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Three Of Us | Chapter Two (2/3)

Lando Norris x Original Female Character x Oscar Piastri

Summary — Margot has single-handedly run Marjorie’s Bakeshop, a Monaco institution, ever since her grandmother’s passing. It’s by chance that a tiny blue Fiat Jolly breaks down on the curb right in-front of her door.

Warnings — Established!Landoscar, polyamory negotiations, eventual throuple, slow(ish) burn, vandalism, OFC has atypical OCD.

Notes — Margot my sweet baby... please get the hint. They want you so bad omg.

The door clicked shut behind them. Oscar locked it without a word, setting his keys in the dish by the entry like always. No wasted movement. No fanfare.

Lando was already face-down on the couch.

“Mmph.”

Oscar raised an eyebrow. “Tired, baby?”

“Margot,” Lando groaned into the cushions in response. “She’s literally—like, actually—too pretty. My brain’s stopped working. I’m not okay.”

Oscar toed off his shoes and wandered toward the kitchen. “Well, I’ve known that for a while now.” He said, half amused.

“Yeah, but Osc — she had that little scarf thing in her hair. And she laughed at your dumb parking joke.”

Oscar opened the fridge, stared inside like something appetising might jump out at him. “That wasn’t a joke. The sensors are just wrong.”

“Still. She laughed.” Lando lifted his head just enough to squint toward the hallway. “Do you think she knows how distractingly lovely she is?”

Oscar grabbed two bottles of water from the fridge, then came back into the living room. “She knows,” he said, setting one can beside Lando and sinking into the armchair across from him. “She just doesn’t do anything with it.”

Lando blinked, sitting up. “God, that’s worse.”

Oscar shrugged, cool and quiet. “It’s better.”

They both sat for a moment, the hum of the streetlights outside the only sound.

Then Lando leaned forward, elbows on knees. “We should take her on a date.”

Oscar met his eyes. “Obviously.”

“Yeah but—” Lando made a helpless little gesture, fingers fluttering like moths. “She might freak out. Just… you know. We’ll tell her to come for pasta. It’ll casual. Except it won’t be. Except it totally will be.”

Oscar took a slow sip of water. “You done?”

“I can’t stop thinking about her smile.”

Oscar’s mouth twitched at the corner — almost a smile. “We could just invite her over here for a takeaway or something.”

“Shit, yeah. Good idea, babe.”

“But if she dances around it too much,” Oscar added calmly, “If she doesn’t seem to be getting the picture — I’ll just book a reservation at a fancy restaurant, tell her to wear something pretty, and give her no other choice.”

Lando grinned, already soft. “You always get so bossy when you’re being romantic.”

Oscar raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t seem to mind.”

“That’s because you tricked me. You said it was a ‘cool-down dinner.’ I thought we were debriefing.”

Oscar leaned back, arms folded. “You wore your favourite aftershave.”

“You told me to make an effort!”

“And you kept wearing it afterwards. Every day. And now you make me buy you a new bottle everytime you run out.”

Lando blushed. “Okay, that’s—yeah. Shut up.”

Oscar didn’t. He just tilted his head, studying him. “She’s smart,” he said quietly. “Sharp. Observant. I like that.”

“Yeah,” Lando said, softer. “And I like her hands. Is that weird?”

Oscar’s brows drew together. “Her hands?”

“They always look a little flour-dusted. And she wears that little plastic ring. She’s got this…” Lando shook his head, at a loss. “Like, bakery angel energy. She makes my heart feel funny, you know? Is that weird?”

Oscar didn’t laugh, but something about him softened. “No. That’s not weird.”

Lando looked up. “Really?”

Oscar met his gaze steadily. “You think I haven’t noticed her hands?”

Lando smiled.

Then he said, “Alright. Takeaway night at our place. We ask. Nicely. No kidnapping.”

Oscar opened the pizza box. “Yet.”

��

Saturdays were always for the market. Even during race week.

Margot walked alongside Alex through the winding rows of open-air stalls, the scent of sun-warmed fruit and fresh bread curling around them like something familiar. Alex had already claimed a peach, turning it over in her manicured fingers, examining it.

“Do you ever think about wearing anything not in the neutral family?” Alex teased, eyeing the simple linen dress Margot had slipped on that morning.

“I think about a lot of things,” Margot replied, adjusting the woven basket on her arm. “Doesn’t mean I act on them.”

Alex laughed. “You’re such a grandma.”

Margot smiled. She’d take that as a compliment.

They strolled past a stall full of heirloom tomatoes, then one with hand-dyed napkins, the kind Margot never bought but always paused to admire. The sun was bright, and the streets were buzzing in that particular way they always were the weekend before the Monaco Grand Prix — louder, glossier, full of people pretending not to stare.

Alex nudged her. “Charles asked again if you’d come this year. He said he would be able to get you onto the Ferrari guest list.”

Margot didn’t pause. “Tell him thank you, but no.”

“You sure?” Alex asked, light but persistent. “He’s desperate to win it — finally. It could be very special.”

“It will be special,” Margot said. “It’s the best day of the year for business.”

Alex made a soft, thoughtful sound. “You could hire someone. I’ve been telling you that for years.”

“No.”

The word came fast. Harder than Margot meant it.

Alex blinked, then slowed a little as they passed a display of linen dresses.

“I’m sorry,” Margot said quickly, voice low. “I didn’t mean to bite. I just… Marjorie’s is my whole world. I know how everything works. When to switch the pastries, how the regulars take their coffee, how many tarts we actually sell versus how many people say they want one. I can’t just… hand that over to someone else. Even for a day.”

Alex didn’t flinch. She just tucked her arm through Margot’s, squeezing gently.

“It’s fine,” she said with a small smile. “I love how much you love Marjorie’s.”

Margot’s throat caught for a moment — the kind of emotion that shows up when you’re not looking for it. She smiled.

“You think they’ll ever make a dress that fits a person with wide hips and a need for multiple pockets?” she asked, nudging her chin toward the boutique window ahead of them.

Alex grinned. “If they do, I’ll buy you every colour.”

—

The flatscreen buzzed to life at exactly 15:55. Volume low. Subtitles on. The feed rolled into pre-quali coverage — engine sounds softened to background texture, commentators already debating tire strategy.

Margot barely looked up. She knew the schedule by heart.

Marjorie’s was packed, elbow-to-elbow in that loud, warm way only Monaco could manage — polished and chaotic all at once. Someone was ordering a second lavender scone. Two girls at the front table were splitting an apricot tart. Tourists in team caps shuffled in and out, bringing in bursts of sunlight and conversation.

Behind the bar, Margot moved like she always did: smooth, fast, methodical.

Pull espresso.

Tap out the puck.

Steam milk.

Swipe the counter.

Smile.

“Ferrari’s running softs already?” someone muttered near the back, eyes on the screen.

“Is Charles up yet?” another asked.

Margot didn’t need to answer — someone else always would. The café had regulars who followed F1 the way other people followed religion. It was background noise and heartbeat all in one.

But she had added that TV. It was the only thing she’d changed when she inherited the business. The walls were still lemon cream. The same brass hooks held the same mugs. The menu board was still written in her grandmother’s spidery chalk hand, just copied fresh every month.

But the big screen? That was her addition.

She liked the rhythm of the race weekends. The buildup. The strategy. The precision. She liked knowing that right now, less than two kilometers away, teams were holding their breath while men she’d brushed shoulders with tried to shave half a tenth off perfection.

She didn’t let herself look at the standings. Not right away. Not when it might mean seeing two names and feeling something she didn’t have time to feel.

Instead, she poured another espresso.

“Full house today,” Luc said. He was one of the locals who always flocked to Marjorie’s on race weekends.

She nodded. “Quali always is.”

“You should charge double.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

He grinned and slipped back into the crowd.

At the far table, someone cheered. Margot allowed herself a glance toward the screen.

Oscar’s name lit the timing board. Purple sector one.

She didn’t smile. Not quite. But she did watch the lap through, eyes sharp even as she wiped down the bar.

There was flour on her wrist. She didn’t brush it off.

—

Charles opened the door with a grin that was far too smug.

“I’m not staying long,” Margot said as she stepped inside — mostly to herself, because Alex was already pulling her in by the wrist with a triumphant “She came!”

The apartment smelled like pizza and aftershave and engine grease. Not in a bad way. In a race-weekend way. The kind of smell that made you think of speed and adrenaline and champagne sprayed across pit walls.

“You said there’d be food,” Margot muttered, toeing off her flats. Alex handed her a slice before she’d even made it to the kitchen island.

“Fresh from the gods of Napoli,” she said solemnly. “Or whatever place down the road Charles panic-ordered from.”

“Best in Monaco,” Charles called from the couch, where he was half-sunk into cushions, hair still damp from media duties. He held up the remote. “You missed me being charming on camera.”

“I’ll survive.”

Except she didn’t. Not entirely.

Because five minutes later, Margot found herself tucked beside Alex on the floor, eating basil off the top of her slice, while a man with a shoulder-mounted camera hovered discreetly in the corner.

“Don’t mind him,” Alex said, mouth full. “He’s Netflix.”

Margot blinked. “What?”

“Drive to Survive,” the cameraman confirmed with a polite nod. “Just catching some B-roll for the post-quali segment.”

Margot immediately sat straighter. “Am I in frame?”

Alex grinned like a cat. “You’re so in frame.”

“Alex.”

“Oh, relax. You’re adorable. And come on, you’ve got that whole mysterious girl-in-a-bakery vibe. The fans are going to eat it up.”

“I am not a storyline.”

“Not yet.” Alex leaned in, voice low and teasing. “But give it a few weeks. A couple of suspicious glances from Lando. Oscar making a loaf of sourdough from scratch. Boom. McLaren throuple. Global headlines.”

Margot nearly choked on her pizza. “You are insane.”

“Thank you, I try.”

From the couch, Charles just laughed and flipped to another highlight reel. “You should’ve seen her today, Margot. She cried.”

“You got pole!” Alex said, indignant.

The room settled into warmth and crumbs and the low murmur of post-qualifying analysis. Outside, Monaco glowed. Inside, Margot let herself stay a little longer than planned.

Just a little.

Long enough to laugh.

Long enough to forget, for one quiet moment, how complicated it could all get.

—

The city was still asleep when Margot turned the corner onto Rue Jules Soccal. Pale gold light slipped between shuttered windows, and the hush that came before the Grand Prix felt heavier than usual — the kind of quiet that buzzed with held breath.

She almost didn’t see it.

Not until she reached the steps of the café and nearly tripped over the box tucked neatly against the door. Not a delivery crate. Not a courier envelope.

A bouquet.

No—a bouquet was too modest a word.

This was a small explosion of florals, wild and tall and sun-soaked — shades of orange and peach and papaya that spilled from crinkled brown paper like a sunset had been caught in her arms. Margot crouched to pick it up, eyes catching the little folded square of paper taped to the side.

It wasn’t signed in full, just a scrawl in slightly smudged ink:

Cheer for us today,

l + o x

Margot stared at it for a long moment.

Then smiled — quiet and involuntary, a thing that pulled from deep in her chest like something waking up.

She unlocked the café door slowly, bouquet cradled like something sacred. Inside, the scent of cinnamon and sugar greeted her like always. Familiar. Steady.

She set the flowers in her grandmother’s old blue pitcher and placed them dead center on the windowsill. Just where the morning light hit best.

By the time she flipped the sign and switched on the flatscreen, there was already a line outside.

—

By midday, the bakery was loud in the way only Marjorie’s ever got — espresso hissing, plates clinking, the low hum of chatter layered beneath the flatscreen broadcast mounted on the far wall.

Margot never watched during service. Not really. She let it play for the tourists, for the families passing through, for the regulars who liked to sip and shout commentary at the screen like it made any difference.

Charles had started on pole.

That alone was enough to make the room feel a little fizzy.

Margot moved between tables with practiced ease, refilling cups, collecting crumbs, setting down fresh raspberry tartelettes with a quiet voilà.

Outside, the streets of Monaco were barricaded, empty of traffic but thick with anticipation. The race could be heard in the distance like a ghost of thunder — only louder when the café door swung open and let in bursts of sound.

“Lap fifty-five!” someone called, pointing at the screen.

Margot didn’t look up at first. Just smiled, wiped her hands on the cloth at her waist, and moved behind the bar. But then she heard it — the commentator’s voice lifting, turning almost breathless.

“He’s done it! Charles Leclerc wins the Monaco Grand Prix—his home race, finally—”

The café erupted.

Not in chaos, but in that sweet, surprised kind of applause you heard after someone said I do or a magician made a dove disappear. Customers stood. A woman at the window dabbed her eyes. The old man with the spaniel gave a proud little whoop, and Margot—

Margot looked up.

And for just a second, her whole chest filled.

Not because she followed every race. Not because she was a Ferrari fan or because Alex would come by later, cheeks pink with pride and a camera roll full of pit wall photos.

But because she’d known him as a boy. A boy in the class two years above her.

Because once, years ago, he’d pressed his nose against the café window and asked her grandmother if the tarte au citron was made fresh that morning, and if he was allowed to buy enough for him and his brothers too.

Because he had never stopped waving when he passed the bakery on his bike.

Because Monaco was small, and memories stuck like sugar.

Margot poured two more coffees and gave away a free slice of apricot clafoutis. The café stayed full long into the afternoon.

And on the windowsill, the papaya-orange bouquet caught the light, blooming.

—

Marjorie’s was closed. Lights dimmed. Chairs stacked.

Margot was halfway through her final wipe-down of the espresso machine — ritual, always — when there was a knock at the side door.

Two soft raps. Then one.

She knew it before she even looked.

She opened the door to Lando first — all curls and grins and the undeniable smell of whatever expensive aftershave he always wore to race weekends. Oscar was a step behind, still in his team jacket, zipped all the way up despite the warm night air.

“Hey,” Lando said, rocking back on his heels. “We brought leftovers.”

Oscar held up a pizza box. Margot narrowed her eyes like she was deciding whether to scold or smile.

She smiled. “Come in.”

They slipped inside like it was natural. Like they’d done it before. Shoes scuffing the tiles, Lando already pulling plates from the shelf he definitely wasn’t supposed to know about. Oscar set the box on the bar, then quietly started helping her stack the last of the pastry trays.

“The flowers were… really pretty,” Margot said eventually. “Brightened the whole day.”

Oscar gave a nod — casual, unreadable. “We figured papaya was a safe bet.”

“They represented us,” Lando added. “Obviously.”

Margot flushed. Then leaned against the bar, arms crossed, uncertain.

“You’re both—”

They looked up.

“—really close,” she finished. “I mean, obviously. But I’ve been… wondering.”

Oscar raised an eyebrow. “Wondering what?”

Margot exhaled in one go, like ripping off a bandage. “Are you two together?”

A pause.

Then Lando laughed — not meanly. Just surprised.

“Charles didn’t tell you?”

“Well,” Margot hedged, “kind of? He said something vague, Alex too, but I didn’t press. I figured it wasn’t really my business.”

Oscar was the one who spoke next. “That’s fair.”

He stepped around the bar, closer now, resting his hands on the edge. Lando lingered beside the espresso machine, pretending to examine the switches like he hadn’t already memorized what every one of them did.

“It’s new to most people,” Oscar said. “But not to us.”

“And now it’s kind of new to you,” Lando added, shooting Margot a lopsided smile. “Surprise.”

Margot laughed. Tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Honestly, it just makes sense.”

Oscar’s mouth twitched. “You don’t think it’s strange?”

Margot blinked at him. Then reached for a slice of pizza, steam curling in the air between them.

“I think,” she said slowly, “that Charles just won in Monaco. There are stranger things.”

Lando snorted. “Can’t argue with that.”

Oscar watched her — calm, unreadable, but not distant. There was something deliberate about the way he leaned his hip against the bar, the way his arms stayed uncrossed, like he wanted to be seen as open. Not pushing. Just… here.

Lando came around to her side of the counter with two plates, setting them down in front of her like they belonged there. He didn’t touch her — didn’t even brush her hand — but he hovered a little closer than he had to. Not crowding. Just… waiting.

“Not everyone would’ve been cool with it,” Oscar said after a beat. “Us.”

Margot glanced up. “You mean dating as teammates?”

He shook his head once. “No. I mean… like this.”

Her eyes darted between them. “I don’t think there’s a rule for what makes something strange. Just what makes it work.”

Lando gave a soft, pleased sound, almost a hum. “You’re clever.”

“She’s thoughtful,” Oscar corrected gently.

Margot looked down, cheeks flushed, but didn’t deflect. Not this time.

The three of them stood there in the dim quiet — half-lit bakery, cooling pizza, sugar still in the air — and it didn’t feel like a moment that needed to move quickly. It just needed to settle.

Lando leaned against the counter beside her. “You know,” he said, casual as anything, “we’ve been thinking about asking you to dinner. Properly.”

Oscar didn’t flinch. Just nodded once.

Margot turned to him. “Both of you?”

“Together,” Oscar said.

“We like being together,” Lando added, then grinned sheepishly. “And we like being with you.”

She didn’t answer right away. Didn’t smile, didn’t frown. Just let the moment stretch.

Oscar watched her closely. “No pressure. We mean that.”

Lando gave a one-shouldered shrug. “Just… if you ever feel like it. There’s room.”

The phrase lingered — there’s room — and Margot felt it settle somewhere low in her chest. Not heavy. Not sharp. Just new.

There was room.

She took a bite of pizza. Chewed. Swallowed. Then looked at them both, eyes soft but steady.

“Dinner,” she echoed.

Oscar gave the barest smile.

Lando beamed.

Margot smiled too.

—

Margot didn’t even sit down.

She let herself into her apartment, dropped her keys somewhere vaguely near the side table, and stabbed at her phone screen with such ferocity she nearly FaceTimed her landlord instead.

“Pick up, pick up, pick up—”

Alex answered on the third ring, voice casual and smug before Margot even spoke.

“Well, well, well.”

“You were right.” Margot was pacing already. Hair still in a loose bakery bun, pizza scent still clinging to her apron. “It’s a throuple thing. It’s a throuple thing.”

A beat of delighted silence. “You don’t say.”

Margot groaned and flopped onto her couch. “They showed up at the bakery tonight.”

“I told you—”

“And flowers, the ones I texted you about this morning?”

“Oh, I remember.”

Margot clutched a cushion to her chest like a life raft. “They asked me to dinner. Together.”

Alex gasped. “Wait, like properly? Not a ‘we’re all conveniently hungry’ thing?”

“No, a real dinner. Oscar said ‘together,’ and Lando said, ‘We like being with you,’ and then Lando said— oh my God, he said, ‘There’s room.’”

Alex squealed. “Stop. I’m going to throw up.”

“I’m freaking out!”

“Margot, welcome to the throuple program. I’ve been trying to prepare you for weeks.”

Margot buried her face in the pillow. “What do I do?”

“You say yes to dinner, you wear something cute.”

Margot groaned louder. “What if it’s weird? What if I ruin everything? What if I’m just—a passing crush or the local flavor or a sad little ‘let’s add a girl’ fantasy—”

Alex cut her off. “Okay, no. No spiral monologue. They’re not like that. They like you.”

Margot sat back up, the cushion still clutched like a shield. “…what if I like them back?”

Alex’s voice softened. “Then you’re already halfway there.”

There was a pause.

Margot blew out a breath. “You’re so annoying when you’re right.”

“I know,” Alex said brightly. “Now go shower, put on a dress, and come and celebrate Charles’ win with us!”

—

The club pulsed with bass and champagne. It was the kind of place that only made sense on a night like this — when the whole city felt like it belonged to Charles, when the streets of Monaco still echoed with cheers, when the sea glittered like it knew him personally.

Charles was practically vibrating. He had one arm around Alex, the other wrapped in the flag they’d draped around his shoulders after the podium. “Ce soir,” he grinned, already drunk on adrenaline and barely touching his drink, “we celebrate everything.”

Margot wasn’t even sure how she’d ended up here. One minute she’d been in jeans behind the bakery counter, and the next she was in a little black dress Alex had pulled from the back of her closet, surrounded by the most famous people in motorsport.

And yet, the only ones she was really aware of were Lando and Oscar.

They’d arrived late — late enough for it to feel intentional, late enough for Margot to see the exact moment they spotted her.

They’d only been eating pizza together a few hours ago — but it felt like a lifetime.

Oscar’s gaze settled on her like it had every right to. Warm. Steady. Barely a flicker of surprise that she looked different tonight — flushed with champagne and golden under the lights.

Lando, on the other hand, actually tripped over someone’s shoe.

She couldn’t help but laugh.

“You came,” she said, lifting her glass toward them as they approached.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Lando grinned, eyes flicking to her dress, then darting away like it physically pained him. “You, uh. Look insane.”

Oscar smirked. “He means good. Really good.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You always translate for each other?”

Lando leaned in, his breath warm near her ear. “Only when he’s being smug.”

“And are you?”

Oscar just smiled. “A little.”

They danced. Of course they danced. Charles was off on some VIP table being adored, Alex was busy convincing a bartender to make spritzes the “proper Italian way,” and Margot — well, Margot was glowing.

At some point, Lando spun her under the lights and didn’t let go. At another, Oscar’s hand found the small of her back and stayed there.

And neither of them looked uncomfortable with the other.

They just looked at her.

With open space.

With invitation.

With room.

Margot tilted her head back and laughed — truly laughed, light and free and full of something she hadn’t felt in a long time.

Maybe this was what Charles had meant by everything.

—

The bakery was quiet.

Not empty — there were still a few couples chatting over tarts and two older men arguing gently in French about the Grand Prix results — but quiet in that way Margot liked best. The espresso machine silent. The air warm. The hum of calm routine settling back over everything.

She was wiping down the till when she noticed it.

A small seam she’d never seen before — on the underside of the drawer, flush against the wood grain. She blinked. Leaned closer. Ran her fingertip along it.

