader (f), possible jungkook x reader (f)

✨ head on over to my masterlist if you haven’t checked out the previous chapters!

✨wc: ~5.5k

✨ friends to lovers? possible love triangle? obsession? angst and future smut??? a little fluff.

✨ summary: JYP Entertainment launches a new show and y/n somehow gets recruited. Even though she doesn’t particularly care about the outcome of the show, she does particularly care about one of the artists she met: Chris from Stray Kids. Does Chris feel the same or will a potential relationship with one of his friends overcome what y/n feels for him?

✨ warnings: cursing from time to time, smut!!!! 🔞

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Previous Chapter Recap:

“What is it with her? I don’t know what kind of game she’s playing, but trust me, you’ll want to get out of it. Don’t come crying to me when you realize that.”

“What are you talking about?” Chan responded, crossing his brows.

“Listen, we can sit here and play ‘fake nice’ all we want, but we all know what I said about her earlier was true. From personal experience, trust me when I say I know what she’s up to with him. He may be your friend, but I promise you, I know way more about what he does than you do. You can paint Y/N as whatever character you want, but at the end of the day, she’s just his sloppy seconds. At least I have the courage to say it to her.”

Chan felt his head begin to spin. What did she mean by that? Sloppy seconds?

“Please, just go,” was all Chan could respond with.

After standing and observing him for a few more seconds, Jenna finally crosses her arms and huffed. “Whatever, but just know that you better not play favorites tomorrow. It would be pretty embarrassing on your end.” She gave one final eyebrow raise before turning on her heels to jet out the door.

Chan could do nothing but stand there, desperately trying to make sense of the information she’d given him.

—————————————————————————————

Note: Character relations you can refer back to if needed.

Y/n- Changbin’s mentee

Anna- best friend, Felix’s mentee

Kara- Seungmin’s mentee

Sunnie- Han’s mentee

Mindi- Hyunjin’s mentee

Nisha- Lee Know’s mentee

Alyssa- Jeongin’s mentee

Jenna- Chan’s mentee

—————————————————————————————

Friday, 10 PM

Y/N’s POV:

You smiled a big goofy smile while kicking your feet up in bed.

“Quit texting Jungkook and go to sleep,” you heard Anna yell playfully from the other bed.

“I’m just saying goodnight,” you replied, bringing your voice up and sticking your tongue out at her.

At that, you started to blush, but not necessarily from embarrassment. More from not being able to swallow down the fluttery feelings that were coming from your stomach. This was all too good to be true.

Well you did. Everyone did. They planned another group dinner for everyone to go to. Although you weren’t sure how well it would go after everyone is getting evaluated tomorrow. You were praying to the gods that everyone did well and there’d be no drama afterwards.

‘Who knows, I could get so torn up after tomorrow that I don’t even make it to eat.’

You let out a lovey-dovey sigh before resting your phone on the bed next to you. Feeling full suddenly- full on what, you weren’t sure- you grabbed onto your pillow and held it tightly to your chest. You squeezed and squeezed, never wanting to forget the way you did in this moment. With so much hope.

———————————————————————

Saturday, 5 PM

Y/N’s POV:

Your heart had been pounding so rigorously that you were sure you’d pass out. Thud after thud after thud in your chest. But all of that stopped once the curtains rose and the lights hit you. Both you and Anna had been dolled up by the makeup team to the point that you barely recognized yourself. You looked good and felt good. All you had to do now was make the performance good. You zoned out and let yourself fall into the song.

Before you knew it, you were belting every note, hitting every motion, and harmonizing perfectly with Anna. For those three and a half minutes, the two of you focused solely on bringing the emotions out of the other and letting yourself truly melt into the role. It wasn’t until you’d both hit the final, ending high note that you allowed yourself to fall out of it and see what was going on around you.

There were claps already erupting from around the stage. Your peers had all jumped up at the ending note and were cheering you both on as you followed it out, finishing strong. You watched in shock as you registered the judging panel in front of you, consisting of JYP, Chan, and two men you’d seen before with the show but hadn’t remembered their names. JYP himself was giving you a standing ovation. Chan’s eyes were fixated on you.

You and Anna looked at each other giddily, as if you’d already been given the best news you could ever receive. You both scooted closer to each other to grab hands and squeeze, bringing your hands up and then back down for a large bow. It was cheesy, but fitting, you thought. You both smiled big at each other as you waited for the cheers to calm.

“Good job,” Anna mouthed to you with the biggest, whitest smile you’d ever seen.

