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[selyeji]

nouvelle vague

joão felix x reader

summary : you were simply an intern and he was on loan, you’ll blame the full moon.

warnings : not proofread, angst, joao is toxic and stupid, m*gui…

you stood on the elevator, holding onto your bag with both your hands. legs crossing while you lean against the railing, your gaze lowered to the floor. it was your first day as an intern, helping in the clubs social media and journalism.

the chimes of the door open, from your gaze you saw white sneakers, black pants and a pair of football cleats. dangling from his index and middle finger to carry it around. assuming he was a player for the club, you raise your head looking at his face. the bright lights of the elevator made his brown hair glow, his eyes were hooded and dark, ears busy listening to music.

softly sending a smile and a nod towards him, to show proper respect. he smiles back as he places his focus on pressing the buttons for his floor. you started to scrape off a hangnail on a finger of yours, it was a bad habit if yours. you did it to distract yourself or whenever you felt nervous.

the football player arrived on his floor first, footsteps echoed through the empty hallways once he exited the elevator. as you went up, you fixed your posture, eating a mint and fixing your hair. nervous for the new work space.

the moment you entered the office, your boss guided you around to introduce you. arriving to your own table, you started to place your things down. arranging a few files, pens and your laptop.

deciding to check on the photographers kn the training ground, you walk outside to the field. immediately facing the blue sky and green grass. jogging over to the area where most staff sat, creating small talk. until you saw those familiar boots again, white with cuts of grass under its heel.

the brown haired man from earlier, his hair messed up and the sun creating light highlights on his curls. it wasn’t until now you had a good look at him. he was handsome, perfect smile. your pupils darting up and down to look at his muscular but slim form.

…

the day started to pass by, the sun rays peeping out the pink blue clouds. you started to gather the necessities back in your bag, greeting you co-workers on your way out. you waited for the elevator once again to reach your floor, the doors slide open.

the player from earlier, met again. you were surprised, majority already went home. he was still in the building while you were expecting to get back alone. you shrugged it off, it was your first day either way. you wouldn’t know their schedule, maybe you were the one getting into their usual routine. he softly greeted you, recognizing you from earlier that day.

…

in the next days of the week, getting into the same elevator and seeing the same face. this became a daily routine of seeing other. you two got closer and closer, introducing each other and usually creating small talk. it was nice to get closer to someone aside from the people in the shared office.

it was after a long day of work, sun already set as the purple sky blended. you decided to visit a nearby music shop, it was your go-to shop whenever searching for vinyls or cds. the cashier already recognizes your face from the amount of times you visited.

pushing the glass door, entering the warm room. you already had your earphones on walking over to the cd section. looking over the new albums released, the arrangement wasn’t really organized by genre.

your peace was disturbed with a male voice, removing one of your earbuds. you look up to see joão, he smiled at you, showing his straight white teeth.

“i love the smiths” he said, referring to the album you were holding. you were a bit taken back, of course they’re known worldwide but here? not as much. “The Queen Is Dead is my personal favorite album. what about you?” he continued and asked you.

“Louder Than Bombs.” you grin sweetly at him, a bit of pink tint on your cheeks. he still stood on the opposite side, you two separated by the racks of cds on your side while vinyls on his. joão starts to look through the vinyl albums.

“you prefer vinyls over cds?” you ask him. continue to looking for yours. “of course, the albums are big enough to flex your music taste to people.” he joked. you chuckle, “im more of a cd person, you could listen to it everywhere.”

you two continued to talk, wasting the time in the store. recommending albums to each other, you two shared a passion for music, whether it was rap, r&b, jazz, pop or whatever. the two of you said your goodbyes once he left the store. you stood on the counter, deciding to buy the albums he recommended.

you rushed back home, your smile did not leave your face at all even after he left. quickly taking a warm shower, feeding your cat before going over to your desk.

turning on your lamp and cd player, before taking out the cd from the case and putting it on the player. you look at track-list while listening. based from the titles, you were expecting more love songs. you listen through the entire album, it was more of soft songs but it was for sure a great album. turning off the light, deciding to go to sleep.