It clicked.

A hidden compartment popped open with the softest creak, and inside was a small envelope, yellowed at the corners. Her name was written on the front in faded blue ink, in her grandmother’s unmistakable handwriting — tall and looping, always a little slanted to the left.

Her throat tightened.

She sat down right there on the floor behind the counter, legs folding beneath her, fingers trembling just slightly as she opened the envelope.

Inside: one piece of stationery. Floral at the corners, faintly scented with something old and familiar. Lavender, maybe.

Margot,

If you’re reading this, you found the drawer I swore I’d tell you about “one day.” I suppose today is that day.

I don’t know what you’re looking for, my heart, but if it led you here, then I hope it’s comfort. Or maybe just proof that I was always thinking ahead — about you, and my legacy, and how much it would all mean when I wasn’t around to explain it.

You’ve always had your own way of doing things. That’s good. Don’t ever let anyone take that from you. But know that running this bakery isn’t just about success. It’s about the people. About joy.

Make room for that joy, sweet girl.

I love you.

— Grandmere

Margot folded the letter back up slowly, her chest hollow and full at once. A tear slipped down her cheek. She wiped it away, but didn’t rush.

She let herself feel it.

The grief, still there, like a soft ache behind her ribs.

She glanced toward the door, toward the sunlight spilling through the windowpanes.

Then she stood. Smoothed her apron. Placed the letter in the drawer again, right where she’d found it.

And wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her shirt, just once.

There was baking to do.

She leaned back against the counter and looked out at the light dancing across the tiled floor, the outline of the chairs she straightened every night before closing, the sugar jar Oscar had fiddled with when he didn’t think she was watching. Lando’s silly little note still pinned to the notice board — a badly drawn doodle of the three of them, smiling like cartoon idiots.

She tried not to think too hard.

About how Lando had looked at her, steady and sure, and said there was room for her.

About how her grandmother had written, “Make room for joy.”

She tried not to — but the thought came anyway, soft and stubborn as a rising loaf:

Maybe she was the joy.

Not just someone who made the pastries, lit the candles, kept the place running.

But the joy itself.

The thing someone made room for.

It made her heart twist in the quietest, most dangerous way — with want, with hope. It scared her a little. But she didn’t look away from it this time.

She let it bloom.

Just for a moment.

And then the bell above the door rang, and she blinked, straightened up, and smiled like she hadn’t just had a world-shifting realization behind the till.

—

There was a knock at the door just as she was deciding whether or not to change her top for the third time. Not a buzz — not the building intercom — just a knock.

She stared at the door for a second.

Then another.

Then, with a sharp breath, she opened it.

Oscar and Lando stood there. Oscar in a black button-down rolled at the sleeves, Lando in a soft, pale tee that clung to his collarbones.

Lando was holding flowers — not papaya this time, but soft lavender and cream, tied in a ribbon that looked suspiciously like one she’d used to wrap a pastry box the week before.

“Hi,” she said, voice light. Nervous. Oscar’s gaze dropped to the flowers. Lando held them out, slightly awkward.

“They’re not as dramatic as last time, but we thought—”

“That you’d see the ribbon we nicked from your bakery and think it was romantic?” Oscar finished, perfectly deadpan. His mouth twitched.

“Yeah, exactly that,” Lando said.

Margot took the bouquet, fingers brushing Lando’s as she did. Her chest ached in that good, unfamiliar way again — the one that started in the quiet and bloomed louder.

Oscar stepped in closer, not assuming, just waiting. “You ready?”

She nodded, not quite trusting her voice. “Where are we going?”

Lando grinned, all bright eyes and too much charm. “Somewhere nice.”

Oscar arched a brow. “But not too nice. We didn’t want to overwhelm you.”

“Yeah! But it’s going to be, like, a fun nice dinner,” Lando added. “First date dinner. You’ll love it.”

Margot looked at them, standing in her doorway like they’d always belonged there. She glanced down at the bouquet in her hands. Her smile curved.

“All right,” she said, stepping out and pulling the door shut behind her. “First date it is.”

Oscar offered his arm. Lando offered his, too, with a little wiggle of his eyebrows like he wasn’t sure which side she’d take.

She looped an arm through each.

NEXT CHAPTER

426 notes · View notes

soobsim · 3 months ago

Note

I have a request! Angry sex with gyu? You have an arguement and spend the whole day ignoring each other until you come home...:>

(haven't proof-read and i'm rustyyyyyy, but here goes)

control c.bg

[DISCLAIMER: nsfw – minors dni, possessive!beomgyu x fem!reader, petnames, dirty talk, mildly rough, clothed sex, established relationship]

m.list

꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷

beomgyu had been acting up ever since you told him about the morning’s meeting, one where you were offered to work with one of the industry’s biggest shots. you came back home, excited to tell this to your fiancé, but he didn’t take that very pleasantly.

it almost seemed as if he was annoyed at the idea, trying to deflect from the topic after suggesting that you don’t go through with the offer. his vague suggestion pissed you off too, because this was a pretty big deal for you and he wouldn't tell you why it bothered him.

despite the disagreement, and rather heated argument, you both had to go furniture shopping for your new place. the errand was…frustrating, to say the least, with both of you being petty and throwing low blows at each other.

"is this one good enough?" you asked, and before he could respond, answered yourself. "oh, nevermind, you'll just pick on it for no definite reason." you feigned thoughtfully.

beomgyu had glared at you more times than he had actually looked at any of the pieces you selected, for the new house. and, being the brat you are, you only threw him sarcastic smiles, which only fueled his annoyance.

by the time you both reached the counter, beomgyu's jaw was clenched and his fist was squeezing onto the cart's handles. however, he still nudged you to the side and unloaded the cart, saving you any trouble.

you watched, irritated with his unexplained tantrum and muttered a quiet 'you don't have to do everything for me.' and he, being hyperaware of everything you do and say, caught it.

he hummed calmly, "yeah, but i will." he said casually and handed his card to the cashier for the billing process.

"might as well tie a leash around my neck." you scoffed, obviously not meaning that. but, it did seem to get under beomgyu's skin, because he paused and threw you a warning look.

he took a long breathe to calm himself, "y/n." his voice lowered, ignoring the way that the cashier was eyeing you two. "..just go and sit in the car." he exhaled and finished up with the payment.

your shoulders sagged at how little it took to upset him, because you both always exchanged these type of jokes. "fine", you huffed under your breathe and made your way towards the parking lot.

he always left his car keys with you, so you got in without any issues, settling in the passenger seat. beomgyu didn't take long to join, arranging the bags in the trunk and then sliding into the driver's seat.

neither of you tried to break the tense silence, letting the car's engine fill it with it's ignition. beomgyu drove out of the parking lot and straight to your shared apartment, which was soon to be moved out of.

you were starting to grow annoyed too, not because beomgyu held an objection about the offer you received, but because he wasn't even telling you why. you didn't want to upset him, but he wasn't giving you much to work with.

soon enough, he had pulled up in the driveway of your apartment complex and parked the car. you got out of the car almost immediately and started gathering the bags of artifacts.

"baby-" beomgyu tried to call out, but knew that you weren't really going to listen. he watched you take out the bags and turned off the engine, stepping out himself.

he didn't bother to argue, instead gently pulling the bags from your hands. you clicked your tongue at his hot and cold behaviour as he headed to the elevator.

beomgyu looked at you when you didn't step inside, "get in, y/n." he said as he held his hand in front of the sensor.

you narrowed your eyes, "so, i'm supposed to listen to everything you tell me to do. what am i, a dog?" you finally broke the tensely calm exterior, your voice coming off edgy.

beomgyu inhaled a sharp breathe, as if to contain himself, before he simply tugged you in by your wrist. your body stumbled against his taller, broader frame, not failing to light the same warmth as always.

the elevator dinged and started to move up as you tried to regain your footing, shooting a half-hearted glare at beomgyu.

"that's what you think i'm doing? trying to control you?" he scoffed and backed you against the side wall.

your gaze faltered at the undertone in his voice, but you didn't back down, ofcourse. "let's see, first you try to limit my profession, and now you're ordering me and doing things for me. so, you be the judge." you challenged.

beomgyu could hardly contain his annoyance, at this point, so he didn't wait when the elevator doors opened at your floor. he kept the strong grip on your wrist and dragged you inside your shared apartment, locking the doors behind him.

he kept the bags near the shoe rack and took off his coat, "that's the last thing I want to do to you, y/n. you should know that by now." he huffed out in frustration.

you gave him another sarcastic look and shrugged off your own cardigan, "your actions tell me otherwise." you bit back, only to rile beomgyu up further.

a heavy beat of silence later, you stepped closer to him, so now his body was looming a few inches from yours. "why are you even acting like this?" you questioned, looking up at him with hint of confusion.

beomgyu's body grew tense and he looked to the side, "does it need to have a reason? is me saying that..it's not something i'm comfortable with, not enough?" he countered, his own voice carrying a hint of sharpness now.

that threw you off a little, because beomgyu always insisted on communication. and right now, he was being unreasonable.

"see? trying to make my decisions for me." you chuckled humorlessly and, that did it for him.

beomgyu caught hold of your jaw with one hand in the next second, his fingers lightly digging into either sides of your cheeks. he brought his forehead down to rest against yours, with a small bump.

"don't you dare accuse me of that, baby. i never told you to straight up reject the offer." he gritted out as he stared down at you with darkened eyes.

you flinched, just barely, at the sudden force and felt your breathe hitch. "you..implied it." you managed to let out without stammering.

beomgyu shut his eyes and flexed his jaw muscles, "i have every right to have my concerns. i'm going to be your husband, remember?" he breathed out.

"yeah? and, you plan on controlling me?" you provoked, knowing full well, that he does probably have a reason for his objections.

beomgyu could easily choose to lose his temper right now, but he huffed out a laugh instead. "you call this control?" his voice lowered as he opened his eyes and looked at you intently.

before you had a chance to question what he meant, he slammed his lips against yours, tightening his hold on your jaw. his other hand snaked around your waist and pulled you to him, making you gasp in response.

your brows furrowed, but your body reacted instantly, kissing him back without any complaints. your own fingers slid up to the collar of his linen shirt, fisting it to anchor yourself.

beomgyu's hands slid down your sides, mapping out your curves before grabbing your hips and turning your body to press against the edge of the kitchen counter.

his lips left yours, only to trickle a path down your jaw and to your ear, "trust me, baby. if i actually start controlling you, you'd hardly ever get out of our bed." he whispered in your ear as one of his hands crawled up your front.

you couldn't help but whimper when his hand cupped your breast, through the material of your ankle-length sundress. meanwhile, he left wet kisses underneath your ear and down the side of your neck.

"how's this..any different, gyu?" you exhaled shakily, feeling your legs grow weaker when beomgyu pressed himself against your back, making sure you feel the tent in his pants against your ass.

beomgyu chuckled and rubbed his bulge against the curve of your cheeks, "well, i give you the freedom to decide whether i should fuck you or stop." he said between kisses, simultaneously toying with you left nipple under the dress. "should i fuck you or stop, baby?" he husked.

another soft sound left your lips at the stimulation and your knees were starting to weaken at the tone and depth in beomgyu's voice. "b-beomgyu.." you placed your palms on the kitchen's table-top, tilting your head back against beomgyu's shoulder.

beomgyu bunched your dress up with his free hand, trailing it up your bare thigh and stopping right underneath your panties. "fuck you or stop?" he repeated and watched your throat bob as you gulped.

and, if the answer wasn't obvious enough, you mumbled out a "fuck me," against his hear.

that's all it took for beomgyu to reach between your legs and slip his fingers in from the side of your panties. "that's right, you always listen." he hummed and pressed his tongue against your collarbone.

a moan, this time louder, slipped past your lips when swiped a digit over your entrance teasingly. "given how wet you are, i think you like the idea of me controlling you?" he asked with a hint of mocking in his tone.

you try to fight that, obviously, but mewled instead as he slid his finger inside and bit down on your collarbone. "n-not necessarily," you fought back, though your hips bucked into his hand.

you could feel him smile against your skin as he sucked on it, his other hand still playing with your hardened nipple. "good," he inserted another finger and started to pump them slowly, at first.

"because, like i said, i'll never try to control you." he said in a hushed voice as his fingres continued to thrust in and and out of your, now dripping hole.

your eyes fell shut and your brows arched in pleasure at the feeling of his clothed member against your ass, and his fingers preparing you for him. you barely paid attention to his words.

beomgyu watched as your body melted between him and the counter, and pulled his fingers out. he had to take you, before he lost himself.

his wet fingers reached for his button and zipper and undid them both in one go, freeing his length and pressing it against the material of your panties. his hand held your dress at the hips, while the other one snaked up to wrap around your neck.

his fingers easily covered your throat's surface, "is this collar good enough for you?" he asked and your cheeks flushed at the jab from your comment earlier. "hm, baby?" he urged, now moving your panties to the side and pressing his tip against your soaked slit.

you moaned and reached a hand to hold onto his arm, your back now pressed tightly against his fully clothed chest. "beomgyu, please…" you whined softly as he lathered his cock using your heat.

it wasn't suprising that your legs were shaking and would've given out if beomgyu wasn't holding you. but, the moment he pushed his tip inside you, your head dropped forward and your breathing grew laboured.

beomgyu let out a soft grunt himself, not taking it easy on you and pushing deeper impatiently. his fingers tightened around your neck, "controlling you was the last thing on my mind," he huffed out as he pulled his hips back.

"i felt fucking protective." he snarled and thrusted back in, harder. your body jerked at the force of it, and your heart jerked at his words. "i didn't want you working with a man that is known for his flirty approaches." he finally blurted as he retreated and slammed himself back inside you.

and, it made much more sense now. "mmf, beomgyu, i-" you barely got the time to respond before he cut you off and rammed into you, over and over again.

"control you?" he scoffed, gripping your neck a little tighter as he continued to thrust his length inside you, rather harshly. "if i wanted to, i would've had you outright deny the offer." he pulled your head back up and pressed his lips against your ear.

your body rippled in pleasure, and a slight tingle, due to the pace beomgyu had pick up. "but, i didn't, did i?" he challenged and punctuated it with another deep thrust.

you shook your head in reponse, having no argument against it, because he was right. "i suggested you consider your response, baby." beomgyu panted against your ear as he drove his cock inside your heat again.

the constant and brutal pounding only edged you closer to a high and all you could respond with was a whine. "you c-could've just said that.." you reasoned, syncing your hips with his thrusts, so you could reach what your bodies were chasing.

beomgyu looked down at you and paused for a split second, "and, let you believe that i'm driven by an ugly emotion like jealousy?" he asked, hitting your spot one last time before the knot in your stomach snapped.

you moaned out his name like a mantra as he continued to fuck you, though not as roughly as before. his thrusts were slower and sloppy now, rolling into you lazily as he chased his own release.

once he did, your body hunched forward to stabilize itself. both of you gasped for air, with beomgyu kissing the back of your head to calm you down.

"but, you are." you chuckled, with a much lighter tone of sarcasm now.

#txt hard hours #txt hard thoughts #txt x reader #txt smut #beomgyu hard thoughts #beomgyu smut #beomgyu x reader #beomgyu hard hours #txt imagines #txt oneshots #beomgyu imagines #soobsim <3

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futurebird · 1 year ago

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The more I learn about light pollution harms insects, the more I want to try to help... do something about it. But I live in NYC. It feels like an impossible ask. A whole city devoted to making the most light pollution possible.

I strongly suspect that we'd see a greater variety of wildlife if we could dim the light a little.

Just using colors like red light can help. So can dark hours and motion sensors. What if one day, as a treat, every New Yorker got to see the milky way?

Most people doing light pollution activism are working in places like national parks & deep in the country, places that are almost dark, where the lights are encroaching especially as the cost of very bright LEDs keeps falling: companies and municipalities say "why not? what's the harm?"

The harm is vast. So many creatures need the night to live. Maybe humans need it too. We do, at least, need those creatures.

I care about insects most. But if you don't consider: no bugs, no song birds.

Is reducing light pollution in a big city a hopeless cause? Is it better to focus on those once perfectly dark places being lit up?

One positive of making light pollution an issue in a big city is how it would raise awareness. Imagine if, in the small hours of the night the lights slowly shifted red. Lights with motion sensors that slowly gutter out. You can see NYC on the horizon glowing like a bomb went off for miles, that glow could dim a bit, give the stars a chance to shine.

#nyc #light pollution #insects #bugblr #bugs #moths #arthropods #night #milky way #night sky #starry sky #invertebrates #sky

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kujakumai · 8 days ago

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I think the post-evil version of the Death-T building in KaibaLand still has the horror roller coaster and it still has a bunch of science-looking apparatuses on the cars and the announcer is like remember, these are voice sensors so if you scream during the ride you'll DIIIIIIE!! MUAHAHA!!! but it's now nonworking and obviously just a theme park gimmick that only exists within the fiction of the ride. this has the dual purpose of minimizing how much work the kaimagineers had to do to refurbish the ride (just gut the murder mechanism) and ensuring that if Yugi and co. ever try to tell anyone about it they will look like idiots who don't understand what a theme park is or that the ghosts in the haunted mansion aren't real

#tho ofc the ride really is haunted. but that's because of the guy joey killed in the basement

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dilemmaontwolegs · 1 year ago

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The Perfect Life || CL16 {5}

Summary: It’s Charles first real introduction to his new employee. Warnings: angst, swearing, sarcasm, underground fighting, injuries. WC: 2.7k F1 Masterlist || One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six Taglist: RETIRED Head over to my dedicated library blog @dilemmaslibrary and opt to get notifications from there.

The black leather pants and hoodie hid your presence well as you crept through the backyard just before midnight. After years of sneaking in and out of the property you knew exactly where to step to avoid activating the motion sensor lights and Charles followed each step carefully. He had tried to get you to stay at home but finally relented to your stubbornness and changed into more inconspicuous clothes too.

Eventually you reached the small gate that the gardeners used for supply deliveries and found Franco had left it unlocked. The gentle giant had worked security for the last 20 years and aided your escapes more than he liked to admit.

“I hope you know how to ride,” you commented as you opened the caretaker’s shed and tossed him your helmet.

Charles looked at the helmet and turned it so the moonlight caught the almost imperceptible writing on the black carbon - What doesn’t kill me makes me angry. “Fitting,” he chuckled before handing it back. “You wear it.”

“You’re the one with the career, you should wear it.” You swung your heel back and knocked the kickstand up before wheeling the motorcycle out of the shed. It wasn’t the quickest way out but you couldn’t risk waking anyone up with the engine so you always walked it down the street before climbing on.

“It’s actually in my contract that I should avoid dangerous activities and I’m pretty sure this would count as one,” he said as he hung the helmet back on the handlebars and helped push the heavy bike along.

“You’re welcome to stay here in that case, or walk.”

Charles scoffed and shook his head. “You’re not getting rid of me that easy.”

You deemed it far enough from the house and swung your leg over the seat, patting the space behind you. “Get on.”

Charles’ arms wrapped around your middle as he took the seat and kicked the riding pegs out with his boots.

“I��m not sure if you are brave or stupid,” you commented. “You do realise your life is in my hands now.”

“Ma said the two usually go hand in hand but I trust you.”

You were acutely aware of every inch of Charles that touched you for the 15 minute ride to the latest address you had received. His chest rested against your back and his hands that lay on your thighs, only shifting to hold your waist through the corners he leaned into. It was clear he had ridden before but it was probably his first time being the backpack.

“This used to be a nightclub,” Charles said with a frown as you parked in an alleyway and killed the engine.

The old staff entrance was propped open with a brick and you ushered Charles inside where the noise grew with each step.

“Phones,” Rex said as he held his hand out in front of the door that led to the club. You handed yours over first, taking the tab with a number so you could claim it after but the rules were strict, no phones, no cameras. Charles had a harder time parting with his but eventually handed it over with a frown and the doors opened.

The old three storey nightclub had an empty core surrounded by a spiralling staircase that descended two storeys into the basement and one that rose up. The biggest punters would be in the VIP area above and the spectators would line the rails to get the best view of the pit that sat central on the lowest level.

Charles looked over the rail and blanched as two regulars went face to face, blood dripping from the gashes that had been opened by the bare knuckles they fought with.

“Hey,” Arthur greeted with a beer in his hand. “I thought maybe he talked you out of coming.”

“As if, but I was hoping he would stay behind” you said, stealing his beer to take a sip. “Who’s going to bail us out if this place gets raided?”

“We’ll be fine,” Arthur joked. “He’s a runner so we can still call him.”

“Except they took my phone,” Charles grumbled.

Arthur looked at his brother’s hand that almost always held the device and laughed until he noticed the dark sweatpants and hoodie he wore. “You stole my clothes.”

“You left them in my girlfriend's room.” Charles paused and stole the beer next, finishing it off with a cringe. “That is not a sentence I ever thought I would say.”

“While you ponder what your life has become, I am going to go get ready.” You turned and kissed Arthur’s cheek in farewell. “See you down there.”

“Where’s my kiss?” Charles asked, his brow arched in a challenge.

You were already two steps away when you looked over your shoulder. “You can kiss my ass.” It unintentionally drew his eyes down your body to the leather that looked like it had been poured onto your skin and those eyes lingered on your ass until you descended the stairs and disappeared from sight.

“You do realise you are fake dating, right?”

Charles rolled his eyes and lightly shoved his younger brother. “I can still appreciate a good looking woman when I see one.”

“Well, keep those thoughts to yourself. She’s been hurt enough.”

Charles dragged a hand through his hair and nodded. “I know, she told me. I really fucked up, but I thought you were happy about the arrangement?”

“I don’t exactly have a genie lying around, so you're the next best hope she has of getting out of that hellhole.” Arthur shrugged. “I don’t have to tell you that if you fuck this up for her I will never forgive you.”

