#I never roll in advance I always line it up with getting to the actual branching point

[bibiana112]

I hadn't picked up my 999 rng run in a while and I just gotta once again highlight how this is the closest feeling to whatever Akane's going through having to watch Junpei go around making bad choices after just watching everyone and herself die horribly because of a different bad choice he made last time haha don't go through Door 7 after going through Door 5 don't doom us at the last second for the millionth time don't do that haha you're so sexy

[jeonjaemark]

advent calendar || jeon wonwoo

content warning: none || masterlist

“do you feel better now?” i whined, looking down at him.

“no, i still need to recharge.” wonwoo singsongs, snuggles deeper into me.

i roll my eyes out of annoyance when i noticed my abandoned book left on the other side of his bed. for the past ten minutes wonwoo and i have been entangled with one another since he got eliminated from his current game. he didn’t care to announce himself or do anything but interrupt my reading and cuddle with me.

wonwoo tightens his arms around my waist. if i wasn’t in the middle of reading the chapter where asher ditched his big soccer match for scarlett, i would actually be happy to cuddle with wonwoo, but right now i wanted to strangle him.

“how’s your book?”

“do.not.ask.me.that.question.” my voice simmering with quite rage. i glare into his brown eyes as he smiles up at me with pleasure.

“someone opened her book the wrong way today.” he singsongs teasingly.

“someone will end up with a broken arm if they don’t untangle themselves and let me finish the chapter i am reading.” i deadpan.

he chuckles burying his face into me, “cute.”

“you know if i didn’t know you two, i would assume you’re dating.” mingyu chimes from the doorway.

wonwoo and i exchange a brief eye contact. something sparks between us but we both look away before either of us could say something.

“i thought you left already?” wonwoo’s voice softly.

“i am just leaving but i wanted to stop by your room real quick to see my favorite couple.”

“we are not a couple.” i spat.

“then why are you wearing wonwoo’s hoodie in wonwoo’s bed cuddling with wonwoo? you know you two look quite comfortable. all he has to do is lean up and wonwoo can kiss you.” mingyu teases.

i glance down at my outfit and feel my body start to go warm feeling flustered. mingnth did have a point but he never lets me breathe without joking about how wonwoo and i are couple or could be couple. honestly i would be lying if i said i don’t think about wonwoo and i being more than friends because i do. moments like this where we are cuddling in his bed and he teases me about the current book i am reading and the lines of couple and friend blur. i mentally smack myself from spiraling deeper into thoughts and look back at mingyu.

“just get out of here and go on your gym date with dino.” i scoffed.

“being kicked out of my own house by my best friend’s best friend, that’s new.” his voice dripping with sarcasm. he sticks his tongue out me, “let me know if anything changes between you since i am the other half that lives here too. i would like an advance warning before everyone else.”

i reach for wonwoo’s pillow launching in his directions but mingyu misses my hit when closes the door. wonwoo laughs walking back to his computer.

“you know he only does that to get a rise out of you, right? you always cave into his attention.”

“yeah, i know. i gotta throw him a bone every now and then otherwise i have no one to go back and forth with.” i giggled, falling back further into wonwoo’s bed.

i reach over for my book getting lost in the pages. wonwoo groans stretching out his body before heading down the hall for the restroom. i set my book down too taking my annual stretch. when i stretch my arms my fingers reach a thin silky paper under his other pillows.

christmas wrapping paper. wonwoo must have been wrapping gifts before i arrived. i reach for my book again trying to read but it didn’t last very long. my mind kept wandering back to the gifts wonwoo could have wrapped.

who’s gift was it? what did he get? how many gifts did this person get? did he spend all year saving up for it? did it cost him a fortune?

i push myself off the bed and went straight to rummaging through his closet. luckily his clothes were all neatly folded which made it easier to skim through the different drawers and cubes. each slam of the cubes or drawers lead to dead end. i skim through the top shelf of his closet hoping to find a wrapped gift.

“where is it? where is it?” i thought to myself.

“what do you think you’re doing?” wonwoo voice echoes

“i am definitely not snooping or trying to find my christmas gift from you.” i deadpan, turning around at the sound of his voice. “i was just looking for my shirt that i left here last time.

“ it’s still in the hamper. haven’t done laundry yet.” he says watching me carefully.

i peer behind him noticing the wrapping paper near his desk. if wonwoo suspicious of me snooping he did a good job pretending to not notice.

he leans down to his desk and taps his fingers onto his keyboard, his voice cool and calm, “i didn’t wrap your christmas presents yet.”

my body freezes in place and i turn to look at him as warmth floods my cheeks. he knows. i have been caught. a teasing grin forms at his lips making me want to smack him or kiss him. i shudder at the latter walking back to his bed. there is no point in further searching.

wonwoo falls quiet except for talking into his headset with his other team mates. other than that his fingers did most of the work. there was something comforting and relaxing when i heard the the clicks of wonwoo’s keyboard. usually i have my headphones on when i read because the clicking can be distracting but most times when i am not reading i love listening to the sound. i don’t even realize i have doze off in his bed until i wake up an hour later. i reach my hand out over my body realizing wonwoo had put a blanket on me while i was napping.

“hey sleepyhead, are you fully awake now?” wonwoo asked, from his computer.

i groan nodding my head at him. he glances between his monitor and screen to look at me giggling to himself. he doesn’t walk over to me right away. he gives me some time to fully adjust to my surroundings and being awake. i ended up scrolling through my phone for a good ten minutes when he finally stood up and shuts off his computer.

“i have a little surprise for you.” he tells me. “you have to close your eyes first.”

i furrow my eyebrows together curiously, staring at him. wonwoo doesn’t move. he waits for me to close my eyes. i cover my hands over my eyes when i hear shuffling and wonwoo repeatedly reminding me to not peek and keep my eyes covered. each reminder he gave me, i would respond to saying that i am covering my eyes and not peeking.

the bed dips underneath me as he takes a seat next to me. his breath heavy and warm near my skin. if i move my hand to his chest, i swear i could feel his pulse racing like mine.

“okay open your eyes.” his voice mixed with excitement and nerves.

i flutter my eyes open adjusting to my surroundings again. wonwoo holds a giant white woven basket decorated with purple and blue ribbons in the handle. the basket filled with multiple prettily wrapped rectangles covered in snowflakes. i noticed the giant words on the front of the basket reading ‘bookvent calendar”.

“oh my god! jeon wonwoo, what did you do?” i try my best to suppress my smile, skimming through each wrapped book.

“i made you a book advent calendar.” he swipes his hand over the basket.

“yes, i can see that but how?”

my heart bursts with excitement skimming through each carefully wrapped book labeled with a number. i noticed a little card attached to the first book and opened it.

welcome to your annual december book advent christmas calendar. open one book each day according to the date up until christmas eve. enjoy, my favorite book reader. (p.s you have to record your reaction to opening each book you open)

- love your favorite gamer

wonwoo goes into explaining how he thought of the idea. how he kept tabs on the books i have read already, what books i talked about wanting to read, and the different types of special editions to my favorite series. every time i talked with him he was able to narrow down his selection to the books he has wrapped in the basket. the way his eyes light up when talking about how the idea came to him and the way his smile only grew bigger and bigger while he explained. something warm and fuzzy floods through my vein making it hard to breathe properly.

“i know how much you love reading and how happy it makes you. plus i know when you a book becomes your favorite because you can yap for hours about it or if you didn’t like it then i will never hear you talk about it after the first read.” he smiles. “sometimes when i am playing my games on my computer and i see you reacting to your books, i will either pause my game or just lose just to watch your reaction cause —“

there haven’t been many moments in my life where i was genuinely left speechless and giddy. this is one of those rare moments. to hear wonwoo confess that he loves when i talk about my books to him and how he likes seeing my reactions to them left a warm and giddy feeling. i wanted to sob on the spot over how attentive he is to me. no one in the world would have thought to have done this for me but he did this for me.

“your silence scares me a little. what do you think?” his voice concerned, staring back at me.

“i think i just fell more in love with you.” i mumbled. it took me a second to realize my words and see wonwoo’s eyes widen in shock. “i-i mean…”

“you’re in love with me?” he asked. a hint of amusement in his voice.

“i-i was talking about the books.” i clarified. “how i am in love with the books that you’ve gotten to me.”

he raises an eyebrow, “you don’t even know which books i got you yet.”

“true but that doesn’t mean i can’t be more in love with them.” i straighten my shoulders, exhaling and inhaling slowly to calm my racing pulse.

“can i ask you something?”

i nod.

“you have read so many romance books, if you could write one about us, what trope would you give us? forced proximity? friends to lovers?” he glances at me knowingly.

“you’re not going to let this one go, are you?”

he shakes his head amused, “not until you’re ready to confess what we both heard.”

the corners of my lips rise, “i am in love with jeon wonwoo and this book advent calendar confirmed it even more for me.”

“since you’re so in —-“

“i did not say so in love.” i spat defensively, shoving his shoulders.

“okay, since you’re in love with me, how about i pick you up for dinner on wednesday?” he grins.

“this feels like you’re just teasing me.” i giggled embarrassed.

“i have no ill intentions wanting to pursue you. i believe someone said earlier that if they didn’t know us, they would’ve assumed we were dating and honestly i have been thinking about us and dating for the last few months now.”

“so why say something now?” i questioned.

“cause the girl i am in love with just confessed she has mutual feelings for me too.” his voice soft and warm, making me smirk.

[mattyriddlesbitch]

Fruit Roll Ups

Mattheo Riddle x Reader

Warnings: Cussing, kissing, gender neutral terms, that's really it?

Another fic based on another Waterparks song

I got some Fruit By The Foot if you wanna come over

Yea, you can wrap your arms so tight

Right 'round my shoulders

In case you're scared of the movies I pick

I'm sorry in advance for that shit

Mattheo and you always had a very flirty relationship. At least, on his end. Complimenting you, hitting on you, telling you horrible pickup lines. He loved when you smiled or laughed at it. He’d even loved it if you rolled your eyes. He actually liked you, though. He had no idea if you liked him back or just liked his flirting.

He finally got the courage to ask you out after watching you with your friends in the courtyard while he was with friends on the other side. Theo and Blaise picked up on him staring at you and started teasing him, making fun of him for pining over you but never doing anything.

“Are you ever gonna ask them out?” Theo smiled at him.

“Yes. I’ll do it when I’m ready.” Mattheo frowned, shoving his hands in his pockets with a sigh, still not looking away from you.

“Is the staring helping? Blaise added on the other side of Mattheo.

“Can you shut up? I’m taking this at my own pace.” Mattheo said, shoving Blaise while Theo and Blaise laughed.

“Just ask them. They’re either willing to give you a chance and say ‘yes’ or they don’t and say ‘no’. It won’t matter when you ask.” Blaise said.

“It’s not like everyone can’t see you guys eye-fucking in class anyways.” Theo added.

“Shut it.” Mattheo sighed, running a hand through his hair before he found himself starting to walk over to you.

When you talk

It's in cursive to me

And it's nicer than anything I'd believe

About me

It's like that shit was written in gel pen

And I love those

“Hey, (Y/N).” Mattheo’s voice said from behind you.

You turn around to see him standing behind you, hands in his pockets, hair a little messy but still cute. “Hey, Mattheo.” You smiled at him.

He smiled and looked down, shifting on his feet before looking back up at you. If only you knew how much your voice affected him. “I think I remember you saying you liked horror movies, right?”

“Yeah. Why?” You nodded.

“Uh, I have some that I haven’t watched yet and all my friends are too much of pussies to watch them with me. I was wondering if you wanted to come to my dorm to watch them one night.” He said, eyes locked on yours. He seemed nervous, which was very unusual for him. “I have a bunch of those little chocolate frogs you like too. I don’t think I’ll ever finish them. I have way too many.”

“Yeah, sure. That sounds fun. Maybe this weekend.” You said with a smile, which seemed to ease him.

“Sweet. Uh, I’ll text you later about the details.” He said, his own smile making its way back on his face before he started backing away, sending you a wink before turning around, taking a deep breath when he knew you wouldn’t notice.

If you want to see me

Acting so desperately

So desperately

All you gotta do is stop texting me

Just to flex on me

He texted you about the movie night a few hours later, not wanting to seem too eager or desperate, just trying to confirm when you’d want to have it. Except you didn’t reply. He didn’t mind the first 10 minutes. After that, he started thinking about it. Maybe he worded it wrong? 20 minutes passed and he kept checking his phone. Did he offend you? 1 hour passed. Maybe you never actually wanted to have a movie night with him.

He left his dorm to find Theo. Theo was good when it came to getting with people.

“I don’t get it. I just asked them when they wanted to have a movie night.” Mattheo said, pacing the room as Theo looked at the text on his phone.

“It’s been an hour.” Theo said, laying on his bed, looking back at Mattheo with a blank face.

“Exactly! An hour and they never replied!” Mattheo said, gesturing his hands wildly.

“They could be studying.” Enzo said, sprawled on an armchair in Theo’s dorm with a book in his lap.

“They’re probably just busy.” Theo tossed Mattheo’s phone on the bed.

It's true

I'm a little bitch for you now

I don't wanna say it way too loud

But I'm a little bitch for you now

His phone suddenly lit up with a notification and Mattheo nearly jumped to grab it, falling to his knees beside the bed as he checked his phone. He smiled when he saw your name and quickly unlocked his phone to read the text you sent him.

“It’s fine. They were napping.” Mattheo said to the two boys, who honestly couldn’t really care less, but found amusement in how desperate Mattheo was to get a text from you.

“See. It was nothing.” Theo said, picking up his own phone to go back to scrolling through it. “Nothing to worry about.”

“I wasn’t worried.” Mattheo said quickly, standing back up as he typed out a text to you.

“Right.” Theo said, raising his eyebrows as he glanced over at Enzo, who shared a look with him.

“Whipped.” Enzo fake-coughed into his hand, getting a laugh from Theo before dodging a shoe Mattheo threw at him and laughing himself.

“I’m not whipped.”

I bought these really sick lights if you wanna come over

They tried to scam me twice

But look

They both can change colors

Like that

I don't wanna leave my house

'Cause in here I'm the ruler

With my refrigerator

Full of Pacific Cooler

But for you I'd brave all the traffic outside

The way you brave all the bullshit I hold inside

You knocked on the door to his dorm at the agreed time, greeted by Mattheo opening his door only seconds later, smiling at you. You both agreed to just wearing comfy clothes, and he looked so good in his sweats and a tee-shirt, his hair was slightly wet from a shower not too long ago. He couldn’t help the flutter in his heart seeing you out of your school uniform. 

“Hey, come in.” He said, moving to let you come in.

You stepped inside his dorm, looking around.

“I got a bunch of snacks and drinks. I remember you told me about this muggle drink you had as a kid so I found some. Wanted to try it with you.” He said, closing the door behind you, watching you nervously as you looked around his dorm. He spent hours deep cleaning it, but if you asked, he was always this clean.

“Thanks. You didn’t need to do all that.” You said and turned around to smile at him.

Your smile. He nearly felt his heart stop. He nearly blurted out ‘I’d do anything for you’ but stopped himself. “Hey, look at this.” He said, trying to turn your attention off of him and calm himself down as he grabbed a remote off his desk and changed the lights in his room from the warm yellow to green, then to red, then blue, then purple.

Oh it's true

(Ooo)

I'm a little bitch for you now

I'm a little bitch

Oh my God

Did I say that too loud?

It's true

I'm a little bitch for you now

I don't wanna say it way too loud

But I'm a little bitch for you now

You both laid down in his bed, watching the horror movies on his tv, snacks scattered between you. His heart was pounding, but it wasn’t from the movie. If you paid enough attention, you could feel his leg bouncing from nerves. He made funny commentary, sounding relaxed. His eyes bounced between you and the tv, making sure you were comfortable and the movie wasn’t bothering you. 

He finally turned his head to look at you fully, watching the light from the tv dance across your face, looking at the little details on your face.

“You okay?” You asked, looking back at him.

“Yeah, just…” He trailed off, not taking his eyes off of you.

He reached a hand over to cup your cheek, leaning closer until his lips hovered over yours. He stayed there for a moment, just looking in your eyes before connecting his lips with yours softly. He really didn’t even know what he was doing. His body took over before his mind could catch up. His mind finally did catch up when he felt you kiss him back. He only parted from you when he needed to breathe, and even then, he was only inches from your face, a huge grin breaking across his.

If you want to see me

Acting so desperately

(I could freestyle you a verse)

So desperately

(Or maybe a hook)

All you gotta do is stop texting me

(I bought these paintings to impress you)

(Did it work?)

Just to flex on me

Theo woke up to his dorm door being thrown open by Mattheo.

“What the fuck do you want?” Theo groaned, rolling over to check the time on his phone.

“They didn’t text back again. You think I fucked up with the kiss?” Mattheo asked, coming over to the side of his bed.

“It is 2 IN THE MORNING! THEY’RE SLEEPING! LIKE I WAS!” Theo yelled, angry that Mattheo woke him up for something so stupid.

Mattheo frowned at him for a moment. “So you don’t think I fucked up with the kiss?”

“GET THE FUCK OUT!” Theo yelled and threw a pillow at him.

Taglist:

@jeannie-beannie @yourenogoodforme @mixvchelle @helendeath @evaslytherpuff

@soaked4abby @hpnsfwaddict @mayamonroem @motherfing-stargirl @brittney-121

@dracoslovergirl @littlemadamred @mattheoriddlesbitch @acornacreacure @opheliamalfoy236

@demieyesore @akira1246 @queenshu @prettypinkprincess15 @starryslytherin0

@schaebickel tagging you since you liked my last one :)

Let me know if you wanna be added!

[xlpoww]

Jealousy, Jealousy

i really loved how bad for business turned out, and it seems you all did too!! so here's a continuation of the bfb universe/storyline :) it's not exactly a part two

warnings! jealousy (sanji's)

word count: 1,720

opla! sanji x f! reader

i actually took the time to reference back to this scene in the live action to make sure i got their orders right :) !! also hi i am alive !!! i just got busy with work- and i had a mini con to go to this weekend and i cosplayed nami! :D -> i have also been struggling with tremendous writers block, and was trying to force myself to write about zoro for days! but i couldn't, and i was frustrated with myself untill i rememebred this isnt a job, this is for fun for me and you guys. so i went back to some of the things i've written and felt like i could continue this one :) the story really flowed from there and i wrote a lot in a short span sooooooo &lt;3 ily all! thanks for reading as always <3333

sanji vinsmoke is jealous. 

the cook is used to woman falling at his feet, swooning over his flirty personality. either that or they get annoyed at him and clearly show disinterest. (oftentimes calling him names and sometimes resulting in him getting hit)

but you, the one girl he actually held a candle for, he couldn’t even seem to get a rejection from you. that would’ve made things so much easier for him and his heart. it’s gotten to the point he’s wishing you would tell him you don’t return his feelings. sure it would hurt in the moment, but at least he could have (hopefully) forced himself to move on.

but no, you won’t reject him; nor will you swoon at his advances. they seem to roll right off you like beads of rain on a window. never a hint of blush on your cheeks, no angrily quirked brows. how was he meant to understand? there are two reasonable reactions to such a forward man, either interest or not. how do you manage to toe the line so perfectly?

it drove him mad, not only were you horribly hard to read, every once in a while you would flirt aggressively back at him. it would always catch the poor boy off guard, leaving him stunned and blushing standing wherever he was. oftentimes you did it right in the middle of the kitchen, leaving him to deal with the playful teasing of the other workers, walking off to continue doing your job. 

you would be the death of him surely.

especially when the sight of you smiling so sweetly at that stupid swordsman causes a painful squeeze in his chest. his grip on the tray he was holding is bruising, and there’s a jealous rage brewing inside of him.

-

“hello my name is y/n, and i’ll be your waitress today. can i start you guys with any refreshments?” you flip over a page on your notepad, ready to write down the group's requests. what a charming bunch they were, with just a glance you could tell they really cared for one another.

“i’ll take a beer,” the green haired man speaks up, and you nod with a smile.

“i’ll take two beers, i normally have three but..” he trails off as the woman at the table speaks up.

“i’ll take a water.”

“and a glass of milk!” the endearing boy with a straw hat adds on, his words are muffled by the bun he was still chewing. when coming to greet them you’d brough over a basket of perfectly warmed buns with butter. nodding at them all, your pen into your apron as you repeat back to them. 

“three beers, milk and water, coming right up you guys.” you step back with a bow, turning towards the kitchen. doing so you notice your best friend is glaring in your direction, and as you walk back you tilt your head at him. when you get closer you realize his glare wasn't directed towards you, but the swordsman you had taken the order from. he doesn’t even seem to pay you any mind as you approach him, too focused on the table you had just walked away from. when you reach him where he stands in front of the doorway, you snap your fingers in his face. it seems to snap him out of it, and he looks down at you with a charming smile.

“hello my love, what can i do for you?” his hand is placed on your shoulder sweetly. the touch warms your body, but you shake it off to cross your arms. 

“what’s up with you, why were you glaring at my table? do you know them?” you gesture back towards your table, and a flush washes over his face when he realizes he’d been caught. he straightens his tie in an attempt to shake off his shame,

“not a clue who they are darling.” your eyebrow raises in suspicion, you’re not buying it. he seems to know you won’t, and he tucks his hand into his pockets as he shrugs.

“you just glare at people you don’t know now sanj?” a pout forms out of frustration. while you were wondering why he was lying to you so blatantly, he was internally swooning at how adorable you looked in that moment, and the sweet way you'd shortend his name. the grip you had over his heart was the strongest in all the seas.

“don’t worry, pretty lady, it’s nothing. now if you’ll excuse me i’ve got my own tables to wait on.” he’s internally scrambling to figure out how to distract you from what he was caught doing, in a moment of boldness (or a crazy attempt to change the subject), he leans down to press a kiss to the side of your head.

the action causes your eyes to almost bulge out of your head as you begin to blush. a smug smile forms on sanji’s face at the sight, he’d never felt more accomplished than he did in that moment. not only had he distracted you, he’d made your face light up all pretty and embarrassed. he winked at you before brushing past you to do his job, pushing open the swinging door into the kitchen behind you.

you’re left in shock trying to wrap your brain around his actions, ‘what had gotten into him?’ as bold and flirtatious as he was, you would have never expected a display like that in front of all the customers.

oh shit, the customers. ‘had anyone seen that? oh gods.’ your hands clench into fists as you attempt to bring yourself back to reality and calm down, and you push past the doors of the kitchen. your eyes are focused on the ground as you collect the drinks needed for your table, placing them all on a tray and balancing them on one hand. you take a moment to breathe in and compose yourself before walking back out into the dining room. 

you eyes scan the room and find your favorite blond waiting on a table on the opposite side of the room of your own. his location makes it easy to return to the table without incident, placing down the three beers before the milk and water. with a smile, you tuck the tray under your arm and pull out your notepad again to continue taking their orders. maybe doing your job could distract from the rapid beating in your chest.

“you guys decided on food yet?” 

“one of everything!” the boy with a straw hat speaks up, and you quirk your eyebrow. they didn't look like the big spenders you were used too, but it wasn’t really your place to mention that. your smile never slips as you nod, writing it down and once again bowing before you leave. by your luck sanji seems to be waiting for you at the doorway of the kitchen. so much for the idea you had to avoid him until you’d calmed down.

he holds his hand out, offering to take your tray from you. his kind offer brings a smile to your lips, and you decide to shove down whatever inner turmoil was happening and act like what he did hadn’t happened. (he sure was.)

“any interesting orders?” he smiles, quirking a brow at you as you offer him your serving tray. you laugh, holding out your notepad to show him where you had written down ‘one of everything’ sanji’s heart squeezes at how cute your handwriting is, and he can’t help the chuckle. “well it looks like you’ll need some help taking out this order then, love.” the pet name causes the usual skip in your heartbeat, and you smile, nodding in acceptance of his offer for help, pushing past him into the kitchen to get your cooks started on the order of everything.

-

the food gets taken out in waves, sanji always accompanying you with an extra plate or two. the table is rather nice about it, they’re always caught up in conversation. even still they thank you for every plate you place down, they seem like genuine people. it warms your heart to see such a close group of friends. 

you can’t help but notice the way sanji doesn’t even pay the girl at the table any mind, too busy glaring at the green haired man, his hands lingering on your shoulder or back longer than they needed to. how he’d managed to add on to his unusual behavior, you wouldnt understand.

not that he really had any reason to be placing a tender hand on your back while you were serving guests. the third time it happens you turn to look at him with a raised eyebrow, and he turns to smile down at you sweetly, his hand on your back rubbing up and down. you look at him incredulously, sanji steps back, bowing before walking back towards the kitchen. before he left his gaze lingered on the man longer than should have been acceptable. you have to hold back a frustrated huff, turning back to the table with a plastered smile

“don’t hesitate to call me if you need anything! i hope you enjoy your meal.” you finish off the sentence with a bow, turning to look at the swordsman when he speaks up with a snort. “are you sure, wouldn’t want to make your busboy anymore jealous than he already is?” your eyes widen in confusion, not only at the notion, but the unnecessary insult towards your sanji.

“whatever could you mean.” the whole table turns to you, and the redhead quirks a brow at you, adding on.

“you’re not really that clueless, are you?” your mouth drops open, and a blush begins to cover your cheeks.

“no, i didn’t think i was.”

and then you’re even more confused. what reason would he have to be jealous over you and a random guest? it’s not like the man had even given you the time of day, or you’d even wanted it?  all you’d done was take his orders. 

the thought feels so impossible, even so it has already quickly begun eating away at your brain and heart. it was the only logical explanation for all his odd behaviors tonight.

sanji vinsmoke, was jealous. over you.

taglist: @the-maladaptive-daydreamers @teenyforestfairy @gothicuwusposts @cheesesoda @scentisterror @shuujin @gcldtom

[harmonicakai]

Powerslide

Pairing: Yeonjun x Reader

Summary: Usually, your best friend’s player roommate is the most annoying person on earth, but after your date ditches you, he’s more than willing to step in as a replacement.