…

you woke up early as usual, doing your daily routine before going off to work. you usually brought your own burnt cd with your custom playlist, but deciding to bring the other album you bought. deciding to listen to it on the way with your portable cd player.

once you arrived, elevator with him again. you both smile at each other. joao notices the music you were listening to, grinning to himself. but decided not to disturb you as usual.

you arrive to your office, quietly working on your own until you realize you finish the entire tracklist already. deciding to check up on the photographers on the field once again.

joao kept looking at you more than usual, smiling more until you noticed. once it got repetitive you just gave a lazy confused face, making him laugh. you went back to the office continuing your work.

the day ended, stretching your back while walking to the elevator. joao was already there as usual, he raises your brow at you while smiling. giving him a confused look you asked “what?”

“how was the album i gave you? didn’t think you would actually listen to my recommendations.” you connected the dots realizing he heard it blasting too loud earlier.

“surprisingly good from you. both albums were pretty great. plus whats the point of recommending if you’re not gonna listen anyways?” you raise your chin, smiling.

“hey wait surprisingly? what does that mean?” he asks, acting offended.

“nothing, if you heard it earlier, why didn’t you ask beforehand?” you chuckle. “i don’t wanna disturb you while listening to ethereal music. especially coming from me.” he says in a sassy tone. you laugh it off with him.

ever since then the two of you got close, always striking a conversation whenever you saw each other. whether it was on the field or not. the two of you definitely shared a lot of interests. it made you way more comfortable in your work space.

…

the sky was pitch midnight, the glowing of night life clubs became a source or light. you walk around the neon lights finding a specific bar. a friend of yours was performing tonight. they weren’t a big hit band but they still performed gigs often.

you walked in with a large crowd already waiting, the band was already preparing their instruments onstage. deciding to go the bar next to it, ordering a juice. you definitely did not want to deal with a headache in the morning.

before you knew it, the drummer started counting and the performance started. you still sat on the stool, taking sips every so often.

you felt a tap behind your shoulder, you turned your head, checking behind you. joao looking down on you smiling, he wore a white hoodie and black pants.

“mind if i sit next to you?” he asked, his head nodding to the side to the empty seat next to you. you smiled softly and said sure.

“didn’t know you went to these kinds of places.” joao yelled through the loud music and guitar. “im only here to support my friend actually, she’s the bass player over there.” you yelled back, pointing to your friend on the stage.

looking back to joao, the blue and purple lights that spread throughout the room, hitting his face. his eyes were already staring into yours, reflecting the bright lights in the room but kept it on yours.

your faces got closer, elbow leaning on the counter. your eyes going back and forth from his eyes to his full lips. before your lips could even collide, you two were distracted by the sudden yell of the crowd. a impressive guitar solo started playing, the room filled with cheers and claps. you laughed at joaos face while clapping, your romantic session ended.

leaning near to his neck you whisper, “let’s continue this later…” saying in a playful tone. you maintain eye contact as you smile.

once the performance ended, you greeted your friend goodbye after creating small talk. you walk out, already seeing joao waiting for you. he looks up from his phone, smirking. “let’s go, i know a spot.” he said, his hand out inviting you to hold hands.

grabbing his palm, intertwining hands. he walks you to the beach, it had a way nicer view of the ocean, you haven’t discovered this place before. he sat on the sand, tapping the empty spot beside him insisting you sit down.

you sat on the grainy sand, looking up to the night sky. it was a full moon, stars behind it but still shining in their own way. bringing your legs to your chest, you look beside you to see joao. his hands behind to lean on the ground.

moonlight reflected to his defined cheekbones, he raised his hand up to your jaw. dark pupils staring into your eyes, tucking a hair strand behind your ear before kissing you. your body started leaning against his, pushing the kiss further and further.

once you two separated, catching your breath. your head rested on his shoulder, refusing to look him on the face. too embarrassed on what would happen now. joao broke the silence through his giggle, picking you up while your legs hugged around his waist and your arms snake around his neck.

he carried you over to his car, which was surprisingly parked just nearby the beach. putting you down on the passenger seat, kissing your forehead in the process. once he got to the drivers seat, immediately leaning to rest his back.

