Wc: 1.4k
Summary: The job went sideways. A cop’s dead. Witnesses walked. The car’s sitting in the worst possible place. Everyone’s shouting, pointing fingers, scrambling to fix it.
The moon sat high and heavy above you, silver light spilling across the water like it was trying to catch you doing something you shouldn’t.
You dangled your fingers into the pool, watching the ripples fracture the reflection. The surface looked harmless now. Calm. Obedient.
There was a time you wouldn’t even step into a shower without your heart racing.
Smurf made sure that didn’t last.
Weakness, she said, was something you outgrew. Or something that got carved out of you.
Your fear of water had been one of the first things to go.
It hadn’t been irrational.
It had been earned.
The summer air that day had felt thick enough to chew. Sun blazing overhead. Popsicles melting faster than the kids holding them. Music crackling from a radio propped on a patio table, whatever was popular that year bleeding into the sound of splashing and shouting.
Your father had dragged you and Baz to one of his friends’ houses. You didn’t know the man. You never did. They rotated in and out of your life like background noise.
Baz kept his distance from your father the second you arrived. That was his survival tactic. Blend into the walls. Watch. Wait.
You stayed near the edge of the pool.
Kneeling first. Then sitting. Your legs dangling in, toes testing the temperature like it might bite.
The water shimmered bright blue, almost fake-looking under the sun. Kids jumped in without thinking. Cannonballs. Screams. Chlorine thick in the air.
You gripped the metal railing and lowered yourself in slowly.
Waist deep.
Breathing carefully.
Staying near the steps where your feet could still find solid ground.
“You gonna sit there all day?” your father called from a lawn chair, beer sweating in his hand.
You ignored him.
“Don’t be such a baby,” he added, loud enough for the other adults to hear. A few chuckled. Not cruel. Just amused.
Heat climbed your neck.
You moved a little farther out.
The water reached your ribs. Your heart thudded against them like it was trying to retreat.
“You’re fine,” he called again. “It’s just water.”
Just water.
A group of older kids barreled past you, splashing hard. One of them clipped your shoulder. You lost your footing for a second but grabbed the railing again.
“Go deeper!” your father shouted. “Swim!”
You shook your head slightly.
The kids were rough. Pushing each other under. Grabbing ankles. Shriek laughing.
You tried to shift away from them.
A hand caught your arm.
Not cruel. Not intentional. Just careless.
Another body slammed into you from behind.
Your grip slipped.
Suddenly, there was no step beneath your foot.
You went under.
The world changed instantly.
Sound disappeared into a muffled roar. Sunlight fractured above you in blinding pieces. Water flooded your nose and your mouth. You opened your eyes and saw nothing but legs. Kicking. Thrashing.
You tried to push up.
A heel struck your shoulder. Another grazed your cheek.
You swallowed water.
Your chest burned. Panic erupted, wild and animal. You flailed, but your arms met resistance. Bodies. Movement. No one noticing.
Above the surface, the music kept playing. Laughter carried on.
You tried to scream.
All that came out were bubbles.
Your lungs spasmed. The edges of your vision started to blur into white.
And then—
An arm hooked under yours.
Strong. Familiar.
You broke the surface in a violent gasp, coughing, choking, clawing at air like it might disappear too.
Baz dragged you toward the steps, half-lifting you out of the water. You collapsed against the hot concrete, coughing until your ribs ached.
The world rushed back in pieces.
Music. Laughter. Someone saying, “She okay?”
Your father’s shadow fell over you.
“Jesus,” he scoffed. “All that over nothing?”
Nothing.
You curled slightly onto your side, water pouring from your hair onto the concrete. Baz’s hand stayed on your back, firm and steady.
No one scolded the kids.
No one turned off the radio.
The party didn’t pause.
You lie there staring at the sky, the sun a blinding white circle overhead.
That was the first time you understood how easy it would be for the world to keep going without you.
Now, years later, you lie beside a different pool.
The moon instead of the sun.
Your hand trailing lazily through water that no longer terrified you.
Smurf had forced you back in after that summer. Held you by the shoulders. Made you float. Made you swim. Again and again until your body stopped locking up.
“Fear is embarrassing,” she had told you. “You don’t let it show.”
So you didn’t.
Now the water felt almost friendly.
Almost.
Pope stood next to you, bare and naked. He shifted slightly, close enough to hear your breathing change if it did.
“One day, I think I’ll touch the moon.” Pope doesn’t respond, instead wrapping an arm around your shoulder.
The night wrapped around the house like it was listening.
You sat still, elbows resting on your knees, eyes on the water as it shifted under the moon. The surface looked clean. Peaceful. Like nothing ugly had ever happened near it.
You almost laughed.
You found it funny how almost everyone in this family thought they were the exception to death. Like it was negotiable. Like it respected skill. As if a clean plan or a loaded gun made you immune.
Baz thought he was smarter than the ending.
Pope thought he could outrun it if he hit hard enough first.
Smurf acted like she had a contract with it.
Even J, in his quiet way, carried that same delusion. Like proximity to chaos meant control over it.
You weren’t innocent either.
You all walked around like you were too significant to be erased. Too aware. Too prepared.
But death didn’t care about awareness.
It wasn’t personal.
And that was the part that unsettled you most.
You tilted your head back, staring at the sky.
“We all think we’re inevitable to the consequences we’ve built for ourselves,” you said softly. “Like we get to be the exception because we understand the rules.”
Your voice wasn’t angry. It wasn’t dramatic. It was almost curious.
“We build these lives out of bad decisions and then act shocked when they collapse.”
A breeze brushed against your skin, cool and indifferent.
“I’m not against whatever the universe has lined up for me. I’m not naive enough to think there isn’t something waiting. I just… want to see it coming.”
You swallowed.
