#I need to know what codename I should give him in this au where he doesn't know the bats

[aingeal98]

If Duke had no real knowledge of the bats or influence from batman and robin, but chose to become a hero anyway once he got powers, what would he choose as his codename?

[shieldedreams]

my antidote (s.r.)

summary ⇾ everything about you makes steve feel better. details ⇾ 1,010 words / steve rogers x secretary!reader / 🌸 fluff fluff fluff / au!where-everyone-lives-:-) notes ⇾ sir, ma’am, idk just–steve rogers, tada!

six punching bags busted open, now trailed onto the floor as a map that leads you straight towards steve. he’s a heaving mess, on the ground, staring up to the ceiling with weary eyes. whenever missions don’t pan out the way he thinks it would, his mind is already jumping onto the bandwagon that he’s a failure.

not entirely, but for someone who is constantly wondering if he’s at his prime after being dormant–frozen–for more than a little while, it does things to your brain. no matter how well steve thinks he’s adapting, he constantly worries if he’s doing his best, if this is his best?

but... that’s why he has you then, eh?

when they’ve returned to the tower, your department was already buzzing with paperwork and things that needs to be covered. though you should be handling your work professionally at your desk, when there’s a e-mail ping from t-stark labelled [urgent] the old man is a sad sack in the training room, that’s codename for ‘you’re able to leave your desk to tend to another job’.

the job where since you started dating captain america, it seems like you became his rock; the calm in the world he wants to bask in when things got overwhelming.

you stand a few steps away with your hands behind your back, perking a brow up to him. he huffs and turns the cheek, eyes softening at the sight of you but he’s too much in his emotions to show you how he truly feels. instead, he remains like a lifeless starfish on the ground, unmoving.

“what’re you doin’ here?” 

“asking questions you know the answers to, are we?”

at your words, he refuses to look at you. you take that opportunity to swipe some of the remnants of the punching bag to lay down next to him. he won’t show it but he likes the fact that you’re using his stretched out arm as your pillow to lay your head on and how you pretty much ignore the fact he reeks of sweat, still covered in smudges as you curl next to him.

if steve is out to save the world, he must’ve saved plenty if it meant being by your side like this. he stares at you, quietly, intently taking in the way you rest against him and turn the cheek to meet his gaze. there’s a small frown on his face that dissolves when you place a hand on his cheek and gently brush the light stains on his skin.

his chest rises and falls as his breathing evens out, slowly coming to the regular, calming heartbeat he gets whenever he’s with you. even being in the same room as you made him feel at ease. there was just something about you he can’t quite put his finger on–and he won’t–because he already has you. 

“whatever happened today wasn’t your fault,”

his mouth opens to protest but you slide your thumb over his lips to prevent him from being able to continue.

“i know what you’re gonna say but don’t. we’ve been through this many times and it all ends up with the same thing so let’s get to that, shall we?”

he swallows thickly and seals his lips back shut, giving a small nod. that makes you sit up and steve makes his move to stand along with you. he offers you his hand for the taking as you get up to your feet and when you do, steve is looking at your hand in his. how... smaller they were but still matched the spaces between his so perfectly.

like you were made for him, like he was made for you.

in the midst of his appreciation, he has other things to appreciate when you reach for his other hand to wrap them around your waist. grinning up to him, you step closer and circle your arms around his neck to lower him down to your embrace. steve wordlessly follows suit, burying his face in your neck, tightening his hold on you until he starts to quiver.

you catch him, with soothing pats to the back and stroking his head lovingly. kissing the side of his head every now and then, your sweet voice reassuring him that he’s captain america for a reason. more so, he’s steve rogers. 

with or without the shield he’s everything you’ve come to love and steve is reminded of that time and time again. imprinted in his mind, flowing in his veins with the kind of love he only dreamt of having, now greeting him each morning. steve relishes in the feeling, squeezing you tighter and pressing a kiss to your neck with a sigh.

you two stay like that for a long moment. as long as steve needs to recollect himself. as long as he wants to bask in your warmth.

((a ping from your watch makes you draw back from steve briefly. he huffs when you have to place a hand on his chest to lean him back but he easily smiles again when you give him a quick kiss before checking the notification.

[requesting update] is the old man still a sad sack?

[update to that update] or are you gonna need the day off?

[update to that update’s update] are you gonna let me know or what? i’m still your boss, y/l/n.

“well, i’ll let you call the shots here, cap,”

“...as captain, it’s only right you go back to work,”

“but what does steve think?”

he clicks his tongue, hands smoothening on your waist to tug you back until you’re pressed to his chest. the giggle that enters his ears always fuels his purpose of all things right.

“he thinks you should stay with him and not tell tony,”

“and if that gets me fired?”

“he needs you too much to fire you,”

“now, is that captain talking or steve?”

he smirks, luring you towards the doors of the shower area and you can’t even bite back the grin as your feet quickly follows his pace.

“both.”))

[shurisneakers]

shut in [14]

Summary: When your high profile mission goes terribly wrong, you’re forced to hide in a safehouse with a man you’ve never met before. With seemingly nowhere else to go, you’re forced to work together to figure out who is trying to have you assassinated before it’s too late. (Sam Wilson x Reader, Hitman AU)

Warnings: anxiety, violence, guns, death, ptsd, swearing, abuse

Word count: 6.3k

A/N: last chapter you guys :’’’’) im too emo about a fanfic i s2g. there’s an epilogue but this is the official last chapter. 

i really appreciate feedback so if you would like to, please consider dropping me an ask or comment ly guys!

Previous Part || Shut In Masterlist

You had only heard of the warehouse before, never actually seen it.

Its reputation preceded it. It was only mentioned in passing as a place for the worst of the worst.

It was murky and smelled like rust, concrete and rotting corpses. You had no doubt a few of them would be littering the place. A few tube lights shone over you graciously like a spotlight, barely illuminating the area. 

The room you were in was utterly silent. The only exception were noises outside the door; loud shouts and clanging of metal. You assumed it to be people in the other rooms. Your assessment on how tight the ropes were coiled around you earned a few grunts and odd squeaks, but nothing major. 

You were bound to a chair, of course, with knots you had used before on others. It felt like a convoluted form of irony. It was firmly nailed to the ground to prevent you from using it against captors. You were gagged; pretty well, by the look of it. 

A noise from beside you threw you off track. A quick look to your left and you found Sam in a similar predicament. He shook his head slightly, implying that it was useless to find an opening. At least he was alive and breathing. 

“Are you done?” A voice came from behind you, echoing within the four walls. “I really want to get going and you’re taking too long.”

You knew who it was. It was impossible for you to mistake it at this point.

“Don’t mind the noise outside. We’re just torturing a bunch of people to death.”

You roll your eyes out of sheer instinct. The footsteps slowly moved towards the front of the room, heavy and deliberate. The expensive material of his suit shone under the light as he edged in front of you. Only he’d wear Armani to a murder.

The dramatic fuck clearly rehearsed it.

“Hey Buttercup,” Ransone smiled, distinctly proud of himself. Your bite on the bundle of cloth haphazardly shoved in your mouth tightened. “Been waitin’ on you for a while now. Wilson’s no good company.”

You sneak a glance at Sam’s side profile and he looks relatively untouched. There were a few cuts on his face that you could make out under the harsh light but that was it. 

“You can’t get out of those, if you're wondering.” He gestured to your current set up. “I told you, Sam. I save my warehouse for special guests. All your fun tools are gone. Took ‘em when you were brought in.”

As your eyes adjusted to the lighting, you faintly make out the presence of two men in the corners of the room, stiff as cardboard. His security. 

“Oh! Except this.” He brandished the paper airplane you had brought with you in the utility belt. He’d use anything to potentially get a rise out of you.

“Gettin’ sentimental now, are we?” He tested the tip of the plane with his finger. 

You prayed he wouldn’t destroy it. It had more value than he was willing to bet on. 

“You must be asking yourselves why you ended up here,” Ransone mused, looking at the plane from all angles. “No need to worry, I’ll tell you.”

You didn't expect anything less from him. Everything about this felt cinematic; the inconvenient lighting, the men standing in the corner. This man oozed drama over efficiency. 

“When I was just starting out, people warned me. Told me I wasn’t going to get anywhere, that we’d always stay in the same position because that’s how it’s been for all these years.” He tested the plane, holding onto the body sturdily.  

“There were too many big names already. We were one of them, of course. My father did a good job of giving us a solid foundation.” He pulled his wrist back like he was going to launch it, only to never actually do it. He carried it through the air, simulating its flight pattern.

“You remember my father, don’t you? The guy who cut off someone’s finger because they didn’t finish the job.” Ransone really only had one story to tell about his father and he worked it to death. Other than a few handful of times, his father never bothered about his presence much from what you heard. He favoured the ones who were brutal and Ransone- well, he was a glorified theatre kid. 

“Of course you do. He was an incredible man.” He laughed crisply. “But he had no real ambition. No drive. I told him we could have been at the top, the ones parents warn their kids about. He didn’t listen to me. He never really paid attention.”

His tone got wistful in the end, eyes distant like he was living the scene out in his head. 

“So obviously when he died, I had the chance to really make a difference. Really set us apart. Ten Rings and Hydra had their own niche; they had some ties with the military and the government and whatnot. Crazy motherfuckers, all of them.” He shook his dead in distaste. “But Serpentine- that was closer to home. Same market as us.”

You wondered how long he would take to get to the point. The only distraction you had were the noises that continued outside. An odd gunshot here and there really pulled your attention away from the story.

“Serpentine with their stupid code names. They really thought they were all that.” He sounded embarrassingly like a bitchy teenager. “Who do they think they were fooling with the Norse Gods thing, huh? Naming your leader Odin, his wife Frigga.”

“I fucking hated them,” he spat, face twisting into anger. “Told them to watch out, that I’d end their legacy. They laughed in my face.” 

He spun around, a wicked gleam in his eyes as he pointed to Sam, “That’s where you come in.”

Sam looked thoroughly irritated with the show that was going on in front of him. If he wasn’t gagged you had no doubt he’d have a few comments to pass. Ones that would get the both of you killed. 

“I told you to kill their leader. One job. You fucked that up.” Sam recalling the story of his first mission flashed in your memory. “Let that old nutjob into your head and allowed him to escape. We didn’t know where he was for years.”

“I let it go because I thought Serpentine was done for. Radio silence after Odin disappeared. And they were, until a few years ago when I get news that they have a new leader. Odin’s son, the new heir.” He waved around his hands, mocking the last part of his sentence. “Word on the street was that he wanted to kill whoever murdered his mother in front of his eyes.”

“I thought that was hilarious. You know why?” He laughed humourlessly. “Because that was you. You were the one who killed his mother. You remember that? Your big mission?”

“You killed my mom,” he jeered, unmoving.

“I’m sorry. I had to.” Your voice was quiet. Your hand clutched at the hood of the car to keep your balance. “But I don’t want to hurt you. Go.”

“He wasn’t supposed to be there. No one had even heard of him. His brother’s too soft to take on anything like this. He’s some farmer in England now. But he was supposed to be Odin’s only son. Yet somehow, the only person who could have known this other son existed and actually seen him… was you.”

“Turns out he’s like you. A secret adoption. No record of him anywhere.” You didn’t blink, not once taking your eyes off him in case he decided to go wild. “He should have died that day. You were supposed to kill them.”

Only Ransone would justify killing a kid because it fit his agenda. It wasn’t like he hadn’t done it before, and though he tried very hard to shove his ideology onto you, you never complied.

“Goes by Loki now, another stupid codename. Trained by his father who this idiot let go of.” He gestured to Sam callously, “and mad about the murder of his mother that you committed. Serpentine came back pretty quickly after he took control.”

A particularly loud sound of metal slamming would have made you jump had you not been tied down. Ransone swung around in anger, loudly cursing at them for ruining his train of thought. He muttered some more curses under his breath before plastering a fake smile on his face and continuing.

“I’ll admit, he’s a sneaky one. But they grew faster than any other cartel. They somehow knew all our connections, all our targets, our key players. It wasn’t possible,” he shook his head low as he paced up and down slowly. You knew where this was headed. “Unless we had someone giving them information from the inside.”

He stops to look at you.

“I would have forgiven you, Y/N, I really would. You know how I am about second chances.” He looked at you, eyebrows upturned with regretful eyes. “But then you had to go and spy on me for two years.”

You could see Sam turn to you from the corner of your eye, assessing your reaction. You didn't extend the same courtesy to him. You didn’t have any reaction.

“We found out very late, of course. I taught you well,” he chided, his inescapable  narcissism making an appearance once more. “But then we had to figure out why. Why you’d betray me and everything I’ve done for you.”

“I still can’t figure that out.” You wanted to scream at him, everything he had taken away from you, everything he forced you to be. “I treated you the best out of everyone I had. You had the best training, the best resources. You wouldn’t have made it anywhere if I didn’t drag you out of that shithole orphanage.”

You had heard of blissfully ignorant, but he was well beyond that at this point. 

“Didn’t take too long to connect the dots. What, with Wilson’s great act of charity and your lack of better judgement, both of you managed to fuck up enough to screw me over years later.”

“I initially was only going to have you killed, Buttercup,” he admitted nonchalantly, like your life had no value. “But then we found out that Sam’s been lying to me for a long time too. Been hidin’ his friend a few states away.”

“It was meant to be,” he cooed. “Such a similar past. You could have met each other before, you know? Pierce wouldn’t be the first time you were at the same house on the same day.”

You couldn’t help but wonder what it would have been like if you had known Sam earlier. Would you have been friends or would you have been forced to kill each other in his sick ‘survival of the fittest’ game?

“It felt poetic to have you both die together, you know? On a mission gone wrong. A full circle.” God, he spent too long planning something elaborate when he could have just put a bullet in your head and ended you the day he found out. Fucking weirdo.

“Made sure I sent you to the same place at the same time. Pierce was dead long before you came, the poor fuck. But then again, collateral damage. No mercy.” He shrugged. “Had everyone at the ready. You should have died that night.”

“But like everything you do,” his voice suddenly rose like a child throwing a tantrum, “you fucked that up for me too. Escaped with his stupid fucking car.”

“None of those useless agents could find you. How could they?” The beauty was that Ransone must have spent too long looking when you were basically right there, just miles away. “You didn’t go to one of our locations and Serpentine hides their safehouses well.”

You still remembered the relief when the door accepted your fingerprint. 

 It was a long shot but you didn't have anywhere else to go. You weren’t even sure that this house existed.

Another loud crash arrived from the outside with noises that sounded like more gunshots, making Ransone jump this time. Just how many people were being tortured here?

“Keep the volume down, you stupid fucking imbeciles!” he screeched, pounding at the metal door. The decibel reduced, but still continued on.  

He dragged his palm across his face in exasperation, talking under his breath to himself. He shook his head before turning back to you.

"Oh, by the way, don't think about escaping. Got every last one of my best agents out here after that stunt you pulled at Pierce’s house,” he says offhandedly.

He takes a second to regroup, get back into character.

“So we released your pictures to the public. Can’t go very far if people are looking for you constantly. It was the only way we could get you to stay in one place.” Ransone raised his shoulders casually. “We had every lowlife out there waiting for one of you to show up.”

“We eventually had someone report Wilson in a town a while away from Pierce. I was making my way there but then you sent me your location on your own. Had men outside your house that night.” He paused, peering at the plane in his hand.

He finally let it go, watching as it barely went any distance before nose diving to the ground. Your eyes trailed after it, hoping he wouldn’t crush it with his foot.

“This is the worst fucking paper plane I’ve ever seen. The balance is completely off.” He stared at it in wonder, picking it up again and shoving it back into his pocket. You let out a breath you didn’t realise you were holding. “Anyway one of them heard you talkin’ about how you’re leaving the next day so we just got ready at the door.”

“Et voila.” He grinned, spreading his arms. “Here we are. Brilliant, wasn’t it?”

Unnecessarily long, but you weren’t going to complain. 

“Oh, I forgot you can’t talk.” His mouth quirked downwards into a ‘whoops’. 

He took a long pause right in front of you before his hand reached out to cradle your face. “I wouldn’t let those idiots kill you, Buttercup. You deserved better than that.”

He stared unnervingly into your eyes, looking for a hint of anything, any sort of remorse. He wasn’t going to find any. You wished he saw nothing but hatred. 

“It’s why I had to kill you myself.” He sighed when you pulled your face away the best you could from his palm in disgust. “But I’ll do you a solid. I’ll give you a chance to beg for forgiveness. Maybe if you’re good enough I’ll let you go.”

You knew he was lying. He had no intention of doing that. He only wanted you to grovel in submission, plead for your life for a fucking power trip.

He ripped off the tape that was over your mouth, making you flinch at the burn. He pulled out the cloth faster than you could spit it out at him.

“Go ahead,” Ransone said smugly. His ego would outlive all of you. 

“Him first.” Your mouth was dry and your lips felt chapped. You had clearly been knocked out for a while by then. You had no idea how far away you were from the original location.

“What?” His smile dropped to a frown rather quickly.

“Him first.” You mentioned towards Sam with your head. 

“That’s cute.” He laughed, stopping when you didn’t join in. “Oh, you’re serious.”

“I’m not saying shit till he does too.” You were bemused, monotonous. You just wanted to get this over as quickly as possible. 

“Fine,” he huffed when your expression didn’t change. “It’d be fun to watch him beg anyway.”

You hear the rip of the tape from his face, the scrunch of the material before he balled it up and threw it on the floor.

Sam shook his head furiously, forcing Ransone to take a step back swiftly before he hit him. 

“Right.” Ransone clapped his hands together. “Let’s get star-”

He was interjected by another loud bang followed by a series of gunshots. Another victim massacred. He groaned in frustration, stamping his feet at the constant interruption. The universe was determined to not let him finish his monologue in peace, and for that, you thanked her.

You looked at Sam, nodding slightly. He gave you a small smile in return, calming the nerves you were beginning to feel.

“Where were we?” Ransone did not look happy; a vein was dangerously visible on his forehead. Now would not be the best time to do anything that angered him. “Yes, go ahead. Beg.”

“Ransone,” Sam began, exhaling lightly. “We knew.”

The smile on Ransone’s face faltered. “What did you say?”

“He said we knew,” you cut in. “You melodramatic fuck.”

Ransone’s grin faded abruptly and it was by far the most satisfying experience you had ever experienced.

“Yeah, we figured it out ourselves a while ago.” Sam had the slightest smirk on his face. “Y/N did, actually.”

“Fuck,” you cursed.

You could feel his muscle shift as he looked at you. 

“What’s wrong?” 

You opened your mouth but shut it again. How do you explain it to him without sounding utterly ridiculous?

“I need to tell you something and I need you to hear me out before saying anything,” you pulled away from him, shuddering at the sudden cold that enveloped you. 

“I’m listening.”

“I think it’s Ransone. He’s been trying to kill us.”

“Why?” He didn’t sound judgemental, hardly even fazed, like it was a completely plausible suggestion. You couldn’t express how glad you were.

“The guy you didn't kill, if he’s the old head of Serpentine, then... I know his son.” Your mouth was dry as your mind raced to piece it together. “He’s the one I didn’t kill.”

“What?” Sam’s eyebrows furrowed, and you could see him trying to figure out the connection. “How are you so sure?”

You closed your eyes, letting out a deep exhale. “I’m going to need you to not react to what I’m going to tell you.”

“Okay...” he trailed off. 

“I’ve been working with him for two years. Passing information on to him about Ransone.”

“Wait so that means-”

“I’m the spy. And I think Ransone figured it out. He wants to kill me.”

“You knew,” Ransone stated. He looked like he was in a daze.

Sam looked at you once before nodding. “If you would shut up and let someone else talk for once, we would have told you a while ago.”

“It helped that you confirmed details about Pierce’s death without us having to tell you.” The last conversation you had with him replayed in your head verbatim. “There’s no way you would have known he was dead before we got there unless we told you. Or you did it.” 

“We knew you had agents outside the house. Kinda expected that when we gave you the address,” you shrugged the best you could, “Sam’s security cameras got all of them.”

“Made sure that one fuck behind the tree could hear us planning outside,” Sam added. “He wasn’t very stealthy, by the way.”

“Have you decided on a day?”

You nod, looking straight ahead into the darkness. “Tomorrow.”

“You sure? Our timing has to be right.”

“Yeah.” Your voice is coarse. “I’ll have to tell him.”

He nodded, leaning his elbows on his knees. He was too tall for the stairs, almost like he was crouching instead of sitting.

His voice dropped to a whisper like it’s a secret only meant for you.

“You knew you were going to be ambushed.”

“No shit.” You nodded. 

The loud bangs continued outside the door but you paid no heed to it. The closer it got, the more your stomach jumped, hoping that more people you pissed off didn’t storm in. You had quite a list anyway.

“You knew they were coming,” Ransone appeared like he had gears turning in his own head, trying to add everything up on his own. “Then why didn’t you run?”

“Well, we kinda needed all of you in one place.” 

“Huh?” He blinked, not listening to all the commotion that was going on around him. If he didn’t, he was choosing to focus on this instead.

“We had to take out all of you at once,” you disclosed, fidgeting with the rope to see if it would give. “Kinda knew you were waiting to kill us yourself when we gave you the location and nothing happened immediately. You’re too much of a sissy to kill us without backup so we wanted you in one place with the rest of them.”

You tilted your head towards the two men standing in the corner.

“You knew all this while and lied,” Ransone jeered, face twisting into something rather indiscernible; a nice mix of shame and rage.

“Not like we had another choice, man.” You just knew Sam was rolling his eyes. “You think I would voluntarily listen to you monologue like an idiot?”

“You did gag us,” you added, trying to buy as much time as you could. “That’s on you.” 

The ropes were still tight as could be and the chair wouldn’t budge. Even your feet were too tightly tied together to do anything. It was what you expected, but that wasn’t going to stop you.

“Shut up!” Ranone’s face was hideously red.

“You rehearsed it, didn’t you?” Sam called out, taunt in his tone. “With the lighting and shit.”

“He doesn’t have to. He does one a week to some poor fuck who has to listen.” 

You couldn’t believe the both of you were teaming up to bully a man who literally held the fate of your lives in his hands. It was something you never imagined yourself doing.

“How do people take you seriously?” Sam laughed. More than yours, his remarks seemed to be ticking Ransone off. 

Ransone let out a guttural cry, knuckles so white you were afraid they were going to break. He whips around, stomping over to pull the gun from the hand of one of his bodyguards.

“Easy there, DeNiro, that’s not a stage prop.” Sam chided.

The concrete in front of him suddenly cracks loudly. He looked up, slightly taken aback. 

“Next time it’ll be your fucking face,” Ransone snarled, waving the gun around like a maniac. You send a cautionary glance to Sam, telling him to back off. Ransone was volatile. He would act without thinking. 

“Why did you kill everyone I was friends with, Vincent?” you asked slowly, trying to divert his mind. 

He turned to you, a crazed look in his eyes.

“Why did you take everyone from me?” The more you asked, the more it became about genuine curiosity rather than a distraction from shooting Sam in the head.

“Take everyone from- none of them were going to last anyway!” He throws his hands up in the air angrily. “I was saving you from yourself. From the eventual pain.”

His face was desperate, and you for a second forced yourself to think from his perspective. He looked like he truly believed in what he was saying, like he genuinely thought he was supporting you. Like he cared. The thought that maybe he truly wanted to help you was the only way you could comfort yourself for so many years. 

“If you were in pain, you wouldn’t perform. I was only pushing you to your full potential,” he continued, a wild smile on his face mixed with eyes rimmed red like he was ready to cry. 

Your stomach sank, even though you hated it. It wasn’t about you, it was about what he could get from you. 

There was silence. Even the noises outside seemed to have stopped, all waiting for your next move.

“You’re a sick, conniving fuck,” your words waver, and you hope it hits him as hard as it can, “And I can’t wait till you’re dead.”

His face morphed from one of helplessness to slow fury once more. Manipulative prick.

“Do I have to remind you that you’re the one tied up?” He wipes at his nose, voice returning to normal. “The only reason you’re alive right now is because I need to know why you let yourself be captured so willingly.”

Your incessant need to know everything stemmed from him and the paranoia he induced in you from when you were a kid. Everything you thought was wrong about you came from him.

“We told you, you overdramatic fuck.” Sam drew the attention away from you thankfully. You took a deep breath, stabilizing yourself. 

“What, that you needed the team in one place to take us out?” Ransone asked, to no one’s answer. “You and what army?”

“Well, the one who’s been here for a while now,” you pipe up.

No one says anything. Pin drop silence reigns free. 

“You said he’d be here,” Sam hissed at you. “How much longer do we keep this going?”

“He said he would,” you argued back, feeling the heat creep into your cheeks.

“What the fuck are you both talking about?” Ransone asked, but you continued to ignore him.

“What are we going to do if he-”

The door violently exploded off its hinges, sending debris flying everywhere. You clenched your eyes shut and ducked your head to avoid getting smacked in the face with rubble

The dust hadn’t even cleared before multiple rounds were fired. You flinched when your ringing ears hurt more at the sound of gunshots. 

You struggle against your ropes, trying to get to Sam. They only get tighter until suddenly your arms break free. Your neck and legs soon follow as you shrug off the ropes that were cleanly sliced off.

Your ears were still getting used to the chaos when you notice someone humming behind you. It took a second to register that it was a fucking Britney Spears song. 

“What took you so long?” You coughed, waving the air in front of you to clear it as you stumbled towards Sam.

“I wanted to make an entrance,” Loki said dismissively, following you. “I think I may have overshot it by a few seconds.”

You fell to your knees in front of Sam, quickly moving to untie the familiar knots. He lifted his head to look at you, a thin layer of dust covering his face.

“Are you okay?” you asked in concern, simultaneously untying as fast as you could. It was one you had used many times before; a complicated knot that guaranteed you wouldn’t have been able to make it out of the bondage.

“I think my leg’s asleep but other than that I’m good.” 

You give him a small smile, thankful that he wasn’t hurt enough to lose his dry sense of humour. Your hand involuntarily reached up to brush some dust off his cheekbone. The intensity with which he looked at you had you swallowing thickly.

You snapped out of it quickly, working on freeing his legs as Loki took a step behind his chair to cut the rest of him loose.

“This him?” Sam mentioned to Loki, massaging his wrist to return some feeling into it. 

“You can just ask me, you know,” Loki commented, but clearly not taking any offence. 

“I’m sorry about your family, man.” 

You didn’t expect Sam to say that, and from the looks of it, neither did Loki. He stopped for a moment, before continuing to cut the last rope.

“You let my father go,” he said, sawing the last part off, “and although I personally think you should have killed the miserable old bastard, he made it clear that he owed you one.”

The both of you stood up. You glanced around the room, noting how both of Ransone’s bodyguards were on the floor, bullet holes riddling their body. 

He himself was beside them, lying facefront on the ground. Armani suit be damned.

“How many more are outside?” Sam asked, tearing your attention away from the bodies on the floor.

“All taken care of.” Loki put the knife back into its sheath on his thigh. “We made quite a commotion. I’m surprised he didn’t do anything.”

“He’s a little dense,” Sam remarked. Most of the noises you heard earlier weren’t just other victims being tortured, although you knew that it was still a large fraction of it.

“Should we go?” you asked, doing a quick sweep of the room. You found nothing moving among the pile of rubble.

“Unless you got anything else left to do.” Loki gestured to the large hole in the wall where the door was.

“I think we’re done.”

He simply nodded, spinning on his heel to walk out the room when someone yelled from behind you. 

You all halted what you were doing, slowly turning to look at where the noise was coming from.

“Don’t take another step,” Ransone warned, a gun pointed straight at you, barely able to stand straight. He looked worse than you’d ever seen him. His suit was torn and he had a few streaks of blood down his face. His hair was tousled and unkempt, rougher than it had ever been before. “Or I swear I’ll-”

“Oh, shut up,” Loki interjected, firing a shot into Ransone’s stomach before anyone could even react. He returned the gun to its holster that you didn’t even notice was there on his waist. “He talks too much.”

Ransone staggered back until he hit the wall, knees buckling beneath his weight as he slid to the ground. The gun he pried off his bodyguards lay where he was standing previously. 

You ignored Sam’s uneasy questions as you took a step forward. 

You picked the gun up, cautiously making your way to Ransone. You crouched next to his body. He looked at you before looking down. You followed his line of sight, watching as he lifted his hands. They were covered in blood. 

“How’d he know where to find you?” Ransone’s voice was more subdued than you’d ever heard him.

You reached over, slipping your fingers into his jacket pocket and pulled out the paper airplane that was flattened due to the impact.

“Hey, you can put a message in it. Maybe one of those button trackers, a microphone. The possibilities are endless.” He laughed, folding another one out of the limited supply of paper he had left.

You unfolded it, letting a small object, not bigger than a button, fall into your palm. He stared at it before realisation dawned on him. 