“open up the compartment.” joao said, smirking as his hands rise up to the back of his head. you raise a brow while pouting your lips, wondering what he was talking about, your muscles immediately soften. the compartment was filled with cd cases.

“woah… i thought you were a vinyl person…” you said, still amazed looking at the different music you still haven’t listened to.

“can’t play them in a car no?” he laughs it off. you look over to him, the muscles in his arm clearly defined and showing. his white teeth showing through his perfect smile. you blush, admiring his features.

…

since that night, you and joao have gotten way closer than before. more than friends, but you weren’t even sure what was going on between you two.

he’d often let you stay at his house, play video games, cook, eat, shower together, make love. you two were like a couple, not publicly.

you laid down on joaos couch, waiting for him to get back home. scrolling through the internet finding something to entertain yourself with, you come across an interview. it was pretty recent from twitter, you play it to see joao.

smiling to yourself until the interview asked, “are you currently in a relationship? seeing someone?”

“no, im not seeing anyone right now.”

“so you’re available?”

“yes.”

his answer echoed in your head, repeating and repeating. sure you were fine with being private, especially with pressure in social media, but this?

publicly saying you’re available, acting like a person wasn’t waiting for you back home. you were tipped off, pissed even. did he not consider you worthy? were you just a replacement until he found someone new?

you turned off your phone, hand hanging off the side of the couch as you grip onto your device. staring onto the blank ceiling, the white light bulb still lighting up the room. the door creaks open, you raise your head to see joao entering the house. removing his shoes before stepping in. he walked over to you as you stood up, embracing you into a hug.

“hey babyy…” he mumbled. he was soft with you, in the field he’s fiery and aggressive but now he’s just soft and sweet. you heart warmed up, forgetting about the interview, passing it off as wanting to keep things more private and secured.

“let’s just take a shower can we… scrub my back for me?” he asked, using his dark puppy eyes again to get what he wants, his cheeks pouting. “fine…” you smiled, before leading him into the bathroom.

…

you forgot about that day, what happened. well you tried, you kept getting reminded about it. you were paranoid if he was out with someone else. you never showed it to him or anyone else. you acted unbothered.

you were at your office, getting off your seat for lunch break. you decide to go out to eat, forgetting to pack your own lunch. you walked to a nearby cafe, it was a local shop, not much customers around this time. you ordered a coffee and pasta. you sat down waiting for your order, scrolling in tiktok until you come across and familiar face, with another one.

you look closer to find joao, sat with magui in a restaurant. he only got back from international break a few days ago. you were heartbroken, everything inside you shattered to pieces.

scrolling through the comments on how he doesn’t learn his lesson and never move on. they were always right, he never made an effort to move on. your name was called, you order was already ready. turning off your phone to clear your thoughts and to bring back your tray.

you began eating your food, staring out the cafes glass window. blankly staring as people walked pass, going on with their day. you were finished with him, he was an asshole from the start.

after you finished your food, you went back to work. letting the hours pass by. but your thoughts never left, your legs bounced the whole time, you couldn’t focus properly.

your shift ended, you quickly grabbed your bag and things. going onto the elevator, unfortunately he was already there. you kept the gaze of your eyes lowered, not getting even a view of his face. quickly just wanting to get out.

you had your earphones on, nothing played. you just wanted joao to get off your back for now, once the doors opened. you rushed out, quickly running out the building. unfortunately joao caught up, he knew something happened to you.

he grabbed your wrist, making you turn to him. you stopped on your tracks, facing him, your eyes filled with hatred. joao was taken back.

“what happened baby?” he asked, his tone filled with pure sweetness.

this time you didn’t soften, you were done with him.

