#Always feel free to ask me absolutely anything. I'm happy to help!!

[alltimefail-sims]

Do you have any tips for getting into/making sims stories? (Idk what to call them lol, but like your strangersville story), and tips for taking posed screenshots because I’m struggling-

Hello, friend! 🤗

I am so genuinely flattered that you would ask me for advice. I'll admit, I've only been officially on simblr for a little over a year and I'm just getting a groove in posting, so I'm still learning about the storytelling format and posing aspect, too. Here are some really great posts that helped me:

@seaslugsims: Storytelling Resources Part 1

and Storytelling Resources Part 2

Storytelling Tips and Tricks thread started by @citylighten (Check the reblogs on this one - so many amazing, experienced creators have weighed in on their personal tips and tricks)

I hate posing sims, but I've found that it just takes practice and patience. @ts4-poses is a great resource blog for finding poses because it is organized into categories, making finding a specific pose less overwhelming. Put all the sims you need for a story post in the same household so you have full control of them all. Ravasheen's ISO Camera for in-game photos is what dreams are made of because the photos always come out perfect and no one has to be behind the camera to take the picture. When taking photos using the tab key, take them from multiple angles so you have a lot of options when editing your posts.

I also would say don't be afraid to just keep asking for advice! If you see a post you like, don't be afraid to ask someone how they did it! I've learned so much just by going to creators like "Hey, this post you made was so great... what editing do you use? Do you use a reshade/gshade shader? Do you resize photos?" You can learn a lot from others, and over time with practice (and a lot of trial and error) you will gain your footing and develop a style of your own!

Now, onto where I have personal experience: getting into stories and making stories! For me personally, a good story is all about characters and world building. Because simblr stories give you an opportunity to show varying perspectives and focus on more than one character's viewpoint (kind of like a comic or TV show), you can best take advantage of that by writing in-depth characters you love (or love to hate, lol). Knowing the setting and how the characters fit into that setting is really the backbone of any good story, and if you care about the details and you care about those characters, your audience will feel that! Also knowing what you like to write helps, too! I like sci-fi, fantasy, and coming of age; I like mysteries and love stories are my lifeblood (I'm a hopeless romantic); and I am a sucker for a good found family trope... so that's what I write! You'll never catch me writing horror stories full of loss, or adult romance stories, nor am I gonna pop out a teen drama (yk like Degrassi-esque or Disney Channel) or something cutting-edge/dark/with a strong visual aesthetic (like Euphoria) because I know that's not my thing (and editing is not my strength - I would HATE spending hours editing posts where some others might love that part of the process. I don't write or create something because I think it will be popular or on-trend or garner viewership (even though wanting validation is not a bad thing imo) I just create to create. I create using my strengths first, and I would recommend you write to your strengths and don't feel like you have to rush the process.

My biggest piece of advice is that if you have a story to tell, tell it! Trust me, someone (or a lot of someones) will love it. You may only get a few views at first, or it may take off right from the jump, but regardless your story is worth telling. Start by just opening a google doc and jotting down ideas as they come to you until one sticks. Don't be afraid to shelf what doesn't work or what you're not feeling any more. My Strangerville story was not my first venture on simblr, but it is the only one I have loved enough to keep up with.

Lastly, please let me know when you do put your story out there. You've already got one fan!!! 📣💕

[landoslvr]

MRS TELEVISION | a. frederick

summary: a scroll through your internet presence as 'mrs television'. [social media AU.]

pairing: fem!reader x arthur frederick (arthurtv)

faceclaim: bri kerr

notes: first piece for mrs television out of the wag universe. bri is gonna be the main fc I use for mrs television, hopefully you like it!

liked by arthurtv, arthurfhill and 1,129 others

yourinstagram helped out on someone else's video for once, chris finally let me leave the dungeon!!!

view all 92 comments

user she kills me

user hottest producer award goes to...

chrismd_10 drinking on the job?

yourinstagram constantly

user she looks peppered in the 3rd slide

user first risky pic from y/n ever on the 6th slide

georgeclarkey thanks for the candid of me and my man 😌😌

arthurtv please someone get him away from me

user y/n's friend is inhaling that guinness 🫢

arthurtv great photography for the 1st and 3rd pictures, big fan!

yourinstagram humble as ever mr television

liked by georgeclarkey, wroetoshaw and 1,398 others

yourinstagram lots of fun at work recently, constantly mixing business and pleasure 🥂 chrismd thanks for keeping me employed even if I drink at work

view all 120 comments

user I can't tell if shes joking about drinking at work 😭

user its definitely a joke, most bts has y/n yelling at chris to pull his head in lol

user she keeps him in line!

yourinstagram have been going on 15 years

user we thank you for your service 🫡

arthurtv no jerseys at the match???

yourinstagram the nerve!

chrismd_10 who's that handsome fella in the last slide?

miniminter leave the md clutches and come to sidemen

yourinstagram throw in talia and you have a deal

georgeclarkey you drunk

yourinstagram seems to be the new normal now, just embracing my new brand (like you and your Invisalign ads)

georgeclarkey too far

liked by callux, arthurtv and 1,781 others

yourinstagram more of a traveller atm than a producer! enjoyed spain very very much, definitely swipe to the 8th slide to see what arthur classifies as a front flip

view all 328 comments

arthurtv it's called being flexible, you wouldn't know anything about it

yourinstagram your six-year-old sister does a better front flip than you

arthurtv leave flora out of this

user guys stop flirting in front of us 😭😭 the false hope hurts

georgeclarkey always appreciate meeting a fan

yourinstagram die

calfreezy that photo was sacred y/n

chrismd_10 I feel ashamed, embarrassed

willne the absolute cheek

user why is no one talking about how good y/n looks in these pictures??

faithlouisak Im thinking the same thing?

user literal island princess

user is that danny aarons in the 5th picture 😭😭

yourinstagram dont even ask how he got the invite

chrismd_10 we're still not sure tbh

liked by callux, arthurtv and 1,901 others

yourinstagram filmed a very *cool* video this week 🌨️

view all 234 comments

arthurtv again, who is your photographer???? such raw talent is exquisite

yourinstagram im very close to letting him go actually, you can have him!

user arthur being the first to comment on her posts fuels my mrs television heart really, give us something guys

user I love them at my core I can't lie

user she is just so pretty

chrismd_10 get back to work

yourinstagram I literally just want to breathe chris

user someone make chris let y/n go, she needs to be a free woman

bezhinga faiths phone is dead but she says 'u look leng'

yourinstagram I love you faith kelly x

liked by callux, arthurtv and 2,193 others

yourinstagram very good friends! (happy one year doofus)

view all 401 comments

user A WHOLE ASS YEAR???????

user who even are they????????

user I feel like I have been swindled here miss l/n

user can we finally call her mrs television??? shes more than chris' producer now, she's one of us

arthurtv best friends for life! (I love you very much)

user I can't tell if im going to cry or faint tbh

user why is he always playing chess, arthur PLEASE

yourinstagram I'm asking this question all the time?

chrismd_10 I take credit for this relationship btw

yourinstagram how so?

chrismd_10 if I hadn't sat with arthur in class and then dragged you into our group project, I like to think this wouldn't have happened

georgeclarkey I love all of the fans so much but please stop sending me these pictures of my fiancé wrapped around another woman

user GEORGE PLEASE

[petew21-blog]

Family swap: Boys just wanna have fun!

My name is Robert Philip Cornell. I come from a very succesful family of lawyers. And in order to honor my family's legacy I continued in this tradition. Therefore I hope that one of my sons, preferably both, will continue this path as well. Unfortunately my twins, Richard and Philip, are very much like me and their mother. Inteligent, very good looking and thanks to our wealth, powerful. And they know how to use that. But sometimes I wonder if they should appreciate our legacy more than they do now. If you asked me right now and I answered that they were high, drunk or fucking someone, I'd definitely hit atleast one of the three if not all of them.

I was in Johannesburg to help close a company I represent a great deal. After signing we ended having a few coctails and then I left the group to my hotel room. Suddenly a WhatsApp message came to my mobile phone. From my wife Anna

"I'm sorry for interupting your meeting. Call me asap when you're free. It's the boys"

Oh god. What now? I dialed my wife's phone number

Anna:"Hey love. How was the meeting?"

Robert:"Hi, all went well. What's happening?"

Anna:"Philip took the boat. Richard covered him and as soon as the boat left the harbour he followed him. They just wanted to trick me. So now they're once again having a party on the sea, absolutely high as always. I just hope the cost guard will be understanding once again"

Robert:"Honey. I know you mean well with them, but I think it's time"

Anna:"Robert no. You can't be serious. Don't you remember what happened with your father and you when you two did this? Your father wanted to 'teach you a lesson', then you spent a shit ton of money and almost destroyed his reputation."

Robert:"And look where it got me. I know that the boys will understand eventually"

Anna:"So what are you gonna do? It wouldn't be fair to swap only one of them and there isn't another male figure left in your family to swap them with"

Robert:"I wasn't thinking of a male figure to be honest"

Anna:"Are you crazy? One of my sons in my FEMALE body? Robert, I don't think I'm comfortable with that. I can't imagine one of them treating my body decently"

Robert:"I am not happy with one of them ruining my image too or even treating my and yours body, but I believe that they will learn the lesson soon enough. Besides, wouldn't you wanna take those two teen hormonal bodies for a spin?"

Anna:"You're a tease Robert... when?"

Robert:"How about right now? I am in a hotel room. So let's say, Richard can try to get out of South Africa back home and Philip now can try to figure out and stress alone in your body on an island, how to get their original bodies back"

Anna:"Robert... you're evil. Then I am looking forward to see you in a minute"

Robert:"See you soon, my love"

A few minutes passed since Robert wanted to write down some instructions and so did Anna

Richard and Philip were on a yacht, blasting music and approaching the beach of the city they were headed to. Suddenly a text message sound. Philip opened the message first. It said:"Since you boys want to be on your own and enjoy everything life has to offer, we give you our bodies to take care of and with them the duties of maintaining our family image. Yes, you now have to work, yes you have to provide for the family. And yes, one of you will be a female. Treat our bodies with respect and we will do the same."

Philip:"Dude is dad tripping? What the hell is that?"

Richard:"I think I'm too high for this, bro"

A very nauseating feeling that didn't originate from the waves of the sea sweat through the two teens. Both trying hard not to vomit

Richard's P.O.V.

The feeling passed. There was a bright artificial light around him and he felt water coming down his chest. Wait what? How did he get in the shower? Was he that high that he didn't even remember the boat landing, the party or anything?

Richard looked down on his chest

"What the fuck?!?" a deep voice echoed the walls of the shower

"Philip? Did you bleach my chest hair? They're grey you fucker. And what the hell happened to my voice? I sound like dad."

I wasn't paying much attention to myself and what was actually happening. I just took a towel, exitted the shower and tried to find out where the hell I was. I looked around and couldn't find much. It was a pretty normal hotel room, on the bed I saw my fathers briefcase and his clothes. There was a note on the bed:"Wanted to hand you everything clean and ready. BEHAVE and don't ruin my body! Love, dad"

"What the actual fuck is this?"

The reality was starting to him the. The text message, the note, the chest hair. I was scared to look in the mirror, but there was no other way of knowing

"You son of a bitch!" he really did it. My new reflection wasn't the one I was used to, but seemed like my much older one and a but distorted along with a beard. My father is a very handsome man, I have to give him that. But it is very different from the point of view of his son. Your parents aren't suppose to be hot, they're disgusting to you no matter how they look. Yet here I was standing, watching my father's muscular, grey-haired torso. His veins on his biceps. His piercing eyes that I knew very precisely, cause these ones were the ones that raised me. The ones that always seemed the most disappointed.

But now. I was behind these eyes. And my father did this to me on purpose. He wanted to give me another life lesson. "You know what dad? Fuck you!"

I dropped the towel I put around my waist before to reveal a hairy flacid dick. Ew, I never thought I would see my father's dick from this point of view. We'll here we are. But it's not bad to be honest. Might give it a little trim and the chicks would dig it.

I took a second before doing that to really think hard. I had to look away from the mirror causing watching my father jerk off wasn't something I would get off to daily. But watching this nice cock get hard in my hands as I was palying with these hairy balls and the foreskin, that was something. Looking down I was really proud. I am still muscular, I look amazing and I got a nice dick. Doesn't matter what dad does to me. I'll enjoy this punishment.

I grabbed my new dick hard. I squeezed it until I felt pain. And then I started jerking it. I spit in my hand and played with the head, almost instantly. I stopped and resumed jerking. I was hairy everywhere. I wasn't used to that. I wasn't even thinking about this body as my father's anymore.

My right hand was curious enough to get into the jungle between my buttcheeks. And what a jungle it is. I spit into that hand as well.

"Sorry, daddy. Boys just wanna have fun"

I pushed one finger inside. I could that this body has never experinced that. I'll enjoy that even more. I pushed in another finger and then kept on pushing until I couldn't. I felt my new prostate. So sensitive! I pushed and pulled. Almost forgetting to jerk off at the same time. I got in sync and could only scream in pleasure. I was so close. I could feel the sensation building up. If I were in my body I would stop to take care of the mess in time. But I didn't care. I let it pour outside off me. The cum got into my chest hair and on my abs. I let out a sight of relief

Collapsed on the bed, I noticed dad's phone lighting up. Mom was calling. Wait, is it really mom or is Philip also swapped? I gotta know. I took the phone to my ear and answered

Philip:"Those fuckers. What are we gonna do about them?"

Richard:"I don't know about you, but I just had the best orgasm in my life"

Philip:"You're so disgusting Rich, that's our fathers body, you know that?"

Richard:"Yeah, but that didn't stop me. And I don't think you should stop either. The women say that their orgasm is so much more intense, so now you'll know"

Philip:"I don't know if I am ok with that. It's our mother's pussy, bro"

Richard:"Yeah and? I just fingered our father ass. Suck it up big boy. I'll send you a location. I'll take a plane and we'll meet there?"

Philip:"You're nasty bro. See you there I guess. Wait, wait do you know what is this tiny weird thing sticking out at the top of the vagina?"

I packed my fahter's things and set off to meet my bro, or wife?. I went to the local mall and slightly altered my visage. Do you think they'll let me inside of the plane like this? Oh and one tiny request I gotta send to our butler

Robert and Anna's P.O.V.

Anna:"I must admit, Robert, I haven't felt so full off energy in ages!"

Robert:"That might be the drugs the boys took, haha"

Anna:"No, seriously. The boys got great bodies, but our bodies aren't as much vital as these ones. We have to go do something!"

Robert:"How about we continue in the plans that the boys had? Might be fun"

We arrived to an empty beach with no one in sight.

Robert:"Did you check the coordinates?"

Anna:"Sorry, dear but I am still very high. I am still surprised we didn't crash the boat"

Robert:"Haha. It's so funny to see Philip call me honey. Haha, jesus. I think I am still also high"

Anna:"Wanna maybe lie down here and just... chill. Or how do the kids these days call it?"

Robert:"Haha. 'Kids these days'. Philip looks like a nostalgic senior now"

Anna in Philip's body laughed. "Yeah and what are you? A teen king who knows all the trends?" she ran up to him and pushed him on the ground

Both boys's bodies still very high. They very playfully fighting in the sand. Rolling around, like two teenage boys would

Suddenly Anna planted Robert a kiss. Robert was shocked and stared at her not returning it

Anna:"I still see you as you. I don't care what bodies we're in. Even if we were worms I'd ¹still love you"

Robert:"Anna, I... don't think I can do this"

Anna grabbed Robert's new hard dick and looked back at him:"Then don't think at all. Just love me"

Anna kissed him again and this time Robert kissed back. He felt the love his wife had for him and kissed the another boys body back.

The two identical boys now with their hands all over their bodies. Exploring each other as if it were a mirror. A mirror that they made out. A mirror that they were caressing and pressing their hard dick against.

Ther dicks were out. Anna in Philip's body just laughed as she felt her husband sucking her dick:"I understand why you always beg me. This is so goood. Keep going!"

Robert didn't believe what he was doing, but he couldn't really keep thinking that or else he would go mad. Sucking his son's dick was definitely not on his bucket list.

Robert got into a 69 position. Twins giving each other the same pleasure. What a sight for horny eyes.

They didn't talk. They were mouthful, so there was no room for talking. Each gagging on each others dick. Giving pleasure to the other one. Thursting and enjoying the same feeling from the other. They were close very close. And they both came almost at the same time. They got some perfecting to do.

They were in each other's arms, naked on the beach sand. Enjoying the view of the other one. Just smiling at each other.

And just then, the family Butler arrived with security to the beach.