“You too,” you smiled back.

“Girls,” JYP started jovially, holding both of his arms out. “That was just wonderful. Really really wonderful. I mean…” he brought his hands back in so he could clap them together again. “You know, I normally sit up here and tell people what I need to see from them to be able to make them an idol. What they could do better on. But you girls…” he dropped his head down with a soft chuckle. He shook his head in disbelief. “You girls are already there,” he grinned, looking you both in the eyes. “I have nothing else,” he said, looking down at the panel of the other judges. “I loved it. It was beautiful. It was heartfelt. It was everything I could have hoped for it to be. I’ve got nothing,” he commented happily before taking his seat again. He motioned his arm out toward the three beside him.

Chan was next in line. For some reason, he looked like he was about to puke. Wasn’t it you who should be doing that?

He couldn’t take his eyes off of you, not for a second. He just continued to look. Continued to stare until it was almost uncomfortable.

Finally, he coughed something up. “I agree. You could tell there was a lot of emotion put into it. From both of you,” he looked back and forth between you and Anna before resting back on you. “It was a really good performance, and I’m really proud of how hard you both have worked.” He ended with a small grin, finally prying his eyes from your frame.

You didn’t have a moment to think before the next two judges began to speak. One noted how personable the song was, while the other said that he only wished you’d both been a little less fluid with your movements (whatever that meant). Overall, you were both elated and clung to each other excitedly as you exited the stage to watch the rest of the performances.

Kara had paired with Mindi, giving a traditional “cutesy” girl group vibe, which the judges said wasn’t very original but was very well executed. Nisha and Sunnie performed a super empowering song that had a lot of sexy elements to it, which really stood out and they were highly praised for it with only a few criticisms. You giggled as you watched Chan try to give constructive criticism in a way that wouldn’t sound mean. You could tell he hated having to give any feedback at all. Jenna and Alyssa also performed very well, as much as you hated to admit it. Their song was strong. Stronger than you’d expected. But then again, you couldn’t help but wonder how much of it was Chan’s doing. They did have some negative comments on shaky vocals, but overall it was a good evaluation. As much as you weren’t a fan of the two girls (Jenna mostly, Alyssa was really just guilty by association), you were glad that everyone did seemingly well, and you could have a nice day off tomorrow with no drama.

“Will all of you please come back on the stage?” JYP had announced once each group had been evaluated. Satisfied, you rose from your seat and headed up the stairs to stand back in the spotlight that lit the center of the platform.

“I must say…” JYP continued, looking down at a note pad. “I’m very impressed with this group. You’ve come a long way in such a short amount of time… Normally, this would be the point that I would have to really sit here and think about who has what it takes to carry on.” He cleared his throat. “But after watching your performances, I don’t think I will have to make that decision today. I would like to continue each of you in this program,” he smiled.

You watched as the girls, all lined up in a row exchanged looks and animated smiles left and right. You sent a congratulatory one with a nod as well. As your eyes fell back on the panel of judges, you watched as Chan’s eyes settled onto your face, his expression softening as he gave you a big grin. It was the first time in a long time that you caught a glimpse of the Channie you thought you knew.

“Now, the judges and I have already commented on what you need to work on. I want you to take the day off tomorrow to relax and reset, but please keep in mind what you need to work on. I hope to see improvement by your next evaluation.” He gave one final smile before bowing slightly. You all mirrored his actions, going into deep bows as your signal that the assessment was complete.

You hugged some of the girls necks as you exchanged “congratulations” and compliments on how well they performed. To your luck, Jenna had already left the stage and you wouldn’t be forced to exchange any performative words. All of the SKZ boys followed suit and joined the group of you that had congregated on the stage.

“There’s my mentee,” Changbin said excited, rushing up behind you. He shook your shoulders gently before giving you a hug. “You did so good!!!” Bin was an expressive guy, but this was the most excited you’d ever seen him.

You laughed out loud at his enthusiasm as you hugged him back, gripping him tightly. “Thanks Binnie, I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“I know that’s right,” he said jokingly as he pulled his arms away.

To your left, Felix had found Anna and was exchanging the same compliments. They both turned to you as Changbin addressed the whole group.

“I shouldn’t say it, but I don’t care. The guys were all so impressed with you two. Everyone said your song was the best one of the night… Don’t tell anyone else I said that though,” Bin said, looking around to see if anyone had overheard him, still giggly. “I feel like a proud parent,” he added, all giddy.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell,” Anna said, reaching in to give Changbin a hug too.