“I knew you’d take all my weapons, but you wouldn’t get rid of this,” you disclosed, folding the paper plane back to what it was and gently putting it into your pocket. It was still salvageable. “Not if you could use it to hurt me.” 

You watched him take a shaky breath, flinching when more blood rushed out of him. 

“You can still help me, Y/N. We can get out of here together,” he rasped. “Think about everything we’ve been through. We can work it out. I love you.”

You involuntarily let out a strangled cry at the last part. It was nothing but a last ditch attempt to persuade you, pull you back in.

“Look- look at me. Buttercup,” he croaked when you wouldn’t oblige. “I love you. I’m your home.” 

You finally look at him. Look right into his eyes, red rimmed and fading. You look for it, the adoration he spoke of. The care he promised. Anything to make sense of why he would tear you apart time and time again. The love he had for you.

You find nothing. Gray eyes look back at you blankly, desperately, in pain.

“You never were,” you whisper, standing up abruptly. 

You raised your arm, pointing the gun at him. He sputtered out more half baked apologies, unaware of anything that was coming out of his own mouth.

You clench your eyes shut, pulling the trigger. He lets out a cry when the bullet lodges in his shoulder. 

You take a step back, letting the scene imprint itself in your brain of him powerless on the ground at your will. If you followed what he preached, you’d have ended his life right there. No mercy.

But you weren’t him. And you didn’t ever want to be.

“I need to do something too,” you heard Sam say. You can feel him near you, brushing against you for a moment as he gently reached for the gun you held. You gave it to him, feeling him squeeze your hand in reassurance. 

Ransone looked at Sam as he stood beside you. He fired a single shot into his leg, clearly hitting bone. You hear the same wail from before, mixed with sputtering as blood leaked from his mouth.

“That was from Riley. He says fuck you.” Sam let his hand fall again. “All yours, man.” 

“You already know what this is for,” Loki said simply. 

You chose not to look away as he shot the last round right into his forehead. Ransone’s head slumped over. Dead, glassy eyes stared beyond you. 

None of you say anything. Just stare at the lifeless body in front of you.

“It’s really over, huh?” Sam’s voice is quiet, like he's having trouble processing what just happened.

You don’t answer. Only take a step towards him, and intertwine your fingers with his, continuing to stare at the corpse of your lifelong abuser. 

____

The sun was beating down on you. You didn’t expect it to be evening when you stepped out of the warehouse. 

“Where are we?” you asked, shielding your eyes from the sudden brightness that left you squinting.

“Middle of nowhere, I’d say.” Loki stares with disdain at the old building that looked worse for wear. “Would it kill the man to have a bit of taste?”

That reminded you. “Thanks for the house. And… sorry we showed up uninvited.”

“You didn’t do too much damage to it, I hope.”

You looked at him guiltily, mind flashing to the many bullet holes that decorated the back wall. “I’ll pay for the repairs.”

“Forget it. It’s of no use since everyone knows it exists now.” He dismissed with a wave of his hand. “So, Y/N. I guess that concludes our deal?”

“I guess it does.” You nodded,

Sam wraps his arms around your shoulder and you lean into him with a sigh, allowing the comfort his touch brought to seep into you. 

“How’d you guys make a deal anyway?” he inquired. You closed your eyes, chest rising and falling steadily.

“Well, I was going to kill you at first,” Loki explained offhandedly, gesturing to you. “But then-”

He trailed off.

You remember, clear as day, when Loki confronted you in the early hours of the morning outside the park you went on runs. He had a gun pulled on you before you could fathom what was going on, before you could even realise who he was.

“But then?” Sam prodded.

“Did he make it?”

“He did,” you divulged the information you had found out a while ago. It was a messy confrontation to say the least but you got out unscathed.

“Saw something that I recognised,” he said dryly, eyeing you up and down. “We were both pulled into something we didn’t have a say in. Stuck, you could say. I just thought that it was a win-win situation if we worked together to kill that idiot back there.” 

“So you agreed to spy on him,” Sam concluded. “You got revenge. What was your incentive?”

You look at Loki who just smiled at you. You return one half heartedly.

“I’d say freedom is a pretty big reward, wouldn’t you?” And it was. You couldn’t even begin to explain the weight that would be lifted off your shoulders. “I can’t guarantee you’ll have a perfectly normal life. Might have to change your identity, move around a bit.”

“Everyone’s looking for us as wanted criminals,” Sam voiced everything you were forgetting about in the surge of emotions rushing through you.

“I got some connections,” Loki said dismissively. You peered at him from under Sam's arm. “I can have it traced back to a dead mobster in a warehouse, no problem. If they think it’s a gang war there’s no way they’ll try to get too involved. Consider it a gift from my father.” 

Sam nodded, relaxing slightly now that most things were taken care of.

“That’s sorted then.” Loki examined the barren land that surrounded you. “You’re going to need a ride back to civilization, aren’t you?”

“If that’s possible.”

“I’ll have someone drop you off. You got any place to go? At least to stay low for a while.”

You didn’t have anyone. The only one you had was the man beside you. Nothing was settling in at the moment, and you realised that it would be a long road until it did. But you had a shot. A real shot at something even resembling recovery. 

Sam and you looked at each other before he turned back to Loki and nodded.

“New Orleans.”

Next part

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing <3

here’s a list of references/foreshadowing to the end all throughout the series!

[good-rwbyaus]

For of all this Em Batfam thing is so good. Second I got a idea for anther superhero au involeing anther character too good for Cinder. AU, where instead of Cinder the person who finds Mercury is....*Dramtic pause*.. DEADPOOL!

This one I needed time to write ~ Green

The air was filled with the ragged breathing of a young man who had fought the hardest battle of his young life. Before him laid the corpse of the man he’d been forced to call his dad, but Marcus Black was anything but that. Fathers were supposed to love their sons, teach them about life, and prepare them for manhood…

All Marcus had ever taught his son, Mercury, was how to take a punch, where to strike ro disable someone, how to kill, poison, lie, cheat, and gods know what else that had been locked inside his brain. Now Mercury had struck back against the man who’d made his life a living hell, and all it cost him was his own life; that seemed like a fair trade off.

Just as Mercury was about to start walking towards the burning cabin that had been his home all his life, he heard clapping. This caused him to turn,and got in a half heartened fighting stance.

‘So this is how it all ends…figures.’ Mercury thought as his burning muscles tried to keep him in the stance.

“Who’s there?!” Mercury shouted as his eyes tried to pinpoint the source of the clapping.

“That was beautiful kid, you got a real talent for fucking up shitheels.” A man’s voice called out, as a figure emerged from the brush. It was a guy in some weird red suit, with katanas on his back.

Mercury stood there, continuing to hold his stance “The hell are you?”

“First of all drop the stance kid, we both know you’re tapped out. Second of all I’m just a merc who came for the open contract on Marcus Black’s head, but it seems some kid beat me to it.” The red suit man explained as he walked past Mercury so casually, as if he’d been nothing.

Mercury turned around to see the man in red examine Marcus’ corpse. He wanted to say something, but there was something about the man…something he couldn’t wrap his mind around.

The man in red was still casually observing Marcus’ corpse, his back turned to Mercury leaving him open to an attack. “Oof, you really did a number on him, kid. What was this your first big contract, so you decided to make a message out of it? Get your name out there as one of the big boys?”

Mercury finally spoke for the first time in what felt like hours, but was probably just barely a couple minutes. “I didn’t even realize there was a contract on him.”

This revelation had really caught the man in red’s attention, causing him to look back at Mercury. “So you willingly just picked a fight with Remnant’s top assassin?”

“He had it coming, he took everything from me.” Mercury spat as he felt some form of adrenaline pumping through him again.

“He killed your family, or something?” The man stood, facing Mercury so he could size him up.

The question caused Mercury to snort, as if he knew something the man in red would never fathom. “I think he may have killed my mom at this point, but no that’s not the reason I wanted to kill him. He took my semblance, my life, and hell for good measure my legs.”

The man in red was shocked to see Mercury lift his pants leg to reveal a prosthetic leg was hidden underneath it. Why the hell would Marcus do all this to some kid.

“Who are you?” The man in red had finally asked the million lien question it seems, because Mercury just gave him a look. “Oh should I already know you then?”

Mercury just snorted before crossing his arms. “Not really, but to answer your question, the name is Mercury…Mercury Black.”

The second Mercury uttered his name, things began to click for the man in red. So the son murdered the father because, for lack of better terms, the father was a true blue asshole. He’d always known Marcus was a real piece of shit, in their line of work you heard these things, but doing this to his own son…if hell was real, then Marcus was probably burning in his own private lava pit.

“Geez kid, I thought my old man was a piece of work, but yours really took the cake.” The man in red started to approach Mercury.

“Yeah, and now he’s gone. So you can piss off whoever the hell you are, claim the kill as your own, I don’t care.” Mercury still had some steam left, but it was all too clear that he was barely standing.

“Well ain’t that cute, but sorry cupcake I do care. Your life has clearly been a toilet, and you could use some guidance.” He placed a hand on Mercury’s shoulder, looking him in the eyes.

Mercury scoffer, skeptical to whatever the hell this man meant. “And what exactly do I get out of this?”

The man didn’t budge as he kept his eyes locked on Mercury’s. The mini staring match didn’t last much longer as the man in red started to chuckle. “I’ll tell you kid, even when you’re clearly a foot in the grave you got stones. Tell you what, a better life than what your father could give you is what’s in it for you, especially since you can prove the bastard wrong. All the fighting you can handle, lots of money that you’ll probably never spend in your lifetime, adventure, and my personal chimichanga recipe.”

It all sounded too good to be true, really what else was there for him. His only plans had been to either way for his aura to come back so he’d heal, or just let nature take its course. Really meeting some guy who was trying to kill his dad, and taking him in…it all seemed too good to be true. Then again without many options left, maybe this was destiny….

“Fine whatever, not like I have anything better to do, Red.” Mercury still had some edge to his voice, the kind only youth could provide.

The man in red was amused by this, well as amused as a masked man could be. “Trust me kid, I’m going to change your whole fucking life. Also, the name is Wade, Wade Wilson, but professionally I’m known as Deadpool.”

This earned another snort from Mercury, Deadpool had to be the dumbest codename he’d heard in his life. Then again his father’s ego didn’t let him get a chance to believe in codenames.

“Ok Deadpool, why take me with you?” Mercury still wasn’t seeing the full angle with this guy.

“That’s really simple kid.” Wase said before lifting the mask on his head to reveal his face. To say his face was one of the freakiest things Mercury had ever seen in his life would have been an understatement, whatever happened to this guy he really didn’t want to know.

Deadpool just smirked, as if he could hear Mercury’s thoughts before lowering his mask. “I’ve had some real shit days too, enough to know when someone needs help. Let’s call it my superpower.”

For some reason, a small part of Mercury had needed to hear that. It felt almost like he had someone who understood his pain….not that he’d ever admit it.

Wade started to walk away, and motioned for Mercury to follow. Mercury did, after giving his father’s corpse one last look, following Wade into the forest.

As they started to cross the brush that would take them to the main roads, Wase spoke up again. “Sides kid, another reason is even simpler. No one needs another boring cliche story where I take in and train some blonde kid with a rabbit hoodie to be the opposite of who he’s supposed to be narratively. No one needs more of that edginess.”

Mercury decided to not respond to that, the statement sounded too…metatextual was the word that was coming to his mind for some reason…

[misslilli]

Hope you guys are not too busy with Fictober 😄 thank you, as always, for your amazing feedback!

Felix Felicis

MSR. AU. PG-13. | tagging @today-in-fic | read on AO3

Chapter 26 - A Pivotal Peppermint Mocha

[ DS ]

He respects my wishes, of course he does, and I don’t see him before or after Thanksgiving break, except for a few glimpses from afar, across the school yard or at the farmer’s market. As time passes, each time I see him, it gets less and less painful and my funk begins to lift. My kids at school breathe a sigh of relief and my friends stop tiptoeing around me. The nights get easier, too, and I manage at least a few hours of shut-eye.

I just got home from school, a little earlier than usual and I can hear the girls chatting and laughing in the kitchen.

“…and then Squirrel rolled her eyes and said: ‘But Felix, that’s impossible, no-one can stuff 100 marshmallows into their mouth, not even your dad!’ I get such a kick out of this kid, he insisted over and over again that Moose could do it and he’ll prove it to her. You should’ve seen the exasperated look on Squirrel’s face!”

What the hell? That conversation is eerily familiar because I’ve just had it this morning at recess. Why the fuck are they referring to us as Moose and Squirrel?

They jump about a mile as I step into the kitchen, guilty looks plastered all over their faces. Sarah, who just told the story, starts to speak first. “Uuuh.. hey D, you’re home early…” My hands on my hips, I give them each a long, hard stare.

“Who. The Fuck. Are Moose and Squirrel?” They share a look I can’t decipher and Holly pulls out a chair.

“You better sit down for this, D.” I do as I’m told and glance around the table, waiting for someone to start explaining what’s going on.

Sarah and Holly both make it clear by silently staring at Alex, the calm one of our group, the one they trust can explain in a way I won’t kick their asses afterwards.

Alex folds her hands in front of her and takes a deep breath. “Okay. I’d like to preface this with stating that everything we did was done with love and because we care about you and your happiness.” ‘Oh goody, I can’t wait to see where this is going…’

“We’ve been talking about Moo- Mulder a lot at our Friday night dinners and we could tell that you liked him. When nothing happened and no-one made the first move, we thought we’d give fate little pushes in the right direction.” I stare at her, starting to panic.

“Oh God, what did you do? Is anyone else in on this thing? Is he in on this whole thing?”

“No, no, no-one knows except for us. And Miss Hannigan, but only because we needed her help with the costumes and we swore her to secrecy.” I snort, you can’t swear the town gossip to secrecy.

“So the Halloween costume was your doing? That we went to the town fair in a couple’s costume?” Alex nods. “What else?”

“Just little things, I swear. Remember when we were at the Farmer’s Market and we all had various errands to run? We saw Felix and Mulder were heading over, so we scattered to give you some alone time.” Which led to our first quasi-semi-let’s not call it a date-date, yes I remember.

“So what’s the Moose and Squirrel business then?”

“Well, since it was all a secret operation, we needed codenames. Sarah came up with a play on the first letters of your last names and we thought it was cute, especially since there’s such a big height difference between these characters too. This was how Operation: Bullwinkle was born. Of course, after the basketball fiasco, we called it off… are you mad, D?” I sit in silence for a while, taking in the things my friends came up with to set Mulder and I up.

They eye me anxiously, trying to gauge my reaction and if they should run for cover right about now.

“No, I’m not mad. It was actually a really clever secret operation and I’m kind of sad it didn’t work out the way we all wanted.” Holly lifts her shoulders, relieved that I understood that they didn’t mean to cause any harm.

“Never say never, D.”

—————

[ FM ]

My mom has taken Felix with her while she’s out grocery shopping, which gives me a good part of the afternoon to leave the house and roam the streets. A good way to clear my head. It’s the first week of December, but New England hasn’t been graced with snow yet, just a misty cold that seeps into your coat and straight through to your bones.

My hands are freezing because I forgot to take my gloves, so when the green logo of the local Starbucks catches my eye, I go in to warm up and get a cup of coffee.

Usually, I avoid this place like the plague, I don’t possess the fast decision making skills required to choose from the 999 combinations, just to have a cup of freakishly overpriced coffee.

I can barely get through the door, the place is jam packed and soon, I can smell why. Peppermint Mocha season starts today. The prospect of standing in line for hours almost makes me turn back, but something stops me from leaving.

Most of the people are holding a cup in their hands gleefully already, so I push my way through the crowd to where the line starts. When I reach it, I find myself dumbly staring at the back of a fiery head of hair, a shade I’d recognize anywhere in the world and in the most crowded places.

Shi-hit, does this break the ‘giving space’ rule? No, I’m just getting a cup of coffee on a cold winter day, no big deal. I don’t even have to talk to her. Yeah right, who am I kidding?

—————

[ DS ]

I’m way too excited about the start of Peppermint Mocha season, so here I am, in a place packed with people, patiently waiting in line to finally get my hands on that glorious to-go cup of Christmas Spirit.

I’m next in line when the person in front of me turns a little too quickly, making me take a step backwards to let them pass, bumping into the person standing behind. I mumble a “I’m sorry!” over my shoulder and freeze when I hear a familiar voice respond with an “Don’t worry about it.”

Counting to ten in my head before I turn my head, I come to face with a grinning Fox Mulder, who adds “Fancy bumping into you here!” His silly pun elicits the first genuine smile I’ve given in weeks.

“Technically, you didn’t bump into me, I bumped into you.”

He grins even wider and nudges my shoulder with his index finger. “There. So, I’m new in town, what’s good here?”

I order my Peppermint Mocha with sweet cream foam and an extra espresso shot while he pretends to gag, he orders his black coffee to my snort and the barista’s comment on what kind of first name ‘Mulder’ is. We move to stand at the end of the counter to wait for our coffees.

“Sometimes, I just want to tell them my name is Bob, just so I don’t have to explain Mulder or Fox to another barista.”

“Don’t ask me how many time’s I’ve been Donna, Danny or Dinara and one time, Daniel. I think they do it on purpose. At least yours is easy to spell, Eff - Oh - Ex.”

“Oh I bet you were a regular hit at the spelling bee, with those mad skills of yours!”

“I’m a woman of many talents, Bob.”

The barista calls out our names, ‘Peppermint Mocha for Daisy, black coffee for Mouldy’ and we reach out to accept our respective cups. Pushing out way to the crowd, we continue our conversation.

“Daisy? That's not even remotely close to my real name… but Mouldy is freaking priceless!” Her giggle at their slip up almost makes it worth it to have a shitty first name.

“Yeah, yeah, make fun of the guy with the funny name. I kind of like Daisy, though, it’s a pretty name!”

I’m so happy to see that we turn to head in the same direction, strolling along the crowded sidewalk, sipping our coffee. I have to walk pretty fast to keep up with his long strides.

“It is, yeah! So tell me, Eff- Oh- Ex, how much flak did you have to take way back in the day, when “What does the Fox say?” came out?” I shudder at the memory.

“They didn’t tease me with it. Much. Just a lot of ring-ding-dingalinging. It became a thing in my friend group, whenever they asked me something, they’d add ‘So what does the Fox say?’. It went on a long time and they still do it sometimes, when we get together, just to drive me nuts!”

“I hope for your sake that Felix never discovers that song, he’d have a field day!” Oh God, she’s right. Must keep him away from it at all costs. At my panic face, she laughs an evil laugh. “We do listen to a lot of music at recess…”

“Oh no, you wouldn’t!” I point an icy finger at her. “Promise me you wouldn’t!”

“Well, it does have a lot of educational material in it, with all the animal sounds…”

“I’ll have you know that you hold my sanity in your hands, handle with care!”

“I hear they have a lot of fun pills at the asylum, maybe I’ll come visit so you can sneak me some!”

We come to stand at the junction where we have to part ways and she raises her cup.

“Have a good day, Mouldy!”

“You too, Daisy!”

—————

[ DS ]

I think about the strange but fun encounter all the way home, the world didn’t end like I thought it would when we met again and it was a rather pleasant conversation. Like a conversation between long-time friends, even though friendship is not exactly what I’m looking for here. But it’ll have to do, for now. It’s just nice to talk to him again.

[spiltscribbles]

Prompt 37 (from the first list) and bodyguard au seems interesting

By the way I love your writing please never stopped just finished your recent fic and its one of my favourites.

~Notes: 😭😭😭 baby u can’t be out here recklessly making me sob!!! I am so flustered right now!! Thank you so much for being a beautiful soul 😌😌 ok NEGL the bodyguard thing is not here Becs I’m dumb and couldn’t think of one, but there’s protective sirius💜 I hope you don’t hate this!!! ILU!!!

.-

Smash Game  |  Send Me A Prompt💜 |  A Reblog Means SO Much!!!!

.-

Alphard Black was a good man,  a man of his community,   a man of the law. He taught the ins and outs of the constitution  at Columbia, never went an inch over the speed limit, hell, he even  separated his recyclables into their proper piles for the garbage collector, and  all while spending his down time volunteering at some sort of virtuous charity or impactful outreach program for inner city youths—the man basically leaped right out of the screen of some cheesy, after school special, wacky ties and rumpled hair aplenty.

Alphard Black was a virtuous, humble man who abided by the laws set out for him to a painstaking degree—So Sirius sorta thinks it’s hilarious that he’s kind of the exact antithesis of his uncle— the man who brought him up after running away from his bat shit parents and their bat shit values as the top of the one percent.  Just kind of though.

Sirius likes to think he’s still a good guy—albeit in the typical, non second coming of Christ wannabe kind of way.  He gives spare change to homeless folks at Grand Central, doesn’t sneer at raucous kids inside of restaurants or busses… for fuck’s sake  he even smiles at strangers more often than not—— just the typical, What a nice day isn’t it, smile and not, I’m actually a blood thirsty maniac ready to carve out all your organs and wrap your naked, dead body in saran wrap Dexter style, smile…Which is actually a type of smile Sirius has become intimately familiar with considering that unlike his Uncle Alphard, Sirius may have a problem with the whole “Laws are created for the good of the public,” ideology, and rather subscribes to the way of thought that thinks it’s kind of thrilling to see how much you can bend and skirt around the rules till they break, or till he gets caught. Which in turn mostly manifests into Sirius participating in a very high demand business—the sort that’ conducts it’s transactions within the metaphorical underground, and makes it so he spends his days with a group of brilliant  assholes that he considers family, and a discretely wicked boy who he thinks is most probably the love of his god forsaken life.

Mother Mary,  help them all.

~*~

“Padfoot too Moony, are you in, Moony.” 

A moment of static passes before Remus’s voice trickles through the minuscule bluetooth  snuggled in Sirius’s ear, and he can’t help but smirk. “Why are you still trying to make these codenames work—they don’t work, they’re all awful and trash,  and we should just stick with the numbers we were given when Moody first scouted us.”

“Mmm yeah, Moons, talk dirty to me.���

“You’re a fucking idiot,”

“Say trash again.”

“I hate you,” Remus intones. He  sounds all surly and bothered, and Sirius’s fingers curl together to card through the phantom strands  of his hair, knowing full and well how adorably flustered Remus gets whenever they are having one of their little sparring sessions—It’s also the same look he gets whenever he’s incredibly turned on and has no idea how to handle it. Coincidence? Sirius thinks not.

“Ah, Moony, my love, you say that as if my perfect baritone isn’t the highlight of your day. Like you don’t write sonnets and odes about it’s every cadence and lilt in your little diary you think I don’t know about. As if—“

“I’m shutting you off now,” Remus cuts in with his best, I’m trying to pretend  that I am so totally annoyed even if I’m actually really amused by you and all your antics, voice. It’s one that’s basically come second nature to him whenever he speaks to Sirius, ever since they had met three years ago and Sirius had to teach him the trick of the trade after Remus had been invited into the fold, while also trying not to completely accost him with his lips and hands and teeth until the work day was over.

“You would never.” 

“You seriously have an overinflated sense of worth if you’re starting to doubt that I very much would,” Remus goads, but he forgets that Sirius can see every nook and cranny of the swanky penthouse from his perch in the getaway van, thanks to his very beautiful laptop monitor.  And yeah, Sirius can so totally spot that little flicker of a grin tugging on the edges of his pink lips,  where Remus is trying to hide it behind the flute of wine in his grasp—his very strong and capable grasp, one that’s wrapped around the neck of that glass just so tight—Oh, erm, yeah. That’s  a thought Sirius should definitely not be having at their current predicament.

“Righto, beautiful, whatever you say.”

“Was there an actual reason for your little interference, besides you being pissy that you had to take the get away position this time around?” Remus sighs, long suffering before offering a subdued, half grin to a very haughty looking woman passing him, predatory leer on her plump lips. And jeez, Sirius bemoans her poor eardrums if they’re suppose to be carrying diamonds that thick all night long— Poor hag will probably end up needing stitches like his dear mother.

“I missed you is all, lover.”

“Goodbye, Sirius.”

“Oh fine, you total spoil sport. Just an FYI that Marlene’s gotten into the volt’s room, and she’s decoding it as we speak.”

“Oh, good. Should I-“

“Moons, it’s Marls, she’s got her shit handled. You just stand there and be a the good, pretty honeypot that we all know you can be.”

Remus growls somewhere deep in his throat, and it’s bringing a flurry of such beautiful imaginings to the forefront of Sirius’s mind— including last night, with Remus’s lovely, thin wrists tied up and Sirius’s mouth trailing up and down his every patch of skin.

God, was that a good night.

“You’re a pain in my ass.” 

“I know, it’s a point of pride for me that I get to say I tap that. But hey, always game to switch things up if you are?”

“You are the absolute worst person ever.”

“Ooo are we circling back around to speaking filthy things, because I’ve been having this fantasy including you and these lace—“

That’s when Remus actually does shut off the communication device, and starts chatting up some smarmy businessman who can’t stop staring at his protruding collarbones.

Sirius is most certainly not jealous.

Nope, not at all—Not even a little bit.

Sirius is not jealous.

Okay, fine…So he’s a bit bothered, but can anyone blame him? All of that—chorded muscles and sparkling eyes—is reserved for  Sirius, and Sirius alone. It’s taken years of volleying barbs and really intense sexual tension that was all finally resolved after a way too dramatic spat outside some sleazy BDSM club on the wrong side of town where Sirius got himself fucking shot, and Remus couldn’t stop yelling at him for being such a mother fucking, idiotic, thoughtless prick, (Remus’s words not Sirius’s,) for them to finally get to this point. For fuck’s sake, it seemed as if Remus’s anger fueled diatribe would never end, so Sirius just took the dilemma into his own hands and slanted their lips together, bloody and breathless, panting out an “I love you too,” while Remus just patted up and down Sirius’s torso, not knowing where to put his hands, dumbfounded and eager. As if he could hardly believe that it was actually happening, as if he was shocked that Sirius had finally just put them out of their mutual misery and spoke out loud what’s been lingering in their gazes, and tailing the ends of too short exchanges for years at that point—ones always composed of banter and barbs but always to fearful to take the extra step they yearned for.

Yeah, so it wasn’t exactly a cinderella story level of romance, but the point is they’ve fought tooth and nail to finally get to this point in their relationship. Nights made up of spilt hair on warm sheets, and  hungry kisses of farewell, and shirts tumbling together so many times that  they don’t even know which belongs to who anymore—All of them lingering with a sent of both of them, together. Something intimate. Something remarkable. Something far too soft when considering their line of employment—But it works for’m, and that’s all that counts.

Before Sirius could get to lost in getting all starry-eyed over the life they’ve built for themselves, Sirius moves to sweep his hands across the keyboard, A cautious eye still on Remus and his unwanted suitor while dividing the screen so that he can check back on Marlene’s progress, which is quite impressive if he does say so himself.

“And Black Widow pulls through again,” He commends with a low whistle, watching her practically stroll out of the volt, ancient artifact securely settled in the bag swinging off her shoulder, and cocky sneer proudly splayed across her pretty face.

“You know it dweeb.”

“THat’s not my code name,” Sirius points out  with a put upon exhale.

Marlene’s only response is to hike up her manicured brows in counterfeit surprise.  “you sure? I could’ve sworn…”

Sirius legitimately contemplates just driving off and leaving her stranded, signaling to Remus a separate meet up point for just the both of them. But Eventually, he reasons  that might be a bit of an over reaction. So he settles for just growling out a reminder for her  to “Respect the name,” while a glowing Marlene slinks into the passenger seat.

“Your so precious.” Sirius swats her hand away where she’s begun rubbing her knuckles into his scalp. “Call pretty boy and let’s bounce, will you?”

Reluctant, Sirius listens—only and only because he’s about ninety nine point five percent positive that she could probably beat’m to a pulp with one hand tied behind her back and both eyes glued shut.

~*~

The mission was one they’ve been calculating for months, a huge catch with a credibility brought with it that doubles its actual monetary prophet—(And wowza, that price check is all levels of ridiculous.) Moody is beyond  proud, and tells them as much with a crazy large celebration back at their little underground headquarters, (which is actually an entire floor on one of the top levels of a huge ass skyscraper in the meatpacking district that disguises itself as just a financial consultant firm in the light of day.)

It’s made even more wonderful considering how he, Remus and Marlene are basically the guests of honor for their success. So that night  they drink, and dance and just generally get absolutely slobbered…Then subsequently remember nothing the following morning, as tradition always dictates.

Though Sirius does  distinctly remember trading sloppy hand jobs in the bathroom with Remus while the latest Beyonce banger pounds in the space between them.

 It’s a good night.

~*~

Unsurprisingly, the hangover that persists even two days later really makes Sirius question the worth of all that celebrating, and he ponders on whether or not being sober would be so bad.