“I want the decency of knowing when the ground’s about to give. I don’t want it quiet. I don’t want it subtle. I don’t want to be mid sentence and then nothing.”
The thought lingered heavier than you expected.
“But who am I to want that?” you continued. “I’ve taken things from people who didn’t deserve it. I’ve stood by while guilty people kept breathing because it served us better.”
You flexed your hands slightly, remembering the weight of a gun. The hesitation. The choice.
“I don’t get to pretend I’m clean. None of us do.”
Your gaze drifted toward the house.
“I’d take a bullet for every single one of them. Not because they deserve it. That’s the part people don’t understand. It’s not about deserving.”
It was about love.
Messy. Illogical. Ruinous love.
“I’d take it because I couldn’t sit there and watch them fall. I’d rather be the one on the ground than the one standing over it.”
You let that settle.
“I’d risk everything I have if it meant protecting them. Every plan. Every exit. Every ounce of self preservation I’ve built.”
Your jaw tightened slightly.
“And maybe that’s where I’ll die. Not in some grand betrayal. Not in a dramatic shootout. Just stepping in front of something meant for someone else.”
The pool water shifted again, reflecting the moon in broken fragments.
“And maybe that’s fair,” you said quietly.
You thought about your father. About the near drowning. About all the times you survived something that should have marked you permanently.
“You don’t get to live like this and ask for softness at the end.”
Your eyes softened, but your voice didn’t.
“We’re not the exception. None of us. The only thing we actually control is how we meet it. Head down. Or eyes open.”
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It was a lazy day today, and you wanted nothing to do but draw. Barging into Asmo’s room with your sketch book and pencils, you let out a hefty sigh and plopped down onto his girly bed. the mattress sinking slightly at your sudden weight.
The Champagne haired demon looked at you from his vanity, a curious expression forming on his face. he ascended from the chair he was sitting on and walked over to his bed, sitting on his knees and placing his chin on the edge of his pastel sheets.
“What are you doing, darling?” he questioned, cocking his head to the side.
You opened up the book and flipped to the next open page. grabbing your pencil, and started drawing. the lead creating lines on the paper to make a picture.
Asmo got up and sat all the way on his bed. “What are you drawing?”
You shrugged and didn’t make eye contact with him, continuing with your artwork. Asmo huffed and grabbed both of your cheeks while lifting up your face to look at him in his light orange orbs.
“Darling...why won’t you talk to me?”
you let out a small huff, relaxing your shoulders you finally spoke up. “no reason i guess..just today is a lazy, boring day”
The demon smiled and let go of your face before letting off a witty remark. “why is it boring, when your here with me? everyone loves to be with me~”
you glared at him, causing shivers to go down his spine. “sometimes i hate how narcissistic you are..”
He gasped dramatically and put a hand over his heart, acting like you hit him. “y/n!! you wounded me!!”
you rolled your eyes and couldn’t help but crack a small smile at his dramatic antics. but nonetheless you went back to your drawing, being completely content doing it.
“What do you normally draw?” Asmo asked, curious to know what your into.
you looked up at him, then back down at your paper. “I dont know..i guess people? animals? anything really..i just like..drawing” you replied, going back to your piece of art.
“do you draw yourself?” He asked once again
You paused and shook your head, letting out a quiet chuckle. “and why would i do that? i don’t want to draw this disgusting face”
Asmo’s heart broke when he heard that, those three words cutting deep into his soul. he knew that wasn’t true, no no no, nowhere near close!! to him, you were one of the most beautiful things he has seen. well, other than him. but the way you smiled, the way you laughed. it was just, just so..wonderful!! he loved how every morning when you would come down for breakfast, you would yawn and ball up your fists and rub your eyes in a cute way. or how you would always look at him with those cute E/C eyes when you wanted to do something with him. he just loved how cute and adorable you are!!
He took his hand and cupped it around your soft cheek, his hand fitting perfectly, like it was made to be there.
“y/n...don’t say that..you are so beautiful and so adorable, i cannot describe how much i love you for that. your a amazing girl and you are very strong.” he explained, surprisingly seriously.
your eyes widened as a dark blush formed on your cheeks. “T-thank you Asmo..I’ll take that to heart”
“good, now why don’t we go get some boba?”
“nah- I wanna pop a chocy milk, it make pain go away.”
Asmo paused. slightly confused. “are- are you in pain?”
“mentally or physically?”
“Both-”
“yes.”
The demon arched a brow, but shook it off and reached out for your hand after getting off his bed. “come on, we can get you some...c-chocy milk”
you smiled a grabbed for his soft hand, lacing your fingers with his as you got up from his soft sheets. abandoning your sketch book and your pencils in his room as you both set out for some chocy milk.
“you know, you should draw me sometime~”
“I’d rather not.” you stated back bluntly.
“oh come onnnnn, why wouldn’t you want to draw this beautiful face?” He said while flipping his hair.
You rolled your eyes playfully. “your so full of yourself”
“what is that supposed to mean?” he asked, slightly offended.
you giggled a and shook your head, ignoring his last comment and enjoying your time before chocy milk.
Requested by: anon (If youre comfortable writing that stuff, could you do a platonic tony x reader one where she is close friend of avengers and has a restrictive eating disorder and tony starts picking up signs about that and confronts her about it and comforts her and reassures he's gonna help her in her recovery? Thank you lots :)
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Starring: Tony Stark x she/her reader; fellow Avengers
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Fandom: MCU
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Chronology: after The Avengers (2012) and Spider-Man Homecoming (2017)
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Warnings: reader displays symptoms indicative of restrictive food intake/food avoidance--please read at your personal discretion or stop reading if at any point you find that this narrative does not serve your mental wellbeing
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Summary: Reader pays her old friend Tony Stark a visit. He senses something is amiss and reaches out to her about it.