“seriously you’re gonna act nothing happened? with magui?” you took your hand back.

he was shock, his eyes widened. he didn’t expect her to find out, nor anyone.

“please i can explain darling-“ his face turned into a worry look.

“oh so you can call me a pet name but can’t even place a label between us?” you cut him off. “us? you really think friends would do anything like we do? after everything? don’t try to establish a relationship you don’t want.” you continued. tears started to build up in your eyes.

you ran off, before anyone could see you. getting into your apartment before breaking down. everything felt heavy, like the world was against you. your bedsheets stained with tears that will last.

…

it’s been weeks since then, you decide to walk over to the shore. its late at night, you couldn’t sleep from all the energy drinks you consumed from wanting to study longer. the moon was bright as ever.

you saw that same spot again, where everything started. you internship has ended while joaos loan contract wasn’t extended. you were glad you didn’t get to see him anymore. he’s back at portugal, but you also knew he would get to see magui again.

there was nothing you could do now, joao was cruel and deep like the ocean. but it would make sense if magui was the moon, affecting him like the ocean depended on her. you were simply a star, something you look for when the moon is not at sight.

daily click to help palestine

a/n : w2e save me… please save me w2e if you can hear me please😭😭 sorry but every good romcom mentions the smiths therefore it needs a place here

[sunnysssol]

Literally frothing at the mouth over your Mob AU!!!! 😭💕

I have a mighty need to know all your lore for it.

Ask and ye shall receive 😈

California, 1983; Alfred and Matthew Jones-Williams lose their parents at 17 and 6 respectively. As the older brother, Alfred took it upon himself to raise and provide for Matthew. He's young and strong, but since he didn't get to finish his education, he was stuck doing odd jobs now and again. Alfred eventually finds his way in Vegas, where he starts working as the chauffeur for the most formidable loan shark and crime lord in the country— Arthur Kirkland. The older man was heirless, and eventually found himself taking a liking to Alfred and soon began to mentor him in the ins and outs of the job. But Arthur had always been unstable-- fits of uncontrollable, unpredictable rage followed by stormy seas of apathy and general inaction. Alfred eventually becomes boss of the Kirklands' crime family after he kills Arthur in a blinding fit of rage so characteristic to this Alfred's youth because he fucked up a huge business deal, and Arthur threatened to use Matthew as collateral.

Then ofc, the main plot. It does start with Matthew's death, and the reason for that is because I find it a little impossible for this Alfred to have any sort of strong reaction to anything else. Bad business deal? So what, I'll just earn back the money again! I'm Alfred-motherfucking-Jones, I can do absolutely anything and the sky's the fucking limit. Anyone else dying? Damn, that sucks but what can ya do. But when Matt dies, especially the way he did, Alfred starts to doubt. Himself, everything– his guilt kicks in full force. If only I'd forced Mattie to stay out of the business in the first place, then he wouldn't have died there. If only I'd been a better brother, a better man, then maybe he'd still be alive.

After Matt dies, the rest of the story goes on. Tolys, Romano and Alfred all try to figure out who ordered the ambush on Matthew. But, Romano gets too close to figuring it out and is attacked himself. He survives, but now he has some suspicions about Tolys, who had apparently also been there during when Matthew died but wasn't hurt too badly. He and Alfred eventually figure out that Tolys has been double-crossing them and was working with Ivan all along, being an agent of Natallia. Of course, they go and pay Feliks a visit, seeing as he's Tolys' closest confidante. Feliks swears up and down that he's got nothing to do with it, even offering information that the hit was actually for Alfred and not Matthew. And when Feliks ends up dead the next day, it confirms the rest of Romano and Alfred's suspicions. After that, Alfred and Tolys have their confrontation, wherein Tolys admits to it all, and after getting into a fist fight with Alfred goes out taking out a very important business deal for Ivan's family as a final sort of farewell to Alfred. He may not have been entirely loyal, but he'd grown to respect Alfred throughout the years.

