#and so they just don’t really. connect anymore. and i MISS them | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

resident-gay-bitch · 2 months ago

Text

Steve’s always a little insecure in his relationships, always worries that they’re only in it for a short while, that all their promises are just words, no truth behind them.

He’s two months into his relationship with Eddie, and Steve’s already very in love with him, and it’s terrifying. This is the most in love Steve has ever been.

They said it for the first time the other day, during a super romantic and cosy night of Chinese takeout and nostalgic kids movies, snuggled up on the couch with never ending kisses. They had sex that night too, for the first time.

They had fooled around only a couple of times before that, nothing too serious, and only twice, since Eddie’s Demisexual. Steve didn’t know that waiting was exactly what he needed, assurance that Eddie wasn’t just there for his body.

After that night he feels even more connected to Eddie, feels the love radiating from his goofy smile and his puppy dog eyes. And the way Eddie kissed him, the way Eddie touched him, it was unforgettable. Genuine electricity. Steve had never felt so special and precious in his life, never felt so loved.

He’s still got his insecurities though, now that they’ve stepped up their relationship, Steve’s gotten a lot more comfortable, shown the secret side of him, the side that only Robin knows about really. He’s worried, like all the rest of them, that Eddie won’t like him anymore, that he’ll leave.

Robin tells him he’s being negative and stupid, Eddie’s totally the one, she can feel it!!

Steve wants to feel it, thinks the tips of his fingers are buzzing from it, but he just won’t let himself. Not yet. Not until he knows for sure.

They’re on FaceTime, having dinner together because Eddie’s gone away for a few nights with his band for a gig, and they miss eachother. Eddie called him, no prompting needed, and when Steve answered he said: “Stevie, baby, oh my god I missed you— hey fuckin, Jeff!! Look at my boyfriend, how hot is he? I got a cute ass boyfriend, wow, I feel so much better now I get to talk to you again. How are you, sweetheart? I hope you’re okay.”

Steve’s heart fucking bloomed. He feels nauseous he’s so fucking in love.

“What are you doing, Ed’s? You keep looking away from me.”

“I know, a total crime, don’t hate me. I’d much rather look at you, baby— hey shut up, Jeff, let me be in love!” Eddie yelled, tossing a pen at his bandmate across the room, “Sorry, Stevie. Uh, I’m doing some research for some songs I’m writing, making sure I’m not gonna fucking accidentally steal someone’s copyrighted track. Boring stuff, legal stuff, what are you doing?”

“Not much, missing you.”

Eddie chuckles, “God, I miss you too. Want me to come over when I get home? I’d invite you to mine, but these guys always get grouchy after a long drive home and our unit would probably just depress you.”

“Yeah, please.” Steve smiled sweetly, picking at his dinner. They fall into silence for a while, Eddie deep in concentration, his eyebrows furrowed and his tongue poking out over his top lip as he types away on his laptop.

Steve’s got this question gnawing at him. One of those dumb fucking questions that he shouldn’t ask, because it’s stupid. The kind of question that if he asks too many of them, his parter will get pissed off and leave, or yell at him to stop. He’s already asked Eddie one weird question, but it wasn’t even that weird, it still got a strange reaction from Eddie though. Steve didn’t take it as a good one.

Fuck, he can’t help it though, it just starts coming out of his mouth before he can really stop it, “Hey, uh, Eddie…?”

“Yah, light of my life?” He laughs to himself, isn’t looking at the camera so he can’t see Steve begin to blush, thankfully.

“If you became a rich and famous rockstar, would you leave me behind? Be honest.” Steve nodded, “I can take it-“

“Of course not, Stevie.” Eddie said, still looking at his laptop screen, it seems like he barely even thinks about the answer, “Why would I do that?”

“If you were famous, you’d have other options.”

“Yeah, but I have you. Would you leave me, if you got famous?”

“No.” Steve snickers, like it’s obvious. Because it is, because Steve’s attached to Eddie, obviously, Steve loves Eddie more than Eddie loves Steve, probably.

“See, so why would I?” Eddie says simply, a small smile on his face as he looks at Steve like he’s being goofy and weird.

Steve should just shut his mouth before Eddie starts to hate him, but he just can’t, “Well, there are better options for famous people.”

“Not for me.” Eddie says simply, and it kills Steve, genuinely, a fucking stake through the heart in the best kind of way.

“What if you were on a red carpet, and… uh… oh, what if Hugh Jackman hit on you? Would you chose him over me?”

Eddie laughed, “Look, Hugh is hot, but he’s not as hot as you. Have you seen your ass, Stevie?”

Steve flustered, “We- Uh, what about like, Dave from Foo Fighters? He’s really hot.”

“Not my type at all, besides he’s a cheater so ew.”

“Okay…” Steve wonders, “Megan Fox?”

“Gorgeous! But I don’t swing that way.”

“Right, yeah, of course.” Steve sighed, “Oh, you really like Robert Irwin, right?”

Eddie laughed, looked over at Steve on his phone and smiled sweetly, rubbed a hand over his mouth, “Yeah, I like him, he’s cute. Wanna know why?”

Suddenly, Steve feels very jealous. It must show on his face too because Eddie snickers at him, “Uh, why?”

“Because he reminds me of you, dork.”

“What? How?” Steve is baffled.

“He’s cute, I like your little blonde highlights and he’s blonde. And he’s fit like you I guess. But mostly because he’s like, just a good looking chill out dude until you hear him talk, then you realise he’s a huge massive super ultra dork and you can’t help but want to know more about him.” Eddie smiled, turned back to his laptop and Steve watched him scroll through a document through the reflection of his glasses, “If Robert Irwin ever hit on me I’d be flattered as fuck. But I’d kindly reject him, and tell him I’ve got my own dork at home who prepared me for such a moment, by asking stupid questions like would you ever leave me— no Steve. I wouldn’t. Duh. You’re too good of a kisser.”

Steve laughed, let himself feel flustered for a while. Satisfied that he let himself be just the right amount of clingy to let Eddie know that he’s kinda like that, but not too clingy that he scared Eddie away.

“Would you take me with you then? When you’re rich and famous?”

“Oh, you know it baby.” Eddie grinned, “When I’m making millions, you’re quitting your goddamned job and travelling the world with me, and I’ll buy you whatever the fuck you want. I’ll be your full time sugar daddy no doubts about it, gorgeous.”

Steve loves this guy so much. “Yeah, sure, you can be my sugar daddy the day you figure out how to ask me how to touch your dick without stuttering and blushing and hiding in my neck about it.”

Eddie stuttered, clearly caught off guard as he began to choke on air. Steve could hear his friends in the room around Eddie begin to laugh and make fun of him. Steve laughed with him, because Eddie knows how Steve feels about that, he knows that Steve likes how shy Eddie got in bed.

Steve thinks it’s incredibly hot, a guy so confident and out there reduced to a stuttering mess the second he gets a “hot” guy in bed, as Eddie said.

Eddie’s friends begin to heckle and tease him for a bit, and Steve listens in silence as his boyfriend fights with the lot of them.

“Hey, Eddie?” Steve asks, once they’re calmed down and quiet again.

Eddie sighs, rolls his head away from his laptop and over to look at Steve, Steve hates this. Eddie smiles anyway, even though Steve is sure he’s faking it now, and says, “Yes, my love?”

He wants to take it back. He wants to shut his mouth.

“Never mind.” Steve shakes his head.

“No, my love. Ask me, go on. It was a follow up question to the whole fame thing, right?” Eddie shrugged, “I only sighed because you should know that how I feel isn’t something so easily raptured by a mere celebrity.”

“Oh…” Steve nodded, thought about that for a moment. Wondered if anyone else in his situation would have known that, maybe he’s just insecure, too insecure, Eddie’s bound to get annoyed by it. It seems like he already is. “I was just going to ask if you’d ever write a song about me?”

Eddie smiles, blushes, and it’s so sweet, “I already have, Stevie. Three.” He looks back at his laptop, groans and Steve sees in his glasses reflection that Eddie closes all the tabs he’s looking at in anger, “Yah, you’re so easy to write love songs about to be completely honest. But no, I’m not telling you anything about them. You’ll hear when they’re ready.”

Steve is over the moon, “Okay.”

Silence again. He watches Eddie open up a new application, Steve recognises as his music app thing. He makes demos and back tracks with it, which is cool. Eddie begins to play around with if a bit, and Steve listens to the noise and wonders what song Eddie’s trying to create.

He’s got that urge again. God, he’s so clingy. Steve can’t stand how clingy he is, no one can. It’s only a matter of time before Eddie’s telling him he’s too clingy and walking out the door.

He really can’t help himself. Maybe he’s just self destructive.

“Eddie, would you tell the world I was your boyfriend, if you get famous?”

“Yup.” Eddie nodded, “But they’d only know your name, and your face, and how much I love you. Don’t want you getting stalked by weirdos— you know, if I get famous enough that people want to stalk my boyfriend.”

Steve thinks that’s really sweet of him, especially since he had that rolling off the top of his tongue, no thinking time needed.

“Well… would you take me to all your A lister parties and events?”

“If there’s no plus one option, I’m not going sweetheart. Wouldn’t want you sitting at home, worried.”

“What would you do if a celebrity like… hmm, Eddie Van Halen hit on me?”

Eddie grinned, “Then I’d say you’re seeing ghosts, sunshine.”

“If he were alive, though?”

“Then… I’d think it’s awesome that we have something in common, you’re our type— oh! And then you’d get to say you were hit on by two guys named Eddie who played guitar super good.”

Steve laughed, “Would you introduce me to Sabrina Carpenter?”

“It would be the first thing I’d do.”

“Would you get jealous if she hit on me?”

“Oh yeah.” Eddie nodded, “I’m gay as fuck and I’d still take her out on a date, you know, she’s pretty. She’s like, the girl version of you. Anyway I’d be super jealous and heartbroken but I’d tell you to take your chance.”

“Seriously?”

“Yup.” He assured, “You will be hearing from me, I’ll be that crazy ex just waiting for you two to break up. I’d sabotage so bad, but I’d just want you to be happy. But I would hate if that was without me.”

Steve smiled, “Imagine if we were animals? Would you still fall in love with me if we were both little otters or something?”

“Yup, I’d be head otter heals for you.”

Steve laughed, “Dude, you’re so lame.”

“Don’t call me dude whist asking these clingy ass questions.” Eddie snickered out, and Steve shut up.

He swallowed. Stared hard at the camera and tried to surpress his sudden urge to cry.

“You get so fucking clingy sometimes.” Eddie muttered, quiet enough that his friends couldn’t hear him, “I genuinely didn’t think someone could get this clingy.”

Steve hates him.

He’s about to shut off the call when he sees something flash in Eddie’s glasses, squints to get a better look at whatever is on Eddie’s screen.

“Hey, uh, forgot to mention my uncle had this watch he thought you might like— cause I got one, but you don’t wear silver do you?”

“Nope, never.” Steve shook his head, bile rising in his throat, he can’t figure out what’s taken up all of Eddie’s attention, “Tell him thanks though.”

“Got it.” Eddie muttered to himself, pressed enter on his keyboard, and a webpage popped up with large images of golden band rings.

“What are you doing?” Steve wonders quietly.

“Huh? Oh, just mixing some music still, like I was before. Just trying to think up what I should do next.”

Steve is not that stupid. He knows Eddie’s lying. He’s lying so hard right now.

Eddie grabs his phone, pulls it close to his face so Steve can only see from his nose up, and he begins tapping away at his screen.

“Sorry, I’ll put you down in a sec, cutie, just checking something.”

With this closer angle, Steve can see very clearly what Eddie’s checking on his phone. He’s checking his bank account.

He’s checking his bank account, looking back at the web page of rings on his laptop, then pondering something in his head.

“Everything okay, Eddie?”

“Yup, just thinking up some lyric changes. Got them all written in my phone, I’ll put you down now.”

He’s such a liar, Steve’s just confused. And hurt.

“Why are you so quiet?” Eddie wondered, his phone back down on the table like it was before, eyes back on his laptop as he scrolls through rings, “Are you okay?”

“Yep.” Steve nodded.

Eddie sighed, “Hey, would you still love me if we were animals? You never answered back.” Eddie said, “What if I was an otter and you were a little fishy?”

Steve hesitates, “You’d probably eat me.”

“I’d eat you right now, Steve.” Eddie said flatly, then he ducked his head and whispered, “I miss the taste of you. I love kissing you- Hey, can I suck your dick sometime? Been thinkin’ about it.”

“Oh, now you’re brave enough to ask whilst you’re a million miles away and not even looking at me?”

“Yup.” Eddie snickered, froze for a moment with his brows furrowed, clicked on a ring and zoomed in on it, glanced between his laptop and Steve a few times. “Uh, sorry, what were we talking about?”

Steve can see the description of the ring he’s looking at. He can see, clear as day, the description reads (backwards): “Solar - Gold embossed engagement ring.”

Steve can’t believe this. Eddies looking at engagement rings. Is he looking at engagement rings?

“How much do you love me?” Steve asked, a vomit of words.

Eddie smiled, hung his head like he’s all embarrassed about it, “A lot, Stevie baby. A lot.” Eddie chuckled, “I can’t believe I get you all to myself. Not to be poetic or anything, but my life was a dark, empty night sky before I met you, and then suddenly my life was summer sun, gorgeous. You’re my sunshine, right?”

“Right.” Steve nodded, “I love when you call me that.” He squints at the reflection in Eddie’s glasses and can make out the pattern of the sun embossed on the ring.

“God, I miss you.” Eddie sighs, adds the ring to his shopping cart and keeps scrolling.

Jeff walks behind Eddie on his way out of the kitchen and stops in his tracks, walks over.

“Just working on that song, look good?” Eddie asks, and Jeff leans down on his shoulder, “I think if I add this in, this take could be the one. What do you think? Or do you think I’m being too stupid? Is it too soon for that big moment?”

Oh, fuck, he’s really looking at engagement rings.

Jeff smiles, squeezes Eddie’s shoulder encouragingly, “I mean, yeah, in theory. But you’ve never done anything by the book, and all your best choices have been a little crazy like that. If you feel it’s the right choice, and will work well with the music, then yeah, by all means.”

Eddie gins, looks back at Steve, “Yeah, it’s definitely the right choice.”

Jeff snickers, wonders off shaking his head, and Eddie looks so giddy as he takes one last look at the ring.

Eddie’s thinking about proposing to Steve.

“Don’t you think I’m clingy?” Steve blurted out, catching Eddie completely off guard.

Eddie glanced at him, sighed, carefully shut his laptop and set his attention on Steve, “Well, yeah? You are clingy.” Eddie shrugged, “Dude, you don’t understand how lucky I feel, I think. I like that. I mean, you love me so much that you wanna cling to me like a fucking koala. I’m surprised you haven’t gotten bored of me yet.”

Oh.

Oh, Steve feels so warm and fuzzy inside.

“I love you so much.” He mumbles, brings the phone close to his face to virtually kiss Eddie, “Do you want to move in with me?”

“What?” Eddie stuttered out, “Uh, are you serious?”

“Yes, I’m serious in this conversation and also about this relationship. About you.”

“Fuck.” Eddie sighed, laughed a little delirious, “Yeah, yes, I do. I’d love that, sunshine.”

“When you get back then. Just… just come over and don’t leave.” Steve nodded, “We can talk more then, about us, and everything. I just want you around me always.”

“God, Stevie, you don’t know how much I feel that in my heart.” Eddie said, two hands pressed over his heart to swoon a little.

Steve doesn’t tell him that he knows of Eddie’s plans, and five months later, when the special day comes, Steve doesn’t tell him that he’s already seen the ring. Though, he does mention it in his vowels, tells everyone watching just how much harder that evening made Steve fall in love with Eddie. That he couldn’t believe someone was falling so hard, so fast, just as he was.

Steve never doubted another relationship again, purely because his only relationship from then on was with Eddie.

He’d never felt as secure as he does with Eddie, since that night, never second guessed his intentions, never doubted their love.

They’re mutually head otter heals for each other. Robin was right, Eddie is the one.

#🦇 Stranger Saturdays 🦇#Eddie is SO in love #Steve asking him those questions makes his heart beat faster than a jack hammer #he’s also never been in love like that before #they move at the pace of lesbians it shocks Robin to her core #they’re married just after their one year anniversary #and they live happily ever after #the only thing Eddie thinks when Steve drops the bomb that he saw Eddie searching for rings online that night through the reflection of his #glasses is ‘oh wow he’s so observant 😍😍😍’#Steddie #ficlet #mini fics #Steve x Eddie #clingy Steve #demisexual Eddie #steve harrington #Eddie munson #they’re just meant to be your honour #jay writes

862 notes · View notes

faiszt · 1 month ago

Note

cockwarming w bob. that's it, thats the tweet

COCKWARMING ╱ with BOB REYNOLDS ⠀◟ ୨ blurb !♥︎ minors do not interact⠀⠀⠀ ────⠀⠀⠀ headcanon based

diary notes⠀✴⠀·⠀i love your brain for thinking of this, i guess this is bob’s blurb that i enjoyed writing the most. touch-starved bob reynolds save me right now, pls ‹/3

he loved having physical contact with you, whether it was just hugging you, intertwining your fingers with his, or leaving loving kisses on your shoulder. bob liked everything that involved the idea of being able to touch you, of feeling your soft skin and being able to appreciate it the way he liked. he’s touch-starved, he needs it.

he took it literally when it came to deeply touching you whenever he could. not only because it was pleasurable, but because you could talk about anything while his cock was buried inside you, being warmed by your tight, comforting heat that he craved daily. you couldn’t deny him when he asked so politely, caressing your waist and giving you little kisses until you were straddling him.

telling him about your day was part of the process as he pulled his hardened length out of his boxers, moving your panties to the side just enough so he could rub himself against your soft folds. “i’m glad you had a good day, princess.” he’d murmur softly, smiling innocently as if he wasn’t trying to slip the tip of his cock inside you little by little. “i missed you, you know?”

cockwarming almost seemed so much more sentimental to him than sex itself, he liked knowing that you felt like he was a part of you, that he had the freedom to be inside you for more than just carnal pleasures. there was pleasure, for sure, but there was also a deeper connection than just what appeared to be on the surface. it made him truly happier, calmer... perhaps, it could even be said that you were, well... helping to take care of his mental health in a way.

“i missed you too.” you whispered, giving him a sweet smile as your fingers gently brushed some of his dark hair away from his face, he looked at you like you were the most precious thing he had ever seen. “and your day? how was it?”

by this point, he was already completely buried inside you—which made you let out a low moan for a moment, leaving him somewhat agitated beneath you. “the drums you gave me are cool,” bob answered. he snuggled deeper into the pillow behind his head, his large hands gripping your hips, just to make sure you stayed still and comfortable in his lap while warming him the way you both loved. “but, the neighbors will complain about the noise i made all afternoon... i’m not really good at this yet.”

his little giggled warmed your chest, you leaned over him and laid your head in the crook of his neck, leaving a few soft kisses there that sent shivers down his spine. “don’t do that, i get shivers...” he complained, but it was a meaningless complaint. if you never did that again, he’d probably complain that you didn’t love him anymore and that’s why you stopped giving him little kisses on the neck.

“if the neighbors complain, i can just tell them to fuck off.” your kisses rose to the corner of his lips, your eyes staring into his ocean blue ones. “besides, they never complained about the other noises at night... why would they complain about you playing drums in the afternoon?”

his eyebrows raised at your sentence, nodding and processing the words you had said. “other noises at night?” the question was more to himself than to you, so you could almost see the light bulb go off over his head as he really understood what you meant. “oh, yeah... the other noises. you’re probably right, i guess.”

“i’m always right.” you said smugly, pressing your lips against his soft ones for a quick peck—one he didn’t want to stop so quickly. bob’s hand, which was previously caressing your hip, rose to the back of your neck, keeping your lips against his without you being able to move away completely, he didn’t want just a few pecks, not today. he was usually a little more restrained than that, but come on, he was a good boy for you all day like you told him to be when he was home alone, he deserved it.

a low growl tore from his throat, deepening the kiss as his tongue slid across your bottom lip and almost begged for entry. in an intimate dance, your tongues touched and sucked each other while his other hand pressing your hip harder to the point where it slightly hurt as he kept you pressed against him. bob wanted to feel every inch of your body, every point of heat, being buried balls deep inside you still seemed like nothing compared to how much he craved you, not just your body, but everything that means you.

there was no safer place for him than inside you, feeling your body against his, your breathing heavy and your hands against his neck, just how he wanted, the fuel he needed.

when your lips parted, he continued to pepper kisses across your cheek, simply unable to keep his lips away from your soft skin. “you get prettier when you’re flustered by something i did.” he whispered against your ear before placing one last kiss against her earlobe, snuggling into the pillows again. “i like how you widen your eyes...”

these compliments were almost typical of him, always paying attention to every little detail of your expressions, studying your reactions to what he did. bob wanted to please you, in every way, ’cause you also deserved what only he could give you and there was no doubt about that.

“princess,” he called to you when you were silent, enjoying the feeling of being filled by him. “can i sleep inside you tonight, please? your pussy is so warm and it feels good... i don’t wanna pull out. can i?” his eyes almost looked like a puppy’s, staring at you while tenderly stroked your strands of hair. he loved your hair—the color, texture and the smell of your shampoo, every little thing about it—and he knew you liked it when he petted you like that.

“you wanna sleep inside me?” it wasn’t strange, it was just a new request, you had already thought of the idea back then, but it was something new when he was the one asking you for it. “okay, baby, we can do it.” there probably wouldn’t be a day when you’d deny him something, especially when you also wanted to do it.

his smile widened as if you had given him something he had been longing for—well, in a way, that was the case—and he pressed his lips against yours once more. “thank you, sweet pea.” his hand that had remained on your hip the entire time moved, going to your ass and squeezing it, massaging the skin his fingers touched. “i’ll give you your reward in the morning, yeah? pinky promise, love. you deserve all that.”

REQUESTS ARE OPEN.⠀⠀feel free to send me asks and suggestions in my inbox, you’ll be welcome. ꒰ ˶> ˕ <˶ ꒱ ♡

©⠀𝐅𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐙𝐓, 2025.⠀don’t use my work without my consent.

1K notes · View notes

gazsdiary · 1 month ago

Text

BY ANY OTHER NAME

Chapter 1: The ring

Summary: The sudden appearence of certain pack on your life makes you question whether you're being watched. After meeting them, questions start to arise about who you really are and how the task force members feel about you.