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Writer’s note: Anon, I want to take a moment to thank you for submitting this request. You possess great courage for reaching out about something that can be a vulnerable topic and I hope I did it justice. :)
If there are elements of this prompt that resonate with you or anyone else reading this, please be kind to yourself during your personal recovery journey. Some are long and some are short, and some almost seem futile when they just keep going in circles, but no path ever goes in a straight line, and every step is progress.
I also want to mention that I happen to be in a counseling program now, so I will do my best to write an accurate portrayal for this character. However, it is based on my knowledge rather than experience and I am still learning. I do not claim to be an expert on anything and welcome this as an opportunity for constructive criticism as well.
If anyone reading this is in need of professional help, I encourage you to seek it out. You deserve it. Although I cannot provide therapeutic help for anyone on here, I am willing to branch into writing mental health-related fics for those who are interested. <3
“Y/n,” Tony said your name more like an announcement than a greeting as you entered the room. Moments before, he’d been addressing the rest of the Avengers about something or other related to impending doom. What else was new? You just hoped it it wasn’t more deep sea fish-looking alien spaceships causing mass destruction. Ever since that whole battle of New York you haven’t quite been the same.
You waved once in acknowledgment of everyone surrounding the expensive-looking lab equipment radiating a neon projection into thin air and made for the kitchen.
“Who is that?” said an unfamiliar voice belonging to an unfamiliar face as you passed by.
“Y/n,” Tony repeated before continuing his science talk.
“Is she an Avenger?”
“No,” Tony said mid-sentence.
“Then,” the person leaned forward from his seat on the couch, “what is she doing here?”
You opened the fridge and poured yourself a glass of the nearest open bottle, not bothering to see what it was. You swirled it mindlessly, watching the exchange like it was something mildly interesting on TV and you were too lazy to search for something more exciting.
Tony turned his full attention on the man.
“She’s a friend. She’s allowed in at her leisure. Open invitation.”
Tony’s mouth turned up in your direction as if laughing at a private joke between the two of you. He made eye contact briefly.
You brought the glass to your lips.
The new guy laughed in bemusement.
Tony took a step toward him. “What’s funny?”
“It took me years to be called an Avenger after we became friends but she can just... strut around our super secret complex whenever she likes?”
Soundlessly, you put the glass on the counter and draw your thick sweater tighter around yourself.
“Ah,” now Tony was smiling, but more in the sense of baring his teeth than enjoying himself. “I see your confusion.” He addressed the man directly. “We’re not friends. We,” he gestured between them, “are coworkers.”
He turned to a screen and waved his palm over it. “And I am giving a presentation. And you are listening to me with your mouth shut,” he enunciated every syllable by the end of his sentence, then shook off the interruption and continued lecturing about his discovery.
You turned away to hide a grin and strolled elsewhere in the complex to leave Tony to his business. You weren’t a fan of stopping in unexpectedly but it had been a particularly tough week. Tuesday had been your father’s birthday. Thursday had been your mother’s.
Outside, you ran into Pepper, exchanged congratulations about their recent engagement, and offered to help prepare for the ceremony if she needed it. She shared that she was on her way to pick up lunch and offered to pick up yours as well. You declined, telling her just ate but you’d take her up on the offer another time, and is she sure she doesn’t need help ordering flower arrangements?
“I’ll let you know,” she said, smiling and waving as she summoned one of the many Stark cars and peeled away.
You shivered in the breeze despite the shining sun helping to warm the earth. Lately it seemed like you were always cold.
You made for the library and decided to pass the time learning what you could from the first book you picked up. Unfortunately for any small talk you ever attempted to make with the Avengers, you were a professor of anthropology and not biochemistry or engineering. You flipped open the book in your hands and read the title page. Maybe learning the gist of quantum physics would help with that.
You were on page 150 when the door opened.
“Knock knock,” Tony said.
You marked your page and stood.
“Tony!”
“Thanks for stopping in,” he said warmly.
“Anytime,” you replied. You grinned. “Open invitation.”
“Always. And,” he added, “you’re invited to stay for dinner.”
You raised your eyebrows. “Am I? Are you sure I’m not intruding on an Avengers-only occasion?”
“He doesn’t know anything,” Tony said, catching your meaning immediately. “He’s new, you’ll have to excuse him. But if he even looks at you during dinner I promise I will kick him out. This is a purely social gathering. No shop talk allowed. You’ll fit right in.”
He walked over, placed his fingers on the book and shifted it slightly in his direction. He nodded once.
“You should sit next to Romanoff. Come on,” he nodded in the direction of the door, “you can help me cook.”
“I don’t remember saying I was available,” you said, following him anyway.
“I know,” he said, “but I also know that you are, in fact, available. I had Pepper check your schedule.”
You cross from one building to another in silence. He holds the door open for you as you reenter the kitchen together and adds, “she also told me you ate lunch when I know for a fact you strolled in here, poured that,” he pointed to the glass of orange juice, still filled and gathering condensation where you left it on the countertop, “and went to read up on a topic you know nothing about for several hours.”
You laughed and picked up the glass. “I knew I forgot something! I sat down with that book and couldn’t for the life of me remember what it was. And hey,” you pointed at him accusingly, “I knew nothing about quantum physics until several hours ago. Now I do know something about it.”
He raised his palms. “I wasn’t questioning your intellect.” He looked pointedly at the glass in your hand. “Your new eating habits, however, are what struck me as odd.”
You looked at him. “I didn’t realize making a sandwich and taking it to the library was considered odd around here.”
“Uh huh,” Tony said and opened the fridge. Every ingredient remained untouched.
You didn’t say anything. His look of concern now felt like the world’s most intense spotlight. You sipped the juice, deciding a few ounces wouldn’t do you any harm and the Vitamin C ultimately made the calories worthwhile.