In the bathrooms of the basement you opened the duffle bag and changed into your usual sports bra and shorts before uncapping the Vaseline and smearing the gel over your cheeks. The familiar scent calmed your mind as you wiped the excess off and grabbed the tape to wrap your knuckles. The monotonous routine was your focus, the sounds outside the room fading as you stared at your reflection in the mirror. Evidence of your tears still remained in your puffy eyes but you felt better having finally told him what had weighed you down for a decade. You didn’t want to read too much into that thought as you tied your hair back into a bun so no one could pull it in the ring.

The bell for the end of the last fight rang out and you shook your head to clear it before kicking your bag under the sink and leaving. Arthur was waiting outside with Charles a few steps away and he checked your fists before walking to the ring. Blood splatters littered the vinyl floor that had been rolled out and two of the helpers were dragging an unconscious man out of the way.

“Bathroom is there if you’re gonna vomit,” you said to Charles as he swallowed nervously. From the other side of the ring Kaine was grinning at you, his mouth guard the colour of blood he was looking to spill, and you blew him a kiss.

“You’re fighting a guy!?” Charles exclaimed as he realised that was your competitor.

“There’s not exactly many female fighters to choose from.”

“You could get hurt, that man is huge.”

You rolled your shoulders out and bounced on the balls of your feet as you warmed up. “You’re really great at instilling confidence, you should have your own Ted Talk.”

“If you’re not going to help then go away,” Arthur growled before turning to face you. “Remember, he favours his right leg and Javier broke his collarbone last month. What doesn’t kill you?”

“Makes me angry.” You opened your mouth and Arthur put your mouthguard in before opening the cage door for the octagonal ring. On the floors above cash was trading hands as the bookies took the bets but you paid them no mind as you circled the floor with Kaine.

“She’s going to get killed,” Charles choked as he laced his fingers in the chain link fence. “He’s massive.”

“She’s agile. What she lacks in size she makes up for with speed. Just don’t be shocked by what you see.”

“What do you mean? I'm already shocked.”

Arthur snorted a laugh. “Just wait, I didn’t even recognise her the first time. It’s like watching a completely different person take over her body.”

All the anger and hate that lay dormant in your body awoke when the bell rang and the ref stepped out from between you and Kaine. All the emotions that you kept bottled inside were released and your eyes narrowed on the man who was going to be at the receiving end.

Kaine rushed across the mat with all the grace of a baby elephant charging on rollerskates. The very floor vibrated with each stomp of his size 14 feet and his fist reeled back and he poured his entire strength into the first punch. Unfortunately it was his bulk that slowed the punch down and you easily avoided the attack that could have probably crushed your skull. You ducked under his arm and used your spinning momentum to land a kick on his left knee. The joint twisted unnaturally and he cried out as with pain and anger.

Arthur was right, he did favour his right leg and you had just re-injured the old ailment. Off balance, he tried to follow your quick movements but you were already back in front of him, jabbing a quick one-two combo to his core. Heat flared in your fists as they connected with the hard muscle of his abs but you welcomed the rush of adrenaline that followed the pain. Kaine threw a punch of his own and you skirted away but not quick enough and his knuckles more than caressed your cheek. You had dodged the knockout blow but there would still be a bruise to show for your slow reaction.

“Nice work,” you said with a grin as you circled around each other. “You almost got me, big boy. C’mon, take another shot.”

You probably shouldn’t have taunted him because there was no avoiding the roundhouse kick that rattled your rib cage and knocked the breath out of you with a gasp. It was a mistake to look at Charles through the fence but you saw the worry in his eyes and the white-knuckled grip he had on the chain.

“Watch out,” he shouted as the concern turned to panic for what was coming behind you.

On instinct you dropped low and raised your arms to protect your head, barely missing the right hook that would have rendered you unconscious. Rage took over as he leapt forward on his good leg to attack again and you waited for him to overextend into the punch before stepping closer. It was impossible for him to defend in such a confined space and he was surprised by the sudden change. You planted your feet and drove the power of your punch up from your legs, twisting your hips as you rolled your shoulder and crashed your left fist into the softer skin protecting his kidney. A deep grunt expelled from him as he hunched over and you followed through with a right hook of your own. Right into his weak spot.

His piercing cry was almost as sharp as the snap of bone under your knuckles and he stumbled back clutching his collar that was freshly rebroken. The roar of the crowd was deafening as the bell rang for the round’s end and you threw your swollen fists into the air while your ribs protested.

Kaine limped back to his corner and shook his head to the ref, ending the fight after only one round. You tugged your mouthguard out and shook your head disappointingly. “Pussy.”

He spat his guard to the ground and winced as he cradled his arm over his chest. “Crazy bitch.”

You smiled at the insult and curled a finger. “Wanna come over here and say that?”

Unsurprisingly, he didn’t attempt to re-enter the ring so you turned and made your own exit. Arthur was waiting with a grin on his face and his arms open but before you could step into his embrace Charles was there. The shock barely registered when his arms curled around you and for a moment you felt something, but then the pain in your ribs reared its ugly head.

“Fuck,” you groaned as you shoved him away and looked down at the bruise already blooming along your side. “I think he might’ve broken one.”

“Shit, we need to get you to the hospital.”

It annoyed you how easy it was to read Charles' face. Concern, regret, anger. It was like reading a book and you wanted to tell him to relax but it was quite nice to have another person around who actually showed their feelings.

“Great idea, and what do you think we should tell them?” you asked as you started to make your way back to the bathroom. “I don’t think ‘it was an accident’ is going to satisfy them.”

“Fine,” Charles sighed, “where do you normally go when you get hurt?”

You stared at Arthur and he stared back before his lips twitched and you both laughed. An irritated growl rumbled from Charles before Arthur pointed to the messenger bag hanging from his shoulder.

“He makes a cute doctor,” you said with a wink before he followed you into the bathroom. Charles tried to follow too but you blocked the doorway. “Sorry, patient/doctor confidentiality.”

You cut off his protests with the door and leaned back against the cold wood. “Do you think he will still be there?”

Arthur nodded and opened the bag to pull out a few bandages and a bottle of arnica. “I don’t think you are getting rid of him anytime soon.”

“Great.”

“Is it really that bad?” Arthur asked as he gently dabbed the arnica over the bruises.

“Kind of hard to erase a decade of hate, even if he is hot.”

Arthur grinned and you rolled your eyes. “You think he’s hot.”

“Shut up. I’m not blind.” You unravelled the tape from your knuckles before waving a hand over him. “You’re hot too but it doesn’t mean I want to date you.”

“Thanks? I guess?”

“You know what I mean. Would you date me?”

“Are you asking me out? It’s a bit awkward since you are dating my brother.”

You huffed and glared at his amused grin. “Fake.”

“Potayto, potahto. But, no, if you really need to know, I wouldn’t date you. You’re my best friend, you know me way too well.”

“Exactly, I could never be with someone who brushes their teeth in the shower.”

“Once, for fucksake, I did that once when I was running late.”

You screwed your face up and shook your head with disgust. “There’s no excuse, Tur. We will just have to be friends.”

“Carve my heart out now,” he mocked before patting your side. “All done. Ready to go?”

You thought about the man waiting on the other side of the door and sighed at the thought of having to sleep in the same room as him. “Do you want to stay the night?”

“Oh, no, no, I am not going to be your buffer. You gotta figure out whatever is going on between you and Charles on your own.” He kissed your cheek and grinned at the sour look on your face. “Love you.”

“Ugh, I hate you,” you groaned and his smile only grew wider at the lie.

“Tell Cha to call me in the morning, so I know he is alive.”

Click here for the next part.

#charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #formula one imagine #formula 1 fanfic #formula one fanfiction #f1 x reader #f1 x y/n #f1 x you

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antiquarianfics · 19 days ago

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Taken pt. 14

If Bucky Barnes could time travel, he would go back to that morning. He would hold you a little tighter in his arms, and he would kiss you a little deeper. He would pull your daughter in between the two of you, letting her giggle as loudly as she wants whilst her parents kiss her cheeks and tickle her belly. If Bucky Barnes could time travel, he would have told you not to go to the park—to go anywhere else. But Bucky Barnes can’t time travel, and his wife and daughter are gone.

a/n: You will never believe this: I finished this fic. It only took me 2 years. To everyone who has stuck with me since part 1 and still comes back to read these updates, thank you. To everyone who found it somewhere in the middle and still read it, thank you. To everyone who is just finding it now, lucky you. I hope you enjoy the ending! I'm excited to put this fic to bed.

warnings: swearing, blackmail, mention of murder, themes of conspiracy, mentions of abuse, canon typical violence.

note: I do not own the character Bucky Barnes or any other Marvel affiliated characters. Any and all characters are a work of fiction and any likeness to real persons is wholly unintentional.

You do not have permission to copy, translate, or repost my work; however, feel free to like, comment, and reblog.

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previous part | series masterlist

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“It’s over. I’ve got you,” Bucky whispers calmingly, his eyes fixed on the dead man in front of him whose head has been bashed in. Bucky lets his hand cradle your head, soothingly petting your hair while he coos at you, trying to calm you. He closes his eyes, still holding you, and tries to get the gruesome image of Frost’s brains painted across the floor out of his head.

—

A high pitched, constant, obnoxious beeping noise permeates through the room, grating against your nerves. Slowly, you attempt to peel your eyes open, but as you do, you realize your eyelids feel incredibly heavy. With great effort, you manage to open your eyes, only to be met with a room too bright for comfort. Letting your eyes adjust, you take in the room: A sterile, bright, white room. Around the room sits various monitors tracking vitals, a small tray table with a large hospital jug of water, and a counter full of medical supplies. As your foggy mind clears, you realize you’re lying in a hospital bed, and to your right is an empty chair. You frown. How did you get here?

Groaning, you try and sit up, but you feel a sharp pain shoot through your abdomen, and you’re slowly becoming aware of the dull, constant ache in your head. Frowning, you let your fingers trace up your arm until you find the IVs that have made a home there. You yank out the IVs with a pained grunt and let your hand move up to hold your aching head. Seriously, you think, what the fuck? After taking a moment, you find a few more cords that have been attached to you: sensors stuck at pulse points and whatnot. You rip them off and throw your legs over the side of the bed, hoping you can get out of here and find someone to give you some answers. However, once you rip the rest of the wires off of your body, the machines in the room start screaming in protest, alerting whatever nearby medical team that there is that something is wrong. You’ve just set your bare feet on the cold tile floor when a familiar doctor rushes in.

Dr. Cho is wide-eyed and winded when she runs into the room. She quickly takes in the sight before her: A formerly sleeping patient attempting to make a run for it. Dr. Cho sighs heavily before stepping into the room calmly and letting the door shut behind her. Her gentle and practiced hands find your shoulder and gently pushes, forcing you to lie back. Confused and in a startled daze, you don’t protest as she guides you to lie down.

Cho says your name gently. “You shouldn’t be rushing out of here,” she says. “You have extensive internal injuries: a lot of bruising. You experienced some serious trauma out there.” You nod distractedly, your mind racing to put the new information into its place in the puzzle that is your situation since waking up.

“What happened?” You ask, eyes lifting to meet her kind, concerned ones.

“A lot,” she informs. “You fainted after Barnes got you out of that HYDRA base, and you’ve been out like a light since. You have some pretty serious bruising on your wrists and ankles, and you experienced some serious trauma from the electric shocks–especially to the head.” She begins to assess your injuries, pressing her fingers into different places on your abdomen and observing your bruising. She finally nods to herself and picks up a tablet from the counter and types in some notes.

“Now that you’re awake, we will need to call in a psychiatrist to check out your mental health. The kind of trauma you went through certainly warrants it.” You only nod in response.

“What about Bucky? Is he okay?” You ask. Cho gives you a warm and understanding smile and nods.

“He’s fine. Had a few scrapes and bruises here and there, but it’s absolutely nothing the serum won’t fix right up.” You nod.

“And Becca?”

“She’s fine. She’s been in with Bucky to visit you a few times, but she’s right as rain.”

You let out a relieved breath. “How long was I out?”

“About a week. Like I said, the electrocution was a severe trauma. Could have killed you, but you were lucky.”

—

You are required to sit through an extensive psych evaluation before you’re finally discharged. The psychiatrist diagnoses you with severe PTSD, explaining that the trauma from being kidnapped, the forced work for HYDRA, and the murder of Frost had deeply affected you in ways that would likely show itself for a long time. He explains that it’s likely you continue to have nightmares and lash out against people who get to close, and he assures you that depressive episodes are to be expected. He takes care suggest (demand, really) that you begin weekly therapy and prescribes a couple medications. You take all he has to say with a disengaged nod.

—

After a very long day of medical checkups (both physical and mental), you’re exhausted. All you want to do is go home, put on clothes more comfortable than what the medical ward gave you, and lie down in your bed. When you’re released, you walk out of the last room you’d been in, wearing some scrubs that someone found you, and let out a relieved sigh, thankful just to leave the medical ward. As soon as you walk through the door, you are met with the sight of your husband and daughter waiting for you. Becca is teetering back and forth on her heels, clearly full of excitement. Bucky is smiling softly at you.

“There she is! Free at last,” Bucky says. Becca squeals and runs towards you. You notice Bucky’s eyes widen a bit and he reaches out to stop her, but the little girl is too fast and slides right by him. You know he isn’t sure if you’re willing to see her yet–frankly, you weren’t sure until you saw her–but for the first time in months, you don’t feel the guilty twist of a knife when you see her. For the first time in months, you feel as if you’re worthy of seeing your daughter. For the first time in months, you feel like you might deserve the smiles, the laughter, and the crushing bear hugs that your daughter feels inclined to bestow upon you. For the first time in months, you let your daughter near you, and just seeing her run towards you fills you with a peace that you’ve been missing for a long, long time.

“MAMA!” Becca screams, barreling towards you. You drop to your knees and hold your arms out for her, catching her with a grunt as her weight comes into contact with your bruised and sore body.

“Hey, sweetheart,” you breathe, pressing a soft kiss to her head and burying your nose in her hair. You breathe in your daughter with a shaky breath. You’d missed her more than anyone could ever know, even if the reason you hadn’t seen her had everything to do with you avoiding her.

“Mama, I missed you,” she says.

“I missed you, too, baby.”

Bucky is watching the whole interaction with a relieved smile on his face. It’s been months since you’ve held your daughter, and it’s clear that you needed her more than you’d let on. Bucky takes a couple steps closer as you start to pull away, holding Becca at arms length while you get a good look at her.

“You’re so beautiful,” you tell her. “I think you’ve grown a bit!” You place your hand flat on her head as if you’re measuring her. She giggles.

“I did! Daddy says I’m 38 inches! We measured on the wall,” Becca informs you with a wide, toothy grin.

“That so?” You laugh with a smile that could rival hers. Finally, you stand, ruffling your daughter’s hair as you do. You turn to Bucky and smile a little bashfully. He returns the smile and swings his arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side. He nuzzles his face into your hair and plants a loving kiss there.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” he whispers. “Gave me quite the scare.”

“Sorry,” you mumble, hiding your head into his chest.

“It’s okay. I’m just glad you’re alright. We can just work on moving on now.” His promise finds a home somewhere deep in your chest, and for the first time in a very long time, you feel okay.

—

Steve calls an emergency meeting to fill you in on what had gone down since you’d been out. The team files into the same conference room that each piece of this disaster had taken place in. The last time you’d been in this room, you had stood in the corner, arms crossed, glaring at everyone. This time, you sit in a chair at the table next to your husband with your 4 year old in your lap. Steve keeps the meeting brief, and you know everyone is just glad to see you back to your relatively normal self.

—

It has been 2 years since the last time you stepped foot in this park. The last time you’d stepped foot into this park, you and your daughter had been kidnapped by a megalomaniac Nazi obsessed with bringing HYDRA back from the dead, so you’d made a point to avoid it. However, your therapist argues that it’s good to visit traumatic places to help you move on if you have a strong support system with you, so when Bucky informed you that he was taking Becca to the park today, you inhaled a large breath before letting it out slowly and volunteering to come, too. After all, you’d thought,, I can’t avoid parks forever.

So, now you’re strolling through the park with your hand tightly held onto by Bucky’s. You let your arms swing playfully between you two as you watch Becca run ahead of you and occasionally stop to look at a bug or pick up a stick. You ramble about anything and everything with your husband, occasionally interrupting to encourage or tease your 6 year old. It’s genuinely a nice, peaceful time, and you find yourself glad that you pushed yourself to come.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” you say softly as you walk, passing a bench that you remember from the day you were taken two years ago. Bucky squeezes your hand reassuringly.

“I know, but I’m proud of you,” he says.

“Thank you. For everything.” He kisses your forehead as you keep walking.

“I’m never going to let anything happen to you or Bec ever again,” he says softly, and it’s your turn to squeeze his hand reassuringly.

“I know, baby.”

Your conversation is suddenly cut short, though, when an excited squeal cuts through the warm, afternoon air. The faint sound of footsteps follows the squeal as Becca comes sprinting towards you and Bucky. You squint your eyes to get a good look at her through the bright sunlight. She’s pumping her arms to run faster and holding an interestingly shaped stick as she does.

“Becca, honey, don’t run with sticks!” You exclaim anxiously, suddenly worried she’ll fall and stab herself with her newfound treasure. She slows to a fast walk as she finds herself right in front of you. She looks up at you with her big, beautiful eyes and grins, holding up her stick for you to see.

“Look what I found!” She exclaims, beaming.

“That’s a cool stick, sweetheart,” Bucky says with an amused smile.

“Daddy!” Becca whines. “It’s not a stick! It’s a sword!” She shares the information as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world, rolling her little eyes and frowning at her father’s clear lack of intelligence on the matter. Bucky laughs and lets out a soft, “My bad.”

“That’s an awesome sword, Bec,” you say with a grin. She smiles wide again and nods her head enthusiastically.

“Yeah, I know! Do you think brother will like it?”

You smile at her, a gentle hand falling to your swollen stomach to hold it. “Yeah, Bec,” you affirm, “I think brother will like it once he’s big enough to hold it!” She nods introspectively, placing a little finger to her chin while she thinks.

“Maybe I should find him a flower instead. Babies can hold flowers.” You laugh and nod, letting her know that might be a better idea. She nods and runs off to drop the stick and look for an acceptable flower. You lean into Bucky then, still holding your stomach protectively, and take in a deep breath, happy, content, and ready to face whatever life has next for you and your little family.

»»———-———-———-———-———-———-———-««

@just-henny @jasminocano @browneyedgirl22-blog @barnesboo1967 @matchat3a @unkasworld @qwertyb2577 @raajali3 @yoruse @iilsenewman @alysianc @fairytalegirlofurdreams @marvelxlevram @casa-boiardi @buckybraneslover111 @hhiggs @smolracoon25 @questionableratatouille00 @heytheredemonsitsyourgirl @thearieunhinged @sebastianstansource @middaystarlight @talesofadragon @killerwendigo @ozwriterchick @kandis-mom @scatteredstardustt @babysbreathbabes @ordinarylokix @lilstarfish88 @ordelixx @shizukestar @filmsbyblair

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #marvel x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x reader fluff #bucky barnes angst

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bunji-enthusiast · 16 days ago

Note

Are you still taking requests?

I was wonder if you could write for Mira!reader in Teen Team or if you want Zoey!reader since Zoey is your favorite

No pressure tho

𝐅𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞!

Zoey!Reader

Note // RRRRGHHH YOU LIT THE BRAINN, yes I’m finna do Zoey!reader for this. It’s mainly how u work out as an individual duo with each member. It's mainly just Eve and Rex cause I have better experience writing those two the most.

Summary || the musical member of Teen Team! you can think up lyrics for your songs on the go and your moves are exceptionally deadly.

Atom Eve:

Emotion meets logic, spirit meets science. You and Eve are a beautifully balanced team. She’s measured and pragmatic; you’re driven by intuition and emotion. You ground her spiritual understanding of the world, and she expands your perspective on what change looks like in the material realm.

The team says you two are the moms—you being the “will smack a demon with a sacred blade for you” kind, and Eve the “gently rebuilding the world around you while holding your hand” type.

You trust each other’s instincts completely. Eve respects your Spirit Vision and mystical awareness more than any sensor tech. When you say “something’s coming,” she doesn’t ask questions—she’s already beside you, palms glowing.

You’re a battle duo that could take on armies. You create sacred energy weapons midair; Eve reshapes terrain into shields, platforms, or energy blasts. Fights with you two are beautiful and brutal.

Your knife-throwing precision is amplified by Eve mid-fight—she might redirect a missed throw or transmute a blade into crystal mid-flight to pierce demon armor.

If you ever run out of knives? She transmutes rubble into polished spiritual daggers. You enchant them with Spirit Magic. It’s seamless. It’s deadly. It’s art.

Your signature combo: "Purification Bloom" — you carve runes into the earth with your daggers; Eve supercharges the ground with molecular energy, creating an explosive wave of spirit-light that wipes out demonic corruption.

You’re both intensely private, so your connection is built in quiet moments: long silences watching the stars after patrol, sitting together in a ruined park she just rebuilt, you softly singing while she helps you clean your blades.

Eve sees the way you carry grief—for your fans, the souls lost to demons—and she never tries to fix it. She just sits with you in it. That’s part of why you love her as a person so much.

You admire her control, her compassion, and her constant drive to do better. She admires your raw strength, your fire, and the way your voice can shift from sacred hymns to throat-shattering rap verses.

Sometimes, you help her with her stress. You wrap her in a protective spirit barrier and just let her be. And sometimes, she helps you sleep when you’re haunted by spirit dreams—rearranging the molecules in your room to make it quieter, warmer, safer.

She was in awe the first time she heard you rap. Not just the rhythm—your lyrics had purpose, your delivery had power. You were a warrior and an artist. She couldn’t stop watching.