Pairing: poly!141 x Reader [A/B/O Universe]

Warnings: mentions is marriage, gaz not being happy.

Words: 6K (ups...)

Previous chapter: Johnny’s Secret

Author's note: pls tell me this long or shorter chapters?

(I do NOT allow anyone stealing, translating or imitating this work)

Don’t forget to reblog, like and comment!

“You mean to tell me, that you had been disappearing to see a girl?”

“Ye donae get' it! I'm tellin' ye, it’s no' just any lass!”

Price leaned against his desk chair as he looked at the scene in front of him. A loved one faced Johnny and a fuming Gaz, who had been walking from one side of the room to another. Gaz huffed when he hear Johnny’s reply. Yes, he was fuming.

“Huh! Do you hear him?” He asked Price walking closer to his desk motioning to Johnny “Looks like that much gunpowder has gotten him”

Soap’s face hardened. He steps forward, closing the gap between them, frustration bubbling over. “Agh, shut it, Gaz! This isn’t some daft wee fling! I’m no’ sneakin’ around like a bloody idiot. I love her.”

Gaz scoffs, shaking his head as if he has heard a madman, but Soap kept going. And then, his voice softens, almost like he can’t help it when he speaks about you. “When I’m wi’ her… it’s different. She makes me feel, safe? Like I can finally bloody breathe without wonderin’ when it’s all gonna fall apart.” Price could see how his eyes soften, although he kept his fists clenched.

“Johnny If I see that smile on your face one more time, Ghost is going to have to take me off you with hot water” He growled “You don’t even know her!”

"I do know her! She eats in the meds office 'cause the Mess Hall’s got too many smells an’ it overwhelms her! She likes my jokes, an’ her nose twitches when she laughs! I ken everythin’ aboot her! I-“ He signed, his shoulders slumping a bit "Listen, I’m just sayin’ ye should meet her. She’s an absolute sweetheart, an’ I know ye’ll like her. Maybe even feel the way I do. I’m tellin’ ye, she’s what we’ve been lookin’ for, our missin’ piece."

Price analysed the atmosphere in the room. While Gaz looked heartbroken, his brows furrowed and his eyes dripping with sadness, his mouth slightly opened as if he wanted to say something, Missing? You felt like you were missing something? Aren't we enough? Aren’t I enough? But the words were too painful to fall out of his mouth. Johnny, however, was the living image of love stroked. Price had to be honest, he hadn’t seen him like that since he started meeting up with Gaz. Back in the day, he had been almost too shy to join their pack.

He was the youngest, the newest, and maybe that’s why he was so reluctant about the idea of adding someone else. Maybe it was the idea of not being the “missing piece” anymore, maybe it was the idea of not being enough. Maybe that was it. Pack 141 was incomplete until Gaz arrival, they all had said it, so why did they need another packmate? He was enough to complete the pack, they were a pack and they were happy. But the hole in his chest only grew wider each second Price stood in silence, listening to Soap talk.

Gaz looked at his Pack Alpha, while he leaned into the table, his elbows on top of it “You know that there is a possibility this doesn’t work, right? That it’s only you who feel that connection with her” Price watched with steady eyes how Johnny nodded his head muttering a small aye.

After a beat, Price continued, his voice unwavering.“I won’t risk the pack's stability for her… However” Johnny lit up when he pronounced that word “We’ll organize a meeting to get to know her”

Gaz felt his world turning upside down, shadows and flashing lights dancing around him as the distanced voice of Soap celebrating and laughing drilled his ears.

A forced cough caught everyone's attention.

Simon. Yess, Simon. Only Simon could stop this nonsense.

“What?”

Simon pushed himself off the wall he was leaning in, walking slowly towards the middle of the room “There's a problem in your plan” Simon spoke with a deep voice as he looked, with cold eyes, as Johnny turned towards him:

“She has a ring on her finger”

Since the day you had bump into them they had started showing up everywhere.

You tried ignoring them, you really did. Your routine with Johnny was still the same, sometimes he would pop up randomly in the same place you were. He’ll say with his characteristic smirk and shrugging casually Oh, I was just passin’ by, an’ I saw ye… Right… Then the other two started to appear. The one you had bumped into usually watched you from afar. It didn't matter where you were, he was already there. You could feel his eyes watching you, only for you to turn around and see some aviator glasses covering his face.

It was starting to get on your nerves, the idea of being followed everywhere. You had no idea if Johnny had talked about you or if this was some special agent protecting their pack kinda bullshit.

You knew it was intended to be subtle, but the large hulking man in a Baklava wasn't as unnoticed as he thought. While the other one followed you like a shadow, this man stomped his way through and every soldier around slipped away as fast as they could.

You were inside one of the med offices wondering if you should speak to Johnny about what had been happening. You knew he was coming to have lunch with you, he always did. It was a really good moment to talk about this. Hey, Johnny your pack has been hmm a bit intruding? Could you tell them to back off? Sigh. Maybe it was you who was overstepping, I mean, having lunch everyday with one of their packmates was probably considered intruding.

Before you could rumble your thoughts around anymore, a loud knock stopped your frantic thinking. With big strides you reached the door in only a few steps, the blurry shadow though the textured glass only seemed to grow bigger and bigger. You took only one moment to try to make your hair look decent before yanking the door open:

“Johnny I want to talk about- I- You…”

The words died on your tongue.

Instead of Johnny’s usual bright grin, the sudden appearance of the hulking body of the skull-balaclava man had you stuttering with wide eyes. You were met with Simon “Ghost” Riley, standing tall in your doorway, clad in his gear, his presence filled the small space, your face near his chest.

Your fingers tightened around the door handle, suddenly hyper-aware of how close you were—face near to his chest. You tried taking a deep breath trying to calm your heartbeat, he wasn't supposed to be here.

Your mouth suddenly felt dry, “I- What are you doing here?”

“Aren't you a nurse?”

“I- I mean, yes?”

He hummed before bumping into you slightly as he made his way into the office, broad-shouldered, wearing his uniform, every inch of him radiating authority as sat on one of the examination tables, the metal structure screeching under his weight. His presence was overwhelming, filling the room like a storm rolling in.

“I’m hurt” He grumbled in a deep voice “Fix me”.

Your eyes betrayed you as they run over how his legs spread when he sat, his wide thighs pressed against the mattress, the fabric of his jeans stretching, his hands flat on the mattress, his forearms stretched backwards supporting his weight, his chest silhouette under his shirt, the sharp cut of his jaw beneath the mask. He was watching you too, gaze heavy, unwavering, dark eyes locked onto yours, piercing and unreadable, but there was something in them, something that made heat rush to your cheeks.

You felt hot under his gaze.

Turning sharply, heart hammering as you reached for the door, you caught a glimpse of him, just the barest shift behind his mask, but you were almost sure he was smiling.

Breathing deeply you walked towards him, stopping in front of him, almost between his legs. You tried figuring out if this was some kind of test; however, none of the way his eyes stayed motionless and his eyebrows furrowed indicated it.

“So, what happened… Lieutenant Riley?” You had to read his name tag sewn into his shirt.

“Ghost. Call me Ghost” His name rolled out of his mouth as he looked at you.

After clearing his throat he continued “Shoulder’s been acting up,” he muttered, rolling it back like the movement alone would emphasize his point. “Figured I’d get it checked.”

You nodded, steadying yourself, pushing away all hesitation “Right, let me take a look-”

The moment you reached for his arm, he caught your hand instead. His fingers wrapped around your wrist, halting your movements. Not roughly, but firm enough to make you pause and stay gripped.

You looked up at him, confused, but he wasn’t watching your face anymore.

He was looking at your hand.

At your ring.

His thumb dragged lightly over the small and smooth metal, a barely-there touch, but it sent a jolt through your spine anyway.

His grip didn’t falter, but something in his eyes shifted.

“Didn’t know you were married,” he said, voice quieter now, deeper.

Your pulse thundered in your ears. A sharp panic started swirling inside your chest, your ribs suddenly felt too tight for your lungs, and your throat tightened making your mouth go dry. The weight of his stare pinned you in place, knowing there was no easy way out of this.

“I-...” The word barely made it past your lips, weak, uncertain, halting. You forced yourself to swallow, to steady your breath, but the heat of his fingers against your skin made it impossible to think straight.

A flicker of something unreadable passed through his eyes. He still didn’t let go. And for a moment, just for a brief moment, you wondered if he even wanted to.

Then—

The door burst open.

“Bonnie! Ye ready to-?”

Johnny’s voice, loud and full of its usual warmth, disappeared the moment he took in the scene before him.

Your wrist, still in Ghost’s grasp.

You, standing between his legs, close, almost too close.

You whipped your head towards him, startled, frozen in place. Ghost, however, was slower, his head turning with measured precision, a deliberate movement. His gaze was unreadable as he met Johnny’s shocked expression.

Johnny’s usual nice eyes had vanished. However, it wasn’t just because both of you in front of him. It was Ghost’s eyes. Dark. Sharp. Fixated. Like he was found doing something he wasn’t supposed to, something he wasn’t willing to step away from. Like a predator standing over its kill, possessive, unwavering, ready to strike at anyone who dared step nearer.

Johnny’s usual easy song smile faltered, his eyes darting between the two of you. His expression darkened, you could see the confusion flickering beneath the surface, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly “What’s going on here?”

Ghost released your hand instantly, pushing himself off the examination table with a calculated slowness. “Nothin’,” he said, voice level. “Shoulder’s fine now.”

“Wait, what about-”

He didn't even share a glance to you as he brushed past Johnny, exiting the room without uttering another word. The moment you heard the door close you released a breath you didn't even know you were holding. The skin he had touched tingled with the invisible promise of being touched again.

Johnny waited until he heard the door close to move. He walked fastly towards you, his hands grabbing your arms carefully, almost cuddling you in his warm embrace. His eyes search your face for any sign of harm. “Ye alright, lass?”

You hesitated for a moment. Were you? If you were, why did you feel like your heart was going to break through your ribs? “Yes, I think so…”

Although he nodded, the crease in his eyebrow only deepened. He tried keeping his voice soft, but there was something sharper behind, an edge of concern, maybe even jealousy. “Bonnie… what did Ghost want?”

You opened your mouth, but no words came out.

You wished you had an answer, you really did.

Because truthfully, you didn’t know either.

You were jolted out of your flashback when Johnny grabbed your shoulders, slightly shaking you. He was looking at you with worried eyes, again. “Ye good?”

“I don’t know if this is a good idea, Johnny. What could he possibly want to talk about?”

You stare back at him as you play with your hands. You had the bad habit of picking your hangnail skin when you were nervous, a habit that hadn't taken Johnny long to realise. He is good at reading people, especially people he cares about.

He grabbed your sweating hands, slowly running his thumb over your skin. He smiled at you, letting out a small chuckle “Lass, yer gonna wreck yer hands 'fore we’ve even stepped in".

His grip was steady, not tight but grounding. His thumb traced soothing circles over your knuckles. You tried focusing on the callouses of his warm hands, you reflected on how that roughness came from years of training. It was comforting. Too comforting.

You tried swallowing, but your mouth felt like sand. Calm down.

“Listen, it’s just Price wantin’ a chat, aye? Nothin’ to worry about.” Johnny reassured you, lowering his gaze to try catch your eyes “Unless there’s somethin’ yer no’ tellin’ me, hmm?”

Your breath caught, your heart stopping for a second, but you forced out a small dismissive laugh “No, nothing like that. It’s just… I don’t know why a captain is summoning me.”

Johnny hummed, clearly seeing that you were still trembling, but he did not push anymore. Instead he squeezed your hand before offering you his charming lopsided smirk.

“Don’t worry, lass. Ye got this”

Before you could answer, the door to the office opened:

“You can come in now”

It was almost funny. How they could see your nervous shadow through the texture glass of the office door. They had been watching how your nervous figure kept moving from one side to another as Johnny tried to keep you calm and still. Your blurred silhouette shifted, the distorted outline of your movements casting faint shadows against the dim light outside. It was funny, Ghost had to admit it. How even if you tried so hard to whisper, they could still hear your nervous rambles. Johnny knew they were hearing it, they knew it.

The room was silent, save for the ticking of Price's watches, and the air was light. Price had ordered a deep clean and for the windows to be open all morning, so the room smelt nice and clean, not deep alpha scent in sight.

Ghost stood near the window, farther away from the sofas. It wasn't a command, it was more of a suggestion so he would not intimidate you. He obeyed as he growled something about not even dreaming about being close to you. Which wasn't really true because now, with his arms crossed against his chest, as he observed yours and Johnny’s movements through the glass, he wanted nothing else to pull you inside the room.

Price sat behind his desk, tapping a pen against his fingers. He could see how tense Ghost’s frame was. He had been studying the room for a while. Gaz leaned against the wall next to the door, one foot propped up, his hands resting on his belt, his fingest casually hooked into the loops. His posture was relaxed, effortless, with an easy confidence. At least someone is relaxed.

“Well. Johnny has been outside for quite some time now” Gaz spoke breaking the silence “Doesn’t look like she’s interested in our little meeting”

“See that?” Ghost muttered from the other side of the room “She’s nervous”

Gaz scoffed as he pulled himself off the wall “Looks like she doesn’t want to be here.” He tilted his head as the shadows shifted again “I’ve seen better acting” He let out a short, humourless laugh.

“She’s scared, she’s shaking like a leaf” Ghost barked back.

With a shrug of his shoulder Gaz replied “Doesn’t matter to me” His tone was dismissive, his gaze never stayed too long on the door.

Price's eyes narrowed slightly when he saw your form stiffed when Johnny moved closer, his shadow nearly overlapping yours through the glass.

“She’s keeping her distance” Price said “Not too much. She doesn’t want to be rude about it”.

Ghost’s jaw tightened, though he said nothing. He wasn't particularly fond of small talk, especially when it involved things that did not concern him. However. His eyes never left you moving through the glass, his expression unreadable. He had to admit, you were an enigma and he was fascinated by you. He already knew about your little secret meetings even before Johnny's secret was revealed. You had caught his attention.

Despite his outward nonchalance, something inside him was on edge. There was something about you, something hidden that captivated him, something that made his chest rise with anxiety. And that bothered him more than he cared to admit. He wasn’t used to feeling this unsettled, not over someone he barely knew.

Ghost’s attention moved back to Price and, for a moment, their eyes met. He could almost hear the growl starting to grow inside Simon’s chest. Ghost was protective. He couldn’t help but feel the tug of something deeper than curiosity when it came to you. Price understood it just by looking at him. Something was off, but not in the way Gaz assumed.

“I’ll keep an eye on her,” Ghost muttered, his voice gravelly as he moved away from the window, still not breaking his gaze from the door. “She’s… interesting.”

Gaz gave him a side-eyed glance, clearly unimpressed with Ghost’s cryptic words. “Interesting? That’s one word for it. You’ve already made up your mind, haven’t you?”

Before Ghost could bite a response back, Price hushed them, the room suddenly silent. The faint sound of hurried whispers echoed in the hallway, the blurry shadow outside the door shifting once again.

Price’s expression softened, seeing how tense Ghost figure was. He spoke with authority in his voice. “We don’t know her yet, Gaz. Give her a chance. If she’s what Johnny needs, then she deserves that much.”

Gaz held Simon’s gaze for a bit, his eyebrows frown and his jaw tight.

“Yeah, well…” He muttered as he strode lezley “just because Johnny’s smitten doesn’t mean we all have to play along.”

He turned around, shrugging lazily. “I don’t like her. Don’t trust her either. All this ‘she’s nervous’ and ‘she’s interesting’ talk? Doesn’t mean a thing to me. I’ve seen people act sweet before screwing everything up.”

His hand closed around the door handle as he threw a glance over his shoulder, towards Simon, tone flat.

“But fine. Let’s get this over with.”

And with that, Gaz opened the door, the light from the hallway spilling into the room as he met Johnny’s waiting stare. Yours, just behind him.

“You can come in now.”

The teacup was warm in your hands, the delicate porcelain did not help calming your nerves but the soft smell of the tea reached a conforming place inside your head.

You sat straight on the armchair, trying to appear as relaxed as possible. Johnny had dragged his chair closer to yours, his knee nearly brushing your own. You had never seen him smile like this, his face was lit up like a child in front of a birthday cake. The soft clink of ceramic came from the desk as Price returned with a small milk pitcher, you saw how it had different flowers painted all over it while Price offered it to you gently. He had a soft smile on his face, it made his cheeks chubby in an adorable way you thought.

“Here you go, love” he said, with a small, reassuring smile. “How d’you take it? Sugar? Milk?”

A blush started to creep at your cheeks, for some reason the nickname made you feel fussy and with a small nod you said “Just a bit of milk, please.”

“Of course.” He poured it for you, precise and calm, like this was just another pleasant afternoon. “No need to be nervous. There’s nothing wrong, just a friendly chat.”

But it didn't feel like that. Not with the way the man with the skull baklava was looking at you, arms braced on his knees, his eyes fixed on you without blinking once. His baklava hid most of his face, the only visible thing being his eyes, they were dark, his pupils dilated. It felt like he was trying to burn you into his memory. He hadn't said anything since you entered, just murmuring a soft greeting… But now, with his gaze fixed on you, you were pretty sure he wanted to say something more.

“Ghost” Price barked with a tight smile “Ease up, mate.”

You watched how Ghost didn’t reply, but blinked slowly as if coming out of a trance and looked away, jaw clenched tight.

“See? Told ye, they’re a decent bunch. Don’t even bite.” Johnny whispered almost in your ear, never stopping smiling as he looked at you with such a shine in his eyes. They were so pretty. You had always thought it, since the first moment you met, you could spend hours looking at him.

You could only hum taking a sip of your tea, trying to banish the heat of your cheeks with Johnny looking at you. “Nice is a way to put it…” You murmured, unable to stop yourself. Ghost’s eyes flicked back to you when you said that, head tilting the slightest bit and, even if you couldn’t see it, a small smile appeared under his mask.

However, not everyone was happy. Across the room, Gaz cleared his throat loudly, arms still folded tightly.

Price turned sharply to look back at him, his cold eyes sent his sergeant a cold look before looking back at you. He closed his eyes for just a moment, breathing deeply before opening them again and smiling back at you. “Don’t mind him, love. Tell me, how’s the medical wing treating you?”

He was so nice. He was the nicest one, well, after Johnny. He was your Johnny after all. However, Price’s smile was so nice. The way he looked at you with such a softnest, he look so nice, so warm made your tummy flutter, a warm feeling inside your chest that made you want to roll onto his scent-

No. Nothing like that.

“Bonnie?”

You snapped back into the room, you looked to your right, Johnny was looking at you with a worried face. Right. Price had asked you a question.

“Hmm… It’s good, sometimes it gets a bit too much, but I like it” You tried giving him a smile, something to hide how nervous you were. However, it didn’t take long for it to disappear from your face.

A small smile appeared on Price’s face “That’s nice”

His gaze dropped to your hands very subtly, but you saw the flicker of confusion before it was buried under his usual warm and nice persona.

“Married and still making time for the military wounded. Must be a hell of a man you’ve got,” he said lightly, nodding toward your left hand.

Your blood turned to ice.

Your hand instinctively curled into your lap, but it was too late. The ring, your ring, had already drawn attention. You heard Johnny shift beside you. Not a word. Just movement. Stiff and controlled.

Gaz scoffed, sharp and low. “Figures.”

You looked up sharply, but he wasn’t even looking at you anymore. Just stared hard at the opposite wall like he couldn’t be bothered to hide the sour taste in his mouth.

“I didnae think-” Johnny began, but his voice faltered.

You swallowed hard, your throat suddenly felt like if you were being choked. “It’s complicated.”

“Isn’t it always,” Gaz muttered under his breath.

The air thickened around you. Ghost, still as stone in his chair, had been watching you. Not your hands. Not your face. You.

Then he spoke.

“You don’t smell like him”

Silence invaded the room as Ghost's deep voice made that statement. All of them were thinking the same thing, however Ghost was the one to say it. Price didn't separate his eyes from you even after Ghost's statement, and you could feel how Johhny’s figure tensed up, his fist balled up and his shoulders tense.

You looked back at Price, because you refuse to even share a gaze with Johnny. You knew that this topic would come up sooner and later, but as long as Johnny could ignore it, you would play along. Fantasizing about your little relationship, about your secret meetings, about how warm your hand felt inside his own, about how peaceful you were inside his arms, about the butterflies you felt when he smiled at you.

Yes, you could play along.

However, your little bubble had now popped, revealing the sad truth about your situation.

You tried smiling but failed when a sudden trembling breath left your body “He… He’s not usually here” You could feel Johnny's eyes burning a hole into you, his usually nice smile now gone, a slight frown on his forehead.

Price hummed leaning backwards, a casual manspread as he got comfortable, his arms crossed against his chest “Hmm that’s quite dangerous for you”

“We are literally on a military base” You tried laughing it off, however the masked man didn’t share your sense of humour.

“That’s exactly why he’s saying it” He almost growls, a dangerous vibration coming from his throat “Lot’s of men here and you don’t even smell like your mate.”

There it was. The elephant in the room.

You kept your eyes on Price, refusing to meet Ghost’s stare even though you could feel the weight of it pressing down on you.

“I told you,” you said quietly, trying to steady your voice. “He’s always deployed. Sometimes even for months”

Silence.

Price blinked slowly, clearly trying to read between your lines. He didn’t push, not yet, but the thoughtful frown now tugging at his lips told you he didn’t buy it completely.

Ghost leaned forward just slightly, arms still crossed but his eyes narrowed, sharp like a blade. “And the suppressant?”

Your blood ran cold.

“I—what?”

“You don’t smell like an omega at all,” he said, quiet but firm. “Not masked. Not faded. It’s muted. Synthetic.” He tilted his head. “Not like your mate, not like an omega. It's like someone’s trying real hard not to be noticed.”

The air felt thick again, but this time it was colder, heavier.

“I take them when he’s gone,” you murmured, not quite looking at anyone. “It’s safer that way. I don’t like drawing attention.”

It was half the truth. You weren’t sure if that made it better or worse.

Price let out a slow, long breath. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, voice low and steady—but not unkind. “You know that’s not how a pack works, love. If your mate cared—really cared—he’d be making sure you’re safe. You wouldn’t have to cover your scent. Wouldn’t need suppressants.”

You didn’t speak. Couldn’t. Your chest was too tight.