“Morning, Black!” 

Sirius cringes back at a crowing Dorcas—Looking as wickedly gorgeous and put together as always—Dark eyes clear and methodic, and long curls obviously freshly washed. 

“Sorcerous!” He accuses with as much vehemence as he could muster. “your evil! How are you even so perky! Stop it! Stop! You’re hurting my eyes!”

Dorcas just preens with far too much amusement than what should be warranted—it’s almost as if she’s enjoying his pitiful disposition. “Not all of us got as sloppy as you Saturday night may I remind.”

“Then you’re doing your entire life incorrectly.”

“I just have a modicum of self restraint, unlike you.”

“Lies! Lies and slander! I am so very disciplined! I didn’t even tell you guys about the time Remus gave me a blow job in the middle of a glass elevator when we were shopping for Jamsie and Lily’s engagement gift!”

Dorcas just rolls her eyes heavenwards, painstakingly exasperated. “C’mon, dumb ass, Alice needs you to use those hacking skills of yours to get the money Lestrange still owes us for collecting those tears of the ocean. And her bank account is sealed shut.”

“Ah, no Cas ’s too early! And my head hurts! I can’t.”

“Shouldn’t have been such a drunken mess during the party I reckon,” Dorcas scoffs with an imperious tilt of the head, tugging him along without even an ounce of sympathy.

“Hey! It was a celebration!” Sirius flails, and Dorcas just looks at him with a decidedly unconvinced glower. 

“It’s all in moderation Sirius.”

“Not at a party it isn’t!” He argues back, totally knowing he’s in the right.

“Yeah whatever, you’re just lucky you weren’t sent off to Shanghai with lover boy, which by the way,” Dorcas pivots on her heels  to face Sirius straight on, prodding at the juncture where his neck meets his shoulder.  “Looks like you missed a hickey sweets,” she toots loftily, poking at it again, a flush blooming across Sirius’s cheeks in response.  “Not good work decorum if you ask me.”

“You’re face ’s not good work decorum,” Sirius snarks back mulishly. Dorcas just laughs with glee.

“Do I need to talk to poor, innocent Remus about proper biting placement for you once he gets back?”

“Pff, Remus and innocent don’t belong in the same sentence.”

“Fine, then  I can just give you some tips on how to properly layer foundation? I’m sure it’s a travesty how easily shit shows up with your Wonder Bread complexion.”

“You actually are evil! Aren’t you?”

Sirius could still hear Dorcas’s cackles from down the hall where Alice has set him up for the morning, and he idly thinks to himself how exactly he’s made it so that every woman in his life could destroy him with nothing more than a look.

~*~

Considering that all of their  livelihoods are basically glorified bank robbers, Sirius knows that their jobs don’t really lend themselves to being able to check in on each other whenever they’d please—the only devices they’re allowed for communication are the bluetooth sets  for the team deployed on the task at hand, and a single burner. It can get annoying sometimes, but Sirius and Remus always make it a point to send each other a message from the router phone  whenever they arrive to the mission’s ground of operation—It’s a practice ingrained into them, one  they began long before they ever started dating, one  that they never break, not even if they’re arguing or it’s the middle of the night—It’s important. They’ve both lost to many people in their short lives, and they both know how it feels to be delegated to the worrying mess, wondering what’s happening to their loved one, being consumed by the most awful of possibilities. They do it because they respect each other far too much not to.

So Sirius finds it excruciatingly odd that he doesn’t hear from Remus in over thirty-six hours since he left to the Shanghai hit. 

“Maybe he just forgot, Pads,” James shrugs, always the level headed ringleader. “No Proclivity is absolutely bullet proof—Ah, excuse me for the unplanned pun.” He scratches the back of his head a little sheepishly— the glasses of his wireframes glinting in the light of their shared workspace.

And the thing is, point. James is totally right. Remus just could’ve forgot. It was a long plane ride, he could’ve just been jet legged and a little dazed and it could’ve just slipped his mind  to message Sirius when he landed. That’s totally a possibility. 

But see the thing is, that’s also totally not a possibility—like at all. Remus is like the most diligent person on the face of the planet, which may kind of seem out of character considering how he’s more of the type to follow his heart over protocol when it counts, and his entire livelihood is based off the evasion of the law—But even still, Remus is also the guy who likes a true and tried method. He likes having security in the aspects of his everyday  life he can control. Sirius knows how borderline neurotic Remus can get about certain things, like finishing all of his paper work the night it’s given, or having a stable workout regiment, and a bunch of other minuscule, everyday things that tethers him. But Sirius also knows that the texts Remus sends him blows all of those out of the water. They’re something crucial—something vitally important. If the roles were reversed, if it were Sirius who forgot to send the text, then yeah, Remus would have a perfect history to look back on and just shrug it off as Sirius having been thoughtless, no big deal. Remus would just make a note to give him  an ear full when he gets back. 

But the rolls aren’t reversed.

It’s Remus who didn’t send anything, and Sirius knows it in his heart of hearts that this is not normal, that Remus would never have forgotten. Remus would never have fucking been able to go to sleep without passing Sirius a message of safe arrival. It’s just not him. 

James still looks unsure even after Sirius’s way to verbose and borderline babbling explanation of why he knows something isn’t adding up, so he decides to hit him below the belt.

“If this were Lily you wouldn’t be second guessing this.” 

James jolts back as if Sirius had just smacked him, which Sirius guesses is kind of true, in the metaphoric sense at the very least. But whatever, Sirius’s right, and he knows it. 

IF this was Lily— the beautiful, kind baker that James had met coincidentally on a random Sunday afternoon, someone completely divorced from this world— well, there would  be no room for discussion.

“IF this were Lily you would trust your gut, and we’d already know what went wrong. We’d know that you were right, the she wasn’t safe.” Sirius’s face feels heated, and he knows that his throat is closing up, but he can’t help it god damn it. This is Remus—And even the thought of him being in any way hurt—No, Sirius refuses to think that way. Because he’s not, he can’t be. This is Remus god damn it. He’s brilliant and strong and he can handle himself. He’s what everyone in their group secretly strive to be—He’s not hurt, he can’t be hurt.

James just sits there, gawking at Sirius, for a moment of pure and utter silence. Sirius doesn’t even flinch, doesn’t fold back from the intensity in his best friend’s— his brother’s— gaze. 

“This is Remus god damn it, James”

Something fierce rippling over his face, James nods, finally seeming to understand.

“Let’s tell Moody,  and call a group meeting. We need to figure out what the hell’s going on.” 

Sirius sags with the little relief he’s given, pretends that it doesn’t feel like there’s not a wildfire still spreading over his chest  from the  bone deep fear.

~*~

Two hours later finds their little ragtag group huddled in the largest meeting room they have, and  Sirius hunched over a menacing letter that was hand delivered by one of Lestrange’s ghoulish little minions— Crouch if their intel is correct. 

“Any news is good news, right?” Peter— their mousey little researcher— says in some weak attempt of comfort from where he’s silently been situated in the love seat the furthest away from the lump some, and Sirius replies by snarling viciously at him;  making Peter shutter back, like the spineless weasel Sirius has always assumed him to be.

Sirius is not comforted. Sirius is furious and sick and he hates everything  in sight. And all Sirius could think of is Remus, Remus, Remus.

“What do we do,” James’s voice is strong, convicted in the painful silence of the room—But when Sirius looks up, he could still see the worry etched into his handsome features, and the fear threaded into his stance. 

James is scared, and that might worry Sirius more than anything else could. 

“This is my fault, I sanctioned just stealing the money she owed us and I was the one who thought Remus would be fine on a solo mission—I thought it’d be a simple grab. I didn’t put two and two together—I just didn’t—“ Alice breaks off, looking away from the group, and Frank slings an arm around his wife’s slender shoulders.

“Hey now, ’s not your fault, ’s not no ones,” as if to emphasize his point, Frank gives a downright menacing grimace to everyone in the room, daring them to disagree. “It’s Remus, he’s resilient. And that bitch knows if he’s actually hurt we’ll destroy everything she’s ever built for herself.” 

“Don’t be so sure,” Sirius’s surprised of the jaggedness of his own voice, leveling him with a look of utter fury. “She’s a psychotic, selfish, self indulgent bitch—There’s worse things than just beating him up or locking him in some cellar.” 

From the corner of his eye he sees Alice shutter, is briefly reminded of that stint where she was badly injured after a run in with one of the darker ringleaders in their line of work, Riddle. And then he remembers, unbidden, how that bastard has some sort of fucked up Harley Quinn, Joker esthetic going on with Bellatrix Lestrange— and a sick, twisted part of Sirius that actually does blame Alice for sanctioning those two risky missions so close together, is savagely pleased of the effect that the reminder has on her. But the rest of Sirius is just disgusted by himself and hates himself even more when remembering where Remus is at this very moment, and what he must be going through. There’s no time to be pointing fingers, and Sirius knows it.

“Whatever, no time to think of it now,” Sirius rises, and the way all of their eyes follow his every move (Even Moody who is the actual boss— doesn’t go over his head. 

“What do you think we should do from here?” Dorcas asks in a small voice, clutching onto the letter like a life line—She’s Remus’s best friend, Sirius knows that, knows that she stopped only skirting  along the edges of this unsavory line of work until Remus came along and helped her wiggle out of her shell. And the reminder makes Sirius feel such a burst of aching for Remus all at once that he nearly topples over, just barely catches himself with a hand on the tabletop.

“Peter,” Sirius barks, making the blonde finally straighten. “Check out where Bellatrix is scheduled to appear next.”

“Ah, erm on it, of course.” 

Sirius starts to feel a little better—no not better, balanced. He knows what needs to be done, what will   happen next, knows that it’ll turn out all right. 

It has to turn out all right, because he can’t fathom a world where it doesn’t— a world without Remus isn’t worth even a breath.

~*~

If there’s anything that Sirius knows about supreme bitch face herself, it’s that Bellatrix is  cavalier to a fault. So it really doesn’t surprise him when Peter finds out that she’s holding a little gala for her new play things art exhibit in her own home that night, and Sirius intends on giving his congratulations, whether or not he’s on the guest list. 

~*~

“Hey, can you hear me.” 

Sirius presses an inconspicuous finger onto his eardrum when Dorcas’s voice breaks through, speaking the affirmative. 

“All right, well Moody says that upstairs is most likely where you’ll find’m. Marlene and James will stay down at the party just incase anything goes wrong.” 

“Right,” Sirius nods to himself, trying to put together all the new information that’s swimming in his mind. “Thanks Cas.”

“Stay safe, and bring him home. Don’t fuck this up, Sirius.” Her voice is small and fragile. Sirius could picture the gleam to her big doe eyes. “We need you both safe.”

“Of course."

~*~

As expected, the upstairs is a labyrinth of doors and alcoves that Sirius could barely wrap his mind around, the only constant thought is that it makes sense that Bellatrix would want to keep the money from the job she had them perform for her. The rent for this place definitely can’t be cheap.

Sirius tries at least ten different rooms before he comes across one that’s locked from the inside as well as a deadbolt, and His heart seizes with a choked sort of hope before he starts pounding against it. 

“Remus! Remus! Are you in there!” His voice goes ragged at how loud he’s screaming, but Sirius doesn’t let up. He starts calling  for him even louder if possible. “Remus!” 

“Ah, ah, ah,” Sirius stiffens, his blood running cold before slowly turning around to a very amused looking Bellatrix Lestrange. Predatory sneer swept across her blood red lips, and weight slung to her left hip. The picture of radiance and leisure in her slinky, black dress. She’s having fun toying with Sirius, with all of them. 

“Where the fuck is he,” Sirius spits out tersely—trying to sear wholes right through her disarming face. He thinks with a start  that she’d be pretty in an almost unchanging way—a timeless elegance that kind of mirrors Remus’s. But where beneath Remus’s golden exterior is all passion and goodness and an endless capacity of love, under Bellatrix’s pale white skin and dark eyes and sheets of even darker hair is just ugliness and cruelty and Sirius has never hated anyone more, or so intensely.

“Oh sweetheart, I’m so sorry that they sent the best of their group to the den,” She swaggers up to him, each step premeditated—a lion closing in on her prey, and her leer right then— self assured and cruel all at once— is like a mirror of his mother’s so thoroughly that it’s painful. “I’d really hate to ruin those movie star good looks you’ve got going on,” she runs the back of her hand down his face slowly, tendrils of her warm breath edging his lips. “And honey, you really are so deliciously gorgeous. But Moody needs to learn that no one double plays me so flippantly. No  respect, that kind of behavior  really can’t be tolerated. You understand that, don’t you  love?”

Right then, Bellatrix moves to  gouge Sirius right in the stomach with a dagger she had hidden in the sleeve of her dress—but Sirius’s quicker. 

He sweeps Bellatrix’s feet right from under her, twisting her arm behind her back and using her own weapon to chop off the doorknob, all in one fluid movement. Though,  he only has a sparing moment to feel boastful before he steps into the room to find Remus—sickly looking with blood matted in his golden locks, before everything turns to a buzzing in  the background—Sirius runs on autopilot, with the only crucial thought being to get Remus out safely. 

“Baby, I’m here, I’ve got you.” Sirius tells him with the words catching in his throat, and feels such a drowning amount of relief when he hears a gargled retort from Remus. “I’d never let anything happen to you, love. I’m so sorry. I’ll never let something like this happen again.” Sirius tells him with all the earnestness in the world, gently collecting him into his arms. “I’ve got you now, I won’t let go.” The promise is  as sure and true as the pump of his heart—Remus, Remus, Remus.

~*~

When they all return to headquarters, everyone circles a still limp and shallowly breathing Remus, while Dorcas figures out the extent of his injuries.

It’s the worst hour of his life Sirius thinks—The not knowing, it hurts like nothing else. And he swears once more, to himself and the moonlight and the stars peeking through the skyline that he’ll never let this happen, never again., doesn’t want Remus ever out of his sight.

~*~

A week later, and everything feels as if it’s back to normal—more or less.

Their bedroom smells like sage—thanks to the candles Lily bought Remus for his last birthday—And Remus’s swaddled into the most comfortable blanket Sirius could find—his twisted ankle elevated, and a fresh bowl of soup on his night stand.

It’d be the picture of absolute bliss… Now if Remus wasn’t scowling so morosely. 

“You seem mad,” Sirius notes, standing over him with a freshly fluffed pillow. Remus looks up at him from under his spider leg lashes, so very unimpressed.

“You’ve never taken care of me  nearly so intently   a day in your life.”  Remus charges.

“Untrue!” Sirius squawks in contrary. 

“When I got food poising from that sushi place last year, you blamed me for eating it wrong.”

“Yeah, well it’s blasphemous to ever blame Kimiko! The woman is a titan!” 

Remus’s mouth quirks up, his eyes twinkling with unadulterated adoration. “You’re an idiot.”

Sirius deflates. “Okay, so I might be kind of majorly mother penning it right now,” Remus cranes a incredulous brow. “Okay, okay so a lot mother penning it. But, Remus— love— you were missing—like legitimately missing. And then i found you and you were…” He trails off, can’t even speak the horrors of that night. 

“Yeah, I was,” Remus links their fingers together, pulling Sirius closer, and opening his mouth so that when Sirius crouches to come face to face, he can kiss him properly.  “But you happen to be a pretty all right boyfriend, you found me—I’m fine. You made sure of that.”

“More than all right prick,” Sirius knocks their foreheads together and Remus feigns being in excruciating pain. “I fucking hate you,” he snorts, saddling against Remus’s side, and nuzzling into his neck, taking in the miraculous scent of him— the citrus and cinnamon and sunlight that he’s come to crave at all hours of the day. “I love you sort of a lot, and it was the worst three days of my life, all right. Can you understand that?” 

Remus only hums,  kisses the tips of Sirius’s fingers before lacing them into his own.

“I understand, love, but Sirius, I’m fine. I’m here. You’re amazing, but you don’t need to protect me. Not constantly. This is our lives, and I need you to trust me that I can handle myself for the most part. All right?” 

Sirius makes a displeased sound, lips curled distastefully, and it makes Remus actually giggle like they were school boys again. And Jesus, Remus’s smile is blinding and beautiful and fucking hell, he’s here. He’s back in there room, back in Sirius’s arms.

“God, I missed you.”

Remus crunches upwards, kissing Sirius, and it feels like a promise that he’ll never leave him again. “I love you Sirius.”

Sirius leers, isn’t ready to have the conversation about learning how to let Remus go out without him. So instead he traces his thumb over Remus’s beautifully plump bottom lip, and bends down to whisper into his ear. “So can we talk about the lace then, because I’ve made some purchases and—“

Remus pushes him off their bed, and Sirius feels his laughter punching out of him in response.

~*~

~My Wolfstar FIC Index💜

[cyhyr]

Summer of Whump Day 15: Sleep Deprived

Fandom: Naruto

Rating: G

Pairing: Hatake Kakashi & Umino Iruka; Umino Iruka & Uzumaki Naruto

WC: ~3320

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Notes: AU backstory for the purposes of I Wanted To.

A/N: This is just. I don't even know guys. I started writing and then it got bigger and bigger and I couldn't stop. It's just. A Lot.

~

Kakashi has not been able to take care of his sensei’s child the way he should, the way the boy admittedly deserves; and yes, absolutely, he takes that fault personally but also doesn’t do anything about it because really… what can he provide for this child besides instability? He’s hardly in the village anymore, though Sandaime has hinted that, if Kakashi asked, he could be assigned missions closer to home. Instead, Kakashi does what he can without bothering Naruto or letting the boy realize that he even exists. He ensures the bills are paid up in six-month increments, and has the utility companies know to charge to his personal account anything he misses due to being out on mission. He provides non-perishable groceries, placed in the pantry late at night every month or so: oats, rice, dried or tinned meats, beans and legumes. He’ll bring a small selection of vegetables with him at the same time, (no more than three or four items, so they don’t rot before Naruto feels obligated to eat them) usually pilfered from Gai’s garden so he knows they’re not poisoned.

And whenever he’s in the village, he makes a stop at Naruto’s apartment at least once to check in on the wards wrapped into the walls and window frames.

This is how he learns about Umino Iruka and the interest he’s taken in the village jinchūriki.

~

The wards when he gets to Minato’s son’s apartment this time are different. Odd. Not… well, actually, they might be stronger; Kakashi glances at the walls with the sharingan and finds himself mildly impressed. Whoever placed these wards knew about the ones Kakashi put up, and modified their own to augment and strengthen Kakashi’s.

Kakashi says modified because he’s seen these styles of wards before, but never used like this. The key in the front door jingles a bit, like the person unlocking the door knows Kakashi’s in here and is giving him time to leave. Kakashi takes the out for what it is and slips out the window, closing it quietly behind him. He stays plastered against the wall beside the window for a moment, however, wanting to get a glimpse of who’s taking care of his sensei’s kid in Kakashi’s stead.

The door opens and Naruto—gods, how old is he, seven? Eight?—barrels by the figure in the doorway with a grin and shoots straight for the pantry.

“Naruto-kun, take your sandals off first. I mopped for you just earlier this week, I’m not doing it again so soon.”

One arm balancing a paper bag of fresh groceries, a leather school bag over the same shoulder; hitai-ate and vest both neat, but his sleeves and pants legs are scuffed; and his fingers carry the faint dusting of chalk that hours of holding ingrains and a quick wash won’t wipe away. A teacher.

“Iruka-sensei, I can mop later; I’m hungry now!”

“I won’t ask you twice.” The man—this Iruka-sensei—walks barefoot through the apartment and sets the grocery bag down on the kitchen table. Naruto hangs his head and goes back to the door, and once he’s out of the room, Iruka looks at the window Kakashi is peeking in, scowling initially. The scowl lessens when he sees the Konoha ANBU mask, and he nods, but makes a slight shoo gesture.

“What’re we making tonight, sensei?” Naruto bounds back into the room, barefoot as his sensei.

“I’m thinking of teaching you breakfast for dinner,” Iruka says. “Miso soup, tamagoyaki, steamed salmon; how’s that sound?”

“Sounds great!”

“And if we make enough, you’ll have enough for the morning, too,” Iruka ruffles Naruto’s hair. “Go grab out the rice and we’ll get started, okay?”

Kakashi leaves. Iruka-sensei seems to have only good intentions.

~

Iruka is a new teacher, one that (if the very quiet rumors are to be believed) didn’t initially want to be the jinchūriki’s homeroom teacher. Something changed his mind, clearly, and now he’s spending every moment outside of class with the kid.

Every. Moment.

Kakashi notices the third time he’s in the village after meeting Iruka—notices how tired the man seems. He follows the teacher from just before dawn when he wakes up and heads out to Naruto’s apartment and fixes him breakfast. Kakashi watches Iruka herd Naruto around the apartment, brushing teeth, getting changed, gods Naruto where’s your homework I told you to put it right back in your bag last night after I helped you with it. Then they’re out the door and one of them locks the deadbolt while the other activates the wards (Iruka always double-checks the wards if Naruto does them) and they walk to the Academy together.

Iruka spends the day in the Academy staunchly refusing to play favorites. If Kakashi didn’t know that the man had made Naruto eat breakfast while searching for a clean shirt for the child to wear, he’d swear Naruto was Iruka’s least favorite student—based solely on the amount of yelling.

But the two of them have lunch together, talk and hang out during recess unless Iruka shoos him away to play, and then they walk together to either Iruka’s or Naruto’s apartment after school. Sometimes they’ll go out for ramen, or to one of the training grounds to work on a technique they started in class which Naruto needs more time to fully grasp. Iruka is a patient teacher, especially one-on-one, and even though Minato-sensei’s son doesn’t perform well on the tests in school he learns the techniques after class and gains the appropriate muscle memory.

Which is admittedly much more important than the grades Naruto earns. Iruka won’t say as much, but it’s obvious that he agrees when his teaching style puts emphasis on practicals rather than paper tests. Kakashi approves.

After a day of minding twenty-five ankle-biters, an afternoon of extra training for the village jinchūriki, and an evening of making sure Naruto is fed and happy and his homework is completed to the best of his ability, Iruka then helps Naruto get ready for bed. Against the kid’s token protests, they’ll read a story together (Kakashi suspects Iruka does this because Naruto’s reading skills are lacking, but he could also very well just be doing it because he enjoys it—the man’s motives are enigma to him) and Iruka will tuck Naruto in. He stays at the apartment until he knows Naruto is asleep, tidying up here and there or even just leaning in the bedroom doorway watching the jinchūriki’s chest rise and fall.

Only when Naruto’s asleep will Iruka leave, activating the wards and locking up after himself.

It took only two times of Kakashi watching these kinds of days go by before he realized that Iruka knew he had been watched all day. As he passes the tree outside of Naruto���s building, the only one that reaches high enough to afford a glance into his apartment, Iruka looks right up into the limbs where Kakashi is crouched, waves, and continues back to his own home.

(He had been underestimating Umino Iruka’s awareness. He’s intrigued.)

(But anyway.)

Once he’s home, Iruka rushes through grading and lesson plans and adjustments. He makes lunch for himself and Naruto for tomorrow. Cleans, if he remembers; showers, if he has any energy left. Then, Umino-sensei crashes hard around one or two in the morning.

All to start over again at five-thirty the next morning.

It can’t be sustainable. Kakashi is morbidly interested in how long Iruka planned to keep up this kind of schedule.

~

It starts out with checking out during lunch. Kakashi is lounging in the trees on the Academy grounds, pretending to read but listening intently to Naruto ramble on about some new topping Ichiraku is introducing on Friday and please Iruka-sensei can we go? Then the soft click of dropped chopsticks against a bento box made Kakashi look down to the pair sitting at the base of his tree.

“Iruka-sensei? Are you—?”

“Oh, I’m. I’m alright.” Iruka laughs it off, fumbling for his chopsticks. “I was just thinking too hard there.”

“You shouldn’t do that!”

“Hu—?”

“You tell me not to think too hard all the time,” Naruto pouts. “That I’ll hurt myself.”

Iruka’s laugh crinkles his eyes and he tips his head back. “Gods, Naruto, I’m sorry—no, not—um. Listen, forget it, okay? Ramen, on Friday, right?”

“YES!”

And it was forgotten. Except, Iruka is unconsciously rubbing his fingers together beside his hip and Kakashi can see it. Something happened to force the drop—likely, he lost feeling in his hand briefly.

~

Kakashi’s out of the village as it gets worse, but he hears all about it from Shikaku and Inoichi when he gets back. They’re in the hallway outside the Hokage’s office, talking in low tones like they were discussing an attack on the village.

“What could cause such a serious mood shift?”

“Genjutsu; one of the other teachers sabotaging him; another student practicing poorly.”

“Iruka-sensei?” Kakashi asks.

Both men look at him as he approaches. He’s still in his ANBU armor, but the mask is in his locker. It’s an open secret he’s in ANBU; only his codename is high-clearance.

Shikaku nods. “Shikamaru’s complaining about the man’s temper being shorter than usual.”

“My Ino confirmed this behavior shift. We’re understandably worried, if someone if trying to use an Academy teacher to attack the kids—”

Kakashi shakes his head. “It’s not that.”

“And you would know?” Shikaku prompts.

“He’s taking care of Naruto,” Kakashi shrugs. “It’s probably catching up with him, finally.”

“What is?” Inoichi looks honestly confused.

Kakashi tilts his head and then realizes. “Ah. That’s right. You’re both married. You have a way to share the responsibilities.”

Sakumo hadn’t ever been irate with him, but Kakashi can remember him being tired. He lifts his hand and walks away. “I’ll see if I can’t have a talk with Iruka-sensei,” he says, as though he speaks with the man on a regular basis instead of just waving back from his shadowed space in the tree at night when Iruka leaves Naruto.

~

He doesn’t get a chance to talk to Iruka for weeks. When he gets back, it finally comes to a head.

Kakashi is perched outside Iruka’s apartment where he and Naruto are preparing their dinner. Naruto, still talking a mile a minute, hardly notices that Iruka is dazed at the counter, his hands going through the motions of peeling carrots and separating pieces of broccoli without being fully cognizant. He’s much paler than the last time Kakashi peeked in on them—all except for the bags under his eyes; those couldn’t get much darker if they were black.

He flinches forward as Iruka drifts to the side. Naruto catches his teacher before Kakashi can take a step, and the clang of a knife hitting the floor is more than a little startling. Together, they stick Iruka’s hand under running water from the tap, and then Naruto disappears further into the apartment and returns a few seconds later with a first aid kit.

“What was that about, Iruka-sensei?”

Iruka takes a bit to answer. “I haven’t been sleeping well,” he says. “I’m a bit tired, that’s all. Sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize,” Naruto says. He finishes caring for his sensei and then says, “How about I go get some take-out, and then we can clean up and you can go to bed?”

Iruka smiles tiredly. “We can bring the take-out to your place, okay? I’ll clean up when I come back home.”

“But—”

“It’s okay, Naruto,” Iruka puts his unbandaged hand in Naruto’s hair. “I’d rather make sure you’re fed and well-rested for school tomorrow. That’s what's important.”

“You’re important, too, sensei,” Naruto says.

Kakashi can’t help but agree.

“Let’s go get some ramen, and we can argue about this later.”

Kakashi flashes away to Ichiraku to put in their order and pay. It’s the least he can do, right?

Later that night, Iruka leaves Naruto’s apartment and like always, lifts his head to wave up at Kakashi in the tree. Only, his eyes roll back with the movement of lifting his head and his knees collapse under him and Kakashi makes it just in time to keep the sensei’s head from hitting the ground. He catches Iruka with one hand under his back and the other cupped behind his head and eases him down against his raised knee.

As soon as Iruka is horizontal, his eyes flutter back open. “Oh, ANBU-san,” he mutters. He’s dazed and foggy, but tries to stand up on his own anyway.

“Sensei, are you well?” Kakashi asks, knowing the answer but needing Iruka to admit it.

Iruka waves him away. “I’m fine, I’m fine. Just a little tired.”

It’s more than that if you’re slipping into micro-sleep, Kakashi thinks, but lets the man stubbornly stand up. He’s still holding his hands out, ready to catch him again, when after five paces Iruka tips sideways and falls again. Kakashi keeps him upright this time, arms tight around his waist and back.

Iruka stays under for a few seconds this time, and when he wakes he leans more heavily into Kakashi’s armor and groans. “What’s happening?” he murmurs.

Normally, he would stay and look after Naruto all night, but this seems more important. “Umino-sensei, I’m going to see you to the hospital now,” he says.

“But… Naruto?”

Because of course Iruka figured out that Kakashi—his ANBU persona at least—stays close to Naruto at all times. “Together, our wards are top-notch, sensei,” Kakashi says. “He’ll be okay for a night.” He slips Iruka onto his back, pulling his arms over his shoulders. Iruka’s light breath huffs past his ear as he says, “Hold on.” Then, they’re gone.