Tropes: enemies to whatever this is, frat boy!yeonjun, bff!taehyun, college AU, soft dom!reader, sub!yeonjun, kinda exhibitionism & dacryphilia

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: smut (mdni!!!!!!!!!!), mentions of alcohol

A/N: My friend really wanted a Yeonjun fic to happen and I suddenly felt like writing this. I am NOT a smut writer, so this might not be very good, but I tried <3

“Damn baby, I'm a train wreck, too I lose my mind when it comes to you I take time with the ones I choose And I don't want to smile if it ain't from you” —Boyfriend, Ariana Grande & Social House

The guy you’ve been seeing has pissed you off for the last time. As soon as you got a text asking to reschedule tonight’s date, while you were already standing outside of the restaurant he was supposed to meet you at, it was over. 

You reply for him to go fuck himself and trudge back to campus to complain to your best friend, Taehyun.

Despite the two of you becoming almost inseparable after being paired up in organic chemistry together, it’s clear to both of you that it’s just a platonic thing. If you had to pick which one of his friends you were most into, it’d be his roommate, Yeonjun.

Except he pisses you off more than the guys you actually go out with. You can’t recall a time where you’ve ever talked to him sober or he hasn’t shamelessly flirted with you in front of whoever else was involved in the conversation. 

You know he sees girls as pawns and not people, and so you don’t even bother thinking about the two of you together. Until he answers the door instead of Taehyun, fresh from the shower, water still dripping from his hair onto the towel barely clinging to his waist.

“Where’s Taehyun?” you ask. Your line of sight naturally falls on his bare chest, but you do your best to look up at his face. He’s smirking at you.

“He’s got a soccer game,” Yeonjun says, stepping aside to let you into the common room. “Should be over soon if you want to wait for him.”

You walk past him, plopping yourself onto their small couch. Yeonjun’s eyes don’t leave you, taking in your full date night outfit and the way it hugs you perfectly.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks. You can swear you can hear him about to burst out into laughter as he watches you go through the five stages of grief. “You had a date tonight, didn’t you?”

“How do you know that?” you sit up, finally locking eyes with him. By now, he’s got a full fledged grin on his face.

“Taehyun told me,” he shrugs, his towel becoming looser with every movement. “Listen, I was just being nice and asking. If you want to ice me out like you always do, go ahead.”

His honesty makes your face heat up in anger. Yes, you’ve never been very nice to him, but for good reason. He’s just another fuckboy in a frat, and you’ve dealt with enough of those in your first years of college to know better.

“I can be nice,” you scoff, turning to look out the window. It’s so dark that all you can see are the streetlamps in the distance. 

“Then by all means, show me,” he says, his voice shifting from playful to something more serious. “I’d really like to see how nice you can be.”

There’s something about the way he’s talking to you that feels good. Wrong, but good.

“Fine,” you relent, looking back to see he’s gotten much closer to you than before. “But you need to go get dressed.”

“Am I distracting?” he smiles, tilting his head at you. You roll your eyes.

“More like nauseating,” you lie. He is distracting, just like usual. The only thing that really keeps you from giving him a chance is how annoying he is, but for some reason, you’re happy to entertain his advances tonight.

“I’ll be right back,” he says before walking into his bedroom. When he comes back, he’s got a red hoodie and ripped jeans thrown on, his hair still damp and messy. “Better?”

“Much better,” you approve. He nods before sitting down next to you on the couch, close enough so that his hand can graze your knee without it being obvious that he’s totally doing it on purpose. “Do you really want to hear about my love life?”

“Hmm, what else would we talk about?” he hums, his gaze locked on your glossy red lips. You can feel your face heat up, prompting you to scoot further away from him. 

“We could talk about yours instead. Although, from what Taehyun tells me, I’m not sure you’re even capable of love.”

“Ouch. I could be, you know? For the right girl.”

“And who’s the right girl?”

“You.” You want to laugh at how ridiculous this all is, but Yeonjun’s breath is hot against your neck, and he leans in to place a single kiss against your sensitive skin. “I can treat you better than any of those other guys, Y/N. Let me show you.”

Fuck it, you think to yourself. He’s here and he’s hot and he’s desperate for you. You turn to face Yeonjun, crashing your lips onto his. He tastes sweet, no doubt from the bubblegum he’s always smacking whenever you’re around.

When he moans into your kiss and grips his hand in your hair, you feel a shockwave in your core. You climb into his lap, his hard-on nestling in between your legs. He groans at the pressure.

“God, you’re so hot,” he gasps in between kisses. “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do this.”

“Trust me, I know,” you laugh. “You make it so obvious.”

“I can’t help myself around you, Y/N.” He snakes a hand underneath your skirt, his fingers feeling how he’s already got you soaked through your panties. It takes everything in him not to finish right then and there. “Can I touch you?”

“Not now,” you say, your hand gripping his wrist and pinning it against the couch. Tonight, you’re in charge. “Maybe if you’re good for me, we can do this again.”

“Please,” he sighs as you grind your hips into him. “I’ll do whatever you want.”

You never pegged Yeonjun as someone who begs in the bedroom, but you aren’t complaining. You pull away from him, moving off of his lap to beside him, your hand palming his erection through his jeans.

“Fuck, that feels good,” he says, his eyes squeezed shut and fists clenched. You bring your free hand up to his chin, moving his head to face you.

“Open your eyes,” you tell him. “I want you to look at me.”

“I can’t,” he stammers. “I’ll cum if I do.”

“You aren’t allowed to cum until I say so,” you whisper, sucking at the sensitive spot on his neck. His breathing grows heavier by the second. “Yeonjun. Look at me or I will never let you touch me again.”

His eyes shoot open and he’s not sure how much more he can take. Sure, your body is to die for, but it’s always been your face that he likes the best. Seeing you with messy hair and smudged lipstick, all because of him, is an image he won’t be able to get out of his head for months.

“You sound so pretty for me, baby,” you tell him, moving your hand faster. He could really get used to you calling him that.

By now, he can’t control his moans and tears start to run down his face. All he can do is whine your name over and over in the hopes that you’ll finally give him permission to finish.

As if it weren’t agonizing enough, the front door’s handle starts to jiggle. “Hey, Jun?” Taehyun’s voice calls from outside. “Can you let me in, man? I forgot my key.” 

Yeonjun’s eyes go wide at the sound of his roommate. You reach up to cover his mouth. “Be quiet, Junie. You don’t want Taehyun to hear you, do you?”

He shakes his head as you continue palming him through his pants, one of your fingers slipping into his mouth. He moans around it. 

Taehyun starts banging on the door. “Dude, are you asleep? Wake up! I need to shower and get to bed.”

You laugh at the nervous look on Yeonjun’s face, cupping his cheek with your free hand and placing a soft kiss on his lips. “Cum for me, baby. It’s okay.”

Your words send him over the edge and he’s bucking his hips into your hand just seconds later. He does his best to keep quiet, although not even your kiss is enough to dampen the string of profanities that leave his lips.

When he’s done, he stares at you with sleepy eyes and the most satisfied grin on his face. Both of you look down at the wet spot on his crotch. He’s never going to be able to wear these pants again.

“Go change,” you say, patting his cheek and getting up from the couch. You smooth your hair down and fix your skirt into place. “I’ll get the door.”

Yeonjun knows that every time he looks at you now, he’ll be thinking of coming undone under your touch. He quickly scrambles out of the room before you can let Taehyun in. 

“It’s about fucking time, man,” Taehyun scoffs, his eyes locked on his phone. When he looks up, he’s shocked to be greeted by you instead of his roommate. “Y/N? What the hell are you doing here?”

“Waiting for you,” you say, smiling at the confused look on his face. “I wanted to tell you about my date.”

“Oh, yeah, that was tonight. Sorry, I picked up a game at the rec center.”

“It’s okay,” you reassure him, following him into his bedroom and shutting the door behind you. “Yeonjun kept me company.”

—————-

Taglist: @orangesodafoam @ur-mother-realnotclickbait @iyeeeverydee @internet-folks @darlingz99 @foxyjun @niningtori @csbenthusiast @lonelybutterflytae @midnight-mochii @theresawtf @nowadays56 @jjklvr9

Literally only tagging the people from my taglist that I KNOW are over 18!!!

[oldguardleatherdog]

Today's Wall O'Text: We've got just under two months to get the first things done.

Timothy Snyder is an American historian whose book On Tyranny made him a household name in 2017, followed this year by On Freedom. His take on what we need to do this time around to mount an effective resistance to Trump's insane agenda is urgent and essential:

Start now. We can get a lot done between now and the Inauguration on January 20th.

Here are excerpts from Snyder's interview in the Rolling Stone article linked above where he describes ways ordinary people can take meaningful steps right now to lay the groundwork for stopping Trump's agenda in its tracks:

~~~~~

[From the article, emphasis added:]

“You can’t despair,” he tells Rolling Stone. “Because that’s what they want. They want you to think that it’s hopeless. It’s never hopeless.”

Snyder’s first rule in On Tyranny is “don’t obey in advance.” He emphasizes that Americans opposed to Trump’s designs should take stock, and action, now. “The period of November, December, January, becomes very important,” he says.

For normal people, Snyder insists the key is “to get out in protest” — now and through the inauguration. The understandable impulse of “keeping your head in,” Snyder says will only embolden Trump’s reactionary team.

“You’re giving them even more confidence that they’re gonna be able to do what they want in January.” What’s demanded of activists in this moment is to “deflate that confidence,” Snyder says, and you do that by “showing that you’re not afraid, by cooperating with your neighbors, and by organizing.”

Snyder emphasizes a lesson of the “Wall of Moms” in Portland, Oregon, in late summer 2020, who helped drive up the political cost and terrible optics for Trump’s most heavy-handed crackdown on public dissent. Launching tear gas at Black Lives Matter protesters looked different on TV when the feds were brutalizing a wall of white mothers in gold shirts, locking arms at the front of the crowd. “It’s about corporeal politics,” Snyder says. “Getting your body out where there are other bodies — with people who are maybe not like you or maybe less privileged than you.”

Here, Snyder insists, is where the American public has its most important, and perhaps most challenging role to play. “The Trump-Vance initiatives can only work by getting the population involved — and basically corrupting us,” he says. Snyder argues that even Americans who might share anger with Trump about immigration may yet be recruited to block the border camps promised by Stephen Miller. 

“That’s the kind of active thinking that folks have to do — am I going to become the kind of person who takes part in this sort of thing? Am I going to become the kind of person who denounces my neighbors because they are not documented?”

“If Their Rights Are on the Line, My Rights Are on the Line”

A key to resisting authoritarianism, Snyder says, is standing up for the rights of the least powerful first. “If protest comes down to the people who are protesting only because they have to, then you always lose,” he says. “It has to be people who are one, two, three, four, even five steps away from being directly affected who show solidarity — and who also show pragmatism and wisdom by getting out early. 

“If you’re more privileged, you should be thinking, ‘What can I do for the least privileged people?’” he says. “If their rights are on the line, my rights are on the line. That’s not just a moral position. It’s actually, politically, 100 percent correct.” 

In the meantime, Snyder advises, America’s system of federalism offers hope for democracy at the state and local level. “Many things are going to be terrible. But controlling the federal government doesn’t mean you’re controlling everything,” he says. He exhorts Americans to support the institutions closest to them that uphold democratic norms — “whether that means some civil society organization, or state government, or a local mayor” — and collectively try to strengthen those bodies.

[End article text.]

~~~~~

[redemptive-truth]

A Time to Pretend | Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Four years ago, she survived the impossible—going toe-to-toe with the Winter Soldier and living to tell the tale. Now, Bucky Barnes is on her balcony, broken and bleeding. And her? She’s always had a soft spot for lost causes with blood on their hands.

MCU Timeline Placement: Post-CATWS

Parts: Part 1, Part 2

AO3 Link

Warnings: N/A

Word Count: 3.2K

Author's Note: This started out as a more of a fledging idea than an actual, fleshed-out plot, but the plot built itself as I wrote. Gets better as it goes (I hope). This is also the first thing I've written and completed since I was seventeen, but I guess that's what Sebastian Stan does to a girl

This will be a ten-part series.

*Note - In this fic, the scene at the Hotel Inessa in FATWS takes place in 2010, before the events of CATWS.

______________________________________________________________

Part 1: Inessa, 2010

“You ever get to see the inside of the White House?”

She kept her eye fixed to the rifle’s scope, breath calm, steady. Through the mist on the hotel’s windows, she watched silhouettes move—blurry shapes dressed in suits, talking with the relaxed confidence of people who didn’t know they were being watched. One group of businessmen made their way down a plush, chandelier-lit corridor, laughing over drinks.

The hotel was a relic of Cold War luxury—six floors of marble and gold trim, with heavy velvet curtains and crystal lighting that hadn’t been updated in decades. It was the kind of place oligarchs and arms dealers still used to pretend they were just successful businessmen. And tonight, it was the kind of place where people might die.

“Saw it a few times before, Connors,” she said evenly.

Her partner shifted beside her with barely concealed enthusiasm, but she didn’t glance over. It had taken them hours to find the right vantage point in the crumbling building across from the hotel. She’d been lying prone for the last hour, arms propped up, sight locked in. Connors had been talking since they got into position.

He was a good kid. Green. A new S.H.I.E.L.D. agent with a similar Army background—though unlike her, he hadn’t seen real combat. Four years in, no real advancement. She had pushed back when he was assigned to the mission in Russia, but Hill fed her some bureaucratic line about “building experience.”

She knew the truth. They thought the intel was garbage.

The source was flimsy. The tip-off that HYDRA was deploying the Winter Soldier to Inessa was circumstantial at best. But she didn’t care how cold the trail was. If there was even a whisper of him, she followed it. He was a legend, a ghost — but the promise of capturing him, seeing if he was real, was too sweet to miss out on.

“What’s it like?” Connors asked. “Meeting the President. I always wanted to do one of those White House tours—my dad’s obsessed with that stuff. But I’ve never had the time.”

She tugged her jacket tighter with her free hand, the cold biting through even with multiple layers and gloves. Russia was colder than expected in the early spring.

“Which President are you referring to?”

She caught the way Connors froze beside her, his glasses beginning to fog in the freezing air.

“Wait—more than one?”

She didn’t respond. Twenty seconds passed. The realization hit him like a punch.

“I—sorry, I forgot. I wasn’t thinking about your dad —”

“Connors, it’s fine,” she cut in sharply. “I know what you meant. Just… shut up and watch for the target.”

He was silent for maybe a minute before he began to chatter again. She clenched her teeth, fighting the urge to roll her eyes.

She hated new recruits.

Her father’s death had been over a decade ago, but the mention of it still crushed her every time. He had been a three-star Army general, assassinated just months after being sworn in as the Senior Military Advisor to the Secretary of Defense. That was her first visit to the White House—where a man she didn’t know, dressed in a suit she’d never seen before, handed her a neatly folded flag and thanked her for all that her father had done for his county. Like that would be enough to dull her grief.

For a brief moment, she was America’s sweetheart. The nation mourned the poor, little, orphan —the girl whose mother had died of cancer when she was just a toddler, and whose father now lay bled out in the street, the victim of a surgical, brutal assault. America loved a good sob story.

To add injustice to it all, the assassin was never found. No evidence, not even a hint to who it might be. Another brutal reality pill to swallow.

But once the funeral ended, once the last tears were shed and the coffin draped in red, white, and blue was lowered into the ground, everyone moved on.

Which was perfectly fine by her. She had no interest in parading her grief for headlines or leaning into a legacy built on loss. Let them forget. She didn’t owe the world a thing.

“I still can’t believe they assigned me to this op. Russia. Hotel full of ex-military and intel brokers. And you. I mean—Captain L/N, the Medal of Valor recipient. I read about your unit in Kandahar—was it true you were taken prisoner and broke yourself out after a month?”

She didn’t respond.

He took the silence as encouragement.

“That’s insane. I mean, what’d you do to get out? And to be a captain so young – ”

“Connors.”

Her voice was clipped.

“Right. Sorry. Focus. Quiet. Got it.”

He fidgeted, lowering his binoculars and wiping the condensation from the lenses with his sleeve. She adjusted the focus on her scope, sweeping past the elevators to the mezzanine. Nothing suspicious yet. Still time.

Connors spoke again, quieter this time. Like a child resisting being put in time-out.

“Is it true S.H.I.E.L.D. recruited you because your godmother is Maria Hill?”

She snapped her head away from the rifle’s scope, eyes narrowing as she fixed the young agent beside her with a look that could freeze blood. Connors flinched. The nervous smile he’d been wearing, bright under his hazy glasses and mop of curls, faded immediately.

It wasn’t the first time she’d heard it.

Yes, the infamous Maria Hill had taken her in after her parents’ death. Yes, Maria had trained her—ruthlessly—until she could kill a man with her bare hands before she turned sixteen. And yes, the rumors followed her everywhere. That Nick Fury had only recruited her because Maria asked. That she was a “pet project”. That the girl in those old funeral photos—the one sobbing in black while the President touched her shoulder—was just a tragic orphan polished into a weapon out of pity.

They never mentioned the blood she’d spilled to earn her place. Just the headlines. Just the whispers.

She could handle the rumors. But she wasn’t going to let some baby-faced agent with a month on the job say it to her face.

“Connors,” she said, low and steady. “You seem like a good kid. Really. And I have nothing against you, personally. But if you don’t shut your fucking mouth in the next thirty seconds, I’ll show you exactly why S.H.I.E.L.D. recruited me.”

He blinked at her, cheeks flushing red from the cold—or maybe embarrassment. His glasses had completely fogged up now.

“Aren’t you just, like… a couple years older than me?”

She was half a second from breaking his nose when the screaming started.

The sound tore through the frozen air like a blade—muffled, at first, behind thick hotel walls. Then sharp. Raw. Screams and gunfire rang out.

She whipped back to her scope.

“Eyes up,” she barked.

Connors scrambled to follow her line of sight. Through the scope of her rifle, she watched a masked man in tactical gear charge down a hallway—faster than any normal human had the right to move. He closed the distance between him and two guards in the span of a breath, gunning them down before their fingers even fully tightened around their triggers.

It was him. It had to be.

Her breath caught, ragged. She tracked him through the hotel’s fogged windows, shifting to find a clear shot. He was too fast. Too brutal. Somewhere deep beneath the adrenaline — the muscle memory, and years of hardened instinct, her stomach twisted.

Normal people would never stand a chance against him. That much was apparent from just the brief moment of watching him in action.

“Do you have a shot?” Connors hissed beside her, his own weapon trembling slightly in his hands.

“No… fuck, he’s moving too fast,” she snapped. “Call it in, Connors.”

He obeyed immediately, muttering rapidly into his comms. She barely heard him, locked in on the figure below. The grainy surveillance images she’d memorized hadn’t done the Winter Soldier justice. Watching him in motion—fluid, mechanical, efficient—was like watching death incarnate. If she didn’t want him dead, she might have admired it.

He dispatched two more guards with two precise shots , then leapt down a staircase like gravity meant nothing. Without looking, he fired backward, killing another guard mid-sprint. A flash of silver caught the light — his metal arm, she registered — as he drew a knife and flung it into the chest of the last man standing.

It was terrifying.

He was terrifying.

Connors was still talking, frantic, but she couldn't hear him over the roaring of her own heartbeat. She adjusted her grip on the trigger, forcing herself to breathe, steadying her aim. Below, the Soldier grabbed a man in a suit—his target, probably—by the throat and slammed him against the wall, choking the life from him.

Now. She had seconds.

Inhale. Exhale.

Squeeze.

The Winter Soldier moved just before the shot landed. Instead of burying into the back of his skull, the bullet tore into his shoulder—his flesh shoulder. He staggered, dropping the man in his grip. And then— He turned.

Even from across the street, She could feel it.

His eyes found her. Locked in, directly on her even from this far away.

“Damn it, he saw me,” she growled, already on her feet, yanking Connors up by the front of his jacket. “We need to run. Now.”

They tore down the stairwell with her in the lead, Connors stumbling behind her with one hand still clutching his rifle. She didn’t waste breath yelling orders, just motioned with sharp gestures and relied on the hope that he was smart enough to follow. Her boots pounded on concrete, heart hammering harder than her feet.

Behind them, there was no sound at first. For a moment, Connors relaxed, probably thinking they were in the clear. She gave him a pointed look, cocking her rifle.

Then glass shattered somewhere nearby. Heavy boots landed on metal with unnatural force.

He was coming.

They moved — hit the first floor. She shoved through the exit door, shouldered into the alley, and skidded into a sprint. The cold air outside felt like knives in her lungs, but she didn’t stop. They had maybe ten seconds. Fifteen, if they were lucky.

“Keep up!” she barked over her shoulder.

“I am, I am—!” Connors gasped, his breath puffing out in uneven clouds. “Where do we—”

She didn’t get the chance to answer. A massive blur slammed into the alley behind them with the force of a meteor. Concrete cracked under impact.

She spun just in time to see him—the Winter Soldier, hair wild and dark around his masked face, eyes shaded with black narrowed in on her with laser precision. He looked feral, deadly. And not remotely winded.

“Go!” she screamed at Connors, raising her weapon.

But Connors, to his credit—or his stupidity—stepped forward instead. “Get out of here, I’ll hold him off—”

“Don’t—”

It was too late. Connors raised his gun.

The Winter Soldier was on him in less than a heartbeat.

A gunshot rang out—but it wasn’t Connors’. She barely registered the motion before Bucky slammed his metal fist into the younger agent’s chest. There was a sickening crunch—bone and armor breaking—and Connors dropped like a sack of meat.

Dead. Instantly.

She’s stomach turned, bile crawling up her throat. She didn’t have time to grieve.

He didn’t even glance at the boy’s body. His eyes were immediately turned on her, focused in her on face.

And for a split second, she swore he hesitated. His mouth twitched. His eyes narrowed further. Confused, maybe. Or…something else.

But then the moment was gone, and he moved again—charging at her full-force.

She fired quickly, efficiently. One. Two. Three rounds. All aimed center-mass.

He dodged the first, deflected the second with his metal arm, and took the third in the side—but it didn’t slow him down more than a beat. He was inches away now.

Far too close to take him in a fight and win.

She dove sideways, narrowly avoiding his outstretched hand. Rolled, came up gasping, and ran.

Run. Don’t fight. Not this one. Not yet.

Footsteps thundered behind her. She vaulted over a chain-link fence, boots scraping the top as she hit the other side and sprinted down the next alley as fast as she could possibly move.

He was still following.

But now—he wasn’t shooting. Wasn’t throwing knives.

He was chasing. Like it was a game.

Her boots skidded over ice-slick pavement as she rounded the corner of the alley. Her heart pounded furiously in her chest, blood roaring in her ears. Panic coiled in her gut like a spring ready to snap. She forced herself not to look back, even as every instinct in her screamed that he was right behind her.

He killed Connors. In less than a second. Focus. Breathe.

She trained for this. She asked for this op. She was capable of holding her own.

She hit another fence, taller this time. Rusted metal - no footholds. She stumbled over this one this time, the height of this fence about a foot taller than the last one. Still, adrenaline propelled her forward.

He was getting closer. She could hear it. The thundering steps of a man who didn’t stop. Who didn’t need to. She would stop far before he would — and she needed an advantage over him.

She turned. Dropped to one knee. Aimed. One shot. One clean shot.

The Soldier rounded the corner at full speed—expression blank, terrifying in its neutrality. She fired the moment he was fully within range.

The shot never landed.

In one fluid motion, he deflected the bullet with his metal arm, the sound of impact ringing sharp through the alley. Before she could react, he was on her—closing the distance with terrifying speed.

She braced herself, trying to raise her rifle again, but his hand shot out and seized the barrel. With a single, mechanical squeeze, the weapon crumpled like paper in his grip, twisted metal and splintered carbon raining to the pavement.

She staggered back, breath caught in her throat, watching in disbelief as the remains of her rifle dropped from his fist. His eyes locked onto hers, cold and unrecognizing, and he began to stalk toward her with relentless purpose.

“Go to hell,” she spat, fury burning through her fear.

She slammed into him, shoulder-first, trying to knock him off balance. He barely budged, but it bought her just enough time to land a punch to the side of his jaw and duck as his metal fist swung wide.

She darted behind him, grabbed the knife from her hip, and went for his back.

His hand caught her wrist mid-swing, yanking the blade from her grip and throwing it. It clattered somewhere behind them.

She went for her pistol instead, grabbing it from her holster quickly. He was faster, knocking it from her hands before she could even get it up.

Fuck.

She spun, trying to create space. He moved with her, faster than she could react, and drove her backwards into the alley wall with a solid crash. Air whooshed from her lungs.

She struggled, throwing elbows, knees—anything to get him off her. He caught both her wrists in one hand and pinned them above her head with his metal arm. His body was a wall of unyielding weight. She kicked, but her boots barely scraped his shins.

She was trapped now.

His face was close, an inch or so away from her own. He smelled metallic, like blood and gunpowder. His blank expression hadn’t changed—but his eyes had.

They weren’t dead like they had been when he killed Connors. They were a brilliant blue, a cerulean far too beautiful for a weapon built to kill. Glazed over, like he was submerged in a fog. And maybe she was spiraling, maybe the fear had finally cracked her open—but as he met her gaze dead-on, she could have sworn that fog lifted. Just a little. Just enough for her to see something behind it.

They looked at her like he was… trying to place her.

Her breathing turned ragged. Not from exertion, but from a rising, sick panic she hadn’t felt in years. She hadn’t been this helpless since she was in the middle of a war, captured and wondering if the next day would be her last. Now, she was wondering how many moments she had left.

Her voice shook despite the steel she tried to put in it. “Do it.” Her chin lifted, daring him. “Kill me you coward.”

The Winter Soldier didn’t move. Didn’t blink.

He stared at her. Not blankly. Not coldly. There was no emotion in his eyes - no anger, no hate…nothing. He was silent, keeping her pinned in place as he observed her.

Studying her. Curious. Like a machine trying to solve a puzzle it had been programmed to ignore.

He tilted his head slightly. Just enough to unsettle her. Just enough to make her heart stutter. His gaze swept over her face like he was cataloging her features, storing them somewhere deep inside whatever was left of the man buried underneath all the programming.

And then—he spoke.

Soft. Foreign. A voice that didn’t match with the image of a killer..