Nigel:"Good afternoon gentlemen. I have strickt orders from your parents to transport you back to your house and to enroll you back into high school. You have your senior year to finish and you have to pass all your exams. Your parents also gave a strict rule of no alcohol, no drugs and no visits in your home. Shall we leave?"

Robert to Anna:"Oh that's what I forgot. Fuck, Richard is good. This is gonna be very good for him. I think he'll be the next one to continue."

Anna:"Did you just hear what Nigel said, honey?"

Robert:"All I heard was that I will spend a lot off tíme together with the love of my life. I don't care how painful it will be. We get to be young again and together. And don't forget that the boys share bedroom, honey." I saw Anna blushing and smile as she opened the car door.

Richard a Philip's P.O.V.

Philip:"Are you sure we're safe like this?"

Richard:"Yeah, bro. They're gonna have to go to high school and all. Nigel already has them at home. We get to live no without nagging"

Philip:"Yeah, so amazing to have no nagging, but If you haven't noticed I am the one with mums pussy."

Richard:"And I bet it's hungry for dick"

Philip:"Why on earth didn't they swap you into mum instead of me. I'm not even bi. I won't enjoy the sex as much as you will"

Richard;"Ok, I promile that tonight I'll show you that you're now definitely on the spectrum and that I now have a magnificent dick that will make you very happy"

Philip:"Fine. So, we gonna party now or what?"

Richard:"The festival hasn't even started yet and you wanna party already. I think we're now the oldest people here dude."

Philip:"Well then let's show them how older people party!"

An inbox story that I played with a tiny bit :D

Could you write a story about parents swapping bodies with their twin kids since they don’t behave. Now the parents in the boys body must go to school and enjoy their youth while the boys in their parents bodies have to give to work and be responsible.

If you haven't seen your story yet, don't worry I got a lot of them in the inbox, some of them are partially written in the drafts and are now just waiting for me to have more time and be horny enough to finish them 😈

[l0v-ly-c4t]

Hiii,can you please do sibling hcs with the mouthwashing crew?Maybe make the reader mute or something thx!!

OMG YESSSS!!!! Thank you for making request. You're the first one, so I'll try and make my best for you 🫶

Siblings!

Summary: The crew as your siblings

Pairing: headcannons

Tw: none!

A/n: Sorry I didn't include the mute!reader headcannon, I am not confident enough to think that I can properly write it, and I am afraid to be ignorant or ableist, once I am more educated I will try and write it

Navigation - masterlist

━━ ❝ CURLY

Curly would be definatly an older brother.

He would be those type of brother who would take care of their siblings all the time, 24/7

He would like to go out with you as much as he likes to go out with his friends.

He would be the type of brother to ask if someone is bothering you at school, and if you give him a name he would take care of it for you (giving the kid a long ass talk that they would never forget)

Even being a caring brother he would not share his things, have boundaries

He would always talk sense into you but if you disagree he would be mad

But not for long, he would quickly come back and apologize if he went too far into disciplining you

I can't see him as a immature brother, even if you were older he would still be the caring one

He would always come to you for advice and look up to you as if you were perfect

But not everything is flowers, he would also snitch you to your parents

Want to secretly go out at night? You better make him believe you're at home or pay for his silence, otherwise you're busted.

"Mom and dad are going to be so mad at'ya!" "They won't even know this happened!" "Oh yeah, they are going to know"

━━ ❝ DAISUKE

I can see him as a silly younger brother

He would absolutely use all of his brain power to get you out of your mind

He's definatly eating your food and saying it wasn't him

He would be the type of brother to smack your head and run away from you suddenly

He would always ask for your help when doing homework but he would end up making you do it for him

Even though he would be playfull, he would also be really lovely.

Nothing too much clingy, but he would always share his things and help you with anything he can

He would always have his parents by his side, but also look up to you

If you're more successfull then him in something he would be proud and jealous at the same time

I can see him ditching your lovers to your parents and getting you in trouble at least once a week

He's the type of guy to go out and have a fun day with you if you're sad, he would do anything to see you happy

"Give me one cookie" "no" *gives you the cookie*

━━ ❝ ANYA

I can see her as a middle sister

She would be the smart one in the family and would always try and help you with anything

I have a feeling she would like to cook you sweets in her free time

When she goes out and see something that reminds her of your she would buy it and gift it to you

She wouldn't like you invading her personal space, she likes to be around you, but she needs her alone time

I can't see her as a clingy sister, but I'm sure she would always confort you if something went wrong

I can see her playing videogane with you but unplugging your controller and pretend you're playing when you're actually not

She's the type of sister to hold your secrets with her life

She wouldn't snitch you to your parents, otherwise, she would be the one to help you with your wrong doings

"Wanna go to this party tonight?" "Mom said we can't go out" "Are you telling her?" "No" "Then it should be fine! Let's go"

━━ ❝ SWANSEA

I can see him as a much older brother, but acting like the younger his whole youth

He would definally be the one who brought you your first alcoholic drink

After he stopped drinking he would force you to stop too as if he's not the one who's addicted

He would take you in car trips as soon as he got his drivers license

He would be the one the buy you fast food in secret when you weren't supposed to

He's also someone who you can trust your secrets with, he wouldn't tell your parents (he know he has worse secrets)

He would protect you from every bully, but not like Curly would, he would actually beat a teen up

Not much though, just enought for them to stop harassing you

Would teach you how to drive and make you take him home when he was drunk in some bar

You would be really friends with his wife and he would make sure of that since she's the most important woman in his life

Would definatly call you anything but your name

"Wanna sip?" "I'm underage" "so?"

━━ ❝ JIMMY

Can see him as a spoiled young brother

He would definatly be the type of brother to eat all the cookies who were meant to be for you both

He would like to watch series with you on his free time

He would be the one who thought you how to punch someone to protect yourself

He wouldn't ditch you to your parents, but only if you gave him something for it (money)

I see him as the type of brother to ask you to land him money and then never pay you back

Would take you with his friend when they go out but wouldn't let you talk to no one so it turns out super boring

I cannot think of Jimmy in a brotherhood way, for me he's definatly an only child

"Can I borrow 20?" "Yeah, but for what?" "So I can pay the 40 I owe you"

F/n: Swansea and Curly were the most fun to write for, they just have this vibe! Also, sorry for Jimmy, I REALLY can't see him as a brother, but I did my best hehe

[motorsportbarbie13]

Forbidden - Part 7

In which you get your happily ever after with Maxie

OH MY GOD HERE IT IS. I'm so sad this is over but this ending feels so good. I'll probably do an epilogue soon too (and drabbles and head cannons too, if you want to see something about these two send me a message) so you'll get more of these babies, not to worry. Also, requests are open so if there's something else you want, send it in!!!)

Warnings: None Pairing: Max Verstappen X LeClercSister!Reader Word count: 1.7k words (kinda short but super sweet)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Master List

“You sure you’re up for this?” Max asks you as he pulls the sleek black Aston Martin into the car park at the race track the next morning. His hand stretches out, interlacing his fingers with yours to give you a reassuring squeeze. 

You look over at him, soft smile on your face. “I am.” 

And it was the truth. After your reunion last night, things just fell into place. Max had asked you to be all in with him and while you still had some reservations about being in such a public relationship, especially when you had spent your life wanting nothing more than to be out of the spotlight, with Max it just felt right. 

You knew that walking into the paddock this morning was going to cause quite the stir. You’d been around the paddock enough this season that most of the media knew you were Charles LeClerc’s sister but today you weren’t showing up for Charles, you would be showing up in a navy blue dress on the arm of Max Verstappen. Tongues were absolutely going to wag. 

“If you get too overwhelmed at any point today, let me know. I’ve got you credentials to get into any of the Red Bull buildings but I can always have an intern drive you back to the hotel too.” 

You could tell Max was more nervous about this than you were, which endeared him to you even more. 

“Maxie, I’ll be fine. I’ve been to how many races already this year? I know how this works. I’ll find Kika or…” You pause. You were about to say Alex but truthfully, you didn’t know if Alex would be a welcoming face today. She meant well and was your friend, but she was Charlie’s girlfriend first. “I’ll find someone to hang out with, don’t worry.” You finish, brushing aside the sudden ache for your brother. 

“Does he know you’re here?” Max asks, reading the look of apprehension on your face expertly. 

You shake your head before reaching up to take the block M and V pendants between your fingers, rubbing them to sooth the anxiety building in your chest. “No, we haven’t spoken since that day in Monaco.” 

“I’m sorry, schatje.” 

You shrug, “It’s fine. He’ll get over it once he realizes this thing between you and me is more than just a fling.” 

You hoped. 

Max pulls the car into his designated spot before hopping out, telling you to wait so he can help you out of the low slung ride. You take his hand, giving it a squeeze of thanks when you see the anxiety playing on his face. “I’m fine, Max. Stop being a mother hen.” 

Max’s shoulders droop as he releases a long breath. “I just want this to go well. I want you happy.” 

Max had been worried all morning that he had pushed you to go public too soon. He desperately wanted you there with him, but he also knew that things were complicated. You still weren’t talking to Charles, the attention that came along with being his girlfriend still intimidated you, and it was his home race so all eyes were on him even more. It was a lot to take in and he didn’t want anything to go wrong, even though he knew that he couldn’t control everything. He just wanted you to be happy and if you had told him you didn’t want to be there, he would have instantly sent you back to the hotel without him, no questions asked. 

Grinning up at him, you ignore the flurry of activity that has kicked up as people realize that Max has arrived ahead of this mornings last free practice. “I’m here with you and I don’t have to hide the fact that I’m madly in love with you anymore. Nothing could dampen my day, mon amor.” 

To emphasize your point, you stand on tiptoes in order to dust a quick kiss on Max’s lips, grinning when his arms circle your waist to he can pull you in closer. You hear the click of a few camera shutters faintly and you know you’re being watched. It doesn’t bother you though, much to your surprise. It doesn’t bother you because the moment Max’s hands are on you, the entire world fades away and all that matters is that you’re here with him. 

“Come on, I don’t want Christian to blame me for making you late.” You murmur, grinning when Max reaches down to twine his fingers with yours. 

You and Max make your way towards the entrance of the paddock, your Red Bull credentials hanging around your neck. It’s weird, showing up to the track in something other than Ferrari red. Part of you wondered if you’d feel out of place or like you were betraying your brother but the moment Max zipped up the back of the lacy navy blue dress you wore today, you knew that this was the right decision. 

A gaggle of photographers are positioned just inside the paddock entrance, waiting to capture the drivers arrivals and as soon as they notice Max, several cameras swing in your direction. Max takes the lead, swiping his credentials first and you follow shortly after, swiping in your own Red Bull credentials Max had made sure were waiting for you at the front desk this morning. 

“Max! How are you feeling this morning after yesterday’s crash?” One of the photographers asks as he takes a photo of the two of you. 

“I’ve got a great team behind me, they worked late into the night to get the car back in shape. I have no doubt we’ll be just fine today.” He remarks, giving the photographer a polite smile. 

“And who do you have with you today? Is that…” 

“My girlfriend.” Max interrupts the photographer before he can finish his sentence. “She surprised me last night, I didn’t think she’d be here but I’m glad to have her by my side this weekend.” 

You don’t miss the looks that a few of the press exchange at his quick claiming of you. It’s been a while since Max has brought anyone with him to the paddock that he’s dating, and people have already clocked that you’re a LeClerc, raising some eyebrows before you even make it to the Red Bull hospitality. 

As you walk further into the paddock, you begin to hear whispers follow you, heat prickling at the back of your neck. F1 is such a small world, you know it won’t be long before word gets to your brother that you’re here and that you’re here with Max. Strangely though, it doesn’t bother you. Not with the steady presence of Max by your side, his hand securely covering yours as he leads you towards Red Bull’s area of the paddock. 

You have to pass the red building of Ferrari though and you can’t help the stitch of anxiety that fixes itself in your side as you approach the red and yellow building. Max notices the change in your gait as you slow down just a touch. He turns to you, brows knit together. “Are you okay, liefje?” 

You nod but your attention quickly shifts from Max to the approaching figure, body going completely still as you realize who is making their way over to you. 

“Hi Charlie.” You say, desperately trying to keep the anxious quiver out of your voice as your brother stalks towards you. 

Max takes a step towards Charles, putting himself between you and your brother. He’d be damned if Charles was going to ruin this for either of you. 

“I just want to say hello to my sister, Max.” Charles holds his hands up to show he means no harm. “I’m not going to cause a scene in the middle of the paddock.” 

Max glares at him through narrowed eyes. “One step out of line and I’ll send you into the fucking wall this weekend, LeClerc. Don’t fucking test me, I’ll do it.” Max’s voice is low and dangerous. “I don’t care how many points I cost the team. You’re going to be nice to her or you’re going to leave her alone, those are you two choices.” 

Charles’ brows rise at the venom in Max’s voice but he simply nods. “I understand. I appreciate you being protective over her.” 

“I shouldn’t have to be protective over her with her own fucking brother.” He grumbles, but you reach out a hand, placing it on Max’s shoulder. 

“It’s okay, Maxie.” You murmur. “He’ll be nice, won’t you Charlie?” 

“I just wanted to say hi and see if maybe we can talk, just the two of us, sometime this weekend?” Charles reaches up to rub at his neck, unable to keep eye contact with either of you. His shoulders slump and you can tell he’s feeling remorseful. 

Despite the fact that you know Max wants to tell him to fuck right off and you kind of half way agree with him, you simply nod. “I’d like that, but right now Max and I have to get over to Red Bull’s hospitality. He has a meeting shortly, don’t you Maxie?” 

Max takes your hand, pulling it up to his mouth to press a kiss to the back of it, before turning back to Charles. “See you out there, mate.” 

As you walk away, you can't help the pang of sadness that rattles it’s way thought your bones. You loved your brother, more than life, and you knew eventually you’d be able to reconcile with him. But right now? Right now all you could hear when you saw him was the names he had called you and the things he had said that night in Monaco when he had discovered you with Max. It hurt and you weren’t quite ready to let go of the hurt yet. 

As you walked away, hand in hand with Max, he leans in to press a kiss to the top of your head. “Are you okay, pretty girl?” 

“More than okay, mon amor. I am so happy I’m here with you and we don’t have to hide anymore. Now, lets get you to your team. You have a race to win tomorrow.” 

Max grins down at you, heart swelling with pride that he gets to have you on his arm all weekend. “I love you, liefje.” 

“I love you too, Maxie.” 

Tag List:

@shelbyteller, @formulaal, @martygraciesversion381, @longhairkoo, @samantha-chicago, @stelena-klayley @dark-night-sky-99 @luckylampzonkland, @chlmtfilms , @inarabee @aykxz98 @forensicheart @cheer-bear-go-vroom @charlesgirl16

[tofics]

Nothing Like Some Neighborly Love

Part 1 - Series Masterlist

Pairing: no outbreak!Joel Miller x fem!Reader

Summary: Goodbye New York, hello Austin! - After a split from your ex, you're in dire need of a fresh scenery. Texas seems to provide just that. Your grandmother, fresh out of a hip surgery and in need of assistance, is happy to have you move in with her as a solution for both of your predicaments. Ever the hands-on person that she is, she also seems to want to rectify your fresh singleness, and she knows just the guy...

Word Count: ~4500 words

Warnings: mentions of a manipulating ex, mentions of cheating, mentions of a surgery, age gap (reader is early 30s, Joel is an unspecified amount (~10-15 years) older than her)

Your arrival in Austin, Texas is anything but spectacular. Besides your bags being some of the first to appear at baggage claim absolutely nothing out-of-the-ordinary happens - it's about as normal as a Monday-morning flight can be.

Not for you, though. Today marks the first day of your new life.

No big deal.

Except it's a huge deal. With every inch that you put between yourself and your old life in New York, you feel your shoulders relaxing a bit more and the tight-knit knot in your chest loosening.

Finally, at long last, you're free.

Free of the asshole that, up until a couple of months ago, was your boyfriend, your roommate, your co-worker.

Your lying, manipulating source of self-doubt, tears and misery.

Good fucking riddance.

"Oh honey, c'mere you!" Your grandmother pulls you into a surprisingly tight hug. For a lady who had hip surgery just two days ago, she seems to be at the top of her game.

"Gammy," you smile and return her embrace, even if not as forcefully. Strong arms or not, she did just come out of the hospital. Better to be a little more careful.

"Come in, come in! Let's get you out of that heat." Your grandma shuffles out of the door and down the hallway with the help of her rollator. You step into the house after her, dragging your two suitcases behind you.