~

Iruka wakes up much later, Naruto tipped against his hospital bed, snoring. He feels so much better after however many hours of sleep he’s gotten. He wonders briefly why he’s here, and where the ANBU that brought him here is. If Naruto is here, that ANBU is likely closeby. Iruka lets out a jaw-cracking yawn and settles back down on the pillow to sleep some more.

When he wakes up the second time, it’s because he has to pee so bad oh gods. It’s night time and Naruto is gone—Iruka tries not to feel disappointed. His legs shake under him when he tries to stand to get to the restroom; whatever’s wrong with him, it’s making him weak as a newborn but he will not embarrass himself by not making it to the toilet. He pushes chakra through his legs, and, finally, blissfully, makes it.

He gets a good look at himself in the mirror as he’s washing his hands. His eyes are puffy and red, but he has some color back in his skin. His hair could use a wash and some heavy conditioning—he hadn’t had time for that in awhile. All in all, it’s not bad; but he’s still wondering why he’s here.

Iruka leaves the restroom and is halfway across the room to his bed when his chakra flares unexpectedly. He stumbles, collapses, and feels his eyes blur and begin to roll back.

Before his head can hit the tile, he’s caught and cushioned by Naruto’s ANBU. The ANBU gently picks him up, one arm under his knees and the other around his back, and it’s like Iruka weighs nothing as the ANBU stands and carries him back to bed.

“Thank-you, ANBU-san,” Iruka says, flushed. “I promise I’m not usually so weak.”

The ANBU fusses with the blanket and covers Iruka back up. He (Iruka assumes they’re a he, the voice and height lead him to believe it but he’s been wrong before) seems frustrated, in the way that ANBU show frustration: by being busy, and then by being absolutely still. He’ll make sure the water pitcher is full, and then stand silently by the window for a few seconds. Pace the width of the room from window to door and back, and then stand at the end of the bed.

“What’s going on, ANBU-san? Is Naruto—?”

“Uzumaki-kun is safe, healthy, and well-cared for,” the ANBU says, cutting him off. “You are a godsend to this village, if only to care for the uncared for.”

Iruka glowers. “Someone had to do it. He’s seven years old and living alone and has lived alone his entire life. I couldn’t—”

“I’m aware,” the ANBU holds up a hand to stop his rant. “Believe me, if I could have done more, I would have. But an ANBU is no role model, especially not me. I’m glad he’s had you. That said.” The ANBU somehow matched Iruka’s glower through the mask; he was suddenly glad for all the time spent in Sandaime’s office around the ANBU that he can pick up on these micro-aggressions for what they are.

Iruka folds his arms and waits for the ANBU to continue.

After a heavy sigh, the ANBU says, “Sleep deprivation.”

“I—what?”

“What you’re here for. You’ve been running yourself into the ground, sensei. You slept for twenty-two hours, and you’re still not fully recovered. The medics say it could take up to a week of proper sleep for you to feel normal again.”

Iruka flushes and ducks his head. “I… But, that doesn’t…”

“How much sleep have you been getting? Three, Four hours a night? And then you’re exhausting yourself all day looking after pre-genin and then Naruto.” The ANBU folds his arms. “This isn’t sustainable.”

“I know that. I just.” Iruka groans. “I don’t have time for—” He scrubs both hands across his eyes. Now that he’s actually gotten some sleep he’s really tired. “No one else takes care of him, not the way he needs it; he’s just a kid! It bothers me enough that he lives by himself—”

“Your immune system was compromised when you arrived, sensei.” The ANBU snapped, quieting Iruka’s tirade. “Who’s going to take care of Naruto the way he deserves if you’re stuck on your back with a perfectly, normally treatable form of the flu? What will happen to him if you critically injure yourself due to a micro-sleep at an inopportune time and find yourself off-roster for weeks? What then, sensei?”

The silence is heavy. Iruka picks at a stray thread in the blanket on his lap.

“I don’t know,” he answers, his voice small. “I didn’t… I wasn’t thinking that far ahead, I guess.”

The ANBU nods. “At least you’re aware now.”

There’s a long, awkward pause as Iruka wonders what else there is to say.

“You have a spare room in your apartment, yes?” the ANBU breaks the silence.

Iruka nods, slowly, not sure where this is going.

“Maybe…” the ANBU continues slowly, “maybe changes in Naruto’s living arrangements can be made. If Naruto were living with you, could you agree to a better sleep schedule—one with which you can better take care of yourself and Naruto?”

Iruka could kiss this man.

“Yes! Yes, please, I’ll—yes! I’ll take him, even if it means I have to lose him as a student, I’d take him as a foster.”

The ANBU chuckles. “I’ll speak with the Hokage. If he says no, well… There’s nothing saying that Naruto himself can’t choose where he lives, is there?” Then his micro-aggression is back, leaning over the foot of the bed with his arms wide. “My only stipulation is that you take better care of yourself. A sick guardian can’t very well keep up with any child, let alone a jinchūriki.”

Iruka nods. “Deal.” He covers a yawn with his palm and asks, “Can this taking care of myself clause start now, with me asking you to leave so I can go back to sleep?”

“I’m not leaving,” the ANBU says, standing back up straight. “If you’re to be the guardian of our jinchūriki, you’ll need to get used to the ANBU guard, sensei. But please, get some sleep.” He chuckles lightly, “I think I’ve caught you enough in the last thirty-six hours, don’t you?”

[boop-le-snoot]

PARTY FAVOURS I CHAPTER 18

First time reader click here

TWs/Summary: We stan ✨women in science✨. Bruce uwu. Twitter social media AU nobody asked for. Stephen and Tony are dicks and I'm not talking about their anatomy. Setting up mood for Bruce smut, ngl. PTSD makes things spicy. I'm depressed so please be kind ✌🏻💀🙃

"I really do wonder how can you two fit those egos of yours in your pants," I kept my tone forcefully casual, cheerful even. "Why don't you just fuck already?"

I was met with stunned silence. Suddenly, the room seemed far too large and the people in much too quiet, staring at me with various expressions of horror obvious in their faces. As the strange friendship began developing between me and the team, my "outbursts" - how Steve liked to call them - lessened considerably. I had no need to provoke them into giving me attention, just striking up a casual chat was enough. The Avengers were great conversationalists, to my surprise.

Tony and Stephen, when paired, were the exception. I could count on one hand the amount of times they successfully came to a conclusion without fighting like cats and dogs. It was like each man had made it a personal mission to verbally top the other, more often than not resulting in a thirty-minute shitshow ending with one storming off in a dramatic flourish. It was mind-boggling how two supremely intelligent men could not find a way to communicate efficiently without infuriating the rest of the team.

Plus me. One way or another, I was almost always around. In the beginning, it was hilarious to see the free circus but it got old really quickly when they couldn't decide on dinner or a movie, leaving the rest of us starving and bored. Or the great Cloak debate - that one lasted days and the fussy thing was so upset, it point blank refused to part from Peter for a substantial amount of time. It's pretty fucking creepy that a semi-sentient, ancient piece of outerwear watches you when you sleep - just sayin'. I personally interjected with my own snark and sass whenever Tony and Stephen got too heated, successfully drawing the attention to myself. The fight broke up and I had amazing sex with Tony later, it was a win-win scenario.

Yet, Tony and Stephen didn't stop. To me, their way of "talking" (and I use that term loosely) looked a lot like unresolved sexual tension. Stephen frequently used his greater height to tower over Tony in a childish attempt to establish dominance; the engineer was no rookie and responded with extravagant peacocking such as "subtly" tapping the bracelet that hosted his nanotech suit or parading at dinner in a $30,000 custom made designer outfit. Because Tony could.

I was pleasantly surprised when Natasha started laughing at my remark. Full-blown, belly laugh. Those were rare, coming from the Widow, her usual mirth was quiet, sophisticated, just like her. Deadly (adorable). Bucky followed suit, snorting together with Clint and Loki.

Steve looked none too pleased with me. But then again, was he ever? "Doll, don't be rude."

"Brat," Bruce said at the same time, palming his face.

"People always call me a brat. And guess what, Steve?" I popped my hip, twirling a cotton candy pink coloured Dum-Dum between my fingers. "What can you do about it? Nothing," I shrugged, leaning my head against Bruce's shoulder affectionately.

Steve just shook his head in disappointment. "Can we get back on topic? Please?"

"Captain, I think that Stark..." Strange began talking with Tony dramatically groaning in the background and I instantly tuned out the useless babble. Steve should've been smarter and revoked speaking rights from Tony and Stephen. Or asked Loki to magically render them both mute for ten minutes.

"You're not wrong," Bruce quietly whispered next to my ear. "Ten bucks says Wanda meddles and those two finally work out their frustrations," The scientist hid a grin against my head. I felt the amused, giddy energy radiating off him like a plasma beam.

"I don't even have to bet," I rolled my eyes. "If she doesn't do it, I will."

Both Tony and Stephen were throwing me equally infuriated glances. One promised me a good, hard fucking and the other saw me a short, poisonous lecture on appropriate behaviour in the nearest future - you can guess which is which. If I had it my way, I'd skip the lecture and go straight to a hot, filthy threesome with two men twice my age. I wasn't blind, Strange was hot as hell and could be decent and even nice once in a blue moon.

He could, but he wouldn't be. I wanted that raw, unadulterated lust, tension so concentrated it walked the razor's edge between violent craving and repulsion. Ever since the incident with Clint, I had this ugly mess inside of me, like a live wire about to snap. My brain was constantly racing, darting between how utterly useless I am in a group of supers and embracing my normal-ness, amplifying it by hosting game nights and spending time trying to convince people to start a dungeons and dragons campaign. Or something.

My sleep was like Swiss cheese, riddled with holes where I stayed awake for one or two hours at a time in the middle of the night after waking up sweaty, with my heart hammering out of my chest. Sometimes I dreamt of Clint's lifeless, sickly white body, sometimes the whole room flooded with blood and I couldn't stop it no matter what, there was so much of it, I drowned in it, I startled up with the taste of it in my mouth. Rarely, the worst of it came - the one where Clint was alive as millions of millions of little fluorescent, poisonous jellyfish burst out of him and he screamed and screamed and screamed...

I had PTSD. Yay, me. As if my uselessness wasn't enough of a burden, my brain decided for me that it wasn't good enough that I saved Clint and now it was punishing me for being close to a group of people who routinely saved the WORLD.

I contemplated my usual habits - going to a party, getting trashed and dancing until my legs were numb. I just wanted to shut my brain off for a moment, give it a hard reset so-to-say, but with Tony on my back like a jet-pack, I didn't doubt he'd show up to the place and drag me out of there even if I was kicking and screaming. And he was a Stark, a billionaire, so visiting my dad in Cali wouldn't be possible on my own. Tony would gas up the jet and the rest of the team would find and excuse to tag along, too. As much as I loved being the baby menace who could get away with anything, I hated the way they all herded me, like I was an actual child. I couldn't get away from myself, not even for a moment.

I had the backup-backup plan and I was going to have to execute it. Desperate times, desperate measures. "I don't doubt y'all enjoy listening to Tony and Steph flirt," The nickname escaped unmoderated from my lips before I could catch myself. "But what are we doing for Halloween? I need to know if I gotta get a costume," Bruce chuckled next to me and wrapped an arm around me, happy for the distraction. Unlike me, the scientist was obligated to listen and participate in the avengers-themed discussion. Which was difficult because the engineer and the sorcerer constantly bickered, inadvertently taking over the talk.

"Halloween?" Steve groaned.

"We should do something," Bucky side-eyed his boyfriend. "For the children." Something told me he wasn't thinking of the children, at all. The man was positively leering, probably thinking about what kind of a tight suit he could convince Steve to squeeze into.

"A party!" Tony immediately exclaimed, interrupting Stephen mid-setence.

"Tony, no," Steve stated firmly.

"Tony, YES!" Clint perked up. "A snack bar. A bar-bar."

"I will not be helping you all if you get alcohol poisoning," Stephen crossed his arms.

"So it's a party," I stated firmly, throwing a contemplating look at Wanda and Pietro. The twins looked unsure but excited. I knew I could count on fellow young people to support my decision to have fun, dance a little, drink a little. Let loose. To nail my point, I turned to Bruce with a mischievous smirk. "Fifty bucks says Stephen is too stuck up to show up in costume."

"Beg pardon?!" The sorcerer exclaimed. His eyebrows threatened to meet his hairline.

"I think you give him too little credit, Princess," Bruce winked at me and we solemnly shook hands. It was great having a fellow partner in mischief. Loki's approving smirk just sealed the deal for me.

"It's not my fault you sometimes act like you have a stick up your butt," I gave in the way of explanation, shrugging my shoulders innocently in Stephen's direction. "I'm just pointing out the obvious."

"I don't dare to imagine what's been up yours," The sorcerer retorted dryly, in an uncharacteristically childish fashion, arms still crossed. It almost looked like he was pouting.

"Tony," I simply said, leering salaciously at the man.

"Ooh, kinky," Clint reached over and we promptly high-fived each other in the wake of multiple embarrassed groans emanating around the room. "Strange, you're a boring old man, get over it."

"And you regularly end up in dumpsters, Barton," Strange retorted quickly. "Not my idea of fun."

"You wouldn't know fun if it hit you in the face!" Tony grinned triumphantly, confident in his superiority over Strange. Look at that, the team was doing the work for me and I didn't even have to try.

"I'll show you fun," Stephen retorted darkly. It was obvious the man was planning something.

"Ok, boomer," I raised my eyebrows in muted satisfaction before turning around and grabbing Bruce to drag along with me. "I'm confiscating your best scientist to amuse myself. I am bored. We will go and do actual science whilst y'all argue. Bye."

My patience had run out. We were examining the parasites we found in the murder-anthropods-from-space, codename MAFS, courtesy of yours truly, and their amazing properties to penetrate cell membranes and feed on metals in organic life forms. Without Bruce's help I understood maybe half of it but he had the patience of a saint and dutifully and understandably explained to me the finer points of studying aliens. Signing half a dozen NDAs was never more worth it.

Steve's sigh consisted of 99% suffering and 2% disappointment. Natasha face-palmed silently in the corner, clutching a mug of coffee, a poster child for existential dread.

"Wait for me," Tony whined, going for the door and promptly being stopped by Steve pointing out the team needing his input on one mission or another. The engineer sighed. "Baby girl, don't let the green mean to start any experiments without me." Tony instructed, pointing an accusatory finger in our direction.

I clutched at Bruce dramatically, feigning hurt feelings and was rewarded with a swift motion of his arms. I shrieked delightfully at being thrown over the scientist's shoulder as he hastened his pace towards the elevator, hightailing it out of there. "I'd never snitch on science daddy," I wiggled my eyebrows in Tony's direction, sticking a hand down the back pocket of Bruce's pants, dangling over his shoulder like a happy sack of potatoes.

The lab smelled strongly of alcohol and bitter chemicals, the solution that Bruce developed to ensure the optimal state of the alien pathogens. The man's genius never ceased to amaze me: Bruce came up with the needed formula in the span of a few hours while running low on sleep, post a Hulk-out session.

We put on our protective gear - "science onesies" I called them - along with a respirator and goggles and set to the segregated part of the lab where the specimens were kept under a blue light. The glass wall between Bruce's and Tony's lab was dimmed; I reflected in it, looking positively futuristic in my double-stacked white platformed boots and white hazmat suit.

"Wait," I motioned to Bruce to come over.

"Oh, right, our music," He was already half-way to being in total Science Mode. "Friday, please put on the "Get Schwifty" playlist, 60% volume."

The playlist that me and Bruce came up with for our lab sessions. The man was such an adorable dork. Thirty percent my music, thirty percent of his indie rock shit and forty percent 00's bops. In other words, utter perfection.

I finally managed to fish out my phone from my pants. "No, let's take a selfie," I struck an impressive pose and pointed the camera as Avril Lavigne sung the first verse to Sk8r Boi.

Bruce laughed but abided by the request, giving me bunny ears in the photo, tapping the fingers of his other hand on my waist to the rhythm of the song.

"He was a skater boy, she said see ya later boy!" I sang along, switching my Instagram to stories and posting the short clip of us just vibing with the caption #sciencetime, Bruce laughing openly behind his respirator. I looked cute and silly in my outfit.

"Send the video to me, I'll post it on my Twitter," Bruce requested. I indulged him then put my phone away, ready to conquer the world of microbiology. Or die trying. Science was calling...

THE TAG LIST IS NOW OPEN! @another-stark-sub ​ @mostly-marvel-musings  @vozit ​ @littlegasps ​ @pilloclock ​ @shereadsinquiet @downeyreads ​ @hermione-grangers-wife ​ @individualistfem ​ @sleep-i-ness @capbrie @lillsxd @agustdowney @dee-vn @justanotherblonde23 @fanngirl19 @persephonehemingway @softie-socks @schemefrenzy @letsby @cutenessloading @romeo-the-cactus @jelly-fishy-babie

[fluffykittyscientist]

So, the thing with my AU Astor...

Codename is “Astor of Nitra”, because he lives, you guessed it, in Nitra, Slovakia. Why there? Obviously enough, I am from Slovakia [insert random laugh here]. 

It all began as a normal talk with my friends that I would like to include Astor as an another character in our RP real AU. The other character was, and still is, Vaati.

So we did a random RP where some real characters (I won’t tell who, cuz reasons) noticed a stand or whatever it was. They entered and there was this really weird prophet who called himself Astor.

We didn’t know how much fun it would be to talk about him back then.

I think the first “headcanon” we’ve made is that he absolutely loves plastic chairs. Why? No one knows. He just keeps them and gives them names.

I don’t know what Astor facts came next, but let’s say I knew his real name wasn’t Astor. That it was just a nickname. After months of thinking, we had decided his name was Mojmír. Suits him so well. We love calling him Mojmír. He, however, does not.

His first personality was probably the insane, creepy one, but after many, many talks we got to a point where his personality is “I don’t care, death is inevitable and that’s how all things should be”. I still think his creepy, insane one shows up while doing prophecies and stuff, though.

He’s somewhere between 35 and 40 years old. Still haven’t decided on his date of birth. Needs to be astrologically correct, and that takes time. Any help is welcomed.

I don’t know what happened, but we began associating him with drugs. He just looks like the type who does drugs. So he does drugs. Any drugs, really.

I’ll just end this here, because it’s already a long post and no idea where to put the “keep reading” thingy...

[nicknellie]

Context so people who haven’t seen Ghosts can still read and enjoy this: Alex is the ghost of a WWII Commanding Officer. In this fic he relives his army days before he died, telling Julie all about it, focusing on another soldier in particular - Lieutenant William Havers.

Sidenote for people who have seen Ghosts: Alex is the Captain, Julie is Alison (because I would pay real money for them to have a conversation like this in the show), and Willie is Havers.

This is the saddest thing I’ve ever written. I wanted to include Willex in the longer Ghosts AU I’m writing but I couldn’t find a natural way to fit it in so I wrote this as something completely separate. Every interaction between Alex and Willie is taken from BBC Ghosts and is very gay.

Here’s to Buried Secrets

Alex could remember it like it was yesterday. Late June in 1940 – hazy spring had bled into a dazed summer, his troops were getting restless after going on a year of work, and he was just about ready to lose his mind. That day had been one of startling revelations and hard-hitting truths, painful decisions that felt like betrayals, stagnant silences and hurt.

With the war dragging on endlessly, his troops had been getting complacent. They did critical work at their base, top secret and crucial to the war effort, but there were times where nothing would happen for days at a time and the troops would get bored. Their behaviour was beginning to waver, and though he wasn’t too against it overall (he understood why they were acting up, he was bored to death too) Alex had to do the right thing and set them straight.

“Now,” he said, “that brings me neatly to point sixteen. There is still a great deal of noise going on at night – laughing, giggling, horseplay. Now, we all get bored – that’s inevitable in our circumstances – but may I remind you, we are at war. I wo…”

He had let his sentence trail off. At that moment, the doors at the back of the room had swung open and in walked Willie. Lieutenant William Havers was Alex’s right-hand man and close friend. There couldn’t always be much room for friendships when at war, and living in such close quarters with everyone in the house could make bonding difficult, but there was something about Willie and Alex that had allowed them simply to click. They understood each other – they cared for each other. Perhaps a little too much.

“Ah, Lieutenant,” Alex greeted, interrupting his own speech.

Willie walked towards him, hand outstretched, holding a small, folded piece of paper. “Communique for you, sir, from HQ, marked urgent.”

“Ah,” Alex returned, taking the note. “Finally! This’ll be my requisition for a service revolver.”

Willie smiled gently as Alex unfolded the note, and Alex suppressed his own. But as soon as he read the note, there was no smile left to hide. This was that first striking blow, that devastating loss; the note brought with it the news of a surrender.

“Good God,” Alex exclaimed, skimming the note over again, making sure he’d read it correctly.

“Sir?” Willie prompted, sounding concerned.

“France has surrendered,” Alex explained.

“My God,” muttered Willie. The troops, still assembled to the side of the two men, began murmuring amongst themselves, the tension in the room much higher now than when Alex had been telling them they needed to go to bed on time.

Alex looked out the window, scanning the sky for any sign of attack. It was silly, he knew – nothing could have happened so quickly – but as it was wont to do, his anxiety began to overwhelm him.

“The Germans are coming,” he said, breath hitching in his throat.

“I don’t think they’ll be here just yet, sir,” Willie told him.

Alex shook his head, regained control. Willie was always good at doing that; he could sense when Alex needed help to calm down, and he could do so with an easy joke, a clever quip. Coming from anyone else, talking to a commanding officer that way might have been a sign of disrespect, but from Willie it was just what Alex needed.

“What? Right,” Alex agreed.

Willie could see he was still distressed. “May I suggest we initiate the emergency lockdown protocol, sir?” he said easily.

“Yes!” Alex exclaimed. He was eternally thankful for Willie – God only knew where he would be without that man by his side. “Yes, jolly good.” He turned to address his troops. “Now, it’s vital that nothing fall into enemy hands.”

“You heard the CO,” Willie said to the troops as Alex turned to watch out the window again. “Get to your duties.”

The troops dispersed in a cloud of excited but nervous chatter, getting to their stations, hiding their work. Alex was left alone with Willie, his only comfort. As Willie came to stand by the window with him, that easy, dashing smile on his lips, Alex felt himself both tense and relax. His worry ebbed away, but it was replaced with the hammering of his heart and a shortness of breath.

“Er… exciting times, Willie,” he ventured. He knew he should have called Willie by his proper title, or at least his surname, but when in private the two were much more open and colloquial with each other. Besides, in the wake of such a bombshell using his first name didn’t seem so scandalous. “If they do invade, we might get a proper pop at Jerry.”

“Yes,” Willie said through a chuckle. But the smile on his face dropped after a moment. Alex felt his heart plummet – Willie was usually all smiles and it was never good when they fell away. “About that, sir… I know we do vital work here, sir… but I want to get involved in the fighting. I’ve put in for a transfer.”

Alex felt like his breath had been stolen from him. Here again, that blow to the gut, that crushing feeling of betrayal. He knew distantly that Willie wasn’t betraying him and he could understand why he wanted to go. What stung was that he was only finding out after the fact. Though he knew also why Willie hadn’t told him: because they both knew that Alex would have done everything in his power to stop him, and it would have been too painful for either of them to bear.

Neither of them had ever mentioned it, but there was something magical about the bond they had. It was like they shared a soul, improved each other, completed one another. Alex didn’t want to think too hard about it. The thought of what he and Willie could have been was painful in innumerable ways.

He still didn’t voice those thoughts now, even though he knew it may be one of the only chances he had left. Instead, through a hitch in his voice, he said, “You’re leaving?”

Willie didn’t reply for a moment, a pregnant pause growing between them, pushing them apart. It stung, and Alex couldn’t feel anything.

But then Willie gathered himself and said, “There’s talk of a North Africa front.”

“Yes,” Alex replied, nodding like it all made perfect sense, like he didn’t feel as if he were going to die. “Yes, well, I totally understand, of course. Carry on.”

He ended it like a command, an order. It wasn’t because he wanted to be apart from Willie - no, he wanted to keep him close by forever - but he needed to grasp some semblance of control and giving orders, doing his job as CO let him do just that - be in control, understand what was happening.

“Thank you,” Willie replied, excruciatingly quiet, ducking his head.

He left the room and Alex in musty silence, the air heavy with revealed secrets and suffocating like gas. Alex’s mind was swimming, fogged with hopeless fantasies, weighed down by the knowledge that the one person who kept him going would soon be leaving him.

*

Alex had almost forgotten that Julie was there until he looked around and saw her watching him. He was dragged back down from his own mind, his own dredged up memories, and instead reminded himself that he had been telling her all that, not reliving it for no good reason. Perhaps he’d got a bit too caught up in it all, lost in his own head.

He cleared his throat. “Yes. Willie was wonderful. A very fine soldier. I never found what became of him, though, after he left for North Africa. We exchanged letters for a while, but it was difficult – what with the top-secret work I was doing, we couldn’t have addresses being traced and whatnot. We soon fell out of touch, and then… well, I died.”

Julie reached out as if to take his hand, but then seemed to remember they couldn’t touch, so rested it in the space between them on the sofa. Alex smiled weakly, laid his own hand beside hers. He tried to avoid looking her in the eye – her expression radiated pity and it was the last thing he wanted to see.

“I’m sorry, Alex,” she said gently. “It must have been awful.”

“Luckily, a true soldier like me becomes adept at hiding his feelings,” he said, trying for light and joking but clearly missing his target. “Besides. I couldn’t worry my troops. Had to keep morale up, which was difficult enough in itself. It was… it was rather a lot to come to terms with.”

“What happened when he left?” Julie asked softly.

Alex sighed. “Well…”

*

Alex had been in his office just a few days later. He was staring down at an envelope, carefully sealed. In it was the blueprints for a new limpet mine, a prototype bomb that would perhaps revolutionise the war had it not been so unstable – Alex and Willie had been trying to create a version that was safer, easier to use, but so far had come up empty. They had been instructed to dispose of the bomb and its blueprints; the mission would be dropped.

The envelope was marked simply with the word ‘William’. That was what the operation was called, its codename. Alex had been the one to decide upon it, uncreatively naming it after the first thing he saw, which just so happened to be his lieutenant sat by his side. Willie was the only other one to know about Operation William and when he left it would just be Alex.

Alex had imagined many a time that the contents of the envelope were something entirely different, that the name on the front was to address someone rather than to hide something. In his dreams, there was a letter inside written in his own handwriting and it spilled every deep dark secret he was keeping. It would be addressed to Willie and for his eyes only. In his dreams, Willie would write his own letter in return, addressed to Alex.

He would never write that letter, he knew. It could get him killed.

He was snapped out of his reverie by a knock at his office door.

“Come,” he called, tucking the envelope into the inside pocket of his jacket.

The door opened and Willie let himself in, shutting it behind him, standing to attention.

“Ah, Willie,” Alex greeted, glad to see him as usual. “At ease, at ease. I was just thinking about you, actually. How’s the emergency lockdown coming?”

“Very good, sir,” Willie returned, smiling sweetly. “Most items have been squared away, as per the order.”

“Excellent,” Alex returned, beaming. He moved to stand behind his desk, closer to Willie but with a barrier between them. As he tried to speak, Willie began too. “I see–”

“I’ve come to tell you that–”

Both laughed, nerves buzzing between them. Alex knew what his were about – he could only guess and hope as to why Willie seemed a little on edge. The space between them felt charged with expectation, though what it was for Alex didn’t know.

“Sorry,” he said, returning Willie’s genuine but faltering smile, “you first, Lieutenant.”

There was a pause. Uncomfortable, excruciatingly anticipatory. The last remains of Willie’s smile crumbled and he swallowed before he said those few words that would tear down the last of Alex’s resolve and ruin him forever, haunting every dream and nightmare and waking moment. The words that would echo in his head whenever there was silence. The words he would fall asleep thinking about every night from that day forward.

“I’m afraid I’m leaving you, sir… At eighteen-hundred hours this evening.”

The world stilled. Alex wasn’t sure his heart was beating anymore. The part of their shared soul that was Willie’s was torn away from him. He came up blank.

“So soon?” was what came out of his mouth, weak, desperate, small. He hated himself for it, so tried for light-heartedness and gestured to the shining new gun on Willie’s belt. “That would explain your new service revolver. I don’t suppose they sent one for me, did they?”

“Only for front-line personnel at this stage, sir,” Willie said, a light but forced smile on his face.

“Of course. Yes.”

“It’s North Africa, sir,” Willie said. There was something like hope in his voice – it felt like he was asking Alex not to be too upset. Be proud, he was asking. Be happy. For me. “I’ll be able to have a proper swing at Fritz!”