“…Я тебя знаю.”

The words hit her like a blow. She blinked, startled. Her mouth opened but no sound came out. What did he say?

But he was already moving again, cold precision in his limbs as the fog rolled back into his eyes. The Winter Soldier reasserted control, expression blank once more.

Whatever short emotion had flared behind those eyes, it was gone. The rage came flooding back in. Sharp, red-hot, and blinding.

She moved without thinking.

Driving her knee upward, aiming for his ribs, she twisted beneath the vice grip of his metal arm. His reflexes were inhuman—he stepped back just enough to avoid the full brunt of her strike, then caught her wrist before she could grab the knife tucked at her hip.

She fought anyway.

Elbow, palm, heel. She struck with everything Maria had taught her. Every move was clean, fast, and brutal. She’d trained for years for this — to fight, to kill. She’d fought in active war, killed combatants when she needed to. She had been fighting as a career for years.

But he was better. Faster. Stronger. He could kill her without breaking a sweat.

And yet…

He wasn’t fighting to kill her.

He blocked every strike, deflected every blow. Grabbed her forearms, stepped out of the way, twisted her momentum against her until she stumbled—but never once struck back with lethal intent. It was all control, precision, restraint.

“Fight me, damn it!” she shouted, breathless with fury. “What’s the matter? You had no problem killing everyone in that hotel!”

That flicker returned—just a flash—behind his eyes. A hesitation.

But it didn’t stop him.

With one fluid motion, he ducked her wild punch, caught her arm, spun her around, and slammed the flat of his palm against the side of her head. A clean, surgical strike—meant to end a fight, not a life.

Everything went fuzzy. Her legs folded under her.

The last thing she saw as the concrete rushed up to meet her was the Winter Soldier standing over her, eyes clouded again.

Expression unreadable. A weapon.

And then—darkness.

[pedgito]

𝐓𝐖𝐎 𝐈𝐒 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍 𝐎𝐍𝐄

summary | both the miller brothers had a thing for you and you had a thing for them. they give you an ultimatum and you don't like that. so, instead of one, you choose both. [9k]

pairing | joel miller x fem!reader x tommy miller

content warning | 18+ content, as always: no use of y/n, au/no outbreak, age gap (sort of, it's not specificed by tommy & joel are late 40s/early 50s and reader is labebled as younger) bar owner!joel, bartender!tommy, 3somes, flirting, soft!joel (in the beginning), tommy is a little bit of an asshole, oral ( f & m receiving) unprotected piv, aftercare, joel is selfish

author’s note | joel and tommy have no interaction together in this, at least to that extent. so heed the tags and don't read if you don't like, xo.

“Actin’ like you ain’t never gripped a damn bottle in your life,” Tommy grumbles over your shoulder, fingers wrapping around your own until you have a secure hold on the neck, “tight–alright?”

Your lips pull together tensely, forcing down the urge to roll your eyes as he guides your hand through the motions as you fancily flip the bottle upside down to pour out the liquid into the glasses on the counter in quick, careful precision as you filled each one to a certain amount before moving onto the next, but somehow keeping up the swift pace Tommy was asking for.

Or, really, demanding.

He nods quietly behind you, staring back to admire his handiwork, knowing most of that was his own doing and his ability to perfect his showmanship over the past several years of heading the bar under his brother Joel, who owned the bar. 

Your relationship with Tommy was…tricky, but Joel—that was an entirely different mess.

He passes the shot off to a few waiting customers enjoying the show, and you have half the mind to think that Tommy is getting off on the fact that you’re openly embarrassing yourself in front of the patrons, but really, he’s just an asshole.

Though, you’ve come to understand that was how Tommy showed his fondness and if he was being overly nice than you’d know something was up—hell would freeze over, pigs would fucking fly, and you might actually accept his advances for once. Not today. Not with him breathing down your neck as he motioned for you to repeat the process on your own.

You take a deep breath, lining up the shot glasses uniformly and turn your wrist to grip the neck of the bottle, finding Tommy in your peripheral as he nods, “Tighter,” He mumbles, “don’t need that thing slippin’ out of your hand mid-rush and Joel chewin’ my ass out over a wasted bottle of bourbon.”

“I dunno,” You tease playfully—

Tommy surges forward and tightens your grip around the bottle.

“Think you’d know a thing or two about a good grip but goddamn.”

“If you keep this up I’m talking to Joel,” You threaten lightly, an airiness to your voice that shouldn’t feel as menacing as it does, but Tommy backs off slightly, grumbling something under his breath, “—good boy.”

Tommy rolls his eyes in annoyance, rolling his shoulder backwards as he rests his hands against his hips. You continue, swinging the bottle around less clumsily than before and pouring out the shots in quick succession—no mess, no spill. It was perfect.

Tommy scratches at his jaw, slightly dejected now as you turn back to look at him.

“What’s next?” You ask with a flashy smile, shoving the bottle square into the middle of his chest.

-

Joel catches you near the end of that day, shoving a few things away in your assigned locker, thick fingers curling around the open door, subtle smiles gracing his features as he greets you with a nod.

“It’s been a few months,” Joel reminds you, thinking back briefly on how much has changed for you in such a short time—you had friends, a solid job, a place to live, and two boys who you couldn’t help but fawn over—it was natural luck you ended up in this position, “how you holdin’ up?”

And while Joel wasn’t as forward as Tommy in his attraction, you sense it in the way he looks and speaks to you in private, no watchful eyes to spy on you. Besides, Joel seemed private and reserved, so it wasn’t that odd that he felt comfortable approaching you in private.

“Okay, I think.” You answer truthfully, playing with the curled paper of the calendar taped to the inside of your locker, your own fingers curling underneath Joel’s own, pointer fingers touching but unmoving, you glance at him hesitantly before averting your eyes to somewhere beyond him, following the eyeline of the bar as you watched Tommy wipe down the front of the bar.

“Tommy ain’t givin’ you anymore trouble?” He asks, “I know he’s technically your boss and all—”

“And you aren’t?” You chide playfully, eyebrow raised slightly as you pocket your phone and grab your bag, slinging it over your shoulder. “And yeah, but…no more than usual. I can handle Tommy just fine, you know?”

“I know, I know,” He laughs softly, hand moving away from the locker to pat at your shoulder, squeezing gently at your bicep—touches were so familiar with Joel. A hand on your back, a subtle touch of his fingers in the dip of your neck. He had respected your space in the beginning, even with how witfully you charmed him with ease. You enjoyed touch, viewed it as a language of love and didn’t mind when Tommy initiated it either. Often finding your own subconscious movements to cling to and touch the people you conversed with or felt comfortable around—he doesn’t mean much by it, you think, “but, he does still have to listen to me. I am his boss.”

“I pulled that card on him today, actually,” You admit, hand rising to rub at his elbow comfortingly, “he simmered down pretty quick.”

Joel sees the hold you have over his brother, both with your personality and general attraction Tommy felt with—well, most of the people Joel hired to work under him. But, Tommy is teasing with you, testy, and he’s not like that with the others. He’s comfortable enough that he can come off like an asshole knowing you won’t take it personally.

Joel chuckles, glancing back over his shoulder at Tommy before turning back toward you and rubbing a comforting finger under your chin, “Good girl.” He comments sweetly, it has your stomach doing flips no matter the context. It was a normal sort of endearment from Joel, but given the context, it feels like a praise rather than an outright compliment.

You smile shyly and shove his hand away.

“You know, we’re cooking out this weekend if you wanna swing by,” Joel offers, “it’s, uh—for Sarah.”

Sarah. You didn’t know much about her aside from the fact that she died young, around thirteen—it’s been close to twenty years now, but Joel still celebrates her birthday.

You nod half-heartedly, “Yeah I’ll—I’ll try to swing by.”

Joel smiles warmly, before pointing an accusatory finger at his brother across the bar, “Keep his ass in check, alright?”

You smirk, an underlying feeling of…something, feeling dizzy from how openly Joel adored you when it was just the two of you, “Always.”

-

Austin heat is sticky and humid, clinging to the bare skin of your legs exposed by the short summer dress you wore, strappy and flowy and—while it wasn’t an unusual sight to the Miller boys, they didn’t see it as often as they liked. So, of course, they gawk.

You shove the case of beers into Joel’s waiting grip, a subtle wink as he acknowledges your presence. Quickly crowding in by Tommy who’s already a few beers in, just by his loose nature as he slings an arm over your shoulder, squeezing gently. He sips generously on the last bit of his beer before allowing the rim to hang slack between his fingers.

“Tommy,” You acknowledge graciously—there was always a slight tinge of annoyance with him, not the type that made you angry or upset, but frustrated. Whether just plain frustration or sexual, you couldn’t put your finger on, “already starting the party without me?”

“Come on now,” Tommy teases, “you know it wouldn’t be a real party ‘til you got here.”

“Is anyone else showing up?” You ask curiously, leaning subconsciously into Tommy as your eyes spot Joel several feet away in the kitchen, unpacking the beers. “Tess? Bill?”

The bar was closed today. Always was. It didn’t matter what day Sarah’s birthday landed on. 

They had food, drinks, a cake—it was a real party, only missing its esteemed guest.

You’ve only seen Sarah through pictures and heard through stories told by word of mouth, but Joel has never cared about anything more in his life, not until the bar and long after Sarah’s death. He’d named the bar in her honor, a simple but beautiful nod to someone so special in his life. The Monarch.

She loved butterflies. And know, whenever you see them—it’s a little reminder of her presence.

“They can’t make it,” Joel speaks from the kitchen, his mouth downtrodden in its usual scowl, his natural resting face, “so—looks like it’s just us.”

“Can you handle that?” Tommy whispers teasingly in your ear and you elbow him gently in his side, “Hey—she’s already hittin’ me, Joel.”

“Stop pissin’ her off then,” Joel offers, “mind helping me, sweetheart?”

He nods toward that back and you nod quickly in response, but not before pressing a quick hand into Tommy’s side as you pinch him playfully and earn a pitiful shout, giant grin growing on your face as you depart and follow his older brother, giving Tommy an eyeful of your swaying hips, dress barely dipping past the bottom of your ass.

She’s a friend dammit. That was it.

But, it didn’t stop Tommy from crushing on you. Hard. Even at his grown age.

You follow Joel outside with a spark in your step, meeting him at the grill situated on his back deck as he flipped some of the cooking meat, an open beer in his left hand. 

“What did you need?” You ask curiously, noticing that he wasn’t speaking now.

“Nothin’,” He admits, “just like having you around.”

You smile softly, wrapping your arms around his bicep, feeling the muscle flex under your touch instinctively, his head turning to glance at you. He huffs out a soft laugh through his nose before returning his attention to the open grill, meticulously flipping the meat.

“Think if I kiss up enough to the boss he’ll give me the day off tomorrow?” You ask curiously, a hint of mischief gracing your tone as you train your eyes where he was looking, even if his gaze flicks toward you for a brief moment.

“Depends.” Joel responds gruffly, setting down the utensil to close the lid of the grill.

You huff a laugh at his ease to respond to your subtle attempts at flirting, completely harmless, but the unspoken tension lingered like a constant. 

“On?”

“If you’re being’ literal or not,” Joel offers and it sends a tingle down the base of your spine, his knuckles brushing against your hip from where you’re hanging off of his arm, “cause that can be arranged.”

There’s a brief moment where you think he’s being serious—and in Joel’s mind, he is. But, the slight widening of your eyes as the words leave his mouth have him worried, like maybe he read into this wrong.

He smirks, “I’m kiddin, sweetheart. Long as you can find someone to cover your shift—“

You interrupt him abruptly, calling out to his brother.

“Tommy!“ You half-shout over Joel’s shoulder, causing him to wince and chuckle at the suddenness of it.

Tommy’s trying to pretend like he hasn’t been staring this entire time from across the kitchen, eyes locked on your figure as you draped yourself over his brother, face lighting as you talked and the subtle touches that should be him—at least, he wished it was him.

He clears his throat and heads toward the back door, head popping out before the rest of his body, “Y’all need somethin?”

“Can you cover my shift tomorrow?” You ask, a saccharine smile and a look that Tommy fell for every time, finding you hard parted from Joel now, he notices how your hands smooth out the dress that barely covers your thighs. “Please?”

“Is this what you two are doing now?” Tommy asks, now fully in view as he closes the sliding glass door behind him, “Plottin’ against me—you can’t give her special treatment, you know—“

He points an accusatory finger your way that you swat away, both of your eyes locked on Joel who seems less than interested as he sips on his beer.

“She’s gotta find someone to cover her shift,” Joel explains, “same as everyone else.”

Tommy calls bullshit, knowing Joel would figure it out himself or cover for you—it wasn’t like you did this often, but Tommy was more than aware of all the times he came to your rescue, almost like you were using it against him. A ploy. A devious plan to get under his skin.

He knew Joel liked you—but dammit, he did too.

And even in his steadfast attempt to deny you, you reach out and grab his hand, uncurling yourself from Joel as you approach him—sad eyes and a fake pout.

“Stop that—“ Tommy warns, his voice soft and anything but demanding, but you only lean in closer, and as strong of the man Tommy thinks he is, he breaks, “—god, Fine. I’ll cover your shift.”

You smile wide, right on the edge of celebrating before Tommy is snuffing the joy out.

“On one condition—“ Tommy holds up a finger, and you have to physically stop yourself from rolling your eyes, knowing there was always some sort of but coming with anything Tommy agreed to, “remember that date you flaked out on?”

It was one time—within the first week of you working at a bar. Tommy didn’t waste any time and given your eagerness to try new things, you didn’t shut him down.

But, you psych yourself out and cancel.

Tommy’s always remained slightly jaded by the ordeal and part of that has contributed to your hot and cold relationship and willingness to tease each other but still have no restraints in your frustration toward one another.

“Hey—that’s not,” Fair dies on your tongue, his shoulders shrugged in a firm response, “—fine, yes. I do.”

Tommy raises his eyebrows in obvious question.

Date?

You scrunch your nose in annoyance but quickly relent, “Okay—but I’m picking the place this time. No fucking bars, Tommy.”

Joel listens to the conversation with a scowl, completely unassuming since it was his usual state of emotion.

Tommy holds his hands up in defeat, “Yes, ma’am.”

“Glad y’all got that settled,” Joel interjects with a tone that pulls your attention back to him, “if you’re done flirtin’ with each other I need some help.”

You and Tommy appease Joel quickly, helping him with the food and when you’re finally through dinner, spending a quiet moment around the cake. You don’t sing or anything—Joel hates it. But, he does light a candle and blows it out, signifying another year of her absence.

There’s a quiet moment with Joel toward the end of the night—Tommy is off somewhere in the backyard, presumably cleaning up the grill for he and Joel’s shared space. They were both unmarried and found that living together and splitting the pay was easier than anything else.

“Hey, don’t worry about that,” Joel tells you, slipping the dirty dishes from your hands as he discards them in the sink, “we’ll handle it.”

“You sure?” It felt like the least you could do.

Joel nods, shrugging as he sets his half-drank beer bottle on the counter—he’d lost track of which one it was. Enough that he feels a faint buzz in his system as he thoughts run and he admires your curious face as you tilt your head, wondering why he seemed so…lost.

But, really—it was just that kind of day. It was never good for him, as much as he tried to act like it was. Yet somehow, with you here, he feels more at ease.

“What?” You ask curiously, a playfulness to your tone. “Keep starin’ and I might just have to give you those kisses, Joel.”

And really, it didn’t sound like a bad idea.

Joel gradually moves closer, looking back briefly over his shoulder at Tommy.

He smirks slightly as he turns back to you, catching that soft, familiar smile on your face.

“Don’t think he’d be too happy about that.” Joel tells you, playing with a bracelet clasped around your wrist, his front nearly pressed against your own, so close you could reach out and slip your hands under his flannel, touch the bare skin and finally find out what those older women at the bar were talking about—Joel didn’t get around, but he wasn’t a stranger to a casual hook-up.

“Maybe I want to,” Your eyebrows scrunch together in confusion, “what does Tommy have to do with that?”

“Sweetheart,” Joel breathes and you can’t resist, slipping a few trailing fingers under his shirt, which he quickly grabs with his own hand, tightening around your wrist, “I’m your boss, I can’t.”

The buzz of alcohol impedes you both, smart decision making out the window now.

“Like you don’t already give me special treatment,” You reply flippantly, teasing his obvious weakness, “....Joel.”

You.

Joel kisses you suddenly—you’re only half-expecting it as his large hand rises to cup your face, the other locked firmly around your wrist and he presses his lips firmly against your own.

He tastes like beer and the sweetness of frosting as you lick into his mouth, the hand not held tight in his grip finding its way into the front of his shirt, bunched into the fabric as you sigh into his mouth, the kiss quickly divulging into a battle of who could hold purchase on more of one another, hands exploring as Joel hands find their way over the back of your dress, the tips of his fingers grazing bareskin as he grabs and squeezes your ass, your teeth grazing against his bottom lip as you pull away suddenly, but not by your own doing.

It was Joel, his face flush from the alcohol in his system but also the intensity of the situation. There’s so much unspoken there and both of you want to speak and Joel nearly does before Tommy is shattering the moment, announcing his re-arrival into the house. You chew at your bottom lip thoughtfully as you glance between the two brothers, feelings and thoughts battling in your head.

Tommy was wild and unpredictable and you craved that.

Joel was practical and determined and that’s what you needed.

And selfishly, you wanted them both.

-

The conversation that happens later that night between Tommy and Joel is anything but civil.

“She agreed, Joel—it’s not like I’m forcin’ her,'' Tommy argues, “She could’ve said no and I wouldn’t care. She knows I like her, ain’t my fault she seems to like me back.”

“You’re still her boss.”

 As if he had any leverage, it pops Tommy out of his chair and toward Joel with an accusatory finger.

“And you? You’re my fuckin’ boss so how is that any better? ” Tommy asks and Joel looks away briefly in annoyance, fists curling at his side, “Think I didn’t catch you two earlier? Cut the shit, Joel.”

“This ain’t high school, Tommy,” Joel retorts, “We aren’t fighting over her.”

“Yeah, you made that pretty fuckin’ clear when you decide to make a move on her in the kitchen and then you’re standing here tellin’ me I can’t have her—how about you treat her like a normal person and let her choose, Joel.” Tommy retorts, “Or is that too damn hard for you? Not getting what you want?”

It sparks a deep fire inside Joel. Tommy too. And you really have no choice but to give them an ultimatum—besides, you wanted both. You were getting both.

-

It isn’t like they planned it, but somehow they manage to coincide and corner you at the same moment—Joel coming out of his office and Tommy rounding the door into the backroom, your frame bent over a box of bar snacks. When you look back, your eyes widen slightly.

“Shit—am I—are you firing me?” You ask, deeply concerned. You weren’t the best bartender, but you tried.

Tommy and Joel share an equally confused look.

“No—no why would you think that?” Joel asks.

You wave your hand vaguely between them both, a serious and concerned look on both of their faces. It wasn’t out of the norm for Joel, but for Tommy, it was unsettling. 

“Then, what?” You ask, only slightly annoyed. “We’re not exactly slow on customers right now—”

Another shared look, this time tense. Which one speaks first—it feels like race.

“Look, I already told Joel—” Tommy begins.

“Sweetheart, you need to know somethin’—” Joel interjects.

And it clicks quickly. Very quickly.

The shared look of frustration as they both purse their lips in a tight line, identical hands resting against their hips. This was ridiculous—the fighting, the silent arguing without actually sharing words.

“I’m not choosing.” You tell them forthright and their reaction is less than ideal, like two sad puppies who’ve just been scolded for bad behavior, but they both stay quiet and hang on your words, seeing that you weren’t finished. “If that’s what you’re expecting me to do.”

“No, that’s not—” Joel tries to argue, his voice fairly level for how distraught he seemed.

“I want you both,” You shrug, rising with the box in your grip, “so, if I can’t have that—then no.”

And you leave them with that, stewing in their own thoughts. Their gazes follow you as you walk, shoving past them gently.

“I’m not givin’ up.” Joel tells Tommy instantly, a look of defiance from his younger brother is thrown his way–Tommy was just as stubborn as Joel, if not more.

“Yeah, neither am I.”

-

Of course, you already knew how you wanted this to go.

You spoke to them both separately, promising a proper date at a specified place on a specific day and time—they wanted you and you wanted them. But, you were doing things your way.

And that is how you end up at the Miller’s brothers home again, a few weeks later, both of the men dumbfounded at how you mastered this plan. They were both wholly faithful to you, agreeing to go along with your plan to lie to the other brother so they wouldn’t get suspicious or upset, but really, you just wanted them both chasing their own tails.

They didn’t realize what was going on until they found themselves both getting ready at the same time that day, something lingering in the air that they couldn’t put their finger on until you were knocking at the door, a wide smile on your face. Joel answers, but Tommy isn’t far behind.

It’s how you end up on the couch later that night, squeezed together and eyes droning into the movie playing on the television screen, lingering touches like burns against your skin. Joel and Tommy are trying to avoid each other, but sometimes they’ll bump fingers and shoot a scowl at each other, but then you’re adjusting yourself to find another comfortable position and their attention is quickly drawn back.

Some of it is spent against Tommy, head resting against his solid chest but Joel’s hands never stray too far, a warm and comforting presence against your shoulder or thigh, a tender rub of his thumb into your sore muscles. Tommy likes to run his fingers along the shell of your ear, his chest shaking with a laugh at the movie every so often—there was little conversation happening and you blamed that on the obvious tension in the air.

When you trade Tommy’s touch for Joel, he’s ready for you.

You tend to like wrapping yourself around him, arms snug around his own like you’ve done a million times before, but you find your fingers dragging along the length of his forearm and he’s more shifty than usual, socked feet crossing and uncrossing as your touch grows, all the while Tommy’s hand firmly on your thigh, squeezing when you squirm a little too much, feet hiked up and resting in his lap. His thumb circles your ankle and rubs, a gentle massage to your bare feet as you sigh and that—that is what catches their attention.

“That feel good?” Tommy asks casually, a genuine question.

You weren’t one to complain about sore, achy feet and muscles from long shifts at the bar, but you weren’t going to turn down a nice massage or welcoming touch. You nod and Tommy smiles, allowing his deft and strong fingers to dig into the muscles of your foot, pulling another sated sigh from your lips. Joel hears the soft release of a breath from your lips and turns his head toward you, a subtle smile pulling at your lips as he stares at you more unabashed and open than usual. It’s the same look he gave you before kissing you the night of the party and you feel it, see it before it happens.

And somehow within the shared exchange, Tommy’s hand has climbed higher along your calf as he massages tenderly until he’s nearly at your apex, supple muscle pliant other his skin as he squeezes. Joel whispers something to you as he leans in, feeling the shift in the environment.

“This alright with you?” Joel asks quietly as you look over at Tommy, who despite himself looks just as eager if not more, like they weren’t completely turned off by the idea that you wanted both of them

Possibly at the same time.

“I think I should be asking you two that…” Your voice trails as Joel’s free hand slips to cup the back of your head, fingers molding with the shape of you as he tilts your head back, allowing him the lead willingly—and Tommy is there, right there at the apex of your thighs and you want is so fucking bad it pains you, physically and mentally.

“Oh, darlin’—there’s a few stories I could tell you,” Tommy offers, fingers lingering over the button of your jeans until you nod, quickly popping the thread apart and allowing his fingers to curl around the waistband of your jeans, tugging gingerly, “but that’s not important.”

Joel mouths at the line of your jaw instead of capturing your lips immediately, dragging out your suffering longer as you assist Tommy in his tug at your jeans, kicking the denim of your ankles as his large hand settles of your clothed pussy, panties damp at the center despite how hard you’ve tried to ignore the instant pleasure they’re touch gave you.

“No, no tell me.” You nod furiously, feeling Joel grins against the side of your face.

“It was a long, long time ago, sweetheart.” Joel defends, “Back in high school and college when Tommy just couldn’t go off and have his own things, always wanting everything his brother had.”

Tommy scoffs, scooting closer to you as he drapes a leg over his lap, spreading you wider for him, his hand following a slow path back and forth—all the way down to the apex of your knee before gradually back up to your pussy, throbbing underneath his touch as his fingers press into the sticky, wet fabric.

“That’s a stretch,” Tommy scoffs, “Anyways, darlin’—we used to, uh—”

Tommy doesn’t know why he feels ashamed to admit. So, Joel does it for him.

“We like to share, sometimes.” Joel explains. “I mean, I’m not in favor of sharin’ you but if that’s what you want…”

You nod furiously, the press of Tommy’s fingers grow stronger as he slips them past the side of your panties, touching the bare seam of your pussy, covered in the copious amount of sweet slick that had accumulated between your thighs.

“Oh, that’s what she wants,” Tommy surmises, a small chuckle hidden within his speech as his mouth hangs open slightly, watching yours grow wider as you gasp, his bare touch like a spark, “isn’t that right?”

You nod again, but that isn’t what he’s looking for.

“Need you to say it, sweetheart.” Joel demands, his hand squeezing at the thigh that wasn’t stretched out over Tommy’s lap, the other resting against your neck now, squeezing the muscle gently under his grip, his lips only a few millimeters from your own now. “Say you want this.”

“I do—fuck, I do,” You whimper, a single digit slipping past your entrance and into you, the stretch not quite what you’re looking for but the touch alone—from Tommy, is enough to drive you mad, “I w—want it. Both of you.”

“I think we can make that happen.” Joel agrees easily, capturing your lips in a searing kiss—heated in a way that has your stomach doing flips and your free hand gripping his grown out hair, peppered with grays but so fucking soft between your fingers.

Tommy slips in a conspicuous second finger in the midst of the heated kiss and it surprises you how good it feels, just graced by the thickness of his fingers but you need more. Want more.

There’s a subtle snarl to the way Tommy admires you so openly, his eyes dragging along the slow rise and fall of your chest and the way you cunt sucks his fingers in with greed and nothing else. He wants to taste you. 

There’s a brief look he offers as you break apart from Joel, breathless as you turn your head toward him, Joel’s following as his eyes trail toward the point where Tommy’s fingers are buried inside of you.