Everything looks just like you remember. The beige carpet that flows from the hallway into the open living room and up the stairs, the brown tiles of the kitchen area, the light flowery wallpaper on the walls - as far as you can tell, not a single thing has changed. It even smells the same, like fresh laundry and soap and a faint hint of your grandmother's perfume.

You can't imagine a more comforting scenery after everything you've been through.

"How was your flight, honey? And do you want anythin' to drink?"

If it wasn't for the rollator, it'd be hard to tell that your grandmother just had a major surgery. She's already bustling about in the kitchen when you enter the open living and dining area, moving at the same speed you've always known her to. Watching your grandmother at work is like watching a busy bee, always doing something, fingers always moving. It goes without saying that your grandmother is not a woman known for sitting still or taking a break.

You already know her answer, but you have to ask anyway. "Gammy, shouldn't you be resting?"

"Restin', restin'. I hear that damn word one more time, I'm gon' have a fit!" She drops two ice cubes of frozen iced tea into each cup, then adds a lemon slice. "Doctor's said I'm s'posed to be movin'." The ice cubes clink and crackle when she pours fresh iced tea on top. "You told me to follow them orders!" Your grandma shakes the big spoon your way accusingly and you can't help but grin at the image.

"That's true, I did. I also said I'd move here to help you, grandma."

"Honey, if I can't pour no more damned iced tea, I want you to put me in my grave. Until then, I'll pour my own drinks. Now get on over here n' take those glasses over to the couch, will ya?"

You do as you're told and sit down next to your grandmother on the couch, making sure to use coasters for your drinks. Glass rings on the furniture did not go over well in this house.

"See? I can ask for help just fine." Your grandmother winks at you and then clinks her glass against yours. "Cheers, baby. Now tell me, how was your flight?"

"It was fine. Boring, uneventful. Just how I like my flights to be." A sip of your glass floods your mouth with the taste of your childhood summers, sweet and lemony and filled with your grandmother's love to the brim. There's no other iced tea quite like it.

"Good, good. And how are you doin', baby? Hm?" Her hand squeezes your thigh as her eyes roam over your face. You know the look: it's the look of scrutiny, the same one she uses any time she wants to get the truth out of someone. You've seen it being given to your mother, your father, your grandfather, even neighbors. You yourself have been at the receiving end of it a few times in your life. The result is always the same - the truth. Your grandmother is not a woman that's lied to.

"Honestly? I feel like a massive weight has been lifted off my shoulders." You sigh, both for effect and because it's true. Setting foot onto Texas soil was already liberating, but sitting in your grandmother's living room has you relaxing more and more by the minute. "I'm just so glad to be here. This couldn't have come at a better moment. Not saying I'm happy you had to get hip surgery, you know, but I'm just glad it all worked out with you needing help and me needing a new place to figure out where to go from here."

You squeeze your grandma's hand on your thigh and she puts hers right on top, squeezing you back. "Oh, hush. Y'know you're welcome here anytime, and I'd much rather have you here t' help me out than some stranger comin' into my house every single day."

Despite your circumstances, you can't deny how lucky the timing of it all has been. Your relationship had been crumbling for months and it seemed like no matter what you did, all your efforts were in vein and largely not reciprocated. To make matters worse, your job was suffering under the pressure of your dissolving relationship as well. You and your boyfriend worked at the same elementary school, you being a teacher and him being the principal, and while sharing a workplace and commute had been something out of a dream come true for the first two years together, it quickly posed a problem when your first problems emerged.

The final nail in the coffin came in the form of him being the nail and the coffin being his secretary. It was so cliché that you didn't know whether to laugh or cry when you first found out. In the end, you did neither, just packed your things and left. That part was easy, with a circle of friends who offered up their couches and open ears immediately. The work part? Not so much. By now you'd say that working under your ex while another woman was actually under him was the worst part of your final months in New York.

You needed to get out. You were already out of your joined flat, the job was the next thing to go. Then your grandmother mentioned she'd need to get surgery on her hip and just hated the idea of having a stranger coming to her house every single day to help her with her day-to-day errands.

The plan basically wrote itself.

Your grandma was delighted by the idea of you moving you here. A temporary arrangement until she's all healed up and you have figured out where to go from here. It's basically a two-birds-with-one-stone situation.

After you've finished your iced tea, your grandmother insists on showing you around the house. "Gammy, come on, you really should sit down, at least a little," you try to convince her, but she's not having any of it. "I know it looks like it hasn't changed much, but I've had some things done since you were here last. Now you'll wanna know where everything is if you wanna help, right?"

You don't even bother contradicting her and she pulls herself up by the handles of her rollator with a triumphant look.

The first room you tackle is right by the entrance, opposite of the guest bathroom. It used to be your grandfather's office, but you're surprised to find it all turned around, now with a bed in the middle of it and an assortment of bedroom furniture to go with it.

"This is my new haven, at least for now." Grammy shuffles into the room and carefully plops her behind down on the raised bed. "Got help from a neighbor a street over. Nice young fella, handsome too." She shoots you a meaningful glance that you decide to ignore. "Him and his brother got some of the stuff from upstairs down here. I got this bed on loan just until I can get back into my old chambers upstairs. Doc said the stairs shouldn't be an issue, but I just wanted to make sure." A few approving pats on the mattress.

"I'm impressed, Grammy. I'd have thought you'd force yourself up the stairs every single night, no matter what. I'm glad you're cutting yourself some slack somewhere." You know your grandma appreciates your candor, but you also know how hard this situation is on her mentally. She has always been an active woman and being physically impaired can't be easy for her. You press a soft kiss to her forehead to emphasize your praise.

"Yeah yeah," she grumbles but then still squeezes your arm. "C'mon now. I wanna show you the upstairs."

The changes upstairs are less drastic, but still noticeable.

For one thing, the master bedroom is full of your grandfather's old files, various stacks piled around the room. It's a temporary set-up that you mean to sort through in your upcoming weeks here, a thank you for letting you stay and your way of chipping in, as your grandmother refuses to accept any kind of rent or payment in general for your stay.

Your own bedroom has also received a slight makeover. Previously a guest room that served as storage for when no guests were in town, the room used to be somewhat cramped, yet still cozy. You've always slept in this room and never minded the wild assortment of furniture and various gadgets, but your grandmother went all out in preparation for your visit and had all of the "junk" removed and stored in the garage downstairs. Now, on top of new furniture, the walls sport a fresh paintjob and the closet is completely empty, waiting to be filled with your own clothes and belongings.

"Grandma, you shouldn't have!," you exclaim but can't hide the excitement in your eyes as you take in your new four walls. The twin bed got exchanged for a queen, which, now that everything is stored downstairs, comfortably fits against the back wall under the window. Despite your solo-self, it comes with a nightstand on each side, matching the color of the dresser to the right and the desk tucked into the corner next to the door. Ever the prepared host, your grandma has already put a small bouquet on one of the nightstands and fresh sheets on the bed.

You spin around and bury your grandmother in a tight hug, suddenly overwhelmed by the love that clearly went into the preparation of your arrival. "You're the best," you whisper against her neck as a couple of tears spill from your eyes.

There's no place you'd rather be.

Your spend your first few days in Austin getting reacquainted with the city. As a child, you'd come here for every single summer break, so you know your way around the neighborhood well enough, but a lot has changed since you strolled around the streets in your dungarees and pigtails. Mostly it's just different shops or a new building here and there, but the neighbors have changed too. You're sad to find out that one of your favorite neighbors, an old man named George who grew the sweetest strawberries in his front yard, passed away just a couple of weeks ago. Another couple two houses down, whose daughter you used to play with on your childhood visits, has moved away to the north. The list of changes is long, but besides old George's death, there's nothing too drastic.

Just as expected (and hoped for), you have no time to dwell on your recent split. With the way the relationship went for the past years, you kind of checked out of it mentally a long time ago, but finding out about the affair still kicked you in the guts. Luckily, you're too busy to get lose yourself in a thought spiral about it, all thanks to your grandmother who is keeping you fresh on your toes.

Being the busy woman that she is, she has a whole list of errands for the week, consisting of groceries, check-ups and social calls. You keep thinking that if it wasn't for her rollator and her slower, slight wobbly walk, you'd hardly know the woman was operated on just days ago, and you're not alone. The same sentiment is expressed to you wherever the two of you go, your grandmother being a well-known and respected woman in her neighborhood.

On Saturday, just five days after your arrival, you take her to the local church. Despite not being big on faith, she has been a member of the volunteer group of the church for decades, and a cherished one at that. The moment you push her wheelchair through the door, other volunteers rush over and swarm your grandmother with questions about her well-being. Grammy makes a point of saying there's no need for the fuss, but you can tell that she's touched by the community's care for her.

The meeting discusses the idea of a block party that's been floating around for some time now, but was never realized.

"Lottie, do you even think you could handle it, being in recovery and all?," an elderly man asks directed at your grandmother. The look she shoots him in response drains some color in his face, and some other members at the table laugh. "I'm insulted you'd even ask, Frank," your grandmother replies with a hint of sourness in her voice, but then her smile grows wide and there's a mischievous spark in her eyes that puts you on high alert. You know that look. Your grandmother is up to something.

"Much as I hate to admit it though, you might be right. I'm not at the top of my game, no denying that. However, that's where my lovely granddaughter comes into play!" All eyes swivel around to you, including your grandmother's, the mischievous sparkle present as ever.

Uh oh.

"As many of you already know, my granddaughter has temporarily moved in with me to help me out during my recovery, gracious soul that she is." Gracious soul? Grammy is laying it on thick. You cock your head slightly to the side with raised eyebrows, all while maintaining a smile on your face. What are you doing? Your grandmother reads the silent question in your facial features but offers no explanation, her smile just turns more sweetly. "As a teacher, she has her fair share of experience with organizing events. Ain't that so, sweetheart?"

"I mean, I've organized two talent shows, but that was in collab-," you begin, still unsure of where this is going, but Grammy cuts you off.

"See? She's perfect. I'm sure she can fill my shoes just fine, and I'll still be there behind the scenes anyway."

Before you can utter another word, you are crowned as head of the block party planning committee. As soon as the decision is made, the group gets down to business and starts mapping out a rough draft. Besides the obvious cake buffet, whipped up and provided by members of the volunteer committee, the only other safe participant is the church's kids group, who, according to pastor William, plan to host a lemonade stand. By the end of the meeting, you have an extensive list of possible collaborators to hit up. As head of the committee, it falls in your jurisdiction to get local business on board.

"Alright, that looks like a solid list. I trust Lottie's granddaughter will do a fine job of getting lots of business on board." Pastor William smiles warmly at you and you can't help but feel like he's already forgotten your name again. Then again, he's got a big flock. Can't blame him if he doesn't remember every single sheep by name.

"And we've got Anne, Derrick and Kirsten for decorating, as well as our kids group. That just leaves the question of construction. Who's gonna supply us with stalls or booths? Any ideas, folks?"

"I'm sure Joel Miller would be happy to chip in. Him n' his brother got that construction business, remember? Sweet boys. Helped me set up my lil' hospital ward situation I got back at home," your grandma chirps up, and suddenly, you understand the mischievous twinkle in her eye.

What an elaborate and canny way to set you up. Wow.

You bite on your lip to hide the grin that threatens to spill across your face, keeping your laughter inside until after the meeting. Once you bring it up in the car back home, Grammy plays the innocent act. "I got no idea what you're talkin' about, honey. Just suggested a guy I know that does good work and has a good heart."

"Right, because especially the good heart is extremely relevant when it comes to building things," you chuckle.

"Sure it is, if it's volunteer work. And I'm tellin' you. That Joel, he's got a heart of gold."

You can sense the way your grandmother's eyes are boring into the side of your skull, but you keep your gaze focused on the road ahead of you.

Heart of gold or not, you're nowhere near ready to be dating again.

"Yeah, come on in, Lottie said you'd swing by."

It's late in the evening and his porch light hums above the two of you, casting a golden light on your silhouettes and long shadows on the ground. The fly screen creaks as Joel Miller holds it open for you. You shimmy past him with a small smile, tugging your folder of papers to your chest so they don't rub against him.

Joel's house smells like wood chips, old leather and something distinctly 'homey' that you can't quite put a finger on, but makes you feel very at ease. The scent engulfs you as you step into the house, briefly interrupted by smell of him, a mix of soap and aftershave and just the tiniest tinge of sweat.

It's an intoxicating combination.

So much so that for the briefest moment, you have the instinct to lean a step back and sniff him, but you catch yourself before you embarrass yourself.

"Kitchen's down there. Got a table and everything for your paper collection." Joel motions down the hallway with a quick and friendly wink at you. You follow his direction wordlessly and sit at the aforementioned table, feeling the tips of your ears growing slightly red.

Your grandma wasn't kidding when she said he's handsome.

You'd chalked it up to her trying to set you up, talking him up the same way elderly ladies tend to talk about men that are younger than them. 'Handsome' and 'smart-looking' are standards in that vocabulary box. You couldn't have known that this time, the description would be right on point.

"Want one?" Joel's got his head in the fridge, holding out a cold beer to you over his shoulder.

"Sure, thanks." Usually you're not so tight-lipped. In fact, you've probably talked more in the past few days than you do in a normal school week, and that's saying something. Going around town and chatting up local businesses about participating in your block party had your mouth going at a hundred miles per hour, figuratively speaking. Between speaking to people in person and confirming spots via your cell-phone, it has been a couple of very word-filled days.

And yet, now that you're with another potential 'client' you have to recruit for your endeavor, your speech well seems to have dried up.

It could have something to do with the fact that visually, Joel Miller is exactly your type. Besides his physique - tan biceps visibly stretching under a tight t-shirt that might be a size too small for him - he's got warm, brown eyes with laugh crinkles around them and a head full of salt-and-pepper hair that pairs beautifully with his scruffy-looking beard. By the looks of it, he has ten, maybe fifteen years on you.

Not really an issue for you.

Your ex, cursed be his name, was a chunk older than you too. It was just the type of man you drifted towards, the kind that's a bit ahead of you in time. In your experience, it pays off maturity wise in a way that men your age just can't compete in, even if your last boyfriend wasn't the best example.

Older men just have a grip on you you can't explain, nor deny.

"So." Joel sets the two bottles of beer down on the table, then slides onto the chair across from you. "What can I do for ya? Lottie said somethin' 'bout you guys needin' somethin' built?"

He screws the caps off of both bottles, then slides one over to you. "Cheers." Your bottles clink together and you take a few chugs, grateful for the liquid running down your dry throat. Whether that's from all your talking or a physical reaction to Joel, you don't know, and you're not sure you want to find out.

"Yeah, that's right," you finally say when you put your beer down half empty. Joel glances at your bottle with one raised eyebrow and half a grin on his lips, but doesn't say anything and instead motions for you to go on. "It's for the church's block party. The volunteer group, which my grandmother is a part of, is putting it together. It's supposed to be this come-together opportunity, get-to-know-your-neighbors kind of thing. I've been going around the past couple of days, seeing who wants to join and maybe offer a booth or a stall."

"Looks like you were quite successful with that." He nods at the wild stack of papers in front of you, post-its sticking out left and right and scribbles all over. You laugh and shuffle through the papers.

"It looks more than it is, but yeah, lots of people want to join, thankfully. Now that's where you come in." You pull out a numbered list and slide it over to him.

"This is everyone that wants to join. Problem is, we don't have enough booths for everyone."

Joel skims over the list, then whistles. "Phew. That's a bunch. How many of them you got stalls for?"

You pause long enough for Joel to look up from the list and notice you biting on your lip. "Umh. None of them?" Your grin is awkward and apologetic at the same time. Joel stares at you for a second, a dumbfounded expression on his face, then breaks out into a bellowing laughter. It's warm and deep and infectious and has the corners of your lips rising into a genuine grin.

"Oh, you're somethin'," he says breathlessly when he recovers from his laughing fit. "I can definitely see the relation to Lottie."

You shrug apologetically again and bite down on your bottom lip, the grin still lingering on your face. "What can I say? Persuasion runs strongly in this family."

"That so?" Joel leans back in his chair and puts his arms behind his head. Before you can help it, your gaze flickers across his across his arms, from his prominent biceps all the way down to where his torso meet his jeans. You look away quickly, but get the feeling Joel caught your stare by his smug grin. "I ain't said yes yet."

He does say yes. You come home giddy, excited by your success of rounding up participants for the block party and flustered from your hour at Joel's house.

It didn't take him long to officially agree, though you had no doubt that he would.

You also have no doubt that Joel Miller has been flirting with you.

There is even less doubt that you liked it.