Once, she helped create the stage for a surprise rooftop fan concert you threw post-mission. She generated floating platforms with lightshows to match your beat. You called her your “stage angel”—she rolled her eyes, but she was glowing.

You’ve written verses about her. Not that she knows. (Okay, maybe she found your notebook and cried a little. She’ll never admit it.)

Your Golden Honmoon dream resonates deeply with Eve. She believes in reshaping the world for the better—and the idea of spiritually healing it strikes her as beautiful, vital, and worth fighting for.

She's fascinated by your Spirit Magic. You’ve spent hours explaining soul energy flows and demon corruption. She’s even helped you study it—scanning areas where Honmoon energy falters, calculating patterns.

You both believe that the world can be better—not just by destroying evil, but by rebuilding something sacred in its place.

Eve often finds herself wondering how you keep going—after everything you’ve lost. You tell her, “Because if I stop, they stay lost.” That stays with her. Always.

She’s never been one for spiritual stuff, but when you’re around, she finds herself believing—even just a little—that maybe souls linger. Maybe they sing.

You told her once, “You change matter. I change spirit. But maybe we’re both just trying to save the pieces people leave behind.”

That was the moment she realized she was in love with you.

Rex Splode:

You two are total chaos on the surface—bickering constantly, throwing jabs at each other mid-battle, arguing over music playlists during patrol.

But anyone who’s spent more than five minutes with you both knows it’s just your love language. You’re ride-or-die partners, and when it’s serious, the jokes drop and the synergy kicks in hard.

You balance each other—Rex is all reckless bravado, while you bring spiritual clarity and discipline (when you're not spitting fire in a rap battle).

Your powers are a lethal combo: Rex throws explosive objects, and you throw sacred knives and spirit-forged weapons. Together, it’s lightshow carnage with style.

You’ve saved his life more than once with your Spirit Vision, sensing demons or hidden threats before he even knows they’re there.

He jokes that your spirit daggers are “anime as hell” but lowkey thinks they’re sick as hell. He’s tried to charge one with his kinetic energy once—you had to slap the knife out of his hand before he blew both your eyebrows off.

Your combos are almost choreographed. You slice through a demon’s guard; he plants an explosive to blow its core. He calls it “Boomblade Special”, you call it “Please Shut Up and Just Throw the Thing”.

He pretends to hate your fans, but gets stupidly smug when they swarm you after a mission. (“Yeah, that’s my girl. Yeah, I’m in her band, kinda. No, I don’t rap—well, not seriously—”)

You once caught him listening to one of your unreleased tracks on repeat. He claimed it was “accidental” and “the beat slapped.”

He’s definitely joined one of your rap lives on IG just to drop dumb comments like “Bars 🔥 but I could out-rap you.” You responded by freestyling a verse about his last fight where he blew up his own boot. The fans loved it.

When the world goes quiet, he sometimes opens up. Late nights post-mission, when you’re healing him or tending to your own wounds, he’ll let pieces of the past slip—his childhood, the experiments, how lost he used to feel. You don’t push. You just listen and maybe squeeze his hand gently.

He says dumb things to protect himself emotionally. You know this. So when he tells you your spirit weapon “looks like a glowy butter knife,” you just smirk and tell him it slices egos too.

You’re one of the few people who can actually call him out without him getting defensive. You don’t yell or insult—you just look at him, tired and knowing, and he’ll instantly feel like a jackass and apologize.

He’s fiercely protective of you. Borderline reckless about it. But you’ve made it clear—you’re not a damsel. He’s learned to trust that. He’ll still get edgy when you fight Gwi-Ma-tier threats, but he’s trying to respect your strength.

After you defeated Gwi-Ma, he didn’t say “good job” or “congrats.” He just sat beside you quietly, handed you a warm energy drink, and said: “You did what none of us could. I’d follow you into hell if you asked.”

You once enchanted one of his explosive cylinders with spiritual energy—it exploded quietly, in pure white light, and vaporized a demon instantly. You’ve been experimenting with fusing your powers ever since.

You drag him demon hunting sometimes for fun. He complains but secretly enjoys it, especially the post-hunt ramen runs.

He once made you a mixtape—half of it was his favorite punk rock, the other half was him trying to rap. You kept it. He doesn’t know.

He doesn’t totally get the spiritual weight of the Golden Honmoon, but he gets you. So he supports it because it’s your mission.

One time he told you, “If making that Golden Moon means those souls get peace, then hell yeah—let’s melt down every demon in our way.”

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penvisions · 6 months ago

Text

dev writes even more now {dave york drabble}

working title: work conduct

pairing: dave york x coworker! reader

summary: you're just his coworker, so why does he feel compelled to unravel all your secrets?

word count: 1k<

a/n: in honor of being told my writing is terrible and i need to stop pushing an 'agenda' here's a little thing i wrote to get out of my head. this is a new character for me, but i'm proud of the vibes i captured here.

-> navigation

He's good at reading people. Figuring out who they are in the spaces where words and titles can't fill. The habits they exhibit when they first get into the office for the morning, whether they immediately go to the breakroom to start a coffee or exchange morning pleasantries with coworkers. the habits they exhibit in the afternoons when the work day is done, if they linger about talking to the same people as in the morning or if they quickly pack up their stuff and rush off to their cars in the parking garage.

But for the life of him, Dave York cannot get a read on you.

You're not...fake, per se. But he sees the way your smile drops when you turn away from a conversation or how your voice drops an octave when you hang up a phone call. He tracks the coffee you have in the morning, the water you sip on all day long, and the diet soda you always have after lunch. He never actually witnesses you eating lunch, but he knows your energy perks up a bit after the hour you disappear for in the middle of each day.

It reminds him of how his daughters both find their high-pitched, excited voices after a good breakfast shoved into frowny faces.

The thought brings a smile to his face as he watches you press your ID badge to the sensor to be let in the door through the thick glass wall. The office is on an upper floor, blocked off from the general public that can access the building.

You look up right then, catching his eyes and the smile you give him is dazzling. He blinks, slightly taken aback by the bright expression and then your heels are clacking on the gleaming tile as you head in his direction. Just as you cross over onto the thin carpet that cushions area of cubicles, a loud snap sounds into the air.

Both your smile and leg buckle downwards at the same time.

He's moving quickly, instincts firing on the highest setting at all times. His arms circle around your waist and the thigh of leg donning the now broken shoe. He's got you tugged close to his body, dark eyes gazing down at you as the scent of your perfume wafts over him. Cirtus and rose swirls in his lungs and his fingers curl into your skin where he holds you.

"Easy now."

"Who knew a meet cute like this was on the agenda for today?" Your voice is sultry, paired with a wink that has him taken aback for the second time in as many minutes. Your nails dig into the front of his dress shirt, startling in how they catch the light and shift from what he initially thought was black to a dark, deep red.

"Gotta say, I don't think I warrant the whole 'falling at your feet' display." His voice is slightly raspy, the pitch of it reverberating deep on his chest.

"Alright, Agent York. Because that was totally planned." You huff out a breath as you begin to push off of him. Your nails sliding over the fabric that guards his middle from the smooth feel of them. It's a hobble that you do, one hand firmly gripping his shoulder as you lean down to take the broken heel off of your raised foot.

He gets more of that intoxicating scent as your hair brushes underneath his chin as you remove the other, still intact heel as well.

"Aw, hell. Looks like it's completely snapped." He watches as you inspect it with a sad tilt of your head and of course his fingers twitch to reach out and see if he could fix it for you.

to be continued...

taglist: @evolnoomym @clawdee @guiltyasdave

#dev writes #dev's drabbles #dave york #dave york fanfiction #dave york x reader #dave york x you #ppcu #ppcu fandom #ppcu fanfiction

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iwonderwh0 · 8 months ago

Text

Some android models definitely have infrared cameras, which makes them see for example when infrared sensors are at work as well as also see through some materials that infrared light can penetrate, like plastic. I don't think it's something all androids have despite it being a fairly cheap feature, like I don't think household androids like Kara do, but it can be handy for some specialised workers models, such as the ones Markus converts during the Capitol Park chapter in order to get access to what they're fixing to disable security.

Let me speculate and headcanon here that Luther, as a specialised worker of unknown original purpose, belongs to those models too and has infrared vision. Which means, he can instantly see the difference in how androids look as opposed to humans. Which would explain how He was able to instantly see that Alice is an android whereas as Kara couldn't do the same and saw her exactly as she'd have seen a human.

I think this headcanon works really nicely.

#dbh #detroit become human #dbh headcanons #dbh kara #dbh luther #dbh alice #also I think Markus has infrared vision also #not sure about Connor but he canonically has some sort of UV light vision #which is different #but now as I think this infrared filter would be extremely useful for him to have specifically in order to see the androids in the crowd #but as far as I know there are no hints of him having it #but it would make tremendous sense

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half-dead-ham · 8 months ago

Text

Tim Drake's I.E.F Ch.1

To all those new to this fic, Hi! Welcome! I'm sure you'll have fun with this since I'll be posting/updating the old update posts all at once. It's a lot, but if I don't do this now I probably won't later, so bare with me, will you?

[Ao3 chapter] [Masterpost] [Chapter 2]

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Getting shot isn't the best way to start a friendship, but at least nobody died, right?

Gotham is dark.

And big.

And haunted.

It would seem like the worst place for Danny to hide, considering just how many vengeful and sad ghosts there are. And yet, here he is, on his third month here after escaping leaving Amity Park after an unexpected and, frankly, embarrassing reveal of his secret to his parents.

Needless to say, they did not take it well.

Silently cringing at the images of the inside of ecto-proof cages and Fenton blasters running through his head, he floats on his front invisibly about his current interest in lazy circles as they perch on the edge of a rooftop. Red Robin, the first bat he encountered during his stay, and second favourite Gotham vigilante, (his first being Red Hood) was currently working on a case that revolved around a string of break-ins to large electronic stores around Gotham's commercial district. The contents of what was stolen didn't seem to have any pattern, but none of the security systems at previous stores were able to even glimpse at the thief.

Red Robin, hearing rumors through his contacts of the electronic store across the street from them being the next target, had decided to stake out the place in hopes of a clue. The security feed was currently being patched through onto Red Robin's wrist computer as the bird watched silently for any signs of movement. A slight distortion caught Danny's eye and he lowered himself over Red Robin's shoulder to get a better look. Red Robin shivered at the sudden chill, but didn't look around like the first dozen times Danny had hovered into his personal space.

It was weird, the lack of reaction. At the beginning, about a month beforehand was when Danny had first taken interest in the vigilante. He was bored of staying in the decrepit old building he'd started squatting in after the first few nights of paranoia fueled isolation. Figuring the best way to settle his nerves was a midnight patrol, he took off flying in a lazy pattern, first around his new house(not his home, not without them) and then around the rest of the district.

He was just about to head back when he came upon police lights outside a small computer repair shop and curiosity, reluctantly, got the better of him. Danny, invisibly and intangibly as to not be detected, floated cautiously through the roof of the shop to see what had happened. He was not expecting to see Red Robin surrounded by four officers all huddled together watching—glaring—at the monitor displaying the shop's security footage.

Seeing that A. There wasn't anything really bad about the place, like a body or any particularly fresh ghosts, and B. That his second favourite Gotham hero was on the scene had instantly made Danny much less cautious and much more curious. He waited for the officers to focus their attention elsewhere in the store and floated closer to have a look at what the hero, who was currently rewinding the tape, was so baffled about. Red Robin had just hit play when Danny came close enough for his shoulder to accidentally brush the side of Red Robin's head in a momentary lapse of his intangibly, sending the vigilante bounding to his feet in a defensive position, searching for anything close.

Danny, in the split second between his accidental tangibility and Red Robin's reaction, had instinctively moved back and reasserted his powers for good measure. The video played behind Red Robin as he tensely searched the dingy narrow shop for anything that could have caused the cold chill and light brush to the back of his head, but even with the high tech sensors in his lenses he couldn't pick up anything that close to him, just him and the now three other officers in the building. His body slowly uncoiled, the fight bleeding out of him as he watched the officers inspect a particularly interesting piece of wiring near the entrance. 'Like a snake' Danny mused, before silently berating himself for almost getting caught by a bat.

Man, that would've been embarrassing.

Danny was lucky he hadn't thought to switch to thermal viewing, or he would have noticed the massive cold spot just above him to his left.

After that night Danny kept going for patrols around his squat house, and subsequently kept running into Red Robin in his case to find the ghost(ha) thieves. After the seventh time he figured it would be more interesting to just start out searching for the vigilante instead of running into him after the police lights directed him to a crime scene.

An alarm from the store across the street had Danny refocusing on Red Robin's wrist computer. There hadn't been movement on the cam footage, but as Red Robin rose from his crouch Danny noticed one of the camera views where an empty display that had previously held a line of 60 inch flat screens not five minutes before. Rising and hopping off the cornice Red Robin toggled the button on his comm with an exasperated groan.

"Oracle, it's RR," he paused and a woman's voice could vaguely be heard, "So you couldn't see anything either?" He groaned again, louder as he took a few more steps away from the roof ledge. "What kind of tech could hide someone from all the cameras in there?" Another pause, this time from both ends.

"You think it's a meta?" Red murmured, almost to himself. "That could be why we didn't even see the goods getting moved," Oracle was saying something he couldn't make out, then "I'll try, but I don't know how much I'll find even if I can see them." Danny tuned out their conversation after that as another sound caught Danny's attention at the back side of the building. Red Robin was too focused on his conversation to notice or hear, but to Danny the hushed tones were both loud and suspicious.

As he got closer to the edge, the tones became voices, all three deep and rough. He peered over the rear cornice to the alley below, and spotted three men dressed in all black loading the freshly stolen TV screens into the back of a nondescript white van. Two of the men were making their way to the front doors of the vehicle and were wearing large gaudy white belts and were shouting at the third arranging the monitors in the back. The half-ghost only had time to think 'well they don't look suspicious at all' before the first one got to the driver's side door and yanked it open. Belatedly realizing that they were probably the thieves the pacing hero behind him was looking for, Danny made a split second decision and dove for Red Robin's utility belt.

Among the few gadgets Danny had seen Red Robin use, the tracking bug was stored in an easily accessible front pocket at the birds front. Rather than trying to be stealthy for the sake of him not being found out, Danny quickly made a downward sweeping motion with his hand to grab the tracking device intangibly out of the pouch. Only half noticing the full body chill he gave Red Robin on the process, he dashed back to the van of whose driver had just keyed the ignition and stuck the tracker to it's undercarriage in time for it to peel out of the alley back doors only just closing on the turn with a lot 'slam!' and into the dead side street away from the electronic store.

As he watched the van go, he hoped that tracker had an automatic 'on' function or he would be down one piece of mysteriously missing bat-tech and up one very suspicious bat.

Flying worriedly back up to where he had left said bat, he was greeted with his slightly panicked conversation with the person(s?) on the other end of his comm. "-I am not hallucinating! I just felt something go through me and nothing's here! I'm- no I'm not coming down with something Dick! "

Something in the way he said that made Danny pretty sure he wasn't meant to hear that. Vigilantes and their secret identities, right? (was his name really Dick? Or was that just an insult? It felt like a name when he said it…)

"I swear something has been stalking me for the last month and none of you will believe me!"

The half-ghost flinched, realizing that yeah, he maybe hadn't been as sneaky as he'd thought in hanging (haunting?) around the vigilante, but after the first few reactions to his ghostly presence he'd thought Red Robin had choked him up to being some regular Gotham chill or something, only shivering before going back to what he'd been doing previously. Before anyone, present or otherwise, could say anything else, Red Robin's wrist computer beeped and pulled up a map showing the location of the -thankfully operational- moving tracker.

A small "What?" was the only thing to accompany the deep frown as Red Robin lifted his gloved arm showing the tracker, before reaching into the pouch that previously held said tracker and pulling out empty air. Somehow deepening his frown, the bird looked around the empty rooftop, scanning for seemingly anything, before moving his hand back to his comm to speak.

"Guys, I think I got a lead," he stated wearily. He was met with a few seconds of dead air before a flurry of voices spoke one after another in a cacophony Danny could barely even start to decipher before Red Robin spoke over them.

"Something took my tracker. I don't know what has it but it's heading to the docks, I'm going to see where it's headed and maybe find some clues about either who took it, or. that tech."

A distinctly male voice replied this time, and Danny could vaguely make out something about the tracker leading to a trap. Danny really didn't think about what he'd do after setting the tracking device, just that his core urged him to help. Internally groaning at his lack of planning yet again, he was surprised to hear Red Robin's reply.

"I don't think it's a trap. If what I think happened, then that thing that's stalking me might just have given me the lead I need to bust this case open. And yes I know you guys still don't believe me about the thing, but I've seen and felt too many things over the past month not to think something's keeping tabs on me." He started to make hand gestures around halfway through his rant, ending off with a grumble at the notion of invisible teens' currently unknown presence. He heard one more voice speaking up in a cautious tone before the vigilante raised his hand again to the comm. With a reassuring sounding "will do" he switched off his comms and headed to the fire escape off the side of the building and to his bike parked a few streets over.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The docks, Danny thought, were both more haunted and quieter than Amity's, and that somehow made them even creepier.

While keeping up with Red Robin's ninja-like movements through the maze of Gotham's harbour he had spotted no less than fifteen ghosts of various power levels and forms, ranging from the usual blobs to some very concerning looking business men in drenched suits.

Coming up on the location of the tracker Danny placed on the thieves van, they came to a warehouse that was a lot less dead than the ones beside it. Creeping up to an adjacent roof Danny could spot three guards, likely armed if their postures were anything to go by. Red Robin surveyed the perimeter before finding an open window on the second floor. He studied the opening for a few minutes to confirm whether or not there was anyone in the room, then pulled out his grapple and shot it at the overhang of the building just above it, sailing through the small hole with practiced grace.

'Most of the batclan could probably take flight really easily… A bat that could actually fly, now that would be terrifying.' The intrusive thought couldn't escape Danny as he floated through the wall behind the bird, watching as he took a roll and came up in -from what the half-ghost could tell- a perfect defensive crouch. Red Robin checked the room for any cameras before creeping over to the doorway, the door itself having most likely been lost to vagrants a long time ago. With no one in the corridor -though with the other doorways having actual doors it was hard to tell- the vigilante stalked towards the open end, presumably where the office portion ends and the warehouse properly 'begins'.

Red Robin stopped just short of where the office hallway met a grated catwalk that overlooked about two thirds of the warehouse below. Though it must not have been originally, the office space was held aloft by solid yet bare I-beams that jutted from the concrete below. Remnants of walls in the form of gypsum dust and water stains were all that proved the existence of a previously blocked off section to a now open space. The open space, of course, held pallets and pallets of stolen electrical equipment; TV's, computers, stereo systems, just to name a few that Danny could see. Along the wall to his right he could see the van he'd tagged with Red Robins tracer, along with two other vehicles of similar make to the one they followed. The first van currently had its rear doors wide open as four men in all black unloaded the monitors into a waiting palette for… storage? It was hard for Danny to say, but by the way the vigilante slightly below him gasped -silently, he noted absently- they had found the mother-load.

There were more guys than just the ones unloading the van, obviously. They seemed to keep in groups, but in total there were maybe thirty of them, the ghost boy guessed. All of them had some small firearm on them, about half some visible melee weapon, and all had the same Bad Guy™ wardrobe of black long sleeves and pants.

A good few had those garish white belts on, Danny had noticed due to the fact they stick out like the belt on his HAZMAT, though for different reasons. The goons that wore them didn't unload the goods with the ones who didn't have them, suggesting they had a different job in this operation.

Red Robin was taking all this in just as much as he was, watching the men at work as they catalogued the new additions to a collection that clearly went further than just the department store robberies. 'Maybe they break into houses too?' Danny had to assume that because how else would you get a literal mound of cellphones and tablets without some good ol' B&E?

You can't, that's how.

Both Danny and Red Robin were too captivated by the floor below they weren't paying attention to the floor they were on. Specifically, they didn't notice the goon slip out from one of the offices they had neglected to check beforehand. He didn't see them—really just Red Robin, Danny was still invisible—immediately, but as the bird didn't turn around immediately the thug took the chance to take out his weapon—a short lead pipe in this case—and slunk towards the bird and ghost duo as silently his black converse could.

Danny heard a scuff a second before the guy behind them took a swing—straight at the back of Red Robin's head. Thank the ancients so did he, swivelling on the ball of his left foot and kicking out with his right, sweeping the thugs legs and sending him face first into the catwalk grate with his momentum. As he landed though, he let go of his pipe.

Which fell to the floor below.

Which in turn alerted everyone to what was happening just above their heads.

Danny metaphorically held his breath (not literally, he didn't need to breathe as a ghost) as, as one, the entire warehouse snapped to look in the direction of the loud clang! and eventually the bird in the rafters. Many rushed to unholster their firearms before shooting at the vigilante.

Red Robin cursed and sprinted back the way he came, into the vacant room and back out the window to the opposing roof with his grapple. Behind them shouting and more gunshots could be heard, leaving Danny's ears ringing as the mob of thugs spilled out of the warehouse in pursuit of the rooftop runner.

Danny had to resist the urge to put up a shield to aid the bird in his escape, his core screaming at him protect protect protect! As bullets whizzed by them in the leaps Red Robin took between corrugated rooftops. He deflected as many as he could without being obvious, but due to that a few found their marks, the first one in Red Robin's upper right arm, another grazing his left cheek to the bridge of his nose, and the final one getting through his body armour and through his lower left side, exiting through his chest.

The last bullet made Red Robin yelp in pain, losing focus of his landing position and slipping on a slick spot on the next roof. His legs went out from under him and though he tried to find something, anything to hold onto, the strain had his right arm weakening, and with a look of terror, he fell.