“You make sure you give them a bloody nose,” Alex joked.

He answered Willie’s silent plea for his blessing, his reassurance, his pride, and he tried hard to be positive. He attempted a half-hearted fake punch, throwing it in Willie’s direction and was delighted when Willie responded (if only subtly) as if he’d been struck. Willie was grinning, looking happy, looking excited. Alex had to try and be excited for him too.

But still he said, “I shall miss you, Willie.”

Willie’s face fell again. Alex half-hoped his meaning hadn’t been easy to decipher. He knew what he meant, he knew why he’d said it, but it was a stupid and dangerous thing to say – a stupid and dangerous thing to hope for. Willie swallowed heavily, his throat bobbing, and Alex couldn’t read his expression. Though he was fairly certain it was something similar to his own.

He had always known that Willie felt it too, this forbidden and electric thing between them, whatever it was. This shared soul that was now breaking in two, never to be repaired, never to be recreated. It was this moment that Alex realised he and Willie could never have what they wanted.

So he backtracked.

“By which I mean, of course, that we shall miss you. And I know the Wilson House XI will certainly miss your cover drive.”

Willie’s smile came back too slowly. Alex knew his lie hadn’t come quick enough. He knew the unspoken words and unwritten messages were still there between them, heavy and quaking and full of fear, sadness, silence, and things neither wanted to put a name too. They danced around it, though they wouldn’t have to for much longer. Just a few more hours and whatever they had would be shredded forever as Willie said goodbye.

“Thank you, sir,” Willie said. “Well… if that’s all?”

Alex collected himself, simply looked at Willie for a moment before making himself reply. “Yes.”

Willie nodded, took it as his cue to leave. He pulled the door open and was on his way out of the room.

There was so much Alex wanted to say, so much he wanted to do. He wanted to spend a hundred more sleepless nights with Willie, working on secret projects and perfecting weapons. He wanted a thousand more late night conversations spoken in metaphors and riddles, deciphering each other, growing closer, learning more about their relationship than was permitted. He wanted a million more moments just to look at Willie’s face, to dream of what he couldn’t have.

All he wanted was to speak this silent truth that hung between them like a noose – damn him if it killed them both.

He called him back. “I say, Willie?”

Willie turned faster than lightning, hand rested on the doorknob but eyes trained on Alex like his face was all he ever wanted to see.

He tried to say all he wanted to, but knew he could never. It appeared he just had time for one last metaphor, a final riddle, one last waltz around their dire and doomed reality.

“It’s a bally shame we won’t get to finish the operation together,” he said.

Judging by the look on Willie’s face, the message was received loud and clear. Willie offered a smile, genuine but bittersweet. And without a word, he left the room.

Alex took the little envelope out of his pocket again, stared down at it. He had wanted to bury Operation William alongside Willie – they had both worked so hard but for nothing and it seemed only right they should rid the world of this failure together. But Alex would have to do it alone.

If only he could write that imaginary letter now, he thought. There was so much he could say, but not enough words in the English language to say it. There weren’t words to describe the abject loss he found himself steeped in, the gaping hole that had opened in his chest, the weeping wound that would never quite heal.

That night, alone, he went into the garden with the blueprints and the prototype bomb and he buried them both. With it, he buried all memory and evidence of himself and Willie, all their hard work, all they had built and experienced together.

He bottled those emotions to never let them out.

*

“He left that night,” Alex said to Julie, “six o’clock on the dot. The rest of our crew saw him off, waving from the doorway, but I stayed in my office. I told them I had paperwork to do.”

“Did you get to say goodbye?” Julie asked.

Alex sighed. “That conversation… well, that was our goodbye. The rest of the house was in chaos so I didn’t have another chance to speak with him alone, everyone needed either my assistance or his.”

Julie’s eyes were brimming with tears; Alex didn’t look at her, or his own eyes would have watered too. “So that was it? That was the last you saw of him?”

“Sort of. I watched him leave from my office window. He… he gave me one last wave from the gate then disappeared, off on his own adventure. Without me.”

“Don’t you wonder what happened to him?” Julie asked, shuffling closer to Alex on the sofa.

“All the time,” Alex breathed. “I looked for his name in every newspaper and every message I received after we lost contact but I never heard of him again.”

“Would you like me to Google him?” Julie suggested. She had explained this whole ‘Googling’ thing to him a while ago and from Alex’s understanding she simply had to type Willie’s name into the little search bar and all his information would come up in an instant. It was quite remarkable, really, and perhaps it would give him that last little bit of closure. And yet…

“No,” he said, “no, thank you, Julie. It’s quite alright. I… I have this version in my head of who he became and I shouldn’t like to spoil it. I shouldn’t like to taint what memory I have left of him, should his life have turned sour.”

Julie smiled softly. “What’s the image in your head like?”

Alex cleared his throat. “Well… I suppose I like to imagine that he was the best soldier out there on the North Africa front. He rose to a position of command – that was where he thrived, really, but good Lord was he good behind a gun. He was well-respected and kind and his men adored him. And I pray that he survived the war, that he made a living for himself, that he got everything he could have ever wanted in life. Really, I suppose… I suppose I just imagine him to be happy. That’s all I could have ever wanted for him. And if I were to find out he were not happy, well… no, I quite like the Willie I remember.”

Julie left a pause before she spoke again. Alex could see the cogs turning in her mind, could see her wondering if she should say whatever was on the tip of her tongue. He knew what was coming the moment she opened her mouth.

“Did you love him, Alex?”

Alex stood, crossed the room and stood by the window. His hands clasped behind his back, swagger stick gripped tightly, he looked outside, eyes trained on the gate. How many times had he stood here during the war and after, waiting for what he had lost to return, hoping in vain that by some miracle he could be granted his happiness? How many times had he wished for what he could not have? How many times had he replayed those final moments in his head, watching Willie wave goodbye?

It happened again as he stood there. It was as if a cloud came over him, throwing him back decades, putting him right back where he started. Willie stood by the gate, thick coat donned, hat atop his head, his bag slung over his shoulder. He waved up at Alex, and Alex smiled back.

“Yes,” he said at last, so quietly that he thought Julie may not have heard him. A great weight was lifted from his shoulders, decades of repression undermined in that one admission of his true feelings. It wasn’t enough – it never would be because he’d never said it to Willie – but acceptance was a start.

Slow as death, Willie – Alex’s version of him – ceased his waving and walked through the gate, disappearing into the darkness to where Alex would never follow. And for the first time after reliving that agonising memory, Alex let himself smile.

[hongism]

not your typical flower shop story - chapter four

Pairing: Taehyung x Reader

Genre: Flower Shop Owner!Taehyung, College!Reader, College!Taehyung, Gang/Mafia!AU Fluff, Angst, Eventual Smut

Word Count: 4.5k

Rating: M

Warnings: language, talk of guns and weaponry

Summary: You always goes to the cute boy next door’s flower shop across the street because hi yes he’s the cutest damn person you’ve ever seen, until one day a guy with tattoos and a severe obsession with the color black shows up in the shop asking for the ‘usual’ and you find out that your cute innocent little flower boy has a dirty little secret.

A/N: okay so i’ve been secretly working on this chapter during my break oOPs but i’m very excited to share this with you guys. you all have given this story so much support and love so far, and it’s exciting and nerve-wracking! i’m so touched but i hope this can live up to your expectations and such!

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“Did you think it was all a coincidence?”

The question is much like a punch in the throat, something that steals all the air out of your lungs and leaves you heaving and trembling in the seat you’re in. The same coy smile remains on the man’s lips. It never wavers even as you push the chair back and stand up, knees buckling as you move. You have to grab the edge of the table to stabilize yourself. He just keeps smiling.

“Miss L/N—”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” You hiss through gritted teeth, glaring at the man with as much vehemence as you can muster. To be honest, you’re more trying to cover the panic that sears through your system, but the man must see right through you anyways. 

“Please take a seat. I don’t want you to feel tense or on edge while we talk. That wouldn’t be the best introduction, would it?” He motions towards the seat again, long fingers flitting through the air as though attempting to slice through the tension. You narrow your eyes at him rather than moving though, and he seems to sense your hesitance. “Miss L/N. I would truly love to explain things to you, but I refuse to do so if you are standing there glaring at me.”

“What’s your name?” You ask, arms coming to rest in a crossed position over your chest. That unwavering smile falls at your question.

“Empe—”

“I don’t want your dumb, codename, kinky bullshit. I want your real name. You know mine already, so isn’t it only fair that I know yours.” He cocks his head to the side, chin lifting as he looks up at you. Slowly he brings his hands to the table, rests his elbows there, and clasps his fingers together. Two moments of dense silence linger. His stare does not waver. You blink. Then—

“Kim Namjoon. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Y/N L/N.”

You exhale a breath of relief, arms falling to your side as the anxiety falls from your shoulders, and you return to the table to sit down once again. 

“Are you content with that, Miss L/N?” The man, Namjoon, asks once you are seated again. You nod a few times, catching your breath before speaking again.

“I’d rather you not call me Miss L/N though. Y/N is fine.”

“Alright, Y/N. May I begin explaining things now?”

“Yes, please,” you mutter in response. His steady and cold exterior sinks through your skin, the small outburst you had moments ago suddenly seems embarrassing and childish, and you want to sink through the floor and disappear forever. Your phone buzzes against the warmth of your hip, tucked between your skin and the waistband of your underwear, and you press it closer to yourself in the hopes that Namjoon doesn’t catch the sound.

“Do you need to answer that?” He asks, breaking your hopes into a million pieces. Heat rise in your cheeks, a red hue no doubt blossoming across your skin. You tug the phone out with shaky fingers and glance down at the screen. Another missed call from Jimin’s ID, alongside 4 new unread messages from the same ID. Namjoon’s eyes linger on your screen, expression unreadable, and he shifts his gaze back up to your face after a moment. You place your phone face down on the table, ignoring the notifications in favor of looking at Namjoon. “Shouldn’t you call back?”

The question hits with too much force, and you’re caught off guard for a moment. 

Shouldn’t I?

Should I?

If it truly is Jimin, then why would I not answer? And if it’s not, then what do I have to lose? And if it is him…

You pick the phone back up, thumb swiping across the screen without a second thought, and press it to your ear while looking Namjoon in the eye. It rings one, twice, three times then— 

“Well, well, well. Look who decided to pick up?”

Blood runs cold, heart stops in your chest, muscles lose all their strength and the phone slips from your hands. It lands in your lap and nearly tumbles to the floor if not for your instinctive decision to press your legs together and catch the device there. It takes a moment for you to recover, the action of picking up the phone taking way too much effort, but you manage to bring it back up to your ear. Namjoon says nothing about your reaction, and he merely looks at you with that same unreadable glint in his eyes. 

“H-Hello?” You stutter into the speaker. You don’t shift your gaze from Namjoon, and you can barely hear the responses from the man on the other side of the phone because of how loud your heartbeat seems to be in your ears. 

“Hello~” It’s Jimin, no doubt, you could never forget that teasing tone coming at you through the speaker.

“Ji-Jimin.” Your voice barely works, the name squeaking out so timidly that it doesn’t seem like it came from your lips. 

“There she is. My little Y/N~” That singsong lilt in his tone hits again. “Where are you? I wanna come see you, princess. Since you couldn’t be bothered to come visit me in the hospital, after all. Guess I have to do all the work, hm?”

“I-I, Jimin, I ca-can’t talk right now.”

“And why’s that, princess?”

Wherever Jimin is, he must be surrounded by lots of people, because you can hear chaos and voices surrounding him mixed with clanking cups and the scrape of chairs against the floor. An image arises in the back of your mind. You’re brought back to the diner, the place you were hours ago, but also the places you were almost two years ago. The image of Jimin’s bright and wide smile flashes through your mind once, then the reflection of fear across his expression which preceded the horrid events that followed.

Could he be back at the diner? No way…surely not, it must be closed by now.

“I asked you a question, princess.” You exhale at his words, blinking to bring yourself out of the memories that bind your thoughts.

“I’m with someone.”

“Oh? Is that so? At this hour?”

“Yes,” you breathe into the phone, watching Namjoon’s eyes shift from your phone to the doorway, and you turn in your seat to look in that direction as well. There is nothing there, however, and both of you are left staring at a closed door without reason. Jimin is the one asking all the questions and yet it should be you. You should be asking how he’s awake, when he got out of the hospital, how he got out, why the nurses didn’t tell you anything, and what the fuck is happening. “Jimin, I—”

“I must say, princess, I am quite disappointed in you. I thought you were better than this, but I suppose you’ve been proving what kind of person you truly are in the time I’ve been gone. What a shame.” Jimin tsks, tongue clicking against the roof of his mouth, and you can envision the way he shakes his head side to side as he used to. The overwhelming barrage of emotions coursing through you doesn’t let up, and a sharp stab of pain hits when his words sink in. “Listen here. Next time I call, I may not be as sweet or loving as I used to be, but you had better pick up on the first ring next time, okay?”

The line goes dead. You don’t have a chance to say anything in your defense or ask for an explanation.

“Odd to have someone calling at this hour, isn’t it?” Namjoon asks, breaking the silence and laughing after he voices the question. You can’t laugh in response or even crack a smile because too much shock lingers in your abdomen for you to say anything. Namjoon waits though, eyes still on yours, lingering and anticipating as though he’s waiting for you to do something specific.

“Sorry,” you mutter as you duck your chin to avoid looking him in the eye.

“I would like to get straight to business, Miss L/N. You see, you have something I want. It just so happens that I have something you want as well.”

“Are you—are you looking to make a bargain with me, Mr. Kim?”

A smile plays at the man’s lips, and his tongue dashes out to moisten them. “I would certainly hope that we could come to an agreement. If not, then… I’m afraid this won’t be pretty.” Your expression drops, color draining from your face as you look forward to Namjoon.

“Y-You would k-kill me?” You ask, unable to keep your tone steady.

“Well I would certainly hope to avoid that circumstance, but I’m afraid I can’t tell you the details of what might happen should we not come to an agreement.” Namjoon stands all the sudden. You jolt a bit, watching his movements closely as he loops around the back of his chair and folds his hands behind his back. The smile on his lips maintains. “Yoongi told you, didn’t he? That we have someone who has a very special set of skills and is rather… talented in certain areas.” You freeze in your seat. Namjoon circles around the table, behind your chair, and bends to speak directly into your ear. “I know you don’t pose a physical threat to anyone. As I said I’ve had my eye on you for a while now. However, as a leader, a commander, a person in charge who seeks the safety of my men, I’m not afraid to erase an innocent from the equation. I know that if I let you go right now and give you complete freedom to talk to people about us, you will go straight to the police, won’t you?”

“I wouldn’t, I wou—”

“We’re bargaining, Miss L/N. And before you lay your cards on the table, I am going to lay mine down first.” Namjoon pulls back and circles the table again. He slowly sinks back into the chair across from you, eyes locked on yours. “I have something you want. Well, to be more accurate, I have someone you want, and if you wish to see him again, then I suggest you comply.” Your blood freezes in your veins. Namjoon keeps smiling. Jimin. Jimin. He has Jimin. How? How did he know? Was he behind the first attack? No, that wouldn’t make sense. “Voice your thoughts, Miss L/N. I can almost hear the gears turning from here.”

“You bastard!” You hiss as you slam your palms against the table. Then, there’s a whiz, a rush of air, and the shattering of glass. The small window on the right wall shatters from an unknown impact. The table quakes and trembles under a sudden force and you pull your body back so quickly that your chair almost tips over. There, two inches away from where your hands just were, sits a black arrow, still shaking from the collision with the metal table. Namjoon remains unwavering.

“A warning, Miss L/N. Tower has a short temper and an even shorter temper for people who… threaten me.”

“You said you wouldn’t kill me,” you whisper, eyes still on the arrow stuck in the table.

“I wouldn’t. I can’t make any promises about Tower not doing so. Thus, if you want to keep all your limbs intact, I suggest maintaining an air of diplomacy between the two of us.” Namjoon leans forward, propping his elbows on the table.

“You’re evil,” you say under your breath.

“Some say that. I, however, prefer to call it being tactical. It's all in the eye of the beholder, Miss L/N. I know what I want, and I know how to get it. How about you? Can you say the same?"

"Ye—"

"No, you can't. Because if you did, then we wouldn't be in this position. I wouldn't be threatening you or have leverage over you, because you would already have exactly what you want. So, why don't you tell me exactly what it is you want?"

"I need money."

"For what?"

"For some bills."

"Miss L/N, I can't help you if you don't elaborate. If you don't know exactly what you want, then you'll get nothing from us."

"My f-friend was shot in an armed robbery. He's been in a coma ever since, and I need money to pay off his medical bills."

"And?" Namjoon prompts, fingers drumming across the table. "Do you want revenge? Justice? Payback? What do you want, Miss L/N?" You blink back at the man with jaw hanging open as you take in his questions.

"I want..."

"Hm?"

"I don't need revenge," you say after shaking your head. Your tongue darts out to moisten your lips before your teeth clamp down on your lower lip.

"I'm not asking about what you need. There's a significant difference between what we need and what we want, and I'm asking about the latter."

"I want revenge," you state as you look Namjoon in the eye. "And I want my friend back."

"Good. I can give you both. Le—"

"For what? What's the bargain?" Namjoon sighs and leans forward, his hand finding the arrow sticking through the table. He wraps his fingers around it, a laugh escapes his lips, then he yanks the arrow out of the table.

"What are you prepared to give?" He examines the sharp head of the arrow, not looking your way as he asks the question.

What would I give to have Jimin back? The Jimin I knew, the one I loved, the one I gave my all to.

"I'd give anything," you answer. Namjoon looks at you now, a smirk coiling on his lips.

"That's exactly what I thought."

"You said I had something you wanted. What did you mean?"

"That will not be included in our bargain, Miss L/N. What is included… that is our business right now. You want revenge? Is that your only bargaining chip at the moment?"

"My friend. I said I want my friend back."

"Right, of course. The issue with that..." Namjoon trails off, fingers dancing around the shaft of the arrow as he looks to the ceiling. A tense moment of silence passes between the two of you. Then, his gaze snaps back down to you. "I can't return the Jimin you once knew." You blanch again, although you aren't sure what is more shocking to you — the fact that Namjoon knows exactly who you meant when you were talking about your friend or the underlying meaning behind "the Jimin you once knew". Namjoon reads your shock. "As I said, Miss L/N, I've been watching you for quite some time. Of course, I'm going to know what happened at the diner that one night, what happened to Jimin, and his current state right now. After all, he called you minutes ago, didn't he?"

"Shut up," you hiss out. Namjoon merely continues.

"And he wasn't the Jimin you used to know? Not so sweet and loving?"

"What did you do? What did you do to him?"

"Me?" Namjoon gawks back at you, his face almost comical, but you can't bring yourself to find humor in it at all thanks to the shock coursing through your veins. "Why think that I'm the reason for any of this?"

"How else would you know so damn much?"

Namjoon clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, a small tsk resounding through the quiet room. "Your tone is a bit aggressive, Miss L/N. I can't understand why though."

"And you constantly calling me 'Miss L/N' is driving me up a fucking wall."

"Alright then, Y/N—" Namjoon spits your name out as though it's poison on his tongue "—if you want to see Jimin again, then I'd suggest being a bit more respectful because you're about to fall under my leadership."

You bite down hard on your lower lip, avoiding Namjoon's gaze in favor of staring at the table before you. "What do you want from me?" You inquire. Namjoon releases a small chuckle.

"Loyalty, for starters, and obedience, seeing as you seem to have issues holding your tongue. You drive a steep bargain though, Y/N. Revenge and Jimin? Two weighty pieces, so I will need a lot in return." Namjoon places the arrow down on the table, and you watch his movements warily, unsure of his next movements as he leans forward. "Loyalty, obedience, and what else? Oh yes, you need to quit your day job."

"W-What? I can't! I can't do that! I need the money to—"

"I assure you that this job will more than cover for whatever expenses you need. I hope you know that you will not be leaving this room tonight without this deal being made. Agree to my terms, or you may not be around to get what you want. You want revenge. How do you plan to get it?”

“I-I…” You stammer and trail off, unsure how to properly answer Namjoon’s question without further making a fool of yourself.

“Do you even have a plan?”

“Of course, of course, I do, yes. I do have a plan.”

“And what would that be?” Namjoon tilts his head to the side, a small smile still playing at his lips, but it feels more like he’s looking down on you. There’s an arrogant air about him, as though he knows what you’re going to say before you even say it, and you detest this man more and more with each passing second.

“I… I need t-to talk to the robber who came into the diner tonight. If he’s still alive that is. He could—he could be linked to the first one, the one who attacked Ji—my friend.”

“Hm, color me surprised, Miss L/N. You’re more put together than I imagined you would be. As is your plan. There are, however, multiple holes in your plan. How would you find the robber? You never saw him. As I recall, I was told that you hid under a table during the whole encounter.”

“I-I did. Yes. I did, but only because Taehyung told me to. I woul—if I had the chance, I would’ve done something.”

“What?”

“I wou—”

“Fought him? With what training? Shot him? With what gun? Called the cops? How long would that have taken? You didn’t do anything because you couldn’t do anything. Did that ever occur to you? Or are you too hard-headed to realize that there is nothing you could do to get revenge on your own?”

“That’s not—no, that isn’t—”

“True? Is that what you were going to say? Was this not an exact repeat of the first time?” You freeze, glaring up at Namjoon as he speaks the words.

“Wh-Why are you doing this? How do you — how do you even know what happened the first time? Why am I here and what the fuck do you want from me?” You want to slam your fist against the table, lean forward and get in Namjoon’s face, just do anything to give you back some of the power. But the threat of the unknown man outside the window and the hole where an arrow pierced metal still looming in front of you keep you from doing any of those things.

“We’ve been through this already, Y/N. That is not a part of the bargain. As for how I know what happened: it’s quite simple actually. I was avoiding sharing this bit of information with you, but since you already are aware that I know Jimin personally, you can know this as well. Jimin told me what happened the night you two were at the diner. That’s how I know things lined up.” Namjoon’s explanation is sound. Too sound. It still doesn’t explain how things were so similar.

“So… so you know where Jimin is now?”

“I know exactly where he is. I know what he’s wearing, where he’s sitting, what he’s drinking, and who he’s talking to.”

“That’s a bit much, don’t you think?”

“No. It’s my job to know these things, Y/N.”

“Y-Your job is to know where Jimin is?” Namjoon smirks back at you. The gears are slowly starting to turn in your head, and Namjoon seems to be able to see that.

“Come now, surely you’ve figured it out. Spit it out, Y/N.” Namjoon lets a hand fall to the table. He drums his fingers against the cool metal.

"Jimin is one of your men," you utter, tone flat and monotonous even though your heart is racing miles per minute. "He works for you. I can't fucking believe this."

"How can it be so hard to believe? Think your little angel of an ex isn't possible of working for a man like me? Would you say the same about Taehyung?"

"Taehyung explained his situation to me. He told me why he does it, and why he feels like he has to. You are trapping him in this line of work, making him stay with you. Telling him you need him to work, you need him to do things. Don't you know that he feels like a horrible person because of you?" You bite back, and your tone rises with each word spoken.

"Did he tell you that? Or are you making simple assumptions merely because you don't like the idea of Taehyung or Jimin working for a person like me?" Namjoon's laugh is dry, almost abrasive in the way it hits you, and you lean back from the table. "Did he tell you that or not, Y/N?"

"More or less..." You admit, looking away from the man as embarrassment hits your cheeks. "He said he feels like he's hurting people. If you are his leader, then why don't you do something to stop that?"

"Do you think I'm heartless? That I don't care about my men?" Namjoon clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. "What else did Taehyung tell you? That I torture my people? If they don't obey, then they're thrown on the streets for dogs to feed on?"

"No, what? Of course not. He just... he seems to be in such a moral dilemma."

"And I give him time to deal with that. I give him time to think about whether this is really what he wants, or if he thinks he's in the right place, whether he wants to be here anymore. I don't force him into anything. Before every job I ask Taehyung -- do you want to take this job? I have other hackers, people come and people go, there is nothing that is forcing Taehyung to stay under my lead. He chooses to stay. He wants to be one of my men. And as long as he wants to be with me, then I will let him stay. The minute he says that he is uncomfortable, then I will let him walk out the door."

You let your mouth fall into a small 'o' at Namjoon's explanation. The venom drops from his tone, voice becoming much calmer and more caring than before, and for once, you actually see that Namjoon cares about the people who work for him.

"Funny how I am extending that exact same offer to you now, Miss L/N. Yet you seem hellbent on depicting me as a villain and criminal who despises the people he works with. Why not give me the benefit of the doubt?"

"Because I'm bad at trusting people who don't seem to have good intentions. And considering you threatening to put an arrow through my skull minutes ago, I see that as bad intentions. Prove me wrong."

"I want you to work for me. I thought that much was clear. In return, you will be paid for your compliance and services. You need money to get through school, pay bills, buy flowers from Taehyung every week--"

"Excuse me, how do you know about that? I--"

"I was speaking, Y/N. Please let me finish. Anyways, you need the money for life, and I need you for the betterment of my team and my business. It's not mindless gang wars and shit shows out here. We're better than that. Higher class, I'd like to think. I cannot explain many of the details since we have not come to an agreement, but I'm quite confident we will based on my biggest bargaining chip."

"Jimin," you state, already knowing where Namjoon is headed with his statement.

"Indeed, that is what I mean. Jimin is the thing you want most, is he not? If I can provide a means to see him and be with him again, then why on earth would you ever say no to me?" Namjoon hooks one of his legs over the other and lets his clasped hands come to rest atop his knee. You don't offer a response; instead, you bring your gaze back to the man and let it pause there. The man wears a cocky smirk again, one awfully similar to the one you saw earlier. He knows he's going to get what he wants. At the end of the day, the prospect of seeing Jimin is too enticing.

"I can walk away whenever I want? You won't stop me?"

"I will let you walk out without stopping you. Free to go whenever you want or need to. Say the word and you're out."

"What happens if I leave? Am I... will I have a target on my back?" You ask tentatively, eyes flitting up to meet Namjoon's. 

"You might. You might not. But Taehyung has been your next-door neighbor for how long? Do you think that was a mere accident? I'll tell you straight up: no. I placed him there because someone wanted to keep an eye on you." Your gaze narrows at the insinuation behind his words. You know he must be talking about Jimin but based on your earlier conversation with him, you can't imagine him wanting to see your safe and sound. "Everything has been completely intentional, Y/N. You were exactly where we needed you to be in order to execute this plan. And now, you sit across from me thanks to that plan. So, all that to say: should you leave, you will have a target on your back but you will remain under my protection. Taehyung will stay put and continue to keep an eye on you. I give you my word that we will not allow any harm to come to you. I can not give you the exact same promise should you stay though. The nature of our work is dangerous, and there is always a potential for harm. Even Taehyung is at risk of getting hurt despite only working from our base…"

"I'm sensing a 'but'?" You tilt your chin up a bit as Namjoon glances away from you. 

“No one knows where we work from. It is a well-kept secret. We have never had any issues with people finding us in the past, and I assure you that it would remain that way from now on. But given the nature of work I have in mind for you… safety is not always guaranteed.”

“I’ll take my chances,” you utter with little emotion to your tone. It’s all a front though, because, on the inside, panic is coursing through you. 

Exactly what does he have in mind for me? How dangerous is it going to be? 

You inhale sharply at the thought of a gun pointed at your head. The two instances in the diner were enough for you; you never want to see a gun again, to be honest. 

“Will I – do I need to learn how to… fire a gun?”

“For safety, yes. I can assure you that you won’t be needing it all the time, but it is a precaution. We want you to keep a handgun on your person in case, but I’m thinking that you won’t work alone. Anyways, I don’t want to give you too many details without hearing the confirmation from you first. So, Miss L/N, let’s not waste any more time. Will you take me up on my offer? We can review the terms again if you wish to make sure you’re getting a fair deal.”

“No, no. I-I know the terms.” You hesitate, eyes falling to the bend of metal where the earlier arrow had pierced. “I would like to take you up on the offer.”

“Wonderful. I assumed as much, but hearing the verbal confirmation always helps.” Namjoon uncurls his legs, shoe hitting the ground with a loud thud, and you nearly jump in your seat. He leans forward without another word. Hand extended, the man smiles at you. Your tongue darts out to moisten your lips. Slowly, you reach across the empty space, hand passing directly over the hole in the table, and take Namjoon’s hand in your own. It’s a gentle shake at first, slow and methodical. You can almost see the gears turning in Namjoon’s head as you shake his hand. “It’s been a pleasure doing business with you, Miss L/N. I hope you don’t mind beginning right away. We have a lot to do in a short amount of time, including getting you settled and meeting some others. Yoongi should be outside still with another member that I’d like you to see. Of course, there’s the one on the rooftop across from us but he won’t be joining us tonight. I realize it’s quite late, but I’ll be sure to get you home as quickly as I can.”