You surprised yourself. By the time you wrapped your first meeting up, you asked for his number so you could reach him in case of changes or the like. Though the block party really was the main reason you required his number, you couldn't deny finding a little bit of joy in the idea of having his number in your phone. He had smiled all smugly too when you'd asked, his brows wiggling suggestively for just a second before he reached for the pen in your hand and scribbled his number down on one of your papers. "There you go, darlin'," he'd said, and you had to fight the urge very hard to bite your bottom lip at the mention of the endearing term.

It only occurs to you now that your grandma probably already has his number and you asking for his number could have come across as you flirting.

Oh.

"Honey, that you?," your grandma hollers out of the living room when you enter her home.

"Yeah Gammy, it's me," you call back and set your papers down on the side table near the front door.

"How'd it go?"

You tell her about your meeting with Joel in the most nonchalant way possible while you help her chop up veggies for dinner. She listens intently and is delighted that Joel has agreed to build the booths, but doesn't seem surprised by it either. Once you're finished with your summary, she gives you that inquisitorial look again.

"So?"

"So what, Gammy?"

"Don't fool me, honey. What'd you think?"

You keep your eyes focused on the carrot your peeling, determined not to meet her gaze. You just know she'd read everything in your eyes.

"Yeah, he's a nice man," you say, but she just tsks at you and swats your arm with her cooking spoon.

"You know damn well that's not what I asked."

"What do you want to hear then?"

The lack of reply makes you look up. Grammy is staring at you with an anything-but-pleased look on her face.

"What!," you exclaim defensively. Her response comes paired with another whack of her spoon. "He's a good man! You should give him a chance."

"Oh my god, Gammy. He has a kid." You groan, but pictures of Joel's biceps dance across the back of your mind.

"So? You're thirty-two, old enough to be a mom. 'Sides, I ain't tellin' you to marry the man, I'm just sayin' go out, have some fun."

"Oh well, in that case. If I'm not supposed to marry him."

You giggle and jump away when the spoon launches for you a third time, only narrowly missing you by a few inches.

Series Masterlist - Mobile Masterlist

Feedback is always appreciated! If you have any requests, feel free to send them my way. I'm always happy to practice my writing! :)

Find more entries for the hot dilf summer challenge by @hellishjoel here!

[winwintea]

eternally yours

PAIRING ↬ idol!winwin x idol!reader

TAGS ↬ fluff, romance, anniversary, marriage proposal, established relationship, idol au, winwin loves flowers, random sm trainee helps winwin sort his shit out, jaehyun deals magic potions because i said so, technically fantasy au for that, no explicit content but they get VERY intimate at the end, ww calls y/n 'good girl' once bc i'm me, my obsession with hands also seeps through...

SUMMARY ↬ roses are red, violets are blue, sicheng prepared 108 roses for your anniversary, what shall you do?

WORD COUNT ↬ 3.1k+

AUTHOR’S NOTE ↬ HAPPY WINWIN DAY. i have been working on this fic for a while only because i wanted it to be absolutely perfect. i don't think it's good enough yet, but i hold myself to a higher standard when writing fics for my favs. it's shorter than i wanted it to be too i'm sorry 😭😭 it's wayyy harder cause ww is my ult, but i hope i still do him the justice he deserves, his content is so scarce on here... also sherlisa is a sm trainee that i randomly included for fun lol. lowkey forgot about sm's new girl group until hybe brought it back up again. how is hybe more obsessed with sm groups than me?

SICHENG WAS OVERTHINKING THINGS.

He’d been working non-stop, but he couldn’t deny his mind had drifted—right to his anniversary with you. He’d overheard you talking with one of your friends about how excited you were, how much you were looking forward to it. He wanted to make it perfect, something that would make you happy. Dinner reservations were easy, but they didn’t feel like enough. Should he get a gift? Plan a whole day out? Come up with something else that might be truly memorable?

Lost in his thoughts, he didn’t even notice when his bandmate, Kun walked in and took a seat across from him, observing him with a hint of amusement.

“Sicheng?”

Blinking, he looked up, a bit surprised to see Kun there. “Huh? Sorry, what did you say?”

Kun just laughed, shaking his head. “Not much. Just that it’s rare to see you this distracted unless you’re really deep in thought.”

“Yeah, maybe…” Sicheng rubbed the back of his neck, trying to brush it off. He didn’t want Kun reading too much into it.

“Lately, it’s like you’re in another world. Everything all right?”

“Yeah, of course…” Sicheng answered a little too quickly, trying to sound casual.

Kun just smirked at him. “You sure? I mean, there’s no comeback, no new schedules, and you’ve been back from China for a while. So the only thing I can think of is…Y/N.”

Sicheng let out a wry chuckle. Kun knew him too well. It was true; every free moment, his mind drifted back to you, to your anniversary, and to how he wanted to surprise you. He hadn’t expected one person could so easily take over his thoughts, filling him with the urge to make every moment with you special. “Alright, maybe you’re right,” he admitted, a slight smile tugging at his lips. “I just…want it to be perfect.”

“Why don’t you just ask her?” Kun pointed out. 

“I’ll try I guess.” Sicheng knew it was a bit silly, but he couldn’t deny how much he’d changed since meeting you. 

After wrapping up work, he headed home, the excitement building as he approached your room. Seeing you lying comfortably in bed, he slipped in quietly and sat beside you, gently brushing his fingers through your hair.

“Y/N…is there anything special you want to do for our anniversary?” He tried to keep his voice casual, hoping to hide just how much he’d been agonizing over it.

You looked up at him with a small smile. “Honestly? Just spending the weekend together sounds perfect. It’s been a while since we did that.” There was a slight hesitation in your voice, as if you didn’t want to ask for too much.

“You don’t have to hold back,” he said softly.

You shook your head, reassuring him, “I mean it, Sicheng. You’re always working so hard; I just want you to rest.”

Sicheng’s eyes softened. If there was ever a time for you to ask for anything, it was now, your anniversary of all days. Reaching out, he brushed the backs of his fingers along your cheek, your smile putting him more at ease. “Honestly? Seeing you smile is what makes me relax when I’m tired. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to make that happen.”

He thought back to when your relationship had first become public, some fans were supportive, some fans were not. The two of you saw some of your worst days, the only people to depend on for support was each other. But through it all, you’d both stayed strong, and now here you were, closer than ever.

“Besides, I can rest anytime,” he murmured, as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer.

You chuckled and leaned forward, planting a gentle kiss on his forehead. “Well, I’m really happy that I can help you relax.”

Seeing the happiness on your face, he made up his mind—he’d plan something extraordinary for your anniversary, something that would bring that same beautiful smile to your face, even if you hadn’t asked for it.

—

The next morning, as Sicheng watered his plants, he found himself lingering by the peonies, their delicate petals reminding him of you. Maybe a bouquet would be a sweet anniversary gift? It wasn’t flashy, but it was heartfelt, and he couldn’t help but picture the smile it might bring to your face. As he absentmindedly watered the flowers, his thoughts drifted back to last night. You’d tried to be considerate, downplaying any big celebration just so he could rest. But he wanted you to feel comfortable expressing what you really wanted, even if he had a surprise up his sleeve.

That afternoon, after another agonizing day at that entertainment company, Sicheng made his way to a cozy flower shop owned by a friend’s family. The warm, fragrant air and the sight of bright blossoms felt like a haven from his hectic schedule. A new part-timer greeted him. He immediately recognized her as the new Thai-Chinese female trainee Ten had introduced to her a while back. Sherlisa. That was her name. With a smile, she asked what he was looking for.

“You want a bouquet of roses?” she asked, a curious smile forming from her lips. “That’s a little unexpected.”

Sicheng nodded, almost shyly. Meeting someone from work outside of work hours was awkward for him, especially it being a 19 year old trainee. He was glad dispatch had laid off his back for a while, since he hadn’t seen anyone following him around lately. “It’s for our anniversary. I just… I want Y/N to know what she means to me.”

Her eyes sparkled mischievously. “Oh, so you mean you’re ready to tell her you’re madly in love?”

Sicheng chuckled, glancing down at the counter. It was more than that, though. His thoughts returned to you, the way you’d changed his life without even trying. "My life already belongs to her," he murmured softly, more to himself than anyone else.

When he looked up, Sherlisa’s jaw had dropped a bit. “Damn boy, I knew you were whipped, but I didn’t think you were that whipped. If you’re serious about what you just said then that’s pretty much a proposal.”

“A Proposal?” He’d been so absorbed in the idea of making you happy that he hadn’t considered that. But now that it was out there, the thought settled in his heart with unexpected warmth as he started reflecting over his feelings.

“You want to live your life for her, right?,” Sherlisa added knowingly. “So maybe… make it a bouquet she’ll never forget?”

He could only smile, the decision suddenly clear. “Yeah… you’re right.” Picturing you in his mind, his heart swelled with certainty. Yeah, that’s basically what he wanted to tell her, yes. Ever since the two of you became a couple, his feelings for you have just grown stronger inside of his heart. 

“Sherlisa,” he said, his voice steady and sure. “I need to change the number of roses in that bouquet.”

—

That night, Sicheng found himself outside your room again, his heart beating a little faster than usual as he knocked. 

You smiled at him as you opened the door. “What’s up, Sicheng?”

He cleared his throat, trying to keep his composure. “I wanted to invite you out on a date.”

Your eyes widened, a flush creeping up your cheeks. “A date?” You sounded a little surprised, and it was so endearing that he had to resist the urge to throw his arms around you right then and there.

“Yeah… how about this? We’ll meet in front of SME on our anniversary, and then head somewhere special.” He hadn’t worked out every detail yet, but he had some ideas—something that would make this a night to remember.

“That sounds amazing,” you replied, a bit of hesitation still in your voice. “But… are you sure you’re not too busy?”

He gave you a gentle pat on the head, watching as your smile softened. “Don’t worry. I’ve made sure there’s nothing that could keep me from you that day.”

“All right, then! I’m excited already,” you said, beaming up at him. But, truth be told, it was him who could hardly contain his anticipation.

Leaning in close, he brushed his lips near your ear, his voice dropping to a warm murmur. “And make sure you don’t have any other plans that night, either.”

“O-Of course,” you stammered, your cheeks turning even pinker. Despite how long you two had been together, his spontaneous displays of affection always seemed to catch you off guard.

He smiled, brushing his lips over your flushed cheek in a quick, sweet kiss. “Good night, Y/N,” he whispered, pulling back reluctantly. As he turned to leave, a rush of excitement filled him, and he couldn’t help feeling excited about your anniversary already.

—

The next night, Sicheng made his way to a quiet pub tucked away from the bustling city. It was the kind of place he only went to for close friends— and this one he hadn’t seen in a while. As he entered, he spotted Jaehyun already waiting at the bar, nursing a drink and giving him a casual nod.

“Thanks for meeting me,” Sicheng said, sliding onto the seat beside him.

Jaehyun chuckled. “Anytime. Besides, I needed a night out myself.” He reached into his bag and handed Sicheng a small, glass vial filled with a clear, shimmering liquid. “Here’s the…potion, chemical—whatever you want to call it. If you put it on the flowers, they’ll stay fresh and won’t wilt forever.”

Sicheng took the vial, a wave of relief washing over him. “Thanks, Jae. Really.”

Jaehyun glanced at him curiously, eyebrows raised. “I’ve gotta ask…what’s with the magical flower potion request? You’re usually not the type to go all out on that kind of thing.”

Sicheng hesitated for a moment before taking a steadying breath. “I’m going to propose. To Y/N.”

Jaehyun’s eyes widened, nearly spilling his drink. “Propose? As in, marry?” He was definitely shocked, but within seconds, a smile spread across his face. “Sicheng, that’s amazing! I didn’t know you were thinking about it. Congratulations, man!”

Sicheng couldn’t help but smile back, the nerves mixing with excitement in his chest. “Thanks. I’ve thought it over so much lately. And this just…feels right.”

Jaehyun laughed, patting him on the back. “I always thought you’d be one of the last guys in our group to settle down, but it looks like love changes people.” He shook his head, looking impressed. “She must be really special.”

“She is,” Sicheng replied softly, picturing you in his mind. “She’s been with me through everything—the highs and the lows. She’s the one person I want by my side, no matter what.”

Jaehyun raised his glass with a warm smile. “Then here’s to you, man. And to Y/N. May she say yes and make you the happiest guy in the world.”

Sicheng lifted his own glass, clinking it with Jaehyun’s. “Here’s to hoping.”

As they drank, Sicheng felt a new sense of confidence settling over him. The night was filled with laughter, memories, and stories of the past. He had never imagined that his friends would be this supportive during one of the biggest moments of his life, and Jaehyun’s unwavering encouragement made him feel more ready than ever for the step he was about to take.

With renewed determination, he tucked the vial carefully into his pocket, knowing it would be the final touch to make his proposal perfect.

—

It was finally here—your anniversary. Sicheng’s heart raced the entire evening, each little detail of your date building up to this moment. Dinner had been perfect, and when you’d discovered that new cafe for dessert, your face lit up with excitement, making him feel like he’d already succeeded. But the real surprise was waiting back home.

“That dessert was amazing,” you said, still smiling as you unlocked the door.

“I’m glad you liked it,” he replied, unable to keep the excitement out of his voice.

As you stepped inside and turned on the lights, you froze, eyes going wide at the sight of a massive bouquet of roses waiting for you on the table. “Oh my gosh!” you gasped, looking between the flowers and Sicheng with an expression of pure delight. “There are so many!”

Sicheng couldn’t help but smile; you were reacting exactly as he’d imagined, if not better. He stepped forward, picking up the bouquet, the roses almost spilling out of his arms. “Today’s the anniversary of the day we became a couple.”

“Yes…” You looked up at him, eyes softening as a sentimental smile crossed your face.

He took a deep breath, his heart pounding. He had been thinking about this moment for days now, planning and preparing. This was it. “Did you know that giving someone 108 roses means asking them, ‘Will you marry me?’”

Your smile faded as you froze, eyes widening even more as you processed what he’d just said.

“I love you so much it makes me crazy,” he continued, his voice filled with emotion. “Since the day I met you, everything I do has been about making you happy. Being with you… it’s everything I’ve ever wanted.” He held out the bouquet which was practically overflowing from his arms, his voice soft yet steady. “So, will you accept this and say yes?”

Tears sparkled in your eyes as you reached out, fingers slightly trembling. “Yes, of course!” You took the bouquet from him, clutching it close to your chest, your smile radiant with joy.

Your eyes shimmered with tears, and Sicheng felt his heart swell. This was exactly the reaction he’d hoped for—a sign that you felt the depth of his love.

You lifted the bouquet, inhaling the sweet fragrance. “They’re gorgeous, and they smell amazing… I wish I could keep them forever, so I’d always remember this day.”

He smiled, feeling the joy bubbling inside him. “You can.”

Your eyes widened, puzzled. “What do you mean?”

He chuckled softly. “Those roses were treated with a special potion to keep them from wilting. They’ll stay just as beautiful… forever.”

“Wait, seriously?” You gasped, looking back at the bouquet with a mixture of wonder and disbelief. Almost like a kid in a toy store. “So they’ll stay like this, and I can keep them forever?”

“Yes.” Your cheeks slowly turned the same deep pink as the rose petals, and he took a step closer, cupping your face in his hands. “You sacrificed so much just to be with me,” he said, his voice tender. “I want to make all your dreams come true, no matter how small they are. Even if you wish for something as simple as a flower, I want to give it to you. I want to give you everything.”

You gazed up at him, emotions swirling in your tear-filled eyes. “Sicheng…”

“I want to spend the rest of my life making up for anything you’ve lost,” he whispered. “Because you’re the person I’ve been searching for all along. And I want to stay by your side forever, just so I can remind you every day how much I love you.”

He pulled you gently into his arms, holding you close. Your head rested against his chest, and he could feel the warmth of your embrace, the quiet joy that had always connected you two. 

Sicheng felt as if his heart might burst. He gently cupped your face, his eyes filled with a sincerity that spoke louder than words. "I love you more than anyone in the entire world,” he murmured. It was rare for him to voice his feelings so openly, but tonight, they poured out effortlessly, the depth of his love shining through in every word.

A warm smile spread across your face, and you whispered, “I love you too, Sicheng. So please… stay with me forever.”

“Of course I will,” he replied softly, his gaze steady. 

As you gazed into each other’s eyes, you felt the air grow thicker with a shared warmth. Unable to resist any longer, he leaned in, pressing his lips softly against yours. The kiss was gentle but full of promises, and when he pulled back, he took the bouquet from your arms, setting it carefully on the table.

Without a word, he swept you up into his arms, drawing a startled laugh from you. “Sicheng?” you whispered, cheeks flushed.