Protect protect protect protect protect pr̵̟̬̬͕̼̜̪̞̊̓͗̊͌͆͠͝ͅo̷̦̟̥̠͉̘͕͛̎͛͝ͅṱ̷̼͔̘̩̆ě̴̗̱͍̤̣̻̯̹̇̍̄c̶̡̤͔̫̠̲̍͋́͐̀͂̕͝t̵͚̟͓̔͐̏͊̈́̕ ̶̘͈͙̻̦̫̱͑̂p̴̧̩͚̝̲͓̜̰͑̅́̉̈́͛͝r̵̨̛̘̕ǒ̷̧̰̟͖͓̳̘̮̓̊̈́͗̉t̵̢͙̝̰͍̗̪̀͛ͅḛ̵͖͎̭̹̾́̀͋͘ç̵̭̭̫̥̭͎͚̯͌̌̀̾ṯ̵̤̪̟̙̹̂̓́̊͛̐̓͘̕͜ ̵͙͈̟͆̀̍̆p̸̡̛̙͎̖̭̐̆̈́̇̏ṙ̸̘̗̪͖̂̽̉́̕o̶̝̬̔̅̈́͑̃t̷̨̧̛̖̘̩̩͇̺̀̔͋̈́́̄̈́͝ȅ̴̞̗͗̂͂͂̉̚c̶̛̥̹̃̃̓̐̽ṯ̶͎̈́͂̈͐̎́͒͝!̶̥̇̄̈̓̈́͗̀͝͠

Before he knew what he was doing, Danny dove for Red Robin, catching him by the wrist not five feet from the very hard, very solid, concrete pavement below them. He lowered the vigilante down gently, his legs not supporting him due to shock of not going splat. (or possibly due to trauma and blood loss.) Danny only let go when Red Robin was firmly sitting on the ground, back to the adjacent wall and unharmed -other injuries notwithstanding- and turned to the rapidly approaching thunder of footsteps as the goons came running at them.

Dropping his invisibility, Danny put a shield around the prone teen behind him. Better not to have him get worse due to some stray bullets while he was being protected.

Why wasn't he taking the injured vigilante and getting the hell outta dodge to somewhere safe? Well that's because he was angry. He was angry they hurt something that was his. They would pay for hurting something he was protecting.

And so, as the mob of goons came at the two teens, Danny, for lack of a better term, unfolded.

A multitude of eyes and teeth and claws came gnashing and snarling outwards in a cloud of frozen shadow at the gang, causing many to panic and either shoot or flee. Some of the ones shooting shot the ones trying to get away, and the buildup of panic and screams and fear had Danny cackling in static echos as he gouged and disarmed and covered the mob in his nebulous mass. He never injured enough to kill, but enough to make sure that if they weren't carried away that they'd need a while to recover.

As the stars that were his teeth and nails stopped flashing in blows delivered Danny adjusted himself back to his usual state, teeth only slightly sharp and claws firmly under the white of his HAZMAT gloves. Satisfied at seeing no man left behind was a code the thugs stood by, Danny turned back to the glowing dome that housed his vigilante.

(No, not his, he can't own someone.)

Red Robin was still in the same spot, which is good. He was also unconscious, which is less good. Gingerly, Danny put two fingers to the bird's neck, looking for and finding a pulse that while strong, was erratic and fast. He would bleed out without immediate attention, and it would be a bad idea to try and carry him to the nearest hospital for multiple reasons. Cursing, he took off his left glove and wrapped it under Red Robin's armpit, knotting it tight for a makeshift tourniquet. Trying to assess a chest wound with only the surface knowledge he knows from patching himself up would be disastrous, so from the small interdimensional space that held his possessions while in ghost form he pulled out his to-go med kit. Thankfully he hasn't needed it all that much since he got to Gotham, leaving much of the more heavy duty supplies for cases of emergency—cases like these. He takes the antibacterial spray and applies a generous amount to both the entry and exit wound, then seals both with his ghostly ice and wraps his torso in bandages. Debating on whether or not it was better to dress the cut on the fainted teens face, the need to respect his privacy won out and applied some gauze with a hint of frost to keep it on and to prevent infection.

While not entirely satisfied with his handywork he knows the ice mixed with the spray will kill anything off except the bird himself, he focuses on the hard part.

Telling the bats.

He knows he has to. But the fear of them trying to look into him has him hesitating. His core thrums loud in his chest, urging him to help, protect your human, protect and the fear recedes for a moment. Before it can come back Danny pulls Red Robin's comm out of his ear and holds it over his own. Taking a fortifying breath he technically doesn't need he pressed the button on the earpiece and breathed out a nervous "H-hello?"

"RR, status report." The female voice he recognized as hearing before, Oracle, comes over the comm instantly.

"Uhhh, bird down?" He hadn't seen a code used for when a bat needs immediate assistance. He could've at least tried to sound more confident.

"... Who are you and how did you get Red Robins' communicator?" Anand that just sent her on high alert, great going Fenton.

Ignoring the question and putting a little more bravado in his voice he states "listen, Red Robin has been shot and needs medical assistance. I've patched him up but he's unconscious and might be in shock. One of you bats needs to get down to the docks and help him."

The line was dead for a moment before another voice—was it Dick—came on the line to answer.

"I'm on route to the docks now, tell me where he is and we'll see what happens to you."

Relief flooded through Danny despite the thinly veiled threat and he quickly rattled off their coordinates, noting in between which warehouses they were in before turning off the comm and placing it in its original position.

He stayed to make sure Red Robin was safe until he heard the silent hum of Nightwing's electric motorbike. Turning invisible he watched the older vigilante rush to check over Red Robin's wounds, make a comment into his comms, then turned his head to search for the one who patched him up.

Giving up quickly he picked up his fainted younger bridal style and carried him over to his bike, placing him on the front with him just behind him to secure him. Then they were off, speeding to Danny didn't know where, probably the bat cave? He was about to head home when the thrum from his core gave him pause. It still needed to know Red Robin was safe, still calling to protect, even if there was no danger. Trying to ignore it would just make the thrum turn to a burn, so reluctantly Danny sped off to follow Nightwing and his (no, not his) Red Robin.

'This is going to end either very well, or very badly…' Was all he could think.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[Next][Ao3]

#ham writes #dpxdc #dp x dc #danny phantom #dp x dc crossover #batman #danny fenton #tim drake #chapter fic #chapter 1

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1001aus · 1 year ago

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The GIW is dangerous. They have weapons and armored vehicles and don't care about collateral damage. They've got the whole town under an information quarantine and have stopped new tech that could be used to bypass it from reaching them.

But the GIW is a relatively small organization and one that can't afford to be too noticeable. They and the Anti Ecto Act are a blatant violation of the Meta Protection Act, after all.

If someone who happens to look exactly like an Amity Park citizen should happen to show up somewhere more than twenty miles away using a different name... well, they don't have the kind of resources to keep track of things like that.

They can track the use of names and keywords. They can track bank accounts. They cannot dedicate the kind of technical or personnel resources it would take to use facial recognition at that scale.

Sure, for the most heavily exposed citizens they have to be careful about the trace amounts of ecto-radiation they give off, but only a few of them have a strong enough signature to be noticeable from more than a foot away even to the most highly sensitive equipment.

(Needless to say, the GIW do not have such equipment. It's well outside their budget. They only afford what they do have because the Doctors Fenton have no concept of how valuable their work is.)

For the creative and slightly liminal citizens of Amity Park there are plenty of ways past the quarantine line.

The Mansons and Vlad have to be allowed to come and go, of course; they move in the kind of circles the GIW can't afford attention from. Danny, Jazz, Sam, and Tucker dip into the Fenton portal when they want to and either come out Vlad's portal or get a friendly ghost to make them one.

For everyone else? There are farm fields immediately outside of town. Fields the GIW isn't able to stick sensors all over. For people whose ecto-signature doesn't radiate out more than about a foot, the net of monitoring is easy to slip past.

As long as they have to good sense not to talk about Amity Park outside of Amity Park, the GIW will never know how ineffective their lockdown is.

#dpxdc #idea tag

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narwhal-writes · 5 months ago

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No Time To Die (FitzSimmons AU)

Overview: Fitz goes looking for Simmons, but does she really want to be found?

Fitz hadn’t seen Jemma in months, everyone around him telling him that she was ‘okay’ and that he didn’t have to worry about her. But nobody would tell him where she was, no matter how much he asked. And the worst part, he knew it was because something was wrong. They wouldn’t hide it from him if it wasn’t. It also didn’t help that his mind has been very jumbled lately… ever since Ward trapped them in the bottom of the ocean. He was about ready to steal the quinjet and find her himself, with help from Daisy of course. He couldn’t deny that she was going to be the best at finding her. So, with that, he put his plan into action.

He started to walk out of his ‘lab’, which had moved. A lot. And made his way toward where he thought that Daisy would be. But, before he could get there, Mack stopped him. Him and Mack had gotten pretty close over the last few weeks, and he didn’t treat him like he was so irreparably damaged.

Mack smiles when he sees him. “Hey Turbo, any new ideas lately?

Fitz keeps walking but tries his best to answer the question. “Uh- yes. Its-its a- what's the word… bio... biological DNA sensor, I think.” He replies, and he thinks Mack nods before he walks off, but he was already back to finding Daisy, no longer focused on Mack.

He walks into her room without knocking, this was urgent. And there she was, sitting on her bed, reading a book. But she looks up when she hears him come in. She smiles and closes the book. “Hey Fitz, what’s going on?” She asked, noticing the look on his face.

“I’m going to find Simmons.”

Daisy’s face instantly drops. “I-I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Great, she knew the thing that they were all keeping from him, too. What was it? What was so bad that they would keep it from her best friend? Actually, he didn’t want anyone to answer that.

“But why? You guys won’t tell me anything, so I’m going to find out for myself.”

“There’s a reason you don’t know. I'm sorry Fitz, but I can’t help you. I really want to…”

“Fine. I’ll do it myself. If Coulson asks where I am, tell him I’m taking a break.” He says before walking out, he can hear Daisy call something after him, but he didn’t hear, nor did he care.

He practically runs toward the Quinjet. There’s only one problem though… he needs a pilot. Why didn’t he think of this before? Now he has to find one, and there's not a lot of time, considering Daisy will probably tell May or somebody. He has to hurry…

He quickly changes course towards the newbie training room, where there should be at least one pilot. He rushes into the room and everybody looks at him. “Do-Do any of you know how to- um…” He snaps his fingers, trying to find the word. “Pilot. That’s what it is.”

One of the people in the room hesitantly raised her hand. It was a girl, about 4 years younger than him, with long brown hair. “Uh, I can?”

Fitz walked over to her. “Great. You’re coming with me. I need a pilot.”

“Um, I'm not cleared for field work-” The agent was cut off as Fitz dragged her away and back towards the quinjet. As soon as they got out of the room, she pushed Fitz away. “I can walk by myself.”

“Sorry.” He simply said, still running towards where the quinjet was parked. “We’re kind of in a hurry-” He was cut off by the doors in front of them leading to the room where the Quinjet was closing. He started running even faster, the agent on his heels. They just barely make it in before they close.

The Agent was breathing heavily. “What the heck! What's all this about, anyway?”

“We’re finding somebody. Now get to the pilot’s seat, we need to get out of here.” He replies, going to sit in the co-pilot seat.

The agent, without another thought, moved to sit next to him, looking around for a second, surveying the controls around her. She flips a few switches, and pulls a few things, and they’re in the air. The doors above them are still closed, though. So Fitz aims the guns and starts to shoot at it, and after a few seconds, there’s a hole big enough for the quinjet to fit through. The agent next to him maneuvers the quinjet, careful not to hit anything. When they’re in the open sky, they both let out a relieved sigh.

“What’s your name again? I don’t think I asked.” Fitz asked.

“Delilah. Delilah Verticu, or just Agent Verticu. Whatever one you want. And who are you? Because I’m pretty sure this counts as a kidnapping-”

“I’m Fitz. I needed a pilot. I need to find my friend, but I have no idea where she is and they won’t tell me anything. So that’s why you’re here. Don’t worry, you’re just the pilot. Hopefully I won’t have to fight…” He explains.

Delilah was still digesting all the information, he could see it on her face. “So… where do we go first?” She asks.

“That's-That's a great question. One that I’ll try to find the answer to.” He stands up and moves to the back, where a computer was.

He started to run facial recognition for Simmons, which was kind of hard to do with only one good hand, but he managed.

Hopefully it wouldn't take very long to find where she last was. He was worried, over the last few days, his mind has imagined the worst, she could be dead…. Anything was better than that.

Then, the facial recognition had found her already. Weird, Jemma knew when there was a camera, she might not be a field agent, but she knows when somebody’s watching her. So that means she wants to be found.

“What is it?”

“A location. California.” He goes to sit next to Delilah again as she changes course

There’s at least 5 hours until they get there, so sleeping probably wasn’t the worst idea. He grabbed a brochure from behind him and put it over his eyes. “Wake me up when we’re there.”

Within 40 minutes, he’s sound asleep. Before he had gone to sleep, he’d given Delilah a specific location, so that was not a problem.

“Fitz! We’re here.” Delilah said, gently nudging him. He must have been asleep for at least 4 hours. He sat up, still a little groggy.

“Right, give me just a second.” Fitz rubs his eyes, trying to wake up. After he’d collected himself, he got all geared up, ICER’s strapped to his belt. He looks over to Delilah as the hangar doors open.

“Stay here, no matter what. If I don’t come back in 7 hours, go back to the base and tell Coulson.” Fitz tells her.

She nods. “Right, and what are the chances of that happening exactly?”

“Low.” He says before walking off, when he was a few meters away, Delilah closed the doors. This is it. No turning back now.

He walks towards where he can see the city in the distance. Thinking about it now, he should have taken a motorcycle or something…

After a lot of walking, he finally made it. He sat down at a table at a restaurant, one of the ones that was half-way outside and waited. He definitely should have thought ahead more…

This was very poorly planned. How was he supposed to find Jemma in a city that has hundreds of people? He had no idea what he was doing, all he knew is that he had to find out where she was. He had to find her. And so, he stood up and went into a coffee shop, knowing it was Jemma’s favorite place. He froze in the doorway as he spotted her. The odds of it were… extremely low. But there she was. He would recognize her anywhere.

He speed-walked over to her and sat down across from her. She looked up from her book, completely and utterly shocked that he was there. She looks around, and calms down. That was weird… she should’ve been way more excited… but Fitz brushed it off.

“Where-Where were you?” Fitz asked. “I kept asking everyone, but they wouldn’t tell me anything. All they would say is you were okay and give me a sad look. What’s going on?”

Simmons looked at him, a look that Fitz had never seen before in her eyes, but it quickly disappears as soon as she notices that he noticed. “Well, I’ve been on a mission, so that’s probably why they didn’t tell you, because this would have happened.”

“I missed you…”

“Oh Fitz…” She says. “How about I show you what I’ve been doing?”

He looks up from his hands that had been shaking. They did that a lot lately, he hated it. His hands were supposed to be steady, so he could actually build things. But now… he can’t. “Yeah. Let’s do it.”

Jemma nods and stands up, having already paid for her coffee. Fitz stands up too and follows Jemma out. After a few minutes of walking, they reach a building, like a skyscraper. It was pretty impressive.

“This is where you’re undercover at?” Fitz asks, slightly shocked.

“Yeah.”

They walked in, the place was strangely empty, only a few security guards, it was eerie and he instantly got a bad feeling. This wasn’t going to end well. But he brushed it off, he was with Jemma, they could face it together, just like they always did. They walk towards an elevator and Jemma punches a floor number in. She then goes on her phone and types something, but Fitz couldn’t see what.

After a minute, the elevator doors slid open, but what was there surprised Fitz. 3 armed guards were waiting, he grabbed an ICER from his belt and shot it at one of them, but missed. He handed one to Simmons, who was strangely calm during all of this. By this time, the guards had rushed forwards and were attacking him, he managed to shoot one of them with an ICER, shove one into a wall, and dislocate a knee. But Simmons still wasn’t doing anything.

When all the guards were laying on the floor, he turned back to Simmons. But a surprising sight awaited him. Simmons was okay, but she was now pointing the ICER at his head.

“You should have listened to Daisy, Leopold.” She said before shooting him, knocking him out cold.

A few hours later, he woke up in a cell, two guards outside of it. How could Jemma do this… they were supposed to be inseparable. But she betrayed him, she betrayed everyone. Just like Ward… how could she do this to him? And right after he risked his life for her to live.

He had almost drowned so that she could live, and now look at him. Trapped in a cell after she betrayed him. Just like Ward… The resemblance was uncanny.

At that moment, Simmons walked into the room and the guards bowed their heads in respect. He could tell she was a lot more confident now. But not in a good way.

“You. How could you?! I risked my life for you, and you turned me in, to HYDRA of all people. Don’t you remember Ward? Don’t you remember what he did to us?”

There was a cold look in her eyes. One that he had never seen before. This was a different Simmons than he knew. She was a whole new, horrible person. “Of course I remember. That’s why I’m here. I realized that I was done letting people hurt me. And the only way to have that happen, is to hurt them first.”

“That’s a horrible way to live.”

“A pretty good way not to die, though. I am sorry, Fitz. S.H.I.E.L.D. tried to warn you, you should have listened.” She said, her British accent shining through.

“I can’t believe you. You would join the organization we swore to stop? I-”

“You’re the one who needs to wake up and smell the smoke. The world is ending, we are being thrown into another war. And I'm not going to be on the losing side. You should consider it too, then we can be together again.”

Fitz had to admit, the offer was tempting. He would be lying if he said he wasn’t considering. But he was part of S.H.I.E.L.D., and he couldn't do that to Daisy. She’s lost too much already, with Ward and all. “No, never. I’m not like you. I would never betray my friends for glory.”

His only hope was that Delilah would go back and tell Coulson, and they could get him out of there. Because if it came down to it, he knew he couldn’t pull the trigger on her. She still meant too much to him.

This has happened too many times… a friend betraying him. First it was Jules, then Ward, and now Simmons, the one person he thought he could count on. Heck, she threw herself off a plane so that he wouldn’t get her “sickness”. But then she threw it all away, for HYDRA of all people.

“I told you, Fitz. I want to be with you, join me. And we can live forever. In peace, unlike how S.H.I.E.L.D. is, we’d no longer have to constantly fight people. We were children when we first joined, we still are. Please, Fitz. Listen to me. Or else I won’t be able to stop them.”

“From doing what? It’s just a tad bit hard to believe you after you betrayed me and my trust for HYDRA.”

“They want information. On S.H.I.E.L.D. And I won’t be able to stop them from getting that information unless you join me. Or else they will hurt you. I promise you that. This could go either way.”

Fitz hesitated for a moment, but he knew he couldn’t betray his friends back at the base. Especially Mack and Daisy. “No. They’re going to have to get it out of me. I will never be like you. And I can’t understand why you would want to be like this.”

Simmons sighed. “I gave you a chance. Why must you always be so stubborn,Fitz?” She turns to the guards outside who’d been waiting for her to give them a sign. “Take him.”

“No, no, no, no.” The guards grab his arms and he desperately tries to plead with Jemma. “Please Jemma, think about what you’re doing. We’re friends. Did that mean nothing to you!? Nothing at all!? JEMMA, PLEASE!” He yells desperately as the guards drag him away until Jemma is out of sight. He’s still fighting, though. He won’t go down without a fight. He won’t break his promise. Ever.

Whilst fighting, he was mentally mapping out the route they were taking- in case S.H.I.E.L.D. didn’t actually come to his rescue. Hopefully that wasn’t the case, though. Or else he was screwed. Why didn’t he just listen to Daisy…?

If he had, none of this would have happened. Oh god, Delilah. She was waiting for him. What if they found her? What then? Hopefully she was okay. She was just a kid. Like he was when he joined S.H.I.E.L.D. as an engineer and met Simmons. That seemed like a lifetime ago, when in reality, it had only been a few years. Time flies when you’re about to die.

But he hadn’t yet. That had to count for something. Although, he didn’t know how long that would last. He was trapped in a dungeon, by HYDRA, and had no way of getting out, at least for a few more hours. He had to stall until Coulson and the others arrived. However long that was.

How much time had passed since he had been thrown in here? He had lost track a while ago, at least, that’s what he thought. If only there was some way that he could communicate with Delilah to tell her that he was caught. That's when he remembered… Before he had left the plane he grabbed an emergency button. His invention, of course. It was able to let the person in the quinjet know that he was in trouble. Thank god for his wonderful mind, however messed up it might be right now.

He pressed it, hopefully Delilah will understand what it means and fly back to the base to tell Coulson. And hopefully it was soon.

He didn’t know how long he had before somebody came in and tried to get information out of him. Preferably a long time. However, his hopes were crushed.

Of course, he jinxed it. A girl with long, brown hair walked in. She had this… confidence to her. He could tell that she was one of the most powerful people here, hopefully that didn’t mean what he thought it meant for him.

But, something was there that was different to all the other HYDRA agents, but Fitz couldn’t tell what it was. It bothered him. A lot.

He had to admit, this girl scared him. He could tell that she was a no-nonsense type of person. Those seemed pretty plentiful around here. But, back to what happened. When she walked in, his stomach dropped. Oh gosh, this was going to be painful.

She walked over to a table by the side. “So, Leopold Fitz. You’re an Agent of SHIELD, correct?”

He nods, his throat dry. Come on, Fitz. You’ve gone through worse. Just stall for as much time as you can. That’s all you have to do.

She looks over at him, seeing him nod. “Right. And what are SHIELD’s plans in the future?”

“Can you be more specific?” Fitz was second-guessing his choice to stall for time. This woman scared him.

She stares at him, trying to decide whether he’s serious or not. “SHIELD has been infiltrating our operations. We want to know why.”