“A-And… Taehyung?”

“He’ll be taking you home once we’re done.”

Namjoon retracts his hand, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Then, he pushes his seat back. The chair scrapes against the floor with a loud and abrasive noise that hurts your eardrums. You follow his lead and stand as well, waiting for him to step around the table before walking behind the tall man’s back. He pushes the door open, signaling for you to step through first, but you shake your head at him instead.

“Fair enough.” Namjoon chuckles under his breath. He doesn’t push for you to step through first though, so you follow behind him while chewing at your bottom lip like it’s a piece of gum. “Ah, Yoongi. Wait outside the door the whole time?”

He’s standing directly next to the door, arms crossed over his chest and chin faced forward. For a moment, you think that he’s not going to acknowledge Namjoon at all. Then, he snorts and glares at the tall man in front of you.

“Only when there was yelling.”

“Come now, Yoongi, we were civil. Now, where is Moon?” Namjoon turns away from‌ Yoongi. You try to follow his line of sight but it’s too hard to keep track of with his broad shoulders blocking your view. So instead, you look to Yoongi.

“How did it go?” He asks under his breath.

“Fine,” you answer. You’re opening your mouth to say more when Namjoon intervenes, spinning on his heel to face Yoongi again.

“I asked you a question, Yoongi. Didn't tell you to ask her questions.”

“He’s at the counter. Where else would he be?” Yoongi pushes himself off the wall. Arms falling limply by his side, he motions towards the bar counter. All you can see is a black leather jacket and a head of silver hair; nothing beyond that is visible, and Namjoon’s shoulder is still very much in your way.

“Well, Miss L/N. I’ll let you go talk to him yourself.” Namjoon steps out of your way at that. He extends a hand in the direction of the man at the bar as though presenting him to you. The gesture sends your heart plummeting. Something about that silver hair and black jacket…

You force yourself to step forward. Heavy feet drag you to the edge of the bar. He turns to face you when you’re still three feet from his stool. Your heart nearly stops beating in your chest, blood runs cold, eyes surely bulge out of your skull. A smile is the first thing you see, dark brown eyes hidden behind the soft crescents of his eyelids. Plump lips. White teeth. Crescent eye smile. And –

“There you are, princess.”

...

a/n: yeehaw i am so sorry this took forever to get out. i honestly lost my passion and inspiration for a period of time for it, and left it to collect dust for a bit too long. but here she is!! i hope you enjoy, and let me know what you think below!

tag list: @minyoonkeeks​ @succulentjinkook​ @xanny91​ @knjkitten​ @shadowsremedy​ @purpleheartsfortae​ @etaerealboy​ @hotnoodle​ @xcastielbabyangelface​ @nmjcn​

unable to tag: @nosnakeuthankyou @aegijunhongie

y’all are probably like wait what who is tagging me and why since it’s been sO LONG JEOIJSFIO

consider sending me a ko-fi!!

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

[yunatheintrovert]

take me out to the ball game | Belikov & Fem!Bell Platonic Soulmate AU

You weren’t quite sure what to expect when you saw the tunnel door open with the bright light of the flashlight streaming through. 

You’ve heard about the KGB insider, Dimitri Belikov, from the briefing and files on the evidence board. But you didn’t quite know what to expect.

As you shielded your eyes from the flashlight with your raised hand, you soon lowered it and looked at the man at the entrance of the tunnel. 

And what struck you wasn’t anything unexpected about his appearance. No, you had already seen his picture in the files. 

...It was the sudden nostalgia... familiarity that struck you when you gazed at him. 

He was...familiar, similar to Park but not quite-

“You’re late.” Adler said with an air of impatience.

“Adler, my friend-” Belikov abruptly stopped, instead looking at... you ?

“где вы были? Почему ты не сказал мне, что уже ходил к ним?” you heard rapid-fire Russian from him as he looked straight at you. It made your head spin as it again felt familiar but not at the same time. 

You knew Russian but there was something overlapping with his words.

Like static....

“...Do I know you?” you asked confusedly. You couldn’t quite make out his expression with the light of the flashlight still set on you and the darkness of the tunnel corridor around you. 

All you could hear was an aggravated sigh and a curse before he turned to address Adler, “You brought her here?” 

....Did you do something to piss him off? You had only met him literally five seconds ago. Then again, maybe he wanted a different operative like Mason, Woods, or Park to be on the mission instead of a more junior operative like yourself...

“Bell has a background in cryptography. The job suits her skill set, Belikov.” 

“ Bell ?” Belikov asked. There was something off in his voice. 

“Yes, that’s her codename. Now, are we done with 21 questions? Where the hell are our uniforms?” 

“They’ve just arrived.” Belikov gestured to the hallway down the corridor where you could hear footsteps coming from, “...Wait here. There has been an issue with the bunker key. Give me five minutes and I’ll get it.” 

“Are you fucking serious right now?” Adler cursed before turning to look at you, “Hide. We still need those uniforms.” 

Your thoughts of what the hell happened back there were swept away by the sound of approaching footsteps down the corridor. 

It really had been only five minutes before Belikov returned. Although, you couldn’t help but notice a metallic smell around him that was rather familiar. 

“I’m sorry for the wait, Adler.” the KGB major said in his accented voice as he handed the bunker key to Adler, “I have to leave. But you should have everything you need. If stopped, remember you’re reporting to Commander Sobol.” 

You only had time to nod before Belikov was walking back through the corridor with Adler following.

There was a narrow window of time for the operation especially due to the heightened security reported with the existence of the CIA’s mole in the KGB. 

However, it was only when you approached the entrance to the building that you realized the sheer extent that was the case. 

“What do you think you’re doing? Everyone must go through the checkpoint.” A Soviet guard interjected as he approached.

And it was just as you were about to open the door. 

Damn it . 

“Comrade Belikov already cleared us,” you said, hopefully smoothly in Russian. You were...fuzzy about how exactly you learned the language. Perhaps, it was in training prior to Vietnam. But it seemed to work well enough as the Soviet guard didn’t seem to pick up on any foreign accent in your words. 

“Go through the checkpoint,” was all he said. 

Shit. 

You nodded slightly at Adler as he looked back at you before going forward to the checkpoint. 

This wasn’t...ideal. 

After you walked through the checkpoint, you already knew what the guard to your left was going to say. 

“Comrade, place your bag on the counter for inspection.”

“There’s no need for that. Let us pass.” you heard Adler speak fluently to your right only for the guard at the counter to of course insist on the inspection. 

Trying to hide the fact that you felt like you were walking to your own funeral, you placed the bag on the counter. 

As you watched in mute horror as the Soviet guard unzipped the bag, you heard a familiar voice speak. 

“Comrade, you are needed by Zakhaev. I will handle this.”

Belikov . 

You watched with muted relief as the KGB major walk up to the bag and casually “inspect” it. 

It was only when Belikov handed the bag back to you that you noticed it . 

The brief sepia explosion that hit your vision. Like a sepia filter suddenly being applied to a camera....

You felt your throat tighten. You had to say something but not now. 

You knew the rules regarding “vision meetings” 

Sepia for platonic soulmates.

Black and white for romantic soulmates. 

You had already met your “romantic soulmate”. Although, it was clear that bond was one-sided on your end…

But your thoughts about that were cleared away by the slight nod Belikov gave you.

He would talk about this later with you...if you survived that is. 

________________________________________________________________

There were a lot of expectations and assumptions you had walking into the KGB headquarters. 

Ironically, seeing body bags all around the floor-in the hallways, general area, and more- was unexpected. 

“Who could have done all of this, Sokolov? We’re still finding bodies in the closets and bathrooms.” you heard a Soviet soldier sigh as he kneeled down next to one of the numerous body bags in the halls. 

“It must be the mole. The same one who killed General Charkov.” The other soldier said. 

Belikov... Belikov did all of this?

And he assassinated a Soviet General. 

Holy shit, was your only thought. 

________________________________________________________________

You could feel the rapid thumping of your heart as you rode the high of adrenaline. 

And then as you heard the following words, your heart just stopped . 

“We have your friend. Surrender or he dies.” 

Shit. 

You were already getting out the detonator as Adler ordered Plan B to be put into action. 

Cover. Gas Mask. Belikov. 

It was all you could process in your current state of mind as you fired your XM4 at the soldiers. 

“Умница.” Belikov said after he secured the gask mask to his head. You once again heard static over Belikov’s voice. That word...it sounded so familiar-

But that didn’t matter. After all, you couldn’t help but let out a sigh of relief into your gas mask. 

He was okay. 

You didn’t know why but you just felt like you had to protect him. Not as an order no no-but as something natural.

Maybe, it was a soulmate thing, you thought. After all, you felt the same way with Adler....although he was confusing. It was a mix of a nagging insistent feeling at the back of your skull and something natural at the same time.

Regardless of what it was, you simply resigned yourself to following it. 

And so you charged ahead.

________________________________________________________________

“Elevator conversations are always awkward.”

That line stuck with you as you found yourself in the elevator with only Belikov, going up to the next floor of the safehouse. The team had to lie low for a day in the outskirts of Moscow before getting out of the Soviet Union. 

“I uh heard you took care of the informant,” you said awkwardly, glancing over at the taller man next to you, “Thanks for that. I let him go in Berlin. Stupid mistake. He was there when I got captured-” you rambled a bit nervously. 

“Я должен был убить его медленно.” you heard Belikov say. There was something different about his voice…

And it didn’t sound exactly like anything friendly to say the least...

“Ah, yeah,” you just continued on, “So I heard you like Baseball and the Chicago Cubs from Woods and Mason. I’d like to buy you tickets to the World Series or some other game if we survive this. I-if you want that is-” you rambled before cutting yourself off.

You resisted the urge to kick yourself. Why were you messing up this badly?

You had literally broken out of the KGB headquarters in Moscow and made it out alive. 

And you were freaking out over this?

“Ты помнишь меня?” You winced at what you could describe as static clouding his words. It was almost like an encryption over a frequency, as you knew from your experience with cryptography.

But this was...different.

“I’m...I’m sorry,” you murmured, shaking your head. Why couldn’t you just understand it?

You felt a warm, comforting pressure on your shoulder. Looking up, you saw Belikov smiling down at you.

“Da, I’d like to go to a game with you.” 

And even though you didn’t know a single thing about baseball, you never looked forward to something more than that. 

(Not from what you could remember anyways.) 

________________________________________________________________

….Then Cuba happened.

And what it released might as well have been Pandora’s Box. 

You remembered. 

Not everything , no, but little bits and pieces. 

Enough for dose after dose to be injected until you felt your world speed and slow down to the beating of your heart. 

And when you finally awoke, you knew everything was a lie. 

And you knew the truth. 

You had no one.

Nothing.

No matter what you did, you would be a traitor to both sides. 

But, as you numbly heard Adler’s speech about “reinventing” yourself and having a “new life”, you wanted to believe in what he said.

You wanted to believe in a tomorrow where you could still go to that baseball game with Belikov and try out crackerjacks, cotton candy, and all those things you can’t recall ever having.

And so you told them the truth.

Solovetsky. 

________________________________________________________________

“-you’re a goddamned hero, you know that, kid?” Adler said casually as he looked out over the cliff-side. There was something about the praise that just felt good even as you felt your chest tighten with your every breath and ribs ache. 

Because maybe what you did was good enough-

(Or was that just the pathetic hope you always carried around with you?)

“Heroes have to make sacrifices. That’s why when I ask you for one more-”

As Adler said that, you just knew .

( You guessed that you wouldn’t be seeing that baseball game with Belikov. And damn wasn’t that a shame. )

You already have your hand grasp the handle of one of your guns at your waist. You knew it was empty. 

You chose it for that reason. Because maybe, just maybe you could deter him from doing this.

And if not well...well you couldn’t bring yourself to kill him. 

One-sided soulmates or not, you just couldn’t-

“Ahhh I knew you were here, my friend!” 

Belikov. 

You released your grasp on the gun. If Belikov was in on this as well...then really you couldn’t bother to even pick up a gun. 

It’d just be...pointless.

“Belikov,” Adler said irritably, clearly not impressed by the Russian’s ill-timed arrival. 

“Adler,” Belikov said, much less cheery this time. You glanced back and forth between the two of them. 

Where exactly did Belikov line up in this....?

“I have a contact within the VVS. If I do not report in ten minutes, they will report the coordinates of our exfil to their superiors.” 

VVS...wait the Soviet Air Force-

“What the fuck, Belikov?”

“I made a deal with Hudson,” Belikov casually explained before gesturing to you, “Her safety and our asylum in America in exchange for intel. The former is non-negotiable, my friend.” 

“Why the hell are you doing this? You’re one of Hudson’s-”

" Bell and I are платонические родственные души. I was her handler when she infiltrated Perseus.” 

Wait, you had been a sleeper agent…?

You looked at Belikov. 

All those words and the sheer familiarity.... you knew him. 

It’d make sense if he was your handler as a sleeper agent in Perseus. 

“Bell,” you heard Belikov say, “We have a baseball game to catch, da?” 

You distantly nodded. 

You didn’t remember everything. But with everything that’s happened, you just knew that you could trust him. 

“Bell-” you could distantly hear Adler call after you. But you turned away, trying to ignore him. 

“I am surprised you tried what you did, Adler….ah nyet . I’ll let you find that out yourself.” you heard Belikov say a little too cheerily. 

But all you could think of was how you were really just looking forward to that baseball game.

________________________________________________________________

Author’s Note: So....I ended up writing a 2K one-shot of Belikov & Bell being platonic soulmates...

Well, I hope the writing wasn't too terrible and that Belikov wasn't too OOC. The implied background between Belikov and Bell is that Bell, who was roped into Perseus's lower ranks, met Belikov in the KGB and they soon had a friendship. And since Belikov would have met Hudson at this point, he would be thinking about a way to get Bell guaranteed safety and to do that meant getting enough intel for the CIA to consider them worth that much effort. Hence, Belikov working as a mole for the CIA and Bell working as an anonymous insider in Perseus. 

Anyways, if anyone read through this, I hope you guys enjoyed this. It was a lot of fun to write. Here's to the first main Belikov & Bell fic in the fandom!

Thanks for reading!!

[stereksecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, kevaaronday!

For @kevaaronday. I tried to use all the tropes you liked, though I played a bit with the coffee shop!AU request. It ended up being pretty long, but I hope it pleases. Enjoy and Merry Christmas!

Read On AO3

*****

Food, Drinks, and Pings

Stiles just wanted to clear things up—he did not work for Hale Corp, and he certainly did not work for said company’s inhouse café, The Family Bean. He was a writer, who just so happened to have been roped into the gig because he was best friends with the soulmate-fiancée of the best friend of one of the sons of the company’s owners.

See, one of Stiles’ best friends from high school was Erica Reyes, blonde, vivacious, and both crazy and powerful enough to castrate someone with her fingernails. She might look like she just stepped off the catwalk, with her hourglass figure, fluffy hair, and red lips, but she had a knack for business that led to a scholarship at a reputable business school. Stiles, on the other hand, took to writing like a duck to water, thanks to his overactive imagination and ability to turn a phrase. He could write anything and so he did—news pieces, articles, blogs, reviews, as well as a modestly famous soulmate series published under a pseudonym.

Erica’s soon-to-be husband and soulmate was Vernon Boyd III, a tall, dark, and delicious drink of chocolate, who was so fit he could bench press a baby elephant without breaking a sweat. He was the perfect picture of seriousness and silence, that Stiles used to wonder how he functioned as Hale Corp’s Director of Operations. After getting to know him better, he realized just how smart and charismatic Boyd really was.

Boyd’s best friend from childhood was Derek Hale, one of the sons from the famous and powerful Hale Family, owners and leaders of the mass media company, Hale Corp.

Stiles knew of the Hale Family, and who didn’t? You’d be hard-pressed to find someone who didn’t know the famous family of business tycoons and titans, a family so rich they could buy a person’s soul even. Nor would someone fail to hear about one of the most powerful love stories that rocked the world.

Talia Hale was the eldest child of the main branch of the Hale family and was poised to take over the world. Desmond Fitzgerald, in contrast, was the only child of elderly parents, and they lived at a shabby, squat house with no electricity, scraping by each and every day. 

Talia’s father, the late and great Everett Hale, had visited the local community college as part of their charity program. Talia had tagged along, nineteen and already learning the ropes, and had tripped over the custodian who had been on his hands and knees straightening the welcome carpet.

Take a guess who the janitor was.

An accidental brush of skin, the burning of a Mark, and that was it.

Talia and Desmond turned out to be soulmates, and their Marks, her howling wolf and his crescent moon, had become one of the most romantic symbols of their time.

Now, where did Stiles and The Family Bean came in, you ask?

Aside from writing, Stiles knew his way around a kitchen. His mother had passed away when he was seven, and he had grown up with a Sheriff father who only knew the basics. Stiles had to learn how to cook a meal or risk them subsisting on fried everything and endless takeout orders.

So yes, Stiles knew how a kitchen worked. The thing was, Erica didn’t, and had spent high school eating Stiles’ meals and hanging around his kitchen. Nothing soothed her viciousness and temper like one of his desserts.

So whenever Erica was close to breaking someone’s jaw and risking a lawsuit, she’d invite Stiles over and he would come and work his magic at The Family Bean. It wasn’t like it was such a hardship. The place had a gorgeous kitchen, a full pantry, and a really comfy setup with cozy booths and colorful tables and chairs. 

It wasn’t only Erica who benefited. Stiles often found inspiration at the tail end of a whisk or in between beating a dough into submission while listening to Erica’s gossip. He had come to depend on her brand of sass whenever he was suffering from writer’s block, or dealing with annoying clients, or avoiding his editor, Danny Mahealani. 

It got to the point that Erica had HR make him a permanent guest entry pass—written down for Stiles S, Food Guy—and everyone knew him by name, the security, the delivery boys, the café’s actual employees, and some of Hale Corp’s employees.

That was what he meant by his original statement: He did not work for Hale Corp or The Family Bean. He was just Erica’s food guy and personal chef. Just another title to add to personal punching bag, platonic soulmate, best friend, and partner-in-crime, among others.

Boyd was surprisingly calm about the guy constantly hanging around his soulmate. Then again, no one would choose Stiles’ skinny ass for Boyd’s lusciousness, so Stiles could understand that he wasn’t much of a threat. Erica said that Boyd knew they were a package deal, and it helped that Boyd had been won over by Stiles’ banana bread. Either way, Boyd was cool and didn’t punch Stiles in the face for his and Erica’s weird platonic love affair.

So, in the end, that was Stiles’ life—work, his Dad, Erica, and his other friends.

Then the Hales happened.

It all started on a fine Monday morning with Kira Yukimura. She was pretty and petite, and the goddess who was actually the one in charge of The Family Bean’s kitchen. She wore floral dresses with studded combat boots, and held katana wielding lessons on Saturdays and a kids’ kitchen workshop on Sundays. Stiles adored her.

So when he walked in that day—after spending the entirety of the weekend not writing, because his protagonists, Peter and Wade, were being idiots—only to hear Kira’s cries for help, he was more than happy to tag in.

“I’m not crying.” She glared at him from where she was assembling sandwich orders, her gaze as sharp as her swords.

“But you still need help,” Stiles said. He put his laptop bag in one of the employee lockers, rolled up the sleeves of his red sweater, and put on an apron. “Erica wants to do lunch, but I decided to come in early.”

Kira nodded towards the window. “All right, because I got a purple ticket for you.”

Stiles jumped up. “Ooh, cool! I’ve never handled a purple ticket before!”

Kira gave him a relieved smile. “Well, today’s your lucky day. One of my employees called in sick, another is late, and I’ve got five packed tickets from different departments, three of them being rush orders, not to mention today’s purple ticket is a little too vague. I’m both swamped and stumped.”

“I’ve got your back, K.” Stiles gave her a salute and bounced over to the ticket tacked up on the holder.

Purple tickets were orders sent straight from the Wolf’s Den. It was the codename for the top floors occupied by the Hale Family and their closest associates. Boyd and Erica’s office were there, too. Stiles had only ever seen it through photos. There was a lot of security posted there, as if guarding the gates of heaven.

Anyway, purple tickets meant VVVVIP orders, note the number of ‘very’s. Kira usually handled those, but she obviously needed help now.

“Now, what do the Lords and Ladies want?” Stiles murmured to himself.

The Family Bean:

MH: hot chocolate

CC: pancakes

SHB: waffles

VHB: dirty chai

LH: anything 

“You know who’s who?” Kira called out.

“Yep, I got it,” Stiles replied. He learned about this from Erica.

MH was Matthew Hale, the firstborn son and heir to the kingdom. CC was his seven-year-old daughter, who everyone called by her nickname. SHB was five-year-old Spencer, and VHB was his mother Valerie Hale-Barone, the firstborn daughter, second eldest, and the lawyer of the family. LH was Laura Hale, the third eldest and the maverick of the family. She was the only one not directly working for Hale Corp, and was more involved their side projects.

“Purple tickets are usually like that,” Kira said, looking at him with amusement. Stiles realized he had been frowning in confusion. “Despite being insanely rich people, they’re surprisingly not very picky about what they eat. Laura, in particular, will eat anything. It’s just difficult to give them variety or find a balance between upscale and too simple.”

“And now you want me to take a crack at it?” Stiles asked.

“Sure. It’ll be in my name anyway, and I don’t mind if you go wild,” Kira said encouragingly. It made Stiles grin. Most would be horrified at handing over their precious menu to someone who wasn’t a baker, much less someone who wasn’t a legitimate employee. But Kira had always been a rebel.

Under Kira’s guidance, Stiles filled up a purple delivery bag for the Hales. The dirty chai latte was pretty straightforward, though he didn’t know how Kira usually made it, so he went with his own style. He also made a raspberry hot chocolate, strawberry cheesecake pancakes, mixed berry waffles, and, for the anything portion of the ticket, a berry breakfast parfait made of yoghurt and fruits and graham crackers.

“Tastes awesome and looks pretty as a picture too,” Kira said, nibbling on her own waffle as she sat atop the counter, swinging her legs to and fro. Stiles could see a hint of her soulmate Mark under her dress just on the outside of her thigh. “I still believe you should have been a baker rather than a writer.”

Stiles grinned as he hung up his apron. “I’m both, but one pays the bills and the other’s a hobby. It’s surprising how most people would think one’s the other.”

“Kira?” a voice called out.

Kira perked up and immediately slid off the counter. She straightened her skirt and stepped out the door of the kitchen. 

“Good morning, Derek,” she greeted.

Stiles peeked out unashamedly through the service window.

Tall, dark, and incredibly handsome, DH or Derek Hale was the middle child of the family. He was the Chief Financial Officer, and was said to be shyer and quieter compared to his more unruly and flashy siblings. It made sense why he was childhood friends with Boyd. The two seemed to share a calm, quiet demeanor.

Stiles had always thought that Derek was quite handsome in an already attractive family, and every once in a while, he would get front row seats—or the view through the service window—to the man in the three-piece suit with the godly shoulder to waist to ass ratio. It was quite inspiring.

“I heard Val and the others had a purple ticket sent down,” Derek was saying to Kira. “I’m on my way up and I thought I’d bring it along and save you a trip.”

“Oh, thanks, Derek. I’ll get it from the back,” Kira replied. “How about you? Do you want anything?”

Derek thought about it. “Just a drink. Anything you want to make me.”

“So long as it’s sweet?” Kira teased, which made the man chuckle.

It was like a bulb lit up in Stiles’ head. 

He met Kira at the door when she walked back in, and it said so much about how awesome she was because she immediately said, “Yes, Stiles, you can make whatever you want. I mean, you’ve already tried your hard at the purple ticket. Might as well go all the way.”

“Thanks, K. You’re a goddess.” Stiles bounced off to the machines. He had always liked a challenge.

In the end, Stiles added his specially made ‘very merry berry frappe’ into the bag. He made sure to put it in a cup cozy to hide the purple color. He wasn’t sure if Derek would mind, but it just wouldn’t do for one of the bosses to be seen with a colorful drink. He let Kira whisk the bag away and they watched Derek exit The Family Bean.

“I hate to see you go, but I love to watch you leave,” Stiles murmured, eyeing the man’s backside.

“I’ll drink to that.” Kira giggled, clinking her extra glass of frappe against his. “And you’re teaching me the recipe by the way.”

“Not on your life.”

It took eight days before Stiles could once again visit The Family Bean. He had had a burst of inspiration following his last visit and had locked himself up in his apartment. His Dad John and his editor Danny were used to these binges, so they had taken turns visiting him to make sure he was alive and eating actual food rather than inhaling takeout, junk food, and soda. 

He had sent off the first few chapters to Danny yesterday and had then slept for about eighteen hours, before Erica had barged in to make sure he hadn’t died. She had been pissed at him last week, annoyed that she hadn’t sampled Stiles’ berry-filled menu, but she’d gotten over it and had even brought groceries before dragging Stiles to The Family Bean for some fresh air and free lunch.

And if that wasn’t enough to perk Stiles up, she and Kira proceeded to tell him how well-received his menu was.

“The kids absolutely loved it, and Laura practically licked her parfait cup clean,” Kira said as they sat around the table for lunch. She had prepared honey sesame chicken, egg rolls, and sweet potato salad. She definitely had Stiles beat when it came to savory meals.

“Valerie was surprised that her dirty chai tasted great. She wasn’t biting people’s heads off more than usual,” Erica shared. She was running her fingers idly over her soulmate Mark, the three claw marks that spanned across her forearm.

Stiles felt pleased at the compliment, but he couldn’t help sending Kira an apologetic look. He didn’t want to usurp her clients and her kitchen. 

Kira just laughed. “It’s fine. I know it’s due to your magic fingers and secret recipes. Just teach me how you do Valerie’s dirty chai and we’re good.”

“Sure thing, but it’s nothing special” Stiles said. “I did bring dessert, as thanks for letting me play around last time.”

Kira bounced on her seat. “Tomato pie?” 

“With extra bacon and jalapeños, just how you like it.” Stiles grinned and showed her the pie, making Kira squeal.

“You gals eat up. I’ll mix us up some lattes, if you want anything,” he offered.

Stiles went to the kitchen to fix up Erica’s usual iced cinnamon honey latte and Kira’s vanilla almond. He was in the middle of finishing them up when he heard voices out at the main area. He recognized Boyd’s low voice and decided to make him a cup of blond roast with soy milk. He paused when he heard unfamiliar voices and took a peek out the service window. He instantly recognized the small group that had joined Kira and Erica.

There was Boyd, who immediately sat down beside Erica and kissed her cheek. His soulmate Mark was obvious, a rose on the back of his left hand. Stiles liked their marks, very beauty and the beast.

Having come in with Boyd was Derek, who looked just as handsome as he always did in a fetching dark blue suit. With him were his younger siblings, twins Cora and Cameron Hale, the artists of the family, who made music and art, played a bevy of instruments, and also drew and painted. Stiles was only two years older than the twins, but they had more talent in their pinkies than Stiles had in his whole body.

The twins’ Marks were one of the most popular, not just because the two were celebrities, but also because they were incredibly visible. Even from a distance, Stiles could see the compass between Cora’s collarbones and the lighthouse that popped up over Cameron’s collar at the left side of his neck. 

Suddenly feeling shy, Stiles stayed in the kitchen and watched and listened.

“Nice spread, Kira. Is that for us?” Cameron asked.

“No, you Hales have your own food upstairs,” Kira said. “I heard Wild Flour Italian sent lunch over.”

Cora rolled her eyes. “Jennifer Blake owns that joint. She’s been trying to get us to come over. No doubt she’ll just use it as some sort of advertisement. I’d rather take a bite of this.” She pointed at their table.

“That pie looks good,” Cameron said. “Can I have a bite?”

Stiles saw the gleam in Erica’s eye.

“Go on,” she said. “They’re good.”

Stiles watched as Erica and Kira offered the Hales a slice each. For some reason, he felt anxious to hear about how his food will be received. It had been nice to hear the rave reviews from Kira and Erica, but it was different seeing their reactions in person.

Cora let out yum-yum noises, which buoyed Stiles’ spirit. 

“Okay, that’s pretty tasty. I love the caramelized bacon.”

“Wait, is this tomato in pie? Like a tomato pie?” Cameron asked, inspecting his plate. He took a large bite.

Kira bounced on her seat in excitement. “Yes, isn’t it good?” 

“Who made this?” Derek asked. He didn’t look displeased, but he didn’t look happy either. He had a really good poker face. It might be good for business, but it was hard for Stiles to interpret. Stiles noted that he kept on eating the pie though.

“My Food Guy,” Erica said with a smug grin.

“Her Food Guy’s the one who made the berry-eautiful purple ticket that received quite the sensational reviews,” Kira added. She glanced at the service window and Stiles knew she saw him hiding there.