He grinned, feeling a sense of boldness he rarely indulged. “I want to see your smile from closer up.” Your scent drifted up to him, light and sweet like the roses you’d been holding, and he couldn’t help but lean in, nuzzling his nose against your cheek.

Your cheeks turned pink, and you wrapped your arms around his neck. “O-Okay…”

“Good girl,” he whispered, feeling your heart beating wildly against him as he carried you to the bed. As he gently lowered you down, you hesitated, fingers slowly releasing their hold on his neck. He brushed a soft kiss on your cheek, his fingertips trailing over your face and down to your lips.

He leaned in, voice barely above a whisper. “I want to see you the happiest you’ve ever been.” His fingers caressed your cheek, moving to your slightly parted lips. “Tell me what you want, and I’ll do it for you.”

You gazed up at him, your breath warm on his cheek. “You’ll do anything?” you murmured, an unmistakable glint of joy in your eyes.

“Yes,” he replied, his voice filled with certainty. “Name it.”

Your eyes dipped down shyly, and after a brief moment, you said softly, “Okay… I want you to stroke my hair.”

A soft chuckle escaped him, and he nodded, his fingers gently combing through your hair. You closed your eyes, your expression melting into one of pure happiness. “Your hands… they’re so big and gentle,” you whispered, your voice almost dreamlike. “I love them.”

He smiled, his heart swelling. “I’m glad to hear that.” He continued to run his fingers through your hair, brushing a tender kiss on your forehead. “Anything else?”

You looked up at him, your gaze softened with affection. “I want you to kiss me…”

His lips curved into a warm smile, and he leaned down, his mouth finding yours in a tender, lingering kiss. The world faded away, leaving only the two of you in this perfect, quiet moment, wrapped up in each other. He kissed you again, and again, savoring each touch, feeling his love deepen with every brush of his lips against yours. Your breath hitched, and he could feel the echo of his heartbeat mirrored in you.

He was yours, eternally yours. He’d spend his life by your side, sharing each joy, every little moment, every kiss, forever and always.

PERM TAGLIST ↬ @lyvhie @aquaphoenixz @galacticnct @ldh0000 @peterm4rker

[as-is-above-so-below]

Cardigan - John Price x F!Teacher!Reader

Part 2: Midnight Rain

summary: you get yourself in a pickle a/n: hi! I return again! I'm sorry it's short, but I'm trying a new method of posting. Instead of aiming for a specific word count (which leads to me getting writer's block and not posting ANYTHING), I write until I'm satisfied with what I'm trying to achieve. Hopefully, I've achieved that goal, and y'all like it :) Blessed be! << Previous | Next >>

You drummed your fingers against the notebook in your lap and gnawed on the top of your pen. It was late, even by your standards; the sun had long since set, and dinner eaten hours ago. But you were up, sitting in the dark in your living room, heavy rain pelting your old windows. You were trying to pull together a new lesson plan for the following day. A few curious students had started asking questions about the modern military. Like, key differences between military strategies used in the time they were studying and today. And, of course, yet again, you made promises that you were struggling to keep. And you always keep your promises to your students.

Fuck.

The internet wasn’t helping at all. You didn’t study military strategy in any of your courses. Was that even a thing?

The last thing you wanted to do was call him. You were so confident that you could solve your problem yourself, at nine o’clock. Now, it was past midnight, and you were absolutely desperate.

Fuck.

Before your tired brain can flood with guilt and change its mind, you grab your phone from your nightstand and tap into your recent calls log. Your stomach churned, anxiety bubbling up with every trill. God, it’s so fucking late to be calling. It felt like you were split in two. One half of you was praying that his phone was on silent (you know it’s not) or he’ll sleep through the ringing (he won’t), while the other–the miserable, exhausted half–needed him to pick up.

The latter won out.

“Y/N? Are you alright?”

John’s deep, sleepy voice made you feel guilty and incredibly happy that you’d woken him up. Soft and grumbly, rolling in his chest; it made you feel soft and warm inside…

Not the point of the call.

“Hi, John. I’m completely fine, I just…” You took a deep breath, the heel of your free hand pressed into one of your dry, worn-out eyes. “I know you’re this big important captain, and you have work in the morning, but I’m in a bit of a pickle and need a massive favor.”

There was a slight rustling on the other end like he had turned slightly to check the nearby time. “It’s one o’clock in the morning, love,” he mumbled.

You felt even worse. “I know, I’m sorry. Please don’t hate me,” you begged, running a hand over the top of your head. “One of my kids asked about the military. It sparked a whole discussion in class, and I may have overstated my knowledge. I barely know anything about it, and my brain is turning to mush. I’m so tired I wanna cry, and-”

He quickly cut off your rambling. “Woah, hey. Slow down there. What’s going on?” he asked, suddenly sounding much more awake. 

That brought you pause. You honestly hadn’t thought what you would ask if John actually answered the phone through. It was one o’clock in the morning, which John had correctly pointed out, and your brain wasn’t operating at full capacity. 

“I was…wondering if you could give me a lesson. Because I’m super tired, and I like to hear you talk.”

“…You do?”

“Yeah. I’ve learned a lot from you just…talking to me? But I’m a history teacher. I’m an expert on wars, not war.”

There was some shuffling on the phone. On the other line, John was leaning over the edge of his bed, searching blindly for his little pocket planner in the pile of clothes on the floor. The rustling stopped when he placed the device on his pillow, rifling through the calendar. He sniffed and was quiet for a moment, while you nibbled anxiously at your pen. Again.

The silence finally broke with a tired sniffle from John. “I can do you better. Why don’t I come to your classes tomorrow?” he asked.

You froze, pen still between your teeth. John? Coming to your school? Spending the day with your students? That would be the equivalent of introducing your boyfriend to your children. 

“…Really?”

“Sure.”

Could you even call him your boyfriend? You’d been on a few dates, sure, over the last…two months? No, it was closer to three. Had it been that long already? You did some quick math in your head. You’d gone on about one date a week, with a few canceled due to last-minute commitments. Still, about one date a week, over three months…

Holy shit.

“John, I’m sure you’re busy. I couldn’t-”

“Not at all,” he hummed, cutting you off. “Besides, it would take me ‘til class tomorrow to give you a good enough rundown, and the boss loves shite like this.”

“I thought you were the boss?”

You could practically hear a small smile tugging at John’s lips. The expression was a familiar one. The corner of his mouth quirked up, shifting his beard and creating happy wrinkles near his eyes. His nose would scrunch up a bit, too, especially if you were out in cold weather. 

“Everybody has a boss, sweetness. Myself included.”

Christ. Not the pet names. And especially not in the tired, gravelly tone his voice was currently in. John Price was going to be the death of you, even in his unfocused state.

You unfolded your legs from underneath you and moved your notebook onto the coffee table. Your resolve was fading, and you couldn’t be bothered to argue. While you did feel bad about dragging John to your school to fix the problem you created, you weren’t sure you had any other option. Accept defeat? To a group of teenagers? Absolutely not. You’d never live it down. You sighed, rubbing tiredly at your eyes. “If you’re sure…”

“I am.”

A soft smile crossed your face. “Is this just a ploy to meet my kids?”

“Maybe.”

Your sleepy giggles were like music to John’s ears. The sound alone was worth the favor. As if he wouldn’t have done it anyway, just to ease your stress. He would take any and every opportunity to make your day easier or make you happy. What he wouldn’t give to hear that laugh in person, laying beside you in your bed–

No. John’s a good man. A gentleman, he would say. A man who was perfectly capable of not acting on his urges and thoughts. At least, not in person. However, in the privacy of his own home? That was a different story.

“Thank you so much, John.”

Right. You’re still on the phone. He heard a soft click on your end of the call.

“That’d better be you closing your laptop, I’m hearing.”

“It is.”

“Good girl.” You blushed furiously. Fuck. “Get some sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Goodnight.”

taglist: @novausstuff, @cutiecusp, @ittosbigfatmantitties, @helpimhyperfixating, @hihhasotherfixations, @dugiioh, @glitterypirateduck, @cringeycookies, @lethalchiralium

Copyright © 2023 as-is-above-so-below. All rights reserved.

[gremlinmodetweeker]

riffing off socially awkward deeply anxious König, do you think he would do better digitally? chatting with someone he met online or someone who streams an obscure game? you have a lovely relationship with him and then before you meet in person he's like so. i'm. very. awkward. as a real person. i might not. talk a lot. you'll be carrying the conversation, don't take it personally. you have a captive audience for ANY topic. anything. you want. and why is it going to be a/b/o's spn origins

Okay yes this absolutely. I can totally write something for that. I hope this story suffices!

Now, I have no idea what you mean by the omegaverse, but I could try making an omegaverse!König if you’d like. I do not understand by spn omegaverse origins. Please feel free to either respond here or ask in my inbox. It should be open??? Tell me if it isn’t.

Anyways, onto the story! More below the cut.

König Prefers Quiet Time

König is a voracious reader, so he’s rather verbose and eloquent when online. His messages are witty, insightful, yet practical and grounded. He’s quick to become your best online friend. After all, he’s so well-spoken! He writes beautiful paragraphs that are easy and amusing to read. It’s rare to find such a delightful person online.

And he’s so quick to win over your heart. Whenever he can be, he there’s for you. He’ll take pictures and videos of sights on deployment or jot down little stories to tell you when he can. Sometimes he can drop off the face of the earth, but he’ll be back online soon enough and messaging you about how his latest mission went and what he did (within reason, can’t give away secrets).

Every time he comes back online, you know you’re in for a good time. Whether it’s him complaining about teammates, or having to argue about directions with a local, he’s got fantastic (yet terribly awkward) stories about his days. He always says he’s so shy and hates social situations, and sure he sometimes sounds a bit strange when he recounts the stories, but they're so fun that you don't really take in how it would look from an outside perspective. Sure, he sounds a bit dorky in these stories, but still so eloquent! He’s got this little way of describing things with abstract metaphors that make you smile and wish you were there by his side.

It took a lot to convince him to have a relationship with you. It’s not that he doesn’t like you, it’s that you ask to meet up in person. He tells you that he’s happy to meet you, but then why does he suddenly have more missions? He’s so punctual, but he missed his flight? When he goes on about having a stubbed toe, you have to put your foot down. You want to see him, and that’s final.

Begrudgingly, he books a vacation with you.

When you go to pick him up from the airport, the first thing that stands out about him is how tall he is. Then how big. You didn’t think they made people in that size. This guy has Shaquille O’Neil running for his money. Like, how? And then you realize that he’s crouching down to make himself look smaller. It’s insanity. At the very least, he’s easy to pick out in a crowd, what with his hood and all. You do worry about him fitting in the car, though.

So you go up to him, and then he sees you and he looks nothing but elated. It’s a beautiful moment between you two. In that hectic airport, with people calling in many languages and bags squeaking and the cars outside honking and revving their engines, it’s perfectly silent and beautiful. It’s a wonderful moment that you think you’ll cherish until you die.

The next moment is where it all falls apart.

He accidentally drops his bag and it spills everywhere. He scrambles to pick it up and he keeps looking around with wide eyes of terror so you take pity on the poor lad and lean down to help. He then promptly stands up and cracks the crown of his head against your nose and now your nose is bleeding and oh no he dropped his bag again and now he’s apologizing and then he’s rushing to the bathroom and you’re left with the realization that you fell in love with an absolute mess. 

By the time he’s back, your nose has stopped bleeding and you’re packing his belongings back into his pack. He tries to silently offer you tissues, so you take them and wipe your nose tenderly, but when you make a joke about it he doesn’t say anything. Odd, but maybe he’s just a bit frazzled.

You’re driving back home when he finally says his first words to you besides ‘hi’, ‘sorry’ and ‘oh no’.

“Thank you,” he says as he stares at the road ahead.

“What, for the drive?” you laugh, “it’s no problem! I mean, it’s not too bad. It’s about an hour’s drive, but I’m fine with that!”

König says nothing, just nods as you speak. You’re starting to worry that you picked up the wrong person. Where was the confident and friendly man you spoke to online? Where was his friendly joking? At least you now understand his awkward and amusing stories he told you, because even though you love him, you can’t help but feel terribly awkward. If he’s this bad with you, you can only imagine how bad it is with others.

You were prepared for someone who was going to talk your ear off, but you felt like you just picked up a skinwalker instead. Was he even blinking? You can’t tell. He looks shell-shocked as he gazes off into the distance.

“So, um, how was the flight?” you ask with a wide smile.

“Gut.”

Anything more? No? Nothing more. Well, that’s helpful.

“Did they give you anything to eat on the flight? Are you hungry?” you ask, hoping to pry more than a couple words out of him.

“I ate,” he says quietly.

You nod and bite your lip. So this is what it was going to be like?

You take him into your home. For the entire night he refuses to take a step outside.

By the time noon rolls around the next day, you decide to take the initiative and knock on his door.

“Hey, König?” you call.

You get a hum from behind the door.

“Can I come in?” you ask nervously.

There’s a pause, then a hiss and a curse, then the door opens.

“Thanks,” you whisper as you squeeze by him, but he doesn't move to let you in any easier.

König sits delicately on the edge of the bed while you sit on a stool across from him. You look at each other for a few moments before you crack.

“Am I… Am I not what you thought I’d be?” you ask nervously.

König tilts his head as he narrows his eyebrows.

“I mean, just…” you sigh, “you talked so much online, but you’ve barely said a word since I picked you up from the airport. Are you okay? Is there something wrong?”

You hesitate for a moment, before you tack on, “Is there something wrong with us?”

König’s eyes slowly widen before he shakes his head quickly, the fabric swinging like a dog shaking after a dip in a lake.

“Nein, you are…” he gestures towards you with one hand, “you are perfect. It’s just… Ah…”

You brace yourself.

“I am not good at talking,” he admits.

You deflate. That’s it? He’s not good at talking?

“But you’re fine online,” you point out.

“Ja, but this is… It is different,” he sighs, “I am not good at talking to people in person. It is.. Scary. I do not like to talk much.”

You nod as you listen carefully.

“So…” you rub your thumb over your kneecap, “would you like me to do most of the talking for us? Would that make things easier for you?”

König nodded quickly.

You laugh as you feel your shoulders relax.

“Great. I think I can do that.”

From then on, the visit is wonderful. Now that you know that König just isn’t great at talking in person, it’s a delight to talk to him. Sometimes you think you talk at him, but you realize pretty quickly that he’s listening attentively to everything you say. He’s a delight to speak to. If you ever lose your train of thought, he’s quick to help you get it back so he can listen to you further.

You realize pretty quickly that he worries too much. When you take him out to places, he’s nervous and flighty. The louder and more chaotic, the worse his social anxiety gets. As such, you find yourself going to more quiet areas. You chill and relax in quiet cafes, go to the aquarium at night, even play some games at a board game cafe in the middle of the day, when there’s nobody else there.

He’s a friendly man, all things considered. You also quickly learn the basis of his awkward stories.

You’re at a grocery store when you see it in action.

“Oh my God you’re so tall!” a woman looks up at your boyfriend with wide eyes.

König barely turns to acknowledge her, but he gives her a curt nod.

“Can you, like, help me with something?” she asks eagerly.

König looks down at you, then back to the woman.

“What is it?” his voice is sharply cold, and you can see the woman wince.

“Well, um, there’s this thing on the top shelves, and I was hoping you could get it for me?” she says, a bit nervously.

“What is it?” he’s somehow worse than last time.

“Um, uh, I can show it to you?” she offers meekly.

“I need to know what it is,” König practically tears her head off with how brutal he sounds.

You grab his hand and squeeze slightly, but it seems like it’s all going downhill too quickly.

“It’s-”

König turns to face her abruptly and she’s stumbling back before scurrying off. König watches her go, then turns to you.

“Why did she go?” he asks innocently. You can hardly believe him.

“König…” you start slowly, “is that how you usually speak to strangers?”

He thinks for a moment, then nods.

“König I think I know why you think people hate you.”

König’s eyebrows raise up for a moment, “You do?”

You nod, and give him a brief explanation. You can see his brain doing somersaults in his head, practically melting out his ears as his entire world view is shattered before him. Before he can respond properly, the woman is coming back with security in tow.

It’s no wonder König has so many interesting awkward stories.

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Hi!

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

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

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

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

'Til it Hurts

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader

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

Word Count: 12.5k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A city now filled with killers. 

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

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

Not good. 

Shit. Karver, where did you go!? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So that was where you came in. 

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

Mostly because of situations like this.

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

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

None of this was going to plan.