“So what’s on the menu for tonight anyway? I’m famished and so incredibly curious to learn what someone like Thor considers an acceptable meal.”
Tony shut the fridge and gazed steadily at you.
“Are you? Famished?”
“I—yeah, sure,” you said, uncertain what answer he wanted and growing less sure your eating habits could still slip under his radar. Not that anything ever avoids his notice.
He started gathering ingredients and various pans from the cabinets.
“And not that I don’t appreciate the chance visit, but why drop in today? We haven’t talked in...”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“Where were you when... that... all happened?” he asked.
You knew he was talking about the bizarre invasion that destroyed the city beyond anything you’d ever seen. Like many others, you lost your family that day. You still weren’t used to spending their birthdays mourning instead of celebrating.
You shared your experience of that day with Tony as he cooked up a Mediterranean dish and disclosed his own trauma of that day to you. You were shocked to learn he was still recovering from the effects, and his concerns were only mounting.
“New York will never be safe again, will it?” you said quietly.
“Hey,” Tony stopped stirring and held your face gently. “New York is protected as long as we’re around.”
He returned to stirring the sauce. “We can’t save everyone all the time, but helping even one person is always worthwhile.” He pointed the wooden spoon at you.
“Today that person is you.”
You sniffed--pretending you were interested in smelling food instead of fighting back tears--and stuck your tongue out to lick the spoon. It was warm and savory. For once, your mouth didn’t feel like cotton and recoil at the taste of sustenance. Maybe you could stomach this tonight. And maybe another meal after that.
Tony also tasted the spoon, nodded, and set it on the counter.
“I think it’s time we assembled for dinner,” he said.
- - - - - -
As dinner was served, you and Natasha excitedly caught up on recent developments in your lives--hers far more action-packed than yours--but she was just as genuinely interested in listening to you ramble about faculty drama and unruly students.
The new guy introduced himself to you and attempted to crack jokes as often as possible throughout the evening. He grew on you.
Thor ate three platefuls of whatever Tony had concocted--you still weren’t positive what the vegetable-heavy dish was called, but in the grand scheme of things it didn’t really matter.
And you were able to eat several forkfuls of food without resistance. You shrugged your sweater off and hung it on the back of your chair, accepting a cocktail from Tony as he brought a tray of them back to the table, stealing glances at you all the while and smiling to himself.
Although dining with the Avengers was only the first step back to engaging in your regular diet, you felt better knowing you didn’t have to walk that path alone as long as you had Tony Stark by your side. And you never knew him to be a man who abandons a friend in need.
Asked by Anonymous: Hi! Can you do a one shot with Jared and a reader where one of them might be considered clingy? Or like one (or both) is just so insecure about the other honestly liking them and they freak out on them.
Finally finished! I hope you like it, Anon. I’m not sure if it’s exactly what you were hoping for, though. I tried to make it for all genders.
WC: 1,282
Warnings: Swearing, Mention of smoking, Jared Kleinman
Masterlist
The thought didn’t cross your mind, at first. It’s just what couples do, you thought. Spend as much time as possible together, right? If Jared was bothered by it, he didn’t mention it. You two just held hands as you walked through the hallways, met at your classroom doors to walk the other to their next hour, walked to either your house or his house after school, and “study” for the rest of the night.
But Connor had thought it. Well, not just thought it. He bluntly said it. “Y/N, why are you so clingy?”
You had just passed him in the hallway, running an errand for your teacher in the middle of class. You hadn’t thought you’d see Connor sneaking off to smoke and you definitely hadn’t thought he would say such thing.
“What?” you asked, gripping the papers tighter in your arms.
“Why do you cling to Jared so fucking much? It’s suffocating to watch. I can’t imagine what it might feel like for him,” Connor shrugged and continued on his way.
You, on the other hand, stood rooted in place. Clingy? Were you clingy? Did other people think you were clingy?
Did Jared think you were clingy?
You shook your head, erasing the thought, and continued on your way. When you arrived back in your class, though, the thought haunted you once again. Did Jared think you were clingy? Did your boyfriend find you clingy?
The bell rang and students flooded through the door. You slowly got up, grabbed your bag, and walked out into the hallway to see Jared waiting for you. You managed a small smile and grabbed his hand. “Hey,” you said, pressing a small kiss to his lips.
“That’s gay,” Jared joked.
You gave a halfhearted chuckle and began the walk to lunch. You didn’t speak, the thought still jumping around in your head. You almost didn’t hear your boyfriend talk.
“You okay?” he asked, giving your hand a soft squeeze.
You nodded. “Y-Yeah, I’m good. Just…stuff we learned in class…really confusing.”
Jared raised an eyebrow, but didn’t press further. You two made your way to your table. Evan had already sat down and was munching on his sandwich. You and Jared sat across from him, Jared laying his arm around your waist as he always did.
“Hey, Evan,” you smiled, taking out your lunch.
“H-Hi, Y/N,” the boy greeted back. “Hi, Jared.”
Jared nodded. “Hey, Hansen. Where’s the pothead?”
“Fuck off, Kleinman.”
“There he is!” Jared laughed as Connor sat down. Connor threw his arm around Evan’s shoulders, causing the poor boy to turn bright red. Connor looked at you and how close you were to Jared. You looked down and scooted away from Jared, just a few inches so he couldn’t wrap as close of an arm around you. Jared looked at you, his face showing signs of concern. “Babe? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. It’s just a bit warm in here, is all,” you said and took a bite of your food before he could ask anything else.
The rest of the day went by awkwardly. You didn’t give him a goodbye kiss after lunch, your walks to class were silent, and you didn’t meet him by his classroom after school. Jared was freaking out. Were you sick? Were you hurt? He didn’t know! Luckily, he caught you as you were walking out of school.