“The one who made my drink, too?” Derek asked.

Kira nodded. “The same one.” 

“Spence went gaga for those waffles,” Cameron said. “And Mattie couldn’t believe someone got CC to eat fruit.”

A loud ring cut through their conversation and everyone started pulling out phones to check. It was Derek’s.

“Mom’s calling. Time to go,” he said, standing up.

In reply, Cameron started shoving the rest of the pie in his mouth and also popped in a couple of egg rolls.

“Where’s the Food Guy, though?” Cora asked, head turning to the kitchen. Stiles ducked down behind the counter. “If he makes stuff like this, I wanna meet him.” 

“You can order a purple ticket if you want, but he’s not here all the time,” Erica said, and Stiles glared at her in his mind.

“He works part-time?” Derek asked.

“Not quite,” Kira said. “He’s—”

They were interrupted once more by a ringing phone, and this time Boyd spoke.

“Talia wants you all upstairs. Now.”

Stiles peeked out again. Cameron attempted to bring the entire pie tin, but settled for polishing his slice off. He then joined Cora in writing up a purple ticket order. After a moment, Derek put an order in too. The Hales left in a hurry and Stiles leaned right out of the service window just as Kira came bouncing towards it.

“There’s the man of the hour,” Boyd said, with a smirk.

Kira giggled. “Order up, Food Guy. You got a purple ticket.”

“I’m so proud.” Erica mockingly wiped a tear away. “Stiles, my Food Guy, charming the Hales off through the power of food.”

“Oh, fuck you all.” Stiles glared, ducking back into the kitchen.

At the last minute, he reached out and grabbed the purple ticket from Kira, ignoring the others’ laughter.

Over the next three weeks, Stiles prepared four more purple tickets. According to Kira, his drinks and desserts had become quite attractive to the Hales, both because of the taste and the mystery.

“At this point, they don’t even want me handling the tickets. They always ask if The Food Guy is around before they send their orders down,” Kira said. This time, she was the one helping Stiles prepare and pack. 

The Wolf’s Den was going to be holding meetings nonstop, so Stiles had to prepare a variety of drinks and snacks. It would have been easy if they had simple requests, but the Hales were a mix of eclectic and frustrating.

“I’m glad you’re cool about this, but the Hales are bound to find out that the one making all their desserts isn’t even an employee,” Stiles said, as he added an extra shot of syrup in Laura’s honey and milk iced coffee. Just like her usual orders, she had asked for ‘any drink that’s sweet’ which was such a large ballpark that Stiles wanted to clock someone over the head, maybe her.

“I’m more surprised that you keep making these for free,” Kira said.

Stiles shrugged. “It’s a challenge, and I like challenges.”

“Really, just for the challenge?” Kira asked. “Stiles, Valerie fell in love with your version of her dirty chai. I did it the exact same way you did, but she insists that it tastes different. Same with Cameron’s favorite spiced coconut coffee. Same with all the desserts you made for the kids…”

Her face turned serious. “Don’t you think there’s more to this? Don’t you think it’s a ping—”

“It’s just for fun, Kira. It’s nothing,” Stiles said, heart rabbiting in his chest. He pushed it down firmly. “Plus, it’s surprisingly inspiring for my stories. Right now, I’m writing a new story for my spy series and I’m trying to solve this thing going on between James and Quentin.”

Kira’s face fell but she smiled, if a bit awkwardly. “Ah, well. Whatever you say, Food Guy. I’m just happy I get free labor out of it.”

“So you’re the Food Guy?”

The two of them jumped up in surprise and they turned around to see that someone had come in through the kitchen doors.

“Nathan, hello!” Kira greeted. “We didn’t hear you come in.”

Nathaniel Hale was the youngest of the brood at nineteen, and with his dark hair and piercing blue eyes, he was quite the heartthrob in an already beautiful family. If that wasn’t enough, he was an athlete and a rising star in soccer.

Stiles didn’t really care at the moment, too busy wondering if the kid had heard what Kira had been saying.

Nathan leaned against the counter. “Everyone was arguing over who was going to pick up the ticket this time. I walked out while Laura was arm wrestling with Cam.”

Kira laughed while Stiles looked away, suddenly awkward.

“Uh, that’s cool and all, but I’m not remotely interesting enough to warrant an arm wrestle.”

Nathan shrugged. “Your stuff tastes amazing.” He smiled at Kira. “No offense, Kira. You’re still queen. But you… you’re interesting.” He gave Stiles a look. “You know, I’ve been ordering the same caramel vanilla iced coffee from The Family Bean for years now. You made it once and now everything else tastes different.”

Stiles couldn’t help flinching. Oh yeah. Nathan had definitely heard Kira.

But Nathan turned to Kira, breaking the stare. “Anyway, is the ticket ready? Can I take it up?”

Kira smiled and handed over the bag. “You just want to lord your victory over the others.”

“Of course. That’s what having siblings is all about.” Nathan scoffed, but grinned. “Anyway, thanks.” 

Kira smiled. “Enjoy your meal.”

Stiles watched Nathan leave and rubbed his left shoulder. He had a weird feeling about all this.

A single touch was all it took to find someone’s soulmate. However, people couldn’t just go around touching one another. Some did, but there were laws against touching people without their consent. So Nature, in all its wisdom, gave people the capability to locate their soulmates by following a trail.

The best trail was through family members. Take for example one other famous Hale love story, that of Valerie. Her husband, the Italian magnate Piero Barone, was from a family of vintners. During Talia and Desmond’s trip to Italy, they met Piero at a wine tasting event and immediately felt what Mark experts called a ‘ping,’ a connection between them that hinted at the identity of Piero’s soulmate. Piero followed the Hales to America, met the family—all of which gave off similar pings—was finally allowed a Touch Test with Valerie, and the rest was history.

There were other kinds of trails, like what happened between Boyd and Erica. They both attended the same university, though Boyd had graduated several years earlier. However, even without knowing Boyd, Erica inadvertently joined the same groups and organizations that he had, and even lived at the same apartment that he had rented when he had been a student. Then after Erica graduated, she decided to take a year off to travel. Months later, when Boyd went on sabbatical, he ended up following almost the exact same itinerary. They finally met by chance during an alumni event and got to talking, which revealed all of the things they had in common. Before the event was even halfway through, they had done a Touch Test and found their match.

Stiles’ favorite trail story was of his parents’. John and Claudia met when they were children. Having no siblings, they didn’t have the benefit of a family trail, and being young meant there weren’t a lot of experiences that could link them. However, they had always known there was something special about one another. They grew up together, grew apart, and met later on in life. They still didn’t have the same life experiences—she was a librarian, he was a deputy—but the moment they saw one another again, they just knew.

Sometimes people just knew.

“Well, well, well. I didn’t know we were serving twink in the menu.”

Ordinarily, that comment would have had Stiles lashing out with his sharp tongue, but upon looking up, he hesitated. First of all, the other person was clearly drunk and it was only, Stiles checked his watch, three-forty-seven in the afternoon. Second, the other person was none other than the infamous Peter Hale, Talia’s younger brother.

The eternal bachelor, he was called, well known for his many dalliances and relationships. He was also the Hale with the most well-known Mark, not because it was at a visible spot, but mostly because he tended to flaunt the large image of a bird in flight that was across his chest via his tendency of wearing unbuttoned shirts.

In Stiles’ opinion, Peter reminded him of one of his book characters—the rich and powerful Anthony, who, underneath all the bravado, was desperately looking for his soulmate, only to find it in the fair-haired, gentle-hearted Steven, who wouldn’t take his crap. He wondered who Peter’s soulmate was.

“Oh, for god’s sake. Uncle, come back here!”

Stiles looked up to see Derek jogging over to them, looking both pissed and worried at the man leaning against The Family Bean’s pristine counter.

Peter ignored him. “Oh, lay off, Derek. I want a drink, and this twink is going to make me one.”

Derek turned to Stiles. “Peter, do not call—” He paused, dark eyes widening.

Stiles felt his heart jerk in his chest and his left shoulder burn. He felt like he had been hit in the head, so did Derek going by his gaping.

Peter suddenly tilted sideways, interrupting their stare down. Neither Stiles nor Derek were able to catch the man before he ended up sprawled across the counter. The sight of him had Stiles dredging up some semblance of control. He sighed.

“You are very rude, and also very drunk, but because I feel sorry for you, Mr. Hale, I’ll make you a free drink.”

Derek let out a gurgle and then a cough, obviously holding back laughter. Peter propped himself up on wobbly elbows. 

“You feel sorry for me? Don’t you know who I am, kid?”

Stiles was both annoyed by Peter and buoyed by Derek’s reaction. It was probably what sharpened his tongue.

“You’re Talia Hale’s younger brother, but between the supposed—ahh, what was it—Big Bad Wolf of Media and this so-called twink, I’m not the one nursing a hangover at this time of the afternoon.”

Stiles shook his head and walked off, ignoring Peter’s angry, garbled words and the sudden chuckle from Derek. The latter made Stiles’ shoulder ache.

Stiles ignored that and prepared a quick takeout bag. He could hear Peter and Derek arguing out on the main area. It was the work of minutes to prepare a quick smoothie and throw in some crackers and fruits. He walked back out and handed the bag to Derek, but then quickly tucked his hands to himself. The other man’s piercing stare was making him sweat.

Peter grabbed his drink and took a gulp of the smoothie, before asking, “What’s your name, kid?”

Stiles rolled his eyes. Not even a thank you. How rude. 

“Not a kid, and there’s no need to know my name since you’re just going to forget it.”

Peter smirked lasciviously. “Oh, that mouth on you.”

“I’m also not into geriatrics,” Stiles was quick to bite back.

Peter’s jaw dropped. “Geria—”

Derek suddenly burst into laughter and the sound of it seemed to fill Stiles’ heart and mind, making his face flush and his body warm. Derek smiled at him and Stiles felt warmth bloom in his chest.

Stiles cleared his throat, trying to will the blush away. He rubbed his shoulder. “Well, anyway, I’m happy to help. I’ll tell Kira you guys dropped by. See you around.” He glanced at Peter. “Not you. Drop dead.” He stepped back.

“Wait!” Derek lurched forward, startling Stiles and also Peter, who, true to Stiles’ words, slid off the counter to the floor. They ignored him.

Derek leaned forward over the counter. “I’m sorry if I’m forward, but are you—”

Stiles shook his head vigorously. “I’m sorry. I have to go.” 

He ducked back into the kitchen, ignoring Derek’s calls and Peter’s drunken warbling. He leaned against the door and slid down until he could curl up into a ball. He placed a hand over his burning shoulder.

Sometimes people just knew.

Stiles was tempted to stay away from The Family Bean after that. He really wanted to. But it was hard to stay away.

Even harder to stay away from a ping.

Stiles wasn’t stupid enough to let that slip away.

Still, it was hard to face up to it and admit that he had a soulmate.

So for the next two weeks, Stiles stayed away from the front of house, always hiding in the safety of the kitchen. He kept on making purple tickets whenever they came, but he avoided coming out for any reason, especially after Derek started coming by nearly every day. Sometimes he even brought his work over just so that he could stay as long as possible.

It confused Kira and Erica, but they assumed Derek just liked the food. The other Hales also started coming by and many times, Stiles could hear them asking Derek why he was hanging around The Family Bean instead of working in his office. Always, Derek kept mum.

Because as it turned out, Derek hadn’t told anyone about the ping.

In fact, Stiles had a feeling that the only person in the Hale family who knew was Nathan. Maybe because he had already been suspicious of it. Out of all the Hales, he was the only one who didn’t ask Derek about why he kept hanging around the café.

The other one who knew was Boyd.

Derek had been called to a meeting one day, so Stiles had felt it safe to come out and work at one of the booths. He had already fallen so far behind on his writing commitments. After a few minutes, Boyd had dropped by and had joined him. Stiles knew he was typing gibberish on his laptop, but he kept on as an excuse not to look at Boyd, who was looking at him intently.

Finally, he spoke, “Looking back, I guess it wasn’t just your banana bread that won me over.”

Stiles jerked, sending a series of characters across the screen.

Boyd kept on. “I always had a good feeling about you from Erica’s stories, but when we met, that was definitely a ping.”

Stiles bit his lip. “Does Erica know?”

Boyd shook his head. “I love her, but Erica would have thrown a party if she knew.”

Stiles sighed, both in relief and in trepidation for the moment Erica find out.

Boyd studied him. “Derek’s a good guy, you know.”

“I know I got that impression from all the stories you and Erica had of him,” Stiles said. “I always thought it was surprising considering he could afford not to be a nice guy.”

Boyd studied him, making Stiles shift in his seat. “Is that the reason you won’t meet with him? Or do a Touch Test? Because he’s a Hale?”

Stiles almost protested, but he deflated. “…I don’t know.”

Boyd hummed under his breath. “Well, you’ve always played your cards close to the chest when it comes to soulmates, but I know you’ll figure it out.” He stood up. “But you better make it soon. Erica and the rest of the Hales are bound to figure it out.”

Stiles groaned and sank down on his seat. 

“Noted.”

The day after that, a still-conflicted Stiles was once again at The Family Bean. Kira had gone up to the Wolf’s Den to deliver the latest purple ticket, so he had to stay and man the counter. 

The door let out a little tinkle, and Stiles froze the moment he saw the woman entering the café.

He’d know Talia Hale anywhere.

Stiles almost panicked, but then he remembered that she didn’t know who he was. He took a deep breath.

“Um, good afternoon, Mrs. Hale. What can I get you?”

The woman smiled, quite warm and friendly despite her fierce reputation. “Just some tea, please. And are there any new desserts?”

It had been a moment of weakness, but Stiles had actually brought over some peanut butter stuffed cookies and added it to the purple ticket in the hopes that a certain Hale would like them. He still had a few cookies left, but he wasn’t sure if he should offer them to her.

“I smell cookies,” Talia said pointedly. “I’ll have some of those.”

Stiles gulped. “Ah, we have some peanut butter stuffed cookies. Let me get those for you.”

He swallowed his nerves and served the woman, who took a sip of tea and a bite of the cookie right there on the counter.

She smiled, studying the cookies. “Very tasty.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” Stiles smiled politely. He turned away to leave and maybe gather his strength in the privacy of the kitchen.

“When we started hearing about The Food Guy, I admit I was quite intrigued. It’s very rare for someone to grab the attention of my entire family.”

Stiles paused and turned to her.

He should have known.

Stiles nodded stiffly. “Nice to meet you, ma’am.”

Talia smiled, sharp and knowing. “And you, Food Guy.”

“Any reason for the visit?” Stiles asked, shifting on his feet.

“I wanted to meet you,” Talia said, taking another bite of her cookie. 

Stiles frowned. “That’s all?”

“Were you expecting anything else?”

“Uh, well, I…”

Talia shrugged and sipped his tea. “I don’t blame you for any misgivings you might have should you prove to be soulmates with my son. I’m well aware of the reputation of my family. My late father, Everett, embodied the might of the Hale name better than anyone. You should have seen him back in the days.”

Stiles held up his hands. He couldn’t help the feeling that he had to explain.

“It’s not that there’s a problem with Derek or your family. Being a Hale isn’t the problem… not entirely…” he hesitated, but then plunged on, urged by the ping he could feel inside him and the desire to make someone understand. “My mom passed away when I was seven. She was soulmates with my father. He was—I was—we were never the same after.”

A heavy silence fell, and Stiles was both nervous and intrigued. Talia’s face changed. Something in her eyes darkened and she pursed her lips.

“Forgive my sudden melancholy, but I was just reminded of something.” She sipped her tea. “I was reminded of my youth. My father, Peter, and I had never been the same after mother walked away.”

“Walked away?” Stiles was taken aback. It was rare to hear any mention of Talia’s mother, but everyone had chalked it up to grief at her passing. “But you all said she died—”

Talia interrupted him delicately. “People think of Marks as the be all and end all where the only answer is yes. But even soulmates are a choice…”

“Desmond grew up without a penny to his name, so he rejected me as he could only see himself as an embarrassment to the Hale family. My opinionated father had, unfortunately, been a contributing factor to that line of thinking. I grew up with a rather jaded view of Marks and pings, and I had seen his rejection as a challenge and not a privilege. Desmond and I, our story had been tempestuous, quite unlike the romanticizing people had done.”

She finished the last of her tea. “If I may be allowed to request one thing, all I ask is that you make a choice so that Derek can do the same. No one in this family will certainly blame you for it.”

Talia pushed her empty cup and plate towards Stiles, and smiled. “Have a good day, Food Guy.”

Stiles watched Talia walk away.

He had some thinking to do.

Stiles took a deep breath and tried not to crush the boxes in his hands. He was nervous and his left shoulder was throbbing.

“Ready?” Kira asked him. She was carrying the other delivery boxes.

“As I’ll ever be,” Stiles replied.

Kira smiled, both encouraging and proud, and nodded to the guard on duty. The man held open the double doors for them, and Stiles was instantly met with a wall of sound.

“Purple ticket delivery,” Kira called out, leading Stiles inside.

The office was spacious, as it should be if it was going to accommodate all of the Hales, and all of them were there. There was a long table at one end where Talia, Matthew, and Boyd were talking and laughing. Desmond was on one couch, talking to Piero and Erica. Laura and Cora were seated on armchairs and were arguing loudly about something. Peter was egging them on. CC and Spencer, were seated in front of a television at a kids’ play area set up in the corner. Cameron was with them, all of them singing along to whatever cartoon was playing. Derek, Valerie, and Nathan were huddled around a table, looking at blueprints.

“Oh, yes! The food’s here!” Cameron cheered, which sent the children shouting as well.

Kira navigated the area like a champ, while Stiles slowly shuffled after. “You guys ordered a lot. I had to ask for help. This is Stiles.”

Stiles didn’t miss the way Derek’s head suddenly jolted in his direction, nor Talia’s proud smile, nor Erica’s sudden screech of “Stiles!” which had everyone else turning their way. Stiles winced. He was going to get his ass kicked later for not telling Erica about this.

“Well, well…” Peter grinned. “Hello there, twink.”

Stiles shuddered. “Still not into creepy old geezers.”

“Oh, wait, wait! Is he the guy who called you a geriatric?” Laura asked, before shrieking in laughter.

“And the one who said Peter should drop dead,” Cora added, cackling. 

Laughter rang around over Peter’s protests, and it made Stiles’ heart stutter. He felt warm all over, like the pings going off in his head were doubly delighted at the Hales. He glanced at Derek, who was smiling warmly.

Stiles winced when he caught Erica’s gaze though. She looked between him and Derek and her eyes widened. But Boyd was suddenly there, hand over her mouth and whispering to her.

Stiles helped Kira take out all of the food and the ravenous Hales were quickly upon them.

“Food Guy’s stuff tastes awesome,” Nathan said, licking his cupcake’s icing. He waggled knowing eyebrows at Stiles, who bit back a grin. Cheeky kid.

“Please pass our compliments to the chef, Kira,” Desmond said, reaching for his drink.

Kira giggled. “You can thank him yourself.” She waved at Stiles with a flourish.

Stiles felt a little like a deer in headlights when all their gazes alighted on him.

“You’re Food Guy?” and other iterations of the exclamation rang around the room.

Stiles flushed. “I’m glad to hear you all like what I’ve been making.”

“Oh, wow! How wonderful!” Piero piped up. “I haven’t felt a ping in such a long time. How nostalgic, don’t you think, dear?” He turned to Valerie.

“That’s a ping?” Matthew asked, confused, before his face cleared and he rubbed his chest. “Oh, hell, this is a ping.”

“Is that the tingly feeling here, Uncle Mattie?” Spencer asked, pointing at his tummy.

Erica finally managed to get out from under Boyd. “Stiles, did you ping with Derek? Is that why you’ve both been hanging around The Family Bean? You’ve both been pining over each other!”

Stiles groaned, while gasps and shouts suddenly rang around the room.

Kira sighed. “Way to ruin it, Erica.”

“You mean I was pinged through a tomato pie?” Cameron was asking, wide-eyed. 

Cora started laughing. “Oh my god! Uncle Peter flirted with Derek’s soulmate!”

“That’s Uncle Derek’s soulmate?” CC asked.

“Yes, he is.” Nathan looked like he was immensely enjoying all this, and Stiles was starting to realize that he was a little shit.

Derek stepped towards Stiles. His face was a little red, but he was smiling and Stiles thought he was the handsomest man he had ever seen.

“My family’s a mess. Please ignore them,” Derek said, ignoring the protests from his siblings.

Stiles chuckled. “At least they keep things interesting. It’s just me, my Dad, and her.” He jerked a thumb at Erica.

“Oh, fu—dge you!” Erica said, glancing at the kids. She turned to Boyd. “And I can’t believe you didn’t tell me!”

Boyd rolled his eyes. “I was giving him space to process things.”

Stiles ignored them and turned to Derek. He only had one chance to do this.

“Ah, sorry, it took a while. I was figuring stuff out, but I thought we should get to know one another first.”

“Of course,” Derek said immediately. He reached out a hand. “I’m looking forward to getting to know you, Stiles.”

Stiles glanced at Talia, who was whispering to her husband. She winked at Stiles.

“Soulmates are a choice.”

Stiles smiled at Derek. He could feel his Mark tingling in anticipation.

“Me too, Derek.”

He reached out and took his hand.

[did-he-just-hiss-at-me]

"They'll forget."

warnings: implied suicide attempt(non-specific about who), long with no cut cuz mobile, angst, hurt/comfort

summary: "Remus cackled. 'Don't say that! They're definitely going to try to rescue you, and they'll fall for our trap!' Logan sighed, and his head drooped. 'No.' he said in a hollowed tone. 'They'll forget.'" (not an excerpt)

ships: implied dukeceit(beginning), implied intruloceit(end)

au: super au(my au)

notes: based off this post. sorry if you guys didn't want an au tied to it hgdjfjs. lmk if you want a sequel

-----

(Logan's POV)

Day 1

I woke up with a massive headache, and lacking the ability to see. I couldn't move any part of my body except my head. Where am I? What happened? I questioned internally. I didn't want to alert whoever put me here to the fact that I am awake.

My memory is a foggy mess. I can't remember much. There was... yelling. Or rather, fighting. I wasn't participating in said fight. I don't even think I was allowed to.

Then I was walking home. I remember having my hands in my pockets, staring at the ground. Not caring about the world ahead of me, just below. Maybe a tear or two slipped out, it's hard to remember.

Then I remember someone grabbing me. Pulling me into an alley, and kicking me to the ground. I saw two familiar faces. I got a baseball bat to the face, then darkness.

I coughed, loud. It wasn't intentional, my throat was really dry. How long was I unconscious? It felt like a whole day. Not good for my sleep schedule. Speaking of schedules, I'm worried that my boss has fired me from work by now. He has no patience.

"Hey, L's awake!" a familiar voice called out to another, the sound echoing down the hall. A chill went down my spine, trouble was coming. Footsteps came after the echoing voice. They got louder and louder, fast.

"Heh, You sure that wasn't the other guy?" another voice appeared. It sounded sinister. "Dee, what other guy...? Did you proceed with a kidnapping without me?!" The first voice again. "No no, I'm kidding, Logan's the only one we got right now."

I tried my hardest to appear unconscious, but hearing what was supposedly my name caught me off guard. Logan. That's who I am, right.

It comes back to me now. I am Logan Everton. Natural-born Super with technologic-based abilities. I go by the codename Digit. I am a Super with good intentions.

I remember what happened before I got here. My common allies(though they would refer to us as "friends"), Patton 'Heartbeat' Harper, Roman 'Magma' Aveyard, & Virgil 'Specter' Deckett, were at Roman's place, having a fight. Our team ethic was going awry and it was making everything harder, our successful missions being smaller than our unsuccessful ones.

I had remained quiet most of the conversation, but that's because nobody would let me speak. I'd try to pitch in, steer everyone to a positive outcome, but they'd either yell over me or tell me to stop.

11. I counted. That's how many times I had been shut down. After that, I had enough. I grabbed my backpack, and left without a sound. Nobody called out for me, telling me not to leave, that they would listen to me now. Not at all.

As I shut Roman's front door, I had let out a big sigh. Hands in my pockets, I walked down the sidewalk to my house. It was just a couple blocks away, I would've made it. But back then I didn't care. I started to cry, but I didn't care.

But suddenly I was pulled into an alleyway. I was so caught off guard that I was unable to resist being kicked to the ground and knocked out with a baseball bat. I remember seeing the faces of the two men who grabbed me; Roman's ostracized brother, Remus 'Psycho' Aveyard, and Ethan 'Deceit' Helquist. A common enemy of ours. I now was able to match the voices I just heard to the faces. They got me, and now I'm doomed.

Somebody pulled whatever was over my eyes off my face. Regardless I still tried to look unconscious, but they weren't having it. "Open your eyes Logan, that's not going to work on us." Ethan sneered. I opened my eyes and glared at Ethan. "What do you want from me." I wanted answers.

"Ooh, straightforward now, aren't we nerd? You usually want to know details first, haha!" cackled Remus. "Shut it Rem, this is my turn." snapped Ethan. "We don't want anything from you... yet. For now, you have one, simple purpose... heh..." he chuckled. This could not be good. This guy is a expert manipulator; which is boosted by his powers of deception, hypnosis, and "glamour"(which according to Lo's research, meant you can disguise yourself). Ethan's powers didn't last long, but they were effective.

"I said it once. And I'll say it again." I started to demand. "What. Do. You. Want. What is your plan." I needed to contact the others and let them know what is happening. They wouldn't know otherwise.

Ethan put his hands down on the arms of the chair I was strapped to, his hands just barely touching mine. His face was 1/2 of a foot from mine. "I know your tricks, Lo~. I confiscated your technology, you cannot contact your little 'pals'. Anyways, until your teammates get here, you're just bait. You will lure them here. After all, what will your team be without their smart team member?" Ethan explained with an evil smirk. Right, how did I not realize that? My head still hurts, it's making it hard to think clearly.

"And yet, your plan is still flawed." I dead-panned. "What. Did you. Say?" Ethan growled back, moving his head back a little and grabbing me by my shirt.

"I told you, your plan has a loophole, and it's being exploited right now whether my friends know it or not." "What are you talking about, dork? Our plan is perfect!" Remus cackled once more.

"They're not coming."

Silence settled upon the room. A stunned Ethan gently let go of my shirt, & took a couple steps back. He let out a laugh of disbelief. "You must be joking! Seriously?! Why wouldn't they come for YOU?!"

"Because they don't know I'm missing. And they never will, because they don't want to know." I paused for a moment, tearing up a little. Not enough for them to notice, but it's there. "They don't care about me."

Remus started laughing, killing the sad moment. "HAH, I don't believe that for a second, four-eyes!" His face was filled with disbelief and mania. "You...Your friends need you, why wouldn't they come for you! You're so valuable to them, which is why we chose you in the first place!" he cackled once more.

"Well, you made a poor choice then. Anyone would have been better than me..."

Ethan snapped out of his stunned state. "Don't think that you can fool us so easily, Digit." he glared, putting emphasis on my nickname. "Remus?" he called for the male's attention.

"Yes, Double Dee~?" he responded with a wink.

"I told you, stop calling me that. Now, go get our prisoner food. Probably McDonalds or something."

"Will do, ya snake-charmer!" Remus winked again. Remus ran out.

"Oh, and one more thing, dear prisoner." The words felt like acid on Logan's skin. "They have 7 days to get here. Whether you say they'll come or not, they have a time limit before there's... consequences" Ethan warned, with a hiss at the end. He presented an evil smile before leaving Logan alone in the dark.

---

(No POV)

Day 2

Ethan & Remus returned to their prisoner early that morning, and hung around. Eventually they transferred Logan from being tied to a chair to a window-less bedroom with a locked door. It was actually a nice room to be in. The bed was super comfy, there was a TV with a DVD player(plus many dvds), a table and chair, and a bookshelf. On the table, Remus left him a notepad and pencil to write on if Logan needed anything, as there was enough room under the door to slip paper through. Logan never used it that day though, he just sat around in his room and sulked, knowing how this wasn't going to turn out for his enemies. The only time he got up was for food, which was always fast food. At least they were generous enough to give him nice(ish) things. They could've just gave him a burger and left, But Logan didn't care either way.

Ethan & Remus never stuck around in the room, just checked up on him. But seeing Logan just laying there on the bed filled the two with an emotion they could not identify yet.

---

Day 3

Almost the same as yesterday. Today was a Monday, so surely someone from his job would wonder where Logan went, right? Nope. Ethan kept Logan's phone with him at all times and there were no texts, no calls, not even a message on any social media.

Logan hesitantly got out of bed to do stuff aside from eating meals. None of the movies available were ones he was interested in, so he got Remus to bring him some documentaries, as well as Logan's personal notebook from his bag.