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

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

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

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

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

A man, then.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’ll never get it out of me-”

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

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

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

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

Have they seen murder? 

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

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

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

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

Your mark has been met. 

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

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

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

The Reaper. 

Oh, what would they think of you now? 

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

An easily recognizable ringtone starts to play. 

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

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

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

“Hm,” their command affirms.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

Brows furrow. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Price grunts under his breath. 

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

Someone’s in a hurry. But from what?

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

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

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

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

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

“Sir?” But the inquiry is ignored.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re right. It’s not.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’d say,” Gaz mutters.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The room is more silent than Ghost is. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And Ghost. 

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

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

Mutt was the worst of them.

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

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

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

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

Your ears twitch. 

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

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

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

“Sir!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

But there were ups to this constant downward slope. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your eyebrows furrow.

He was never mean to me. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

If I had known…you frown. 

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

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

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

Like blood lining the street. 

You force yourself to run faster.

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you didn’t look away.

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

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

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

Your Captain scurries after. 

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

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

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

You supposed manners were a foreign concept around here.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Were you…afraid? That…that wasn’t it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

I need new intel. Badly.

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

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

Your cheeks heat. 

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

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

Shit. Your hips trade weight. Look at you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hadn’t he changed even a little bit? 

“Now that’s dark.” 

“Never said it wasn’t.”

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

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

They had died a long time ago.

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

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

Stop that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His eyes blankly follow where you were looking.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Brit.” You spit with fake venom.

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

He sounded…entertained? Snide in a sarcastic way. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, where are we–” 

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

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

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

Boxed in. 

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

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

You don’t bother watching him drop.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A wide grin is stuck on you.

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

Oh, hell, when she smiles like that…

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tossing his head up, he motions with urgency.  

“C’mon. Be quick ‘bout it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There were few people worthy of that.

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

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

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

You’d never had sex before.

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

He sighs heavily and follows in silence.

—

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

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

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

You could forget about it. You should. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why did they do this to you? 

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[trans-axolotl]

hi! saw your recent posts and wanted to ask for some advice, if that's okay. I'm a wheelchair user and I really want to get more involved in protests, but I feel pretty out of my depth. A lot of protests seem inaccessible and I just have a lot of questions about how things would work as a wheelchair user. I guess, do you have any tips about protesting as a wheelchair user and how you deal with inaccessibility?

Thank you!!

Hey anon! completely okay to ask for advice about this--I feel very passionate about this topic and am happy to share some tips! disclaimer that not all of the tips I share here are going to be applicable to everyone's situation--even among wheelchair users, we have so many unique situations, types of wheelchairs, health variations, other medical devices, etc etc. and many of us are multiply marginalized, which can also shape our experiences pretty significantly. so i'll share some general tips, and feel free to take what works for you and ignore the rest! most of this is based on my experience in the type of protests I go to in my city, so I also understand that this advice might not be applicable to every type of protest in every location. i've been involved in many types of protests for the past 9 years, from marches to die-ins to encampments, and have dealt with many situations including tear gas, riot cops, police brutality, fascist agitators, getting arrested, and many different types of high risk tactics. i don't want to position myself as an expert or anything, because i'm always learning and growing, but I do just want to share that for context!

I think the first thing I want to say is just to affirm that it is absolutely possible for wheelchair users to get involved in all kinds of protests, including higher risk and escalated protests. I'll focus on actual on the ground protests in this post because that's what you asked about, but know there are many many ways to get involved with organizing if protesting in the streets is not accessible for you. There are many of us involved in these type of actions already and figuring out ways to make it work for us, so you are not alone in that. I won't lie that it can be complicated, there's a lot of inaccessibility, and some shit might not be possible, but a lot of stuff can be made possible if we get creative.

Before the Protest

For me, one of the most helpful things is trying to find out as much information as possible before the protest, so that I can have a really good plan going in. Sometimes this might be more difficult, because there might be legitimate security culture reasons that a march route can't be announced publicly, for example, or specific tactics aren't posted about on social media in order to keep people safe from police surveillance. But when it is possible, this is the type of information I like to figure out:

What is the location? is it a stationary protest like a sit in or an encampment? is it a march? what is the route? how long is the route? are there obstacles in the route? are there curb cuts? is there hills? construction? other barriers? are there easily accessible exit routes? is there pavement, grass, gravel, etc? are there accessible transit stops nearby? are there accessible bathrooms nearby? if it's indoors, are there elevators and ramps?

A lot of times, to find out this information, I look through google maps street view, ask friends, or go in person if i can beforehand. for me, as a manual wheelchair user, I can deal with a lot of of nonideal circumstances such as hills, curbs, rough terrain, especially when I have a protest buddy who can help push me when needed, but it helps to know if i'm going to have to deal with those situations. Often times, protests are held in pretty inaccessible locations. Sometimes, this is because organizers are not considering accessibility which pisses me off, but sometimes, there are legitimate strategic reasons that we might need to protest at an inaccessible location because of the specific circumstances of the protest. (maybe we're even protesting at it because it's inaccessible!) You'll know best about what geographic features are inaccessible deal breakers for you and having that kind of information can help you make a decision about whether it's possible to attend.

What is the risk level? What tactics are being used? Are people intentionally risking arrest? What patterns of repression and brutality are most commonly used by cops in your city? How high is the risk of chemical weapons?

This can be really hard to predict--there's no way to ever say for certain how cops are going to respond and we can't see the future. But paying attention to how cops in your city have been responding to protests and learning the patterns of what types of protests are more high risk can help us make more informed guesses. We can reasonably estimate that a silent vigil in the daytime is likely going to be lower risk than a occupation of a building, for example. And for some of these things--there's no real way to make getting tear gassed an "accessible" experience for anyone, but for some of us, the consequences might be more severe than others. I have a comrade who uses a ventilator who cannot come to protests where we think there's a risk of chemical weapons, so that can be really important information to try to figure out beforehand.

What do I need to practice? Do I need to teach my comrades how to de-arrest a wheelchair user? Do we need to practice lifting me and my wheelchair over a barricade? Do I need to teach my comrades the safest places to hold onto my wheelchair if we're locking arms and moving as a line? Do I need to practice wheelies to get over curbs? How will I plan to protect the electrical parts of my wheelchair from chemical weapons? etc.

For higher risk protests there might be a lot of different tactics that we can use to navigate things like barricades, arrests, facing down a riot line of cops, etc. It is so, so helpful to be able to practice these skills with your protest buddies before a protest, so that when these situations start happening in a chaotic, fast moving environment, you and your comrades are prepared to navigate the inaccessibility that can come with a lot of these situations. You'll know what is possible for you and be the expert on what feels important to prepare for before an action.

2. At the Protest

Navigating a Crowd. To be honest this can be one of the most frustrating things for me to deal with while at protests. A lot of people are not aware of their surroundings, areas will get very crowded with little space to navigate, and people will block my view. The main ways I try to deal with this are by trying to be in the front of a march or on the sides of a march when possible, to try to have the most space to navigate. As we move, I continually scan our location to find the closest accessible exit route, paying attention to where cops are, curb cuts, etc. My protest buddies know that if we're in a middle of a crowd, they need to provide me with updates about cop movements or any other information that I can't see. I get loud and tell people to get out of my way when I need to. I try to stay near other mobility aid users, bike marshals, or people with wagons because they often leave more room for me to navigate.

Roles. There are lots of different roles we can take on at a protest that might make it easier for us to navigate. I sometimes like to join the bike marshals and help block off roads and intersections. Maybe you have medic training and you act as a street medic. Maybe it's more accessible to act as a scout and communicate police movement to your comrades. Other roles could include leading chants, handing out supplies like water and masks, acting as a legal observer, filming the cops, organizing art builds beforehand, etc.

Community. It's been super, super important for me to always go to a protest with a protest buddy so that we can watch out for each other and keep each other safe. Oftentimes, situations can change rapidly at higher risk protests, and we might end up in an inaccessible situation that we didn't plan for. If I don't have a protest buddy, I usually just turn to the nearest person next to me and start saying loudly "I need you to help me exit this situation/grab my handles and get me up this curb/tell me what the cops are doing etc." It can feel really scary and vulnerable to have to rely on complete strangers in these type of situations, but I've found that a lot of people are really willing to help if I tell them exactly what I need from them.

Surveillance. A lot of us really can't bloc up or hide our identities, because our wheelchairs are easily identifiable. This might shape what tactics we use, and also means there might be added surveillance concerns after a protest. When thinking about your own risk tolerance, grappling with the fact we are visible in a crowd is a really important consideration. This might mean we need to be even more careful about security culture, use encrypted messaging to communicate, avoid cameras, stay in a middle of a crowd to block visibility, and other things like that.

Unique advantages. There can be advantages and skills that we bring as wheelchair users! In flat locations and downhills, I'm much, much faster than my comrades who are walking--I can easily pass messages or get in front of a line of bike cops. I can usually carry a lot more supplies on my wheelchair backpack without getting tired. In my city, there's only one cop van that has a wheelchair lift, and at a recent protest where there were multiple of us in wheelchairs, I heard a cop say on their radio that "There are too many people in wheelchairs and we don't know how to arrest them all." In situations where it's logistically difficult to arrest us or the cops think the optics are bad, that can allow us to cause a LOT of logistical delays, act as a front line, get in between the cops and other people, and just generally make the cops lives a little more difficult.

3. After the Protest

Arrests. If we're risking arrest, there's a lot of wheelchair specific information we need to know. Theoretically, under the ADA, cops are supposed to arrest us with our mobility aid and let us have access to our mobility aid in jail. In practice, this doesn't always happen. Cops might arrest us with our wheelchair but then take it away from us in the holding cell, make us use the jail's standard transfer wheelchair instead, or just completely take away our mobility aid altogether. Cops might zip tie our hands so that we have no way to independently move. The cops in your city might have a van with a lift, or might try to get you to fold or disassemble your wheelchair and put it in a standard car. If they don't have a van with a lift and your wheelchair doesn't disassemble, they might have a contract with a wheelchair van company. Once we're taken to a holding cell, there's a lot higher chance we might get put in solitary. We often won't have access to wheelchair accessible restrooms. We might get separated from all of our comrades--at my last arrest, all my other comrades were taken to a location that processes mass arrests, while I was taken to a separate, wheelchair accessible location and held in solitary. It's super important that whoever's running jail support knows these things and can advocate for us and also track us in the system, especially if we're taken to a different location. If your area has a chapter of the National Lawyer's Guild, they often have a designated person running a hotline. It can be super important to memorize that number, and also to reach out beforehand and explain your needs as a wheelchair user if you're risking arrest.

Overall, there are a lot of considerations for protesting as a wheelchair user, and you are going to be the expert on what is important for you! My general approach is that I want to have as much information as possible so that I can make an informed decision about if I want to attend a particular action. Then, when I'm at an action, I expect my comrades to respect my autonomy and support me in making sure that I can participate and that all of us can stay safe.

Also, for any abled people reading this post, I want you to read this very carefully and understand just how many barriers there can be at protests for wheelchair users. You have a responsibility to your community to whenever possible, mitigate these barriers, choose accessible locations, communicate with your disabled comrades, and support us in the moment. If your excuse is that "oh there aren't any disabled people at our protests, so we don't need to think about these things," you're wrong, and this attitude ensures that no disabled people can show up to your protests. and if that's the case, you're missing out on so much meaningful experience and knowledge that your disabled comrades could bring to the table. "We keep us safe" means that we actually work to meet everyone's needs, including the needs of your disabled comrades.

anyway, this turned into a very long post, but any other wheelchair users feel free to add on your own advice! love to share as much community knowledge as possible, especially advice from people who have different access needs than my particular situation.

anon, please let me know if you have any other specific questions that i didn't cover, and best of luck!

[moooncats]

✿ Pick A Card ✿

✿ What Does Your Inner Child Think Of You? ✿

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✿ Pile 1 : Imagination , Chakra Clearing. ✿

Wow! This Pile so far is one of my favorites right off the back. Like seriously I RARELY ever pull out this elusive card and right off the bat.... blam! Haha what incredible energy we have here. So I'm hearing that your inner child is so stinking happy of the person that you've become. They love how you revel in the wondrous, mysterious, most beauteous power of your imagination, and let it whisk you away on a right-brained roomp through all things nonsensical, Suess plays Wonka style. To them, you're an off road adventurer, playing in the upside- down, glow-in-the-dark woods of posibility. There is no "no" here. Only "whoa!". And "flow". And "Holy moly, here we go!". (Hmmm maybe there was something in your brownies? c; ). Your inner child feels heard from you and is attentively hanging out with you feeling affirmed by every journey you set out to. I'm hearing "Your the best friend I could ever ask for." Omg pile 1 this is so effing sweet like seriously, they think you're such a cool, magical person. They wouldn't have it any other way! (:

✿ Advice From Your Inner Child ✿

Chakra Cleansing: Archangel Metatron: "Call upon me to clear and open your chakra's, using sacred geometric shapes. Your inner child want's to make sure that you are taking care of yourself and not over extending your energy ♡. Please make sure to cleanse your aura every once in a while. You can take a bath with essential oils, sage/paulo santo's your body and area, or do a salt water cleanse in a lake or beach. The water can be very cleansing and healing. As a native from Hawaii the beach would be my go to cleanse preference. (✿◠‿◠) 🌊

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✿ Pile 2 : Open Heartedness , Prioritize ✿

Wow pile 2 lemme give you a hug okay? 🫂 Seriously, you have been through some stuff. I'm picking up on heavy energy here. Your inner child is amazed at how unjaded you are. They have seen you go through some people who were absolute bummers. Did that experience make you salty in any way? Heck no. They see you as a strong warriror who always chooses to not let unhappy chapters make you into a monster. They appreciate that so much. If you let negative experiences turn you sour, then the jerks and bully's win. So you move on with an open and hopeful heart, if only because you hate losing to jerks. Pile 2 you are winners. 🏆💗 You kill people with kindness and don't let their bad energies mix in with your pure and thoughtful heart. Your inner child is so sweet, they tell me that they give you hugs and love that you are the person they have become. I'm hearing "We are misunderstood and not everyone will get us, but our hearts are always pure".

✿ Advice From Your Inner Child ✿

Prioritize: Archangel Metatron : "Focus on your highest priorities. I will help you get orginized and motivated". Pile 2, your inner child is amazed at how many ideas that you get from time to time. However, they want you to manifest your thoughts from the 4D and materialize them into the 3D. Proper planning and prioritzing will help you with that. Take out a sheet of paper, and start writing your goals, plans, anything that has to do with your future. They want to make sure that you at least have them written, so you can start "scripting" your dream life. If you don't know what scripting is, it's a form of manifestation that helps you with your ideal dream life. Try it out, it's free and does wonders. Your inner child wants to help you realize your power. I'm hearing your quite popular in the dream realm, you may have astral traveled before or have been looking into it. This is your sign to continue on that path. Congratulations pile 2! This is so far the longest pile that I've done so far. So many messages! ʕ￫ᴥ￩ʔ ♡

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✿ Pile 3 : Honouring Ideas , Clear Intentions ✿

Interesting indeed. This pile I'm hearing unlike pile 2, you are the type to go for your goals. Your Inner child is quite impressed with you! They love how many silly, serious, & whack a doodle ideas you come up with! Lmao, I'm hearing a specific scenario for every event in your life. What an amazing brain you have. This is my pile who always has their head stuck in a book, ears listening to a podcast, and an head full of wonder and ideas. When an idea comes to you, you honor it by doing your best to bringing it into being. You are a master manifestor. Ideas to you, are like children, and you proudly nuture them, knowing they'll grow and develop, and eventually make their way out into the world without ever really acknowledging how much time/money/love you shelled out for them. This is my piles who may be entrepreneurs. Seriously keep that ish up, you are definitely trend setters! Your inner child loves how smart and buisness minded you are. They are definitely proud of the person that you are and have become. (. ❛ ᴗ ❛.) ♡

✿ Advice From Your Inner Child ✿

Crystal Clear Intentions: Archangel Michael : "Be clear about what you desire, and focus on in with unwavering faith". Pile 3, I'm hearing that any idea you have will be brought into fruition. How lucky! The gods are definitely in your favor when in comes to Manifesting. Please do not stop dreaming, all your dreams will surely come true with the right intentions. 🌌☁️✨️

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[luveline]

hi! i know ur not from the us so pls feel free to ignore this but i think a kbd fic where steve and the girls are doing sparklers for the fourth of july would be so cute! absolutely adore everything u post 🫶🏻

thank u!! sorry i know it isn't the fourth anymore bit I hope u enjoy regardless!! kbd —dad!steve and mom!reader show their daughters how to use sparklers for the first time, 2k

Steve isn't a huge fan of fireworks because of how dangerous they can be, but sparklers are just fine in his book. He buys a box of thirty. The girls can do ten each if they feel like it, though he knows Dove won't be interested, and he guesses Bethie will be too scared to hold them. 