“Use those words,” Joel whispers against your cheek, a smirk growing on his face, “don’t be afraid.”

“Whaddya need, darlin’?” Tommy asks enticingly, removing his fingers in an anxious anticipation, wet fingers dragging along your thigh. “Gonna let me taste you?”

“Please, god—please.” You whine pathetically, watching as Tommy dicends without question, removing your panties with a swiftness that deafens the task at hand. It takes a moment as you untangle yourself from Joel to settle more central on the couch, squealing softly as Tommy manhandles your thighs over his shoulder, settled on his knees and his palms pressing flat over the tops of your thighs.

Joel settles solidly behind you after some maneuvering, a sturdiness to his chest that takes the brunt of your weight as you relax against him, his hands quickly finding their way under your shirt and pulling it up until the fabric is bunched under your skin, bare breasts on full display as he runs a gentle, testing touch over them with his palm, eyes closing at the overwhelming sensation of both of them surrounding you. You don’t even have the guise to feel shy that this was the first time they were seeing you like this–it felt normal, like this is what was supposed to happen.

Tommy floats a hot breath against your skin, kissing a line up the inside of your thigh before he speaks, “I got you, darlin’,” He assures you, “—tell me what you need and I’ll give it to you.”

You nod shakily, looking up hesitantly at Joel over your shoulder and he can only offer a grin, though his eyes harbor something much darker. “Tell ‘em, baby.” He urges, “You want him to eat your pussy, right?”

You nod obediently and Joel grabs ahold of your chin gently, guiding your gaze back toward Tommy, feeling the heat of his gaze burn into you.

“Need your mouth, Tommy,” You beg, earning a gentle squeeze of acknowledgement from Joel against your chin, who leans in with a gentle whisper of tell him where as you exhale an even shakier breath than before, “on my pussy—please—”

Tommy snickers softly before he obliges, a slow, languid lick of his tongue through your folds as he starts, ripping a quiet gasp from your chest as your hand instantly finds his hair, overgrown like Joel’s but stark black and gelled back like usual, never a hair out of place.

That wasn’t going to be the case much longer, fingers fisting into his hair and using it as leverage, the slow licks between your lips quickly exploring inside of you, teasing dips into your hole as he chuckles a soft breath which each and every squirm you offered, all while under the intense gaze of Joel, who was clearly holding out—he wouldn’t kiss you as hard as you tried, trained on your face as you challenged his eye contact, not daring to let it go unless he physically forced you to look away. His hand still lingered against your chin but occasionally fled for a comforting touch when things got intense too quickly and you were almost teetering over the edge, but he quickly brought you back down.

And within that, you’re so blinded by pleasure to not realize that he’s instructing Tommy the entire time, only catching onto the last few commands as Tommy devours, making his own selfish noises as he groaned when you pulled a little too tight on his hair, mumbling praises of depravity and a ‘so fuckin’ sweet—always knew you were, darlin’ and the occasional, breathier ‘come on baby—use my face, fuckin’ take it.’.

Joel speaks to Tommy directly, despite keeping his eyes on you.

“Oh, you’re right there, huh?” Joel asks you goadingly, “Need more?”

You nod eagerly, despite how good Tommy’s mouth feels, he was lacking in one important aspect—you couldn’t blame him, he was a little overwhelmed with everything, as were you. But, Joel, he seemed the most-level headed and you were so fucking thankful for it.

“Want him to play with your clit, sweetheart?” He asks, “S’that what you need?”

“Ye—Yes.” You stutter, the gentle squeeze of your breast under Joel’s grip causing you to clench around Tommy’s tongue and he flicks his eyes up toward you both and there was no telling how pathetic you looked, but Tommy seemed just as equal on that playing field.

“You heard ‘er, Tommy.” Joel tells him, “give our girl what she wants.”

Our girl.

It doesn’t take long when his tongue presses against your clit, circling maddeningly until you have no other choice but to grip onto the couch and moan, the tightening, agonizing feeling in your stomach bursting at the seams as you come against his tongue. Joel captures your mouth to swallow the moan, not trying to give Tommy the satisfaction just yet while his brother greedily licked away at your pussy, cleaning up the mess you’d made, a gentle smile on your face as you finally came back down, allowing Joel to lick greedily into your mouth before you chanced a glance at Tommy, his pupils blown out in pleasure.

“Think we should move this to the bedroom?” Joel asks preemptively, a soft laughing bubbling from your chest.

“Yeah—yes, please.” You agree, but your legs feel weak, unable to bear your weight.

“I got you, baby.” Tommy assures, helping you to your feet gently, a comforting hand on your waist as he led you toward what you could assume was Joel’s room–considering he had the bigger of the two, Joel following closely behind. 

The deafening click on the door is both a promise and a warning.

This was a secret held within these walls and whatever took place could not be reversed.

You were willing to take that risk though, selfishly.

And you were sure the Miller brothers shared the same sentiment.

-

And for some reason, you didn’t think it was that important you come again. Not after the first, seeing as how they had proved their point in wanting you, nearly brought you to tears with your first orgasm and maybe—maybe you could just blow them both and it would be fine, even the playing fields and leave it at that. 

But, no. That’s not what they wanted. Or planned for.

Joel eats your pussy for fun, he doesn’t even try to make you come. You manage to convince Tommy out of his jeans early, using the fist you have wrapped in his shirt as leverage as you hover on your hands and knees, gripping his thick cock in your free hand and giving it a few slow tugs, knowing that if he was this big, there was no telling what Joel had to offer. 

He’s uncut and girthy, thick veins lining his cock as you lapped teasingly at the head, pulling the foreskin back as you took him into your mouth, a moan reverberating over his cock as Joel ate you out from behind, ass high in the air as he settled on his knees. It wasn’t an ideal position, but Joel wasn’t complaining and neither were you.

Joel had always stripped at some point, still clad in his boxers but devoid of everything else. He’s much wider than Tommy but not nearly as firm—where Tommy has a more chiseled chest and stomach, Joel carries a softness that still beckons with strength. 

“Fuck, darlin’,” Tommy sighs, “got a goddamn mouth on you, you know that?”

To some extent, you did. He knew you liked to argue at every possible opportunity, throw back witty remarks that sometimes he didn’t even have a response to but this—this is more than he could imagine. Wet, hot heat surrounded his cock in a way that could have him coming within a few strokes, but he was determined.

You nod with your mouth latched around his cock, taking him to the base until he nudges that back of your throat, trying desperately to ignore how it makes your eyes water, hearing Tommy groan deeply with the feeling of you swallowing around him.

“I’m gonna cum,” Tommy warns, “—go on, baby, pull off if you wanna.”

You shake your head defiantly, feeling Joel chuckle against your cunt from behind you.

“She’s greedy, brother,” Joel comments slyly, “You should know that.”

Tommy comes with a low groan, fingers wrapping around the arm still gripping his shirt, thumb rubbing against the skin to soothe himself and keep him anchored here, feeling like he might teleport to another goddamn dimension with how eagerly you swallow down his cum.

You pull off with a soft pop and look at Tommy, grinning proudly. He can’t even hide his adoration, chuckling behind a toothy grin as you pull away from Joel, turning in Tommy’s lap and pressing your back against his chest.

“You think I’m greedy?” You ask Joel teasingly.

“Look at you,” Joel comments snidely, though there’s a playfulness to his tone, “couldn’t settle for one of us so you’re gettin’ both—that seems pretty damn greedy to me.”

You nod mawkishly to his words, watching as he grew closer, shifting on his knees as you leaned forward slightly, feeling the gentle press of Tommy’s palm against your back, his spent and softening dick, pressed against your bare ass. He knew it wouldn’t take long, just a few minutes and he’d be even harder than before, unable to resist you.

“And if I want more?” You ask curiously.

“More what, sweetheart?”

“Well, for starters—I want your cum, Joel.” You tell him honestly, “Can you give me that?”

“Dunno, you think you deserve that?”

Tommy’s watching the exchange with an amused grin, feeling it was a well-deserved punishment to Joel with how often you and him argue this way. Joel was finally getting a taste of the medicine he so often mocked Tommy for complaining about.

“Come here.” You beckon, grabbing lazily at his wrist and pulling him toward you.

He seems hesitant at first, but he leans over you, sandwiching you between him and Tommy as you press your lips in a featherlight touch against his own.

“Kiss me.” You demand.

“What?” He asks curiously, like his brother hadn’t just come in your mouth.

And that’s exactly why–it doesn’t make your skin crawl, in fact, it only turns you on more.

“Please, Joel,” You pout, “just a little peck and then I’ll let you fuck me while Tommy has to watch–that’s what you want right? Wanna pull some claim over me while your brother can’t do anything about it, am I wrong?”

Joel kisses you so intensely it forces you back against Tommy, a small mmph leaving your mouth as Joel quickly gained the upper hand and wraps his large, rough hands under your ass and scoots you further down the bed until the back of your thighs press against the top of his and you moan as he licks into your mouth, knowing that the lingering of Tommy’s headiness touches his tongue and you bite down harshly on his bottom lip as he pulls apart for a brief, lingering moment. 

Here it comes—the questioning consent, the lingering wonders.

“I’m covered, Joel.” You assure him, “We don’t need them. I trust you both are clean.”

Assuming that Tommy was going to fuck you too—which, god, you fucking hoped.

That’s all Joel needs, nodding before he grabs ahold of his shaft, dragging the tip of his cock through you wetness, gathering it in a slow teasing trail before he presses inside slowly, watching the stretch of you around his cock. You can’t help but keep your eyes locked on the same point either, because what Joel lacked in slight girth he made up for in length, feeling the numb press of him inside of you before he was even fully sheathed.

“Goddamn, sweetheart,” He says, voice strained, “that’s a tight fuckin’ fit. Think you can handle it?”

You laugh brokenly, Tommy’s hands comforting over your shoulder before they trail to your breasts, teasingly rubbing a nipple between his fingers, watching it pebble underneath his touch.

“Do you want a pat on the back or something?” You retort, “Fuck me, Joel.”

“There she is,” Tommy comments in amusement, “I knew you were in there. Give it to ‘em, darlin.”

“Shut it, Tommy,” Joel snaps, “Know what, sweetheart, I got a challenge for you.”

Joel moves his hips slowly, pulling out slowly before pushing back in even more agonizingly slower. “No touchin’, how’s that sound? Think you can handle it.”

You shake your head. Honestly, Joel could respect it.

“Fine—Tommy, hold her hands.” Joel settles and part of you expects Tommy to argue.

He doesn’t. In fact, he looks just as greedy about the idea. And he knows if you were uncomfortable with it you would speak up, because secretly—it was exactly what you wanted. Render your power and your own autonomy for a brief moment and give yourself over to them equally. Tommy holds his hands out in wait, wiggling his fingers teasingly.

You hand them over with a soft sigh, feigning annoyance. He guides them to wrap around his waist behind you, arms stretched over your head as Joel has a solid grip on the underside of your thighs, hips still moving slowly throughout, so slow that you forget he’s actually seated inside you until he snaps his hips once, twice, his resistance snapping when he sees you settle.

Tommy settled on his own knees, though sat deeper into the bed, his hands a tight, mindful presence against your wrist as you squeeze and claw at his skin as Joel pistons his hips with a ferocity that seeks vengeance, or something there of. 

“Squeeze my cock, sweetheart,” Joel goads, feeling you do just that as your eyes roll back, “yeah—don’t act like this wasn’t what you planned from the beginning.”

“Our girl’s good at that,” Tommy comments, staring down at you with a mischievous smirk, “playin’ us both—kinda like it though, I’ll admit.”

“Shut up,” You groan, “Both of you.”

You pointedly pinch at Tommy’s skin and he tilts his head in both amusement and confusion.

“I think she’s gettin’ a little upset,” Tommy acknowledges, “You don’t think it’s fair, darlin?”

You almost have the courage to reply when Joel’s thumb drags over your clit, rubbing in quick and determined circles to match the intensity of his thrusts, using his spread knees to keep your thighs wide and open for him, eyes locked on your cunt as you squeeze around him repeatedly, moaning wantonly into your bicep as you turn your head to the side.

But, Joel doesn’t appreciate that. He grabs your chin quickly, and clicks his tongue in disapproval, “Nuh uh, sweetheart. You keep those eyes on Tommy. Let him see how good I make you feel, alright?”

You pout slightly, biting harshly at your bottom lip as Joel shifts his hips slightly, but it feels earth-shattering, one hand planted into the mattress to allow for him to reach something deeper inside of you, if that was possible.

“I’m right—right,” You sigh, eyes tearing up as you looked at Tommy, clawing gently at his sides, “fuck–I’m right there, Tommy.”

Despite Joel being inside you, his name slips out. It shouldn’t turn him on as much as it does. And he wants to give you relief but really, he’s just eager to be inside of you too. He knows the quicker Joel finishes up that he can have you, so he encourages his brother. And Joel is too desperate for his own release to argue.

“Ask him, sweetheart.” Joel notices your eagerness for approval from Tommy and plays into it, feeling the familiar feeling building in his gut as he grits his teeth.

You nod furiously in understanding, eyes trained on Tommy. “I need to—can I come, please?”

“Go on, baby.” He agrees softly, rubbing a gentle hand over your chest as he feels your body shake with your orgasm as Joel swiped a thumb over your clit before everything goes white, gasping sharply at the intensity, but you don’t have much time to recover before Joel is pulling out and allowing Tommy to assist as you sit up slightly and feel the press of Joel’s cock against your lip, the blurriness in your eyes quickly clearing as he comes in long, forceful spurts over your tongue.

You lap greedily, swallowing visibly as Joel squeezes at his cock and forces out the last few bits of cum he had to offer, rubbing the tip against your tongue as you giggled softly, kissing his cock head gently.

There’s a brief second where you think they might allow you a break, a moment to collect yourself, but Joel is staring at you with his head cocked to the side, palming his softening dick as he glances over you at his brother.

“I dunno if she’s up for it,” Joel offers, “I think that might’ve taken it out of her.”

A shame, really. But, your eyebrows furrow in defiance as you quickly shove Joel, gently and not at all enough to really move him more than a few millimeters. It causes Tommy to chuckle.

“He’s just playin’ around, baby.” Tommy comforts, “You think you can handle it?”

You nod eagerly, turning on your knees as you rise to meet him with an eager kiss, something you haven’t had the chance to do all night. Tommy kisses with more eagerness, more passion—it’s less experience than what you feel with Joel. Tommy has so much he wants to match with you; the curiosity and unity in the way you touch him. You kiss like new lovers and it feels your body with warmth, both of you laughing softly against each other’s lips.

“I can handle it.”

Tommy eyes you seriously, following your playful gaze.

“Get to the edge of the bed.”

And—oh, that’s…different. Like a switch and you can barely recognize him.

Joel and Tommy switch with a trained ease as Tommy guides you to the end of the bed, the top of the mattress pressing at your waistline and giving you easy leverage to lean against and Joel is right there, in perfect view and waiting for you. He seems softer now too, more relaxed.

You think Tommy might give you a moment but he’s already hard again and eager, sliding inside of you in one go—hard and sharp as your hands press into the mattress between Joel’s thighs, gripping the sheets tightly.

=

Tommy grips tightly at the back of your neck and pulls you upwards, pressing his face into the side of yours and speaking tensely against your skin, “Why don’t you be a good girl and give my brother a taste of what your mouth can do, huh, baby?”

You nod obediently, shivering at the way Tommy mouths at your skin greedily before forcing you back down against Joel, his hands spread out beside him, cock hard against and resting against his belly.

He’s almost positive he won’t be able to come again–not this soon, but he isn’t going to deny himself the taste of your mouth, watching as you move with eagerness to please him and Tommy. The sharp snap of Tommy’s hips makes it a little difficult and Joel wants to scold his brother’s eagerness and lack of restraint, but he knows—Joel knows how good you feel and he can’t even blame him. 

He offers a guiding hand as you swallow him down, swirling your tongue around the tip a few times, repeating the process with his hand resting gently against the side of your face, thumb rubbing tenderly at the joint in your jaw, feeling him stretch you and heightening the growing ache that will linger for a while.

“Fuck, our girl’s got such a sweet pussy, don’t she?” Joel comments snarkily, eyebrows furrowing when you take him a little too deep, “Can’t get enough of it—just like this goddamn mouth.”

You moan pathetically and Joel can’t handle it, gripping your face between his palms as he presses his lips to yours forcefully, swallowing the whine that leaves your mouth as you feel Tommy’s hands roam and tightening against your body, soft expletives leaving his mouth as he fucks into you and hand gradually arriving at your shoulder and tightening around the skin, pulling him back against your harshly.

Joel rubs his thumbs against your cheeks, eyes locked on yours, “Yeah—think you can come again, sweetheart?” A third? Not a fuckin’ chance. You shake your head weakly, ‘You can, I know you can,” And there’s Joel’s soothing voice, the one you hear so often at work, “You keep your eyes on me, alright? Nowhere else.”

“Listen to ‘em, baby.” Tommy interjects after a long bout of silence, too lost in his own head as he relishes in the squeeze of you around his cock, committing it to memory. “Gonna make sure you feel us tomorrow while you’re at work.”

Joel chuckles at that, the slow trail of Tommy’s hand as it finds your clit and begins slow circles, easing into it, “Yeah, how ‘bout that,” Joel comments teasingly, “maybe we just can’t resist ourselves and we can take turns fuckin’ you in the back office. But, you’d like that wouldn’t you?”

You moan sheepishly, eyes falling shut up.

Joel tsks, “Eyes on me means you keep ‘em open too, baby. Answer me.”

“Yes—yes, fuck—I would. I would.” You rush out, feeling Tommy’s pace quicken and the ache in your stomach builds and builds, tears building in your eyes as you keep them locked on Joel. 

Despite his demands his face remains gentle and you find yourself sobbing softly into his hands as Tommy snaps his hips one last time, coming inside of you with a deep, guttural groan as he tips you over the edge too. It’s too much, overly-sensitive and your muscles burning with more ache than when you started you let out another sob, falling against Joel.

“Go on, get somethin’ to clean up,” He tells Tommy over your shoulder, “I got her.”

You fall slack against him, feeling him adjust himself on the bed until you can sit properly, leaning you against his body as he hands run along your back, soft sobs wracking your body.

“Hey, you still with me?” Joel asks hesitantly. “Was it too much?”

You feel yourself start to calm under his touch, quickly shaking your head.

“Just…overwhelmed.” You admit, “Too much.”

“Too much?” Joel echoes with an endearing chuckle. 

“Yes,” You admit amusingly, “I guess I wasn’t expecting…that.”

“That’s fair,” Joel offers, gripping your hand in his own and intertwining your fingers, “this doesn’t—we don’t usually do this. We haven’t in a long time. I don’t want you to think this is something you're bound to now.”

“Like he could fire you if he wanted to,” Tommy interjects with a sly grin, somehow managing to redress amidst your talk with Joel, just a pair of dark colored briefs but it allows what just happened to settle in more deeply, “come here, darlin.”

Joel switches off, pulling his own underwear on somewhere near the other side of the bed. And you welcome the warmth of the washcloth as Tommy drags it between your legs, hissing only slightly, “I know, you’re pretty sensitive—m’sorry.” Tommy mumbles, gingerly cleaning you up, dragging the wet wash cloth along your thighs as well, tender from his and Joel’s teasing bites at your flesh. “Better?”

“Thank you.” You say softly, his free hand gripping your waist tenderly.

Joel offers up your clothes silently, eyeing his brother wearily as he bounds around the room, gathering his own clothes and re-dressing, though Joel stays in his nearly bare state of undress, briefs allowing him some modesty.

“I’m gonna check the bar,” Tommy offers, “should only take an hour or so.”

Joel nods, “Alright, just…keep me updated, I guess.”

He isn’t ushering you out either, his lingering presence by your side as you pull your underwear up your thighs, a gentle touch of reassurances as you wobble on unsteady legs. Tommy chuckles lightly at the sight, winking when he catches your disgruntled gaze, nose scrunched up in annoyance. 

“No fun without me.” Tommy jokes.

“Tommy—” Joel says steely as his brother throws his head back over his shoulder, slipping on his boots, “get the fuck out of my room.”

Tommy offers a mock salute and does just that, leaving you alone with Joel for the first time that night.

“I’m guessing the same rules apply to me?” You ask, shoving your arms through the holes in your shirt, yanking it over your head and you catch Joel shaking his head, pulling you to your feet with a hand when you finally look at him.

“I got you all to myself now,” Joel says quietly, “think I deserve to be a little selfish.”

You wince at the thought of any more sex tonight, but are thankful his hands down stray from your side when they settle there.

“Joel, I can’t—”

“Sleep here tonight,” He offers, “I’ll cook breakfast in the morning."

“I think you just want to keep to yourself all night so Tommy can’t have me, don’t you?”

Joel grins, leaning in for a gentle peck of your lips, “You’re damn right, sweetheart.”

[silentscrying]

🏀 buzzer beater | chapter ELEVEN.

nba!gojo x manager!reader || directory. || prev. || next.

summary: you thought you'd gotten rid of arrogant NBA star satoru gojo when he left the curses after your first year in basketball management. but when your contract is up three years later, you find yourself working with him once again as the manager for the sorcerers. as you navigate playoff season alongside long-time friend ieiri shoko and the sorcerers' insufferable star player, you start to realize his sudden departure from the curses may not have been what it seemed, and maybe gojo isn't exactly the person (or player) you thought he was, either.

warnings: language, slight unwanted advances, mahito in general, fangirl todo. || sfw. 5.3k words.

THE NEXT DAY, the Curses take the series against the Foxes. It’s official: the Sorcerers-Curses rivalry will come to a head in the NBA championships, starting on Friday in San Diego.

The team went harder than ever at practice today, not only drilling but talking strategy and getting into the nitty-gritty of the psychological impact of the rivalry. Yaga knows Mei Mei and the Curses don’t go easy, or fair. They’re ready.

As you pull out the keys to your apartment, you frown at the package on your welcome mat, a weird cylindrical shape with no return address. After you make it to the kitchen, you open it and find a rolled-up sheet of glossy paper. What?

You spread it out on your countertop and see an official signed poster of Satoru, in full uniform, palming a basketball in one hand with a huge smirk on his face. With the photo’s professional editing, his eyes look even more blue than usual, and you may or may not stare at them a second too long.

“Jesus fuck,” you say.

As if on cue, your phone buzzes.

six: did you get my gift?? you: is this for target practice? how sweet six: :( you: baby six: oh it’s like that😏 you: that was an insult

When your phone goes off again after you’ve relegated the rolled-up poster to an end table, you assume it’s Satoru responding. But instead, you find a text from Geto.

suguru geto: Thought about my offer at all?

Great. He waited until the Curses made the championships and just thought he’d try again? You screenshot the text and send it to Satoru.

you: what if i turn on read receipts just for this

six: HAHAHAHA

You won’t, because you’re still planning on taking Geto by surprise on Friday when he realizes you and Satoru are actually together. Your phone rings, and your brow furrows as you realize you don’t recognize the number or the area code.

“Sorcerers management,” you greet, and a high-pitched voice comes through the speaker.

“Hi there! This is Takada with the Reggie Star Show.” You hesitate for a moment. Reggie’s show is kind of a huge deal, and Takada has become something of a personality herself, although you’ve always found her a bit over the top.

“Uh, how can I help you?” you ask finally.

“So! Reggie would love to invite Satoru Gojo onto the show before the NBA championships.” You stand stock-still in your kitchen.

What the fuck, you mouth silently to yourself. It’s not like Reggie never has athletes on the show. But only Satoru?

“Not the rest of the team?” you clarify, and Takada laughs, a high, kind of shrill sound that has you holding your phone a bit away from your ear.

“Well, you see, we’re hoping to promote the series a bit by pulling the centers from both teams! Mr. Geto has already agreed, so we’d love to interview him and Mr. Gojo together.”

Oh, Jesus.

You are 100% certain this is Mei Mei’s doing. You instinctively want to reject her now, but this isn’t really your call.

“Let me run this by Gojo and the coaches, and I can get back to you, Takada,” you say, hoping that tides her over for now.

“No problem. Thank you!” she chirps, and the line goes dead. You groan, staring at the ceiling. This is not worth the hassle. You swipe to Satoru’s contact and call him.

He picks up on the first ring.

“Miss me already?” he drawls, and you roll your eyes.

“Asshole. So, guess who just called me?”

“If you say Suguru I’m flying to San Diego early and cornering him in an alley.”

You laugh. “Okay, Jesus. No. Uh, the Reggie Star Show?”

“What?” Satoru screeches.

“They have Geto coming on before championships,” you sigh, “and they want you too. To ‘promote the series’ or whatever. Drama on screen.”

“Mei Mei’s idea?”

“That’s what I was thinking.”

“I don’t really think I have time, considering… it’s championships and we’re training every day? Yaga would be pissed, probably. Not much of a publicity guy.”

Something in your chest loosens at his words. Truthfully, you really don’t want him to go, to be in a situation where he and Geto can only verbally spar through a guise of political politeness.

“Also, I just… don’t want to?” he says. You grin.

“Good. I was hoping.”

“Aw, don’t want me to launch my television career?” You sink onto your couch as he keeps talking. “That could be a great return on investment for you, you know. You have my autograph now.”

“Shut up. And don’t tell Nobara about this. She’d be so mad at you.”

“Scaryyy,” he says, and he’s not joking. “Come over for dinner?” The change in topic has you smiling as you kick your feet up on the coffee table. “Miki and Gumi are coming. And Yuji.”

“And the dogs?”

“Am I not enough for you?” he scoffs, and you grin.

“Not even close.”

“Yes, the dogs, you heathen.”

“Wouldn’t miss it!” you say innocently, and hang up on him.

—

Tsumiki meets you at Satoru’s door with a massive grin on her face and immediately pulls you into a hug.

“Hi!” she says excitedly, ushering you inside.

“Hey, Tsumiki,” you smile, and then there’s a rapid pitter-patter of the dogs rounding the corner into the entryway, and you fall into a pile of fur and kisses. “Hi, buddies! Hi!” Shiro shoves her nose into your face and Kuro plops himself down in your lap right as Satoru rounds the corner.

“Stealing my girlfriend,” he whines.