“The part he’s leaving out is where he definitely tried to take all the credit,” Felix laughed.

“Hey! That is not what happened!” Changbin laugh-yelled back.

“Oh really Binnie? Are you sure? That doesn’t sound like you at alllll,” you joked sarcastically, smiling at him to let him know you were just playing.

“No, no, what I said was… Well I did agree that it was because of me, I guess he’s right, but I was KIDDING,” Changbin defended himself.

“Don’t worry, I let them know you guys really just have massive talent and that it didn’t have anything to do with me or this meathead,” Felix lightly slapped Changbin on the head.

As the two continued to bicker, you felt two fingers tap the back of your shoulder. You almost couldn’t believe it when you spun around to see Chan standing in front of you, still with a big beaming grin on his face.

“You did really good out there. I know I already said it on stage, but I wanted to tell you personally,” he offered up. He sounded almost… hopeful?

“Thank you,” you smiled at him, still unsure what to make of his change in demeanor.

“Yeah, of course,” Chan cleared his throat. “Umm, I was wondering if you were going to the dinner after this? With everyone?”

What is he up to?

“Yeah, I’ll be there,” you answered cheerily, acting like nothing about this exchange was strange at all.

“Okay cool, I was gonna go too. I guess I’ll see you there then, yeah?”

“Sure, I’ll see ya there,” you replied with a smile.

‘Well if that wasn’t one of the weirdest and most forced conversations I’ve had…’ you thought as Chan walked off. ‘Maybe he realized he doesn’t have to be so hard on me, so he’d easing off a bit?’ It didn’t make sense, but you decided that nothing in your life really did over these past couple of weeks.

You used the opportunity of silence to grab your phone from your pocket and text Jungkook the name of the restaurant and around what time you thought you’d be ready for him to pick you up. You couldn’t wait for him to talk about what was going on with Chan. See if maybe this is what he’d been talking about.

———————————————————————

Saturday, 8:16 PM

Y/N’s POV:

You doubled over laughing as Kara opened her mouth wide, panting, before grabbing her glass of water to chug. Seungmin had bet her 20,000 won that she wouldn’t be able to down the entire gob of wasabi that was on her plate. Apparently, he was wrong, and now Kara was 20,000 won richer. She definitely had tears forming in her eyes, but at least she got something out of it.

A waiter came over, brining a large bottle of soju and several shot glasses.

“Ahhhh, thank you,” Changbin said, accepting the items graciously before turning toward the group. “Alright, let’s get this party started, ah?” he said, wiggling his eyebrows up.

“Changbin rich,” you heard Lee Know call from the other side of the group. You didn’t know much about soju, but from examining the bottle, it seemed to be one of the higher-end brands.

“Only the best for my team of winners!” he exclaimed jokingly.

The group had a laugh and a few more jabs before beginning to talk amongst themselves as Changbin began pouring the liquid into each glass. You turned your phone over on the table to check the time.

’Damn, it’s almost 8:30.’ The time you’d told Jungkook to pick you up. You didn’t quite feel like drinking anyway, so you weren’t too bothered. You were sure you wouldn’t mind once you got to be with Jungkook.

“Hey Bin, I’ve gotta leave soon, so I’m not gonna drink, okay?” you stated, still wanting confirmation.

Changbin paused from sending another shot glass down the row of people. “Come on, not even one shot? Just one? Then we can let you go,” Changbin pleaded with puppy dog eyes.

You shook your head smiling. “Okay fineeee, I guess one won’t kill me,” you gave in.

“Woo woo,” Felix said, fist bumping the air. He’d already downed a bottle of soju during dinner and you could tell he was feeling the effects. A few of the others, including Chan, had gotten drinks as well… and boy, did it show. Talk about lightweights.

Once Changbin finished passing the glasses, he turned to Chan. “Would our leader like to lead us in a toast?”

Chan, obviously feeling a bit looser than before, put on a big smile as he held up his glass. “To the best mentors and mentees in all of Korea,” he said sloppily, giggling lightly at himself.

Everyone raised their glasses in unison, clinking them together before throwing their heads back and to the side to knock down the shot.

As soon as you felt the burn in your throat, you intently disciplined yourself to not gag for fear it would actually come back up. Instead, you coughed a bit.

“Jesus, how strong is this?!” you questioned, looking at Changbin. You watched as he spun the bottle around to read the label.

“35%,” he said with big eyes.

You knew it. That shit was double the alcohol content of what you’d normally get in soju.