“A bond like that should be felt,” Price continued, softer now. “We should know you’re his. But you walk in here smelling like no one. That’s not only negligence. That’s abandonment.”

Your eyes stung. You fought the tears threatening to climb up your throat. You looked down at your hands. “I am with someone,” you whispered.

Simon let out a short breath, almost like a laugh. “If that’s true, then he’s already forgotten you.”

Silence. A beat too long. No one moved.

“Lieutenant” Price barks as he turns around to look at him.

You stood up, stumbling a bit as you got dizzy from the sudden movement, your chair scraped back harshly against the floor. Johnny followed your movements, trying to stabilise you “I- I think I should leave” You eyes looked around trying to find a scape, your form frigid, like a deer in headlights “I don’t feel comfortable anymore. I’m sorry,” You whispered before running outside of the office.

Johnny followed you, only stopping for a moment at the door, to turn around towards his pack, a ting of sadness and rage behind his eyes “Well done, lads. Bloody brilliant. Just fuckin’ perfect.” He fumed befores sprinting outside of the door.

Price massaged his forehead and rubbed his face trying to keep his cool. He could only hope that in the process of losing you, they hadn’t lost Johnny.

You and Johnny walked in a comfortable silence. His hands brushed yours every step you took. His walk tried to seem relaxed, but the way his tense shoulders sway told you everything you needed to know about how he felt.

Your tears had now dried on your cheeks, Johnny had hugged you after he chased you down, kissing your head and whispering sweet nothing into your ears to calm you down.

He even offered to walk you back to your house, and after a sincere apology and a small nod, you decided to walk in silence. You didn’t really know what to say after what had happened, you had too many things to explain. But you stayed silent. Johnny had too many things to say, his mind full of different thoughts. But he stayed silent too.

The base was quiet at this hour. Only a couple of people walking around, moving from one place to another, probably returning back to rest for the night. The path was somewhat dark, a few street lamps illuminated enough to have a “clear” visibility if someone was to enter.

You live in another compound, away from the other medical staff, from all the staff. Johnny did not question it, they had done enough digging for today. However, it was usually higher ranks or special units that had their own building. Johnny’s blood boiled thinking of you kissing with, or married to one of the higher ranks. The image of you arm in arm with one of those assholes, with Macmillan, or worse, with someone like Shepherd. Yes, it made him furious.

Johnny could’t allowed that. You were so nice, so soft, so undoubtedly uncorrupted, that the mere thought of you being laying at night with someone with blood on their hands. You have blood on your hands too, Johnny. He could almost hear Price's voice. And yes, it still made his blood boil.

Before he could realise it, you were already standing in front of your door. You were looking at him with remorse, he grabbed your hands and he gave you his usual smile; however, this time it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Don’t gimme that look, lass. Yer eyes are far too bonnie for that.” A small laugh escaped through his sincere smile.

“Johnny, I-”

With a shake of his head he stopped you, Not even looking at your eyes anymore, his gaze fixed to your ring, as his thumbs caressed over it.

"He’s a lucky bastard, innit…" He whispered and it sounded like a curse, like a cruel joke life was playing on him. He tried rubbing the small metal band a bit, only a bit, harder, like he wanted to erase it, but it only turned around. A cruel joke, the ring felt like a curse and your doorway made him feel like the Gods were punishing him, pulling him back to hell, like those old Greek poets stories, dragging him away from his muse.

He raised his eyes back to yours, You had never seen him so serious befores, his eyes were so blue, so many things twirling behind them, you could see it, if you could only read them.

He pulled you slightly closer to him, your chest barely touching with every breath. His lips trembled when he tried speaking “You know, If ye ever need anythin', anythin' at all, ye call me, alright?.” He rummage through his left back pocket, taking out a small folded ripped piece of paper, putting it inside your hand "I dunno what this is, don’t care either. Somethin’ feels off, somethin’ weird happens—you call. Aye?".

Johnny shook your hands slightly before you could rebate this order “Got it?”

You nodded and Johnny signed, closing his eyes “Can I at least ask his name?”

After a moment of doubt you answer with a meek: “Sebastian”

He nodded, still with his eyes closed. Sebastian he thought. He had never heard that name around base, and that was for the best, because if he did, he would probably be already trying to find him. Accidents happen all the time in the army… Sign. One second later he smiled again, that warm smile you loved.

He let the name sit on his tongue like it burned, then gave you a crooked smile, too tired and too bitter at the edges to be real.

“Sebastian, aye?” he said, nodding slowly. "Bet he drinks fancy fizz water on purpose and probably knows how to say bourgeoisie".

You snorted—barely—but it made him smile for real, even if it was small and sad.

"Let me guess—one o’ them that gels his hair for PT. What a prick."

He paused, just a second too long, before glancing back down at your hand. His voice dropped.

"Still. He’s a lucky bastard."

Johnny nodded, slowly, as if talking himself through something no one else could hear. Then, with that familiar gentleness, he reached forward and tucked a small piece of hair away from your forehead before pressing a kiss to your forehead. It lingered just a second longer than it should’ve. Just long enough to mean something.

When he stepped back, he kept your gaze for a breath, and then another, before forcing the corners of his mouth up into a smile. Tired. Lopsided. Cracked with quiet heartbreak.

He took a few steps backward, his hand brushing through his hair before he stuffed his hands inside his pockets. He tilted his head with a lopsided grin. "So… see ye tomorra? Same time at the meds office? I’ll bring lunch, you bring… no Sebastian?"He said, mock-hopeful, with a crooked smirk.

He let the silence breathe, and then he shrugged:

"Kiddin’… unless ye aren’t."

A wink. A smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. Then he turned and walked away.

And you stood in the doorway, already missing him.

The soft click of the door behind you sounded louder than usual. You leaned your back against it and let out a long, slow breath, eyes fluttering shut as the last pieces of Johnny’s presence slipped from your skin.

The house was dark. Still. The kind of stillness that pressed against your ears.

You stepped forward and kicked off your boots, the floor creaking under your weight. The silence wrapped around you tightly, until-

CRASH

Something clattered in the kitchen.

You froze.

Heart lurching, breath caught in your throat, you turned your head toward the sound. The darkness stretched before you like a threat.

Another noise — softer this time. A thump. Your mind raced.

Had someone followed you? No, impossible. You’d have known.You’d have noticed. Unless— No. No, it couldn’t be.

Slowly, your hand headed straight for the wooden small chest of drawers by the entrance. Your fingers moved without hesitation, sliding open the right drawer without making any noise and wrapping around cold steel.

The pistol was exactly where you'd left it.

You checked the magazine, thumbed off the safety, and held it low but ready as you padded across the wooden floor, every step silent and deliberate.

“…Sebastian?” you called out softly, every syllable trembling.

You stepped further inside. Still nothing. Another cautious step.

Heart hammering. Breath locked. The darkness stretched before you like a threat.

“…Sebastian,” you tried again, louder now, heart beating against your ribs like a warning drum.

You turned the corner sharply.

And there he was.

Not a soldier. Not a stranger. Just your cat.

He looked up from where he had just knocked over an empty mug, his tail flicking lazily like nothing at all had happened.

“Sebastian!” you hissed, voice caught between exasperation and relief dropping the muzzle of the gun. You clicked the safety back on, slid the weapon into the waistband of your trousers, and exhaled a tight, bitter breath.

He meowed, as if answering your earlier call with a well-earned sense of entitlement, then padded off to his food bowl like royalty expecting a feast.

You exhaled a shaky laugh, the tension didn’t drain all at once as you poured his wet food in his little plate. “You're lucky I love you, you little menace.”

You shuffled into your room, peeling off your uniform piece by piece like shedding someone else’s skin. The ring came off last — cold and hollow in your palm.

A perfect circle, forged for a lie. Not a promise. A cover. A fraud. You didn’t look at it when you set it on the dresser. You couldn’t.

The gun followed, placed carefully beside the ring, like two parts of a story no one knew. One you weren’t ready to tell.

You sat on the edge of the bed, staring at your bare hand. The absence of the ring left a slight indentation. You pressed your fingers there. Then slowly, your hand drifted to your neck.

No mark. No claim. Nothing to hide. Noone to give explanations. And yet — so much to explain.

You crawled into bed, muscles aching, heart heavier than before. The sheets felt colder tonight. Or maybe you just noticed it more. The lack of warmth, of scent, of presence. You pulled the blanket tighter, but it didn’t help.

Sebastian jumped onto your bed with a soft thud, laying down near your stomach, settling in for the night like nothing had happened.

You remembered Johnny’s voice when he said your name — soft, warm, like the sun through your window after a nightmare. He made everything feel easier, even now, even after everything. Like maybe you weren’t entirely alone.

And then there was Ghost. You didn’t understand it. The way your skin tightened under his gaze. Like your body recognized something your mind didn’t. Something dangerous and old and… inevitable. A strange, quiet pull.

And Price… His presence had weight. Not crushing — anchoring. Just being near him slowed everything down. Your breath. Your thoughts. A calm feeling ivaded you, your heart beating slower and your mind feeling fuzzy.

This wasn’t about comfort. It wasn’t even about truth. It was about the fact that for a few moments today — just a few — you’d forgotten to lie.

And it had felt… good.

Stupid.

But good.

You shut your eyes tight and curled your knees up, facing the wall, blinking slowly into the dark.

This couldn’t happen. Not really. Not with them. Not like this. Not while you were still someone else entirely.

But that didn’t stop you from wanting it.

Even if it couldn’t be. At least… not yet.

TAGLIST: @suicidarsi @an-ever-angry-bi @corvid007 @danielle143 @annoyingnonamesan @littlelovebug98 @hypertail @just-lost-inbetween-worlds @rainbowangel @forgetmenotsilly @mirimirionthewall

307 notes · View notes

inkmonster21 · 6 months ago

Text

I Don’t Play Anymore

Hwang In-Ho / Frontman x Fem!Reader

Series Masterlist

As the daughter of the American Frontman, your life takes an unexpected turn as you accompany him to South Korea, to witness the 33rd Annual Squid Games. Being a spectator to the violent events unfolds, and you find yourself unexpectedly connecting with the Frontman.

01. Red Light, Green Light

The American Frontman had traveled to Korea with a purpose: to observe and learn from the infamous underground games. He wanted to gather as much knowledge as possible, so he could translate those elements into the games hosted in the United States.

He was a sharp, cunning individual, drawn to the spectacle of carefully crafted games that challenged people's wits, morals, and will to survive.

The American game maker, accompanied by a small security team and his daughter, boarded the boat that would take them to the remote island where the games took place.

You were well-acquainted with the concept of these games, having experienced firsthand the high-stakes thrill of your father's smaller-scale games. These events, limited to no more than 50 players, unfolded at a rapid pace, often concluding in just one day.

The games held a dark legacy within your family, a tradition passed down through generations. You had participated in the games four years ago, and emerged victorious, a title that filled you with both accomplishment and guilt. Your father, the current game master, was proud, carrying on a legacy started by your great-grandfather. The competition held its price - the cost of taking lives - but the thrill and satisfaction of victory outweighed any lingering doubts and remorse.

You were accompanying your father on a journey to the annual games held in Korea. This trip was more than just a spectator's view; it was an opportunity for both of you to learn and gain insights from the complex and ruthless games that unfolded on foreign soil.

The boat swayed and rocked as it navigated through the waves, and you gripped the railing tightly, a mix of annoyance and slight unease present on your face. You had never been fond of boats, finding the continuous motion and the vast expanse of water beneath you unsettling.

Frustration tinged your voice as you raised your phone, attempting to catch a single bar of service. The signal was weak, barely catching the faintest hint of a connection.

"I can't even get a single bar out here!" you exclaimed, the lack of reception leaving you disconnected from the world.

Your father, observant as always, shifted his gaze towards you. His expression was serious, and he spoke calmly.

"Do you really need it anyway?"

He raised an eyebrow, subtly questioning the need for constant connection and the distraction that technology often provided.

You nodded in response, your response coming out in a confident tone.

"Um, yes. Anderson said he was going to send the address of his friends' club. There's supposed to be a big party, and I can not miss that."

Your father's face remained impassive, but a small flicker of amusement flashed in his eyes at your eagerness for the party.

Your father chuckled, “maybe you can make some new friends, tell them about the good opportunities we could offer,” a hint of amusement in his tone. However, your reply, about friendships being cut short by the nature of your upbringing, carried a touch of bitterness.

"Yeah, and then have them killed. I swear I haven't had a friendship longer than 2 years because of you assholes." Your voice held a mix of frustration and resignation.

Your father's response was curt, and he reprimanded you harshly. "That 'asshole' paid for the Louboutins you're standing in," he scoffed. "I'd fix that attitude before we arrive. You don't want to make me look bad here, (y/n)."

His words held a mix of authority and warning, subtly reminding you to maintain decorum and uphold the family reputation.

As the boat neared the island, your father's head of security handed him a black crystal mask, shaped with the features of the mythical jackalope, adorned with its own set of black shimmering jeweled horns. The mask was a masterpiece, exuding a sense of power and exclusivity.

Your father's head of security handed you a smaller, more delicate mask, its design resembling an innocent rabbit compared to the intimidating jackalope. You looked at the mask with a hint of disdain, a scoff escaping your lips.

"What am I supposed to do with this?" you asked, your tone tinged with a mix of stubbornness and skepticism. Your father's tone was terse, his words simple yet commanding. "Wear it," he instructed firmly, his gaze unwavering. Without hesitation, he placed the black jeweled mask onto his own face, the mask accentuating his features in an eerie way.

With a reluctant sigh, you followed suit, slipping on the elegant black jeweled rabbit mask. The coolness of the metal against your skin sent a faint shiver down your spine. The intricate design of the mask felt both elegant and concealing, a subtle reminder of the event you were about to become a part of.

The black masks placed on the security men's faces only heightened your sense of unease, solidifying the gravity of the situation. The cold realization hit you like a wave, and you couldn't help but feel a sudden surge of regret. A whisper of doubt echoed in your mind, questioning whether staying home would have been a wiser choice. The island loomed ahead, a silent harbinger of the events yet to unfold.

As the boat neared the island, your father's tone held a tinge of seriousness, his words a stern command.

"I want you to pay attention to these games," he stated firmly, his gaze firm. "Observe the players, observe their responses, and see what makes the mind break." The stern words of your father echoed in your mind, his authority unwavering. "Yes, father," you responded, a mix of obedience and reluctance in your voice.

The boat docked, the path ahead uneven and treacherous, especially given the choice of footwear you wore. The path was clearly unwalked and unsteady, making it difficult for you to navigate properly. As you cautiously made your way along the path, you stumbled upon a seemingly invisible hatch door, hidden from prying eyes. The head of security stepped forward, punching in a code and signaling to a hidden camera. The hatch door slowly creaked open, revealing a descending staircase.

As the hatch door opened, you were met with the sight of a man dressed in a striking pink jumpsuit, his mask featuring a distinctive square shape. Behind him were an entourage of four pink-masked guards, each adorning black masks lined with triangles. The contrast of the bright colours and masks against the dim lighting of the stairwell created an atmosphere of surrealism and foreboding.

The head of security's words cut through the silence, his tone low and guarded.

"These are the American game makers," he spoke, his voice holding a mix of neutrality and wariness. "They've been anticipating their arrival."

The man in the pink jumpsuit responded in a simple, yet eerie tone that sent a chill down your spine.

"Yes," he said simply, "please, follow me." Without a moment's hesitation, he turned and began walking down the dimly lit stairwell, his guards falling into a precise formation behind him.

As you followed the pink-suited man up the staircase, you couldn't help but observe the surroundings, taking in the bright colors and cheerful décor. The room was intentionally designed to appear playful and pleasant, a stark contrast to the darkness and mystery that shrouded the truth.

You were led towards a pair of imposing double doors, their golden handles gleaming beneath the lights. The pink-suited man stepped inside, his voice carrying a respect and formality. "Sir, the American game maker has arrived," he announced, his words carrying a weight of significance. The doors opened wider, revealing a grand room.

As you entered the grand room, your gaze fell upon the imposing figure across from you - a man clad in a sharp black suit, his distinctive black mask adorned with a hood. His presence immediately commanded attention and respect, and you couldn't help but make the connection - this must be the Frontman, the counterpart to your father's role.

Your father stepped forward and introduced himself to the Frontman, ignoring your presence. You were not the focus here; you were merely a spectator, a silent observer, your importance seemingly diminished. The sense of insignificance gnawed at you, but you remained composed, maintaining a stoic expression as you watched the encounter unfold.

The Frontman spoke, his voice authoritative and confident. "It is a pleasure to have you witness our 33rd Annual Squid Games," he echoed with a practiced smile, his gaze fixed on your father.

The words echoed in the grand room, a stark reminder of the gravity and spectacle of the events about to unfold - the annual game where lives were on the line, and the consequences were severe.

Your phone buzzed, interrupting the tense atmosphere. With a pleased smile, you reached into your purse and retrieved the device. As you sat down on one of the couches lining the wall, you muttered, "Finally," under your breath. Despite the gravity of the occasion, you couldn't help but feel a surge of satisfaction at the distraction, grateful for a moment of respite from the tension.

You scrolled through the texts from your friends, their pleas for glamourous pictures from your vacation with your father only fueled your growing urge to break away and explore. As you glanced up, observing the room and the ongoing conversation, you weighed the option of sneaking out to indulge in something exciting of your own.

Just as you stood, preparing to casually leave the room, your father called out to you, his command firm and unwavering.

"Sit," he ordered, his voice stern. You froze in your tracks, the words reverberating in your mind. Your desire to step away and explore was abruptly brought to a halt by his authoritarian command.

“I’m just going to go-,” The click of the gun echoed in the room, causing you to halt your words. Your father's stern glare and the sight of him pointing the pistol at you filled you with a mix of fear and resignation. You reluctantly walked to the designated chair diagonally across from him and sat down, your eyes locked on the gun. It was a tactic he had used before, but it never failed to send a wave of fear through you, reminding you of the consequences of disobedience.

Despite being his daughter, you couldn't shake the uneasy feeling that your father wouldn't hesitate to pull the trigger. The tension in the room was palpable, and the cold, unwavering gaze of the gun sent chills down your spine.

You muttered your apology, the words leaving your lips with a mixture of guilt and resignation. Your father's glare softened slightly as he lowered the pistol, a hint of acknowledgment in his eyes. He said nothing, merely giving a subtle nod, acknowledging your apology but still keeping a watchful eye on you.

Your father turned his attention back to the Frontman, continuing the conversation with a casual tone.

"Kids," he remarked nonchalantly, referring to you with a subtle nod in your direction. "They can be quite a handful." You remained still in your seat, trying to blend into the background, silently absorbing the words exchanged between your father and the Frontman.

As the Frontman stared at you, his masked gaze fixed upon you, you couldn't help but feel a strange sense of acknowledgment. His gesture, the slight tilt of his head, conveyed a silent curiosity. Without fully understanding why, you responded with a subtle nod of your own, a silent acknowledgment passing between you.

The Frontman's curiosity grew as he observed you, his masked gaze now filled with deeper intrigue. There was a hint of concern beneath the hard exterior, a subtle indication of his genuine interest in your well-being. He couldn't quite pinpoint why, but there was an undeniable pull to ensure your safety and comfort.

The Frontman broke the silence, offering a gesture of hospitality. "Would you like a drink?" he asked, his voice calm yet with a touch of formality. The offer seemed almost casual, a small gesture amidst the tense atmosphere, but the underlying purpose remained clear - to maintain control and ensure everyone was comfortable while the games began.

With a grateful nod, you accepted the Frontman's offer of a drink. The nerves were building within you, and the thought of numbing the tension even slightly was enticing.

"Please," you replied, your voice carrying a mix of relief and anticipation, while your father remained stoic in his seat, observing the interaction with a guarded expression.

The guards moved swiftly and efficiently, providing you with a drink with remarkable speed. You couldn't help but appreciate the efficiency and the thoughtfulness of the gesture, offering a small nod to convey your gratitude, your smile tinged with a hint of tension. Your father watched the exchange with a guarded expression, his eyes scrutinizing every move you made, observing your every reaction.

The moment had arrived. The games were about to commence, and the first event was set to be red light, green light. A seemingly simple premise, yet the tension and anticipation hung heavily in the air. The atmosphere seemed charged with anticipation and the potential for both triumph and defeat.

As the screen lit up, the scene unfolded before your eyes. The field of players, clad in green tracksuits, moved forward, their movements slow and measured as they explored their surroundings. Their attention was immediately drawn to the large doll stationed at the far end, a sight that both captivated and unnerved.

The calm and cheerful voice echoed through the field, issuing the directive.

"Please stand behind the white line drawn on the field," it repeated, the words resonating in the air. "Once again, will all players please stand behind the white line and await further instructions."

The players, dressed in green tracksuits, stood in a line behind the white line, seemingly unaware of the danger that loomed ahead. They followed the instructions with obedience, showing no signs of comprehending the true nature of the games they had willingly entered. There was a sense of blind trust, oblivious to the impending chaos and violence that awaited them.

The phone on the small table beside you rang abruptly, catching your attention. The Frontman moved closer, answering the call with a sense of authority. "This is the Frontman speaking," he said, his voice carrying a confident yet somewhat chilling tone. "We can begin now," he confirmed.

The Frontman took his seat beside you, maintaining a respectful yet noticeable distance between you. However, you couldn't help but feel a subtle sense of unease as you felt his gaze on the small parts of your face that were left uncovered by the mask. There was an intensity to his gaze that felt almost disquieting, a mix of curiosity and observation, his eyes seemingly taking in every detail of your features.

The Voice's tone carried a blend of cheerfulness and authority, as it instructed the players on the imminent event.

"You will be playing Red Light, Green Light," the voice announced, a tone of gleeful anticipation evident in its words. The players, dressed in green, stood still, their expressions a mix of anticipation and tension, their eyes focused on the voice coming through the speakers.

The rules of the game were explained with a strange blend of innocence and coldness.

"You are allowed to move forward when 'it' shouts 'Green Light,' stop when 'it' shouts 'Red Light.' If your movement is detected afterward, you will be eliminated," the voice stated, its tone maintaining a mix of childlike playfulness and the harsh reality of the consequences they faced.

The voice continued, outlining the rules of the game with a matter-of-fact tone.

"Those players who cross the finish line without being eliminated within the five-minute playtime will pass this round," it explained. There was a pause, a dramatic moment of anticipation, before the voice concluded, "With that, let the game begin." As the words echoed in the air, the players braced themselves, the tension palpable.