“Dumbass,” you say, and let him help you up. He plants a kiss on the top of your head and you blush against your will.

“C’mon. Pasta’s ready.” You follow Satoru into the kitchen and find Yuji and Megumi putting plates on the small table. You raise a brow.

“Whose cooking?”

“Whose do you think?” Tsumiki asks.

“I helped!” Yuji insists, pointing to the oven. “I’m making garlic bread!”

Tsumiki pats him on the shoulder and says, “Yes, Yuji, you did a great job.”

You fire off a quick message to Yaga to confirm that it’s okay to reject Takada’s offer, and he responds within two minutes, Please do.

You step out to make the call, and when you come back into the kitchen, Yuji and Tsumiki are giggling at something.

“What are you two on about?” you ask, and Tsumiki, still snickering, hands you her phone. It’s open to a tweet of a grainy computer screenshot, and it says SOMEONE LOOK AT ME THE WAY SATORU GOJO LOOKS AT THE SORCERERS MANAGER PLS PLSPLS

That’s not even the part that gets you. First of all, it’s not from the most recent game—it’s from before you were together. You’re wearing the Limitless shirt.

Second, Kasumi retweeted it.

“Jesus,” you say, and Satoru appears at your shoulder.

“Yes?”

“Shut up.” You swat at him without looking and then pull out your phone to text Kasumi. “I need to tell her before she finds out somewhere else.”

As if on cue, your phone lights up with her name. Your first thought is that she somehow already knows and is FaceTiming you to scream at you. You swipe and her face materializes in front of you, a massive grin on her face and—has she been crying?

“Kasumi! Are you okay?”

“Yes!” she practically screams. And then she holds up her hand, and you stare for a long moment before realizing she’s wearing a ring.

“Holy shit!” you screech. “Kasumi!” The grin splits across your face, and she’s laugh-crying on the other end of the phone, and then she abruptly freezes.

And you realize Satoru’s very much visible in the frame behind you.

“Alley-oop,” she says. “You motherf—Alley. Is that—”

You can see the tips of your ears going pink in the camera in the corner of the screen. “Surprise?”

“To you, maybe!” she laughs. “Holy shit. Holy shit! This is the best day of my life.”

Muta appears beside Kasumi, squinting at the screen. “Tell me it’s because we’re getting married and not because she and Gojo finally banged.” Megumi wrinkles his nose at the other end of the table.

“Kokichi,” Kasumi scolds, but Satoru cracks up behind you and you can’t help but follow suit.

“Congrats, you guys,” you say. “I’m so happy for you. Does Akari know?”

“She’s next on the list,” Kasumi grins.

“We’ll let you go, then,” you say, and take a moment to just appreciate how fucking happy your friend looks. Her blue hair is a mess and her eyes are rimmed red, but she’s glowing. This has been a long time coming. You couldn’t be happier for her, honestly.

When she hangs up, Satoru grins and says, “Aw, basketball romance.” Then he looks pointedly at Yuji and Megumi.

“I suddenly feel like a fifth wheel,” Tsumiki announces. Then she looks at Shiro and Kuro, curled up together on the couch. “Seventh wheel?”

You plop into the chair next to Tsumiki and wrap your arm around her. “Nah, Satoru’s seventh wheeling. I’m here for you.”

She grins, and Satoru falls to his knees and dramatically fakes his own death. The dogs leap off the couch to investigate, and soon he’s laughing as Shiro slobbers all over him while Kuro decides to lay across his legs.

In truth, you don’t remember the last time you felt this content. It’s a nice feeling, warm.

And then a smell hits you, like something burning, and you furrow your brows and turn toward the kitchen. “Is something—”

“Oh my god!” Yuji screeches, practically falling out of his chair and bolting for the kitchen. “The garlic bread!”

—

The results of turning down the Reggie Star offer have, quite possibly, the funniest results of all time.

You’re curled up on Satoru’s couch two days later with your feet on his lap and Tsumiki on your other side, Megumi and Yuji sprawled with the dogs on the floor. On the TV, Todo walks on stage to a cheering studio audience and locks eyes with Takada, and you honestly wouldn’t be surprised if he just passed out right now.

“Simp,” Satoru says. You look at him incredulously. “Okay, hey, I did not say I wasn’t also.” He plants a kiss on your temple and Megumi pretends to gag.

You swear Todo literally has physical stars in his eyes when he looks at her. He shakes her hand with both of his and does a weird half-bow and says, “It’s such an honor, Ms. Ta—“

“Oh, please,” Takada giggles. “Just call me Takada.” Todo goes red again, stammering out a response.

“This is the most painful thing I’ve ever seen in my life,” Megumi says. He’s only watching this because Yuji wants to.

“Mr. Aoi Todo,” Reggie Star says grandly, throwing an arm around him like they’re already best buds. “Take a seat, take a seat. Thanks again for joining us on such short notice!”

Todo takes his place on the couch while Reggie and Takada sit in opposing armchairs, the background flashing the Reggie Star Show logo as the theme music peters out. Reggie grills Todo with questions about the Samurai-Sorcerers series, playing against Yuji after playing with him in college, all the connections the team has with half of the championship bracket. And throughout, Todo just can’t tear his gaze away from Takada.

By the time it’s over you’re nearly falling off the couch, laughing yourself halfway to tears.

“Guys, it’s cute! He has a crush!” Yuji exclaims, and you all laugh harder. Tsumiki collapses into you, her hair spreading out over the fabric of the shirt you’re wearing—one of Satoru’s, blue and black and smelling like him.

After the commercial break, which consisted of an actually absurd amount of Takada promoting various useless products, Todo is nowhere to be found. Geto sits on the couch in his place with a press-worthy smile and a crisp, navy blue suit.

“And here we’ve got the starting center of one of the two NBA teams gunning for the championship title, Mr. Suguru Geto,” Reggie introduces, and the studio audience whoops and cheers as Geto waves them off, smiling modestly. You kind of want to slap him.

“Now, let’s not beat around the bush here, Suguru—you’re going up against the Sorcerers the day after tomorrow, and that means you’re coming face to face with your old teammate, Satoru ‘Six-Eyes’ Gojo.” Reggie looks pointedly out at the crowd, like they’re in on some big secret, and turns back to Geto. “How do you feel about this match-up, two starting centers with a lengthy history on the court with stakes this high?”

Geto sighs and leans forward a bit in his seat, one elbow on the armrest. “Well, Reggie, Satoru and I go back a long time.” You wrinkle your nose at the sound of his first name in Geto’s mouth. You feel weirdly defensive about it. “I’m not sure if you’re aware, but we went to high school together and then college, so we’ve been playing basketball together since our early teens.”

Takada chimes in, “That’s quite the bond, going through the most formative parts of your careers together!” You can’t take her seriously, because in your head she’s still winking at the camera and waxing poetic about the merits of some new Japanese skincare line.

Reggie nods, encouraging Geto to go on. “I’ve gotta say, I am looking forward to seeing him again. He’s a hard man to get ahold of these days. It’ll be good to see him, albeit on opposite sides of the court.”

“No, it will not,” Satoru says with a false cheer in his voice, pointing a finger gun at the TV.

“And how do you think your odds are looking for this series?”

“Well,” Geto laughs, “the Sorcerers are talented, I’ll give them that. Clearly, they’ve made it this far. But I will say that the Curses are first seed with home court advantage.” He shrugs. “So do with that what you will.”

Takada glances at Reggie, as if asking permission for something, and he nods. “If I’m not mistaken, Mr. Geto, there’s another familiar face on the other side of things as well, a former manager of the Curses.”

Geto nods, a wide smile crossing his face, and you feel Satoru tense up beside you. “Oh, we miss her a lot, yes. She’s great at what she does. I keep telling her she should make her way back to San Diego if she feels so inclined.” He laughs, like this is some great ongoing joke.

“Oh, so you two still speak regularly, then?” Reggie asks, intrigued. Your jaw clenches, and Satoru’s hand encloses yours before it can become a fist.

“I just recently paid her a visit out east.” Oh my god. Oh my god.

“That fucker,” Satoru growls. Your phone buzzes with a message from Ieiri.

my wife: this little man bun bitch

my wife: what if i commit murder. what then

You’re seething, and even Tsumiki is frowning, the lines creasing her face, turning the corners of her mouth down. Paid you a visit? As if you’re friends and he came to catch up with you over coffee, not dropped in on your street in the dark to harass you about a job you don’t want?

“Well, sounds like it’ll be quite the reunion,” Reggie is saying by the time the smoke clears out of your ears enough for you to hear again.

Tsumiki reaches across you to ruffle Satoru’s hair. “He’s just trying to get under your skin. Don’t let him.”

You shoot a quick message back to Ieiri.

you: tbh i’d pay a lot of money to see y’all in a cage match

Reggie and Takada shift to broader questions about the series and you tune out most of the remainder of the segment, irritated when Geto answers one too many questions with Satoru’s name, subtly suggesting that the Sorcerers have none of the grit and discipline the Curses do.

“They’re a fun bunch,” he says at one point. “Like a barrel of monkeys. They just have a good time.” The tone is all fake, smoothed-out public relations, and it makes your blood boil. You know what he’s really implying, that it’s an insult. That the Sorcerers spend all their time hanging off hoops instead of drilling themselves into the ground. You know it’s not true. You’ve watched them work their asses off all year.

“God forbid we know how to have fun,” Satoru snorts, and you feel the tension easing from your shoulders just at the sound of his voice.

“You don’t,” you say teasingly, flipping yourself around on the couch so your head lands in his lap. “That’s entirely Kento.”

Satoru gasps and looks down at you. “You take that back. Nanami is the most unfun—“

“Not a word,” Tsumiki says helpfully.

“Everyone in this house hates me! Slander under my own roof!” He digs his fingers into your sides and starts tickling you, and you squirm out of his grasp and onto the ground, but he follows you. Soon it’s a mess of Shiro and Kuro frantically pouncing on both of you as you squeal for Satoru to let you go, and Tsumiki is definitely filming this whole thing, and it’s all so incredibly domestic and unserious and right that your heart swells in your chest.

Fuck Geto. He can’t get to you here, and he can’t take you away from the team you love.

—

Being in San Diego again is strange. The facilities are familiar, the gyms, the locker rooms, but you’re walking them a different person than you left them, experiencing the same setting in a new context that makes you feel like you’re living in one prolonged moment of déjà vu.

Nobara walks alongside you, bouncing between social media notifications and ranting about the way Geto made the Sorcerers sound on national television last night. Ieiri’s setting up in the training room down the hall, and Yaga’s pulled the guys into the locker room for a quick meeting before they launch into their last practice before the next day’s match.

You keep thinking about Yaga pulling you aside this morning, murmuring a quick warning in your ear. “If you see Mei Mei, no you don’t. Not worth the time. Just slip away.”

So far there’s been no sign of the other manager, and you’re glad for it.

Nobara’s phone starts ringing and she nods at you and peels off, pressing it to her ear and slipping deeper into the building. You lean against the wall, checking your own phone, making sure you don’t have any missed calls or emails.

The side doors open loudly, metal scraping across the floor, and you look up.

Fuck.

It seems Mei Mei doesn’t do her own damn dirty work.

“Oh, hello!” Mahito crows, making his way over to you. You didn’t like him when you worked for the Curses and you don’t like him now, his leering grin too wide for his face, hair tied into three sections behind his back. Him, you know—but you haven’t yet met the man beside him, a lanky, tall guy with oddly wide eyes and a long blond ponytail weirdly off-center on his head.

Of course, you know who he is. You’ve done your research, you’ve seen the roster. Haruta Shigemo.

“I hoped you’d be here.” Mahito comes to a stop in front of you as you push off the wall, crossing your arms.

“Mahito.” Your voice is cold, flat.

He frowns, an exaggerated, off-putting gesture. “Thought it’d be a happier reunion,” he says. He holds his arms out toward Shigemo with a flourish. “I’d like you to meet Haruta. He, ah, was something of a replacement for your Six-Eyes.”

Shigemo stares at you, unblinking, a small, close-lipped smile sending a shiver down your spine. You’re suddenly aware of how close these two men are to you, that your back is to the wall, that you’re alone in the hallway.

“Look, I really have a lot to get done—”

“Oh, we don’t mean to bother you!” Mahito laughs, high-pitched and manic. “We just wanted to welcome you back home, you know. Make sure you settled in to the old stomping grounds.” He leans in, breath smelling like some odd combination of fruity gum and stale crackers. You shudder involuntarily. “I hope you don’t take it too hard when they lose,” he whispers, too close to your face. “Should you need an out, remember we’re in your corner.”

Shigemo holds a hand up as you’re about to retort, tilting his head and studying you. “If he’s not your type,” he giggles, nodding at Mahito, “I’ve got some time on my hands tonight.”

Your face flushes deep red with anger, fists going white-knuckled at your side. “I do not need—”

“Excuse me,” says a cool, familiar voice, and the tension in your muscles goes slack as Kento comes to stand directly between you and your newfound nuisances. “I believe we’ve already taken care of any business that needed tending to before the match tomorrow, yes? Is there anything else I can help you with? We’re just about to kick off practice, and I’m afraid our time is limited.”

Mahito steps back, holding his arms up in false surrender. “Nanami! Hello!” He grins widely. “We’re representatives, of a sort. Just making sure the bunch of you are settled in.” Shigemo nods and looks Kento up and down, calculating.

“We are just fine,” he says flatly, nudging you with a hand behind his back. You nod at the two Curses players and storm down the hallway toward the gym, heart racing in your chest. Behind you, you hear Kento still talking. “Do tell Mei Mei her… thoughtfulness is noted.”

In the gym, the guys are warming up, and your eyes immediately lock on Megumi, angrily slamming an innocent basketball against the wall, over and over. Yuji dribbles between his knees without looking at his ball, watching Megumi intently.

You don’t see Satoru, and for a moment you’re worried, feeling a little off-balance, until you feel hands on your shoulders, spinning you around. “Well, hello,” he says, and you laugh, dropping your head into his chest.

“Fuck is up with Megumi?” you ask, nodding toward him, and Satoru frowns. You notice now the tension in him, the slight anger in his eyes, an energy like impatience and frustration all around his edges.

“Suguru was fucking with him. Saying shit about Tsumiki. I was dealing with him.” He sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, considering as he looks over your shoulder at Yuji drawing Megumi back onto the court. “He’s such a dick.”

Kento walks in then, making his way straight over to you. “You okay?” he asks, and Satoru’s brows knit together.

“What? Why wouldn’t she—” He turns to you. “Why wouldn’t you be okay? What happened?”

“Mahito,” you say. “Shigemo, too. Fucking pricks.”

Satoru breathes in sharply, his grip on your shoulder tightening protectively. “If they put their fucking hands on you—”

“Toru,” you say, the nickname slipping out without your permission. It seems to calm him down a little, makes him look at you steadily. “Kento got them out of the way. And they won’t do anything to me. They’re just doing Mei Mei’s bidding, same as Geto, probably.” You grab his hands in yours, nodding at Kento to say you’ll be okay. He inclines his head and walks away, gathering the rest of the team in the center of the gym.

“They want to get under your skin. Don’t let them."

Your voice is steady and calm, coated with a reassurance you don’t feel. Your nerves are still on high alert, Mahito’s breathing down your neck, Shigemo’s unsettling scrutiny lingering in your mind. But you know they’re not after you. You’re a conduit for them, a way to fuck with Satoru. And you will not let them.

“Don’t let them,” he echoes, sighing, pulling you in, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

“Remember, flagrantly disgusting display of public affection. Imagine their faces.”

He laughs, loud and bright, and something warm blooms in you at the sound. “God, you’re the best.”

“I know.” You pull back and shove him in the direction of the team. “Now go practice so I can watch you kick their asses.”

He grins at you, does a little half-bow, snapping back into his untouchable, unbothered self. “Anything for you.”

—

There's really no reason for you to have the clipboard in your hands. Every note you’ve taken is committed to memory. You know both team’s rosters inside and out, know every detail of the schedule, what a win or a loss means for the schedule, score projections, all of it. But you need something to do with your hands, so you hold onto it, clicking and unclicking your pen, scribbling in the margins of old brackets, trying to contain all your nervous energy into a manageable space.

And you’re not the only one overflowing with energy. The stadium is alive. The lights are bright, the crowd raucous, the massive hanging scoreboard broadcasting CHAMPIONSHIP SHOWDOWN SPONSORED BY KFC. You don’t think you could eat right now even if someone shoved a bucket of fried chicken into your hands.

“That’s just mean,” Satoru mutters under his breath, gazing up at the advertisement.

“What?”

He shakes his head. “Nothin’.”

He glances down at you and then across the court, where Geto has been tracking the two of you with searching eyes. Mei Mei hides behind a clipboard as well, though you notice her eyes flickering back and forth, studying Satoru, you, Yaga. You pointedly avoid looking at Mahito and Shigemo. Pricks.

The NBA championship series. Sorcerers versus Curses. It all comes to a head here, an endless rivalry for a championship title.

“So, I’m thinking now or never,” Satoru says, a mischievous smile tugging at his lips. When you realize what he means, it takes everything in you not to glance across the court at Geto. A smirk spreads across your face, and you grab Satoru’s jersey and pull him toward you.

“Good luck,” you say, and then you kiss him, hard and long and intentional, and you know Geto sees you.

“I think,” Satoru says, pulling back a little breathlessly, “we should do that every game.” He grins and you swat him away, making your way over to Ieiri and Nobara in the far corner, and you can’t wipe the smile from your own face. On the way there you chance a look across the court. Geto isn’t looking at you, but he’s looking at Satoru, talking lowly out of the corner of his mouth to Mei Mei.

Point for me, you think.

“You’re actually nauseating,” Nobara says when you reach her. You know she’s not serious. She knew the plan. She loved the plan.

“I’m making a point,” you say anyway. She follows your tilted head toward Geto and Mei Mei, and you watch the slow, shit-eating grin spread across her face.

“Oh, so worth it,” she murmurs.

You tug the headset on and listen to the unfamiliar announcers, wishing it was Zenin and Panda in your ears but settling for the new, faceless voices instead. They’re not the same guys who usually commentated on the home court when you worked for the Curses, and you’re oddly glad about it, that there’s not another reminder of the loaded history here right in your ears.

“Charles Bernard here with Rika Orimoto,” the new voice says, “ready to watch this long-time rivalry play out in real time.”

When she speaks up, Rika’s voice is bright and younger than you expected, animated where Bernard is entirely deadpan. Interesting partnership.

As the starters take their positions, you’re surprised to see that Satoru’s not the one taking the tip-off.

Kento is. And in front of him, eye-to-eye with a sardonic smile, is Mahito.

Ah, shit.

The ref’s expression is flat and unaffected, but his eyes dart between the two shooting guards as they face off in the center of the court. You wish you could hear what they’re saying.

“An unusual choice for both teams here as we kick off this final series,” Bernard says. “Neither of our centers taking the tip-off today.”

Kento shows no emotion as the ref lets go of the ball, and Mahito leaps, but he’s not fast enough.

“Number thirty-seven Kento Nanami swipes the tip-off without hesitation!” Rika announces. “Back to number six, the Sorcerers' Satoru Gojo, and a fantastic pass up to Fushiguro.”

The Curses' hulking point guard, Jogo, is right up in Megumi’s face with a massive hand reaching out to block, but Yuji grabs the rebound and pounds it through the hoop in seconds.

“And the Sorcerers take the lead just sixteen seconds in,” Bernard says. You look over at Ieiri and Nobara, grinning, and then back to where Mei Mei stands with a stony expression across the court.

You feel good about this.

Back and forth, back and forth. Ino is giving Jogo a run for his money, using his speed to dart around the massive point guard before he even sees what’s coming. In his breakaways Yuji keeps finding himself pitted against Mahito, and it seems like it’s always a fifty-fifty whether the block is successful.

“Some subs as we enter the second quarter. On San Diego's side we have Haruta Shigemo on for Fumihiko Takaba.”

“Yuta Okkotsu on for the Sorcerers!” Rika says, a little too excitedly, before she catches herself and calms down.

“Someone has a fangirl,” Nobara snorts beside you, holding just one side of the headset to her ear.

You can’t tear your eyes away from Satoru and Geto as they go up and down the court, always on each other’s heels, breathing hard. It’s personal, and everyone can see it. If they’re saying anything you can’t make it out.

Both teams are going all-out right now, and the fans feel it too. Megumi’s guarding Naoya Zenin like a shadow, something in the air around them tense and constant. You don’t see Yuji’s uncle but you can certainly hear him, somewhere behind you on the visitors’ side, screaming, “HELL YEAH! SHOW THEM WHAT A WIN REALLY MEANS! THESE FUCKERS WOULDN’T KNOW FIRE IF IT LIT UNDER THEIR ASSES!”

You give it two minutes before he’s kicked out.

Inumaki goes on, then Hakari, and at some point the Curses swap Jogo out for Dagon, and it’s go, go, go. You can barely catch your own breath by the half, the game wrapping around you like you’re the one playing it, and Satoru’s drenched in sweat as the team files back to the locker room. He reaches out and pinches you in the side and you stick your tongue out at him, like the mature adult you are.

“Gross,” Nobara says.

The rest of the game goes by in a similar blur of shots and blocks and heated matchups, Toge nailing a few free throws, Takaba coming back on and managing to slip past Megumi only once. The scoreboard never reads more than a six-point deficit.

You almost don’t hear the buzzer when it’s finally over, players skidding to a stop on the court, their heads turned up toward the scoreboard.

“Holy shit,” Ieiri breathes beside you. “We won. We actually fucking won.”

You rip off the headset, the grin overtaking you, relief and pride flooding your veins like a drug, and the rest of the team floods the court in celebration. They beat a first seed team on their home court.

Satoru catches your eye over the mass of people and smiles, and you wave back.

And this is only the beginning.

directory. || prev. || next.

jjk taglist open: just send me a message!

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[bloodlineslut]

The Law of Obsession (Ch.3) | Roman Reigns

Pairings: Roman Reigns x black! OC

Warnings: none

Summary: A day in Roman’s life at his law firm, including a glimpse of some of the shady business he does. Jimmy and Jey convince Roman to go out with them after mentioning Laila would be there.

Word Count: 2.7k words

A/N: okay so…it actually is the next day but yall I get distracted while trying to study so I wasted a lot of time before I finished this chapter pls don’t shoot me. Also, can you say cliffhanger at the end?? Something spicy is gonna happen in the next chapter though so don’t worry

Roman’s eyes blinked open, staring at the ceiling of his luxury condo that overlooked Miami Beach.

Every morning, he woke up at 7 am on the dot, like clockwork. His morning routine consisted of grabbing his phone to check for any missed calls or texts he may have gotten through the night. Especially any from Paul or the twins.

As usual, there were.

Paul Heyman: 2 missed calls

Paul Heyman: Chief, I apologize for the late text, but a man by the name of Sami Zayn is requesting a meeting with you tomorrow morning when you get to the office. He says he really needs your help.

Jimmy: Hey uce, I might need you to handle some business for me next week, that cool?

Jey: Aye man, we still gon’ go to that club tomorrow night?

Roman read through and responded to all the texts, shaking his head at Jey’s message. He found himself hoping for a text from a certain person, though.

Laila.

‘Last night was a school night. She probably studied herself to sleep.’ Roman chuckled at the thought.

She was such a good girl. Focused on school and working hard.

She was just what Roman needed.

A breath of fresh air.

Something good and pure that he could come home to after a dirty day at work.

Roman sat up and got out of his king size bed, not bothering to make it until later.

He goes straight to one of the bedrooms that he turned into a home gym, putting his AirPods in and going to his workout playlist. The room had a mirror that ran from one end of the room to the other, a mini fridge with ice cold water, Gatorade, and protein powder/bars.

There was every piece of workout equipment in there that you could imagine, from dumbbells to machines and everything in between.

Roman usually tried to make his workouts in the morning an hour long, so that he could shower and everything else, and still be on time for work.

After working on his back and legs, he walked back to his master bedroom to take a steamy shower and to wash his hair.

Another hour later, he was out the door and on the way to the firm.

“Good morning, Mr. Reigns! Here is your coffee, and a list of all your meetings lined up for today.” His secretary greeted him as soon as he walked through the revolving door.

Sasha Banks.

She had the biggest crush on him, but Roman never even looked at her in that way. To be honest, he was a bit oblivious to her advances because his mind was always solely focused on work.

He took the coffee and the file from her, only giving her a quick “Morning. Thank you.”

As he walked towards the elevator, his back to Sasha, her smile faded a little, wishing that he was as interested in her, as was she.

As soon as the elevator doors opened to the top floor, where Roman’s office was located, he was greeted by the sight of Paul.

“Good morning my chief! I see that you messaged me back earlier. I’ve directed Mr. Zayn to your office if that’s okay with you?”

Roman slightly scowled at having to be bothered when he just got to work. “Alright Paul. But next time, wait until I’m here.” He firmly warned his right hand man.

Paul nodded apologetically. “Yes, sir. I won’t disappoint again!”

Roman inwardly rolled his eyes, just wanting to be left alone for at least 5 minutes.

He saw that his office door was slightly ajar with a man with shoulder length messy red hair seated in the chair in front of his desk.

“Oh hello, Mr. Re-” Roman put his hand up to silence the new client.

Roman could tell that whatever this guy did can’t be that bad.

“5 minutes of no talking.” Roman told the man, just needing to settle down.

Five minutes later, as promised, they got to business.

Sami explained that he got busted for marijuana in his possession that wasn’t really his. He was with some of his friends and they got pulled over by a police officer and Sami “looked the most suspicious” so they brought him to the station and charged him.

Roman raised an eyebrow at this. “They thought you looked the most suspicious?”

Sami laughed with a scoff. “I know right?!”

“You look like you wouldn’t even kill a fly. Why did you come to me?”

Sami pointed at nothing, motioning that one of his family members was the one who recommended Reigns, Heyman, & Associates.

Roman scrunched up his face and laughed. “Nah. You’d be better off going to the floor under me. Talk to one of the associates, they’ll help you out.” He pointed out, opening his meeting schedule from the file on his desk.