“So you basically made me do two shots instead of one,” you said with a smirk.

“To be honest, I didn’t know. I just knew it was fancy, so I ordered it,” he admitted… to no one’s surprise.

“Give me another,” Chan said, reaching his glass over to rest in front of Changbin.

“Woah, woah slow down,” Changbin said. “I was thinking about starting a drinking game.”

“Okay, well give me another, and then we’ll start the game,” Chan said again, definitely feeling lighter.

“Oooo Channie-hyung is going all in tonight!” Felix laughed. “Give me one too!” he said before reaching his glass in next to Chan’s.

“Okay, okay,” Changbin said as he began filling the glasses. “But I’m not taking care of either of you if you get sick tonight!”

“Hell, I’ll take care of him if it means I get to experience the fucked up version of Chan,” Seungmin teased.

You checked your phone one final time before seeing the numbers 8:27 flash across your screen. “Alright guys, I’d better go,” you said, ready to stand. Everyone returned back their small waves and goodbyes.

“Be careful! What are you rushing off to anyway?” Felix asked as he knocked his drink back.

“Oh I’m just going to see a friend,” you said, playing off the embarrassment you felt by standing up.

“Ooooo,” Kara said teasingly. “Anyone special?” she winked.

“No,” you rolled your eyes as you smiled, trying to sound light-hearted. “Now,” you said, taking a step back and to the side. “You all be good and please don’t get too crazy. Someone watch over these two,” you laughed, pointing at Chan and Felix.

After waving goodbye, you stooped down to whisper to Anna. “Remember I’m just gonna be with Jungkook. Please text me later when you get home. I just wanna know you made it safe.”

“You know I’ll be fine,” he smiled, leaning in to give you a hug.

As you turned to leave, you heard Chan’s voice behind you. “Wait! Y/n, are you walking alone?”

You turned back shyly, wishing he hadn’t asked. “Oh, uh no-“ you stumbled a bit. “No, I’m just gonna wait outside for my ride.”

“Well here,” Chan said, springing up from his seat and rushing over to where you stood. “I’ll wait with you. Don’t want you to have to be alone,” he slurred. His cheeks were flushed pink from the alcohol. You knew that that’s what all of this had to be about. He was already drunk.

“Chan really, it’s okay,” you said, holding your hands up to let him know he could back away.

“No, no I insist,” he said dramatically, linking his arm in yours before beginning to pull you towards the door. You found his newfound antics funny and laughed happily as you waved a final goodbye to your friends. You followed willingly as Chan led you through the door and outside to the cold air, where you had hoped Jungkook would already be waiting on you.

As you stood for a moment looking around, his car was nowhere to be found and no text yet. So there you stood in the silence with Chan. Great.

“So where are you going?” Chan asked, still clinging to your arm, his voice sounding free and without a care in the world.

“Oh nowhere really.” You wondered for a moment if you could use this time to be level-headed with him. “Why the sudden interest?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve always had interest,” he looked off, sounding more serious now. “Really, where are you going?” he stared into your eyes.

“Well, if you must know, I’m actually going to hang out with Jungkook… Sorry if this is weird,” you backed away from him for a moment. “I know he’s your friend. I don’t know if he’s said anything but…” you looked down before looking back up, putting a hopeful smile on your face.

When Chan didn’t respond, only looking off, you took that as your cue to keep talking. Was he really shocked? You tried to mull it over. “Thank you for introducing us by the way. He’s a really cool guy. I can see why you guys are friends,” you offered up a sheepish smile.

You watched as Chan stumbled a bit, trying to take a step toward you to link arms with you once again. “That’s what I was afraid of. Listen Y/N,” he leaned in closer. “Just be careful with him. He’s uhh… He’s a good friend, you know? But he can be a bit persuasive sometimes.” He whispered at the last part.

“What are you talking about?”

“I just don’t want you getting into anything you can’t get out of… Or feel like there’s anything you have to do for him. That’s all,” Chan looked at you deep in your eyes. You recognized the look he was giving you. It was pity… and maybe a bit of condescendence?

“Do you think I’m-?” You stopped for a moment, backing up from Chan once more. You let out a laugh in disbelief. “You think I’m fucking Jungkook?” You shook your head, irritated smile on your face, as you watched Chan’s face go blank. Like he didn’t expect you to come out and say the actual words.

“Seems like you’ve been talking to Jenna quite a bit, huh? It’s her word and now that’s what everybody thinks of me. Unbelievable,” you turned around, letting out a laugh in frustration.