The doll, with its childlike voice, issued the first command.

"Green light," it declared, its voice a mix of innocence and underlying menace. With those words, the game officially commenced. As the game began, a few players eagerly surged forward, attempting to make progress toward the finish line.

In an instant, the tension heightened as the voice announced, "Red light." The players, who had been moving forward, came to an abrupt stop, frozen in their tracks, their bodies gitty with anticipation.

You couldn't help but tense up at the sudden sound of a gunshot, the gunshot breaking the tense silence, causing your body to flinch involuntarily.

The voice, cold and unforgiving, announced the first casualty of the game. "Player 324. Eliminated."

The players, engrossed in the game, had yet to fully comprehend the true nature and danger of the situation. Despite the gunshot, most of them were still caught up in the excitement of the competition, their attention focused on the doll and the race to the finish line. The reality of the violence and life-or-death stakes hadn't fully sunk in for many participants.

As one player finally looked down at his dying friend, the reality and gravity of the situation became undeniable. Fear shot through their eyes, and realization dawned on their face. The cheerful facade shattered as they faced the brutal truth of the game's nature, a truth that left them shaken to the core. It was a moment of sobering clarity, the illusion of a simple game evaporating before their very eyes.

The chaos unfolded as panicked players rushed to the entrance doors, desperately trying to flee. However, their efforts were futile as one by one, they were shot by the hidden snipers in the walls.

The voice echoed through the loudspeakers once again, repeating the rules of the game with a chilling precision.

The remaining players, shaken and terrified, listened intently as the rules were reiterated, their hearts pounding in their chests.

"You are allowed to move forward when 'it' shouts 'Green Light' and stop when 'it' shouts 'Red Light.' If your movement is detected afterward, you will be eliminated," the voice stated, its tone cold and methodical.

Your father, visibly engrossed in the spectacle, couldn't contain his excitement. "Amazing first choice," he chuckled, his voice filled with a mix of admiration and enthusiasm. "We simply can't do it yet. We need more players on sight. But this is amazing!" His words showcased the twisted nature of the games and the satisfaction the game makers derived from the chaos and bloodshed.

Your father turned his gaze to you, seeking your opinion on the unfolding events. "What do you think, (y/n)?" he asked, a hint of amusement in his tone, as though he was eager to gauge your reaction to the unfolding spectacle.

Your words came out in a matter-of-fact tone, the practical aspect of the situation evident in your response.

"It's the best choice for the first game," you stated, a sense of realism lacing your words. "It gets rid of the mass amount of players and shows them the outcome if they don't listen. It's practical." Your father seemed pleased with your assessment, a subtle nod indicating his agreement and approval of your observation.

The Frontman, listening to your words, couldn't help but feel a sense of admiration for your practicality and realistic approach. He appreciated the way you had analyzed the situation and made a rational observation. In a world where brutal violence was the norm, your sensible view stood out, and he respected it quietly.

The game continued, the voice's cold instructions echoing through the field as players met their fate. Each round of "Red Light" brought a new wave of eliminations, the remaining players trembling in fear and uncertainty. The game was a deadly, ruthless spectacle, leaving the players in a state of constant tension and anxiety.

Your attention was drawn to the small figurine band that came to life, playing a gentle tune. As "Fly Me to the Moon" filled the room, you turned to the Frontman, a surprised smile gracing your face.

The Frontman's gesture took you by surprise, his action a mix of playfulness and unexpected charm amidst the cold, violent world of the games.

Despite the tense atmosphere, the Frontman's decision to play "Fly Me to the Moon" softened the mood slightly. As the song played, you crossed your legs, your voice carrying a slight tone of contentment.

"I like this song," you remarked, a small, appreciative smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

The Frontman's eyes flickered, his gaze briefly meeting yours, as he acknowledged your comment. There was a subtle sense of understanding in his gaze, a glimpse of a shared appreciation for the song that created a brief moment of connection between you two.

The moment of connection and shared appreciation between you and the Frontman provided a sliver of hope that this trip could indeed become more enjoyable than you had initially anticipated. The games were still unfolding, and the tension in the room lingered, but there was a hint of warmth in the air.

#hwang in ho x reader #hwang in ho #in ho x reader #squid game x reader #squid game #squid game fanfic #hwang in ho fanfic #in ho fanfic #player 001 #player 001 x reader

576 notes · View notes

just-aake · 7 months ago

Text

A Feline Connection Part 7

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: Natasha has to face the harsh reality that she can’t help everyone.

Warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, light fluff

Words: 3790

“Whitney Frost, daughter of Byron Frost—a typical Wall Street tycoon,” Tony’s voice echoes through the phone as he reads out the details FRIDAY managed to dig up.

On Natasha’s screen, she can see multiple files and articles pulled up on Tony’s monitors, the holographic images casting a blue glow on his face as he continues.

“There are plenty of articles about her earlier years. Standard socialite magazine garbage—life of a spoiled rich kid, extravagant parties, lavish vacations. You get the idea.”

Natasha lets out a dry scoff at the irony, her lips curling slightly.

“Coming from the playboy billionaire who once blew up half of his mansion?”

Tony gasps theatrically, placing a hand over his chest in a wounded gesture.

“Watch it, Romanoff. I’m helping you here.”

Rolling her eyes, Natasha nods. “My bad. Please, continue.”

Tony huffs, turning his attention back to his screens.

“After her father’s death, she goes dark for a couple of years. No public appearances, no sightings—nothing. Coincidentally, around the same time, reports start cropping up about a new leader rising within one of the East Coast’s major crime families. Descriptions of the leader consistently include one distinct detail: a golden mask, giving them the title–”

“Madame Masque,” Natasha finishes for him, her tone flat.

“Bingo,” Tony confirms. “Over the years, she’s pulled off some pretty big moves. Arms deals, arson, major heists—she’s dangerous, Nat.”

There’s a shuffle of papers in the background, and Peter’s voice chimes in.

“I don’t get it, Mr. Stark. If she was already rich, why turn to crime?”

Natasha doesn’t hesitate to answer.

“It’s not always about money,” she says. “Sometimes it’s just about power and control.”

A brief silence follows, the weight of her words sinking in.

Tony’s expression darkens slightly, and even Peter doesn’t offer a rebuttal. They all know Natasha is right.

People like Whitney thrive on domination, bending others to their will.

Natasha’s frown deepens, her thoughts drifting back to the night before—the memory of you leaving with Whitney still fresh and raw. She exhales slowly, the sting of hurt in her chest flaring again, though she pushes it down.

Suddenly, Tony’s voice cuts through the quiet.

“Okay, I can’t ignore this anymore. What are you doing?”

Natasha’s brows knit in confusion as she glances at the screen. “What do you mean?”

Tony leans closer to the camera, pointing a finger at her with exaggerated disbelief.

“Why are you bottle-feeding that cat like it’s a baby?”

Natasha pulls Widow closer, cradling the tiny feline protectively against her chest. In her free hand, she holds a small baby bottle filled with water, offering it near the cat’s mouth.

“She still won’t eat complete meals,” Natasha explains defensively. “At least this way, she’s staying hydrated.”

Widow lets out a faint, sad meow, turning away from the bottle and burrowing deeper into Natasha’s arm.

Natasha sighs softly, her expression tinged with disappointment as she looks down at the cat.

Peter’s voice pipes up from off-screen.

“Miss Romanoff, I could go pick up some different kinds of cat food if you’d like?”

Before Natasha can respond, Tony waves him off.

“Great idea, kid. Take my card and have at it.”

“Awesome,” Peter replies, his excitement evident as he disappears from view.

As soon as Peter is gone, Natasha raises an eyebrow at Tony.

“Was that really a good idea?”

Tony shrugs, leaning back in his chair. “Eh, it’ll be fine.”

“So, what is it?” Natasha asks knowingly. She can tell Tony got rid of Peter so that he would not hear whatever it is Tony was holding back.

“Some tough love,” he says bluntly, his relaxed demeanor shifting into something more serious. He leans forward, fixing her with a pointed look. “Look, Nat, if your friend is running with people like Whitney Frost, you might need to face the facts.”

“Which are?” Natasha’s tone grows colder, her jaw tightening.

“She’s a criminal,” Tony states flatly, the words landing like a stone.

Natasha’s frown deepens, the label grating against her as she reflexively clutches Widow a little tighter. “And?”

Tony sighs, shaking his head as if she’s missing the obvious.

“You need to start treating her like one.”

Natasha’s eyes narrow.

“Did you forget I used to be an assassin?” she counters, her voice tinged with sarcasm.

“And now you’re an Avenger,” Tony fires back without missing a beat. “Not everyone’s like you, Nat. Not everyone wants to change.”

The silence stretches between them, tension simmering as Natasha processes his words.

Seeing her still hesitant to accept the fact, he adds softly, “You can’t help someone who doesn’t even want it.”

Natasha frowns, her eyes drifting down to the little cat in her arms. She strokes her fur delicately, and Widow returns a faint purr in response, though she still refuses to move much more than that.

“Send me everything you have on Whitney and Madame Masque,” Natasha says, her determination resolving.

She’s not going to give up on you so easily.

Tony studies her for a moment, his expression knowing before he sighs and leans back in his chair.

“Already done.”

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

A deep sigh escapes Natasha as she rubs her tired eyes, trying to dispel the exhaustion. The hours have stretched into the late night, a glance at the window and then at the clock on her tablet confirming just how much time has passed.

Beside her on the couch, Widow is curled into a small ball, her tiny body seeming to shrink further with every passing moment.

The meal Natasha had prepared for her earlier sits barely touched—a few nibbles at best.

Though, in her tired mind, Natasha can’t help but let a stray thought creep in: maybe her cooking is bad enough to deter a cat.

The self-deprecating humor makes her sigh again, a sure sign of just how drained she feels.

Setting the tablet on the table, Natasha leans back against the armrest of the couch, her head tilting to rest against the cushion. She raises an arm to cover her eyes, allowing herself just a brief reprieve, not planning to sleep but needing the darkness to ease the strain from hours of research.

For a while, the silence wraps around her like a blanket.

Natasha focuses on her breathing, the steady rise and fall helping her ground herself.

Eventually, she debates whether she has it in her to dive back into her work for the night when a sudden movement shifts at her side.

Tiny paws pad up her torso, and then a soft weight settles against her stomach.

A familiar, distinct meow breaks the quiet—a chirping, happy sound Natasha hasn’t heard from Widow in days.

She freezes, her body going rigid as suspicion blooms in her chest. Breathing slowly, Natasha tries to maintain her sleeping position so as not to give herself away.

Widow’s sudden shift in mood—it could only mean one thing.

“I know you’re awake,” your voice cuts through the stillness, warm and teasing from just above her.

Realizing she’s caught, Natasha exhales softly with a mix of both relief at your presence but also mild frustration at the fact that you were able to sneak up on her again.

She removes her arm from her eyes, blinking up to meet your gaze.

You’re leaning casually against the back of the couch, your head tilted and resting atop the cushion, a small smirk on your lips.

“It’s way too early for you to have fallen asleep,” you tease lightly, your voice carrying that familiar playful lilt.

Your attention shifts to Widow, who’s now eagerly leaning against the cushion to lick at your outstretched hand.

“Isn’t that right, Widow?” you coo, your tone softening as you address the little cat.

Widow chirps again, louder this time, in agreement and nuzzles against your hand with obvious affection.

Natasha can’t help but scoff lightly, shaking her head at the way the two of you seem to operate as a perfect team.

Carefully, she sits up, trying not to disturb Widow perched atop her.

However, the movement brings her face unintentionally close to yours. She stills as she realizes the proximity, her lips parting slightly as the quip she intended to deliver gets caught in her throat.

Instead, all that escapes is a soft exhale.

Your smirk falters, replaced by a small, almost sad smile. Your eyes search hers, lingering as if you can see something more beyond her carefully maintained exterior.

The intensity of the moment steals Natasha’s breath, the weight of unspoken words hanging between you.

Breaking the tension, you lift a hand into view, holding up a bag of takeout containers.

“I brought dinner,” you say softly, the warmth in your tone cutting through the charged silence.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Natasha sits cross-legged on the couch, a takeout box resting limply on her lap as her attention drifts away from the half-eaten meal inside.

Instead, her gaze falls on the two of you.

You’re seated on the floor on the other side of the coffee table, also cross-legged, with Widow nestled comfortably in your lap.

The little cat looks more content than she has in days, her tiny paws resting on the edge of the table as she eagerly eats the torn-up pieces of meat you prepared for her.

A wave of relief washes over Natasha at the sight of Widow eating normally again, her movements lively and natural. It eases the knot of worry that’s been sitting in her chest, but as always, her focus inevitably drifts to you.

It’s a pull she can’t resist, her gaze lingering on the subtle details in your expression, the quiet ease with which you handle the moment.

Natasha absently stirs the noodles in her box, her mind turning over the question she’s been holding back since you arrived. It gnaws at her, but finding the right way to ask feels like navigating a minefield.

“How…” she begins, her voice hesitant, but the words falter.

Natasha bites her lip, uncertain whether she has the right to pry into your life any deeper.

You glance up at her, catching on to the unfinished question. Setting your takeout container on the table, you tilt your head slightly, offering her an easy opening.

“How am I here?” you ask knowingly, your voice gentle.

Wordlessly, Natasha nods, grateful but wary of the answer.

“You didn’t look at the USB?” you ask, a touch of curiosity in your tone.

Natasha shakes her head.

“I was busy worrying about more pressing matters,” she says, her eyes flicking meaningfully to Widow, who’s still munching happily in your lap. “And anyway, it didn’t seem like she wanted me to have it in the first place.”

You huff lightly at her words, and with an amused shake of your head, you turn Widow to face you, your fingers gently scratching behind her ears.

“You were supposed to give it to her,” you chide playfully.

Widow lets out a small, sassy meow, as if to argue her point, and then wiggles free from your grasp.

Natasha watches with mild curiosity as the little cat pads over to the side table, where the USB has sat untouched for days. Widow grabs the small device in her mouth and trots back toward Natasha.

Stopping at her side, Widow drops the USB onto Natasha’s lap with a decisive plop before looking up at her with a smug little chirp, her tail swishing behind her.

Natasha raises an eyebrow, her lips twitching with the faintest hint of a smile as she picks up the USB.

“Thank you,” she remarks dryly, her tone soft but teasing.

Widow lets out a pleased meow, circling once before hopping back into your lap, her little body nestling comfortably against you.

Natasha’s gaze shifts to the USB, her fingers brushing over its surface thoughtfully, before lifting her eyes to meet yours.

“So,” she says, her tone calm but tinged with curiosity, “what exactly am I going to find on here?”

You glance down at Widow, stroking her head absently as you answer, your voice steady but carrying an undertone of something more.

“Whitney had a scheduled meeting out of state with some buyers tonight.”

At the mention of the other woman, Natasha narrows her eyes slightly, reading between the lines.

“So this is…?”

“Everything you need to finish your original mission,” you reply evenly, meeting her gaze with a serious expression. “The buyers’ identities, their locations, the details of each weapons deal. Enough to track them down and stop the weapons from being used in the wrong hands.”

Natasha studies you closely, her sharp instinct catching on to the underlying reason for your sudden assistance in her original mission.

“To shift my attention from Whitney.”

Your silence at her pointed remark is telling.

Natasha’s lips press into a thin line, the unspoken truth hanging between you. She tilts her head, her voice firmer now.

“Why are you protecting her?”

You flinch slightly at the accusation, your hand pausing mid-stroke on Widow’s fur. After a moment, you let out a sigh, your gaze drifting downward.

“You know, it wasn’t always like this between us,” you say quietly.

Natasha stays silent, letting you continue.

“Her dad—her real dad—was the original leader of the organization,” you explain, your voice tinged with something softer, almost nostalgic. “I met her when she was training to take over his position. Or, rather, she found me. I was just a simple thief back then. But not to her.”

You pause, your hand resuming its slow strokes over Widow’s fur as you collect your thoughts.

“She made me an offer—something I never expected. Another opportunity for my life. To join her. She saw something in me. Something…more.”

The words hang in the air, and Natasha feels a pang of understanding, recalling her own experience from the past.

“It felt good,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “Having someone look at you like that, like you’re worth something. Like you could be more than you ever thought of yourself.”

You let out a soft, bitter chuckle.

“She’s always been good at that. Making you feel special. Like you’re the only one who matters.”

Natasha’s gaze softens slightly, her arms folding across her chest as she listens. She doesn’t interrupt, sensing the weight behind your words.

“No matter what she did—how far she went—I always found a way to forgive her,” you continue, your tone darkening. “Until I couldn’t anymore.”

There’s a long pause, the quiet broken only by the faint sounds of Widow’s contented purring. Finally, you lift your gaze to Natasha’s, the vulnerability in your eyes stark, unguarded, and disarming.

“And then I met you,” you say softly, your voice carrying a bittersweet edge. “And for a while, I felt that same thing again. That feeling from the beginning—when it was just lighthearted, fun, and flirty, intoxicating even.”

Natasha’s breath catches, her chest tightening at the quiet admission. The honesty in your words cuts through the usual banter and teasing, leaving her unsure how to respond.

“But I already know how this ends,” you add, your voice softer now, tinged with resignation. “I’ve seen it before. And I can’t…” You trail off, shaking your head slightly, the words left unfinished.

Natasha watches you closely, her sharp gaze softening despite the weight of your rejection. She leans forward, her voice low but steady in understanding.

“It’s okay. You don’t owe me anything.”

Her tone shifts, gaining a quiet intensity and insistence.

“But you don’t need to stay with her either. We can figure out a way to disengage the bomb without you returning to her. A way to keep you both safe.”

Your gaze lowers, regret flickering in your expression. When you finally speak, your voice is heavy with sorrow.

“I have to go back.”

Natasha’s lips part in protest, her brows knitting together in frustration, but before she can speak, you cut her off, your tone firmer now.

“Not because of the bomb,” you clarify. “But because of what I did to her.”

You rise slowly, retrieving the tablet from the table, its screen still displaying the research Tony sent on Whitney. Sensing the shift, Widow hops into Natasha’s lap, purring softly as Natasha strokes her fur, grounding herself.

Sitting down beside her, you scroll through the files until you find what you’re looking for. Wordlessly, you turn the screen toward her.

Natasha scans the report, her frown deepening with each line.

It details a failed raid on a Stark Industries facility, ending in a catastrophic explosion. Operatives were killed or gravely injured. Their leader, however, was not discovered among those found.

“I abandoned her that night,” you say softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “None of that would have happened if I had stayed.”

“You don’t know that,” Natasha counters firmly, her gaze snapping to yours, her hand reaching out instinctively to rest atop yours.

A faint, sad smile tugs at your lips at her touch, and you shake your head slightly.

“I appreciate the thought,” you reply, your voice tinged with bittersweet humor, “but we both know that’s not true—especially considering how I’ve managed to sneak past Stark’s defenses twice now without any problems.”

The smirk you add at the end is small, almost fleeting, but it carries a sting of truth that Natasha can’t ignore.

You’re exceptionally skilled. She can’t deny that.

Your fingers brush hers lightly, tracing the bandages covering her knuckles. A contemplative sadness crosses your face.

Then slowly, you lift her hand to your lips, pressing a soft, almost apologetic kiss against her skin before lowering it back onto Widow’s fur.

“I’m not innocent here, Natasha,” you continue resolutely, your voice low, as if the words are for you as much as for her. “I never was.”

Natasha’s jaw tightens at your words, but she doesn’t interrupt as you continue.

“I owe her a lot,” you admit, your voice heavy with the weight of your past. “She gave me a chance when no one else did. She saw something in me that I couldn’t. And yet…” Your voice falters slightly, but you press on.

“I still betrayed her in the end.”

Your gaze shifts to Natasha, your eyes meeting hers with a depth of emotion that makes her chest ache.

“You deserve more than to wait for me to eventually do the same to you,” you say softly. “More than I already have.”

Natasha’s chest tightens, the quiet ache spreading as she watches you, her gaze taking in every flicker of pain and regret etched across your features.

But this time, it’s not sadness that rises within her—it’s anger. Not at you, but at everything else.

At Whitney, for manipulating you. At the circumstances that have pushed you to this breaking point. And most of all, at the invisible chains of guilt that hold you hostage, preventing you from seeing a way out.

Her hands twitch, the urge to reach for you almost overwhelming. She wants to close the distance between you, to grasp your shoulders and shake you free from the weight of your past, to tell you that this isn’t your only option.

But she hesitates, her fingers curling into fists as she forces herself to stop.

Forcing you to accept her help, no matter how badly she wants to, would make her no different from Whitney. It would just be another form of control, another pressure you don’t deserve.

And Natasha refuses to become that.

Instead, after a long pause, she speaks with quiet determination.

“What will happen to Widow?”

You look down at the small cat, curled up peacefully in Natasha’s lap, and sigh.

“I can’t bring her back with me,” you admit, your voice thick with regret. “But I’ll stay with her as long as I can tonight. Make sure she’s okay, and I’ll explain it to her—let her think it’s like last time, when she stayed with you while I was away.”

You glance at Natasha, searching for her response.

“If…you’re still willing to take care of her?”

Natasha straightens slightly, her expression softening as a small smirk forms on her lips.

“I promised, didn’t I?”

Your lips twitch into a faint smile at her answer, gratitude flickering in your eyes.

But Natasha isn’t done. She leans forward, her tone resolute as her gaze locks onto yours.

“You don’t have to keep punishing yourself,” she says, her words deliberate and carefully chosen. “If you feel guilty about what you’ve done, you can always make it right for yourself. You still have that choice.”

Her words hang in the air, heavy with meaning, an unspoken plea woven into her steady tone.

Natasha’s expression holds no judgment, only quiet insistence and something deeper—hope.

The silence that follows feels fragile, as if it could shatter at the wrong move.

Widow shifts slightly in her lap, her tiny body curling closer as her soft purring fills the space between you.

It’s a faint sound, but comforting nonetheless, grounding you in a moment that feels far too heavy for words.

For a fleeting second, Natasha sees something in your eyes—an almost imperceptible flicker, as if her words might be reaching you.

But then your gaze drops, breaking the connection, and the moment slips away.

Without a word, you gently lift Widow from her lap, cradling her with the same care Natasha has come to associate with you, and rise to your feet.

Natasha sits up a little straighter, her sharp eyes following your movements as you step toward the hallway, your figure outlined by the dim glow of the room.