Sami’s mood didn’t even falter. “Oh okay! Wow, thank you so much Mr. Reigns. I’ll go do that.” He quickly stood up and left the office.

Roman grabbed one of the sleek black pens settled in a company mug and crossed that meeting off of his list. In another hour, he had another meeting with what was becoming one of his regular clients—Dominik Mysterio.

He shook his head. That boy was such a headache. He’s always doing dumb shit without thinking. This time, he tried to shoplift but got caught by the store owner.

Now, Dominik was sitting in front of Roman, nervously bouncing his leg. “I wasn’t trying to get caught! I always get away with it…”

“Yea, well this time, you didn’t. The store owner caught you.” Roman bluntly told the boy—because he didn’t see him as a man with these childish acts he displayed.

Roman leaned back in his cushioned office swivel chair, thinking.

“Now, I could handle this little misdemeanor in court. I could get the charge dropped, call some people, maybe bribe ‘em.” He rested his hand on his jaw, stroking it. “Or I could get my men to pay this guy a little visit.”

Dominik’s eyes widen. “Like talk to him?”

Roman chuckles at his naivety. “Yea, sure. Put a little fire under his ass.”

Dominik swallows nervously. “They won’t hurt him right? I don’t want anyone to get hurt.”

Roman squints his eyes. This boy could damn near be his son, as many times as he’s gotten him out of trouble.

“No, they won’t hurt him. But, the next time I see you up here, I’m gon’ teach you something.” Roman warned.

Dominik nodded his head. “Thanks Mr. Reigns. I’ll try to do better.”

“Yea, yea. Get out.”

As the day at the firm was coming to an end, the only thing that helped Roman get through it was the thought of Laila.

The office was peaceful.

That was, until he heard the familiar voices of his two loud ass cousins down the hall.

“Yo, yo, yo! So, we going out tonight?” Jey and Jimmy walked in his office without even knocking or anything.

Jimmy plopped down on the couch that was situated in the corner of Roman’s office, looking at his phone.

“Ya’ll just don’t have any decorum huh?”

“Aye, we family. We don’t gotta do all that, uce.” Jimmy chimes in from the corner, making Roman sigh.

“So yes to the club?” Jey presses on.

Roman shakes his head no.

“Man come on! When was the last time you went out? College?” Jey teased him, making Jimmy laugh out.

“Shut the fuck up.”

Jimmy stood up, walking next to Jey. “You know Naomi gon’ bring Laila with us…” Knowing that would catch Roman’s attention.

Roman’s eyes shot up at the twins.

“See how them big ass ears just perked up like that?” Jimmy grabbed his own ears and pulled them up, illustrating how Roman looked.

“How do you know that?”

Jimmy smacked his teeth. “They was planning to get ready together, do each other’s makeup or hair or something. You know girls be doing that stuff.”

Jey pointed at his twin, agreeing.

“So, it’s a yes?” Jey asked once again, and Roman’s lack of an answer was all they needed to hear.

“Yeet!” The twins both dapped each other up, before doing the same to Roman, making a ghost of a smile appear on his face.

“Only if.” The twins dropped their shoulders and groaned out.

“You two do something for me next week. Rough a guy up a little bit.” He briefly explains.

“Alright, uce. You know we got you.” Jey agrees.

“Aye, what about what I told you about, though.” Jimmy says cocking his head to the side.

“I know. I’ll handle it, don’t worry.” Roman reassured his cousin.

The three of them ended up talking for like another 2 hours about everything they needed to get caught up on in each other’s lives.

Jimmy’s phone started ringing and it was Naomi. She told him that Laila was about to come over to their house so they could start getting ready.

After he got off of the phone, he explained he was going to head back to his house. “Roman, we gotta bounce. Knowing Naomi, she probably want me to pick them up some McDonald’s.” He shook his head.

“Aye, catch you later tonight though?” Jey puts out his fist for a fist bump and Roman obliges.

“Yea.”

The twins were almost out the door when Jimmy turned around. “Can you bring your driver to the house when you get there? I ain’t trying to be nobody’s DD tonight!” He dramatically put his hands up in defense.

Roman actually laughs at this. “Yea. And I’ll bring the Escalade for all of us.”

“See, that’s what I’m talking ‘bout. See you uce!” And they were both gone just as quickly as they had arrived.

After finishing some more paperwork, Roman could finally leave and go home. The thought of seeing Laila later made his heart speed up a little bit.

He grabbed his keys and briefcase and headed to the parking garage that was connected to the building and made his way to his condo.

As soon as he walked in the door and locked it, he texted his driver and informed him that he’ll be driving tonight and that he’ll get a bonus since it was at such short notice.

Putting his briefcase on the kitchen island, he headed to the bathroom to take a quick shower and touch up his beard.

Quickly finishing his shower, he stepped out and wrapped the white towel around his waist, walking to the closet. Damn near all his clothes were black, so he grabbed a plain black T-shirt, a pair of black cargo pants, and his Jordan 11 Retro Bred’s.

After getting dressed and spraying some cologne on, his driver texted him back just in time saying that he was waiting in the car outside.

Roman set the alarm in his home before locking the front door and heading downstairs.

“Good evening Mr. Reigns. How are you?” His driver greeted him as he sat in the backseat.

“Hey man, I’m doing good. And like I said, you’ll get that bonus because it was short notice. Appreciate it.” He told the driver, firmly shaking his hand.

The ride to Jimmy’s house was calm and silent as Roman never listened to music in the car.

They pulled up in Jimmy’s driveway and Roman noted the extra car that was present that wasn’t Jimmy, Jey, or Naomi’s.

A black Volkswagen Beetle.

Roman smirked.

He stepped out of the still-running car, as his driver preferred to just always stay in the car and wait for everyone else so he could bring them to their destination.

Walking up to the front door, he rang the doorbell and waited for someone to answer.

“Ya’ll that’s probably Roman!” He heard the muffled sound of Naomi’s voice on the other side of the door before she opened it.

“See I knew it. Hey Roman, come on in!”

“Hey Naomi. Them knuckleheads ready?” He motioned his head to the kitchen.

“They up in there taking shots.” She rolled her eyes and shook her head in irritation.

Suddenly there was the sound of another voice getting closer to the two.

“Naomi, can you put this necklace on for-”

Laila stopped in her tracks at seeing the sight of Roman. Her heart beating out of her chest in his presence, just like when they talked for the first time at the café.

His eyes were glued to hers, smiling softly at her, sensing her surprise at his coming.

“Aye Naomi! Come here for a minute!” Jimmy called from in the kitchen in the midst of him and Jey laughing about God knows what.

Naomi rolled her eyes for what felt like the hundredth time, but obliged. “This house knows no peace.”

Laila giggled before looking back to Roman.

“You need help with that?” He looked down at the necklace she was holding in her two hands.

Laila forgot that’s what she came downstairs for and looked at the dainty chain in her hands. “Oh yeah…”

“I’ll put it on for you.” He reached out and gently took it from her hands, being careful not to tangle it.

“Thank you.” Laila spoke out, turning her back to him and moving her hair out of the way.

It was so intimate, the position they were in. She nearly jumped at the feeling of his fingertips on the back of her neck as he opened the clasp and locked it around one of the chain loops.

While she was trying to control her labored breaths, Roman was getting a bit excited too.

He let his fingertips linger on her nape for a few seconds longer than necessary. His fingers were warm.

“Too tight?” His voice was low.

Laila swallowed and let her hair fall as she turned to face him. “No, it’s fine.” She smiled at him, still so nervous and not knowing what to do with her body, hands, how to stand, or anything.

“You look so beautiful.” The sudden compliment caught Laila by surprise.

This night was just full of surprises.

“Thank you,” She smiled, feeling her face get hot.

First, she didn’t know Roman would be accompanying them to the club because the twins made it sound like he was a homebody.

Which he was, but as soon as he heard Laila was going, he immediately was on board, even if he had to sacrifice his relaxing night by being surrounded by a bunch of dumbasses who were drunk and acting wild.

Laila’s outfit consisted of a white button down halter top, a pair of jeans, and some white open-toed heels.

Roman liked the simplicity of it because he was sure she’d look good in anything.

His eyes were raking over every inch of her, just admiring how perfect she was.

Her eyes rested on his arms.

She noticed them before obviously.

The way his suit fit so deliciously over every part of his body at the café that day. But standing so close and directly in front of him with nothing between them, she saw everything in sharp detail.

The veins running down his forearms, his knuckles that seemed slightly rough, the thought that he could most likely defend himself very well if need be.

“What?” Roman asked, noticing that she zoned out. He wanted to know what she was thinking at all times.

Laila shook her head, laughing it off. “Just thinking..”

“About what? Tell me.” The way he just coerced the answer out of her. It made her weak in the knees. Like you have no choice but to do what he says.

She never had a man take the lead like this.

She never had a man at all, actually.

“You definitely work out a lot.”

Roman grinned at this, scratching his ear, and putting his hands back in his pockets.

“Gotta keep up appearances,” He kept his eyes locked on hers. “Sometimes I gotta remind people who they’re working with.” He said the last part lowly on purpose, and more seriously.

This made Laila laugh. That beautiful melody in his ears.

He’d give anything to hear that laugh every single day.

Their moment was interrupted by two tipsy twins.

“We ready to gooooo!” Jey blurted out.

Naomi looked over at Laila and Roman. “You two bet’ not end up like this.” She pointed to the twins.

Laila and Roman looked at each other and shared a laugh.

After everyone got back in the Escalade and Jimmy making the driver laugh, Laila who was seated right next to Roman couldn’t help but wonder what the night had in store for them.

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[iwashie]

Finan x f!reader; +18; maybe lovers; adults, none season related, kinda bratty reader, outdoor sex (ikn this man likes strong woman);

Being part of Uthred's group had its good and bad moments, even though you were the only woman. Death constantly followed you, but apart from that and every once in a while the fights, you were like a family. Always protecting each other, even though you were not a warrior, but knew how to fight with a sword, they never let you go to war; They had a great sense of protection with you and usually your job was to be the messenger and protector of women when there was one in the group.

It was tiring to be on the road all the time, but it was also cool to see new places, new people, and new stories to laugh about among friends on drunken nights. The good days on the road, whether winter or summer, were filled with laughter and teasing, most you responding to Finan's flirtations and leaving him speechless. 

It was also nice to train with them. One must know how to protect oneself by riding in a band of troubled warriors with Uthred as leader and Osferth to watch. You liked to see them training the boy, even if most of the time they just teased him.

"Go easy on him, bully." You said, approaching Osferth and Finan practicing the boy's sword moves. Finan beat him more than actually taught, and that made his sense of protection with him whistle.

"He needs to learn," Finan pointed the wooden sword at him and you clicked your tongue. "And you learn by being beaten." You rolled your eyes as you listened. You guys spent so much time together that you already spoke alike, like Finan imitating Uthred. 

You stopped near Osferth and stroked his shattered and wet with sweat hair, listening to Finan's grumbling on the side. "Why did you choose this guy to teach you? He only knows how to bark." You said and Finan complained, making Osferth laugh softly. "I know a lot more than he does, and I'm kinder." 

Finan snorted and you both looked at him. "Then let's see if you're really good." He pointed the wooden sword at Osferth's hand for you to pick up. "Let's bet your trip to the ground, honey."

You laughed, accepting the challenge and took the wooden sword, pushing the boy aside. "Watch and learn. That's how it's done."

You knew very well how to fight with a sword. Before you were rescued and forced your way into the party, you were already practicing with a wooden sword and now you had Uthred constantly teaching you; making sure that you would be prepared enough for solo trips. Besides you always covered their backs in fights in the open field and always saved Sihtric's ass when he was too drunk and chasing trouble in bars. 

You knew Finan's strength, but he also knew yours. You could handle it quietly. "Get ready to kiss the ground, big boy."

In Osferth's eyes it seemed that you were playing, or dancing, almost rehearsed, as you dodged each other's attacks and charged hard, slamming the wooden swords.

A dance. You could tell that the two of you danced around each other, close enough but never touching each other. Well, you had already touched; eager kisses and rushed hands over the bodies when you were drunk, but it didn't go beyond that because a fight interrupted the making out session. This, you and Finan, didn't start from nothing. It happened a little while after you joined the group and got intimate, with Finan always commenting on certain things, and to his and the group's surprise, you had a tongue as sharp as his and loved a tease.

You two were usually the reason for the laughter always being present in the group; you corresponding to the flirtations and petnames that Finan gave you. You felt the truth in his lines as much as in his glances, but after that interrupted day, you never tried anything again.

You could see the smile on the lips almost hidden by Finan's beard, knowing he was enjoying it like you, but it was time to end. You advanced and made Finan retreat, and you took advantage when he needed to look where he stepped to get closer, hitting his sword and sweeping him, which took him to the ground, surprised. But from last second and instinct, he grabbed your wrist and pulled you to the ground with him. 

You fell down with a muffled, aching sound, almost banging your heads, and Finan's hands automatically went to your waist. You took a long time to assimilate what had happened and when you realized that you fell sitting on his lap, you froze, your eyes wide and your heart pounding as you stared at him, happy, under you. The two of you were silent, lost in each other's gaze and returned to reality when Osferth, next to both of you, cleared his throat.

"I won." Finan displayed the smile that made you roll your eyes and your heart pound. You rolled your eyes and rested your hands on his chest to move away. "You're on the ground and I'm literally on top of you, Finan."

"Still my point." He smiled wide and clasped his hands on her waist. You opened your mouth and slammed your fist on his shoulder when you realized his intention to speak, and stood up, leaving him on the floor. "Won't you help me, honey?"

You passed Osferth, who avoided looking in your direction, and slammed his sword into his body. "That's how you beat big boys." Finan stood up, saying you were a sore loser as you walked away. 

You hid your smirk and racing heart when you heard his words. Finan, even though he had all that personality, sharp tongue and flirtatiousness way, was a great man; He was reliable, loyal, kind, intelligent, funny, affectionate, beautiful, a good kisser and shaked your heart. 

The place you set up camp was very hot with the sun beating directly on the place you lit the fire, choosing to hide the tents in the shade of the trees. You ate and commented on some things about the journey ahead and remembered funny stories. After lunch, you rested in the shadows, but the heat and smell exuding from your body was bothering you. 

You said you were going to the lake a little further down from where you were and soon coming back, leaving as soon as Finan came back from reconnaissance of the surroundings, questioning where you were going and following you, getting a warning from Uthred to come back in two hours - you could feel the smile in his words - and snide comments from the other two to have fun, making you laugh out loud and reply, "I'm gonna finish him off. Again." 

The prairie around the lake shone beautifully in life with summer and the sight of the blue water was tempting. You didn't wait for Finan to approach, heading near the lake and starting to take off your clothes. "Wow! We did not discuss my prize for winning, but I won't complain if it's like that." Finan hissed at the sight of you without clothes and turned to him, shamelessly displaying your body to his sore eyes. 

"I won, so it's my prize, actually." You rested a hand on your waist and smiled as you saw Finan's eyes wandering over your body. "I decide what my prize will be. And you better get in that water and take a decent shower if you want to hump with me. I smell you for miles." You turned your back to him and entered the water, feeling the ice relax your body and took the opportunity to swim.

Finan was still on the grass, staring at you in the water. "Do you want to fuck me?" You laughed out loud. "Yes. It's my prize pick, and if you want to enjoy the fact that I'm horny and wanting to fuck, you better get in the water and wash up." 

"You're the devil trying to take me to hell, woman." Finan grumbled, running his hands through his hair, and it didn't take long for his sword and layers of clothing to be on the ground. "Big boy, indeed." You whistled, eyes on the thick and half-hard cock between his legs. Finan shrugged, smirking, and ran into the water, jumping into the icy water and swimming towards you, holding you in his strong arms and pulling you close, your face brushing against his. 

"I'm not fucking you dirty like that." You whispered against his lips, feeling his beard tickle you as his hands squeezed every corner of your body. "You can make sure of the cleanliness while I get you ready, darling." He grumbled against your neck and stared back at you as you ran your hands through his hair, wetting the strands and intertwining your fingers on the back of his neck, pulling him close until you kissed with desire and one hand of his slid to the middle of your legs. 

"Having sex outdoors wasn't on my list, but I don't complain." Finan mumbled against your body, his mouth marking every bit of your skin as you rubbed against his hard cock and kept him sitting in your clothes on the grass.

"Just like Adam and Eve, good Christian boy." You replied in a giggle, making him laugh against you and then moan muffled as you sit slowly, the warmth of your gummy insides hugging his thick cock. "Finan.. Fuck..." You moaned, squeezing his shoulders as you felt him fully inside you. 

You waited a little while, hugging, lost in the pleasure of feeling each other completely. You began to move slowly, teasing Finan, who had one calloused hand squeezing your breast and the other supporting the body of both of you.

"Finan... Fuck.. Good..." You moaned loudly, going up and down in quick movements, the noise of your ass against his thick thighs and her wet pussy swallowing his cock. "Damn it, woman... You're going to kill me like this.. squeezing me so tight..." 

You grabbed the strands of the back of his neck as you felt his mouth biting the skin of your neck and descending the nibbles to your nipple, throwing your head back and moaning louder and louder as you increased the pace you rode on him. 

Finan's big, warm hands roamed your body, squeezing and clawing from your shoulders to ass, pinning you against him. You felt closer to cumming as you felt the thick cock filling you completely, coming out and going deep inside you, your legs shaking slightly. "I've got you, honey." Finan whispered between your neck and shoulder, making you laugh with the feel of his beard, and his hands going down to the bands of your ass. 

You stopped boucing, grabbing his wrists and pushed him lying on the grass, holding his hands above his head. Finan raised an eyebrow, but had a smirk on his lips. "I'm in charge here, big boy."

Finan hissed and rested his head on his arms as you let go of him and let you take the lead, sliding your hands down his chest, clawing at his nipples lightly just to see him shudder and feel him throb inside you. You palmed your hands on his chest, arranging your sitting position on him, and smiled widely. "I'm going to finish you off, big boy."

You went up and down with more speed and force, the noise of skin against skin echoing through the open place as well as your whimpers and the grunts of Finan, who controlled himself not to grab you and finish it. You clamped and released the muscles around his cock, alternating movements between up and down and rolling, brushing your clit against his hairy pelvis, sending waves of pleasure to both of you. 

Finan had his eyes half-open, the sunlight shining behind you blinded him in a flash and your figure was almost like of an angel leading him to the gates of paradise with your movements. "An angel..." He moaned softly, lost in the pleasure you gave him and also for hearing your moans and feeling how good you felt when using him.

You laughed weakly, raising a hand to his neck, squeezing lightly, and leaning forward, without stopping riding, and whispered against his lips. "No. I'm the devil taking you to hell, baby."

You huffed as you heard his grunt, his eyes rolling in pleasure and lifting his waist to meet your moves. You gasped on a moan, feeling his cock hit deep inside you, having you curl your toes and squeeze his cock, your orgasm washing you in a tremor, his name coming out of your lips in a cry. "Damn it, Finan. So good!" 

He warned you that he was also close to cumming and you got off him in clumsy movements, soft from the intense orgasm, soon feeling his hot and sticky liquid on your belly. "Sorry. I didn't know where..." Finan's voice died as he saw you wipe his cum from your skin with your fingers and bring them to your mouth, your lips wrapped around your fingers and pulled into a crooked smile, having the man's eyes glazed over your figure. 

"You really are the devil, woman." You laughed and pushed him lying back down, nestling in him and feeling his heartbeat still racing and his breathing unregulated. He brushed the sweat-soaked strands away from your face, taking the opportunity to caress your face with his fingertips, making you close your eyes and hum.

You two lay down, hugging, calming down from the orgasm and feeling the sun warm your skin and the tranquility of the place. Finan's gigle brought you out of your lethargy and you stared at him. "You know how to fight, you're smart and beautiful, and rides like no one else. What a fascinating woman." 

You laughed and moved, leaning on one hand so you could face him; His dark shining eyes focused on your figure, and a smile on his face. "You haven't seen me riding yet, big boy. That was nothing." You gave him a quick kiss and got up, telling him to do the same and suggested another bath, to remove the smell of sex and take advantage of the fact that you two had water and didn't know when would have another opportunity to take a shower. 

"For a second I thought you wanted to have sex again. With or without water." Finan said, squinting to face you against the sun. You sniffed and took his outstretched hand, pulling him to his feet and letting yourself be pulled into his body. "It was a good prize. If you behave we can repeat it and I'll show you how I really ride, big boy." He slid his hands down your back, giving you goosebumps and stopped at your ass, squeezing hard, leaving you on tiptoe. "Perhaps you can finish inside."

Finan widened his eyes, his mouth dropping open and you disengaged from him. "Would it be appropriate?" He asked, seeing you walk to the lake again. You shrugged and stepped into the water. "Only if I'm your woman, I suppose."

Finan was soon with you in the water, swimming close each time you ran away and threw water on him, laughing. "Well, aren't you my wife already?" You laughed out loud, and felt his hand pull your arm and bring you closer, facing him. "Lucky my tent is available to you tonight, honey."

"I might accept your invitation to visit your tent tonight, Finan." You ran your hands through his hair, tossing it back, and went around his face to his lips. "Only if I have a good time."

"You're sure to have a good time if you promise to keep quiet." He gave you a long kiss, feeling your smile form. "I like to be loud." You waved your eyebrows suggestively, and you both laughed. 

Finan knew you wouldn't be quiet, not when minutes before you'd been moaning to the four corners how good it was to fuck him. The boys up there probably heard you two. "They might listen to us and you'd traumatize poor Osferth." 

You both laughed again, remembering the faces and mouths the boy made when he was forced to go to certain places by the mission. You felt his hands caress your thighs, and you intertwined your legs around his waist, feeling him semi hard again. "Then keep me be quiet, big boy." 

"Will be my pleasure, honey." You saw a rogue smile grow on Finan's lips and pulled him into a languid kiss as you felt his hands guiding the movements of your waist against his.

You two had some more time left before you had to meet with the rest. 

@iwashie 2025, please do not translate, modify, or republish my work

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Gray Woman 2

Warnings: non/dubcon and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Lloyd Hansen

Summary: You meet a man who tests your patience. (grumpy!short!reader)

Note: To those who didn’t help me resist this beast, I blame you.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

The bank is at peak hours. The rush used to make you dizzy but these days you barely notice the changes. There's always someone else waiting. There's always someone upset about money and it's usually their own fault.

You tap through a transaction, working from muscle memory as you ask the usual questions, hit the usual keys. You hand over their card and point them to grab their receipt from the machine on the other side of the glass. The take both. You're used to the the lack of a 'thank you'.

You wait for the next customer. When no one shows, you peer up towards the line corralled behind the stanchions and cords. A man in his suit, more interested in his phone than reality. A woman behind him clears her throat, "excuse me."

He jerks away from her as if she spit on him and scoffs. He rolls his eyes and tucks away his phone as his eyes flit up to you. He approaches as he continues to feel around under the chest of his jacket. He reveals his black card as he gets to the counter and slaps it down.

You watch him dulcetly, "hello, sir. How can I help you today?"

He scoffs again, this time louder. "That's Mr. Hansen, remember?"

You look at him, this time with actual consideration. Your customers are usually nothing more than faceless silhouettes. He sports a bristly mustache and shaved sides. Quite the look to go with his patterned suit jacket.

"I get a lot of customers, sir," you reach through to take his card and he catches your fingers. You flinch, just a little, and try to jerk your hand free. "Sir, let go or--"

"Yeah, yeah," he chortles and releases you as he slants his lips defiantly, "you call over those fake cops standing at the door. What do you think they'll do about it, sweet cheeks?"

You feel a crease between your brows but you don't bit the bait. Some people just want to spread their misery. You quickly snatch the card and swipe it through the machine. His account pops up on the screen.

"What do we need today?" You ask.

"Hm, besides a coffee and some afternoon delight," he snickers, "I need you to move some money for me, sweetheart."

You ignore the epithet. It happens often. The 'hons', the 'sweeties', the 'girls'.

"I'll need an ID." You say.

"We've been through this," he snips. "Just do what I tell you."

He steps closer to the window and you turn to blink at him. He stares back at you. He grimaces, "you really that stupid? You forgot me already?"

"Like I said, sir, it's busy--"

"Go get Veronique, right now," he demands, his nose almost touching the glass.

You put your feet on the bar and step down to the floor. You move stiffly, if not deliberately slow, and shuffle in your flats toward Veronique's cubicle. She sits behind the frosted siding and you tap on it before peeking around.

"Customer," you shrug.

She huffs, "ugh, I swear."

She stands up and leaves her cell phone on the desk. You back up and wait for her to pass before you follow her. She struts to your counter and in an instant, her posture changes.

"Mr. Hansen, you're back!" She chirps, "comment ca va?"

"The damn crow you got squawking back there is asking for my ID again."

"Is she?" Veronique hisses, "forgive me please. I promise, we will make sure this doesn't happen again." She turns and points to your chair, "just do what he say and stop bothering me. Mr. Hansen is a VIP customer. Got it?"

"Yes, ma'am," you answer. You already know you'll get a lecture later so you don't hold back the subtle snipe.

You get up on your seat and face Mr. Hansen, "what do you need? Money where?"

He chuffs out derisively, "I know your fucking with me, doll face. You remember me."

You neither confirm or deny. Truly, you deal with so many demanding managers and executives, that you might have seen him an hour ago and not realise it.

"Are we moving money out of the checking?" You ask.

He sighs and shifts, leaning on the ledge as if trying to see around your screen. He grumbles before he speaks up. He tells you what to do and you acquiesce. He gives you an account number to wire money out then announces the end of your work.

"Good girl," he winks as he stands straight.

"Do you need your receipt?" You ask as you reach for your mug, tasting the cold peppermint tea.

He watches you sip and his cheek ticks. "I need that about as much as you need that stick lodge up your ass."

It's a bit more on the nose than you're used to. Usually they call you a bitch or just huff and puff and stomp out. His effort is a bit too much. Especially if he thinks himself so important.

"Have a good day, sir," you close out of his account with a click. "Mr. Hansen," he snarls.

"Alright," you say and try to see around him, ready for the next in line. He hesitates before he backs off. When he does, a squat woman comes up and hands you a check. She slides through her bank card and ID. You put it through the scanner then ask her what account to deposit or if she needs cash.