“Y/N! Hey!” he called out and ran to your side. He grabbed your hand, causing you to stop. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on, but if it’s something I did please tell me. I want to make it up to you,” Jared whispered.
You shook your head and pulled your hand out of his grasp, pushing it into your sweatshirt pocket. “No, no you didn’t do anything. It’s just…one of those days, y’know?”
Jared frowned. “Yeah…sure. So, your house or mine?” he asked.
You were about to respond when you saw Connor out of the corner of your eye. He watched you two and crossed his arms, a smirk settling on his face, waiting to see how this played out. You bit your lip. “Actually, I think I’m gonna go home. By myself. Yeah.”
Jared nodded. “Alright, then. I can’t do anything to stop you, I guess.” He grabbed your shoulder and kissed your lips, softer than he would’ve liked. “I love you,” he whispered.
You cracked a smile. “I love you, too.” You gripped the strap of your bag and walked home. Alone. And boy, was it awful.
Later that night, as you were perched on the couch with a book in hand, the doorbell rang. Being the only one home, you got up to answer it. Your breath caught at the sight of Jared holding a bouquet of roses. “Hey,” you said.
He smiled and held out the flowers. “That’s gay,” he teased. “Mind if I come in?” You grabbed the flowers and stepped aside, closing the door behind him. “Can we talk?”
You nodded and walked to the kitchen, filling a vase with water for the flowers. “What do you want to talk about?”
Jared stood next to you, cautiously putting his arm around your waist. “You know what I want to talk about, Y/N. This isn’t some off day for you. Tell me what happened,” he whispered and helped you cut the stems.
You shook your head and put the cut roses in the vase. “No. It’s no big deal.”
Jared set the scissors down and grabbed both your hands, forcing you to face him. “Y/N, this is a big deal. You’re not acting like yourself. Just tell me what’s going on so we can fix it,” he said.
You sighed, knowing there was no way he would leave without you saying what was bothering you. “Connor said…Connor said I’m clingy. And I didn’t know if you felt the same so I tried to back off but it’s really hard, Jared. I’m sorry. I just love you so much and-“ you were cut off by his laughter.
“Murphy said you were clingy?” Jared laughed. “Him? Why would you believe an asshole like that? He can barely keep his hands off of Evan at school! If anyone’s clingy it’s him.”
You closed your eyes and groaned. “I messed up, didn’t I?”
Jared calmed down and smiled gently, cupping your cheek. “Nonsense. You always mess up,” Jared joked, causing you to punch him in the shoulder. He chuckled. “Alright, I deserved that. But the point is, fuck Connor. Not literally, though. You fuck me.”
“Jared!” you exclaimed, feeling your cheeks heat up.
Your boyfriend laughed. “Anyways, just…fuck Connor. Fuck him and fuck anyone who thinks that because it’s not up to them to decide what our relationship is and is not. If they think were clingy good for them. But we don’t so it doesn’t matter.” Jared walked you back to the couch and sat down, pulling you close. “What matters is you and me and that’s it. So what do you think? Do you think we’re clinging to each other?”
You shook your head. “No. I like how we are.”
Jared smiled. “Me too. So lets keep it that way.”
You smiled and leaned forward, gripping the collar of his shirt. “I love you, so much. Thank you for everything.”
Jared smiled and cupped the back of your neck. “Thank you for everything. I love you, too,” he whispered before slamming his lips against yours.
The rest of the night was filled with cuddles, kisses, and teases. You two went back to your normal ways and teased Connor about his own clinginess.
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Yes, I read xreader fanfic and what?! And yes, unfortunately I don’t have choice to read xfemale!reader. We don’t have many choice with male!reader *sigh*
This is short, or just smut/lemon or, hu, cliché gay. I don’t have problem with that (I mean, I read male!reader with male Canon characters soooo...) but seriously,., nha, I’m not a lil’ cute guy really slim and pretty.
But, yeah, this is difficult to read with a female!reader when I’m a man. This is rare a female!reader not too much girly or overly cute.
So, yeah, this is funny to imagine me in a dress without effort for a good passing.
BONUS :
(Because yeah, I AM, a 90kgs, 180cm tall guy. And the Canon characters are rarely more big than me)
Summary: A rare moment turns heavy fast. Small tensions crack open, and Smurf reminds everyone this isn’t just family.
It’s control.
And J? He’s caught in the middle.
The street felt abandoned in that eerie, almost staged way. Half finished condos loomed around you, dark windows staring blankly at the world. The ocean air carried a sharp chill, mixing with the smell of concrete dust and salt.
Deran pushed the trolley ahead of you, its metal wheels clattering softly over cracks in the pavement. The sound felt too loud in the stillness.
You walked beside him, taking a slow drag from your blunt. The ember flared bright in the dim light. You held the smoke for a second, steadying yourself, then passed it to him.
He inhaled deep, exhaled slow, and flicked the roach onto the asphalt, grinding it under his heel.
“No evidence,” he muttered.
Pope was already crouched at the side entrance, pulling a compact drill from the duffel. He didn’t hesitate. The bit met the lock with a sharp metallic whine.
You kept watch automatically, eyes scanning the dark windows across the street.
The lock gave with a hollow pop.
Pope caught the handle before it could rattle and slowly pulled the door open.
He gestured for you to move.
You slipped inside first.
The air changed immediately. Cooler. Stale. Thick with drywall dust. Plastic sheets hung from unfinished doorframes, shifting slightly in the draft like silent witnesses.
Deran wheeled the trolley in carefully. J followed, glancing over his shoulder once before Pope shut the door and reset the broken lock just enough to make it look intact.
“It’s this way,” Pope murmured.
You followed him down a narrow hallway lit only by faint spillover from a single work light left plugged in somewhere. Your boots crunched softly over debris.