“Really? Of course we are. If I remember correctly, you guys did the same thing not even a year ago.”

“Answer the question, Leopold.”

“Fine.” He had to think of something quickly. Then, he had an idea. “We… are in the process of making a giant weapon, one that can instantly be able to tell who's HYDRA. So you won’t be able to infiltrate us again. Happy?”

Obviously this wasn’t the truth, but hopefully, he had lied well enough so that the lady wouldn’t find it too suspicious.

She looked at him for about half of the minute, studying all of his micro-expressions intently. She would be hard to fool.

But, she surprised him and nodded. “Great. Thank you for your cooperation.”

He couldn’t believe that worked. He was a horrible liar, but somehow she believed him. Or maybe it was a trick. Either way, he made it past. And he wasn’t dead yet. So that was good. The lady apparently got all the information he wanted, considering she left right after.

He decided he might as well take a nap. He had a feeling it was going to be a long few hour So, he laid down on the dirty floor, head on his arm and tried to sleep. Eventually, he was able to, but only after at least an hour.

He had to hold out hope that Coulson and the team would come for him.

After about 3 hours, he woke up. There was rattling coming from outside the cell door. Maybe it was Daisy or May unlocking the door, or picking the lock.

But his hopes were soon diminished as Simmons walked in. As soon as he saw her, he looked away. He couldn’t look in her eyes, not after everything she’d done.

“What? Come to gloat?” He asked bitterly.

“No, not at all. The agent that was formerly sent in here thought that you were lying. It’s my job to figure out whether or not she was right.” She looks at the gun in her hand, which was anything but an ICER. “No matter what.”

“You really think you can shoot me? After everything we went through together?” Part of him wanted to believe that she wouldn’t, but the other half knows better. He was done trusting people blindly.

“I can. And I will. As soon as you say something that I don’t believe. You forget, I know you better than anyone. I know when you’re lying.”

“Then you should also know that I don’t betray my friends.” (If I had a nickel for every time one of my best friends betrayed me for an enemy organization, I’d have 2 nickels. Which isn’t a lot, but it's weird that it happened twice.)

“I didn’t betray you, I was true to myself. Sometimes, that's what you have to do.”

“Not if that includes becoming a terrorist. You need to work on your moral code a bit.”

“I’m not a terrorist, Fitz.”

“Sure sounds like you are.”

“Enough small talk, What are you really planning?”

Just then, Simmons' radio in her other hand went off. She put it up to her mouth. “What’s going on?”

“The base has been infiltrated by a small SHIELD team.” Came the staticky response.

She turned towards him so rapidly he was convinced she would get whiplash. “What did you do?”

“I did what I had to. You forget that I’m one of SHIELD’s best engineers.”

She sighs. “I didn’t want to do this, but you’ve left me no choice.” She raises the gun, pointing directly at his chest.

He couldn’t believe this was happening. The SHIELD team was here. Delilah made it back. But now… Simmons was about to shoot him.

“Jemma… I’m your friend.”

“Not anymore.”

The next few seconds seemed to happen in slow motion.

…

He could see her pull the trigger, but didn’t feel the pain of the bullet until a few seconds later. After Simmons confirmed it hit him, she rushed out.

He dropped to his knees, blood spilling from his stomach. He had to hold on… for Daisy. He moved his hand towards the wound to put some pressure on it, trying to slow the bleeding. His thoughts were fuzzy, all he could think of was the pain. His vision blurs. This couldn’t be how he died. He couldn’t die. Not yet.

He had to wait. They’d find him. They had to.

It felt like forever, but then, somebody kicked down the door. He could barely see someone rush towards him. They whispered something to him, but it was unintelligible. The person picked him up, bridal style and carried him out. He couldn't focus. He could hear alarms going off in the distance, guns firing, people fighting, but he barely registered any of it. He was trying to stay awake, he really was. But it was so hard… he just wanted to close his eyes, to finally rest.

But he knew he couldn’t. He had to stay awake. For Daisy. For Coulson. For Mack. For May. For Delilah.

But every second he felt more faint. He could tell that they made it back to the plane, seeing the black interior. He could feel himself being placed on a medical bed, and yelling. Bright lights shone on him, making it impossible for him to tell what was happening. He could feel himself lose consciousness.

Daisy couldn’t believe it. Fitz was shot. Because of her. It was her fault. If she had just made sure that he never went to find Simmons, none of this would have happened.

As she looks at him through the clear glass wall, she feels a hand on her shoulder. It was Coulson. The closest thing she had to a father.

“He’s going to be okay, Sky-I mean Daisy. Sorry, still getting used to it.” He smiles, even though it was strained. He was obviously just as worried as she was.

“He doesn’t deserve this… He’s lost too much.” She protested, she could feel her eyes start to fill with tears. Oh god… this was horrible.

She knew how it felt to be shot, and it doesn’t feel very good. At all. And let alone by someone you trusted…

A part of her was glad he was unconscious, she didn’t think she could bear to see him heartbroken. He was like a brother to her. Everyone at SHIELD felt like family to her. She didn’t know how else to explain it. They had given her a home, a reason to be a better person.

And the recruit, Delilah, was still pretty shaken up. What was Fitz thinking? Taking a trainee with barely enough training into a trap. Of course, Fitz didn’t really know that it was a trap then because she didn’t tell him that Simmons was HYDRA…

It all barely makes any sense. But when does something ever make sense? For example, she might be an alien and her parents were apparently monsters that killed a lot of people. Some stuff just doesn’t make sense.

This just proved even more that Fitz and her were a lot alike. They both don’t really like where they came from (AKA their parents) and both of their crushes turned out to work for an enemy terrorist organization. The parallels were insane.

“Come on Fitz…” She whispered. “Now’s no time to die.”

#marvel fanfiction #marvel #marvel cinimatic universe #marvel mcu #agents of shield #agents of s.h.i.e.l.d.#jemma simmons #leo fitz #daisy johnson #agents of shield season 2 #fitzsimmons #aos

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downbad4yoongi · 13 days ago

Text

Familiarity | Seokjin x Yoongi

🏕️Pairing: Seokjin x Yoongi

🏕️Rating: MA

🏕️Tags: exes to lovers, ex-boyfriends, reunion, camping

🏕️Warnings: smut 🔞

🏕️WC: 7,430

#bangtanwhq

Summary:

Seokjin thought Yoongi was his end game. That was until Yoongi left him behind for bigger and better things. Seokjin has moved on and is thriving as a hard-working marketing executive in desperate need of a break. With terrible timing, as usual, Yoongi reappears and wants to try again.

With a sigh, Seokjin sits back in his office chair, tilting his head to the side with a stretch. A low groan escapes at the sudden crack that echoes through the empty office. He glances at the clock on the wall, grimacing at how late it’s gotten. He shakes his head with a tired chuckle, gathering scattered papers into neat piles, quickly shutting down his computer.

“About time, Jin-ssi,” a teasing voice calls as he steps out of his office, pulling the door closed behind him. He glances over his shoulder to see his coworker, Sooyoung, smirking at him. “Finally decided to let yourself take a break?”

“Something like that,” Jin replies, palming his keys. “If anyone asks–”

“I'll tell them you’re unavailable. Completely unreachable.” Sooyoung interrupts, her tone fond but firm. “Please, just forget work exists for a few days.”

“I’ll do my best,” Jin promises, offering a tired but grateful smile. He shoulders his bag and steps past her, heading to the elevator.

“Don’t get eaten by a bear!” Sooyoung calls after him, her laughter following Jin into the elevator.

He quickly crosses the vacant lobby of the tall high-rise that houses dozens of various business offices. He can feel his shoulders visibly relax as he steps out onto the sidewalk and takes a deep breath of fresh air. He tosses his keys into the air, catches them, and heads to his sleek, white CUV in the nearby parking garage. He pulls out of the concrete structure, leaving the few cars behind without a second glance.

The drive to Jimin and Jungkook’s house is short, but traffic makes it feel much longer. It’s late, but this city never sleeps. Jin taps his fingers impatiently against the steering wheel, already feeling the tension ease from his shoulders as the weekend ahead beckons–quiet nights, a crackling campfire, and nothing but the peaceful rhythm of nature.

He pulls into the driveway alongside Jungkook’s pick-up truck, triggering the sensor that turns the porch light on. He slips out of his car just as Jimin steps onto the porch, the light from inside haloing around him. He can’t help his smile as his friend eagerly waves at him.

Jungkook exits the house, his truck’s keys dangling from his fingers, “Hey, hyung.”

“Thanks for letting me borrow it. You don’t even know how much I need this.” Jin tosses his keys to Jungkook as Jungkook tosses his at the same time. “Promise I won’t get it too muddy.”

“Make it as muddy as you want. It will give it some personality.” Jimin coyly glances over at Jungkook. “And in the end, I’ll get some eye candy as he washes it clean.”

Jungkook returns Jimin’s look, sidling closer to wrap an arm around the smaller man’s waist. “Then, please, do your worst, hyung,” Jungkook directs to Jin.

With a roll of his eyes and a quip of the tongue, Jin backs toward the dark gray truck. “Happy to be of service.”

Hopping in, he pulls out of the driveway, leaving the other two behind with a wave.

Morning comes with a chirp of birds and rays of sun crossing the expanse of his bedroom. Jin lingers in the shower, taking his time moving through his morning routine before slipping into a pair of black joggers and an oversized white tee. He shuffles into the kitchen as he straps his watch on, not even needing to really think about the process as he brews a cup of coffee. He stands there for a few moments enjoying the aroma before heading over to where he had already pre-packed everything he needed for his trip.

He quickly double-checks that he has everything before he steps back over to the full cup of coffee. Leaning back against the counter, he slips his phone into his hand and reviews his list one more time. Feeling fully reassured, he flips over to Instagram, scrolling a bit to catch up on what his social network is up to.

Tilting his head back, he drains the last dregs of his mug before rinsing it out and setting it on the drainer. He starts hauling camping gear out to the truck parked in front of his townhouse. Humming as he works, he carefully arranges the items to fit them as best as possible. He’s just strapping the tent into place when a long, familiar voice startles him.

“You always made that look harder than it actually is.”

Jin freezes at the sound of the unseen voice–low, familiar, and painfully unexpected. He tightens the strap one more time before pivoting slowly. His breath hitches as he takes in Yoongi standing a few feet away, hands shoved deep into his pockets.

“Yoongi?” Jin’s voice wavers before he steadies it, his eyes narrowing slightly in guarded confusion. “What are you doing here?”

Yoongi shifts uncomfortably, eyes fixed intensely on Jin’s. “Honestly, I don’t even know how I got here. I just… I couldn’t stop thinking that something was missing in my life.”

“And you thought you’d find it here, of all places?” Jin asks, voice tinged with disbelief.

Yoongi’s gaze softens slightly, sincere and vulnerable. “No, I thought I might find it with you.”

Jin’s jaw tightens as a complex wave of emotions surges within him. “I’m leaving now, Yoongi. I don’t have time to sit here and figure out whatever the hell it is you’re here for.”

“Please,” Yoongi’s voice drops, quiet and determined. “We need to talk, hyung.”

“Well, then you’ll have to wait, as you can see I’m busy.” Jin snaps, surprising even himself. He starts to turn his back toward his ex-boyfriend, but hesitates, facing him again. “If you’re really determined to talk to me, you can come along. But either way, I’m leaving now.”

Yoongi hesitates briefly, conflict flickering across his face before resolve takes over. With a simple nod, he steps forward and climbs into the passenger side with nothing but the clothes on his back. Jin clenches his jaw, his hand gripping the door handle tightly as he yanks it open.

He really didn’t think Yoongi would accept the challenge. If he knew anything about his ex-boyfriend, he would have been sure that Yoongi would back down at the thought of spending any lengthy amount of time in the great outdoors.

Regret pushes back at the peace that he was previously feeling, and he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to get it back as he settles next to the diminutive man already settled in the cab of the truck.

The first thirty minutes pass in silence, heavy and awkward. Jin keeps his eyes trained steadily on the road ahead, gripping the steering wheel tighter than necessary, knuckles whitening with tension. Yoongi, for his part, stares out the window, tracing patterns absently against the passenger-side glass, the sun shifting higher in the sky, warming the cab around them.

“Did you eat breakfast already?” Yoongi’s voice finally breaks through the silence, low and hesitant.

Jin exhales sharply, caught off guard. He spares a glance at Yoongi before turning back to the road. “I’ll eat when we get there.”

Yoongi’s sigh is quiet but noticeable. “Still skipping meals, I see.”

Jin bristles at the observation, fingers drumming restlessly. “Don’t start.”

“Sorry,” Yoongi mumbles after another pause, shifting uncomfortably. “I’m just…trying, Jin.”

The sincerity in his voice softens Jin’s irritation only slightly, leaving space for a grudging, terse response. “Yeah, I know.”

They lapse back into silence, the rhythmic hum of the truck’s engine filling the awkward void between them. The city gradually recedes, giving way to winding mountain roads and dense forest. The tension clings stubbornly between them, an invisible yet palpable barrier.

After nearly an hour, Jin clears his throat, desperate for anything to fill the uneasy silence. “How long have you been back in town?”

Yoongi shifts again, clearly grateful for any hint of conversation. “About two days. Mostly staying at a hotel, figuring out if I even had the courage to see you.”

Jin’s grip loosens slightly, curiosity slowly beginning to override his lingering resentment, “You could’ve just called.”

Yoongi huffs a small laugh, bitter and self-deprecating. “And said what exactly? ‘Hey, Jin, remember when I left? Turns out that was a mistake. Can we talk?’ Doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue.”

Jin’s mouth twitches slightly, despite himself. “You never were good at talking, to be fair.”

“Still not,” Yoongi admits quietly. “But I’m trying now. Doesn’t that count for something?”

Jin doesn’t answer immediately, gaze fixed intently on the road, rays of light slicing across the road between the towering trees. Finally, quietly, he responds, “We’ll see.”

Yoongi’s breath catches slightly, but he nods and sinks deeper into the seat, seemingly accepting Jin’s ambiguous answers for now. The stifling quiet returns, but less suffocating and more contemplative this time. Jin finds himself subtly easing his grip even further on the wheel as the familiar mountain roads lead them deeper into the forest, bringing them closer to confronting whatever truth awaits them at the end of this journey.

Jin finally backs into his pre-assigned campsite after hours of stilted conversation and headache-inducing silence. He quickly clambers out of the truck, sucking in a lungful of crisp moutain air. Not looking back, he shuts the door, maybe a little more forcefully than intended, and rounds the truck bed to start hauling things out.

On the other side, Yoongi exits more slowly, quietly shutting the passenger door. Jin feels Yoongi’s eyes on him, an unreadable weight against his back, but he doesn’t turn around. Instead, he grabs the tent bag, unhooking the strap roughly, frustration still simmering beneath his skin.

“Need help?” Yoongi’s voice drifts hesitantly from a few feet away, cautious and uncertain.

Jin glances up, half-surprised that Yoongi is even offering. He shrugs, trying to appear indifferent. “Sure. You can grab the smaller bags and set them by the fire pit.”

Yoongi nods, approaching the truck bed and peering at the jumble of camping equipment. After a beat, he lifts a piece of equipment, his brows drawn as he turns it over, confused.

“That’s a camp stove and definitely not one of the small bags I asked you to grab.”

Yoongi scoffs, glaring pointedly at him. “Not all of us grew up doing this. You know that.”

Jin huffs a quiet laugh, the familiarity of their teasing suddenly making his chest ache with memories. He quickly sobers, shaking himself mentally. “Fine, just…hold the stove. That shouldn’t be too hard.”

Yoongi rolls his eyes, holding it with exaggerated care. “Better?”

“Much,” Jin replies dryly and begins transferring the gear out of his truck and setting things in the general area he wants them to end up. Yoongi worries at his lip, watching for a couple of minutes before finally setting the stove down on the wooden picnic table in the center. Quietly, he starts following behind Jin, carting the items he's sure won’t have the perfectionist mad at him.

The silence shifts to Yoongi awkwardly standing there watching Jin unfold the tent poles with practiced efficiency. He moves automatically, slipping the pieces together as muscle memory takes over; the rhythmic clicks serve as a soothing balm against his frayed nerves.

After a long pause, Yoongi speaks quietly, voice barely audible over the nighttime whispers of the surrounding forest. “I missed watching you do things like this.”

Jin’s hands falter, heart stuttering sharply. He swallows thickly, refusing to look up. “Yoongi–”

“I’m not trying to start anything right now,” Yoongi interrupts quickly, voice gentler now. “Just… it feels good. Familiar.”

Jin’s shoulders sag slightly as he secures the tent frame. His voice is quiet but firm. “Familiar doesn’t always mean good, Yoongi. Sometimes it just means comfortable.”

Yoongi nods slowly, “Maybe. But maybe it also means there’s something worth fighting for.”

The quiet sincerity in Yoongi’s voice sends a tremor through Jin’s chest. He straightens abruptly, avoiding Yoongi’s searching gaze as he grabs the tent canvas. “We should get this set up. It’s getting late, and I don’t want to do it in the dark.”

Yoongi hesitates a moment before silently stepping forward, holding the canvas as Jin instructs him, their fingers brushing awkwardly at times. Jin pretends not to notice the small shivers each accidental touch sends racing up his spine, focusing instead on the task at hand–ignoring the subtle warmth that blossoms in his chest as they quietly set up camp underneath the setting sun.

Once the tent is secured, Jin steps back to inspect their work, nodding in quiet approval. The silence between them has settled into something softer now, less raw but still charged with uncertainty. Yoongi shifts awkwardly next to him, glancing around the campsite.

“Is there something else I can do?” Yoongi asks, voice still hesitant but determined. “Preferably something that doesn’t involve holding a camp stove?”

Jin lets out a small chuckle despite himself, running a hand through his hair. “Can you manage gathering some firewood without hurting yourself?”

Yoongi scoffs lightly, though amusement flickers in his eyes. “I’ll do my best.”

“Good,” Jin murmurs, motioning vaguely toward the tree line. “Find smaller branches, nothing too damp. Stay close enough so you don’t get lost.”

“I’m not a child, Jin-hyung,” Yoongi mutters, though the faint curve of his lips softens the scolding as he moves toward the edge of the clearing.

“Could’ve fooled me,” Jin shoots back dryly, turning away quickly with a faint smile. He busies himself organizing their supplies, unrolling sleeping bags, and preparing the fire pit, welcoming the distraction of simple tasks.

By the time Yoongi returns with an armful of slightly damp but usable firewood, Jin has arranged their cooking gear, coolers, groceries, camp chairs, and lanterns, making the campsite now cozy in its simplicity. Jin wordlessly accepts the wood from Yoongi, arranging it neatly in the fire pit and quickly lighting a blaze. Flames flicker to life, casting dancing shadows over their tense, tired faces.

They eat a simple dinner of premade gimbap. Conversation comes sparingly, with careful questions met by guarded responses, each of them cautious not to delve too deeply, too quickly. Eventually, silence takes over again, filled only by the crackling fire and distant rustling of wildlife in the underbrush.

Night falls completely, leaving only the dying flames to cast shadows over the space. Jin shifts in his camp chair and stretches, his bones aching from exhaustion and the emotional weight of the day. “We should get some rest,” he mutters quietly, eyeing the tent hesitantly.

Yoongi nods, glancing at the small tent, clearly uncertain. “Right.”

The tight space inside the tent feels impossibly small as they settle, each pointedly avoiding the other’s eyes, their bodies stiff with tension. Jin turns away, pulling the sleeping bag over himself, back towards Yoongi, where he lies next to the taller man on a thick pad of folded blankets with the rest piled on top of him. He tries ignoring how Yoongi’s quiet breathing fills the small space, achingly familiar.

Minutes stretch into what feels like hours, Jin’s mind refusing to quiet, swirling with unanswered questions and complicated emotions.

Finally, Yoongi’s voice drifts softly from the darkness behind him, hesitant but weighted with meaning. “Thanks, Jin. For not turning me away.”

Jin swallows hard, heart thudding in the small space between them. “Don’t read too much into it.”

“I’m trying not to.”

Silence stretches. Jin pulls the sleeping bag tighter.

“Goodnight, Yoongi.”

“Night, hyung.”

The simple exchange settles around them, bridging the emotional distance just enough to ease the tension slightly. Eventually, Jin succumbs to sleep, one that’s restless with unending tossing and turning, all because every fiber of his being is aware of Yoongi’s presence mere inches away–his presence painfully familiar.

Jin wakes to muted sunlight filtering through the tent fabric, creating a gentle glow around him. The air is cool, fresh, tinged with the earthy scent of pine and morning dew. He blinks slowly, consciousness coming in waves until the sound of Yongi shifting softly beside him jolts him fully awake. Jin lies still, staring at the tent ceiling, painfully aware of Yoongi’s quiet breathing, too close and yet entirely unreachable.

“Morning,” Yoongi says, voice low, roughened by sleep.

Jin swallows, throat dry. “Morning.”

Neither moves at first, suspended in the tense, awkward silence of their shared space. Finally, Jin exhales sharply and sits up, rubbing his eyes. “I’ll start breakfast,” he mutters, crawling quickly from the tent, leaving Yoongi behind.

Outside, the brisk mountain air helps clear his head. Jin stretches his stiff muscles, rummaging through his bags to find fresh clothes — a soft thermal shirt, a pair of worn jeans, and a flannel to complete the outfit. He pulls his shirt over his head, the cool breeze sending shivers down his spine. He hears the tent rustle behind him, but doesn’t turn around.

“I…didn’t exactly think this through,” Yoongi admits quietly, stepping into the open, arms crossed protectively over his chest as he eyes Jin’s neatly organized belongings. “Guess I’ll make do.”