“Try to get some rest, Miss Black Widow,” you say softly, your tone steady but carrying a subtle finality that roots her in place. You pause just before disappearing from sight, your head turning slightly as if debating whether to say more.

“You, out of everyone, deserve it.”

The words linger in the air long after you’ve gone into your bedroom, wrapping around Natasha like a quiet echo.

She stays where she is, her fingers drifting absentmindedly over the fabric of the couch where you’d been sitting just moments ago, as if tracing the memory of you.

The warmth of your presence is gone, replaced by an emptiness that spreads through the room, making it feel colder, quieter.

Natasha exhales slowly, leaning back against the couch and staring at the space where you had disappeared from her view.

She knows you meant those words for her, but the ache in her chest tells her they’re something you’ve denied yourself for far too long.

“So do you,” she whispers into the empty room, her voice barely audible but filled with a longing that she knows you’ll never let yourself hear.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

a/n: Fair warning, I believe there’s only a couple parts left in this series. But don’t quote me on this cause we all know I’ve never been good at predicting the number of chapters left. Again thanks for reading!

If you asked to be tagged and I missed it or if the tag did not work for you, please let me know.

Taglist : @cd-4848, @carifletchersgirl, @skittlebum, @queen-of-chaotic-surprises, @ima-gi--na-tion, @rainix13, @gay4hotmilfs, @imaginexred, @caramelcat123, @2silverchain, @nowthisisliving27, @waltermis, @scarlettbitchx, @self-indulgent-writer, @ashadash0904, @alowint, @littlyamadeus, @so-to-aqui-pelas-fic, @imthenatynat, @transparentflapfarmsludge, @natashasilverfox, @mousetheorist, @btay3115, @samfunko, @wandaromamoff69, @lost-in-the-ice, @ahsatanizgay, @stonemags, @karsonromanoff, @wandanatlov3r, @l1kepeps1cvla, @esposadejoyhuerta, @fxckmiup, @panickedbabygay, @esposadejoyhuerta, @azaleavolkova, @gay4wandanat, @escapereality4music, @caspianalexander007, @henkermen, @xxnaiaxx, @alyssa-bessse, @alianovnasposts

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #natasha romanoff fanfic #natasha romanoff x you #black widow x reader #natasha x reader #natasha romanov x reader #natasha romanoff

473 notes · View notes

sweetdispatch · 7 months ago

Text

You have my blessing - N. Hischier

masterlist pairing: Nico Hischier x Hughes!reader summary: You visited Jack and met his team. He saw your interaction with Nico and decided to play matchmaker. warning: none note: based on this request - getting requests from you is like dream come true! thank you for the trust❤️

There's always been you and three brothers who you loved deeply but with one you had a special connection. You and Jack are twins and you two were inseparable. Despite different hobbies, you were stuck together. For him, you were his favorite person in the whole world and you were always the first one to find out about his achievements. He was always calling and talking with you. Through your whole life, it has been you and him against the world.

Right after you two graduated high school, Jack moved to New Jersey and you moved to Paris. For you, studying abroad was like a dream come true and you were delighted when you got accepted. Jack was celebrating this with you, but deep down he felt sadness that you’re leaving America and now, you two will be on long distance. During the season, you barely see each other but when you were coming back for summer, you two were attached to each other’ hips.

You graduated in Paris and decided to stay there for a little bit, just to enjoy the city. You loved the vibe here and wish to live there forever, but you missed your friends and family. You knew that you wanted to move back to America but still haven’t picked the city. It was one of the lazy days, when your mom called you.

“Hi sweetie, are you busy next week?” She asked you.

“No, I have free time. Why?”

“There’s a mom’s trip with New Jersey and since I have two sons there, I was thinking that you might want to go with me. Luke said that the club is fine with this” Your mom proposed and you jumped.

“Yes, please. I would love to! I miss you guys. On my way to book my ticket, should I fly to Jersey and stay with Jack and Luke or fly to Michigan to go there with you?”

“Fly to Michigan, let’s make a Jack surprise with your visit because he doesn’t expect that”

“Sure thing mom! I love you” You hung up and started packing to go see them.

You were beyond excited for this trip because you never saw Jack and Luke’ game live and you missed them. The last time you saw your family was a couple months ago and this was a perfect opportunity.

The week went by and now, you were in New Jersey with your mom and Luke in his and Jack’s place. Your twin was still on the rink doing media duties. When he finally returned, you jumped into his arms.

“I missed you so much!” You said.

“What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be in Paris?” He was shocked to see you.

“I have a free week and when mom proposed to go with you on the trip, I was more than happy to do it”

“Wait… Are you going with us?” He couldn’t believe his ears.

“Yeah, I’ll finally see you playing and meet your team” Jack pulled you into another hug.

The next day, you and your mom attempted on their open training. It was a new experience for you and you loved every minute of it. After it, Jack pulled you to meet the whole team. You said a quick hello to everyone but one player caught your attention.

“Jack said you’re studying abroad” Nico started the conversation.

“Not anymore. I graduated in May and now, I’m just living there but also searching for apartments somewhere in America because I want to come back home”

“And where do you plan to live?”

“I don’t know, I was thinking about New Jersey to be closer to Jack”

“He mentioned that too” Nico jokes

“What did he mention? I hadn’t told him that” You were surprised at his words.

“That you two are really close. To be honest, if not Luke talking about you too, I would never believe that Jack has a twin” You laughed and this brought Jack’s attention. “I mean, I never saw you and I was thinking that he’s making up your existence”

“I’m very much alive just never had the chance to see his game until now”

“I’m guessing you’re coming with your mom on the trip”

“Yup, that’s why I’m here”

“Great, see you around” Nico said and left for the locker room. You stood there with a big smile. Jack saw the whole thing from afar and saw the chemistry between you two. Two of his favorite people being together? That was his plan.

During the trip, you and Jack were glued to each other. All the time joking and talking about life. You went on a dinner with him, Luke and your mom and you announced that you decided to move to New Jersey. Luke was happy to have you around, you were always for him with advice and support. Jack screamed from the excitement. He was delighted to have his favorite person finally back. Jack was also happy because he wanted you to be with Nico. He started planning on how to get you two together.

After a month, you finally moved to New Jersey. For now, you lived with Jack and Luke while searching for your new apartment. You were attempting their every home game and they’ve been truly happy to have you by their side. You were also spending a lot of time with Nico. He was living in the same building apartment as your brothers and Jack was inviting him almost all the time. He was doing this on purpose.

Jack loved you and Nico and this was melting his heart how the two of you are getting along. Many times, he was ditching you and Nico when you had plans in three just so the two of you could get alone time. You quickly fell in love with Nico. He was the guy of your dreams. He was so gentle with you, always paid for you and surprised you with small gifts. Nico felt the same towards you. It was a pleasure for him to treat you like a princess. You two were perfect for each other but your brothers were an issue.

You two lived in a bubble and didn't even realise that Jack was pushing you two towards each other. One day, you had enough and straight away asked him.

“Would you be mad if I was dating one of your teammates?”

“Depends what teammate” Jack said and looked at you. “Why are you asking?”

“I might be in love with one of your teammates” You told him truthfully. You were twins and there was nothing to hide. You wanted to be honest with him.

“That’s huge… Who is that?”

“Don’t be mad but it’s Nico” You looked anywhere but his face.

“That’s great! Finally all my work paid off” He giggled.

“Your work paid off? What does it even mean?” You were confused.

“Oh please, when I saw you and Nico for the first time, I knew you’re made for each other. When you moved here I was doing everything in my power to push you two towards each other. I want you to be happy and I can see that he makes you happy” Jack hugged you. “Now go and get your man” He pushed you out of the apartment.

You laughed and went to see Nico. You knocked three times and he opened your door.

“Hello” He hugged you.

“Hi…” You started. “I talked with Jack and we have his blessing”

“Wait what?” Nico looked at you.

“He said that he’s happy that you’re making me happy and apparently, all the time he ditched us was his plan to get us together” You explained to him.

“You can’t be serious” He laughed.

“For real, this is what he told me” Nico closed the gap between you two.

“I guess I can officially do this” He grabbed your face and kissed your lips.

#nico hischier #nico hischier x reader #nico hischier imagine #nico hischier oneshot #nico hischier fanfiction #nhl #nhl imagine #nhl fanfiction #new jersey devils #jack hughes x reader #v' work

412 notes · View notes

urrmomzfavorite · 4 months ago

Text

PAC: HOW DO PEOPLE VIEW YOU ?

Pile One: The Beloved Independent Soul

People are missing you. You might be in a period of isolation. People are questioning your motives and wondering what you are up to. Some are wondering if you are seeing someone. That came through. They wish you would ask them for help and wouldn’t be so independent. LOL. Someone is all up in your business.

People really admire you. They admire and are lowkey scared of you. I keep seeing people being baffled, their mouths open, as someone walks by. People talk about your journey and can tell you will go far—just by your motivation and the way you handle things. You are seen as someone who is really smart and holds a lot of knowledge and wisdom. People talk about the advice you give and how helpful it is. People love you, Pile One. Your presence is magical to them, like a warm hug. Maybe that’s why some of them are so obsessed with your energy. They want to be around you and bask in your light. People view you as someone with a pure heart and intentions. Some people took advantage of this in the past. That could be why you felt the need to take some time for yourself. Also, whenever someone tries to badmouth you, a lot of people come to your defense. I feel like you needed to hear this.

Yes, some people are shitty and will take advantage of a good heart, but it doesn’t mean that you should stop shining and giving love to the people around you. Your presence, your existence, has a lot of impact in this world. The way they treated you says nothing about you and everything about them. They will have their karma, Pile One, but to be frank, it doesn’t concern you because you shouldn’t be looking back. They are not meant to walk your path. Please leave them behind!

pssttt babe, if you need real more personal tea🫖🔥 come see me for a personal reading 🔮

✨💖 Heyyy cuties! 💖✨ Don’t be shy, take a little peek at my other posts—you know you wanna!

Pile Two: Breaking Free from a Toxic Karmic Connection

Pile Two, you could be part of a collective that a lot of messages have been coming through for in my readings. There is one person coming through more strongly than the others. They are toxic, and they are pissed. They’ve been juggling options and thought that you would wait for them. They see you building, moving on, looking at your options, and they are boiling. This could have been a toxic karmic connection. I feel like for a long time, you thought this person was a twin flame or soulmate. They are not. They were meant to teach you lessons, but it took you some time to let them go. Please let them go. There are a lot of blessings awaiting you, and this person is in the way. The second you truly let them go (not just telling yourself you are over it while still wishing deep down that they make a comeback), the blessings will rush in. Your spirit guides really want you to let go of this person. It’s time. You’ve outgrown this person, and you can even tell. There are other people, other real soulmates, awaiting you. Pleeeeease, I’m on my knees!

This person is selfish. The life that you built in your head with them is only an illusion. They are selfish, and your needs would have come last. You know this. They want what they can’t have and love it when you seem detached and uninterested—it’s like a challenge to them. This person is immature and careless. It’s a lot of “me, me, me.” Ew, that’s gross. Their energy and mindset are kinda pathetic to me, sorry.

Soon enough, the wheel will turn around, and they will realize the true consequences of their actions. You won’t be there anymore, and it’s going to trigger growth. LET THEM GO THROUGH THEIR SHIT. YOU ARE NOT A SAVIOR. There is someone mature, with a lot to offer, waiting for you. Be discerning.

pssttt babe, if you need real more personal tea🫖🔥 come see me for a personal reading 🔮

✨💖 Heyyy cuties! 💖✨ Don’t be shy, take a little peek at my other posts—you know you wanna!

Pile Three: The Powerful Alchemist

Wow, Pile Three, you are somebody! People view you as a powerful witch, a powerful manifestor, someone who has a knack for turning bad situations around. Was it supposed to destroy you? Maybe. Are you stronger somehow now? 100%! You are an alchemist. Nothing thrown your way will defeat you. You’ll take what you need from it and leave the rest behind. There was a time when you spent a lot of energy and time looking back at the past, ruminating, playing the victim, but no more. A lot of people are intrigued by you and want to approach you, but they can’t. It feels paralyzing. They feel like they won’t be interesting enough, or you might laugh in their faces.

I don’t even feel like that’s the case, but you don’t care enough about your reputation to argue with people. You don’t care. You are this badass walking to the beat of their own drum, making their own laws, their own justice. You are part of a different world, difficultly accessible. It’s hard, Pile Three, to get a hold of you. And even for those who get to grasp your attention for a minute, the moment feels fleeting.

Some people could criticize this part of you. Just know that a lot of it is jealousy. They wish they could have the courage to be themselves. Ouch. Anyway, Pile Three, I keep hearing a nagging voice telling me, “You won’t find a man/woman acting this way.” LOL.

I want to make it clear, Pile Three: you need an equal, someone who stands in their own power, someone as powerful as you so they don’t drain your energy. Someone who’s comfortable in their own skin so they don’t try to change you. You need an equal, and that’s not just anyone. There’s a special person for you. You will find them and will finally understand that the love you seek has been seeking you this whole time. You just had to clear the noise around you.

✨💖 Heyyy cuties! 💖✨ Don’t be shy, take a little peek at my other posts—you know you wanna!

pssttt babe, if you need real more personal tea🫖🔥 come see me for a personal reading 🔮

#tarot #tarotcommunity #tarot cards #tarotblr #pick a card #tarot reading #pick a pile #pick a picture #astrology #spiritual journey #divination #tarot readings #18+ tarot

311 notes · View notes

fallstaticexit · 4 months ago

Text

Extended Bonus Scene-> Pillowfort ( just an extra scene I couldn't fit in this update and couldn't fit in the next featuring a conversation between Judith Ward & Geoffrey)

AN: Fun fact, the last scene of the previous post was actually the 500th screenshot of Part III. Woooo! We’re right around the halfway point. Time to pull out Nancy’s bad choice punch card, let’s see what we got so far…we got…cheating twice, gaslighting her husband andddd oh! Getting entangled with criminals! Great job, Nancy! 👹

Prev / Next / Beginning

Transcript under the cut

Vanessa: Hey, it’s your birthday.

Nancy: Best birthday I’ve ever had, thanks to you.

Vanessa: By the way, when you said no marks, I didn’t think that meant you would leave them all on me.

Nancy: I can’t even follow my own rules. I’m sorry.

Vanessa: I like them. Red is my color after all.

Nancy: [sighs deeply] I want to make love again.

Vanessa: You can barely keep your eyes open, baby.

Nancy: I still feel so needy. When does it stop?

Vanessa: [chuckles] It never really does.

Nancy: Vanessa. Will this be the last time?

Vanessa: Do you want it to be?

Nancy: Do you?

Vanessa: I think, we should have a conversation first. I need to know what’s going on with you and Lily Feng.

Nancy: Nothing is going on. It was a thing and then it wasn’t. And when it was a thing, it still wasn’t- [huffs]. What I’m trying to say is, I had to get these urges out of my system so they could stop driving me crazy. I could barely focus. It was just sex and it was just once. That’s all it was.

Vanessa: And you didn’t know about the imports?

Nancy: When I paid off her people, I thought I was stopping her from winning a development project with the city of San Myshuno. I had no idea about any of this.

Vanessa: [exhales] You pissed off alot of people, Nancy..

Nancy: So, when you said you were in town to see me, what you meant was you came here to ‘handle me’ for what I did?

Vanessa: Listen. I meant what I said; that I wanted to reconnect with you. But the truth is, this clusterfuck of a mess brought us together and I’m not upset about that. I just had to figure out how to keep you out of trouble and I figured if you could offer to work for Akira-

Nancy: What?! You want me to do what you do? Sell drugs? You’re not serious, are you?

Vanessa: Would you prefer the alternative? I would never suggest this if I didn’t think there was something to be gained from it-

Nancy: To be gained? Fuck, Vanessa! I can’t just- I’m just an architect! I’m a mother. I’m a wife-

Vanessa: If that’s all you think that you are, then you don’t know yourself that well. You are so much more than that, Nancy.

Nancy: [mutters] As if this wasn’t complicated enough- I can’t fuck up my life anymore than I already am. I can’t put Geoffrey and our sons in danger-

Vanessa: I’ve been doing this for almost 10 years, Nancy. I know what I’m doing and you can trust me. I would never let anything happen to you- or your family.

Nancy: What if I never paid off The Feng’s connects- would you have ever try to find me and see me again?

[a pause]

Vanessa: Yeah. I would have.

Vanessa: Baby, let’s get through this together, ok? Me and you. Now, come to bed. I miss how it feels to sleep in your arms.

Nancy Narrates: [Vanessa warned it was best to let her boss to do most of the talking and to allow her to assist when needed]

Nancy Narrates: [But I was groomed for business and business meetings was something I did best]

Vanessa: [in komorego] Boss, Nancy Landgraab is here to discuss the port situation.

komorego is the native language spoken in Mt. Komorebi thanks to @esotericas-sims for the recommendation!!

Akira: Nancy Landgraab, the unluckiest woman in the world. You've created a real shitty situation, haven't you? We have little patience for interruptions, particularly regarding matters as sensitive as my business.

Nancy: How else would I have gotten your attention?

[silence]

[Vanessa inhales sharply]

Akira: [laughs] Now why would a button up little white girl like you want the attention of The Kibo Family, huh? That Martha Stewart shit not cutting it for you at home?

Nancy: So I could make an offer.

Akira: ‘Make an offer’. [laughter fades] Like what exactly?

Nancy: You’re utilizing small business owners to work their way up the network to put themselves in the same room as the connects I have on speed dial. Politicians, influencers, A List Celebrities. I can be the direct line to them and sell your product personally. Vanessa and I already have a business relationship so the transaction is streamline, no middleman.

Akira: Vanessa’s told me all about you. How you’re hot shit in the states. She’s why I haven’t put one between your eyes yet. But what I want to know is, why the fuck would I want to do business with you?

Nancy: Then don’t. You can always go back to working with the Fengs who will ruin everything you worked so hard for over a quick fuck against a desk.

[laughter]

Nancy Narrates: [From the look in his eyes, I knew I had only bought myself a moment of respite. I had one chance to impress him, or-]

[retching]

#the art of being seen #the landgraabs #cw cheating #cw drugs mentioned #cw crime #sims 4 simblr #ts4 simblr #sims 4 stories

294 notes · View notes

gay-dorito-dust · 11 months ago

Note

I saw the Dad! Stanley, could you make the Dad! Stanford one? Like how his reaction come back after 30 years saw Reader already become responsible adult

-🐈‍⬛

Ford kept a picture of you -his life’s greatest achievement- in his pocket at all times during his time in the multiverse, reminding him of who he had waiting for him back home when he felt as though he was at his limit.

Being a father was never on the docket but the moment you entered his life he dedicated himself to raising you as best as he could, even going so far as to do extensive amounts of research in preparation for any and every vital moment of your life.

You had became a pivotal part of his life and made everything he did even more important for he was doing it for you and the future you’d live in. He wanted you to grow up prepared for anything and everything life would throw at you, along with how to handle yourself for the inevitable day where he couldn’t be with you anymore. (He hates it as much as you did)

He commemorates everything you did and dedicated parts of his journals to you and your growth or things that you did that made him laugh. (You wore his coat once and Ford was fighting the demons within him known as cuteness aggression because of how it swamped your tiny form.)

An excerpt:

‘They look at me like I’m something and I’m worried that one day they’ll grow up and not view me as such when they see what I’ve done when they slept soundly in their crib, but all I do, I do for them.’

However this desire to watch you grow and be apart of your important developmental stages would be cut short when he fell into the portal when you were just 8 years old.

His last words before the portal closed entirely to Stanley were: ‘no! Y/n! I haven’t done everything I’ve wanted to do with them yet! Go trick or treating with them on Summerween! Go Fishing! Watch them grow up! Stanley, don’t leave them alone, they really hate being alone!’

And raise you Stanley did as he would try his hardest to keep your memory of Stanford alive and well, thinking it was the best he could do after accidentally taking his brother from you. He’d even make a whole album for when Ford comes back from the day he fell into the portal.

Stanley didn’t miss a single moment to capture you doing something adorable (dressed up as a paranormal detective for the summerween he took you out on) or similar to Ford himself (becoming curious about about the mystery of Gravity falls after an incident with a bunny demon and even making a series of journals yourself)

Stanley made sure to capture every little thing he could from you helping him run the shack, to you making your first friends, your little experiments on how much food Soos could stuff in his face without getting full. Which was fun until he always threw up.

You were so much like Ford it hurt Stanley to look at you sometimes because all he could see was his brother in you that he had to look away sometimes, and he knew that Ford would be so fucking proud of the person you grew up to be but also knew that he would hate himself for not being there for it all.

So when the day came when Ford finally retired home, his first words as he stepped out of the portal were; ‘where’s y/n?’

Dipper, Mabel, Soos and Stanley could only watch as you, a full grown adult of 38, stepped forward with tears in your eyes when meeting face to face with the man who raised you before his brother took over, reaching out to him whispering ‘dad?’

Ford was shocked to say the least when he looked over at this adult calling him dad, only for his brain to work fast and connect the dots as he pulls out the picture of you as a child from his coat pocket and made the connection that you and the smiling child in the picture he held close to his heart were one in the same.

You were now all grown up and he wasn’t there to see it happen with his own eyes, something that broke his heart into a million pieces knowing that he never got the chance to see it himself! The coat that hung off of your frame was his, he could clearly tell but it didn’t swamp your form like it use to, it suited you and the makeshift journal Ford saw you had clutched in your hand and knew you were his child in more ways then one.

You had his curiosity and his need to understand the unknown to great but sometimes dangerous depths, god he missed you so fucking much, his sweet child and his sweet child you’ll always will be in his eyes as he watched as you quickly walked towards him and hugged his frozen form tightly as you wept in his shoulder.

‘Dad.’ You said. ‘I’m all grown up.’

Ford chuckled weakly as he too found himself unable to keep the tears at bay, ‘I can see that sweetie pie,’ he said as he held you tightly against him. ‘I’m so sorry I wasn’t here to see it.’ He adds knowing that this will be one of his life regrets until the day he died, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t use this time to catch up with you and learn all about you all over again.

‘It’s okay.’ You reassured him, clinging onto him as though he’d disappeared again. ‘It’ll give me an excuse to talk your ear off about all my expeditions, my theories and my thoughts on everything that’s been going off here.’