The room at the end was cluttered. Stacks of tile. Buckets of joint compound. Exposed studs and half installed cabinetry. Construction frozen mid breath.
You and Pope immediately began clearing space in front of the wall he’d marked earlier. J joined in, dragging scrap wood aside. Deran positioned the trolley near the doorway.
“Sledgehammer,” Pope said, holding out his hand.
You grabbed it from the bag and passed it to him. Deran took the second one.
You stepped back, gripping J’s arm and pulling him with you.
“Ready?” Pope asked.
Deran nodded once.
The first swing exploded into the drywall with a thunderous crack. Dust burst into the air, thick and choking. The second swing punched through clean. Fragments rained down around their boots.
Within seconds, the wall caved inward, revealing metal framing behind it.
They kept going until the opening was just wide enough to squeeze through.
Dust hung heavy in the air. J coughed, waving it away from his face.
Pope turned toward him. “What? You afraid of asbestos?”
J shot him a look but stayed quiet.
Deran handed Pope a power cutter. “Don’t cut the wire,” he warned. “Could be live.”
You rolled your eyes. “I doubt it’s live. The place isn’t even finished.”
Deran ignored the jab, crouching to take the tool himself. He ducked through the opening first.
“Backpack,” he called. “Don’t forget the backpack.”
You grabbed it and tossed it to J before slipping through the jagged hole yourself. The metal edge scraped your sleeve lightly.
On the other side, the room felt tighter. Cleaner. More finished. This was the real target.
“All right,” Deran whispered. “Where’s the safe?”
You spread out, scanning corners, checking behind temporary partitions.
Nothing.
“Where’s the safe, Pope?” Deran asked, tension creeping into his voice.
Pope looked around again. “I don’t know.”
Deran turned toward you. “y/n?”
You lifted your hands. “Hell if I know.”
He let out a short laugh, half disbelief. “Neither of you knows where the safe is?”
You paused.
Then slowly lifted your finger, pointing straight ahead.
“It’s right there. Calm down.”
They both followed your gesture.
The safe stood flush against the far wall. Massive. Industrial. Easily five hundred pounds of reinforced steel.
You walked toward it, taking in its size.
“This thing’s a tank,” you muttered. “How are we moving it?”
Pope dropped to the floor beside it. “Bolted.”
You turned to J. “Backpack.”
He handed it over quickly. Deran unzipped it and pulled out the inflatable lifting bag.
You checked your watch. “We’re good.”
Pope slid the deflated bag under the safe and began pumping air into it. Slowly, the heavy box lifted off its bolts with a strained metallic groan.
You stepped back toward the entry, eyes locked on the small monitor wired into the building’s camera feed.
A figure entered the frame.
Your stomach tightened.
“Who is that?” you asked sharply.
“Come on!” Pope barked.
You tore your gaze away and rushed back, helping slide the reinforced tray beneath the floating safe.
Deran packed tools fast, shoving them back into the duffel.
Pope released the pressure valve. The safe dropped onto the tray with a heavy, echoing thud.
“Move,” Deran urged.
Pope shoved the tray forward. It scraped loudly against the concrete.
J followed close behind, pushing with both hands. You stayed near the back, glancing once more at the monitor.
Two figures now.
Closer.
Pope forced the tray through the broken wall. Deran and J climbed through first.
You and Pope stayed behind, angling the safe toward the opening.
It jammed halfway.
A thick vertical beam blocked the top corner.
“Pope, it’s not gonna fit. Let’s go,” Deran hissed from the other side. “They’re coming.”
“Use the saw,” you snapped immediately. “Make it bigger.”
Deran looked up at you, incredulous. “You want me to cut this wire? I’m not cutting that.”
You dropped down in front of him.
“I want you to cut the wire,” you said, voice low but blazing. “You will cut that goddamn wire.”
Footsteps echoed faintly down the hallway.
“They’re coming!” Deran shot back.
“Then stop hesitating!”
Before he could argue again, J lunged forward, grabbed the saw, and sliced through the metal beam and wire in one aggressive motion.
Sparks spit into the dark.
The beam snapped free.
“Go!” Pope ordered.
He motioned for you first.
You slipped through the hole quickly. Pope shoved the tray hard, forcing the safe through the widened gap. It scraped, metal shrieking against metal, but it cleared.
He climbed through after it.
The safe dropped heavily onto the trolley outside the wall. J grabbed the handles and started pushing immediately.
You fell into step beside him. Deran and Pope flanked the sides.
Behind you, a door somewhere in the building slammed open.
Voices.
Too close.
Your pulse remained steady.
Focused.
You shot Deran a sharp look as you moved.
“Unbelievable,” you muttered.
He didn’t answer.
You didn’t slow down.
The warehouse smelled like rust and old rain.
One dangling bulb swung slightly overhead, throwing long, restless shadows across concrete floors. The safe sat in the center of the room like a captured animal.
Pope crouched in front of it, tools laid out neatly beside him. Focused. Calm. Like this part was the easiest thing in the world.
Deran paced near the loading bay door, blunt between his fingers, agitation rolling off him in visible waves. J leaned against the wall, arms folded, trying to look unaffected.
You stood a few feet from Pope, watching him work the lock.
Metal scraped.
There was a final sharp click.
The door creaked open.
You stepped closer, anticipation tightening your chest. This was the moment. The justification.
Pope reached inside and pulled something out.
A stack of VHS tapes.
You blinked.
He turned one over in his hand.
Porn.
Your face twisted instantly. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
Pope tossed them aside. They clattered across the concrete, plastic cracking.
He reached in again.
This time his arm came out loaded.
Cash.
Thick stacks of it.
Rubber banded. Neat. Real.
The air shifted immediately.