Still, he hopes. You're hosting a banquet of food when he arrives, a mixture of things you made and stuff he prepared yesterday. It's a feast of hotdogs and burgers, cupcakes and donuts, macaroni and cheese and chilli with white rice. The table is crammed with plates and the radio is on, playing fun pop music a little too loudly for Dove's taste, her hands over her ears.

You turn down the radio, and ask her where she sits on your hip, "Is that better, sweetheart?" 

"Hey," he says, putting the box of sparklers on the counter. 

"Hey, Stevie," you say, in a rare tone. You always talk to him with love but he adores how you say his name now, like you've never been happier to see him in your entire life. "They had some?"

"Lucky, right? Guess I'm not the only schmuck who forgot to buy some." 

Avery rushes for his legs, a chocolate donut in one hand and a cup of juice in the other. Despite her luggage, she expects to be picked up. Steve grabs her. 

"You're cold, dad," she says. 

"Really? It's not cold out," he says. 

"You need something to warm you up." 

Steve raises his eyebrows. "Sure I do. Give me a hug, but don't get icing in my hair, please." 

Avery hugs him, sticky cheek pressing into his as her arms strain around him. He pats her back, meeting your eyes and returning your happy smile. Steve turns on the spot to see Bethie practically elbow deep in a bowl of chilli. She loves anything that comes with rice, and she eats it like someone's going to take it away from her, chilli staining her lips and cheeks, a grain of rice stuck to her chin.

"Did you get a photo of that?" he asks. 

"Of course I did," you laugh, putting Dove down to brace yourself against the counter. You stretch your neck in a tight circle. 

"Thank you. Beth, that looks so nice! Are you saving any for me?" 

"No!" she says happily, smiling wide as an ocean. 

"Good girl. Alright, you tell me when you're finished, I have something fun for after dinner." 

Dinner gets put on pause. You wipe Bethie's face clean, giggling the whole time and telling her how cute she is in your saccharine mommy voice that melts her, "We should have that more often, huh?" It's always a good day when Bethie eats well.

Steve helps Avery put her shoes on and together they step out into the backyard. It's small considering the house is a four bedroom, but maybe that's why you'd been able to afford it in the first place. You work with what space you have. There's a light wood fence, the perimeter half lined by pansies and the other side with a slim shed full of their bikes and scooters and a small bed where the girls attempted to grow strawberries last year. They didn't take, but Steve has hope for this summer. 

The yard is clean though slightly neglected, and Steve has to work spider duty before Avery will agree to step off of the doorjam. You follow soon, Dove at your shins, Bethie cautious as she steps out in her socks behind you.

"Where's your shoes?" Steve asks her. 

"I told her she didn't have to wear them," you say. "She says they're pinching her toes." 

Steve had Beth's feet measured specifically to avoid that. He assumes it isn't pinching so much as not wanting to wear them. He shrugs. "Okay. Stay on the stones then, Beth, I don't know what's in the grass. You might step on a snail." 

"Ew," she says, sitting down in the doorway.

Steve lights a sparkler for no one first of all, wondering how each girl will react. He hands it to you as the sparks jump to life, white and bright in the shade of the garden, the shadow of their house. You wave it around gently, but when each of your daughters gasps in unhappy shock, you hold your hand under the sparkler and let a spark kiss your palm. 

"They aren't dangerous," you promise. You wave it into a heart, a star, the letter A. "Does anyone wanna try?" 

"Me!" Avery shouts, holding out her hand. The sparkler burns remarkably quickly down to the stem.

"Dad will give you a new one. Hey, baby?" you put the sparkler down on the glass patio table as it sputters out. "Don't you have those gardening gloves?" 

Soon, Steve's outfitted each girl in a glove too big for their hand. He passes Avery a sparkler, and her bravery and subsequent joy prompts some jealousy in Bethie, fighting her fear to take one too. You crouch down to stand with her as she waves it around, her eyes like saucers as white sparks fly. 

"It's so pretty!" you say. 

Dove is interested, but not in holding one. Steve picks her up and lights a sparkler, raising it away from her curious hands to draw her name. Avery squeaks with happiness and proclaims it as magic. "Dad, I'm a fairy!" 

"I can see! Try not to put it by your hair, okay?" 

She squeals some more until it dies in her hand. "Can I have another one?" 

"Ooh," you coo, watching with pride as Bethie draws a circle with hers, "my girl's brave today, I'm super proud of you. Isn't this fun?"

Steve lights another one for Avery and gives Dove a loving kiss, thrilled to see them all this happy. He's really surprised Bethie's enjoying herself, but he supposes it would be hard for her to have a bad time with your hands on her shoulders, your encouragement soft and shining as angora silk. 

They must use up four or five each like that. 

"Daddy," Dove says, imploring as she touches his face. 

"What?" he asks, thinking of tacking 'my little princess' on the end but withholding. Lately every sentence he says has a pet name squeezed in the middle. He has a lot of love to give. 

She looks at him. He pats her small back, wondering if she's going to bless him with a sentence or two. She's old enough now to be talking, but she's quiet like Bethie most of the time. Or, she's not talkative —Dove is far from quiet. 

"Hotdog, please."

Steve laughs loudly. "You want me to make you a hotdog?" 

"And ketchup." 

"Yeah, I can make you a hotdog. You don't want to stay for another sparkler?" he asks. 

"No." 

He laughs again, pressing another kiss overtop the first one he'd laid on her chubby cheek. "Thank you for saying please, sweetheart. You're such a good girl." 

"Can I have a hotdog, too?" Avery asks.

"Sure you can, whatever you want. Beth? Mom?" 

You've sat down on the floor. You're probably cold, but your smile would never show it. "I think me and Bethie are going to have another helping of chilli and rice, aren't we?" you ask hopefully. 

Bethie's sparkler fizzles out. "Can we do more sparklers again?" 

"Yeah. Tell you what, let's go back inside for food and when everyone's full, we'll come outside and do some more before bed. Sound good?" 

The girls head inside, and Steve makes some hotdogs on the stove. Dove falls asleep with a bun in her hand, Bethie with her cheeks painted in sauce. Avery doesn't tire so easily, and while the others sleep, you and Steve take her out to the back door to light another sparkler. You write your names, you draw clumsy constellations. Steve writes 'I love

Avery,' grinning as she sounds out each letter. 

Avery relishes in the delight of having your unfettered attention. She stays up for hours after her sisters with you and Steve, long enough to watch stray fireworks shoot up into the sky over your backyard, her head on your shoulder, her hand in Steve's hand. 

"This is the best day ever," she says. 

Steve wants to cry. Genuinely. He meets your eyes over Avery's head, and you shuffle closer to her without speaking, enveloping her in a hug from either side. 

"Every day is the best day ever with you around, Ave," Steve says. 

"The best. Me and dad tried some fireworks, when you weren't born." Steve and Avery look at you with mirrored interest. He doesn't remember what story you're going to tell. "You would've been very small in me at the time," you say, looking up as a pink and white firework blossoms across the night sky like a peony. "Like a strawberry seed. We… didn't know you were coming. I knew. I knew, but I didn't know. I could feel you right here," —you point at your stomach— "but I had no idea what you were going to be." 

"Hey, you're right," Steve says. He forgets you were pregnant before you knew it. 

"But me and dad lived together already," you say. "We were always going to get married and have babies and stuff, but you came really quickly. You were excited." 

Steve grins. Avery hangs on your every word. 

"But anyway, me and dad lived together. Not here, but somewhere, and we didn't have a yard but there was a little patch of grass and we figured we'd buy some, but he burned a stripe of my arm hair off by accident with a long lighter, and the we didn't have a fence to nail the Catherine wheel down, and he accidentally dropped the firecracker box on the way home so it didn't work anymore, and the rockets wouldn't light." 

"Oh, no," Avery says. "You didn't have any fireworks?" 

"None. But we had a pack of sparklers. We did it just like we did with you. I wrote 'I love Stevie' in big letters, and your dad tried to hug me and jabbed me in the stomach with his burned up one." 

"Your hoodie," Steve remembers finally. "Your white hoodie, I bought it for you the week before at the mall after you threw up in Dairy Queen. I remember." 

"I had it for a week, and he got this huge ash smudge on it." 

"But you wouldn't let me wash it with bleach." 

You give Avery a kiss on the top of her head. "I wanted to remember how happy we were. I thought the smudge was a nice reminder. Turns out I got much more than a smudge." 

"You got me," Avery decodes.

"We got you," you say. "You're a thousand different things, Avery. You're smart, and kind, and pretty, and you're also a really good reminder that your dad loves me." 

"Do you need a reminder?" Steve asks, genuinely worried, and kind of in awe. How you can sit there and say something that romantic off the cuff is beyond him. He really might cry soon. 

"No," you say smugly. "You tell me all the time." 

Not enough, he decides. After this, he'll be sure to tell you more. 

Steve falls in love with you for the thousandth time.

"What I'm trying to tell you, Ave, is that dad is right. Every day with you in it is a really good day. I love you so much," you start to fizzle, which is to say your voice gets tight. You won't cry, but Steve teeters. "I'm really, really happy you had the best day ever, 'cos you make every day the best for dad and your sisters and me." 

"Really?" Avery asks softly. 

"Really," Steve says, rubbing the space between her shoulders. 

A rocket squeals into the air and fractures into a ring of spectral colours. 

Avery climbs onto her feet, and, torn between who to hug, wraps an arm around both of your necks. 

Steve wraps his arms around you both, squeezing your hip. He's gotten used to being loved, to feeling it, but tonight might be an all time high. Sparklers become a Harrington tradition that year. 

[beanghostprincess]

Silly goofy wild and funky idea:

Transman Crocodile who transitioned via Ivankov.

Cross Guild events and Cross Guild Poly where Buggy finally gets the nerve to come out to her two lieutenants and also boyfriends. Mihawk just blinks like "yes? Your Haki is distinctly feminine, so this makes perfect sense. Oh, dear why are you crying, stop that-" meanwhile Crocodile has to bite back every single we traded genders joke and instead just shrugs, going "I quite literally could not be paid to give a fuck. You know I'm bisexual, this changes little, Clown."

Croc does off hand offer to hook Buggy up with Iva if that's smth she's interested in, tho.

Meanwhile Sanji has come out to the Strawhats as a transwoman as well, and the reactions are much more dramatic but no less supportive - if anything, some may be too supportive /hj ((Franky calls her queen and sis and Hawt Mama, Chopper already began working on ways to synthesize estrogen Just In Case, Luffy could not be made to give a single fuck, Ussop is swooning, Zoro informs her that this changes nothing and he'll still kick her ass, Robin offers her congratulations, Nami is already mathing out adding another bed in the girls' room or making a room JUST for Sanji and Ussop to share, Brooke waits 0.006783259 seconds before asking to see undies, just everyone being supportive and stupid))

This leads to Ivankov getting two separate contacts for their services, and so they arrange to meet at a small-ish island to help both, two birds, one stone :)).

Both crews go full Spiderman meme when they come across each other, and Iva handles it with all the gentility of a bull in a china shop, whisking both ladies away while the rest are left just plain gaping and awkwardly avoiding eye contact or completely oblivious to the tension (cough cough LUFFY).

Insert your own silly ideas here, generally.

But when they come back, Mihawk, Crocodile and Ussop are all just absolutely SWOONING for different reasons, full of Respect Woman Juice and I Love My Wife energy, it's adorable and cute and funny.

((Bonus: Luffy calls Buggy auntie without hesitation, and she almost cries even as she punches him over the head))

THIS IS SO CUTE SELJKFNSFLEFNLNDFDLKNSDLK

Okay, so, my thoughts on this. Crocodile having to hold back the 'we traded genders' joke is so damn real and I laughed SO hard. Love him. So true. And transfem Buggy lives in my mind rent free so this is just perfect because I absolutely love her. She's my beloved. She'd be so anxious about it and cry and Mihawk and Crocodile are like-- So done with her because she's acting stupid and dramatic and of course they're going to still want her. And she's crying and they're rolling their eyes and patting her head at the same time. Poor thing. She needs comfort okay??

And,, Transfem Sanji coming out is always so beautiful in my head. She's been battling her gender issues for AGES and now she feels comfortable enough to come out to the crew. She's anxious but she knows she has to do this now or she never will. And it's-- It's so real to me. The way she would explain everything that happened to her back in Momoiro Island and then say that she's actually a girl. And everyone's quiet because they know she's looking at Luffy only right now, expecting an answer from her captain. And Luffy is just like "??? Okay? You're still my cook. So who cares? You seem happier now!" and that is when Sanji starts crying. Because of course she's crying. And of course, Usopp is the one to hug her first because that's his girlfriend and she needs a hug and forehead kisses right now. But they have 0 privacy because Luffy wants hugs too. I mean. Obviously.

Franky is loud af and he's SOBBING while he screams how proud he is of their cook (I've always said Franky feels like a girldad because just look at how he interacts with Nami. And he's sooooooooo loving Sanji right now). Robin would be so so proud too and would say she's happy for her and smile in the sweetest of ways (Robin please adopt me). I think Chopper would also ask a lot of questions before making estrogen, just in case, but then he'd go and try to make it right away. Nami hugs Sanji but the sweet moment doesn't last long because she's already telling Franky her ideas for a bigger, better room for the girls or!!! "Better!!!!!! A room for Sanji and Usopp so we don't have to deal with them!!!!!! But also make the girl's room bigger because I say so!!!!!!". Zoro says he doesn't give a fuck because he will still kick her ass but he's secretly happy that she looks more relaxed and comfortable in her skin. Brook is Brook and he says his Brook thing about panties but I think Sanji would kick him having the best gender affirmation moment of her fucking life. And Jinbe is just the cutest because I think he'd laugh at the chaotically sweet situation and say that strength comes from being happy with yourself and Sanji is the strongest for being so brave and true to herself (he be saying poetic and cute shit like that and he expects me not to absolutely love him. Dad behavior. I am SO sure he would beat the shit out of anybody who misgendered Sanji. But that's what any Strawhat would do, so,,,).

They go see Iva (Iva my beloved) and they're all,, So uncomfortable,, Buggy acts overconfident and says she's perfectly fine and not scared at all of what Iva's going to do to her body (liar. She's scared af and Crocodile and Mihawk know so they keep scaring her even more because it's funny to see their girlfriend crying. Look. The fact that they're soft and dating doesn't mean they're not gonna bully her). And Sanji has smoked like two fucking boxes of cigarettes already despite saying that she doesn't care about it (she has never been more excited in her entire life) and she's holding Usopp's hand so hard she's going to break it at some point. Anyway, Iva is a dramatic bitch and they make Sanji and Buggy come with them to a more private place because they want it to be a surprise for everyone (drama queen. Love them. I would do it too. Trust the process, girls, you're in good hands). So Cross Guild and the Strawhats end up alone and waiting for their girls to come back. And. Yeah. Uncomfortable. Zoro looks at Mihawk at some point and goes:

Zoro: I thought you were gay. Mihawk: I swing both ways. Usopp: Actually, you swing sword- Mihawk: Awful. Shut up. Don't ever speak to me again. Don't even look at my direction, actually. Roronoa, why is your crew like this? Zoro: It was really funny, though. Mihawk: I wish to not partake in this conversation anymore. Everyone just shut up and wait. ............. Luffy: Hey, guys, do you think Sanji's going to have bigger boobs than Zor- Nami: OH MY GOD LUFFY YOU CAN'T SAY THAT Luffy: BUT I'M CURIOUS Zoro: Yeah, she's going to ask for the biggest of boobs only to piss me off because she's annoying like that. Mihawk: Why would you even care about your breast size, Roronoa? Crocodile: Tsk. You care about mine. Usopp: OH MY GOD SJKFNSKDEWKFJNJKSFN

Okay, so Sanji and Buggy eventually come back. Finally. And they were gorgeous before but now they're even more beautiful because they actually look extremely happy with their bodies. I want to describe how I see them but just check @/vongulli's account and see their fem Buggy because she kills me every time and that's the only way I can see fem Buggy now. And Sanji to me looks like @/sibmakesart's fem Sanji. This artist made a nude fem Sanji not long ago and I loved it,, So much,, ANYWAY!!!!!! Getting carried away.. Thinking about women. It's not my fault I'm a lesbian. But they look perfect and they're comfortable and happy. And Sanji's boobs are surprisingly not huge and Zoro makes a comment about that but Sanji is like:

Sanji: WHAT????? YOU ONLY SEE ME AS A BOOB-OBSESSED GIRL OR WHAT? Literally everyone at the same time: Yes. Sanji: Well, for your information- Usopp: She likes thighs more Sanji: Usopp, don't tell them- Iva: And also, my dears, that is not how my power works Zoro: So you did ask for big boobs and you couldn't have them Sanji: I'm going to kill you and wearing heels it's going to hurt even more Usopp: Is it weird that I'm kind of turned on right now? Nami: ...Haha Usopp: Are you okay? Nami: Hey, Usopp, I- Usopp: You can't fuck her Nami: I swear I can't have anything!!! What do you have against lesbians??? Usopp: YOU WANT TO SLEEP WITH MY GIRLFRIEND WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO SAY??? Nami: I dunno, yes??