‘They really are cut from the very same cloth as you.’ Stanley told Stanford as he watched you tuck Dipper and Mabel into bed that night. ‘They’re smart and even graduated from a prestigious college at the top of their class, they were even valedictorian just like you back in highschool, but they came back to gravity falls because they wanted to dedicated themselves to helping me in getting you back.’ He adds as Stanford looks at his twin with tears in his eyes.

‘And I wasn’t there to watch them walk across that stage…’ he mutters and Stanley pulls out a photo that he had taken during your graduation ceremony and gave it to Ford who could only smile weakly as he took you in. You had blossomed so much when he was away and it broke Ford even more when he realised that he knew little to nothing about you now.

‘I’m such a terrible father.’ He tells Stanley who grips him by the shoulders and looks him dead in the eye.

‘Hey! You are not a terrible father, they love you so much that they stay up late at night trying to decipher you work in hopes of finding a lead so that they could have their father back in their life. So don’t you dare say that about yourself when they’ve nothing but miss their father for the past 30 years!’ Stanley scolded him just as you walked into the hallway after bidding dipper and Mabel goodnight.

You heard them but decided not to speak up about it, after all today had been quite emotionally exhausting and all you wanted to do was sleep. ‘I’m going to bed, good night dad, good night uncle Stan.’

‘Hold it you.’ Stanley said as he walked over to you, pressing a kiss to your forehead, pulling away as he smiled at you. ‘Night pipsqueak.’ You smiled back before looking over at Ford, wanting to go to him and Stan could see the conflict in your eyes and pushed you towards his twin before retreating to his room.

‘So I was thinking that we could go monster hunting…you know like father and child. I’ve been trying to track down this dragon like creature that’s said to live on the highest mountain of gravity falls since its conception.’ You said awkwardly as Ford smiled at you and placed a hand on your shoulder.

‘I’d be glad too sweetheart, you don’t have to ask me to spend time with you because I’ll always want to spend time with my child.’ He replied and you couldn’t help but smile widely as you hugged him tightly again. Needless to say you and Ford made up for lost time in quick succession as you both ran away from being burnt alive by the massive dragon that was originally thought to be a myth.

#gravity falls x reader #gravity falls imagine #gravity falls imagines #gravity falls #stanley pines imagines #stanford pines imagines #stanford pines imagine #ford pines imagines #ford pines imagine #ford pines x reader #stanford pines x reader

640 notes · View notes

harryssyndrome · 7 months ago

Text

Hoax | h.s

summery: “don’t want no other shade blue but you. No other sadness in the world would do…”

based off this request. Thank you so much anon for this idea, this was so fun writing and I hope it’s something you were looking for. I tried to be as angsty as possible with a blend of cutesy sweet, hope it’s a perfect mix. Let me know in the comments? [thank you! mwah mwah mwah 💋]

Posted on: November 26th, 2024. I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION TO COPY OR TRANSLATE MY WORK IN ANY PLATFORM. Like, comment & reblog are appreciated 💓Italics are past memories. Hope you lovelies enjoy this little big piece.

wc: 6.6k (oops🤭) || Masterlist 🤍

Tag-List: @fruity-harry @angeldavis777 @wheredidmyeyesgo @cherryloveshs | TAGLIST IS OPEN! || REQUESTS ARE OPEN!! 💌

The morning had started just like any other, the sun streaming in through the kitchen window, casting a warm glow over everything, but YN barely noticed. She sat at the counter, her hands curled around a coffee mug, its warmth barely a match for the cold ache building inside her. The apartment felt empty, despite the soft hum of the city just outside the window. She could feel the weight of the silence pressing down on her, a silence that had grown more oppressive over the past few weeks.

Harry had been on tour for what seemed like forever now, and their communication had dwindled. What had once been late-night calls and stolen moments between sound checks had turned into rushed, distracted conversations, where he was either too busy or too tired to give her his full attention. YN had always known the demands of his career, had always been willing to share him with the world, but it was starting to feel like he was slipping further away from her.

She had tried to be understanding, tried to remind herself that this was just a phase—that he was only gone for a while, and they would find their way back to each other. But today felt different. Something in the air was charged with tension, a sense of dread that hung around her like a cloud. Harry had promised to call her during his break between rehearsals, and as the minutes ticked by, that sense of unease only grew. She hadn’t heard from him, not even a text to explain why.

When the phone finally rang, she grabbed it with an anxious breath, hoping for the reassurance she so desperately needed.

“Hey, babe,” Harry’s voice crackled through the phone, distant and strained. There was a tiredness in his voice that made her heart ache even more.

“Hi,” she replied softly, trying to keep her tone light, but the worry slipped out anyway. “I was starting to wonder if you forgot about me.”

Harry didn’t immediately answer, and YN could feel him shifting on the other end, perhaps looking for the right words, or maybe just gathering the energy to engage with her. “I didn’t forget,” he said after a beat, his voice uncharacteristically flat. “It’s just… things are hectic right now. You know how it is.”

YN frowned, her fingers tightening around her mug. She knew how it was. She knew that Harry’s tour schedule was demanding, that he barely had time to breathe, let alone talk to her. But it was different now. It had been different for weeks, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.

“I get it, Harry,” she said softly, trying to keep the frustration from her voice. “But it feels like we haven’t really talked in days. I feel like I’m losing you.”

The words hung in the air between them, thick with unspoken emotions. She didn’t want to say it. She didn’t want to accuse him of pulling away, but she couldn’t ignore what was happening anymore. She missed him. She missed the way they used to connect, how they’d stay up all night talking about their dreams and fears, how they’d laugh until their stomachs ached. Now, it felt like all they did was talk about logistics and time zones. She wanted more than that.

Harry let out a heavy sigh, and for a moment, she thought he was going to apologize, that he would offer the comfort she so desperately needed. But instead, his voice grew colder, his words sharper. “You miss me? Maybe you miss the version of me that you had before all of this. But I’m not the same person anymore, YNN. I’m just tired. Tired of feeling like I’m constantly being pulled in a million directions.”

Her heart sank at his words, the finality in them hitting her harder than she had expected. “What does that mean?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Harry’s words came out in a rush, almost like he couldn’t stop them, as if they were coming from a place deeper than he intended. “It means that I don’t have the energy for this right now. I don’t have the energy to keep pretending that everything is fine when it’s not. And maybe I’m just tired of pretending that you’re not asking for more than I can give. Maybe I need space. Maybe we both need space.”

The words stabbed her. She felt them deep in her chest, each one like a dagger, twisting further with every breath. “Space?” she echoed, barely able to form the word, the hurt creeping into her voice despite her best efforts to hold it back. “I’m not asking for space, Harry. I’m just asking for you. For the person you promised me you’d always be.”

Harry didn’t respond right away, and when he did, his voice was tight, defensive. “Maybe that person isn’t here anymore, YNN. Maybe that’s what I’m trying to say.”

The silence that followed was suffocating. YN could hear the faint rustling of something on his end of the phone, the noise of people moving in the background, but it didn’t matter. The emptiness between them felt so loud, so unbearable. The connection that once held them together was fraying, thread by thread.

She swallowed hard, the tears welling in her eyes. “Fine,” she said, her voice breaking as she spoke. “If that’s how you feel, then I guess I’ll leave.”

The words came out before she could stop them, and she immediately regretted them. But the damage was done. The silence that followed was deafening, and the weight of Harry’s absence felt so heavy, so crushing, that she could barely breathe. The person she loved, the person she had given everything to, had just told her he was done. He was tired of her.

Before she could say another word, she ended the call. The click of the phone disconnecting felt like the final nail in the coffin, sealing whatever it was that they had left.

YN sat there for a long moment, staring at the phone in her hand as if it were some foreign object. She couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. Her mind was numb, her thoughts tangled in confusion and hurt. The apartment, their shared space, felt so small now. It felt suffocating. Every corner of the place was a reminder of everything that had once been good, everything that was now falling apart.

Tears blurred her vision as she stood up from the counter. She didn’t know what to do. She didn’t know where to go. But she couldn’t stay there. Not with him, not with the words he had just said. The love they had built felt like ashes, and she couldn’t breathe in the smoke any longer.

She started packing her things, her movements automatic, like she was on autopilot. Her hands shook as she threw clothes into a bag, not caring if they matched or if they were folded neatly. Nothing mattered in that moment except the urgent need to get away from the place that had once been home. She ignored the phone buzzing with messages, messages from Harry, apologizing, pleading with her to call him back. She couldn’t. Not yet. Not after the things he had said.

When she finished packing, she grabbed her bags and walked out the door. The apartment felt even emptier as she closed the door behind her. There were no more goodbyes, no more promises. Just the echo of his hurtful words ringing in her ears.

YN drove to her parents’ house in a daze, her eyes stinging with unshed tears. She couldn’t stop thinking about everything that had happened, about how quickly their love had unraveled. She needed space to think. To breathe. To figure out how to move on from this. But deep down, she knew it wasn’t that simple.

It wasn’t just a fight. It was something deeper. Something that couldn’t be fixed with apologies.

When she pulled into the driveway, she didn’t feel the relief she thought she would. Instead, the silence that had followed her from their apartment seemed to follow her here. Even the familiar sight of her childhood home didn’t offer the comfort it once had. It all felt distant. Empty. Just like her heart.

She stepped out of the car, closing the door behind her with a soft click. As she walked up to the front door, her phone buzzed again. She ignored it. She couldn’t bear to look at it. She couldn’t bear to see his name flashing on the screen. The man she loved had just shattered her heart into a million pieces, and she didn’t know how to pick them up.

The night had been a blur for Harry. The anger, the disappointment, the gnawing guilt in his chest from the argument with YN—it was all too much to bear. In the solitude of his hotel room, far from her, he drowned out the pain with alcohol. He knew he had messed up, knew he had hurt her with his words, but the overwhelming pressure of being on tour, the constant demand of being a public figure, and the exhaustion had driven him to the brink. He had never intended for it to escalate the way it did, but in his drunken haze, it all came crashing down.

Somewhere between the blurry shots and the endless stream of drinks, he found himself in a bar, surrounded by strangers, feeling more alone than he had in a long time. His phone was buzzing on the table, the screen lighting up with YN’s name flashing, but he didn’t pick it up. The coldness in his heart had become too unbearable, and he pushed her away instead of confronting the hurt he had caused. He just wanted the world to stop spinning for a moment. He wanted to forget everything that had gone wrong.

And that was when Emily Ratajkowski had walked in.

They had known each other for years, casually friendly in the way celebrities often are when their circles overlap. Emily, ever the charmer, had greeted Harry with a friendly smile. They sat and talked, their conversation casual at first, just the usual small talk about work and life. But Harry, caught in his haze of regret, had let his guard down. The more they talked, the more the words flowed. In some strange way, it felt easy to talk to her—like she was a stranger he could confide in, someone who didn’t carry the same weight of their past, the years of intimacy and history he shared with YN.

It didn’t take long before the alcohol took its toll. Emily’s laughter had filled the air, and Harry had found himself leaning closer, her presence soothing in a way that made him forget the ache in his chest. Before he knew it, they were kissing. His mind screamed for him to stop, to think about YN, to remember everything he stood to lose. But in that moment, he didn’t. The guilt had been smothered by the fleeting comfort of the kiss, the escape from his spiraling thoughts.

He didn’t remember much after that. The night blurred into incoherence, a jumble of laughter, flashes, and fleeting touches. Harry woke up the next morning, disoriented and groggy, the light filtering through the hotel room window far too bright. His phone was buzzing incessantly, and his stomach churned when he saw the series of missed calls and messages from YN. The weight of it all hit him like a wave, and for a moment, he just sat there, trying to piece together the fragments of his memories.

Then, his phone lit up with an alert—a notification from a gossip website, and his heart dropped into his stomach. There, in front of him, were pictures of him and Emily Ratajkowski, the kind of photos Harry had spent years avoiding. They were kissing, their lips pressed together, captured in a moment of reckless abandon that Harry didn’t even fully remember. The headline was cruel: Harry Styles and Emily Ratajkowski—A New Romance in the Making?

His throat tightened as he scrolled through the photos, his mind racing. He didn’t remember kissing her. He didn’t remember anything about that night except the overwhelming sense of regret that now gripped him. He had ruined everything. The fragile thread holding him together seemed to snap in that moment. He had lost YN, and now the media would make sure the world knew it. His personal life was on full display, and all he could think about was how much he had fucked it all up.

Desperation began to rise in his chest, and without thinking, he began sending text after text to YN, each one filled with apologies, regret, and pleas for her to talk to him. But she didn’t answer. The silence on the other end was deafening.

Meanwhile, YN was in her parents’ house, sitting in the living room with the muted glow of the television casting long shadows across the room. The house, once a place of comfort and warmth, now felt suffocating. Her mother had been quiet ever since YN arrived, sensing the heavy tension in the air. She tried to comfort her daughter, offering tea, but YN couldn’t bring herself to care. The weight of the argument, of the harsh words Harry had said, sat heavily in her chest, gnawing at her.

But when the photos surfaced—when she saw Harry with Emily, their lips locked, the headlines flashing across her phone—her world shattered all over again. The room spun around her, and she felt like she was suffocating. The love she had poured into her relationship with Harry now felt like a cruel joke. She had trusted him. She had believed in him. And now this—this betrayal was too much to bear.

Tears blurred her vision, and she quickly turned away from her phone. Her mother noticed the change in her expression and asked softly, “YN, what’s wrong, sweetheart?”

“I can’t do this,” YN whispered, choking on her tears. “I can’t keep doing this. I thought he loved me… but now… now I don’t know who he is anymore. It didn’t even take him a night to move on?”

Her mother hugged her tightly, murmuring comforting words, but YN couldn’t hear them. The pain of what she had seen—the public humiliation of it all—felt like a physical weight on her chest. She needed to get away. She needed to clear her head.

“I’m going for a walk,” she said, her voice distant, as if she were speaking to herself rather than her mother.

Her mother nodded, understanding the need for space, and watched as YN stepped outside, the cool evening air wrapping around her like a blanket.

The lake stretched out before her, calm and unbothered by the storm raging inside her. Its surface shimmered faintly under the overcast sky, the golden light of the fading afternoon barely breaking through the thick clouds. The familiar sight of it— the way the trees reflected on the water, the distant sound of birds, the rhythmic lapping of waves against the shore-should have brought YN the comfort she was seeking. But all it did was make her chest tighten with a suffocating ache.

She had always come to this place for solace, even as a child. The lake by her parents' house was her sanctuary, a space where the noise of the world couldn't touch her. But now, as she stood there, arms wrapped tightly around herself against the crisp autumn air, the silence was deafening. It wasn't peace she found here today. It was the echo of memories she had desperately tried to bury since she walked out of the home she had once shared with Harry.

Her boots crunched softly against the earth as she made her way closer to the water's edge, the damp grass soaking the hem of her dress. The wind whispered through the trees, carrying with it the faintest scent of pine and earth. But YN didn't notice. Her mind was far away, replaying a reel of memories she wished she could turn off. No matter how much she tried to focus on the present, her past with Harry came rushing back to her, vivid and bittersweet.

She crouched down near the shore, her fingertips brushing against the cool surface of the water. As ripples spread outward, her thoughts drifted to another time, another version of herself-a happier one. She closed her eyes, and it all came rushing back as if she were still there.

It had been a summer evening, the sun setting in brilliant hues of orange and pink.

Harry had been sitting on the dock, legs stretched out, his feet just barely skimming the water. YN had been lying beside him, her head resting on his thigh as they shared a bottle of wine they had stolen from her parents' pantry. The lake had been their escape that summer, a place where the chaos of Harry's career and the pressures of the world seemed to melt away.

"This place is magic," Harry had murmured, running his fingers absentmindedly through her hair. His voice had been low, almost reverent, as he looked out at the water.

YN had tilted her head to glance up at him, a smile tugging at her lips. "You always say that," she teased. "But you're not wrong."

He grinned, his dimple deepening as he looked down at her. "It's true, though. Don't you feel it? It's like... time stops here. Like nothing bad can touch us."

She had laughed softly, the sound blending with the gentle rustle of the trees.

"That's what l've always loved about this place. It's quiet. Peaceful. Away from everything."

Harry had hummed in agreement, his gaze softening as he studied her. "One day, YNN... one day l'd love to settle down somewhere like this. Away from the noise. Just us."

Her breath had caught at his words, her heart skipping a beat. "Just us?" she'd asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Well," he'd added, his lips twitching into a playful smile, "maybe not just us. I'm thinking a couple of little ones running around, maybe a dog... or two."

YN's heart skipped at his words, her stomach flipping in that way it always did when he hinted at their future. She laughed, nudging him playfully. "Little ones, huh? You planning on starting a family with me already, Styles?"

Harry grinned, his dimple showing as he leaned closer, the teasing glint in his eyes softening into something deeper. "Why not? I mean it, YNN. I'd love that. A house by the lake. Waking up every morning with you by my side. Teaching our kids how to fish or swim or whatever it is people do out here. It sounds perfect."

Her breath caught as she looked at him, the sincerity in his words tugging at something deep within her. "It does," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "It sounds perfect."

He reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering against her cheek. "You're perfect," he murmured, and before she could respond, he leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to her lips.

The world had faded away then, leaving only the two of them, wrapped in a bubble of love and possibility.

“I wouldn’t want anything less than forever when it comes to you.”

His words had settled into her heart like a warm glow, and she had leaned in to kiss him, the taste of wine still lingering on his lips. In that moment, with the sun setting and the world quiet around them, she had believed him. She had believed in forever.

YN blinked, the memory dissolving as the present came crashing back. The lake was still, the air cold, and Harry wasn't there. Her chest ached as she stared at the dock, the image of them sitting there overlaying the reality of its emptiness. She could almost hear his laughter, feel his hand in hers, but it was all in her mind.

The betrayal burned anew, the image of him with Emily flashing behind her eyes.

How could he have said those things, painted that picture of their future, and then so carelessly let it all fall apart? How could he kiss someone else after everything they had shared?

How had they gone from that to this? How had the man who once promised her forever ended up kissing someone else? The image of Harry and Emily flashed in her mind again, sharper this time, and her stomach twisted. She wrapped her arms tighter around herself, trying to hold together the pieces of her heart that felt like they were falling apart.

The lake, once her sanctuary, now felt like a cruel reminder of everything she had lost. The life she had envisioned with Harry-the house by the lake, the little ones running around, the forever they had dreamed of-felt like a distant, unattainable dream. And yet, no matter how much she wanted to hate him, to shut him out completely, her heart wouldn't let her. She still loved him, even now, even after everything.

YN sank down onto the grass, her knees pulled to her chest, tears streaming freely now. She thought of the countless nights they had spent talking about their dreams, their plans. The way Harry had once made her feel so safe, so sure of their love. And now, it all felt like a cruel joke, a dream turned nightmare.

"Why, Harry?" she whispered into the stillness. "Why did you have to ruin everything?"

The question hung in the air, unanswered, as the sun dipped lower on the horizon.

She let herself cry then, the sobs wracking her body as she finally allowed herself to feel the full weight of her heartbreak. The lake bore silent witness to her pain, its surface rippling gently as if trying to offer her some semblance of comfort.

The lake, once her sanctuary, now felt like a graveyard for their love.

When she returned to the house, her heart felt heavy, each step laden with the weight of everything she was feeling. But it wasn't the emptiness of the house that grabbed her attention; it was the faint sound-the small, deliberate taps against the window. At first, she thought it was the rain playing tricks on her, the gentle taps against the glass. But when she heard it again-sharp and insistent-her breath caught in her throat.

Her mind didn't even have time to process it fully. She spun toward the window, her heart pounding in her chest. And there he was.

Harry.

He stood in the pouring rain, his face pale, his hair clinging to his skin. His clothes were soaked through, and his hands trembled slightly as he threw small pebbles at the window, as if trying to wake her from a nightmare she couldn't escape. She stood frozen for a moment, unsure of what to do. Was this real? Was this the same man who had hurt her so badly?

But then, she saw it in his eyes-the desperation. The raw vulnerability. The silent plea for forgiveness that spoke louder than words ever could. He was standing there, drenched, with nothing left to lose. He was a broken man, and in that moment, she could see that he knew he had ruined everything.

Before she could stop herself, she ran to the down to the front door, threw it open, and without thinking, rushed outside into the rain.

The rain fell in torrents, its relentless downpour drowning out all sound except for the beat of water against the ground. Harry stood before YN, drenched, his eyes wide with desperate urgency, a look of raw pain etched into every line of his face. His clothes clung to his body, soaked through, but it was nothing compared to the turmoil inside of him.

“YN…” His voice broke, as if the weight of her name was too much to bear. His hand reached out shakily, desperate to bridge the gap between them, but she pulled away slightly. He flinched, not from her rejection, but from the weight of his own guilt that seemed to pull him lower with every passing second.

“I—” He took a breath, trying to steady himself, but his words tumbled out in a frantic rush. “I never meant for it to be this way. I never meant to hurt you, YNN. I swear, I never thought—God, I was so drunk, so damn stupid. I don’t even remember what happened, but I know I messed up. I know I messed everything up.”

YN’s heart clenched painfully in her chest. She wanted to scream at him, to tell him how much he had hurt her, how much his words still stung like a constant ache in her soul. But instead, she stood there, her breath coming in ragged bursts, staring at him as he trembled in the rain. She wasn’t sure whether it was the cold of the storm or the pain inside him that made him shudder, but it was impossible to ignore the depth of his regret.

“You do remember, Harry,” she finally spoke, her voice shaking but strong. “You remember everything, even if you don’t remember that moment. You remember the things you said to me. You remember how you treated me. How you—” She stopped herself, not wanting to continue with the painful words. But the memory of his cutting tone, his dismissive words, echoed in her mind, taunting her, making her question everything they had ever shared. “I trusted you. I loved you. And you—you broke me.”

Harry’s eyes welled with unshed tears as he took a step toward her, this time not caring if she pulled away. He was beyond caring about the rain, beyond caring about anything except for the woman standing before him, the one person who had always been his everything.

“I know,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion, and she could see the raw vulnerability in his eyes. “I know I broke you. And that’s the worst part of it. I never wanted to hurt you. Not in a million years. I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you, YNN. You’re it for me, you always have been.” He reached for her again, but this time she didn’t pull away. His fingers brushed against hers, a tentative touch, as if he were afraid she might vanish the moment he let go.

“But I let my stupid insecurities, my stupid mistakes, cloud everything,” he continued, his voice cracking. “I’ve never been more scared of losing someone than I am of losing you, and I couldn’t see that until now. I couldn’t see that you are the one I need. That it’s not the fame, it’s not the tour, it’s not anyone or anything else—it’s you, YN. You’re the only thing that matters.”