You dropped down beside him, heart kicking a little harder now. This was worth it.
Pope looked up at J, money still in his hands.
“What do you think, J?” he asked evenly. “We split this three ways.”
He pointed between himself, you, and J.
You picked up one of the discarded tapes and tossed it toward Deran.
“You can keep the porn.”
Deran let out a short, mocking laugh. “Yeah, if you had cased the place—”
“Oh, please,” you cut in, throwing your hands up. “Save us the sob story. The job was solid. We had time.”
“I’m sorry,” Deran shot back, pointing at Pope. “That idiot is on parole. You get caught, it’s a twenty year bid.”
Then he turned his attention to you, smoke drifting from his mouth.
“And you? You’re not even supposed to be on a job. I was looking out for you two.”
You ignored the tone and started counting stacks with Pope.
“J has more balls than you,” Pope said casually, cash in his hands.
Deran huffed. “Oh, give me a break.”
Pope pointed at J. “He has more balls than you do.”
“What a hero,” Deran scoffed. “He cut a wire. Yeah. He’s just as stupid as you two are.”
The temperature in the room shifted.
Pope stood, offering you a hand. You took it, rising smoothly to your feet.
Deran looked between the two of you.
“What?” he said. “You really want to go back to prison? For ten grand?”
“Some of us,” you said quietly, stepping closer, “aren’t looking to suck off Mommy’s tit for the rest of our lives.”
Deran took a step forward, jaw tight. “You could’ve fooled me.”
Pope stepped in until their foreheads nearly touched.
“Go ahead,” Pope murmured. “What are you gonna do?”
You moved before Deran could respond. Your hand shot up, gripping his jaw, fingers pressing into his cheek hard enough to make a point.
“What are you so mad about?” you asked, voice low and dangerous. “You mad because J’s more of a man than you? You mad you’re not gonna be Mommy’s favorite?”
Deran’s breathing sharpened.
“What is it, Deran?” you pressed.
“Let’s just split it four ways.”
J’s voice cut through the tension like a blade.
Your grip stayed for a second longer before you released him. You turned slowly toward J.
He stood straighter now.
Calmer than the rest of you.
You threw your hands up.
“Okay, J. If you really want to.”
Pope looked at Deran. “You should thank him.”
You smiled faintly. “You’re only getting paid because of a seventeen-year-old. Pay your respects.”
“You should say,” Pope continued, eyes locked on his brother, “‘Thank you, J, for actually having some genuine balls.’”
You stepped back into Deran’s space again, pressing your fingers into the side of his head.
“Go on,” you said, voice rising. “It can’t be that hard.”
You shoved lightly against him.
“Say it. Say, ‘Thank you, J, for actually having some balls.’”
Deran smacked your hand away.
“I’m not saying shit, y/n!”
Pope shoved him from the other side.
“Say it. Say, ‘Thank you, J, for actually having some balls. I got scared in there.’”
“Shut up, Pope!”
Deran pushed him back hard.
For a split second, it felt like it might tip.
Four bodies in a dusty warehouse. Ten grand on the floor. Years of resentment thick in the air.
J stood frozen, watching.
You glanced at the money.
Then at Deran.
Then at Pope.
It wasn’t about ten grand.
It was about who got to move without Smurf’s permission.
The truck rolled to a sharp stop at the curb, tires crunching over gravel like punctuation.
Pope killed the engine but kept both hands on the wheel, eyes fixed straight ahead.
J and Nicky stood on the sidewalk under the fading afternoon light. Her hand was looped through his arm. His bike rested against his hip. They looked like they belonged in a different world. One with homework and curfews. Not this.
You leaned forward slightly in your seat, elbow resting against the open window.
“Hop in,” you called to J.
Your tone wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be.
You gave Nicky a small, almost apologetic smile. “Sorry, sweetheart. Family stuff.”
Pope added, without turning his head, “He’ll catch up with you later.”
They didn’t move at first.
They just stood there, blinking at the truck like it had appeared out of thin air.
“Uh… okay,” J said slowly.
Pope jerked his chin toward the back of the truck. “Come on. Throw your bike in.”
There was no room for negotiation in his voice.
You could feel J hesitate from here.
“Let’s go,” you said, sharper this time. A thin edge of frustration slicing through the air.
J finally peeled himself away from Nicky and walked around the truck. He lifted the bike into the bed with a hollow metal clank. The sound echoed down the street.
But instead of climbing in, he drifted back toward her.
Of course he did.
They stood too close. Whispering. Smiling like there wasn’t a clock ticking somewhere.
You watched from the passenger seat, jaw tightening slightly.
They kissed.
Longer than necessary.
Your fingers tapped against your thigh. Once. Twice.
Pope’s patience ran out before yours did.
“J!” he barked.
The sound carried. Nicky jumped slightly.
J pulled back just enough to murmur something into her ear. She laughed softly, brushing her hair back like this was sweet. Like it was normal.
You let out an irritated sigh, leaning your head back against the seat.
“Seriously?” you muttered.
Pope’s hand flexed against the steering wheel.
“Let’s go!” he called again, louder now.
J gave Nicky one more quick kiss before jogging to the truck and climbing into the back seat. The door shut harder than it needed to.
You twisted slightly in your seat to look at him.
“Comfortable?” you asked coolly.
He didn’t answer. Just stared out the window.
You turned back around and gave Nicky a final wave as Pope pulled away from the curb. She stood there watching the truck disappear, arms wrapped around herself.
The neighborhood blurred as you picked up speed.
Inside the cab, the air shifted.
No more teenage softness. No more sidewalk sunlight.
Just family.
You glanced in the side mirror, catching J’s reflection. He looked smaller back there than he probably realized.
“You’re not on vacation,” you said calmly, eyes forward. “When we call, you come.”
Pope didn’t add anything.