In fact, the little maniac decided to hang around Logan a bit. Some of the documentaries Remus grabbed were unintentionally ones he liked, so he decided to watch them with his prisoner.

Ethan still didn't like Logan. That's what he says, at least.

---

Day 4

Not much happened, just the usual. Except Remus had brought Logan a cookie with his dinner, a nice change.

---

(Ethan's POV)

I was sitting at my kitchen table, just staring out the window. I had my arm supporting my head while I thought about things.

Logan's proving himself right and I don't like it. But I don't get why. I should be upset because my plans are going wrong, but... I'm not.

Suddenly I felt hands covering my eyes. "Guess who~?" a voice asked in a sing-songy tone. I chuckled. "Obviously it's Remus. There's nobody else it could be."

Remus uncovered my eyes and pulled me into a hug, causing me to yelp. "You got me, babe!" he confessed, kissing me on the cheek. "Sorry for the hug, I forgot you don't like large, sudden moments of physical contact." Remus pulled away slowly and apologized, looking a bit embarrassed. Overstepping my boundaries is the only time he ever seems embarrassed.

"It's ok, Rem." I unintentionally sighed. Logan's still on my mind. My expression became a but more sad as I continued to think about the situation.

"Something wrong, Double Dee~?" Remus flirtatiously chuckled. He then noticed my facial expression and his smile fell. "...Seriously. Is everything ok? You usually let this kind of thing slide, Ethan." he queried worriedly. You could see the concern in his eyes. He only uses my full name when he's genuinely troubled.

"No no, it's not that." I reassured with a smile, as I grabbed his hand and held it with both of mine. Then the frown of mine returned right after. "It's Logan."

"Oh... is it because of you-know-what?" he questioned again.

"If "you-know-what" is the fact that his "friends" still haven't come for him? Yeah. It is..." I responded once again. Remus's face said everything. He recognized that Logan had told the truth.

"What's more, they haven't even shown a sign that they're planning to come get him. I tracked their movements across the city, not even a little bit of time was spent doing any sort of planning." I added on. Remus & I looked into each other's eyes. We saw the pain within ourselves. A familar feeling. An experience we remember all too well.

Seconds that felt like hours passed by. We wanted to cry. We were abandoned by those we trusted so dearly. Cast aside, all because of mistakes. Look what it did to us. We know the feelings experience during that time of loneliness. I don't want Logan to feel what we did, and I know Remus agrees.

"He... Logan's just like how we once were."

"Indeed, he is. And we're not going to let it remain like that."

---

(No POV)

Day 5

Remus & Deceit, to Logan's suspicion, made an effort to slowly welcome him. Remus was already doing so but only out of "sheer pity for the nerd". At first, Logan was hesitant. He had a bias against them due to them being villains.

Day 6

But by mid-day Wednesday, Logan had opened up more. He didn't understand it, but he just let it happen. He didn't care anymore. They're probably earning his trust so they can manipulate him against the others later.

Logan just wanted it to be over. During this past week, he had a lot of time to think. Enough time to lose hope in humanity. Nobody was going to rescue him. He was going to be forced to kill those he once loved.

He didn't want to admit it, but Logan was actually looking forward to his revenge. Not towards his kidnappers, no. They've actually shown him more acceptance than he's felt in a long time.

He wanted revenge on his former team.

---

(Logan's POV)

Day 7 - The last day.

Remus returned to check on me right on schedule. We talked a bit, watched a movie, he even brought a few puzzles for us to do.

Ethan, however, did not return until the evening. I had forgotten today was the "deadline" until the sinister man entered the room and dropped his backpack beside the now closed door with a glare towards Remus.

"It's time." he snapped. "Do you want to leave the room, Remus? I do not want to upset you, after all."

Remus gulped. "No... I want to stay. This is important for the three of us." he shook his head.

Important for the three of us? My body stiffened up and I squeezed my lower right arm. That cannot be good. Remus & I were previously sitting on my bed, angled right across from the door. The now terrified man got up and stepped beside his partner, who was now in the middle of the room, a few feet away from me.

"Should I hold him back, to make sure he cooperates...?" Remus questioned worriedly.

"No. You'll scare him." said Ethan as he stared into my eyes, never moving his attention. "But you already are, look at him." Ethan's previously tense stance had instantly loosened, realization dawning on him. Remus was right, I had now realized I was shaking, sweat was dripping down my back.

"Oh... Oh! I-i'm so sorry, Logan. It wasn't my intention." He bent down to my level and apologized. I was still stiffened up, though, and I turned my head away. "I'll let it pass." I finally let out as he waited for my response. His expression became sad.

"Logan, look at me. You need to listen." I hesitated for a second, but then turned to look him in his heterochromatic eyes. He seemed genuine.

"Today marks almost exactly a whole week of your friends not coming to save you. I originally had one plan, which you had no choice." I glared at him, moving back slightly. "But now that it hasn't worked, you have three choices." My eyebrows raised at the sudden proposal. I still remained like a statue, but now i'm truly listening.

"Number one. We let you go free, but... under one condition." Ethan paused for a moment. "You either give up all your technology-period-or, you let us keep track of what you do with any technology you use. We know your powers rely on having a gadget with you, Logan. We can't let you continue being a threat, but we also no longer want to see you hurt. You're a good man, you know." he confessed solemnly.

My expression softened. In the end, I didn't want to give up being a hero. The world needs me. But if this ends up being my best option, then I will agree.

"Option two, our backup plan in case you refuse option 1 & 3. In the situation where you refuse the before mentioned options, we will proceed with our original intentions. We hypnotize you with the intention to use you against your friends. We no longer want to do this to you, but if you refuse to cooperate we will do this." once more, his offer came solemnly.

I tightened up again, prepared to defend myself. I didn't want to know option 3, I just wanted to be as free as I can get. But before I could open my mouth, Remus spoke up.

"Why didn't you save that for last? I thought that would've made a better ending."

"Trust me, this one is a better closer in my opinion, Remus." he sighed.

"Finally, option 3." Ethan took a deep breath. This sounded like nerve wrecking answer for him to say. I wasn't sure whether to care or not. I just remained defensive.

At last, he let it out. "You join us. Leave your troubling life as a hero behind. Get payback for what the world has done to you. Or if you want to remain 'heroic', the three of us can become anti-heroes. Whatever it takes to make you happy." Ethan sounded serious.

Remus chimed in again, to Ethan's frustration. "Don't you want to show those losers how you feel about them now?! Smash their heads in?! Make them regret even wronging you once?!"

"No!" I lied, curling up into a ball on the bed. I didn't know what I want one bit. My morals are split in front of me, forcing me to choose one half and discard the other permanently.

The more serious of the two grabbed me by the shoulders, remaining at my eye level. "Look. I know you're hesitant to leave it all behind. You're used to one path in life. But we want what's best for you in the end. I know that anger is going to fester within you until you can no longer handle it, and end it all because there's nothing you can do about it." In that moment. Remus started shaking, crossing his arms and trying to calm himself. Ethan didn't notice, he was too focused on reassuring me.

"We were exactly like you once. Abandoned, by those we trusted most!" Ethan too, was now breaking down. "Cast away, all because of some mistakes! We had never known better! The problems built up within us, and corrupted us! And all the painful emotions of loneliness and betrayal along the way..." he choked out that last bit with a sob. "We want to help you avoid that part. We've turned out to want to care for you... W-we want-" the manipulator was now crying. Remus came up to him and slowly pulled him into a hug to comfort him, crying too.

"Shh, it's ok, Eth. It's ok, deep breaths." the maniacal one said in a way that seemed out of character for him. As Remus cried too, he rubbed Ethan's back.

I, Logan, have now come to a realization. They're serious. They genuinely care about me. Unlike anyone currently alive and in my life. I decided in that moment that my heart is right. I want what will satisfy my fury.

I got down to the ground with them and grabbed Ethan's hand, squeezing it periodically. "Ethan, listen. I'm here. Do as I say. Breathe in for 4 seconds..." As I began to help calm him down, he followed along. "Hold it for 7 seconds... And now let go for 8, and repeat." After about a minute Ethan was calm.

"I'm so sorry you had to see that side of me. You didn't deserve to know all that." he tried to confess. "Eth-..." Remus began to reassure, but cut himself off.

"I'll do it." I agreed, catching their attention. "I'm going to join you. You're right." I said as I stood up. I was going to say more, but I was stopped by the both of them getting up, and Remus pulling me into a tight hug.

"Don't worry, you'll fit right in with us. Everything will be just fine. We will never forget about you."

And in that moment, I knew they were right.

[thelastspeecher]

Superhero/villain AU - Playdate

I was looking through my AU Word docs for Inspiration for Stanuary, and stumbled across this scene that I never finished.  So I decided to finish this scene.  It stars Emmett McGucket, who sort of inadvertently became the star of the Superhero/villain AU lmao.

Enjoy.

———————————————————————————————————–

              Emmett opened the door to his house.

              “C’mon in,” he said nervously.  Carter punched his arm.

              “You don’t need to be anxious around me, man.  Hell, I’m the one who should be nervous.  I might get to meet a famous supervillain.”

              “…Probably not,” Emmett said, stepping aside so that Carter could come in. “Ma’s at her day job and Uncle Lute got called in to help his crew.”

              “That’s unfortunate,” Carter remarked.  He entered the house.  “Oh, well. At least I get to meet your dad and your sisters.”  He grinned at Emmett.  “I’m a bit curious about whether they’re actually as wild as you say.  I mean, compared to you, just about anyone’s wild.” Emmett flushed.  “I’m just teasing, relax.”

              “Yeah, I, uh, I knew that,” Emmett said weakly.  He closed the door.  “I’m glad your mom said you could finally come over.  You didn’t get lost on the way, did ya?”

              “Nah.”

              “And did you walk or-”

              “I biked.”  Carter eyed Emmett.  “Do you really wanna talk about how I got here, or show off your house a bit?” Emmett smiled.

              “Good point.  My room’s upstairs.”

              “Awesome.  Oh, before you show me your room, my mom told me to bring something over.  Apparently that’s the nice thing to do or whatever. So…”  Carter removed his backpack and dug around in it.  “Ah ha!  Here!” He handed Emmett a large candle. “You can give that to your dad.”

              “When he gets home, I will.”  Emmett brought the candle into the kitchen and set it on the counter.  When he returned, Carter raised an eyebrow.

              “He’s not home?”

              “Nope.”

              “But…he’s a stay-at-home dad.  Where is he?”

              “He, uh, he had to go run some errands,” Emmett fibbed.

              “He’ll be back before I leave, though, right?”  Carter grinned at him.  “I’m starting to wonder if he doesn’t exist or something.  You’re so secretive about him.”

              “Nah, he exists.  He’s just a bit uncomfortable with the whole villain thing,” Emmett said with a shrug. Carter shook his head.

              “That’s so weird.”

              “Hey, Emmett!” a voice shouted from the second floor.  Footsteps thundered down the stairs.  Daisy stuck her head around the corner to stare at Emmett and Carter.  Her eyes widened.  “Ooh, you have a friend over?”

              “Yes,” Emmett said.  “Ma and Dad said it was okay.”

              “Hmm.”  Daisy approached the two boys.  She crossed her arms.  “You’re short,” she said flatly to Carter.  Carter grinned.

              “I’ve seen you guys’ mom before.  I’m not nearly as short as her.  Or as Tsunami.”

              “True.”  Daisy continued to look Carter up and down.

              “Did you want somethin’?” Emmett asked.  Daisy shrugged.

              “Yeah, but since you’ve got a guest, I’ll just harass Emily about it.” She burst into flames and flew away. Carter’s jaw dropped.  He turned to stare at Emmett.  Emmett smiled weakly.

              “I told you my sisters were all elementals.”

              “Yeah, but-”  Carter chortled.  “Man, I wish my family had cooler powers.  When we show off, it’s not nearly as fun.”  Emmett’s smile strengthened.  “Anyways, do you have any fun video games?”

              “I don’t really play many video games, but my dad and Danny like to play Need for Speed.”

              “Hell yeah!  Lead the way.”

-----

              The video game session was interrupted a few times by Emmett’s sisters, who were incredibly curious about his friend and not bothering to be polite about it.  Eventually, Emily settled down in Stan’s favorite armchair in the living room, silently reading a book on pyrotechnics and occasionally glancing over at Emmett and Carter, playing video games from the floor.

              “So, Emily, do you think you’ll be the next Sirocco?” Carter asked after winning yet another round.  Emily shrugged.

              “Maybe.  Depends on when Ma decides to retire.  I don’t wanna steal her codename while she’s still usin’ it.”  Emily turned a page in her book.  “Dunno if I’ll go the full villain route, though.”  Carter whipped his head around to stare at her.

              “What?  You’re thinking about being a non-villainous Sirocco?  That’s insane.”  Carter shook his head.  “See, this is why it was stupid that your parents didn’t send you all to Sycamore Grove. Now not all of you will be villains!”

              “Well, Dad’ll be happy about that, at least,” Emily muttered.  Carter set down his controller and leaned back against the couch.

              “This mysterious ‘dad’ again,” he drawled.  He looked at Emmett.  “Seriously, where is he?  He’s not doing a very good job of being a stay-at-home dad if he’s not home.”

              “He’s got other things to do,” Emily said.  “And we’re old enough to watch ourselves anyways.”

              “Fine, I’ll drop it,” Carter muttered.  He turned his attention back to the game.  “So, Emmett, you said all your sisters were elementals.  Emily’s an aerokinetic, what about the others?”

              “Danny’s a cryo, she gets that from our Ma’s grandma,” Emmett said.  “And Daisy’s a pyro, she gets that from Dad.”

              “Your dad’s a pyro?”

              “Yeah.”

              “Honestly, I didn’t even realize he was a super,” Carter commented.  “Why isn’t he a villain?  He married one and he’s got the right power for it.”

              “Not all supers are masks,” Emmett said.  “I mean, I don’t think I’ll wind up being a mask.”

              “But to marry a mask and not be one-” Carter started.  Emmett paused the game.  He looked at Carter.  “You guys are pretty touchy about this.”

              “Well, yeah,” Emily piped up.  “You think we haven’t heard this same line of questionin’ from Ma’s coworkers?”  After a moment, Carter nodded.

              “Fair point.  So-” Whatever else Carter was about to say was interrupted by a loud crash in the backyard.  “What the hell was that?” Carter asked, getting up.  Voices carried from outside.

              “You almost crushed me there, Pines.”  Emmett and Emily exchanged a look.

              That sounds like Uncle Lute.

              “Excuse me for not having a perfect landing while I’m bleeding out, Gucket,” Stan snapped.  Footsteps sounded on the back porch, which led directly into the living room via a sliding glass door.  The door opened.  “Who put the curtains down?”

              “Prob’ly one of-” Lute started, pulling back the curtain.  He paused, catching sight of Emily, Emmett, and Carter, who were all staring at him.  “Um.” Before anyone could say anything, Lute suddenly tumbled out of sight with a yelp.  “Son of a- Emily, get yer father off me ‘fore he flattens me.” Emily jumped to her feet.  As she went to help, Emmett grabbed Carter’s hand.

              “We should prob’ly go upstairs.”

              “What?  Why?” Carter asked.

              “This seems like something that we shouldn’t-” Emmett started.  Danny and Daisy raced down the stairs.

              “We saw Dad crash in the yard,” Danny said breathlessly.  “Is Ma-”

              “Yes, yer mother’s on her way, but right now, we need to move yer father to the couch,” Lute said, pulling the curtain open.  The action revealed Stan, unconscious and pale, being partially lifted by Emily.  And, to Emmett’s dread, his father was in his superhero outfit.

              “Come on, Carter, we need to get out of the way,” Emmett said, pulling Carter up from the couch and dragging him upstairs.  His power dampener beeped.  Once they reached the landing of the second floor, Carter pulled his hand free.

              “Did you try to control me?” Carter asked quietly.

              “What?  No!”

              “Your power dampener just lit up.”

              “I- sometimes when I get worked up- I still wear the dampener for a reason,” Emmett stammered.  Carter looked back down to the first floor.  “No!”  Emmett’s dampener beeped again, making him grimace.

              “What the hell is going on?” Carter demanded, still looking into the living room from above.  “Is that- is that your mom’s archnemesis?  That looks like Flamethrower.”  Emmett broke into a nervous sweat.  “Why did your uncle bring an unconscious superhero to your house?  And why-”  Carter’s eyes widened.  “Your uncle called him your dad.  So did your sister.  And you said your dad was a pyro, which Flamethrower is.”  Carter swore softly.  “Your dad…is Flamethrower?”

              “Can- can we talk about this in my room?”

              “Yeah.  Sure.”

-----

              Once Emmett had closed the door to his room, Carter looked at him expectantly.

              “Care to explain why your dad is a superhero?”

              “I…I don’t know, to be honest.”  Emmett crossed over to his bed and sat down.  Carter sat next to him.  “I told you the first day we met that I didn’t know how my parents met.  Which isn’t completely true – I know how they met. But I don’t know why they became a couple.  From what I understand, they didn’t get along for years, then, out of nowhere, they became a couple and had Danny and Daisy.”

              “What’s the exact timeframe here?” Carter asked thoughtfully.

              “Pardon?”

              “How long between your parents getting together and your older sisters being born?”

              “I…”  Emmett stared at his friend.  “Are you suggesting that my parents got together because my dad got my ma pregnant?”

              “It’s a possibility.”

              “But how would my sisters have gotten conceived if they were still enemies?”

              “Oh, like you haven’t noticed how steamy some fights get,” Carter scoffed. “You pin your enemy against a wall, their eyes stare directly into yours…”

              “Ugh!  Okay, I get it, just-”  Emmett grimaced.  “Stop makin’ me imagine that happening with my parents.”  Carter snickered.  “At the end of the day, though, the timeline isn’t important, and neither is the way my parents got together.  What’s important is that they’re married and love each other now.”

              “Yeah.”  Carter shook his head.  “That’s weird as fuck, man.  No wonder you’re always so cagey about your dad.”

              “If anyone found out…”  Emmett’s throat abruptly became choked up with fear.  “My uncle told me that, back when Danny and Daisy were still really little, one of Dad’s coworkers found out he married a supervillain.  The coworker went rogue and kidnapped Dad.  My ma rescued him, but it was a big mess.”  Emmett met Carter’s eyes.  “You can’t tell anyone.”

              “What would happen if I did?” Carter asked.  Emmett’s heart broke.  His expression must have shown this, because Carter quickly backpedaled.  “I won’t!  Sorry, I didn’t- I’m just so used to playing devil’s advocate that I said that without thinking.”

              “I don’t know what would happen.  But I would definitely never be able to see you again.”

              “Well, you don’t need to worry, ‘cause I won’t tell a soul,” Carter said firmly. Emmett smiled.

              “Thank you.”  There was a knock.  “Yes?” Danny opened the door.

              “Dad wants to talk to you and yer friend,” she said, looking directly at Carter with a cold gaze.  “Come on.” Emmett and Carter exchanged a look, then stood up and followed Danny downstairs.  Stan was on the couch, still wearing the bottoms to his heroing outfit, with a large bandage over much of his bared torso.  Thankfully, he was now awake and drinking a can of Pitt Cola.

              “Glad yer okay, Dad,” Emmett said quietly.  Stan grinned at him.

              “Takes a lot more than what happened today to put your old man out of commission.”  He looked at Carter.  “Sorry about ruining your playdate with Emmett.”

              “Dad!” Emmett yelped.  Stan chuckled.

              “I’m just teasing, sport.  Seriously though, Carter, this isn’t how I planned on meeting you.”

              “Shit happens,” Carter said with a shrug.  Stan nodded.

              “I like that attitude.”  His easygoing demeanor abruptly vanished.  Emmett swallowed, recognizing the stony expression on his father’s face.  Stan was shifting into what Emily called “take no shit mode”.  “Look, kid, you can’t tell anyone what you saw or think you saw today.”

              “Don’t worry, I already told Emmett I’d keep it a secret,” Carter said. Stan looked at him doubtfully.  “I don’t want to mess up my best friendship. Or anger one of the most powerful families in villainy.”  Stan nodded.

              “Smart.  Even if Angie and I have to go into hiding with the kids, the rest of her family won’t have to.  And you know exactly how dangerous the McGuckets are.”

              “Yes, sir.”

              “You’re giving me your word that you’ll keep my secret identity to yourself,” Stan said.  Carter nodded.  “I need you to say it, son.”  Emmett noted with some amusement that the way Stan said his last sentence reminded him of someone.  He glanced at Danny, who, judging by her expression, had also picked up on it.

              He sounded just like Grampie Gucket.  Carter, somehow not quailing under the force of Stan’s stare, nodded again.

              “I give you my word that I won’t tell anyone your secret identity, Emmett’s dad.”  Immediately, Stan left “take no shit mode” and chortled.

              “You can call me Mr. Pines, kid.  That’s what Emmett’s sister’s friends call me.”

              “Ah.  Okay. Mr. Pines.  Your secret is safe with me.”

              “Good.”  Stan got up from the couch, poorly stifling a groan of pain.  Danny crossed her arms, scowling.  “Princess, don’t give me that look.”

              “You shouldn’t be getting up, Dad.  If you need something, I can get it.”

              “Nope.  No dice.” Stan clapped Danny on the shoulder. “I’m gonna go call your ma to let her know I’m not unconscious anymore.”

              “Are my services as a human ice pack no longer needed, then?”

              “Yes, sweetie, you’re free to go.”

              “Great.”  Danny went back upstairs and ducked into her room.

              “Dad, I think Danny’s right,” Emmett said.  “You should be laying down.”

              “Nope!  You and your little friend can get back to playing.  Whattaya think for dinner?  Spaghetti? I gotta get started soon if it’s gonna be ready at a reasonable time.”

              “You’re making dinner?” Carter asked.  Stan raised an eyebrow.

              “I’m a stay-at-home dad when I’m not getting stabbed by villains.  Feeding my kids is my job.”

              “But you just got hurt.”

              “Eh.  I’ve had worse.”  Stan grinned. “My wife’s given me worse.”

              “Dad!” Emmett whined.  Stan chuckled.  He walked into the kitchen.

              “Why’s there some candle in here?”

              “My mom told me to bring a gift over,” Carter called.

              “Nice,” Stan said.  “Very classy.”  Carter looked at Emmett, amused.  Emmett shrugged.

              “He’s right.  Bringin’ that was pretty classy.”  Carter laughed and punched Emmett’s shoulder.

              “You’re funny, ‘Met.  C’mon, let’s get back to me kicking your ass at video games.”

[misslilli]

Felix Felicis

MSR. AU. PG-13. | tagging @today-in-fic | read on AO3

Chapter 15 - Siblings And Secret Sting Operations

[ DS ]

Sundays are reserved for church and phone calls with my family, so after mass and the church brunch, I make myself a cup of tea and grab my blanket, heading upstairs to curl up on the Adirondack chair on my private balcony. I take out my phone and call my brother Charlie.

He picks up on the second ring. “City morgue. You kill ‘em, we chill ‘em!” I almost choke on my sip of tea.

“Hey Charlie! That’s a new one, very funny. Almost killed me with it!”

“Aah killing with jokes is my specialty. Sorry sis! How’s it going over there on the main land?”

“We mere mortals manage to get by, always a little in awe of the Gods of the Cape. Hey can you see me?” I get up and wave across the bay to where I can picture him standing in front of his little cottage, waving back.

“I deign to gaze at the mere mortal waving like a crazy person, yeah! So what’s new with you?”

“Nothing much, busy with school, the usual. How about you? How’s Pete? Did he get the promotion?” I can hear the smile in his voice at the mention of his boyfriend.

“Yeah he did, I’m insanely proud of the big-shot broker that I call mine!” Against all odds, they make a pretty great couple, the artist and the stock broker. “So, speaking of… how’s your love life? Seeing anyone?” He always asks me this and the answer’s pretty much the same every time, but today, I surprise him.

“Mhh yeah, there’s someone…” The gasp he gives is so loud, it almost carries across the bay.

“Shut up! What? Who? When? Are you really seeing someone?”

“No… not exactly. But… there is the dream of someone else….” I sigh into the phone, smiling at the mental image of Fox Mulder that pops into my head.

“You’re kidding. Who is he?” As I recount the moments that happened between the two of us, Charlie is practically jumping with glee.

“God, that’s so great, sis! So, what happens now? Why are you pining for him from afar instead of putting on the big-girl pants and ask him out on a date?” I shake my head.

“You know why, Charlie. I’m really scared I’ll screw this up and the fact that I care about his kid so much makes it even more difficult. Oh God, and can you imagine what Dad will have to say about him being divorced and a single parent?” Charlie groans into the phone in frustration.

“Not this again, Dana. You can’t live your life the way you think will get you dad’s stamp of approval, you deserve to be happy and from the sound of it, you’re pretty excited about this guy. I can tell you from experience, if I had chosen to chase dad’s approval, I’d still be so deep in the closet I’d need a map and a compass to find my way out. So, your other concerns are valid but you’ll never find out if he’s the one if you don’t try!”

“I know, I know, you’re right, just like you were right the other thousand times we’ve had this conversation. What am I supposed to do, just walk up to him and ask him on a date? I can’t do that!” The thought alone sends a cold shiver down my spine.

“YES Dana, that’s exactly what you’re supposed to do! We’re living in the 21st century, we’re not playing this stupid game where a boy has to ask a girl out, it’s okay if it’s the other way around!” I hang my head and sigh in resignation, he’s right, as always. I want to hate him a little for it.

“Alright, I’ll think about it, happy?” – “Overjoyed! So let me tell you about that art show that I’m putting on at the gallery!”

We chat for a little while longer, waving at each other again as we say our goodbyes.

----------

In the meantime, downstairs in the kitchen

The three other girls are sitting around the kitchen table having a very late breakfast, the smell of coffee and pancakes filling the house. They speak in hushed tones, not wanting to be overheard by the fourth friend upstairs.

“Girls … This Mr.Mulder- Dana situation is killing me. I just can’t take it anymore, they’re pining for each other so hard but they’re both too chicken to do something about it!”

“What are you saying, S?” Alex blows a cooling breath over her coffee cup.

“I’m saying that these two need a hefty kick in the butt!”

“Ooooh I get it now!” Holly bounces in her seat excitedly. “We’ll be the trusty matchmakers for these love-birds!”

“The two of you are out of your minds. She’ll see right through it, you know she will! We’ve talked about it with her Friday after Friday but nothing has happened! And he’s not making a move either.”

“Yeah… we can’t just go up to him and ask him if he’s blind or stupid or both and tell him that he should get his ass in gear and ask her out already!” Sarah spears a piece of pancake with her fork, twirling it thoughtfully.

“What if we enlist the help of his kid?”

“Holly, no, we can’t do that! He’s six for god’s sakes. Besides, I think they have another thing coming with him when they actually dostart dating. You know how kids lash out when their parent starts dating again, and he loves D to pieces. No, we need a more subtle plan.”

“How about we spike her drink at the birthday party with some hard stuff? You know, lower the inhibitions and all that” Sarah waggles her eyebrows suggestively.

Holly gapes at her friend. “Sarah! We can’t drug our friend into sleeping with him! It’s not right and she’ll have our heads for it if she ever found out, rightfully so! What about the Halloween fair, they’re both working there, but D doesn’t know that he got roped into it?”

Realization dawns in Sarah’s eyes and her mind works out a plan. The other two nod enthusiastically when she tells them about it.

“Oh this is so exciting! We need to talk to Miss Hannigan and some other people but I think it’s a good start to push them closer together! Now that we’ve got a plan, we just need to figure out how to keep it all from D. We live together, so she’s bound to overhear us talking about it at some point.” Holly and Alex nod in unison.

“We’ll go all secret sting operation on their ass, codenames and all. They won’t know what hit ‘em.”

“Codenames, S?”

“Yes codenames, come on it’ll be so much fun, like a secret society, Illuminati-style!”

Alex laughs: “Alright, what are our codenames for these two?”

They all think hard about this. “Well their real names are out, of course. Middle names too. Red and brown?” – “No, hair color’s too obvious, A!” – “Mom and Dad?” They share a laugh, shaking their heads. “That’s weird. Can we do something with the first letters of their names? F and D? S and M?” Holly bursts out giggling. “Okay maybe not S and M! … M and S? Can we do something with that?”

A slow smile spreads over Sarah’s face. “I’ve got it! A thunder of jets in an open sky, a streak of grey and a cheerful “HI!” – BOOM - a loop, a whirl and a vertical climb and once again you’ll know it’s time for the adventures oooof…?”

Holly jumps out of her chair and yells out excitedly: “Moose and Squirrel! Sarah that’s brilliant!!” Alex nods her agreement, grinning.

“We’ll call it Operation: Bullwinkle!”

“Man, Squirrel’s so gonna kick our asses…”