As you issue her receipt, you glance up. That man stands by the door, his face furrowed in distaste as he glares across at you, then he spins and strides out. Hm, maybe it wasn't the same man… you can't tell that far away.

You wish the woman a good day and the next customer comes up. You peek at the clock. Still a while left. Sometimes it feels like time slows down, like the bank isn't subject to the typical laws of time a space. A special purgatory just for the forsaken tellers behind their windows.

[sc0tters]

Save a Horse | Ethan Edwards

summary: as the bombshell of Umich, you set your sights on Ethan and don’t give up, not without a fight.

song: Cowgirls - Morgan Wallen

request: yes/no

warnings: underaged drinking, allusions to sex but nothing explicit.

word count: 1.58k

authors note: this has me thinking that a part two should be in order. Don’t usually write with such a boss reader but literally loved it. This thing took me much longer than I want to admit but I wanted the first piece since we hit 500 followers to be perfect! If you want to check out the rest of the celly you can do so here!

You surely knew what you were doing right?

The way you looked tonight in your little costume as you danced with your friends, the way your laugh lit up the room as one of the seniors tried their luck with you. The way your nose did that little scrunching thing that it does whenever you get excited that makes Ethan absolutely weak in the knees.

It should have been torture, the way your eyes lingered over Ethan throughout the night when you’d bite your lip and tilt your hat in his direction.

But the boy remained where he always was as his doubts clouded his mind, you were a total bombshell and you knew it. As a result of that though it meant you had been through the experience of sleeping with some of the hottest guys on campus. Because when you look the way you do and have no desire for a relationship, you’ll have men falling at your feet as they fight to the death to be the one in your bed.

Ethan had started to like you in freshman year, you were a sophomore and at some party when the Canadian spilt his drink on your white shirt and has he begun to panic when your black bra became obvious under the wet fabric. He thought you were going to kill him but instead you flashed him a smile and let your southern charm do it’s thing “don’t worry about it darling.” You sent him a wink as you squeezed his shoulder.

All of his friends had watched the interaction in shock as you sent those boys a salute before you walked off. The sight was amusing as all of the freshman hockey players had their mouths open as their jaws were practically on the floor.

A year on and his feelings for you didn’t let up, during hockey season when you’d see him and congratulate him for the teams wins he swore he might as well have not spoken English because you left him speechless.

You watched hockey? You watched him play? You, the absolute babe watched Ethan?

Was all that could go through his mind.

“You better not screw him over peach,” Owen sighed as he connected to the FaceTime call with you.

Owen quickly became your college bestie when you two had three classes together in freshman year. Sure Owen loved you but he also knew that Ethan’s heart wouldn’t handle it if you did what you always did.

A scoff left your lips “I’m going to his hockey game, not his wedding.” You pointed out as you continued to line your lips.

The hockey player smiled as you said that “wedding, aeh? That’s a little bit early even for you to be thinking about that.” He teased causing you to roll your eyes “now do I look cute or what?” You asked as you flipped the camera off “so sweet peach!” When Owen learnt you were from Georgia that became your nickname, why was only an answer that he knew and refused to tell you.

Ethan almost died when he saw you after game in that 73 jersey, sure he gave it to you in the hopes that you’d wear it but he never actually thought you would be in that yellow jersey and look happy about it “you played well today darling!” You cooed as you pulled him into a hug.

You might have treated Ethan like he was one of your friends, which he still didn’t know how he got himself into that position. But you wanted more from him, all of your advances seemed to either fall on deaf ears or you were starting to think he wasn’t interested in you.

Sure the chase was fun but when you don’t come back with a sliver of success after months of trying, it begins to grow boring. Which was why you had been cold to Ethan this past week. For the first time in years you were feeling stupid about a boy, something about him made you feel ready to change your normal ways and swap them in for something more stable but here he was not interested.

So as you were close to the end of winning another beer pong game Ethan couldn’t help but watch as Nick stood by your side pretending to coach you through the game. When your ball went into another cup “let’s go!” The boy cheered as he placed his hands on your shoulders.

The Canadian grew jealous as he thought about you replacing him with Nick, maybe the senior was the man who you were now talking to.

Despite the fact that you were the only thing that went through his mind. He thought you were interested in him, nobody seemed to captivate your attention in the way that he did. Yet the thing that caused his hesitation was the fact that you never stayed with a person for long once you got their attention.

You pouted your lips as you locked eyes with Ethan. His Scooby Doo jumpsuit made him feel stupid as you looked like a sight for sore eyes with your denim corset and little matching mini skirt.

Somehow despite it all he was all you wanted “I’ll be back,” you mumbled to Nick as you won the game letting yourself take a celebratory shot of vodka.

The senior smirked as he saw what caught your eye “just behave,” he warned as you placed your hands on your hips “when don’t I?” You asked as you smiled.

Ethan watched as you sauntered over to his side “I like this outfit,” you confessed as you toyed with the zipper.

It made him stutter “r-really?” His eyes went wide as he caught the sight of your breasts that were only hidden by the blue material.

You smirked as you pulled him into the kitchen with you “wanna do a shot with you,” you explained as here was your final idea to see if Ethan liked you or not.

This was the moment that if he was able to resist your advance then you’d accept your fate and lose him forever.

Members of the hockey team looked in awe as Ethan’s eyes never left your back, the way he followed you like a little lamb was something they would have teased him about if you weren’t, well you.

Ethan pulled out two shot glasses “you’re gonna drink this one,” he explained as he motioned to his favourite tequila.

You smiled as you twirled your hair through your fingers “I think you’re the one in charge now,” you mumbled as you took the cowboy hat off of your head as you placed it on his own.

He wanted to die as you let out that angelic little giggle “want to see you suck this baby,” you watched as he placed the lime on his lips letting it rest in his mouth.

You nodded as you grabbed the salt shaker from the table “gotta start it off right,” you pointed out as you forced his hand into a fist as you let the salt land on his fist.

Ethan’s breathing turned unstable as his eyes never left yours, not when you licked his hand, not as you took the shot and let your lips wrap around the glass like you would if it was his cock.

When the devilish smile formed on your face was when he finally let his eyes move, you stood on your tippy toes letting bite into the lime.

The sour taste poured into your mouth when you pulled away from him “did I do something wrong?” Ethan asked as he watched you grab the lime from his lips “thought about tasting something sweeter,” you explained as your fingers ran over the rim of your that was still on his head.

If it was the other way around you would have been pulling upstairs so that you could ride him like he was the last man you were ever going to sleep with. But since it wasn’t you tried to remain calm “think you should have worked harder for it cowgirl.” His voice was husky as he placed his hands on either side of you.

Your thighs clenched at the thought of what his fingers could do to you “been making me work for too long with no reward.” You mumbled as your lips turned into a pout.

Ethan smiled as he placed your hat back on your head “now you can really get what you want,” he ran his finger over your plump lower lip.

A groan left your lips as you didn’t know what to do “you’re a cruel man Edwards,” you grumbled as you furrowed your eyebrows “you want your reward?” He wanted to hear you beg.

To see the vulnerability that you had never shown before with anyone else “please,” you whimpered as his thumb massaged the bare skin between your skirt and your top.

The feeling caused you to gasp, it seemed like that was the moment Ethan’s self restraint was thrown out of the window as he let his lips rough up against your own mixing the taste of beer and the different liquors that you had been drinking.

His shorts grew tight as the smell of your perfume mixed with the feeling of your lips made him want to come “let’s move this to the bedroom,” he groaned as he let his lips hover over yours.

“Who’s the needy one now?”

[myownwholewildworld]

wherever you go (a joel miller’s ff) - chapter 8

chapter 7 | series masterlist | main masterlist | chapter 9

pairing: outbreak!2003!joel x f!reader. (it's actually 2004 now)

summary: when death comes knocking, you can only answer the door.

a/n: eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeek where do i even start 🥺 i’m just gonna say i’m sorry in advance and leave it at that, but if you read between lines you’ll understand. i do appreciate any comments, reblogs and/or likes you may want to leave! they do keep me motivated. as always, THANK YOU for reading. see you on the other side! x

warnings: 18+, mdni. a LOT of angst and drama incoming. cutesy fluff. established relationship (my babies 😭).  no smut in this one, don’t hate me! mentions of alcoholism and drugs as coping mechanisms. pet names (darlin’, sweetheart). clickers steal the show 😖. death everywhere so be warned. swear words. reader is female, no other description given. reader is mid-late 20s, joel is 37. no use of y/n.  joel’s and reader’s pov.

w/c: ~5k.

tags aka the drama wagon (let me know if you want to be added/removed from the list pls!): @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @pedrospurplerain @missladym1981

@fancyyoouu @smolbeanzzz @guelyury @bishtrouille

The patrolling shifts had increased around Chicago River and Interstate 90. The Rioters had allocated more resources to survey the borders of the area their people inhabited. In the following days to your disastrous incursion, clickers’ activity had peaked. They were coming closer, so it was decided to dispatch them as they neared.

You were all tired, but there was no rest for the wicked. They kept on moving eastwards, as if something was calling them. No one had been able to figure out why, but the answer to that question didn’t really matter. You suspected that something happened that night at the hospital ― maybe Sasha and her team did something they shouldn’t have.

You would never know, so you tried to stir your thoughts away from what would remain a mystery.

You rolled on bed, the early morning light shining a ray on your face. You grunted in discomfort. Your whole body ached ― those patrols were physically intense, but also mentally exhausting. After all, the infected had been people. A father, an auntie, a brother-in-law, a loving child… All those stories were lost to the wind, and you just hoped there still were people who remembered them as they had been before succumbing to the fungus.

You pouted ― That wasn’t how you wanted to start your day.

Still sleepy, your hand dabbed the bedsheets on your right, unconsciously looking for him.

Joel wasn’t by your side. You frowned in confusion and sat up on the bed, rubbing your eyes. As you got up and walked towards the en-suite, you heard Joel and Tommy talking on the other side of the door, where the living room was.

It was a heated argument ― an everyday occurrence lately. Since you three arrived at Chicago almost five months ago, the brothers appeared to headbutt very often. It didn’t take you long to realise that Tommy’s attitude had gradually changed over time, the alcohol being the main culprit. The bubbly, kind Tommy you had come to meet was buried somewhere underneath that ethanolic stench.

You missed his jests, his nonchalance, his light-heartedness. Buy you did understand him too ― he needed an escape from reality. You all did, really. It was just sad that was his choice of inflicting himself with absent-mindedness.

“You spent the night in the fucking cell, really?”, you heard Joel whisper angrily.

Tommy replied, but his speech was so slurred you couldn’t make out his answer.

“I don’t fucking care for your excuses anymore, Tommy, you need to get your shit together. I need you sober, for fuck’s sake ― the situation is getting dire here, we’ll need to leave soon. In this state, you can barely walk”, you knew Joel was getting frustrated attempting to reason with the younger Miller.

You contained a fatigued sigh ― Joel had tried his best these past months to help Tommy straighten out his path. But you couldn’t help someone who didn’t want to be helped. You just wished Joel understood that. But you knew he wouldn’t give up on his brother so easily. His only living relative.

You sauntered towards the bathroom to wash your face and brush your teeth. You were in the middle of doing so when you heard Joel enter the room. His reflection appeared in the mirror in front of you and you smiled at him, your mouth full of toothpaste. The corner of his mouth lifted just slightly as he placed a heavy hand on the small of your back, his lips brushing your right temple. You closed your eyes at the soothing touch. You quickly bent over to spit the toothpaste and rinse your mouth.

“He’ll come around”, you said as his hand draped around your waist, yours stroking his forearm instinctively.

Joel humphed. “I hope so”, he muttered, his mouth pressed against your crown. “It’s not safe here anymore, darlin’, I think we should head somewhere else”.

“I hear Canada is lovely this time of the year”, you joked, hoping to lighten the mood. His expression didn’t flinch ― worry distorting his rugged, gorgeous face. “I know, I know… Could we wait a few days at least? Tomorrow’s Christmas Eve”, you blinked at him.

He considered it for a few seconds before giving in. “Alright, we’ll leave on the twenty sixth”.

You clapped your hands together, a smile widening your features. Joel cocked an inquiring brow.

“Well, Joyce is throwing a party on Christmas Day at hers and, uhmm, I kinda told her we were coming?”. His brow furrowed even more. “Pretty please?”, you begged, your fingers laced in a prayer.

You knew Joel didn’t like socialising nor big gatherings, but it was just one teeny tiny ask. You flashed your eyelashes at him.

“Okay, it won’t hurt, I guess”, he conceded reluctantly.

With an excited squeal, you turned around in his embrace, circling his neck with your arms. You stood on your tiptoes as Joel leaned forward to kiss you.

The day went by slowly. You had been assigned to the evening patrol ― your hunting duties put on hold until further notice. With all this clickers’ activity, it wasn’t safe to venture out. To your dislike, Joel had been in the afternoon one, so you kissed him goodbye when you took over. At least Tommy was with you.

You were stationed in the bridge on West Madison Street, the Lyric Opera of Chicago to your right. There was a total of ten people in your group, each one of you covering different positions. When clickers approached, you shot them through the rifle scope. It had become a mindless game, like the one you used to play in the arcade when you were younger ― Wolfenstein 3D.

Hours had gone by, and you had been standing up for so long that your feet hurt. You eyed the red, thick metal railing to your left and, with a little jump, you sat on top ― your legs dangling in front of you, facing southwards and the rifle conveniently placed on your lap. Tommy joined you a few minutes later.

He remained silent and so did you. Although he was somewhat sober, you could smell the alcohol on him. It was bad enough that he drank himself to oblivion in his free time, but it was not great he came to patrol with dulled senses.

You took a deep breath.

“Your brother needs you, y’know?”, you said with resignation. His eyes were fixed somewhere in the distance, but you could see the pain in them. “We’ll be leaving in three days, Tommy, and we both need you. This reckless path of yours could have dreadful consequences, not only for us, but for yourself… We are both here to help you out, but you’re shutting us out ― Joel is worried sick and, to be honest, so am I. And I get it, this world sucks… but you’ve got us. The people you are meeting up with… They aren’t good for you.”

He didn’t say a word for a long minute. It was probably not fair of you to pester him with your not-so-uplifting speech, but he needed to hear it. As much as you liked Tommy, what troubled you the most was that it would destroy Joel if he lost Tommy too. It had taken him a long time to open up, to start living again, and Tommy was undoing all that hard work Joel had put in.

He sighed heavily, turning to look at you.

“Do I? And please don’t get me wrong ― I’m happy for both of you. But you’ve got Joel and Joel’s got you. Again, nothing wrong with that, but it sometimes feels lonely, y’know? That’s what drove me to Laney and her group, they get me. Yeah, sure, the alcohol, the drugs ― it ain’t great, but it helps. But I know I need to get my shit together, believe me, I do, it’s just… hard”, he shrugged.

Your eyes softened, downcast expression. You knew you were just brushing the surface; it wasn’t just that he felt left out. This new world was devastating, it toyed with your mind, making you believe things that were never really there ― a figment of your imagination, of your worst fears.

You palmed his forearm to cheer him up.

“As hard as it is, I’m sure you’ll still come out the other end just fine”, you smiled, but he was evading your eyes. “You only need to reach out, Tommy. We’re here for whatever you need of us.”

You got home past midnight. You were so worn out, you just whispered goodbye to Tommy and headed towards your shared bedroom with Joel. The handle made a screeching noise, then the door creaked when you pushed it. You scrunched your face in frustration ― you didn’t want to wake Joel up if he had fallen asleep. He had trouble in doing so, his nightmares still haunted him.

You quietly closed the door behind you. The room was dark, the silence only broken by his faint snoring. You grinned ― he did snore, as much as it pained him to admit it. Tiptoeing towards your end of the bed, you scattered your clothes on the floor. Only wearing your panties, you sneaked under the bedsheets. There was no heating, but Joel’s body radiated enough warmth to keep you both cozy for the whole night ― so you curled up against his back, nipples grazing his bare skin, your left arm around his waist and your hand gently pressed against his chest. You could feel his ribcage raising with every breath he took.

He lulled you to sleep, your mind slowly drifting away. He really was your safe haven.

You smiled absentmindedly, a snug sentiment weighing in your belly. You kissed him where his shoulder blades met and whispered, “I love you.”

Maybe he dreamt it. He was not sure.

Maybe his unconsciousness made it up. He was not sure.

However it came to be, that “I love you” had been haunting his mind the whole day. His chest felt tight, a longing ache lodged in his core. Joel had not been able to get rid of that feeling ― being honest, he didn’t want it to disappear. As much as it was painful, it was also hopeful.

His heart fluttered with yearning at the memory, only coming back to reality when you elbowed his side. He had not heard what you said, but your features had lit up with your laugh. The biggest muscle in his chest skipped a beat at such beautiful melody.

“I bet you were the taciturn type as a kid, right, Joel?”, Joyce asked him, question marks dancing in her pupils.

“I was a normal, boring kid. Played a bit of baseball and went on a few fishing trips with our old man, but that’s about it. So yeah, I guess taciturn covers it”, he replied, spooning the stew into his mouth.

Tommy huffed taking a sip of the moonshine in his cup, but didn’t say anything.

The three of you ―Joel, Tommy and yourself― were in the canteen in the Art Institute of Chicago. Joyce, her granddaughter Ava, Walter and a few others were sat around the table, everyone sharing funny snippets of their childhood. Tomorrow was Christmas Day, which seemed to have lightened the mood a bit, some people had even sang some Christmas carols.

“What about you, sweet pea?”, Joyce turned her attention to you.

“I was a weird kid”, you admitted with a laugh. “Used to love bugs, and I really mean love bugs. I had a huge terrarium, a beautiful ant’s nest. I used to go out and picked some of them off the anthill in our backyard to bring them to my colony. Not gonna lie, it was fascinating seeing how the ants would work together to build their little glass community”, you shared while devouring Joyce’s stew. “Then one day, quite a few ants bit me as I was trying to relocate them to a different part of the terrarium, and they fucked me up real bad. Got a terrible infection, was in hospital for two weeks. When I came back, the whole colony was dead, my parents didn’t even let me have a look at it. It was heartbreaking. After that, I steered clear of any type of bugs. I cared for them, even named every one of them, and that’s how they paid me in return? Little bastards”, you cackled, shaking your head.

“You were indeed weird, sweetheart”, Joel muttered so low, you thought you were the only one who heard it.

You patted his hand with a chuckle, unconsciously leaning towards him, your shoulders touching. You always gravitated towards Joel, you just couldn’t control it. Your eyes met and you giggled ― his smirk widened.

“Guilty”, you whispered, his hand enveloping yours under the table.

You had forgotten Joyce was sat across you until she cleared her throat.

“So, you two lovebirds are a couple yet, or what?”, her not-so-innocent question caught you completely off guard.

Shit, shit, you thought, almost choking on your food. You had not talked to Joel about what you two really were. You loved him wholeheartedly, but you didn’t need to put a label to your relationship. At least not yet. You didn’t want to pressure him ― you knew Joel would come around when he was ready.

“Uh, well, we…”, you stammered, your heart racing so fast you thought you were going to throw it up in your bowl.

Joel’s hand gripped yours tighter.

“Yeah, we are”, he replied, matter-of-factly.

Your soul literally left your body. You scrutinised his face in awe ― your lips dissevered, sparkly eyes, speechless. A wave of relief washed over you. He did love you; you just knew it in your heart. The immense love you suddenly felt almost throttled you. If your brain was a functioning organ, you would have hugged and reciprocated him ― but your mind was still short-circuiting.

Joel’s hazel eyes held yours prisoner. He wasn’t a man of many words, but he didn’t need to be ― his orbs spoke for him. They were soft, tender, loving. You heard Joyce’s snicker, but your eyes could not leave Joel’s. There were so many things you wanted to say but couldn’t ― your heart was drowning in oxytocin.

“Why do you look so surprised, sweet pea?”, said the older woman, hardly containing a guffaw.

Before you could find any words to answer Joyce, a shrieking cry disrupted the festive atmosphere. People got up a few tables away from you, screaming so loud you couldn’t make out their words.

A few seconds later, another commotion took place but from the other end of the room.

“Infected! They are infected!”, someone shouted.

Panic spread quickly. People started running, cramming around the two exits. Pushing their way out, elbowing anyone in their way with no regards to children or the elderly. Then you saw a young girl in the middle of a circle, people trying to keep their distance from her. You recognised her from the patrols but couldn’t remember her name.

Then she propelled forward, tackling a man to the ground. He screeched loudly, trying to free himself.

“No, get away from me! Aaaarghhh!”, then silence.

You had gotten up. More cries came from the opposite direction, but you didn’t dare to look. Joel’s hand on your shoulder forced you out of your trance, and you turned to look at him.

His expression was a reflection of yours for a fraction of a second. The fear, but then the resolution.

“Move, move, we gotta go. Tommy?!”, his hands were on your back, pushing you to walk in front of him.

The younger Miller went in front of you, gun on hand, to find the way out. Then you remembered the firearm in your belt and swiftly gripped it. You were about to run behind Tommy when you realised. Suddenly stopping in your tracks, you turned around to face Joel. You looked at him intently, then to Joyce and her granddaughter.

You couldn’t leave them behind. Joyce was the best person you had known in a while. She was like family to you. And you had already lost all of your blood relatives. Joel had one look at you and understood you were not going to accept no for an answer.

“Joyce! Ava! C’mon!”, he shouted while approaching them. Joel picked up little Ava in his arms while Joyce ran towards you, thick tears blurring her vision.

You held Joyce’s trembling hand as Tommy guided you out of the building onto South Michigan Avenue. You looked back a few times, ensuring Joel was right behind you. Ava was sobbing loudly, her tiny face against the curve of Joel’s neck, wetting his t-shirt. The fearful look in his eyes told you a sad story ― you knew exactly who he was thinking of. A gut-wrenching feeling sat in the pit of your stomach.

The streets were crammed with people, everyone screaming names at the top of their lungs. You recognised a few faces: Walter, Eric and his mother, Troy, Kelsey…

“They’re coming through the bridge on West Adams Street!”, someone wailed.

All of you looked in that direction and saw a massive herd of clickers galloping towards you.

“RUN!”, you shouted at your group, pulling Joyce’s hand.

You all ran northwards, across Millenium Park. You could feel your lungs burning, your brain entering fight-or-flight mode, your heart racing so fast you were on the verge of having a cardiac arrest. But none of that mattered ― you were focused on getting out of there, all of you. Tommy, Joel, Joyce, Ava, yourself. You were going to make it out.

“Go to William Fahey bridge, it’s closer!”, Tommy yelled once on East Wacker Drive.

More clickers were coming towards you from the west ― you heard someone around you say that all the bridges on North Wacker Drive were packed with infected.

“They’re here! THEY’RE COMING!”, Joyce wept.

The whole moment was so hectic, with no time to process what was happening. You all sprinted to the only bridge in the hands of the government ― you had no other option. You were almost halfway through the bridge, just a few yards more and you would be on the other side.

As you were racing, you heard a gunshot behind you. You came to a sudden stop to check, letting go of Joyce’s hand ― Joel had just dispatched a clicker which had come too close.

“Joel! Come on!”, you begged, getting closer to grab him by his free forearm.

Then you saw them. Waves of clickers coming towards you, people falling to their demises. Your eyes widened, terror pumping through your veins. You shot a few of them, your aim perfect. But there were too many to fight, fleeing was your only real option.

“Don’t stop! Let’s fucking go!”, Tommy howled, waving at you.

Then chaos unfolded. Gunshots swirled around you. You all ducked behind a car to avoid the trajectory of the bullets ― the government soldiers were shooting to whoever attempted to cross the bridge, clickers and humans alike.

“Help!”, a cry to your left made you turned around in a panic.

Joyce was flat on her back, fighting off an infected. You couldn’t think, so you just reacted ― you leaped forwards, tackling the clicker. Knelt on top of it, its disgusting teeth snapped close to your hand. You felt a brief pang on your wrist as you lodged a bullet in its forehead.

With tears darkening your vision, you came off it and crawled to Joyce. Her eyes, devoid of life, stared at the cloudy, dusking sky. Her lifeless expression was filled with terror, tears still running down her cheeks. Blood was surging from her neck ― unconsciously, you covered the wound in an attempt to stop the bleeding.

“No, Joyce, come on, wake up”, you whispered, grief tugging at your lungs.

She could not be gone just like that. But she was. Joyce was dead.

“Up! Lift the bridge!”, a man’s voice was carried by the wind.

Suddenly, the ground underneath you started moving up, the bridge parting exactly where you were. With no time to think, Joyce’s body rolled off the edge into the river as you tried to hold on to something to avoid the same destiny.

That something was Joel’s firm grip on your arm. His eyes wild with dread, he pulled you up and back into his arms. His trembling breath caressed your temple as he hugged you tightly. You knew he was as scared as you were, albeit for different reasons.

But there was no time for the shock to wear off. Off the corner of your eye, you saw little Ava running towards the edge, kneeling on the border, her tiny hand reaching into the abyss underneath. “Nana! Come back, nana!”, her wailing tone gave you goosebumps.

“No!”, you and Joel shouted at the same time, both lunging forward towards her.

And then she was gone too. The rotten hand of a clicker wrapped around her tiny wrist, and she fell off the bridge. Her piercing shriek was still ringing in your ears.

Joel and you remained flat against the asphalt, disheartened and broken.

“I had to let go of her for one second, you were falling, I―”, his voice faltered, his eyes broadened with remorse, transfixed on the exact spot Ava had disappeared from.

He was reliving his worst nightmare again. Your heart bled for him. For Joyce, for Ava. For yourself.

“Joel, don’t―”, you couldn’t finish. Don’t do this to yourself, you wanted to say.

“Get up! MOVE!”, Tommy shouted.

He had fended off the clickers who made it across the bridge before it was lifted. You hadn’t realised his efforts until you swept your surroundings and saw the bodies littered around you. Joel shook his head to clear his mind, casting off all emotions, and got up to his feet, helping you up in the process.