The words hung in the air like fragile threads, each one trembling with a rawness that made YN’s heart ache in ways she didn’t think possible. The anger, the hurt—it was still there, simmering beneath the surface, but now there was something else too: hope. Hope that maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t all lost.

She swallowed hard, her throat dry. She wanted to push him away, wanted to shout at him for what he had done, but when she looked at him—really looked at him—there was something so devastatingly human about him, standing there, shaking in the rain. He was broken, but there was sincerity in his apology, a plea that reached her heart in ways his words never had before.

“You don’t even understand what you’ve done to me, Harry,” she said, her voice quivering as she took a step back. “You think it’s just about what happened with her, with Emily? It’s not. It’s about everything that led up to that moment. It’s about the words you said to me, the way you dismissed everything we had, everything I gave you. It’s about how you made me feel like I wasn’t enough.”

Harry closed his eyes, a silent tear slipping down his cheek. “I didn’t mean to make you feel that way, YNN. I never wanted you to feel like you weren’t enough. You’re everything to me. I’ve been an idiot, and I know I’ve hurt you, but please… don’t let this be the end for us. I can’t lose you. I just can’t… live without you. I can’t.”

The storm raged around them, but the silence between them felt deafening, thick with the weight of everything unsaid, everything unresolved. YN could feel the anger still bubbling inside her, but she also felt the pull of something deeper—the love she had for him, the love that she had thought was gone, but now seemed to flicker in her chest like a fragile flame.

She wanted to stay angry, to hold onto the hurt, but something inside her was giving way.

“Harry, I…” Her voice faltered, the words catching in her throat as her chest tightened painfully. “I don’t know if I can forgive you right now. I need time. I need space to figure this out.” She shook her head, unable to meet his eyes as the tears finally spilled over, mingling with the rain. “I don’t know if I can go back to who we were. You hurt me too much.”

He stepped forward again, his hand reaching for her, trembling with the force of his desperation. “Please, YN. I’ll do anything. I’ll give you all the space you need. I’ll be patient, I swear. I’ll wait as long as it takes. But don’t walk away from me. Please.”

She didn’t respond immediately. The storm had drowned out every thought, every hesitation in her mind, but there was still one thing she knew for certain: she couldn’t let him go. Not yet. She wasn’t ready. Not when her heart was still so tangled up in him, so unable to let go of the person he had once been to her.

“I need time,” she repeated softly, her voice barely audible against the pounding rain. “I need to think, Harry. Please, just… just go inside. I can’t—” She couldn’t finish the sentence, not without breaking apart completely.

Harry nodded, his face a picture of heartbreaking understanding. His heart was in pieces, but he was willing to wait, willing to do whatever it took to prove that he could make things right. Without another word, he turned toward the house, slowly, unwilling to leave her in the storm but knowing that he had to respect her need for space.

YN watched him go, her heart heavy in her chest, torn between love and hurt, between forgiveness and anger. The rain continued to pour, and as she stood there, feeling the cold seep into her bones, she wondered if they would ever find their way back to each other—or if this was the beginning of the end.

The night had felt like an eternity. Each minute stretched on, filled with haunting thoughts and the pounding rhythm of YNs heart. Her mind was tangled in knots, the anger still burning bright, but beneath it all, there was an undercurrent of something she couldn’t deny: the love she still had for Harry. It was the kind of love that had once felt so pure, so easy, but now felt fractured, jagged, like trying to hold onto a shattered glass piece that was bleeding into her heart.

She hadn’t been able to sleep. The past few days, the pain, the betrayal, the anger—it all swirled together in a mess that made her restless. Harry’s words from the night before—the desperate, raw apology—replayed over and over again in her mind, like a broken record. And yet, each time she thought of it, the hurt crept back in. She had tried to push it away, tried to convince herself that she could ignore it, but the reality was that she couldn’t. Not when the memories of their love, of their happy moments, still clung to her like the scent of his cologne.

But it wasn’t just the hurt she was feeling. There was something else, something deeper, something that felt too real to ignore. She couldn’t escape the way her heart still responded to Harry, no matter how hard she tried.

As the morning light began to filter through the windows, YN could no longer stay in the silence of her room. She had to see him. She had to confront everything that had happened and, maybe—just maybe—find a way to heal. But even as the desire to see him grew stronger, there was still that gnawing uncertainty. Could she really trust him again? Could she really forgive him for what had happened?

The house was quiet as she made her way down the stairs, the soft creak of the wooden steps echoing in the otherwise still air. The soft hum of the morning felt foreign against the heaviness that weighed on her shoulders, but she ignored it, pushing forward. When she stepped outside, the cold hit her like a rush, but it was nothing compared to the chill in her heart.

The lake was quiet, still as glass, the air thick with the faint scent of damp earth and fresh water. And there, sitting on the grass at the edge of the lake, was Harry. His posture was slumped, his shoulders drooped, as though the weight of the world was resting on him. The sight of him in this state, so broken and vulnerable, pulled at her heart in ways she couldn’t explain.

He looked so small, so lost.

For a moment, YN stood there, watching him. She wasn’t sure what to do, what to say. But as she watched him, she realized that she couldn’t stay away. Not anymore. She had to speak. She had to let him know how much he had hurt her, but also how much she still cared, despite everything.

Her footsteps were quiet on the soft earth as she made her way toward him. Harry didn’t look up immediately, but she could see the slight twitch of his head as if he felt her presence. His face was blank, his eyes staring out at the water, but there was something in the way he held himself that spoke volumes.

YN stopped just a few feet away, standing still as the silence stretched between them. For what felt like an eternity, neither of them spoke. The tension was thick, palpable, like a heavy fog.

Finally, she couldn’t stand it anymore. The silence, the uncertainty. She had to break it.

“I don’t even know where to start, Harry,” she said, her voice trembling just slightly as she crossed her arms over her chest, trying to protect herself from the rawness of the moment. “You hurt me. You really hurt me. And I don’t know if I can ever forget what you said to me. What you did to us.”

Harry flinched, as if each word she spoke cut through him. He finally lifted his head, his red-rimmed eyes meeting hers. There was guilt in those eyes, raw and undeniable. His voice came out barely above a whisper.

“I’m sorry, YNN. I’m so sorry. I can’t even begin to explain how much I regret everything. I was angry, and I was drunk, and I didn’t—” He cut himself off, his hands shaking as he clenched them into fists at his sides. “I never meant to hurt you. Not like that. You’re everything to me, YNN. You always have been.”

YN took a deep breath, her chest tight with the conflicting emotions. She wanted to stay angry, to protect herself from the pain he’d caused, but she couldn’t deny that his words, his remorse, were hitting something deep inside her. It wasn’t enough to erase the hurt, but it was a start. She looked at him, really looked at him, and saw how broken he was. He was a man who had made a mistake, but he was also a man who still cared for her.

“I don’t want to feel like this anymore,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I don’t want to live in the hurt and the anger. I want to move past this, but I need to know that you’ll never do this again. I need to know that you’re willing to fight for us.”

Harry’s eyes welled up, the emotion overwhelming him. He reached out then, taking her hand gently, almost like he was afraid she might pull away. “I swear to you, YNN. I’ll fight for us. I’ll fight for you. I’ll do whatever it takes to make this right. I’ll spend every single day proving to you that you’re worth more than anything, more than the stupid mistakes I’ve made. You mean everything to me.”

YN’s breath caught in her throat. It was impossible to ignore the depth of his words, the rawness in his voice. But it wasn’t just the words that got to her; it was the sincerity in his eyes, the vulnerability that he rarely showed anyone, let alone her.

She stepped closer to him, her heart pounding as she tried to make sense of the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside her. She had been so angry, so broken, but looking at him now, she realized that she couldn’t just walk away.

“I want to believe you, Harry,” she whispered, her voice shaking. “I really do. But I need time. I need time to heal, to trust you again.”

Harry’s face softened, relief flooding through him. “I understand. Take all the time you need. I’ll be here, every step of the way. I’ll prove to you that I’m worth it. That we’re worth it.”

And in that moment, everything felt a little bit clearer. The storm inside her had not fully subsided, but the clouds were beginning to part, and the sun was starting to peek through. She stepped closer, closing the distance between them, and in one slow, careful motion, she placed her hand on his chest. The steady beat of his heart under her palm was a reminder of how much he still cared.

“I’m willing to try,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’m willing to try if you promise me that you’ll never let me go again.”

Harry’s eyes shone with tears, and he pulled her into his arms, his hands cupping her face gently as he kissed her forehead, his lips brushing softly over her skin. “I promise you, YNN. I’ll never let you go. You’re my everything. I love you.”

YN closed her eyes, letting his words wash over her. She hadn’t been sure if she could forgive him, if she could ever move past the hurt. But standing here in his arms, feeling his heart beat against hers, she realized that love wasn’t always easy. It wasn’t always simple. But it was worth fighting for.

“I love you too,” she whispered back, her voice trembling with emotion.

And as they stood there, wrapped in each other’s arms, the world around them felt a little less heavy, a little less uncertain. The future was still unclear, but for the first time in a long time, they both had hope.

They’ll be alright.

409 notes · View notes

littlespoonevan · 3 months ago

Text

never knew i wanted you so bad

whatever you do don't listen to roots by grace davies and think about 8b eddie🫠 8x13 coda bc i will not know peace until we get a buckley-diaz family reunion

Eddie props his phone up against an empty mug on the coffee table, feeling Chris shift in anticipation at his side while the FaceTime dial tone rings out. They don’t have to wait long for Buck to pick up – he’s pretty sure Buck hasn’t let any phone call go beyond three rings since he got to Texas.

When the call connects there’s a moment where Eddie thinks Buck is frozen but then Chris exclaims a, “Hey Buck!” and Eddie watches what must’ve been shock on Buck’s face melt into something soft and familiar.

“God, it feels good to see the two of you next to each other again,” Buck says, exhaling a little laugh. “Hey, buddy. I missed you.”

The words make Eddie’s stomach clench and he can’t help tightening his hold around Chris, if only because he’s the only one of the two of them Eddie can actually reach for. He knows Buck has stayed in contact with Chris these past few months. It’s mostly been through stupid memes he sends into the groupchat the three of them have but they haven’t talked on the phone except for the few times Buck has been there when Eddie was FaceTiming Chris.

“Miss you too,” Chris says, leaning a little more into Eddie’s side so he can see the phone better. “How’s the house? What’s it look like with all your stuff in it?”

Buck grins, big and bright, and the camera jostles for a second as he clearly picks up his phone. “You want a tour?”

Buck takes them on a tour of their house, something he hasn’t actually done in all the times he and Eddie have been on FaceTime. Eddie can always tell what part of the house he’s in but usually the screen is taken up by Buck’s face. Now, he walks them from room to room while Chris makes fun of him for laying out the house the exact same way they did except with his own stuff instead.

“What can I say?” Buck shrugs when he turns the camera back to his face. “Your dad’s got an eye for interior decorating.”

Eddie looks at his current living room that’s not quite falling down around him anymore but still isn’t in the best shape and says, “Think you might be thinking a little too highly of me with that one, Buck.”

In truth, seeing Buck’s furniture from the loft fill up his house feels…complicated. But he doesn’t hate it. Buck’s stuff is as familiar to him as his own that seeing it now doesn’t feel wrong. It’s just- strange. Like everything in the house has shifted slightly off centre. It’s right but it’s not.

“That doesn’t sound like me,” Buck quips, waggling his eyebrows, and Eddie is suddenly hit with a fierce ache of missing him.

It’s funny; they’ve talked on the phone so much since he moved it’s been easy sometimes to imagine that nothing has changed, that Buck is still right where he needs him. And he is, technically. He’s staying in Eddie’s house so Eddie can be here with Chris.

But there’s also a thought somewhere in the back of his head telling him where he really needs Buck is here.

They talk for a little while longer, with Chris catching Buck up on the past couple of weeks. Eddie is happy to let their conversation wash over him as he basks in the feeling of finally having Chris back where he belongs. And if he closes his eyes it could be any regular Saturday night between the three of them.

Eventually though Chris announces he’s going to order him and Eddie takeout since Eddie is apparently going to be too busy talking to Buck to make them dinner.

“Hey, me and your dad cook on FaceTime together all the time,” Buck says on the other end of the line but Chris waves him away. Even though it’s true. Eddie doesn’t think he’s cooked a single meal since he moved here without Buck on the phone.

“Yeah, but I want to order pizza, Buck. So just distract Dad a little longer, okay?”

Buck laughs and Eddie laughs with him, privately relieved Chris is joking about this kind of stuff again. Eddie runs a hand through his hair and lets him get up.

“My wallet’s in my-”

“In your jacket pocket, I know,” Chris interrupts, already making a beeline for where Eddie left it in the kitchen.

Eddie watches him go for a second before turning back to the phone.

“Man, how has that kid gotten so big in just a few months?” Buck asks with a sigh.

It’s a thought Eddie’s had too many times since he’s come back to in El Paso but Chris has never felt younger to him than he did today. He saw him at the tournament and all he could think was that that was his baby and he needed to protect him.

Picking up the phone from the coffee table, he allows himself to slouch back against the couch cushions. “You should see how tall he is now. Practically up to my shoulder.”

Buck smiles but the longing in his eyes is impossible to miss and Eddie wishes, not for the first time, they didn’t have to do this over FaceTime. He seems to rally after a beat, redirecting his attention to Eddie and lowering his voice, presumably in case Chris is still within earshot.

“What about you? How’s it feel having him back?”

Eddie blows out a breath, dragging his free hand over his face. “It’s a relief,” he says. “Feel like I can finally breathe for the first time in months.”

“I’ll bet,” Buck murmurs and Eddie watches him for a moment.

Even through the grainy FaceTime camera he’s easy to read. The faint sheen in his eyes, the curve of his mouth settled into the kind of smile Eddie thinks he’s only ever seen directed at himself and it’s-

It’s a reminder, suddenly. That the ache in his chest – the one he’s been carrying around for months since he lost Christopher – isn’t entirely gone. It should be. He thought it was.

But maybe this ache isn’t for Christopher.

“I miss you.”

He says it softly, the words spilling out over the waver in his voice and the lump in his throat, and it’s like he can finally let himself feel it now. Now that Chris is safe under the same roof as him. Now that he did what he came here to do. When he and Chris had talked on the drive home – really, when Chris had said, “You’ll be my dad again?” and shattered his heart to pieces – Eddie had had a realisation.

That he could’ve come to take Chris home at any point and Chris would’ve let him. That Chris wanted him to do that. That he could’ve done all of this without moving.

And maybe- maybe it wouldn’t have worked out that way and maybe it would’ve just pushed Chris further away but it doesn’t stop the traitorous part of his brain from imagining where he and Chris would be now.

In a plane or a car. Going home to the only place that’s ever felt like home.

On his phone, Buck’s expression crumbles but he recovers quickly, offering Eddie a tremulous smile. “Miss you too.”

And Eddie opens his mouth to say- something, probably, but he’s interrupted by a yell of, “Dad, do you want pepperoni?” from the kitchen.

He blinks, clearing his throat and glancing away from his phone towards the sound of Chris’ voice. “Sounds good, bud!”

When he looks back to the screen Buck is staring at him with something knowing in his eyes and Eddie can’t help blurting out, “Stay for dinner?”

“What?”

“I- I mean,” he stutters. “Stay on the call? Order your own pizza. We can watch a movie, sync it up so we both press play at the same time and it’ll be like-”

Like normal.

Like before.

Like you’re really here.

Buck is silent for a beat too long and Eddie has the hysterical thought that somehow this is thing that made him push too far but then Buck lets out a hesitant, “Uh, sure.”

He nods to himself then and the smile that makes its way back onto his face is real. “Yeah, okay. I’ll- Let me just go into the app to order.”

Eddie huffs a laugh, fond and a little bit too filled with yearning. “You can hang up the phone to order your pizza, Buck.”

“It’s okay,” Buck says. “I don’t want to.”

And, well. Eddie doesn’t really want him to either.

#buddie #buckley diaz family #911 #my fics #8x13 #this is not helped by me rewatching the lightning strike eps lol

361 notes · View notes

annlyticalarchive · 9 days ago

Text

CHAPTER NINE: The Date, the Dog, and the Domain

”You will be different, sometimes you’ll feel like an outcast, but you’ll never be alone”

Mark Grayson X Kryptonian/Clark Kent! Reader

Prologue|Chapter Eight|Chapter Nine (Here)| Chapter Ten

w/c: 5.6k

a/n: two rewrites done and still not incredibly happy with it, but it’s mainly just the two goobers so I’m content with it

“Superwoman!”

You loved Lois. You really did. She was one of your best friends.

But if you heard—

“Lois Lane, I’d like to interview you for the Daily Planet!” And speak of the devil, and she’ll appear.

You pushed through the crowd that had gathered around you in the park, phones out and filming you and the grounded plane behind you.

“I’m sorry, no comment,” you said with your most polite smile, beginning to hover just out of reach.

“Wait—” Lois started, but you were already gone.

By the fifth time it happened that morning, you were starting to feel genuinely sorry for her.

Well right up until she snapped a cuff on your wrist and then the other on hers.

“I’m getting—” She had to pause, doubled over with one hand on her knees, breathless. “—an interview.”

“Miss Lane…” you sighed, looking at the ridiculous pair of handcuffs connecting you. With your strength, you could break them easily. But you knew that even you couldn’t run from Lois when she wanted something. So, you might as well just give her the exclusive.

“Alright,” you muttered, resigned. You gently scooped her up and took off, heading straight for the rooftop of the Daily Planet.

You touched down lightly, setting Lois on her feet as she fumbled to pull out her recorder with her one free hand, her dominant one now locked to yours.

“Lois Lane, reporter for the Daily Planet,” she said, still catching her breath. “And I have some questions for you.”

“That much is clear.” You folded your arms as best as you could with a reporter attached to one of them. “You’ve been trying to catch me for days.”

“Hah, well—” Lois gave a breathless chuckle, shaking her head before composing herself. “Superwoman, would you be willing to answer a few questions for the people?”

“The people deserve truth and transparency,” you said, nodding. Her face lit up, and guilt twisted in your chest. It didn’t feel great, keeping your secret from her.

“Okay,” she said eagerly. “Who are you?”

“You’ve named me Superwoman. I’ve been told it suits me.” You smiled.

“Yeah, I didn’t think I’d get your identity that easy,” she muttered, shifting gears. “Where are you from?”

“I’m not entirely sure. Space?” you said, then clarified with a shrug, “But I was raised on Earth.”

She blinked. “Okay… so, alien.”

“Technically,” you nodded. “But Earth is my home.”

She nodded thoughtfully and moved on. “What can you do?”

“I’m not entirely sure of the full extent yet,” you said with a shrug. “I’m still figuring it out. Strength, flight, speed, durability, that sort of thing.”

She glanced at your still-linked wrists, recorder still running. “Are you a member of any hero organization? Any government contract?”

“No,” you said firmly. “I don’t take orders. I don’t want someone telling me who I can and cannot save.”

Lois nodded slowly, thoughtful. “Then who holds you accountable?”

That made you pause.

You looked at her, really looked, and said quietly, “I do.”

She blinked, thrown off for a beat. But then she nodded again, much smaller, more personal this time. “Okay.”

“I just want to help,” you added. “That’s all.”

She exhaled. “Okay. One more, what drives you to help?”

After a beat, you answered quietly, “Because I can. And I think if you can help, you should.”

She didn’t say anything for a moment. She just studied you, softly and genuinely, like maybe she wasn’t just seeing the cape anymore.

Then, “That’s a good answer.”

You gave her a small smile. “It’s the truth.”

Lois reached into her bag and pulled out a tiny key, unlocking the cuffs with a smug little flourish. “Thanks for the exclusive, Superwoman.”

“Anytime, Miss Lane.”

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

“You’re overthinking this,” Jimmy said from the couch, watching as you paced back and forth, two outfits in hand.

“I just—what do you think?” you asked, finally stopping and holding both options up to your chest.

“Green. The black’s too fancy,” he replied, propping his chin up with his palm.

“Thanks!” you said with relief, darting off to the shared bathroom.

As you slipped the green blouse over your head, Jimmy called through the closed door, “You do realize it’s just a coffee date, right? Mark’s not taking you to a five-star rooftop restaurant.”

“I know, but—” You paused, adjusting the waistband of your pants. “I’ve never really been on a proper date. I mean, there was Lana back in Smallville, but that wasn’t… this is different. Mark is different. I want this to be serious.”

“Kansas,” Jimmy groaned just as you stepped out of the bathroom, straightening your glasses with one hand.

He got up and placed both hands on your shoulders. “You’ve been pining for him for how long? You both mutually asked each other out after dinner with his family. You’ve got this. There’s literally nothing to worry about.”

You sighed, then nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, okay. I’ve got this.”

“And if you don’t, you’ve got me and Lois to cry on,” Jimmy added casually as you slung your bag over your shoulder.

You froze mid-step and shot him a glare.

“But you’ve got this! You do!” he rushed to say, nudging you toward the door. “Now go get him, farm girl!”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help the grin tugging at the corner of your mouth as you stepped outside, the door clicking shut behind you.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

The cozy cafe Mark picked was small and quiet, tucked between a bookstore and a florist.

The kind of place with real cups and mugs, soft indie music playing just loud enough to fill the silence, and walls lined with artwork painted by local artists with ‘For Sale’ stickers underneath them.

You spotted him through the front window before he saw you. He was already seated, nervously tapping his fingers on the table, a second mug waiting across from him.

He looked up just as you opened the door.

And his smile, soft and wide, made something warm bloom in your chest.

“Hey,” he said, standing a little too fast and bumping the table. “Sorry— hi. You look great.”

You smiled as you walked over, “You look nice too.”

He held your chair out without thinking, and you caught yourself grinning again as you sat.

“I didn’t keep you waiting long, did I?” you asked nervously as he slid back into his seat. “I know we said the time, but I wasn’t sure if—”

“It’s fine,” Mark said, cutting you off with a gentle laugh. “I know you run on ‘on time is late’ logic, but seriously, you’re fine.”

The waitress came over to take your orders, two coffees and a small plate of assorted pastries, had you two pay, then left you to it.

You both settled in, and conversation flowed easily. At first it was a little awkward, at least for you. Stumbling over your words and not knowing how ‘date talk’ works. Mark was sweet though, which calmed most your nerves.