He didn’t have to.
The truck kept moving.
The truck idled outside the surf shop, engine humming low like it was waiting for something to happen.
You and J sat inside while Pope stepped out, slamming the door shut with enough force to rattle the mirrors.
Deran pushed through the glass doors of the shop a second later, sunglasses on, board shorts still damp at the hem. He stopped short when he spotted the truck.
“What’s he doing here?” he asked, jerking his chin toward the back seat where J sat.
Pope rounded the hood, stopping directly in front of Deran. Close enough that neither of them had to raise their voices.
“Leave your car,” Pope said evenly. “I’ll drop you off after.”
Deran’s brow furrowed. “After what?”
Inside the truck, J leaned halfway out of his open window. “Hey, I’ve got an English essay to write. I can just take my bike—”
Neither Pope nor Deran acknowledged him.
You flipped a page in your magazine lazily, like this was background noise.
“Don’t bother,” you said without looking up. “This won’t take long.”
J sank back into his seat with a huff.
“Do I really need to be here for this?”
You slowly closed the magazine, the glossy paper snapping softly as it shut. You turned around in your seat to face him fully, one arm draped over the headrest.
“Well,” you said with a small, measured smile, “we wouldn’t be wasting your time on purpose. Would we?”
The smile didn’t quite reach your eyes.
J held your stare for a second, then looked away first.
Satisfied, you twisted back around and rested the magazine on your lap.
Outside, Pope kept his voice low as he filled Deran in.
It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t dramatic. Just facts.
Quick job. Clean. In and out.
Cash.
Deran’s posture shifted as he listened. Skepticism gave way to calculation.
“And Smurf?” Deran asked finally.
Pope didn’t hesitate. “She doesn’t need to know.”
That hung in the air heavier than the heat.
From inside the truck, you watched Deran’s jaw tighten. Not fear. Not exactly. Just awareness.
Going around Smurf wasn’t small.
It wasn’t impulsive either.
It was deliberate.
You stepped out of the truck then, shutting the door quietly behind you. The sun bounced off the pavement, sharp and blinding.
“She doesn’t need to know,” you echoed calmly, coming to stand beside Pope. “Not yet.”
Deran glanced between the two of you.
“And this is your idea?” he asked.
You tilted your head slightly. “It’s our opportunity.”
Pope stayed silent.
Deran studied you longer this time. Measuring. Wondering how much of this was ambition and how much was something else.
“You’re helping?” he asked.
You gave a single nod.
“If everything goes the way it’s supposed to,” you said evenly, “this puts us back where we belong.”
Back in the rotation.
Back in the decisions.
Back in the rooms where plans were made instead of overheard.
Deran exhaled through his nose, glancing toward the truck where J sat pretending not to listen.
“And him?”
“He’s part of it,” Pope answered.
J shifted visibly in the back seat.
You looked at Deran, eyes steady.
“Life went on while we were gone,” you said quietly. “We’re just catching up.”
The unspoken truth lingered between you all.
If this worked, you and Pope weren’t just back.
You were undeniable.
The truck rolled to a stop in a near empty lot that smelled like hot asphalt and fried grease drifting from somewhere unseen.
You stepped out first, stretching your arms over your head as a yawn slipped past your lips. The sky was dipping into that in between hour where everything looked washed in copper.
Deran rounded the back of the truck and tossed you a folded vinyl sign.
You caught it easily.
“Don’t wrinkle it,” he muttered, already peeling the backing off the second one.
You held yours up, smoothing it against the side of the truck. The adhesive stuck with a quiet, final press. Temporary branding. Temporary identity.
Pope didn’t waste time. He crouched near the bumper, screwdriver in hand, swapping out the license plates with slow, methodical precision. Metal clicked against metal.
The sound carried.
From the bed of the truck, he dragged out a heavy duffel bag and dropped it at your feet. The zipper rasped open.
Inside, neatly folded uniforms.
Matching. Clean. Anonymous.
He tossed one to Deran. Then one to you. Then one toward J, who barely caught it in time.
“You vet this place?” Deran asked, eyes cutting between you and Pope as he stripped off his shirt without ceremony.
“It’s solid,” Pope replied.
Two words. No embellishment.
Deran studied him a beat longer before nodding and pulling on the uniform.
J stood there awkwardly, holding the outfit like it might bite.
“What are we doing here?” he asked.
You stepped closer, reaching out to tug the fabric from his hands and shake it open for him.
You smiled.
It wasn’t warm. It wasn’t cruel either. Just knowing.
“Ready to have some fun?”
His expression didn’t shift.
“This doesn’t look like fun.”
You leaned in slightly, lowering your voice so it didn’t carry past him.
“Fun is relative.”
Behind you, Pope slammed the truck door shut after finishing the plates. The sound echoed through the lot like a starting gun.
You slipped off your top and pulled on the uniform shirt, buttoning it carefully. You tied your hair back tighter than usual. Cleaner. Less recognizable.
Deran adjusted his collar, glancing toward the building across the lot.
“You sure about this?” he asked again, quieter this time.
You met his gaze evenly.
“If it wasn’t worth it, we wouldn’t be here.”
J hesitated a second longer before finally changing. He looked younger in the uniform. Smaller.
Pope zipped the duffel shut and slung it over his shoulder.
The truck no longer looked like yours.
You no longer looked like you.
Perfect.
You stepped back, scanning the scene once.
“Remember,” you said lightly, eyes flicking to J, “confidence makes people lazy.”
He swallowed but nodded.
Pope started walking first.
Deran followed.
You lingered half a second longer beside J.
“Stick close,” you murmured. “And don’t overthink it.”
Then you moved, falling into step with the others as you headed toward the building.
The evening air felt charged.
If everything went according to plan, this wouldn’t just be a job.