Then the three of you started running towards East Illinois Street while the government soldiers kept the clickers at bay as some of them tried to jump from one side of the bridge to the other ― this time, at least, they were aiming better than they did before.

You were still in living hell, with no chance to digest what had happened yet. It was like walking blindly through the darkness, unable to find the switch to turn on the lights. Your emotions had deserted you, at least for the time being. You needed to find shelter before you could shatter.

You raced for what felt like hours but was only minutes. You turned the corner on Erie Street, near Northwestern Hospital. The streets were filled with soldiers and uniformed police, shouting directions at the unhinged mass of people who were trying to find cover.

You stopped running, feeling like fire was consuming your lungs. Joel and Tommy stopped too to catch a breath. You bent over, hands on your knees, to aid your uncontrolled breathing ― Joel’s hand rubbed your back.

“Laney, wait up”, you heard Tommy say, and supposed that Laney and her group had made it out too.

You frowned when you saw blood dripping from your inner wrist on to your jeans. You turned your hand around to check the wound out.

Your breath didn’t reach your lungs. Teeth marks were imprinted on your skin, a grotesque sight. Your heart came to a halt, and then it pounded so hard your ears rang.

I’ve been bit, you thought, realisation dawning on you. Fuck, I’m bit.

Even though you were internally panicking like you had never before, you straightened your back and looked at Joel blankly. It felt like it wasn’t you who was talking, as if you were seeing yourself from outside your own body.

“Joel, I’ve been bit”. Your voice didn’t feel yours ― calm, ethereal.

He was watching his brother walk away, and then his eyes darted to yours in less than a second. His pupils were dilated, his nostrils flared, his lips pursed. A vein twitched in his jaw, his anxiety peaking to the highest level possible. You saw his hand shaking when he grabbed your wrist to inspect it himself.

Joel didn’t say a word. He didn’t have time to do so. You hadn’t realised that Tommy had stopped walking towards Laney and had drawn his gun as he was retracing his steps back to where you were.

“Joel, move”, the barrel was pointing at you, his hand steady.

Panic set in. Was he really going to shoot you? Just like that? Like your life didn’t matter at all? Like he wasn’t your esteemed friend? In front of Joel? Was this how you were going to die after all?

Questions flooded your mind, death knocking at your door.

Joel positioned his body in between you and Tommy ― one hand reaching back to keep you behind him, the other one in front of him at waist level, palm down, to keep Tommy away.

“Tommy, please―”, he implored in a hush.

You couldn’t see his face, but you knew his features were torn. His defeated tone ate at your conscience.

“She’s been bit, Joel. She ain’t coming with us, she can’t”, as much as Tommy wanted to convey a reassuring tone, he couldn’t.

Why was he talking like you were not there, like if you were already gone?

“Tommy, don’t do this. I lov―”, your heart sank to your stomach.

“Don’t say it, she’s dead”, Tommy cut him off before Joel could finish his appeal. “If you stay, you’re going to die. Come with me please, we’ll go with Laney and her group, we’ll survive this. You will survive this”, he nodded in your direction.

You were “this”. He was telling Joel he would get over you once you were dead. And you wanted him to listen. You were doomed, there was no coming back from this. You had seen people turn ― you had a couple of days tops before you would get lost to the fungus. Some people only lasted hours. If he stayed by your side to see you wither away… it would break him. For good.

“Joel, listen―”, you whispered, wrapping your fingers around his wrist ― a silent plea dying in your lips.

“No, don’t say a word”, he barely looked over his shoulder, unable to face you yet. “Tommy, I can’t. I just can’t”, he said under his breath.

“Choose then. Either you’re coming with me or you’re staying with her. But I won’t stay by your side to see you destroy yourself.”

An anxious knot formed in your throat. Was Tommy really going to make Joel choose between you and him? That was so fucking cruel you couldn’t believe your ears. You gaped, trying to say something, but Joel took a step back which forced you to do the same.

“Tommy, are you fucking serious?”, Joel asked, a shift in his tone from incredulity to betrayal.

“There’s your answer, I guess”, the younger Miller replied angrily.

Tommy simply walked off, not looking back, not even once.

Both Joel and you froze in place for a long minute, trying to wrap your heads around what just happened.

Your eyes drifted back down to the wound. Pus and blood oozed out. Your chest heaved, reality setting in. You were going to die. This was not what you had in mind for Christmas. How could this happen? Why you? Even with your mind racing with trepidation, you didn’t regret killing that clicker. What you lamented was that it had been for naught ― Joyce and Ava were dead.

“Hey, look at me”, Joel’s voice brought you back. His hands cradled your face, his thumbs sweeping away tears you were not aware of. “Look at me”, he repeated.

You looked up at him through damp eyelashes, memorising his face. His beautiful brown eyes were swirling with shock, with pain, with darkness, with guilt, with loss. His jaw was so clenched his lips were just a fine line. You momentarily shut your eyes, nestling your cheek into his hand before kissing his palm and taking a step back.

You could not look at him directly. The pain was too grave, too profound ― so insatiable it was consuming you. “You gotta go, Joel. Tommy is right. I’m… I’m dead. It’s just a matter of days, maybe hours. You can’t stay. You can’t follow me where I’m going.” The words escaped your mouth in shortened bursts, unable to keep a steady tone.

He took a step forward and cupped your chin, forcing your head up. His sad eyes captivated you, pulling you into their orbits, as if you were a tiny meteor dancing around too close to the black hole of his irises.

“Wherever you go, I’ll follow you. Even to the fucking edge of the atlas”, he muttered breathlessly. “I love you, so don’t ask me to leave you behind. I’m staying, till the bitter fucking end”, your heart dropped to your stomach at his confession.

This was not how you had expected things to be. You were supposed to have time with each other, all the time in the fucking world. And that time had just been snatched from you mercilessly.

Life was so fucking unjust.

You couldn’t stop the tears any longer ― they overflowed your waterlines, your vision so smeared you couldn’t see his face anymore. Your head tilted forward, until your face was buried in his chest.

Joel hugged you tightly, feeling like he was starring in a twisted horror movie. A dark void had replaced his heart, which had been completely ripped off his chest. He was barren inside. His breaths were shallow, they didn’t even reach his lungs.

Had he forgotten how to breathe?

“We need to get off the streets”, he managed to mumble, holding your hand and taking you away.

[mylifesjustacarousel]

the sorcerer and the apprentice

pairing: james hook x gn!reader (requested)

summary: you, the child of merlin, and james hook make quite an odd pair (with obvious feelings for each other). but what happens when you two make magic together?

type: fluff, some teasing here and there

CW: none

WC: 1k

the prequel | part 1 | part 3

There were perks to being the child of Merlin, the principal and founder of Merlin Academy. You were well advanced in your wizardry skills, which was a blessing… and a curse. All of the other students were constantly lined up to try to get something from you; love potions, flying spells, blah blah blah… You name it, someone has asked you for it. But, there was one student that you always made an exception for, even if you couldn’t really explain why.

James Hook, one of the VKs in Uliana’s crew, was one of your nearest and dearest friends. You were quite the odd pair, seeing that you came from very different backgrounds. He admired your carefree personality, despite being the child of the person on campus who cared the absolute most… about everything. Well, it was more than admiration. Hook was absolutely head over heels for you. The way that you carried yourself with the utmost confidence, your intelligence and your care when it comes to your craft… he was hooked.

“Hand me the bottle over there, James,” you reached your hand out, waiting for him to put the bottle in your hand. When a few seconds went by and your hand was still empty, you looked over.

Hook had his eyes on you, a soft and warm smile on his face. It was a pretty rare sight, he usually tried to keep up his hard and cold demeanor, but he couldn’t help but let his walls down around you. You were safe, you were comforting. A home he never really had.

“James!” you shouted, nudging his side with your elbow.

He snapped out of his trance, almost jumping out of his seat. “Easy there!” he reached over, picking up the bottle, “Tears of sadness? You cry so much when you miss me that you keep a whole bottle of your tears?” Rolling your eyes, you snatched the bottle, “Ha. Ha. Ha. So very funny, James.”

His eyes softened as he watched you, your eyes carefully reading your spell book to make sure you got the exact measurements of the potion right. “Does it ever get… annoying, y/n?” you looked over at him, confused, “Does what ever get annoying? You?”

“Not what I meant.” He huffed, gently nudging your arm. “No, I meant everyone knowing who you are? Asking for potions and spells all the time?” you thought about it and ultimately just shrugged. “Sometimes. But, I also like knowing that I can make a change in other people’s lives.”

He watched silently as you poured a drop of the tears into the potion, carefully stirring it with the griffin claw. “Hey, when can I make a potion?” he asked after a minute, looking over at your spell book. While he loved spending time with you, there was nothing more boring, besides actually going to school, than sitting there and handing you bottles. You giggled, bottling up the love potion you had made, “Alright, Captain, let’s see what you can do.”

Grabbing your spell book, he stepped in front of the cauldron. He looked through spells and potions before finding one he liked. You sat down in the chair he once occupied, quietly watching him. The way his brow furrowed in concentration, the way his lips moved silently as he repeated the ingredients to himself. You couldn’t even help but get lost in his dark brown eyes.

When you two first met, you were enemies. After all, you were the child of the founder of your school, so he expected you to be nothing but a goody two shoes. He would taunt and tease you, along with the rest of Uliana’s crew. But, after you played a pretty harsh (and funny) prank on Uliana, he realized that you weren’t what you seemed on the surface. Once he learned who you were truly, you clicked and had become close.

Not as close as either of them would like, or would care to admit, though.

It was sickeningly obvious that they had feelings for each other, but they both had too much pride and just didn’t know how to talk about their feelings. They would never confess their feelings for one another. So they stuck with innocent flirting and teasing here and there.

“Do I have something on my face?” Hook teased, his lip curling up in a smirk. You quickly looked away from him, your face heating up as it turned bright red. “Nope, just making sure that you don’t mess anything up. You can’t afford to lose that pretty hair in potion mishap,” you mumbled, trying to find anything else in the room to look at.

Swallow me whole, ground, you thought to yourself.

“Well, I finished the potion, and my “pretty hair” is still there, darling,” He laughed, scooping a small amount of the potion into the bottle, “Come on, I wanna show you it.” He went over to your bookshelf, grabbing a vase of flowers that you had forgotten about, now dead and wilted, and brought them over to the table.

You raised a brow, your curiosity piquing, “What’re you up to, Hook?” he quickly put a finger up to your lips, shushing you, “Shh, trust me.”

He pulled his hand away, picking up the bottle of the potion that he just made. He poured a few drops over the vase of dead flowers, you quietly watching over his shoulder. Within a few seconds, the flowers had transformed. The once wilted and unrecognizable flowers had turned into a beautiful bouquet of roses. He picked them up, handing them to you.

“They’re for you, darling. Look, they’re the same color as your face.”

You tried to hide your grin as you looked at the flowers in your hands, but you couldn’t help it. “That was… very sweet, James. I’m impressed.” you put the flowers back in their vase, this time putting them on your bedside table right where you could see them. “If you let me take you to Castlecoming next week, there will be more where that came from.”

Your eyes widened and you whipped around, turning to face him, “Are you asking me out on a date?” he walked towards you, shrugging, “That depends on what your answer is.” you giggled, pretending to think about it before giving him your answer.

“Yes, I’ll go to Castlecoming with you, James.”

a/n: i had a lot of fun writing that! i’m hoping that they will get a lot longer as time goes on, but i’m super happy with how this turned out! and thank you to cafekitsune for the text divider, it is gorgeous

[podiumackles]

the moments that stay (they turn out all wrong)

In which the man she could never forget suddenly turns up at her cell, but he has no remembrance of the woman in front of him. And the moments that stayed with her for decades, turn out to be her memories only.

series masterlist

CHAPTER 5

A/N: I feel like I birthed a baby with this one. One of my proudest works, hope you enjoy it as much as I do! English isn't my first language!! apologies in advance.

Outlines: After being his sidekick in Payback for years, you-better known as your supename Fury-ended up on the same end of Soldier Boy's violence as every other person. What you didn't realise, however, was that your old team had set you both up for betrayal, right when you thought you were helping them in getting him. After decades of being stuck in Vought's testing lab, you heard Soldier Boy got out. But the man who appeared in front of your cell wasn't the man you knew.

Warnings: swearing, kinda descriptive mentions of death, soldier boy (yes, this man should be considered a warning), lying, manipulation kinda, and possibly wrong storytelling in lines of the canon events. I'm not that good at remembering, guys. and the boys was just kinda complicated. forgive me.

1980s

The 1980s were a lawless playground for Soldier Boy, a man shaped by chaos. Drugs. Sex. Violence. Few words could capture his essence, but those three came close. In the haze of neon lights and the pounding beat of rock and roll, he thrived, living by his own code—a code that left a trail of broken hearts, empty bottles, and bruised knuckles.

Weed fuelled him, as much a part of his bloodstream as oxygen. The high brought clarity to his mission, an almost supernatural focus. He sped through several joints a day, eyes always sharp and searching, a wild energy coursing through him. The thrill, the unpredictability—that was where he felt most alive.

Sex was a game he’d perfected to an art. He was a magnet, dangerous and alluring, a man wrapped in mystery and trouble. The women who gravitated toward him idolised him, and fell for his masculine charm in an instant. Together, they’d burn bright and fast, brief encounters flaring up like sparks against the dark backdrop of his nights.

And violence—violence was his answer to everything. It was both the shield and sword he wielded against a world he felt at odds with. He relished the crunch of knuckles against bone, the quick dance of fists and steel. For Soldier Boy, each fight was a test, a chance to feel something real in a world that often felt hollow. Even if the violence wasn’t always in place.

In a decade defined by rebellion and raw energy, Soldier Boy fit right in, a man who embodied the darker side of the times.

But in the rare, quiet moments between the mayhem, a shadow crossed Soldier Boy's hardened gaze—a glimpse of the boy he once was, twisted and reshaped by a father whose love was sharp-edged, if it could be called love at all. His father’s expectations had been relentless, more about moulding a weapon than raising a son. Every misstep, every moment of weakness was met with disdain or brutal correction. Soldier Boy learned early that softness was a liability, that love was something you conquered, not something you felt.

His father had drilled it into him that life was a battlefield, that only the ruthless survived. In his father’s eyes, “good enough” was an insult. Perfection was mandatory, and anything less was shameful. The standards were impossible, yet Soldier Boy chased them with a desperate fervour. He fought, drank, smoked, and womanized not just because he wanted to—but because he felt he had to.

Proving himself was a lifelong war.

And yet, he kept going. Because maybe, just maybe, if he lived loud enough, fought hard enough, and burned bright enough, he could drown out the voice that whispered that it was all for nothing.

So, Vought decided to strip away that part of him and make Ben into some hero. Someone who fought the actual wars, was a soldier for the country, and learned the values of hard work, tenacity, and bravery while growing up on the streets.

And suddenly, Ben wasn’t the boy born into a wealthy home under his distant, judgemental and overbearing father, a prominent industrial magnate who owned half the steel mills in the state.

He wasn’t the man who grew up after his father sent him to boarding school, just to get rid of him.

America believed he grew up to a poor family. To a happy family, caring for each other on the streets.

So that is what he chose to put on as a mask.

Therefore, as he stood there in the dark of the night, next to the Benz with a group of kids, he convinced himself he was the hero. Violent, but a hero. And he convinced himself to the point of believing it.

“Fuckin’ kids.” Ben muttered in slight disbelief, picking up the Benz with ease and hurling it forward, though missing his objective and sending it through a nearby house.

He could barely make out the form of an older, black man getting hit, surely dying in the process, but he couldn’t pay it much mind.

He was a hero, after all.

He fought the war.

In the corner of his eye, he vaguely saw a small child with terror edged in his gaze.

But Ben knew he didn’t do anything terrible.

It wasn’t his fault the Benz went through the windows of a nearby house. It wasn’t his fault it ended in the home of a black family.

The kids tried to run him over with the car, forcing him to deflect the oncoming vehicle and cause it to crash into the home.

That’s what happened.

That’s what he would tell them.

That’s what everyone would come to know.

He tore his eyes away from the carnage, nearly bumping into the smaller figure behind him.

“Soldier Boy?” Your voice rang through his ears, through the crackling of the fire behind him, concern edged along your face.

“They fuckin’ tried to run me over, Fury,” his words were firm. Stern. And not a single sign of care. “You can’t possibly think I threw a damn car into an innocent’s home?”

Your eyes were sharp, cutting through the smoke and the flickering light. You hadn’t personally known Soldier Boy for a long time. But it felt long enough to recognize the look in his eyes—the one that flared up when reality slipped out of his grip, morphing into whatever narrative best suited him. You wanted to believe him, needed to believe him, but even you couldn’t ignore the doubt clawing at your mind.

“Those kids—they barely had time to get the engine started. They didn’t try to run you over.” Your voice was quiet but steady, like your were trying to coax him out of a trance. “You picked up that car and threw it. You know what you did.”

His jaw tightened, eyes flashing with something between anger and desperation. “They fucking came at me first, Fury,” he barked, each word sharp as a knife. “They didn’t leave me a damn choice. This was self-defence. Part of the fucking job.” His words trailed off, and for a split second, he looked away, eyes drifting toward the broken home, the lifeless hand lying on the ground, still and unmoving.

You stepped closer, lowering your voice to a whisper that only he could hear. “You’re not a hero if you can’t see the difference between protecting and destroying, Ben.”

“What the fuck did you just call me?” He came at you with quick steps, grabbing you by the tight collar of your suit, the words leaving him in a growl.

“I told you I’d fucking figure it out.” You spoke with equal distaste, getting close enough to his face that your noses almost touched.

“Do not fucking call me that again.”

And he meant it. You knew he meant it.

“And don’t act like you’re some kind of saint,” he snapped, anger bristling beneath the surface. “I’ve done what needed to be done. I’ve kept this country safe. I’m still here because people need someone like me to do what they can’t stomach themselves. I’m the fucking leader of a team of supes.”

“Maybe they need someone strong, but they don’t need… this,” You said, gesturing to the wreckage. You took a deep breath, steadying yourself. “Look, I know you’re angry. I know you’ve had to fight your whole life, that you don’t know how to turn it off. But maybe this is a sign that something’s broken in you, something that Vought and all the violence have only made worse.”

He scoffed, letting go of your collar before crossing his arms defensively. “Broken? I’m the one who’s been keeping things fucking together. It’s everyone else who’s been lying to themselves, pretending that the world doesn’t need men like me. Heroes aren’t born, Fury. They’re made. I was made for this.”

You paused, searching his face, seeing flashes of the man behind the bravado, the man he’d hidden away for so long that even he had forgotten he existed. “You were made, Ben, but maybe too much. Vought twisted you, fed you lies about who you are, made you think you’re some unbreakable weapon. But that’s not who you have to be.”

His expression faltered, just for a moment, the mask slipping as the weight of your words settled over him. In the quiet, he could hear the sirens approaching, the blue and red lights reflecting off the shattered glass around them.

Ben stepped back, lifting his chin, defiance hardening his gaze once again. “You don’t fucking get it, Fury. Clearly.” He glanced at the arriving police cars, the ambulance and firefighters close behind. “This is who I fucking am. A hero. A soldier. A leader.”

As he turned to walk away, you watched him go, a sense of helplessness washing over her. She knew that the only person who could save Soldier Boy from himself was the man he’d buried long ago, the one who still lingered somewhere in the darkness.

But for now, Ben had made his choice, walking away from the broken family, the innocent lives left in the wake of his own battles, and found his way to the ambulance after they’d called him over.

Several police officers walked up to you as you stared towards the back of the man you tried so hard to figure out.

“Fury,” a deep voice spoke up from next to you, so your gaze reluctantly shifted towards the officer next to you. “Mind telling us what happened?”

You did mind.

You didn’t want this.

The man looked at you sternly, leaving no space for lies. He would’ve been onto you straight away, and his stare made it seem like he’d already seen through you.

But it rolled off your tongue before you could stop it, and you shifted your gaze to Soldier Boy once more.

“Kids tried to run Soldier Boy over, hit the house instead,” you felt numb. No feelings were edged into your words. “They fled before we could get to them.”

The officer nodded, but his eyes narrowed, clearly not buying your story. “And you just saw it happen?” “Yeah,” you replied, your voice oddly steady. “I was—”

“Fury!” A new voice cut through, sharp and commanding. A tall woman in a crisp uniform approached, her badge glinting in the chaotic light. “What the hell is going on?” “Ma’am, just trying to piece together—” the officer began. She waved him off, eyes locked on you.

“I don’t care about your excuses. I need the truth. This isn’t just another PR disaster for Vought. A house is wrecked, and people are hurt. A man is dead. We need to know what really happened.” The urgency in her tone electrified the air.

You felt the weight of the world pressing down. What if Soldier Boy’s lies unraveled? What if the truth exposed the monster behind the hero facade?

Before you could answer, a commotion erupted at the ambulance. Ben was arguing with medics, insisting he was fine, refusing treatment. “Fury!” the woman snapped again, pulling you from your thoughts. “We need to act fast. Are you with us or not?”

The woman’s expression hardened. “And what about the man inside? The casualties? You think the press will swallow that story? They’ll tear him apart, and the fallout will land on all of us.”

“It’s what I said,” you hated lying. But then again, isn’t this life all about lies? “Some kids tried to run him over. They fled as quick as the car rammed into the house.”

“It’s how it fucking happened,” You snapped, putting your all in selling a lie that wasn’t yours. A lie to protect someone who shouldn’t be protected. “Set up the statement for the press. I’ll do it. Just let me speak to him first.”

You walked away before anyone could protest.

As you approached the ambulance, Ben’s voice rose above the chaos. “I don’t fucking need your help!” You stepped closer, the weight of the moment pressing on your chest.

“Soldier Boy,” you called softly, hoping to pierce through his armour. He turned, eyes blazing. “Please, just let them check you out.”

“I don’t fucking need checking. I’m a fucking supe.”

“Alright then,” you couldn’t give him any more than that. He wasn’t going to listen to you anyway. And you felt the weight of the dead man in the house press down on your shoulders. “They’re setting up a statement. Would be nice if you could read the fucking words to the camera and be done with it.”

You weren’t sure who you hated more.

Him, for murdering an innocent man in front of a child.

Yourself, for deciding to let him get away with it.

Or Vought, for creating monsters out of innocents who just happened to be pumped full of Compound V.

“Fine.” He spoke sternly as he stared you down, before leaving the medics and you to walk towards your commander.

You gave the men in front of you a sympathetic nod, but you were stopped in your tracks when you noticed the child sitting on the edge of the ambulance. Your heart fell to your feet, a chill running down your spine upon the sight of the broken body in front of you.

He’d cried. Of course, he’d cried.

But you couldn’t get yourself to talk to him.

So, before your feet could get you to the child, you turned on your heels and walked towards the camera crew whom had just arrived.

But you didn’t know the child had seen you look at him.

You didn’t know he thought you were just as guilty as Ben.

Soldier Boy was already stood ready for the camera, and as you joined him, the camera lights clicked on, the harsh beams illuminating the devastation. And you felt yourself splintering inside, the weight of Soldier Boy’s lie settling like a stone in your chest. You glanced toward Ben, an indignant fire smoldering in his eyes. He looked every bit the righteous soldier, ready to declare himself the hero America needed.

The image of the boy’s face, twisted in fear and grief, tugged at you. But here you were, about to spin the truth into another manufactured story. You took a deep breath, forcing down the nausea that coiled in your gut.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” you began reading of the paper boards the assistent held next to the camera, voice steady, betraying none of the chaos within. “Tonight, a tragic accident occurred during an attempted assault on Soldier Boy.”

You felt the lie burn on your tongue as you kept your eyes fixed on the camera, refusing to let yourself glance at Ben or at the wreckage. “Some local teens attempted to run him down, resulting in the accidental damage to the home behind me. Soldier Boy acted only in self-defense, as any of us would in such a situation.”

You knew the words sounded hollow, even as they left your mouth. A part of you wanted to stop, to let the truth pour out, but your career, your life, everything was intertwined with Vought’s lie.

Ben took his chance to speak up as well, forcefully shaping his words around the story he had made up. “I am lucky to be alive today,” he started, adverting the attention to himself. “This shows what work still needs to be done in the life of heroes- to get your people behind you. Because you are all my fuckin’ people, and I will do whatever it takes to fight for this country.”

You swallowed harshly as you looked at him into his mask, the façade of a broken man who truly believed he wasn’t at fault.

You glanced back to the camera, forcing a sympathetic expression. “Our hearts go out to the family affected by this unfortunate event. Vought will, of course, be providing assistance to help rebuild and support those affected by this incident.”

A small smirk tugged at the corner of Ben his mouth, a look that sent a jolt of anger through you. This was a game to him, a story he’d tell at bars, while the real suffering lingered in the shadows. The cameras clicked off, and the reporters dispersed, murmuring about the press release.

As the crew packed up, you turned towards Ben, a tight smile masking the turmoil beneath. “You’re in the clear,” you murmured, feeling the weight of each word. “Don’t ever say I never fucking do anything for you.”

Ben looked down at you, his usual cocky expression in place. “See, Fury? I told you, people want a hero.” He threw a casual glance over his shoulder, at the small boy now being led away by a medic. “Shit happens. People need to understand that.”

“You can’t really believe that,” you said, unable to hide the frustration in your voice. “That kid…he’ll remember tonight for the rest of his life. The view of his home burned into his mind.”

Ben shrugged, unfazed. “That’s what builds strength. He’ll get over it.”

You wanted to scream, to shake him, to force him to see the agony he’d caused, but you knew it was useless. He was wrapped in layers of arrogance, denial, and decades of conditioning. Any compassion or empathy had been twisted out of him long ago, and in his mind, he was untouchable.

Turning away, you felt the hot sting of shame rise, pressing at the edges of your vision. You’d made a choice, sacrificed the truth for the illusion of stability, and now a piece of you felt as hollow as the lies you’d just told.

A/N: as always, feedback is appreciated! let me know if you want to be added to the taglist.

thanks for reading! <3

taglist: @demodemo909 @deangirl96 @mostlymarvelgirl @n-o-p-e-never @daisydark @mxltifxnd0m @lamentationsofalonelypotato @junyjunyjunyper