“Wait, you played baseball?” Mark asked, grinning as he leaned forward. “Were you any good?”

“Eh,” you shrugged with a grimace. “Better on field than bat, I was scared of it. But I liked it. Small town league, nothing serious. My Pa was the assistant coach.”

Mark laughed. “Okay, now I have to know, what position?”

“Outfielder.”

“That tracks,” he said with a smirk.

You sipped your coffee. “Let me guess, you were the home run king?”

“Pfft, not even close,” he chuckled. “I was okay, I remember I had one good home run, but other than that I was the strike out king. I think I peaked at neighborhood T-ball.”

You both laughed, the kind that warmed your ribs and made the coffee taste just a little sweeter.

“I’ve been reading some of my dad’s books,” Mark added. You vaguely remembered him mentioning them recently in passing, something about old adventures turned fiction.

“Oh yeah?”

“They seem like novels, but they’re based on him. His experiences. And I was thinking… maybe he ran into someone like you. One of you, I guess,” he said. “We could read them together, if you’d like?”

His voice was softer then, careful. You couldn’t tell if it was because of the subject or because it was you he was offering this to.

Before you could answer, your phone started to ring.

“I’m—ugh, I’m so sorry. Let me just—” you started as you pulled it from your bag, already fumbling to silence it. But your fingers paused when you saw the caller ID.

Ma.

Mark, who had been watching, glanced at the screen and gave you an easy smile. “You should probably take that.”

“You sure?” you asked, already half-rising from your seat.

“It’s your mom,” he said, shaking his head. “Of course. Go.”

You mouthed a quick thank you as you stepped toward the café’s front windows, lifting the phone to your ear.

“Hi, Ma,” you greeted, trying to keep your voice light.

“Hey, baby. I’m sorry—you're not at work, right?” Her voice was warm, familiar, grounding. But there was a twinge to it. A tension. Enough to make your stomach knot.

“No, it’s my day off. I’m out with a friend,” you said, shaking your head even though she couldn’t see it.

“Oh, I don’t mean to be a bother, but…” She paused, and the slight crackle of the speaker only made your nerves worse. “Something crashed out in the fields. Your Pa said it looked like your ship.”

Your blood went cold.

Without a word, you speed-walked back to the table, phone still pressed to your ear. “I’ll— yeah, I’ll run over real quick. I’ll take care of it.”

Mark stood up as you approached, clearly concerned. “What’s wrong?” he asked as you grabbed your bag and slung it over your shoulder in one fluid motion.

“Something crashed on our farm,” you said breathlessly. “I need to check it out.”

Mark didn’t hesitate. “I’m coming with you.”

“You don’t have to— really, it’s fine—”

“I want to,” he said, tone firm, brows knit with a worried frown.

You paused. Maybe you agreed because it was Mark, or maybe because deep down, you knew he could help.

You nodded.

Together, the two of you ducked into a nearby alley. A moment later, two streaks of color lifted into the sky, one red and blue, the other blue and yellow, as you flew fast toward Smallville.

𓈒 ⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

The fields of the Kent farm were bathed in late afternoon light when the two you descended, boots hitting the dirt with a sharp thud. Mark landed a half-second later beside you, eyes scanning the rows of corn that bordered the property.

You made a beeline toward the porch. Swinging the door open and walking in quickly while Mark hesitated at the doorway.

“Ma? Pa?” You called in the main room.

Your parents rounded the corner from the kitchen, Ma took your forearms in her hands. Pa, while admittedly giving Mark an odd look, waved the boy in.

“We haven’t gotten close since your Pa got a look at it,” Ma explained as she gently turned you toward the back door. “We called you right after.”

You nodded and waved Mark along. Out back, a thin plume of fading smoke still curled into the sky, like a beacon in the middle of the fields.

“Sorry meeting Ma wasn’t under better circumstances,” you said, trying to joke as you walked. It was the wheat season, so the field was like golden grass. The impact trail was obvious, a long scorched scar across the earth.

Mark chuckled from a few steps behind. “Knowing me, it could’ve been worse.”

And then you saw it.

The ship came into full view, smaller than yours, but otherwise a carbon copy. It sat completely still. No hum. No glow. No movement.

Nothing.

Not until you stepped closer and reached out, your fingertips brushing the surface, despite Mark’s quiet, urgent, “Wait—”

A sharp hiss split the silence.

And then

white.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Mark ducked back just in time as a white blur exploded from the hatch, slamming into you and launching you across the field like a ragdoll.

He shouted your name, taking off after you without hesitation.

You hit the ground hard, skidding through dirt and grass as the blur gave chase. Before you could even fully stop, it hit you again, square in the chest with a solid enough thud that Mark could hear knock the wind from your lungs.

Mark didn’t think, instead he dove, arms outstretched, and managed to grab hold of something furry and thrashing. But it squirmed violently in his grip, let out a low growl, and launched itself off him with force strong enough to crack something in his ribs.

He barely caught his breath before it pinned him to the ground. His goggles flickered, vision momentarily blurry, until it cleared.

And then he realized what had him pinned was a dog.

A very angry dog.

White fur. Bared teeth. Piercing blue eyes.

Or rather, eyes that were blue until they weren’t. A glowing red hue started to burn through the irises, heat building behind its gaze.

“No!” your voice rang out across the field, slicing through the tension like lightning. The hound’s ears perked. Its head snapped toward you.

It kicked off Mark’s chest so hard that he doubled over with a wheeze, coughing, definitely bruised, maybe worse.

But when the hound barreled into you again, it didn’t attack.

It bounced.

Literally bounced.

Tail wagging. Tongue flopping. Eyes wide. It leapt up, licked your cheek, dropped to the ground, and bounced again like it hadn’t just tried to kill Mark seconds earlier.

“Mark!” you yelled, still a bit breathless, arms up in a loose shield as the creature practically climbed over you in excitement. “You okay?”

For a brief moment, he wanted to say something stupid like Not when you say my name like that, but all that came out was a dazed, “Yeah. I think so.”

He pushed himself up slowly, wincing. His ribs protested every movement.

You grunted, finally managing to shove the dog off. But instead of backing away, it latched onto your cape in its teeth and started tugging like it was playing tug-of-war.

If it wasn’t so shocking, Mark would find it endearing.

“Stop! Quit it!” you barked, trying to yank the fabric free, but the dog just wagged harder and dragged you several feet, toward the ship.

It let go only once you were directly in front of it.

Then, with a small huff, it bounded back into the pod and reemerged with something clutched in its jaws: a crystal, about the size of a hand.

The dog padded toward you, tail still wagging, and plopped the crystal into your lap with a satisfied little chuff before sitting down and staring at you, ears perked like it had done the best trick in the world.

Mark approached cautiously, only to stop as the dog lifted its head and gave a low, unmistakable growl, hackles bristling.

But then you made a sharp sound, one that Mark can easily see you using to get a farm animal’s attention.

And just like that, it settled again.

Mark crouched beside you, resting a hand gently on your shoulder as you stared down at the crystal.

“It’s a dog,” you breathed, glancing up at him. Your eyes were wide, disbelieving. “Alien dog. Are there any alien dogs in your dad’s books?”

“None that I’ve read,” Mark huffed, he was still working his way through him, but for some reason he doubted it’d be in there anyway. “You okay?”

You nodded, standing up and patting your chest, “Yeah, just got the air knocked outta me. Not used to that.”

Mark’s hand drifted from your shoulder, down your arm, to your hand that holds the crystal. “You sure?”

“I’m good, promise,” You turn to give him a reassuring smile, your cheeks flushed.

He watched as you hummed and stood up, the dog quickly gaining energy as it bounced around your feet.

“I’ve seen something like this before…” you murmured, staring down at the crystal. Then you looked to Mark, then back toward the house, and finally, toward the barn at the edge of the field. “C’mere.”

Mark followed you across the grass and through the creaking barn doors. Dust floated in the golden light filtering through the roofing. You walked past old equipment and a sun-faded tractor to a shape hidden beneath a thick tarp.

You grabbed the edge and pulled. Beneath it sat your pod.

“This is my ship,” you said, glancing back at him. “When the vision ended, I saw crystal things like this one, they slid back into the walls here.”

You stepped closer, fingers tracing the narrow seams in the pod’s inner casing outlines where similar crystals had once clicked perfectly into place.

“So you think they’re like… flash drives?” Mark asked, planting his hands on his hips. “Crystal flash drives. Man, I wish that was the weirdest thing I’ve seen from space.”

You made a breathy noise, like a laugh cut short as you tensed, and Mark was about to ask what was wrong until he heard it. A crackle.

Mark stiffened. So did the dog, ears snapping forward as it growled low in its throat.

Mark stepped forward, subtly shifting his stance now fully between you and the sound.

A familiar figure stood framed in the barn doorway, backlit by the setting sun. Scarred. Calm. Watching.

Director Cecil Stedman.

“You know,” he said, voice casual like he’d been here all afternoon, “I almost believed you when you said you didn’t want attention.”

His eye flicked from you to the pod, then to the dog.

“And maybe you don’t know this,” he continued, “but when a ship that matches the one you came down in, crashes down from a suspended orbit around the sun? That’s not exactly subtle.”

“I told you to stay the hell away,” Mark said, low and dangerous.

“And I told you we were watching,” Cecil replied with a sigh. “But now it seems like we’ve moved past requirements for watching.”

He looked back to you with growing irritation. “What have you done? What is that thing, and more importantly, what is happening in the Arctic?”

You stepped forward, voice cool and even despite the adrenaline humming in your blood.

“I’ll be honest and say, I don’t know. But what I do know?” you said. “You’re on private property, uninvited, Director.”

The dog growled, a low rumble vibrating through the whole barn.

Cecil’s brow lifted just slightly. The only sign he’d registered the threat.

He didn’t move.

Behind you, Mark took another step forward, now standing shoulder to shoulder with you.

“I know how this looks,” Cecil said after a beat, voice tight with frustration. “But a large unknown energy surge appeared in the Arctic Circle. The readings matched whatever that came down in.”

He gestured broadly to the dog at your feet.

“And I need to know,” he continued, eyes locking with yours, “if you’re the reason the the next invasion happens. Intentional or not.”

Mark’s expression darkened immediately.

“You serious right now?” he snapped, stepping forward, his fists clenched. “You show up unannounced, throw accusations around, and the first thing you do is threaten her?”

“Mark,” you said softly, placing a hand on his arm.

He didn’t look at you right away, but he stilled under your touch. You stepped around him, calm but firm as you faced Cecil directly.

“Look, if you’re genuinely that concerned,” you said evenly, “I’ll go check it out.”

Cecil’s eyes narrowed, scanning your face like he was trying to see through you. But after a pause, he gave a tight nod.

Without another word, he turned and walked back outside. A second later, he was gone, teleported back to whatever surveillance bunker he’d crawled out of.

Mark let out a slow breath as he stepped closer.

“You sure about this?” he asked, voice lower now, more concern than anger. Not that the anger had really faded, just taken a backseat. “You don’t owe him anything. You don’t owe them anything.”

You hesitated, your gaze drifting toward the ship, then to the dog, now curled lazily on the floor of the barn.

Then you looked back at him.

“I think these ships… They only activate for me,” you said softly. “Like they recognize me, or my DNA, or something.”

Mark frowned. “You think that’s why they’re showing up? Because of you?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “But if they’re drawn to me, or if someone’s sending them, then I need to figure it out before someone else gets hurt. It’s my responsibility.”

He watched you for a second. You weren’t panicked. You weren’t scared. You were steady. Determined. And it made something tighten in his chest.

“Okay,” he said, exhaling. “Then I’m coming with you.”

You gave him a quick smile, bumping your shoulder against his. “Wouldn’t expect anything else.”

From the grass, the white dog let out a soft whine, tail thumping once against the dirt.

Mark raised an eyebrow. “So… are we bringing that thing too?”

“Of course we are,” you murmured, frowning like he was the one being weird. “We have to bring it.”

“We have to?” he echoed, eyebrows raised, hands settling on his hips.

“It came out of a pod,” you said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “We’re probably going to check out another pod. It’s a logical decision, Mark.”

“Obvious. Totally logical,” he muttered, raising both hands in mock surrender, fighting the small smile tugging at his mouth. You were already defending the furball like it was your little sibling. “Not like it knock both of us on our asses or anything.”

You ignored that, turning toward the barn with the dog at your heels, now practically prancing after you.

Back inside, your Ma and Pa looked about as surprised as Mark felt when the dog trotted in beside you like it’d always lived there. Your Ma blinked slowly, while your Pa muttered something about needing to redo the field.

You explained the situation, how there’s likely another crash, this one in the Arctic, and that you were going to check it out.

That you’d be careful. That you’d be back.

Your Ma hugged you.

But Mark?

He got a warning. A real, serious one.

“She’s strong, I know,” your Pa said lowly, hand firm on Mark’s shoulder. “But that doesn’t mean you don’t keep her safe. Understood?”

Mark nodded. “I will, sir. I promise.”

Outside, you lifted off first, the now late afternoon light catching in your hair as the wind rippled your cape. Mark followed a second later.

And sure enough, like it was the most natural thing in the world, the dog launched after you, legs kicking as it took to the air like it’d done it a hundred times.

Mark watched it for a moment, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Right,” he muttered, glancing over at you with a smirk. “Flying dog. Of course.”

You just grinned as the three of you soared north, toward cold winds and a glowing Arctic horizon.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

“Okay, okay,” Mark said through laughter, turning to face you with his mask on. “But you have to admit, you need a mask.”

You frowned, shouting a little over the rush of wind. “But the glasses!”

“Not exactly a mask,” Mark called back, grinning behind the lenses.

“Then what are your lenses for, bug boy?” you countered, making finger goggles at him.

“To keep the wind out of my eyes!” he argued, mock-offended.

You opened your mouth to retort, probably something scathing and perfect, but the air cracked like a whip.

Sharp. Sudden. Wrong.

Both of you went silent mid-flight.

Then, ahead of you in the snow-blanketed distance, something began rising.

Slowly at first, then with increasing speed, like a spiraling tower unfolding from the depths of the Earth. But not a tower. Not really.

A cluster.

Spikes of translucent blue-white crystal burst upward, spinning, threading together like a frozen bloom.

“Holy shit,” Mark muttered beside you, barely audible over the wind.

And then, barking.

The dog rocketed ahead, a streak of white against white, leaving a flurry of disturbed snow in its wake as it zeroed in on the structure.

You and Mark followed.

The fortress loomed the closer you got. It wasn’t just tall, it was enormous. Alien in design. Each spire jagged but symmetrical, arranged with the kind of deliberate, quiet logic that felt, simply put, alien.

You felt it in your bones before your boots touched the snow.

You landed a few paces behind the dog, Mark thudding into the snow beside you. The cold bit at your face, but you barely noticed. Your eyes were on the structure.

There was a door, or something like one, embedded in the crystal. Seamless and opaque. No handle, no indentation. Like it didn’t want to be opened.

Until the dog trotted up to it.

It barked once.

Loud. Echoing.

The crystal responded with a low resonance, like a chime underwater. Then the door began slowly sink back into the snow.

You stared.

Mark, behind you, let out a low breath. “Okay… that’s new.”

You didn’t reply. You were already moving forward.

The dog trotted through the now-open threshold without hesitation. You followed, heart pounding, senses buzzing. Mark was close behind.

The inside was dim but glowing, lit from within by crystalline veins that pulsed faintly in the walls. The hallway, if it could even be called that, was high-ceilinged, made entirely of seamless crystal, and unnaturally quiet. Every single thing was made of the same crystal. No footsteps echoed. No wind howled through. Just silence.

Then, at the end of the corridor, the dog stopped in front of another formation.

This one wasn’t a door. It was a pedestal. In the middle of a circular room. And in it, one single slot, like the crystals you’d found in the pods belong in there.

Your breath caught.

Mark stepped up beside you, rubbing his arms for warmth, eyes locked on the glowing pedestal.

“Is this..?”

“Like the ones I have?” you murmured, barely above a whisper. “I think so.”

The dog sat beside the pedestal, tail thumping against the crystal floor, gaze fixed on you expectantly.

Mark looked to you again.

You swallowed and reached into your bag that you’d brought, fingers brushing against the crystal you’d taken from the pod.

You slotted it into the hollow.

There was a sound like a bell ringing underwater, and then

light.

Brilliant and golden, flaring out in every direction.

And when it faded, a figure stood before you.

A man.

The same one from your vision. Sharp-featured, robed in layers of red and black, a circlet on his head, his eyes solemn and steady even in flickering light.

You held your breath.

“Do you recognize him?” Mark asked, voice quiet beside you.

You could only nod. “From my vision.”

The hologram opened its mouth and began to speak.

But the language that came out the same one you couldn’t understand.

You stared, heart tightening.

Mark glanced at you. “Yeah. That is definitely not any that I’ve heard.”

You almost laughed, but didn’t. You were too still, too focused.

The man paused, a sigh passing over his expression as if even the recorded message could feel your confusion. He raised one hand and raised it facing you.

From the pedestal, another crystal dislodged and rose.

Cautiously, you reached out. As your fingers brushed it, a flicker of light bloomed in your vision, projected into your mind more than your eyes.

You saw letters, an alphabet. Complex. Elegant and sharp. Completely unfamiliar.

But then, the letters shifted.

They morphed. Bent. Aligned themselves into something you could understand.

English.

It was a translation key.

You blinked, stunned, as more characters slid into place, one by one, matching up with their English counterparts.

Beside you, Mark tilted his head. “Is it working?”

You let out a breath, half-relieved, half-annoyed. “Yeah. Kind of. It’s like the Rosetta Stone.”

“So… you’re gonna have to learn your message?”

You glanced at him, deadpan. “Apparently.”

He let out a low whistle. “Man. That’s one hell of a voicemail.”

Despite yourself, you smiled.

But it didn’t last long.

Because the hologram hadn’t stopped. He was still speaking, still trying to reach you. And now, with the translator forming around you, slowly translating his words in pieces.

Not full sentences. Not yet.

But fragments.

“...my daughter…”

“...survival…”

“...Krypto... safe…”

You sucked in a breath.

The dog whined softly, pressing its body closer to your side.

You looked up at the stranger, no, your father’s flickering image, your heart pounding in your chest, not from fear.

But from something heavier.

A grief you felt like you had no business feeling.

He was a stranger. A ghost. And still, somewhere in the echo of his voice, you felt small, like a child left behind.

Without another word, you reached out and pulled the crystal from its slot.

The image stuttered once then blinked out entirely.

Mark said your name softly behind you, but you didn’t wait.

You turned and walked out of the chamber, leaving the crystal where it was.

“Let’s go,” you said, voice even. “It’s probably late back home.”

Mark didn’t argue.

He followed without a word. The dog padded after him, quiet but alert, as though it could feel the tension you weren’t voicing.

The flight back to Kansas was silent. Wind rushing. Sun beginning to dip low behind you.

When you landed in front of the farmhouse, your smile was automatic.

Your parents greeted you with warm voices and concerned eyes, but you waved it off. You asked them to keep an eye on Krypto, if you’d read the slowly translating message correctly, that was his name, for a few days while you figured out if Jimmy’s lease allowed dogs.

They said yes without hesitation.

And still, Mark frowned.

It wasn’t until you landed on the roof of your apartment building in the low light of the evening that he finally spoke, arms crossed, his posture rigid and tone blunt.

“You gonna actually tell me what’s wrong? Or do I have to force it out of you?”

You sighed, rubbing your eyes with the heel of your palm. “It’s nothing. Promise. Just…”

You hesitated, voice softening into guilt.

“I’m sorry our date got ruined.”

Mark’s brow furrowed, confused.

“I get it if you don’t want any more hero craziness in your life,” you continued, avoiding his eyes. “You’ve already got so much on your plate, your dad, Viltrumites, the GDA. You don’t need me throwing in a dead planet and a dead father I can’t even understand and—”

Your voice cracked as the words rushed out in a ramble, messy and fast. “—and I feel selfish, even trying to pretend I could have something normal. Like a date. Like us. I shouldn’t have expected that. I shouldn't have dragged you into this—”

“Hey.”

Mark stepped forward, cutting you off with a hand on your arm.

You finally looked up.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” he asked, voice gentler now despite the irritation in his expression. “Do you seriously think I don’t want to be here? With you?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but nothing came out.

Mark shook his head, stepping closer. “Yeah, I’ve got crap going on. You do too. And yeah, today got hijacked by… spaceship dogs and holographic dads and mysterious Fortress-of-Whatever in the Arctic.”

Despite yourself, a short laugh escaped your chest.

“But I’m not here because I want things to be easy,” he continued. “I’m here because it’s you. Because you make the hard stuff feel bearable. Even when you’re being stubborn and self-sacrificing like it’s a competitive sport.”

You blinked, caught off guard by how earnest he sounded.

“Also,” he added with a wry smile, “I don’t know if you know this, but I kinda like you.”

A breath of laughter slipped past your lips, shaky, quiet.

“You’re not mad?”

“I’m mad that you keep deciding how I feel,” he said gently. “But I’m not mad at you.”

You didn’t say anything. You just stepped forward, slipping your arms around his waist and resting your head against his chest.

Mark didn’t hesitate. He wrapped you up immediately, strong and steady, like he’d been waiting for the chance.

“…So,” he murmured, voice low and warm in your hair, “can I still count this as our first date?”

You tilted your head back just enough to look up at him.

“Yeah. But I’m paying for the next one.”

His grin tugged wider. “So there’s going to be a next one?”

“Of course. Here I thought you said you liked me,” you muttered, trying to pull away.

Emphasis on trying. He just held on tighter.

“Oh, I do,” he said, voice annoyingly smug now. “Which is why I’m not letting go until you say it back.”

You snorted. “Mark.”

“Say it.”

“I literally just said I’m paying for the next date—”

“That’s not the same and you know it.”

You groaned and dropped your forehead against his chest again. “Fine. I like you too. A lot. Happy now?”

He hummed, satisfied. “Very.”

You rolled your eyes, but you didn’t pull away this time.

“…Wanna come in for a bit?” you asked, voice quieter. “I think we have leftover cake on the counter.”

Mark raised an eyebrow, smirk pulling at his lips. “Are we talking actual cake, or like..?”

You swatted his chest. “Actual cake, you perv.”

He grinned. “Still sounds great.”

And together, you made your way through the roof access door and downstairs.

#kryptonian reader #invincible x reader #invincible x you #mark grayson x reader #mark grayson x you #softer than steel

166 notes · View notes