Jin hesitates, then reaches into his bag, pulling out a spare long-sleeved shirt and offering it silently. Yoongi takes it with a murmured thanks, turning away briefly as he swaps shirts, movements cautious and reserved. Jin tries to ignore the fleeting glance at Yoongi’s pale skin and the warmth creeping unbidden onto his cheeks.

Pushing the unwanted thoughts aside, Jin busies himself preparing breakfast. Soon, the campsite is filled with the inviting aroma of fresh coffee and sizzling bacon. Yoongi sits quietly at the picnic table, hands wrapped around a warm mug, eyes distant.

It isn’t long before Jin sets aluminum plates onto the wooden surface, laden with an egg and veggie scramble, accompanied by perfectly fried bacon.

They eat slowly, any conversation stilted and sparse, punctuated by awkward silences and cautious glances.

“So,” Jin finally breaks one of those silences, pushing eggs aimlessly around his plate, “How’s work?”

Yoongi shrugs, gaze fixed on his mug. “Good. Busy, I guess. I produce mostly now, less performing, more background stuff.”

“Sounds like what you always wanted,” Jin replies neutrally, though his chest tightens at the reminder.

Yoongi meets his eyes briefly before looking away again.

“What really brought you back, Yoongi?”

Yoongi shifts uneasily, taking a long sip of coffee before answering. When he speaks, his voice is quiet but clear, heavy with vulnerability. “For years, I thought I was doing exactly what I’d always dreamed of. And I was, but every achievement felt emptier than the last. I kept pushing harder, hoping the next project, the next song, would fill whatever void I had. But it never did.” He pauses, eyes now firmly fixed on Jin’s face, unguarded and pleading. “And every time, I found myself thinking about you. About us. I thought maybe I just missed home, missed the familiarity. But it was more than that. I missed feeling whole, feeling understood. And the only time I’ve ever felt like that was with you.”

Jin’s throat tightens painfully, his chest aching from Yoongi’s words. He opens his mouth, then closes it, unsure how to respond. After a long pause, he sighs, running a hand over his face. “You could’ve said something sooner.”

“I didn’t think you’d want to hear from me,” Yoongi whispers, eyes dropping to his coffee mug again. “Not after the way things ended.”

Jin studies him silently, caught between resentment and empathy, memories tangling tightly in his chest. Finally, he sets his fork down sharply, the metallic clang echoing loudly through the quiet campsite. He looks across the table, locking eyes with Yoongi–anger, curiosity, and unresolved pain mingling within him.

“You know,” Jin says, voice deceptively calm, “it’s pretty bold of you to just show up here after all this time and say these things, like I’m supposed just to accept them.”

Yoongi bristles at Jin’s tone, lifting his chin stubbornly. “I’m not expecting you to just accept anything. I’m just telling you the truth.”

“Your truth,” Jin corrects sharply, eyes flashing. “A truth you conveniently discovered after leaving me behind.”

Yoongi clenches his jaw, looking away as his fingers tighten around his mug. “I never claimed to have handled things perfectly, Jin-hyung. But we both made choices. I left, but you didn’t exactly fight to keep me.”

“Why would I have?” Jin retorts sharply, bitterness creeping into his voice despite his attempt to hide it. “You were the one chasing something bigger, something better. How was I supposed to compete with that?”

Yoongi exhales harshly, frustration sparking visibly behind his dark eyes. “It wasn’t about bigger or better. It was about doing something that mattered to me. You could’ve come along. We could’ve found a way–”

Jin laughs, the sound harsh and grating, shaking his head in disbelief. “And abandoned my life, my career, just like that? It's not even like you asked, Yoongi. You just assumed I wouldn’t.”

“Because you never gave me any reason to think otherwise,” Yoongi counters heatedly, leaning forward, expression raw. “You always acted like everything you needed was right here. Why would I assume you’d suddenly drop everything for me?”

“Maybe because I loved you,” Jin snaps, voice loud enough to startle birds from nearby branches. He freezes, cheeks heating immediately at the sudden admission, but his gaze remains fixed defiantly on Yoongi.

Yoongi’s eyes widen briefly before he recovers, voice dropping to a strained whisper. “Loved. Past tense?”

“What did you expect?” Jin replies quietly, voice brittle now. “You walked away, Yoongi. You left me here, and now suddenly you’re back, expecting what exactly? That everything would just pick up right where we left off?”

“No, of course not,” Yoongi mutters defensively, gaze dropping away briefly. “But I hoped–maybe–I thought you might still feel something, too.”

Jin swallows painfully, the vulnerable honesty in Yoongi’s voice pulling at him in ways he isn’t ready for. He sighs deeply, running a frustrated hand through his hair. “Do you know how hard it was after you left? It wasn’t just loneliness. It was losing every future we’d imagined together. Every single one.”

“I felt that too,” Yoongi admits softly, hesitantly meeting Jin’s gaze again. “You think I wasn’t miserable? Every success felt meaningless because you weren’t there. I thought achieving my dreams meant something, but it never did–not fully. Not without you.”

Jin shifts uncomfortably, heart pounding as he searches Yoongi’s expression for any sign of dishonesty. Finding none, he sighs, tone turning softer but still wary. “You’ve always been good with words when you need to be, Yoongi.”

Yoongi smiles weakly, voice tinged with a gentle teasing that feels achingly familiar. “And you’ve always been good at pretending you aren’t affected by them.”

Jin scoffs lightly, rolling his eyes, but the corners of his mouth tug upward despite his resistance. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Too late for that,” Yoongi murmurs, leaning back slightly, the tension in his posture softening fractionally. “You’re already smiling.”,

Jin scowls, though it lacks true irritation, eyes flickering downward briefly before returning stubbornly to Yoongi’s face. “It’s just…it’s complicated, Yoongi. This isn’t something we can fix in one weekend.”

“I’m not asking you to fix anything overnight,” Yoongi replies earnestly. “But I do think it’s worth trying, Jin, at least trying to figure out if this–if us–is still something we both want.”

Jin exhales, hesitating. Vulnerability flickers through his expression, brief and telling. “And if we do try, what happens when things get hard again? Are you just going to run off like before?”

Yoongi flinches slightly, but holds Jin’s gaze steadily. “I wouldn’t make that mistake again. Trust me, nothing out there was worth losing you.”

Jin’s throat tightens painfully, but he doesn’t immediately respond. The silence settles around them again, heavy and charged, broken only by the distant rustling of leaves in the breeze. Finally, Jin speaks softly, voice roughened by emotion.

“We have this weekend. No promises beyond that.”

Yoongi nods slowly, accepting the fragile boundary Jin has set. “I can work with that.”

They share another quiet look, uncertainty and hope mingling openly between them for the first time since their reunion. Jin returns to his coffee, the warmth steadying his trembling hands as he silently acknowledges that shift that has begun–a careful, tentative step toward something that might be healing, or heartbreak, or perhaps both.

The remainder of the day passes in fragments–small moments that pile atop each other, slowly breaking down the barriers Jin and Yoongi had carefully built over time.

They hike along a winding trail, Jin leading confidently while Yoongi follows, quietly cursing under his breath each time a low-hanging branch catches him unaware. Jin tries — and fails — not to laugh, the sound soft and bright, echoing through the quiet forest. Yoongi’s feigned annoyance only lasts until Jin reaches back, instinctively offering his hand over a particularly rocky incline. The warmth of Yoongi’s palm against his sends sparks racing up Jin’s spine, lingering even after Yoongi has safely climbed up beside him.

As they rest beside a creek, Yoongi sits with his back against a sturdy tree trunk, silently watching Jin skip stones across the water. The light catches Jin’s hair, and Yoongi’s gaze softens visibly, unguarded affection coloring his expression. Jin turns abruptly, catching him staring. Instead of looking away, Yoongi holds Jin’s gaze steadily, eyes smoldering with quiet intensity, and he feels heat rising to his cheeks.

Later, once back at camp, they cook dinner side by side over a low-burning fire, their movements slowly syncing into a familiar rhythm. Yoongi tries seasoning the soondubu jjigae, earning a gentle teasing from Jin about his overuse of garlic. Yoongi retorts with a playful jab at Jin’s questionable obsession with overly spicy kimchi. Their laughter intertwines easily, warmth seeping deeper into each exchange, brightening their shared space beneath the stars.

Yet, not everything is smooth. An argument flares unexpectedly, harsh heated words breaking the evening’s calm as Yoongi stubbornly insists he doesn’t need Jin’s help with the firewood. Jin, equally stubborn, reminds him sharply of his lack of experience.

“Maybe I just wanted to prove I can be useful.”

Jin’s mouth snaps shut at the quiet admission that Yoongi throws out, frustration evident in his voice. Jin’s irritation fades instantly, replaced by shame, as he quietly acknowledges, “You never needed to prove that to me.”

By the following morning, the careful walls between them have become dangerously thin, each glance lingering a little longer, each accidental brush of fingers igniting deeper longing. Yoongi’s reserved smiles begin to reach his eyes more often, making Jin’s heart ache with recognition of how desperately he’s missed seeing them.

As the sun sets, Jin watches Yoongi from across the campfire, the golden glow casting warm highlights on Yoongi’s features. Yoongi feels the weight of Jin’s gaze and meets it directly, challenge and invitation clear in his dark eyes. The quiet tension between them thickens until it’s almost tangible, crackling around the fire.

That night, as they crawl into the tent, Jin’s heart pounds loudly, each beat reverberating in his ears. Their bodies settle inches apart, warmth radiating through the layers of polyester and fleece. Jin lies rigidly, hyper-aware, just like the previous night, of Yoongi’s closeness. A new layer of tension coalesced in the air, making his breathing uneven, every nerve on edge.

The silence stretches unbearably long, filled only with the sound of their breathing, rapid and shallow. When Yoongi finally shifts, rolling to face Jin in the dim lighting from the lantern placed in the corner, Jin holds his breath, frozen in anticipation.

“Jin,” Yoongi whispers, voice hoarse, barely audible.

“Yeah?” Jin answers, equally quiet, pulse racing.

Yoongi’s fingers brush lightly against Jin’s wrist, hesitant, testing the boundary. “Can I…?”

Jin exhales shakily, feeling every ounce of his resolve crumble beneath Yoongi’s touch. He turns his hand over slowly, letting Yoongi’s fingers thread gently through his own. “Yes.”

That single whispered word breaks the last thread of resistance between them, and suddenly Yoongi shifts closer, their breaths mingling in the scant inches that separate them.

Jin’s heart pounds as he feels Yoongi’s warmth pressing close, realizing just how long he’s wanted this–needed this. The longing, stretched thin by years apart and days of cautious rebuilding, snaps taut between them.

“Yoongi,” Jin breathes, voice strained with emotion, “please.”

And with that single plea, Yoongi closes the distance completely, pressing their lips together in a kiss filled with desperation, relief, and deep, undeniable need.

Yoongi kisses him like he’s afraid Jin might disappear again–slow at first, searching, their lips brushing once, twice, before deepening with a kind of quiet desperation that only distance and time create. Jin responds in kind, his fingers tightening around Yoongi’s as he rolls toward him fully, closing the last of the space between them.

Their bodies align naturally, like they’ve never forgotten the way they used to fit. Jin shudders as Yoongi’s hand slides up his arm, over his shoulder, and into his hair, tugging gently as he angles his head to kiss him deeper. Jin parts his lips with a soft sigh, letting Yoongi in, tasting a flood of memories on his tongue.

It’s careful at first, reverent–like they’re relearning each other inch by inch. Jin’s hand finds Yoongi’s waist under his shirt, fingertips grazing skin that is still familiar, warm and firm beneath his touch. Yoongi groans softly into Jin’s mouth at the contact, his hips pressing forward instinctively.

The friction sparks something electric between them, and suddenly, careful turns hungry. Jin slides his thigh between Yoongi’s, pulling him closer, drawing another low, aching sound from deep in Yoongi’s throat. They kiss until it’s not enough–until hands start tugging at clothes in the cramped space of the tent, laughter and breathless curses slipping between them when elbows knock against nylon and zippers snag.

Jin pulls Yoongi’s shirt over his head, dropping it somewhere behind them before pressing his mouth to Yoongi’s throat, teeth grazing a spot just below his ear. “Still run hot,” he murmurs against the skin, tongue flicking out, smiling when Yoongi gasps.

“You talk too much,” Yoongi breathes, fingers fisting in Jin’s shirt before yanking it off with impatient hands.

“Make me stop then,” Jin challenges, eyes dark and playful, and Yoongi surges to meet him–mouth on Jin’s collarbone, then chest, kissing and biting his way down with a focus that leaves Jin dizzy.

Hands roam freely now, rediscovering familiar curves and dips. Jin’s head tilts back as Yoongi mouths at his nipple, teasing until Jin’s hips lift of their own accord. When Yoongi’s hand slips into his waistband, Jin gasps, one hand shooting out to grip the younger man’s lower arm.

“Wait,” Jin pants. Yoongi pulls back immediately, eyes wide, concern flaring.

“Too fast?” he asks, voice tight, almost afraid.

Jin shakes his head, eyes soft, even as his chest heaves. “No. I just want to see you. All of you.”

Yoongi’s breath catches, but he nods and lets Jin undress him slowly–each movement deliberate, reverent, like unwrapping something fragile. When they’re both bare in the low lantern light, casting shadows around the intimate space, they simply look at each other for a moment, letting the intimacy settle like a weighted blanket over them.

Then Jin reaches for him, guiding Yoongi onto his back before straddling his hips. He leans down, kissing him slowly and deeply, grinding down, teasing them both. Twin shivers work down their spines as insistent pressure keeps their hips pressed together.

Cutting through the moans spilling from Yoongi’s lips, Jin’s wet lips drag across the heated skin of Yoongi’s cheek to tongue at the sensitive skin of Yoongi’s lobe. “Are you ready for more?” he whispers.

Yoongi nods aggressively, “Yes.”

Jin catches the other man’s lobe between his teeth, pulling roughly. “And what do you need to do to get more?”

Yoongi arches up beneath him, fingers gripping the lithe waist of the man hovering over him. A whine escapes his clamped lips as he tries to pull Jin down on top of him, wanting to feel every inch of his skin pressed against the other’s.

Jin tenses, resisting the pull. “Uh-uh. Good boys know what they need to say to get what they want.”

The skin between his brows pinches together as he scowls, wanting to resist. It’s a test of wills as they stare at each other. Yoongi’s jaw flexes as Jin’s lips curl into a smirk, knowing that the younger man will capitulate.

Like it is being pulled from the depths of his chest, Yoongi utters those magic words. “Please, Sir. I need you. Please use me, sir.” Giving in to the same familiar bedroom dynamic that has always driven them wild.

Jin’s swollen lips spread into a cocky grin. “See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Yoongi’s cheeks flush pink with heat. “No, Sir. It wasn’t”

Jin leans down, rubbing his nose along Yoongi’s, peppers him with kisses, then seals their lips together. Diving straight in as his hand palms Yoongi’s cock, stroking him slowly, teasingly. Drawing whimpers from the smaller man as he slips his hand up and down with a twist at the end. Time seems to draw out as Jin brings Yoongi to the edge, leaving him panting for more.

Jin shifts away, coming back with a small bottle of lube that he found stowed away in the side pocket of one of his packs. Returning to Yoongi, Jin settles between his spread legs. Slicking up three fingers on his right hand, he slides his other hand along the milky expanse of his…he doesn’t know what to call him, but that doesn’t stop him from gripping the man’s thigh and pressing it back towards his chest.

He teases a digit against Yoongi’s puckered hole, pulling his lip between his teeth as it flutters at the teasing touch. From beneath shuttered lashes, Jin watches Yoongi as he gently, but firmly, presses inside through the tight ring of muscle persisting until his knuckles press to the flesh of Yoongi’s ass.

Yoongi’s breath shudders out of him, wiggling his hips subtly as he adjusts to the stretch. With a barely heard whimper, Yoongi pleads for more. “Sir, please.”

“I’ll take good care of you, baby.” Jin strokes the length of Yoongi’s thigh and starts prepping him with practiced care. His lengthy fingers, gentle but firm, watching Yoongi’s face twist with pleasure as he stretches around him, breath hitching with every push and curl against his walls.

Yoongi’s hips twitch as he feels warm breath caress between his legs. Not having any time to brace before the warm cavern of Jin’s mouth engulfs him. A loud moan is wrenched from him as Jin slides down his length in one go.

Each curl of Jin’s fingers accompanied by the sharp suction of his mouth has Yoongi singing a symphony, such a beautiful melody. Jin grips Yoongi’s firmly, fingers bruisingly tight, to keep him where the older man wants him. Despite the rough grip, Yoongi can't stop writhing as he's driven absolutely insane at the pleasure being wrung from him.

Right as Yoongi is sure that he is going to come down Jin’s throat, Jin withdraws his fingers, and pulls away from his cock with one last lingering suck of his lips. Jin looks down at Yoongi, satisfied with the tears he can see pooling in the corners of Yoongi’s eyes.

Sitting back on his haunches, he slicks his cock up, adding a hefty amount of lube to himself as he prepares to replace his fingers with something larger.

“You were such a good boy. I think you deserve a reward, don’t you?” Jin’s heated gaze rakes over the man spread before him. Yoongi looks utterly debauched: face and chest flushed, cock dripping steadily onto the smooth skin of his belly, and his stretched hole fluttering and begging to be filled. He smirks and chuckles low in his throat, as Yoongi hurriedly bobs his head in agreement.

Jin pulls his hips back, the pressure moving away from where Yoongi is desperately needing him. “Uh-huh, what have I always said?"

Yoongi looks needily up at him, “Good boys use their words."

“So…?" He trails off.

“Yes, I deserve a reward. I've been such a good boy for Sir."

Jin smirks. " You're completely right. You have been so good for me.”

When he’s finally sinking into Yoongi, it’s slow, torturous, Yoongi’s name a broken sigh on his lips. They still for a moment, foreheads pressed together, bodies trembling with the weight of being back here, together, like this.

Jin rolls his hips first, testing the waters and encouraged on by Yoongi’s breathy moan. Soon enough, he is setting a rhythm that’s deep and unhurried. Each thrust feeling like a promise, each slide of their lips against each other a confession remaining unspoken. Yoongi’s hands roam over Jin’s back, nails dragging down lightly, breath stuttering with every precise thrust that hits just right. His own body retaliates with a pulsating squeeze of its own, pulling a strangled moan from deep within Jin.

They move together in sync, gasps and moans filling the small tent, hips slapping softly in the rising heat.

“You’re doing so well for me,” the hushed words brush against the moist skin of his lips as Jin leans down, catching Yoongi’s lips again, swallowing the whimpers as his pace quickens.

Every praise Jin worships him with has Yoongi thrashing beneath him, his dark black curls haloing around his head. Unable to hold back any longer, Yoongi snakes his hand between them, stroking himself in time with Jin’s thrusts, and it doesn’t take long before they are both unraveling–Yoongi falling first, coming with a hoarse cry as his body arches off the ground, clenching tightly around Jin.

Jin is pulled right over the cliff with Yoongi scant moments after, burying his face in Yoongi’s shoulder with a strained moan as pleasure crashes over him in waves. Like his strings have been cut, Jin collapses on top of Yoongi, their heaving chests sticking together adhered together with the sweat and cum spread across their skin.

They remain like that, for countless minutes, panting and clinging to each other, sticky and sated.

When Jin finally pulls back, he looks down at Yoongi–hair messy, cheeks flushed, lips kiss-bruised–and feels something crack open in his chest.

“Still talk too much,” Yoongi mumbles, voice thick with exhaustion and tenderness.

Jin laughs softly, pressing a kiss to the corner of Yoongi’s mouth. “And you still like it.”

They clean up in silence, exchanging soft touches and half-smiles, neither ready to say what they’re both thinking. They curl into each other, their bodies pressed close together, with the sleeping bag spread fully open beneath them and blankets piled on top of them.

Sleep washes over them, and the sweet words whispered into the dark taper off into quiet, only disturbed by the rustling of leaves and the scurrying of nocturnal animals.

Jin wakes to warmth.

The sun filters through the mesh window of the tent in soft gold ribbons, illuminating the few specks of dust in the air and casting lazy shadows across the fabric walls. But it’s the warmth of Yoongi beside him–skin to skin, leg thrown haphazardly over his thigh, breath puffing softly against his neck–that anchors him.

Jin blinks slowly, not quite ready to move. Not prepared to let go of the weightless feeling that had taken root sometime after they fell asleep.

“I know you’re awake,” Yoongi mumbles sleepily, voice rough and low against his skin.

Jin huffs a quiet laugh. “You always did know.”

Yoongi stirs, but doesn’t pull away. Instead, he props himself up slightly to look at Jin, his eyes soft and searching. “Morning.”

“Morning.” Jin hesitates, unsure of what to say next, of how to name the thing they did last night, what it means now, in the brightness of day. But Yoongi, as always, fills the silence first.

“Do you regret it?”

Jin exhales slowly, eyes fixed on the ceiling of the tent. “No. I don’t.”

Yoongi nods, but doesn’t smile. “But you’re not sure what it means.”

“That obvious?”

Yoongi shrugs, letting his head fall gently back onto Jin’s shoulder. “We’ve always been terrible at timing.”

Jin hums quietly, fingers brushing against the curve of Yoongi’s back. “Timing isn’t the only thing that matters, though. We hurt each other, Yoongi. That doesn’t just go away because the sex was good.”

“It was excellent,” Yoongi offers with a grin he tries–and fails–to suppress.

Jin gives him a look but can’t hold back the small laugh that slips out. “Asshole.”

“Still your asshole, if you want,” Yoongi says, smile fading slightly as he adds, “I meant it last night, Jin. Everything I said.”

Jin sits up slowly, drawing his knees to his chest and wrapping his arms around them. “And I’m not saying I didn’t feel something. I did. I do. But it’s been years, Yoongi. We don’t even know who we are to each other anymore.”