“No, no, I mean…” Chan started, stumbling a bit towards you. “I mean you don’t need to go with him. You need to come with me instead. You don’t know him.” Chan was slurring to the point that you couldn’t take him seriously, but goddamn if it didn’t set you off. You felt your face flash red and your heart shatter all in the same second.

“Come home with you instead? Really? That’s what this is about?” You didn’t even know what else to say. Your feelings were crushed. Now that Jenna had branded you as the “local whore”, that’s what Chan wanted. That’s why he’d come outside with you. You could barely stand to breathe the same air as him.

“You’re drunk Chris,” you yelled, your eyes tearing up. You couldn’t find another way to explain it. “You’re drunk! You need to go back inside!”

You turned to look as a set of bright lights began to shine behind you. As it inched closer, you could make out the Mercedes logo of Jungkook’s car. You almost breathed a sigh of relief before Chan interrupted.

“No really! I’m fine! But,” he looked at the car that was now put in park behind you. “But, just listen to me. It’s not what you think it is, please just don’t go with him! I need to talk to you… alone!” he pled, his voice going in and out as he swayed back and forth. You felt a tear streaming down your cheek.

All of this for what?

“Go back inside,” you threatened, not caring now if the tears spilled out as you came closer to him. “Jungkook warned me you could be like this,” you threw at him through gritted teeth, quieter now. “And he never once made me feel like a slut.”

You hurriedly turned on your heels and rushed around the side of Jungkook’s car to throw yourself into the passenger’s seat. You didn’t want to give Chan the chance to get another single word in. Tears streamed down your face as you entered, greeting Jungkook with only the look of grief.

“Oh my god, Y/N, what’s wrong? Are you okay?” Jungkook asked, pulling his face closer to yours to examine it.

“I’ll be fine,” you choked out. “Please just get me out of here.”

He took one more hard look at you before nodding and putting his car into gear.

———————————————————————

Saturday, 9:10 PM

Y/N’s POV:

The tears had finally stopped as Jungkook did everything he could to calm you down. He was so patient, listening intently as you ranted to him. You made sure to start from the top, including Jenna and what she’d said to you yesterday. The rumors that were going around about you. How Chan had been acting like a douche, but tonight, he suddenly wanted you to stay with him.

Jungkook nodded and held onto your hand through every sentence. He listened with so much conviction, like every word you said was the most fascinating thing he’d ever heard. It was the most endearing thing you’d ever seen. And the most “seen” you’d felt since… well, since before Chan was like this.

He pulled you into his chest for a hug as you tried to stifle the last of your sniffles. You hands clung onto his back before running down it and falling flat onto the padded cushions of his couch. His original plan had been to take you for ice cream, but that was out of the question with the state you were in. You’d asked if you could come to his apartment so you’d actually have somewhere to go instead of crying in a car.

“I’m sorry that you’re having to go through all of this because of me,” Jungkook confided, sadness welling up in his eyes. “I feel so guilty.”

“No, no,” you reassured him. “None of this is because of you.” Another big sniffle in. “It’s because of… I don’t know, people who are too bored with their own lives?”

“Yeah maybe,” he smiled. “It’s not easy to be with me, and I know that. So thank you,” he smiled shyly.

“To be with you? As in…” you trailed off, your stomach beginning to somersault inside of you.

“As in- oh,” he blushed, looking down for a moment. “Sorry, I guess I can get carried away sometimes… I don’t want to make you feel like you have to rush into anything with me. I just meant…” he tried to backtrack, “it’s not easy to be seen with me I guess.”

As if the adoration you had for this man could get any bigger… You felt your heart swell up.

“You know,” you said quietly, grabbing again for his hand to intertwine your fingers with his. “I don’t think I’d mind ‘being with you’ though…” you smirked, looking up at him.

He let out a small laugh. “Oh really?” he teased, squeezing your hand. He leaned himself slightly into you, close enough that you could feel his breath on your neck as he smiled. “Well if that’s the case, that means I’d get to kiss you all I want, doesn’t it?” he whispered before placing a soft kiss on your cheek.

You felt your heart speed up. “I guess it would,” you breathed, trying unsuccessfully to hold in a smile. Your eyes flickered between his eyes and his mouth.

He mirrored you right back as he leaned in to press his lips to yours, as gently as if you’d imagined it. When you started to melt into him, he threw his mouth into you further, moving it with much more force as his hands held your face steady. You gasped as you felt his tongue run across your bottom lip, begging for entrance. You met him with your own tongue, intertwining it with his and letting it run across every inch of his mouth. You let your hands run through his hair, grappling for any part of him you could get. You could feel yourself getting worked up at the core as you groaned into him, the kiss getting deeper and deeper.