Crocodile and Mihawk are having... A moment. They will still bully her and they're sure she's going to look extremely pretty crying and whining but right now she deserves to be worshipped because just look at her. Buggy approaches them and she's like "If you laugh I'm going to throw knives at you and then leave Cross Guild and!! And!! And I'm going to be really mad so pleasedon'tlaughireallylikethispleasedon'truinit" and they look at her with the fondest of looks (but gotta be honest, they're so horny right now it's unbearable. Like yes, happy wife happy home happy everything but also happy dick because just look at her). Crocodile is just frowning and genuinely asks "Why would we laugh? You look stunning, dear" and Mihawk follows with "I must say I'm not surprised, since you've always looked beautiful. But you look... More satisfied with yourself." And Buggy has to hold back the tears and that's why she starts saying things like "Pffft. Yeah! I knew I'd be gorgeous like this too! Now I look even flashier!" and y'know, the two men are letting her have her moment because now she looks even better and they can't stop staring at her. So maybe she's right this time when she fakes confidence.

Usopp and Nami need a second to process everything, I think. Also, they both hit Brook at the same time when he's about to ask Sanji the question™. Nami is having a lesbian moment, but of course Sanji realizes and does her Sanji thing like opening her mouth and speaking:

Sanji: Nami-swaaan!!! Do you like how I look now??? Nami, ignoring her and whispering to herself: Disgusting. I hate this. Zoro: At the end of the day it's just curly, huh? Nami: I was thinking with my dick. Zoro: Yeah. Happens. Been there.

So, Usopp and Sanji finally get their moment together because at least the Strawhats are respectful enough to give them their sweet uhhhh two minutes before they start complimenting Sanji. So that's something! Sanji is confident with her body but is a bit shy and isn't sure what Usopp will think about this. Not that she has changed much, even, but, you know. Just different. In a good way for her! But different. And Usopp approaches her slowly and smiling and he's just so so so happy. And he's like "You look gorgeous!" / "... Really? I wasn't sure whether you'd like it-" / "I will always like you! But more importantly, do you like you?" / "I mean- Weird phrasing, but yes. Yes? I think so. Yes." / "Then that's all that matters." And Sanji really, really doesn't want to cry because she has never cried in front of the whole crew. She just can't help it. But Usopp knows she doesn't like it when others see her cry so he quickly wipes her tears away and when she starts laughing (so so happy and full of love) Usopp just needs to kiss her.

Meanwhile, Luffy is there calling Buggy auntie and asking when she's going to tell Shanks about this. She keeps saying she will never tell him and if he wants to find out, he'll do it through her new wanted poster or whatever, but not from her.

[saddled-on-stars]

Hello! Could you please do movie Beetlejuice with a(n adult) reader summoning him with the only purpose to ask for cuddles? She didn't expect the ritual to actually work and is extremely shy, so when he shows up she's absolutely embarrased for having him come over to do something as mundane as cuddling. Thank you!

Damn y'all are thirsty for Keatlejuice- (NO HATE I SWEAR, It's just that a lot of requests have been for Keatlejuice lmao) I really should watch the movie, lmao- Again, to tell you what I tell others for Keatlejuice and Toonjuice, I can't guarantee that it will be 100% accurate, as I've never watched the cartoon or the movies, but I'm hoping to soon! Please feel free to criticize if it isn't correct! BUT LOWKEY THIS IS SO CUTE I WILL DO MY BEST, DARLING! SORRY IT WAS SO LATE!! Happy reading! - Star ★

-★-★-★-★-★-★-★- Trigger Warnings: Explicit Language, *slight* Mentions of Perverted Boss, *subtle* mentions of cycle. -★-★-★-★-★-★-★- Key: ★ (This fic is specifically for a female reader!) ★ (Y/N) = Your Name ★ (L/N) = Last Name -★-★-★-★-★-★-★-

- ★ - Summoned Snuggles - ★ -

You're lying face-down on your soft, cool mattress, feeling the soft sheets beneath your fingertips. You groan into your pillow, exhausted from the day it's been; your boss had you working the 14-hour shift instead of your typical 8-hour.

He's already an asshole as it is, he didn't have to make it worse by performing his perverted acts like squeezing your hip and brushing your thigh, which you did not consent to. Ugh, he's such a fucking perv, and you're sick of it.

To top it all off, it's that time of the month for you. Great. Cramps take over your lower abdomen, causing you to hold your stomach tighter, and wince from time to time.

A headache begins to take form in your brain, and it causes you to rub your temples, despite it not doing anything to help the pulsing in your head. Ugh, you just wish this week could end; it's only Wednesday.

Your headache pauses for a brief moment, as a small, simple idea pops into your head, causing a small shy smile to spread across your face. His hugs were always nice. They seemed to erase any pain, mostly mental, but that didn't matter.

You finally saunter out of bed and stumble over to your closet, ready to change out of that fucking itchy uniform, with a button-up white shirt, that shows off your cleavage way too much, the skirt being much too short for your liking at all. You didn't like showing off your body to the public, let alone that nasty boss of yours.

Shutting your closet door, you lock it, afraid as if something were to come in and see you exposed, even though you know full well that there's not. He wouldn't be here unless you summon him.

Finally exiting your closet, after what feels like hours of having to stand with that throbbing headache, you plop onto your bed once more. You're now wearing a pair of comfy fitness shorts, a hoodie that smells like a foggy day in a way, and your favorite pair of fuzzy socks that reach up to just below your knees, providing perfect comfort.

That familiar shy smile returns to your lips, the corners turning up slowly, but that smile quickly fades as a wince comes through, due to another headache-cramp combo. You hold your head, and lean up against the pillows that are leaning against your headboard as you groan in pain. 'Ugh, I really want him here, but I don't want to bother him! What if he's busy? What if he doesn't want to talk to me? Does he even like snuggles?-...', your thoughts say as they wrack your brain. Suddenly, a jolt of confidence flows through you, as if your body's telling you that you need to summon him. Eh, what the heck, you're in a little too much pain to care. What could go wrong?

The bedroom is still dimly lit from the lamp on your nightstand, casting soft shadows on the walls, providing the room with that comforting appearance. You transition your legs to cross in a sitting position on your bed, excited for what's to come.

"Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice."

You close your eyes and smile, knowing that he'll appear in front of you any second.

"It's showtime~.", you hear his familiar raspy voice say.

You open your eyes to see that startling, yet familiar puff of green smoke, and standing there is your favorite demon boyfriend; or really your only one for that matter.

"Howdy, Babes!", he says with a strange twirl, rather a spin on his heels, but it never fails to amuse you, causing you to giggle. Even though you've seen him countless times, you take in the sight of him.

He's wearing his typical striped suit, still spotted with green spots from here to there, but you don't mind. His hair, still sticking out in all different directions, looks even softer today, causing you to smile. His eyes are their typical deep ocean blue, and it never ceases to make you stare slightly, and those blue orbs still have the black orbs surrounding them outside of the eye.

"Hi, BJ.", you reply with a soft smile, your giggle ceasing, as you begin to fiddle with your fingernails in nervousness.

He notices your actions immediately and comes and sits across from you on the bed, using his finger to bring your head up from your lap.

"Why don't-chya tell me what's wrong, toots.", he says with comforting eyes, which isn't usually like him, but you like seeing this side of him too.

"Just-... A rough day at work, that's all!", you say with a fake smile, trying to brush it off. Oh no, you don't want to seem needy! Not. One. Bit. However, he seems to see right through that smile, and his smile slightly falters.

"Babes. I'm a dead guy. I've fuckin' seen a lot. A LOT. Did ya need me for something specific?"

No, no, no. You really don't want to sound needy, and you also didn't want to summon him for no reason. Oh boy, the truth is the only option left.

"Just-... uhm-...", you stutter as you're now chewing at your fingernails.

"A-Are you alright-... if w-we s-snuggle?"

Your eyes are squeezed shut, so much that you aren't able to see him extend his arms and pull you into his lap. You're startled at first, but eventually open your eyes, to see him with his back to the headboard, and he's inviting you to lay your head on his torso.

This is comfy for you. It feels like home, in ways you could never describe with words. Without another thought, grateful that he accepted your request, you let your arms wrap around his stomach, causing his hand to rub circles on your back.

"I gotchya, Babes. I've always gotchya."

"I know you do.", you reply as you snuggle deeper into his chest. "I love you, BJ."

"I love you too, Babes."

- ★ - Written by Saddled_On_Stars - ★ -

[justwonder113]

I love your writing sm 🫠🫠

could you write something fluffy and suggestive for han were you sit on his lap in his studio chair and you can’t stop kissing him and you’re distracting him from his work and he finds it so cute that you’re like this x

Oh my god thank you so much sweetheart! You don't know how much it means to me that you like my writing. I'm really sorry for taking so long to write, even though I absolutely LOVED the idea!!! I had one the meltdowns and uni has been an absolute nightmare so sorry. I really hope this was what you wanted and I hope you will like it. I will try to update stories more and more. Thankfully I will have more time^^

My masterlist

If you have any requests feel free to ask(though it might take me some time)

Warnings: Kind of suggestive, Bold reader, Cute whiney Jisung but he does complete 180 in the end. Jisung calls reader a brat

Word count -1.6k

23:33

You woke up from your sweet slumber by soft clicking of the keyboard. You didn't even realize when you started to dose off. All the work must have caught up to you. The week you had sure was hectic.

You looked at your boyfriend's hunched figure, he was deeply immersed in his work, he hadn't even noticed that you were awake. You felt sad, you barely saw each other. Your schedule was swarmed and he had comeback coming real soon. You tried to text and call but sometimes he was just so swarmed with work he responded hours later. He was really apologetic, he really tired his best. He texted you whenever he could, he sent gifts for you, sometimes flowers, sometimes food, when he knew your schedule was extra hectic. He also left you little notes around the house and, lets just say, randomly finding them was highlight of your day. Sometimes they were sweet messages, sometimes random quotes, sometimes silly little jokes and doodles. You loved every one of them and kept them in a little box in your room. You also tried to be just as supportive, this is why you were here in his studio, you came earlier with food and snacks for him and the boys. Jisung had barely texted you the whole day, so you knew he was extra busy, also you got suspicious that he wouldn't eat anything, he always got so involved with his work he sometimes forgot to even eat.

You were not wrong. Jisung shyly admitted to you that he, in fact, skipped a meal when you asked if he ate anything. Good for him that he was so cute and adorable you never had the ability to stay mad at him. He got so happy when he saw you that he almost knocked you down. He really was so adrable. The boys also thanked you, and you ate together, talking about what you were up to.

You talked for a while but one by one they left to do their own stuff leaving you with Jisung. Honestly, you were glad to be left alone with him, you've missed him too much. You talked with hushed voice, not once he let go of you, he was hugging you like a koala and showered your face with kisses. You couldn't help but giggle at his cute antics. After a while he excused himself and asked you to wait a little bit as he finished his song, promising to quickly wrap it up and go home together. But here you were now, still stuck in the studio.

You scanned around to find your phone to check the time, Jisung must have noticed you had fallen asleep and draped his jacket to keep you warm . He really was cute but you really wanted to scold him. He already worked inhuman hours he really was straining his body!

Your eyes almost popped out of your eyes when you noticed that it was basically midnight. Oh he really was done for now!

You got up, groaning from pain, your muscles were sore from laying on this uncomfortable sofa. After stretching a little you approached him, he was so immersed he didn't even notice you. You couldn't help but scoff when you carefully examined his face. His eyes were so red from looking at this damn screen all day. Apart from bloodshot eyes, he had dark eyebags, he looked a paler and you didn't know if you were exaggerating or not but he also looked a bit thinner. Also there was no way his body wouldn't ache from sitting like that, especially after dancing and practicing for ungodly amounts of time.

You carefully threaded your fingers through his hair and leaned down to kiss his cheek. He did jump a little not expecting your touch but he quickly relaxed and leaned into it. He opened his arms and looked at you with wide eyes expecting you to get into his lap and hug him. Sadly, it also meant that he still wasn't done. You sighed yet again, there was no way you could win this one. You complied and sat in his lap. Jisung immediately wrapped his arm around you and brought you closer to him so that you were chest to chest with no room between you, he quickly pecked your cheek and went back to working.

You tried your best to sit still and let him work so that you could go home as soon as possible, but you were also getting really bored.

After a minute or two an idea popped into your head. You shuffled a bit and hid your face into the crook of his neck, the smell of his perfume immediately soothing your senses. You put your right hand on his chest and wrapped the other around his shoulders. You waited for a second so that Jisung would think you were just getting comfortable, if he even noticed you moving around that is... The truth was that Han Jisung was really ticklish and his neck was especially sensitive. Whenever you decided to kiss his neck he would always reel back giggling and pouting at you cutely. He would always try and run away from you whenever he sensed that you were about to attack his neck. But where would he go now? You were in his lap, there was no way he could run.

You somewhat felt bad, he was always so sweet and gentle to you and no matter how ticklish he was he always let you snuggle up to his neck knowing that you loved it. Should you betray his trust like this?

He did notice you shuffling around, he tensed up for a second when your nose brushed against his sensitive skin but he quickly relaxed. You grinned it was your time to shine!

Carefully not to alert him you brushed your lips against his neck. The response was immediate, his hold around your waist immediately tightened. Oh you were going to get a reaction out of him one way or another. You kissed him again but with more passion now and quickly pecked him few more times. Jisung glanced at you but he didn't say anything. Oh he was on!

You continued your assault on his reddening skin and pecked every part of his skin you could reach one arm around his shoulders while the other had slid through his neck and into his hair playing with the silky soft stands on his nape, oaccasionaly pulling them drawing soft quiet groans from the boy. He whined out your name so prettily! And let's just say you absolutely adored his "little" reactions. He was set on staying as still as he could and act as if this whole thing didn't affect him at all but you could see right through him. "Babyy." He whined out but you didn't stop. His skin was all flushed in a beautiful shade of red, his breathing had become more rugged and shalllow. His left hand held onto your hip for dear life and brought you as close to him as it possibly could as if you would dissappear if he let go. God you loved this boy! You kissed him more and let's just say you hoped his jacket had a high collar because you had left really pretty marks onto his skin. You would gladly show it to the world but you were not sure how his fans would react if anyone were to see you and share photos. And you knew many stays had hawklike vision.

You didn't even consider to stop your attack, Jisung hadn't even done anything to stop you so, you let yourself go. It was only when you moved a little and started kissing his jaw and in the haze let your teeth graze against his skin that he held you tightly and pulled you off.

You looked at him with confused eyes, his face unreadable. Did you upset him? Was he mad? You were about to apologize when he sighed out something and leaned in to smash his lips against yours, knocking the breath out of your lungs. Both of his hands were around your waist now, pulling you impossibly close, as if he wanted to devour you, wanted to be one with you, and who were you to deny him anything? You tried your best to keep up with him and return the kiss with the same burning passion but honestly you couldn't keep up. You didn't know what came up to him but you loved it. You felt like melting, like you really thought you could turn into a puddle, you felt ignited, you felt alive. There was no thought in your head other than that you loved this boy. Your lungs were burning but you weren't even considering to lean back for air. You were just consumed with Han Jisung.

It was Han who broke the kiss and leaned back to let you breathe. Both of you struggled to breathe normally, as if you had forgotten how to do so. You wanted to say something but were at loss for words, it was Han who broke the silence. He flicked your forehead and pouted at you. "You're a real brat do you know that?" You couldn't help but giggle. You swore this boy had some type of switch into his head. He almost made you melt into a puddle by giving you the best kiss of your life and now he was pouting at you all cutely like he did nothing wrong. God you loved him!

You grinned at him, "Does this mean we're going home?"

Han rolled his eyes and softly pinched your side. "Brat."

Yup, you had won.