Yoongi shifts upright, pulling a hoodie that was discarded in the corner over his head. He grabs for his pants, shimmying into them, fastening them under the oversized hoodie that belongs to Jin.

“So…what do you want?”

“I want to stop pretending like you showing up didn’t shake me,” Jin admits, voice quiet but steady. “But I also want to be sure that whatever this is-whatever we’re doing–it’s not just nostalgia or loneliness. I need it to be real.”

Yoongi nods slowly, then reaches for Jin’s hand, threading their fingers together. “Then let’s find out. Start over, if we have to. Just don’t shut me out.”

Jin watches their hands, thumb grazing across Yoongi’s knuckles. “You really think we can just pick things up again?”

“No,” Yoongi says honestly. “But I think we can begin something new. And maybe this time, we won’t let it fall apart.”

The city feels louder than Jin remembered.

Or maybe it’s just the contrast; days of wind in the trees and crackling fires replaced by the bustling sounds of a fairly crowded city, the smell of exhaust in the air, the sounds of horns honking, and the buzz of crowds of people going about their lives.

And yet, his home feels too quiet. Too still.

Until Yoongi clears his throat from the doorway of his bedroom.

Jin turns from the kitchen, blinking in surprise. “You’re still here.”

Yoongi shrugs, awkward in the way only he can be when he’s unsure of his welcome. “You said I could shower.”

“That was an hour ago. I had assumed you left; snuck out without saying anything.”

Yoongi shakes his head. “I got distracted by your bookshelf,” Yoongi says, padding barefoot across the floor, hair still damp. “And…by the idea of being here.”

Jin watches him, arms crossed loosely over his chest, “Here, as in my home?”

Yoongi meets his eyes, serious now. “Here, as in...back in your life. Even if it’s only on the edges at first.”

Jin swallows thickly. The weekend had felt like a bubble – intimate and safe, sheltered from the complications that trailed after it. This…this is real life. And it feels harder to navigate.

“I don’t know what this is yet,” Jin says honestly. “I still have questions. Doubts.”

“I know,” Yoongi replies quietly. “I do too.”

They stand in that uncertainty for a long beat.

Then Yoongi adds, voice steady, “But I meant it, Jin-hyung. I didn’t come back for a weekend fling or to relive old memories. I came back because I couldn’t shake the feeling that whatever I built without you…it wasn’t home.”

Jin’s chest aches with that familiar pull. He crosses the room slowly, stopping just short of Yoongi.

“I’m not ready to fall back into old patterns,” Jin states bluntly. “But I’m tired of pretending I don’t want to see what new ones we could make.”

Yoongi nods once, a hesitant smile teasing his lips. “Okay.”

Later, they sit together on the couch, their legs barely brushing, the glow of the TV casting a vivid ambiance across the warm, no longer strained atmosphere surrounding them. Not looking away from the moving picture in front of him, Jin silently turns his hand over until his palm is facing up on the cushion between them.

Sensing the movement, Yoongi looks down. His breath catching slightly in the back of his throat, his eyes flick to Jin’s, but the older man isn’t even looking at him.

Silently, Yoongi slips his fingers into the empty spaces, inviting him to settle.

And it’s quiet. And it's small. And maybe, it’ll eventually be home again.

#bangtanwhq #thebtswritersclub #bts fanfic #bts ff #bts smut #min yoongi #bts #kim seokjin #jin x yoongi #yoonjin #exes to lovers #smut

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dr-futbol-blog · 3 months ago

Text

Inferno, Pt. 3

It seems that Sheppard has then returned to Atlantis to report on their amazing and serendipitous discovery while leaving McKay to continue his work on the shield generator, possibly with Ronon and Teyla staying back with him. Sheppard seems anxious to return to where he had left off on the planet, which we can tell by the way he seems to have already given the pertinent parts of his report while Weir had been walking him back from the gate to her office, filling her in on the way. By the way Sheppard is explaining it, we can also assume that he had at least briefly gone over their discovery with McKay before leaving the planet, another scene that we did not get to witness. Weir sits down as they come to her office but Sheppard has no time for that, not even for sitting down on her desk like we have seen him do a few times now.

Sheppard: It's an Aurora-class warship. Obviously the Ancients built more than one of them. Weir: Why didn't we become aware of it at the same time our sensors picked up the Aurora? Sheppard: It's damaged, probably from the war with the wraith. Weir: Beyond repair? Sheppard: I don't know. Their scientists, or at least the folks who call themselves scientists...

Sheppard does not park himself in front of Weir's desk facing her but to the side, figuratively already having one foot out the door. Note that Weir is asking Sheppard questions that McKay would have the answers to and Sheppard is basically answering her as though he is channelling McKay. This is especially noticeable in the disparaging way he describes the scientists of the planet, basically agreeing with McKay's assessment of them, having picked this up from the way McKay had been unable to finish his sentence "I'm sure I can learn...," very obviously thinking that there was nothing he could learn from them.

This tells us two important things: first, Sheppard respects and appreciates scientists and their expertise, which is something that we already know. Scientists had provided the military the A bomb, like he had pointed out at the end of the previous season, and most of their other toys besides. The second thing is that he seems to have no more respect toward Norina, their chief scientist, than McKay does. He is full on dunking on the scientists of Taranis, openly displaying his disdain toward them, not even making an exception for her. This is not what a man that is attracted to a woman would do. A man attracted to a woman would somehow find a way to show her in an exceptional light and to work her into the conversation, the superfluous insertion of their name just because the attracted person wants to speak their name, wants to feel what speaking their name feels like on their lips and in their mouth, being one of the clearest signs of attraction. He is not feeling that.

Sheppard: ...have been working on it for years but it's way out of their league. They know how to turn things on and off, but as far as fixing problems... Weir: Well, Rodney should still have the technical specs you brought back from the Aurora mission. Sheppard: I told him to take a look at them but first I want him to fix the shield generator, build some good will with these people. Weir: Good idea.

Sheppard tells Weir that he had told McKay to take a look at the warship (he says "take a look at 'um," which is technically plural and hence parses in reference to Weir's mention of the technical specs but it is clear that he was speaking about the ship here) which confirms that there had been a scene where Sheppard had spoken with McKay between them leaving for the tour of underground tunnels and this moment that we did not get to see, and it seems like that scene had done very little to quell Sheppard's urge to keep an eye on McKay.

What is more, Sheppard is making it obvious that he thinks McKay is "out of their league" here, which is an interesting way to describe their lack of expertise as compared to McKay, and Sheppard is making it clear that he thinks of McKay as a real scientist who knows not only how to turn things (like himself) on and off but who also knows how to fix problems -- and let us recall that McKay's willingness to fix not just his own mistakes but those of other people is one of the most endearing qualities about him to Sheppard. He is also contrasting their scientists, who cannot fix things with McKay who he believes can fix things. Also, let us put a pin on the fact that Sheppard says that he wants McKay to fix the shield generator first to ensure their good relations with the people of this planet because that is not what he tells McKay when he returns to the planet. This just confirms that Sheppard is saying counterfactual things to wind McKay up, which seems to become one of his favourite hobbies over the years.

But let us note again that in Sheppard's mind, Norina is someone who knows how to turn devices on and off, which is not a very charitable descriptor of someone we are meant to think he is attracted to, again confirming that he does not have a lot of respect for her as a person. It appears as though Sheppard views her as a tall dumb blonde woman, and that is a problem for him. Sheppard may think that McKay is way out of her league (as in, McKay is too good for her) but because McKay is likewise a petty and jealous man, he had tried to make Sheppard feel reciprocal jealousy by making him think that he finds blonde women attractive. And Sheppard had been reminded of this very fact through being forced to think of the Aurora and what they had experienced on the warship, and as nonchalant as he had tried to appear then, he did remember it. But let us also note that although Weir basically tells Sheppard the same thing here as she did in Coup d'État (S02E17), complimenting his acumen, Sheppard makes no reference to Mensa this time because he had not been thinking about his time in the underground chamber with McKay like he had then. The way Sheppard associates thoughts just shows us how McKay is constantly on his mind.

Weir: Hopefully we can establish an alliance with them. A ship like that... Sheppard: ...would come very much in handy now that the wraith are probably on their way, I know. I'm gonna get back there now... make sure he's not distracted, so... Weir: Distracted? Sheppard: Ah, well, the lead scientist, she's very...

And so we get to one of the most explicit confirmations of the subtext that there ever was. Sheppard is visibly uncomfortable, basically squirming as he tries and fails so hard to make himself appear nonchalant about wanting to return to the planet right away. Sheppard is anxious to return, and it is clear that he thinks that there is something going on there that he needs to be around for, that he wants to put a stop to. The mainstream reading is that he wants to make sure that McKay does not "get the girl" -- not that he gets the girl but that McKay does not get the girl. Even for the mainstream viewer it is obvious Sheppard does not care about Norina. Note that he does not even say her name to Weir, merely describing her as "the lead scientist" -- and let us just reiterate that if he was attracted to her, he could not wait to get to say her name, he would look for an opportunity and then would insert the name in places it would not even belong (like we have heard him say McKay's name over and over and over again, mentioning him at every available opportunity).

He does not view her as Norina, unique and individual, wonderful woman. He views her as "the lead scientist," basically the chief of the "folks who call themselves scientists," the queen of the idiots. She is not even a person to him, she is a concept. She is a concept that he fears is distracting to McKay. He needs to get back because he is afraid that McKay is being distracted by their lead scientist who is very... distracting to McKay. And he does not want McKay to be distracted. Over the course of the show (and even later on in this very episode) we have seen how important it is to Sheppard that McKay is not distracted while he works. McKay had to develop a skill to be able to work while Sheppard is talking his ear off because it is so important to Sheppard that McKay is never distracted from his important work of fixing things that are out of the league of the folks who call themselves scientists on this planet.

Let us also make a note of the fact that Weir can immediately tell that Sheppard is acting strangely here. She clocks that he is being cagey about something because he is failing so hard at not letting his discomfort over McKay potentially being distracted by their lead scientists bleed over even as he stands here talking to Weir. Sheppard's voice goes up an octave as he starts his unnecessary explanation of why he needs to get back there immediately which, as we have noted, is a sign that someone is lying. Adding superfluous details is what often betrays a liar. He is not lying about his need to get back there, his need to get back is very obvious. He is lying about his reason for going back, though. He is not going back to make sure that McKay is not distracted from his work, he is going back in order to distract McKay from their lead scientist. And again, it is obvious that Sheppard does not want to leave McKay alone with her, not that he does not want to leave her alone with him. That is what he explicitly says here.

Weir: ...hot? Sheppard: I was gonna say attractive. But McKay is acting very... Weir: ...smitten? Sheppard: I was gonna say pathetic. Weir: Wait. I should head back with you and begin negotiations with the Taranan leader.

So, let us start with the fact that it is confirmed here that Weir simply is not interested in Sheppard like that. What ever Weir thinks about Sheppard with regards to this woman or McKay, who Sheppard fancies or does not fancy does not concern her whatsoever. What this scene establishes beyond the shadow of a doubt is that there are no romantic sentiments between Weir and Sheppard, neither one of them is pining for the other. His interest is clearly elsewhere, and we are led to believe it lies currently on the planet of Taranis, and her reaction to this information is basically "Good for him -- as long as it does not jeopardize the operation."

Now, from everything we have seen so far it seems like Weir thinks that Sheppard is gay-gay, and she seems to be teasing Sheppard here over his rather obvious jealousy. The fact that Sheppard is jealous and that Weir is poking gentle fun at him over this is basically the mainstream reading of this exchange, only they attribute his jealousy as being over McKay currently spending time alone with a hot blonde that he would like to have for himself when the last part is pure interpolation based on a heteronormative presumption. But Weir also likely thinks that it is McKay who is bisexual based on the fact that she has known McKay for a long time and has been witness to him being more than vocal about his interest in dumb blondes like Samantha Carter and Kate Heightmeyer, two beautiful and brilliant blondes he has zero actual desire for.

McKay has intentionally made a performance of his attraction to women -- so long as another man has first pointed out to him who the attractive women, like the Hoffan Perna, are because he seems to have real trouble deciding that for himself. Also, McKay seems to be oblivious to women being attracted to him and when he is made aware of this fact, he seems to want to avoid their company and certainly does not want to be left alone with them. He was blackmailed into participating in a dinner date with a woman that had been pursuing him, and he is textually "creeped out" by the beautiful blonde woman he knows most intimately. He canonically lies about his interest in hot blonde women, and has told people he is "seeing" a beautiful blonde that he is not and never has been going out with in The Gift (S01E18). His best friend also definitely seems to think that McKay lies about his interest in women. But yes, McKay has definitely said that he has a weakness for dumb blondes so Weir is well within reason to take him at his word. And because it seems to be obvious to her that Sheppard is jealous of McKay paying excessive attention to this hot lead scientist of the Taranans, she tries to communicate to him that it is not such a big deal. Weir is aware that Sheppard cares about McKay deeply, she had been there when he had thought that McKay had died. She has eyes on her head. Sheppard's affection for McKay is not a secret to her.

So, Weir suggests to Sheppard that "hot" might be an apt descriptor for their lead scientist and he amends this to "attractive" -- but note that this, her being attractive, is what Sheppard see as the problem with her. It is his issue that she is attractive, not something that he is personally excited for. Also, Sheppard is basically saying that he does not find her hot here, hot is not the word he would have used. He was looking for some other word but settled on attractive to counter Weir's suggestion, and note that he is trying to be polite here. How he describes her in his mind and what he can say in polite company, to his boss, about the representative of a government they are trying to forge good relations with may be very different, and would definitely be coloured by the jealousy he so clearly feels. Words such as hussy, floozy, hoochie, skeeze, man-eater, low down dirty homewrecker etc. might have come to mind which is why it seemed to take him a while to find the right word for it. He knew better than to say the first thing to come to mind to her, or even the second thing.

The way he describes McKay is likewise interesting. Weir again suggests a word when Sheppard is still searching for the right one, going for the fairly innocent "smitten." Note that the same word is used by her to describe Beckett's mancrush on Lucius Lavin later in Irresistible (S03E03), and the kind of devotion that Beckett shows toward him is not what we see McKay display here whatsoever. McKay is not "simping" for her at any point. Sheppard settles for "pathetic," which notoriously has two very different meanings: miserably inadequate and arousing pity or full of pathos, emotion, persuasion that appeals to the emotions of an audience. The implication is that Sheppard means the former, that McKay's "game" is so poor that it is embarrassing for him to watch. He wants to save his good friend from making a fool of himself, to keep him from demeaning himself in front of a pretty woman. He is just doing him a favour by removing the distraction by intercepting her attraction for himself. The thing to note, however, is that Sheppard is projecting here.

Yes, McKay was briefly at a loss for words when unexpectedly complimented but mostly McKay was perfectly cool and collected, he was not fawning over her or making a fool of himself to get her attention. He felt awkward getting attention from her, he never sought for her attention. If anyone was acting pathetic during their previous scene, it was Sheppard. He was trying to win the attention of a woman whose "eye was drawn" elsewhere, and here he is, antsy and bouncing on the balls of his feet to get back to intercept the attention she seems inclined to give him -- Sheppard is acting pathetic, and he is projecting this on McKay. But because we are used to seeing him as the kid who is too cool for school, some viewers will have trouble reconciling this with the space mack we have been invited to interpret him as. Women throw themselves at John Sheppard. Surely that is also happening here. She is throwing herself at him and McKay is jealous about it because beautiful women never throw themselves at him, that has to be how it is.

But let us note the gesture Sheppard does with his hands when he is thinking about McKay and what he is being like, almost like he is playing an invisible accordion. He is wiggling his fingers and making a rounding motion with his hands that would have been better suited describing the hot and curvaceous woman that he would like to get his hands on -- only his body language indicates that it is not her that he seems to want to put his hands on. Hand gestures suggests that there is emotion connected to his words, to his thoughts in this moment, his body doing a lot of talking here for him.

We can also point out that McKay does a lot of talking with his hands and we have seen that Sheppard often mirrors him, e.g., when he did the finger gun immediately following McKay in Critical Mass (S02E13), so it is possible that as he is thinking about McKay, he also physically channels him here, evidence of a deep connection between the two of them. And again we do not know what Sheppard was going to say originally, before prompted by Weir, countering her "smitten" with "pathetic." But we know that what ever way Sheppard thought that McKay was behaving, it was displeasing to him. He was behaving some kind of way toward her that bothered Sheppard. And because we did not witness McKay behave out of the ordinary whatsoever, it again tells us that Sheppard is projecting here.

Weir: What's he like? Sheppard: Oh, you know. He's a guy. Didn't pay much attention. Sorry!

This, the way they wrap this scene up, is extremely important. Note that Weir continues teasing Sheppard here. He described their lead scientist as hot and she is basically asking him whether he thought their leader was someone that she might think was hot, whether he might be someone she could be interested in. There is a lot happening here. Now, some people indubitably take this as a textual confirmation of Sheppard's heterosexuality which is ironic given the lengths this episode goes in establishing the opposite of that. Sheppard tells her that he did not pay a lot attention to the Taranan leader, which is true. His attention was elsewhere. He also tells her that he is a guy, which is also true. People draw the conclusion that he did not pay attention to him because he is a guy, which is strictly speaking not what he says. He says two things that are factually true: the leader is indeed a man and Sheppard was not paying a lot of attention to him. The causal link between these statements is implied, and it is his intention to imply this very thing to Weir, but that is a far cry from the writers attempting to "No homo!" anything here.

To start off with, the lady is definitely protesting too much. Sheppard manages to make this awkward in a way that was completely unnecessary. Weir asked him what the Taranan leader was like and as an officer in the military who has seen his fair share of leaders, he could have described him any old way. His whole purpose of going over had been to gather intel and establish good relations with their people, so he could have replied to her by telling her something useful, something that she could use in negotiations, his impression of the leader's trustworthiness, level of smarminess, any number of characteristics that would not have implied any sexual interest on his part whatsoever. He could have described his physical characteristics in a neutral way, compared him to someone. He had met the guy so obviously he had some kind of an impression of him, if only by way of threat assessment. Only, that was not what Weir had been asking and Sheppard caught on to this.

As mentioned, Weir thinks that Sheppard is gay-gay. She thinks that she is onto his secret and that she is in his confidence. She has been trying to let him know that she is fine with what he does in his private life and that he can trust her to keep his confidence, to side with him. They have skirted around this topic at least since Hot Zone (S01E13) when Weir had first brought up the topic of trust between them, and we have seen Weir make all manner of jokes and innuendo toward what she believes is his sexual orientation. The thing is that during DADT these discussions necessarily had to happen through innuendo and implication because it was against regulations for them to talk about it openly. This was the only way such discussion even could be had at the time.

And Sheppard understands what Weir is asking here, she is asking if he thought the leader was hot. That if McKay thought the chief scientist was hot, did Sheppard himself think that the leader was hot. And in this, she is in violation of Directive 1304.26 that forbids a superior from initiating an investigation of a service member's orientation without witnessing disallowed behaviours. She is not allowed to ask him this. What is more, homosexual and bisexual servicemen had been instructed not to disclose. Even if sharing it had been something that Sheppard wanted to do with her -- which it is not because he is an extremely private person even outside of what or who he does for recreation -- the policy discouraged servicemen from volunteering that information to anyone, even if asked. The policy had two sides: they do not ask and you do not tell.

But here Weir is basically asking him like they were two girlfriends out having brunch or he was her gay best friend, asking him to dish out the hot goss, to tell her if he thought the Taranan leader had been cute. Sheppard is not saying that he is heterosexual here. He is not saying that he does not like guys, want guys, fuck guys, has never had a homosexual thought in his life. He is not saying that he prefers women, let alone that he is only and solely attracted to women. He is not even saying that he did not find the Taranan leader attractive (let alone his hunky bodyguard, as he had most definitely noticed his bodyguard who had also very much noticed both Sheppard and McKay, and not just because it was his job to size people up). Sheppard is reminding Weir about the policy here. He is a guy so Sheppard cannot help her with this. He cannot be that for her because even though she is not military, she is his superior. His "Sorry!" here at the end is flippant, not necessarily at her but toward the policy. As long as he serves in the military, that is the only kind of answer she can expect to get from him on this.

It is not Sheppard's intention here to lie to her. He is not even strictly speaking lying, and the reason they name-check Star Trek a few times in this episode might be in reference to Spock's "It is not a lie to keep the truth to oneself" in The Enterprise Incident, which seems to have been one of the episodes they were calling out to. What Sheppard says may be true but he does end up lying by omission. And we should also note that what he says here very much cannot be generalized. He is not saying that he does not pay attention to what guys are like because we are demonstrated that this is not true about him in this very episode. Later on he tells Norina emphatically, "I hate when he does this!" which demonstrates that he knows what McKay is like both when he is like this and when he is not like this.

If someone asked Sheppard what McKay was like, he could go on describing him for days. No one knows McKay better than Sheppard does and no one has observed him more keenly, marked down and made mental notes about his attributes more diligently. Sheppard knows how many goddamn cups of coffee McKay has in a day. This episode is notorious for having a lot of telling in it but to balance this out, it also does a whole lot of showing too. And in several places what we are told is in diametric opposition to what we are shown, and it is up to the viewer to decide which they believe. There are few scenes that make him look less like a straight guy than this one. The reason he feels compelled to say this to her is because he realizes he was being way too obvious about his feelings both toward McKay and toward this attractive lead scientist even when he had very obviously tried to be careful in choosing his words and seemed to have some choice words to describe her with that he could not use in polite company.

Continued in Pt. 4

#john sheppard #sga #sga meta #sheppard is bi #stargate atlantis #rodney mckay #rodney is gay #mcshep #ep. inferno #ep. coup d'etat #ep. critical mass #ep. poisoning the well #ep. duet #ep. the gift #ep. irresistible

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