You savored the feeling of him beginning to pull on your hair with the most delicious amount of pressure. You moaned, suddenly not able to handle it anymore. In one quick swoop, you hoisted yourself up, throwing one leg over JK so that you were straddling him. He smiled into the kiss at your new position, letting his hands run up and down your waist. You made quick work of throwing one arm around his neck, the other resting on his chest as you used your new leverage to lead the kiss.

You took your time with him, feeling out every curve of his mouth with your tongue, mapping every inch so you’d never forget it. You could feel nothing anymore except for being lost in the space he encompassed. You only wanted him, all of him.

Without thinking, you instinctively began grinding your hips into him, lightly at first. Relishing in the small smile that had come over his lips, your mouth fought its way to stay attached to him.

Jungkook let his hands roam from your waist to trail lightly up and down your back. He followed every arch and every bow with so much precision that you could still feel him seconds later. As you began to grind your hips more forcefully, his hands slipped down further and further, tracing along the dimples at the bottom of your spine before settling on your ass. He held you there, pulled taught to his own body, as if it was the only correct thing in the world.

All thoughts were out the window as the wetness built up at your core, freely letting yourself grind down onto Jungkook’s growing bulge. You moaned as he moved his lips down to bite lightly at your neck, peppering down until he reached the base. The swirl of his tongue on your exposed skin was almost enough to send you over the edge. You ran a hand through his hair, using it to tilt his head even further into you, confirmation that you’d take as much as he would give you. He responded with a harder suck, letting his hands grab tightly to your ass to massage it as he pleased.

With each grind you felt yourself getting more worked up, and before you knew it, you were throbbing. Both you and Jungkook began panting heavily as you went harder and harder, leaving no room between you to breathe. You felt Jungkook’s hips buck up the slightest bit to get more friction, earning a breathy moan from you in response. He continued over and over again until you couldn’t take it anymore. You let your hand run down his body, from his neck, all the way down to just over his pants, where you rested your hand until…

Wait.

You stilled yourself as you pulled your lips back from Jungkook’s face and moved your hands to his arms. “I can’t,” you breathed.

“You can’t what?” Jungkook asked, looking up at you with eyes that were still lost in a daze, his hair tousled in every direction.

“I can’t do this. We can’t do this,” you let out a huffy sigh, full of desperation.

“I can’t… kiss you?” Jungkook asked again, his eyebrows crossing in confusion.

“No, I mean we can’t… take this farther,” you whispered, pulling yourself from him. “I’m sorry, but I just can’t,” you let yourself fall to the side of his lap so that you were no longer straddling him.

It wasn’t that anything about this moment was less than perfect. Because it- no, he- was everything you could have asked for. But you didn’t want to sleep with him before you were even together… officially.

You knew how your heart worked. If you slept with him, you’d get too attached. There would be no going back for you. And if/when things didn’t work out, you’d only be hurt more. You couldn’t do that to yourself.

You also couldn’t deny that the rumors about you had gotten to your head. It was nobody’s business, and you knew that, but still. You couldn’t help but to want to distance yourself from it.

“You don’t need to be sorry,” Jungkook said empathetically, turning his entire body to face yours. “I would never want you to do something that you aren’t ready for. I mean, I was more than happy with just kissing you,” he smiled.

His response put a soft smile on your face in reciprocation. “Yeah, I was pretty happy with that too,” you blushed, looking down.

He grabbed one of your hands back in his own, like he’d done so many times. Another light squeeze as he stared into your eyes.

“Do you think that you’d be ready for more between us though? Not sex. Just us… as in together?” He swallowed hard as you paused for a moment, shocked that you were really having this conversation. “I know it’s a big thing to think about,” he added.

When you’d told Jungkook that you wouldn’t mind being with him, you’d meant for it to be more flirty than serious. But this… this was serious.

You grinned as you came back from being locked into that moment of time, back to reality. But now, reality was like your fantasies, and your fantasies were your reality. Your head felt like it was floating.

“I think I could get used to it,” you beamed, still in a quiet tone.

You watched as all of the worries visibly melted off of Jungkook’s face. His eyes now shining bright with hope, stupid grin plastered on his face.

“In that case,” he started, letting his body reflexively move closer to you, “I’d really like to make this official. Y/N, will you be my girlfriend?”

———————————————————

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