Ivan and Alfred get their confrontation eventually, where Alfred manages to kill Ivan whilst on the brink of death himself. In short, Alfred wins, but he loses so many people he's left empty and wondering if it had all been worth it after all.

[ mob au ]

[starlightkun]

➠ word count: 2.6k ➠ warnings: cursing, extremely brief implication of alcohol? (bestie chenle is back and bringing his best unhinged wine aunt energy to adulthood and we love that for him) ➠ genre: fluff, slice of life, established relationship, former hockey captain sungchan, chronically ill reader (chronic migraines), shortfic in the buzzer beater series (after between two palms, before freezing the puck) ➠ extra info: the reader in this has chronic migraines, which i have. when the reader’s migraines, experiences as a chronically ill person, and thoughts about being chronically ill are described, that is me writing directly from my own life. i am not generalizing the lives of all people with chronic migraines/chronic illnesses, but i am sending all my love to any readers out there living with a chronic illness, and here’s a reminder to go take your meds! ➠ author’s note: ok how could i NOT write a lil something about their time abroad ft. my bestie, your bestie, everybody’s bestie chenle still being a little menace ➠ series masterlist

You shrugged off his apology by grabbing him by the back of the neck and pulling his lips down to yours. Sungchan tasted like the ocean, like seabreeze and salt spray, and he happily hunched over to deepen the kiss, pressing your head back against the back of your chair.

Standing in the small regional airport of the little tropical town that you were staying in, you fanned yourself as you watched the sky out the window. The air conditioning was of course broken (not that you’d ever heard of a time that it was working), and you wished you could just stand straight on the tarmac as that would honestly be cooler.

After successfully defending his thesis and graduating with his PhD, Sungchan had (after discussing it with you) accepted an opportunity to join a team studying a tropical fish in its native habitat abroad for ten months, and you of course came with. It was a whirlwind of getting everything ready to move internationally in less than a month, and now that you two were finally sort of settled in, you were having your first visitor from back home.

Finally, you spotted the small prop plane descending, and literally bounced up and down in place with excitement as it landed, and you got a look at the four passengers deboarding right onto the runway. Your focus was on one in specific, as he fumbled with putting his sunglasses on as his hat nearly blew away in the strong winds.

As soon as he was in the doors, he spotted you with ease—there were only a few others waiting for their own family and friends—and you two nearly tackled each other with hugs.

“Chenle!” You squealed, squeezing him tightly.

“Y/N! Oh my god!” Chenle let you go, his chest heaving dramatically. “Did you see that landing? I thought we were going into the fucking ocean for a second. God, and the turbulence—I thought I was going to die, like typing my will in my notes app at 40,000 feet.”

“You’re too used to being spoiled with all those first-class international flights for work,” you scoffed, grabbing his rolling luggage as he kept his duffel bag on his shoulder.

“Business class,” he tried to insist as he followed you outside. “And really, is it too much to ask to not have my seatmate almost throw up on my shoes because the plane is convulsing like we’re in a cocktail shaker being thrown around by a flair bartender?”

“Oh no, did baby’s designer shoes almost get a little bit of commoner vomit on them?” You gasped teasingly.

“That is not what I—”

“Really brave for you to complain about getting somebody’s puke on your shoes.”

“That was one time sophomore year, I can’t believe you haven’t let it go,” he complained.

“And I never will,” you snickered, finally arriving at the small car that the research institute loaned out to the team for personal use. “Now come on, we’re getting brunch. Sungchan says hey by the way, and he wishes he could’ve met you at the airport too, but they had to go out on the boat early this morning. We’ll probably see him a little after lunchtime.”

“So what exactly are you two doing out here?” Chenle asked, reclined back in his seat and sipping on his second colorful cocktail of the day. “It’s absolutely gorgeous here, by the way, so if I were you, I wouldn’t give a shit what Sungchan was doing…”

You laughed, biting on the straw of your one and only drink. “He’s studying a tropical fish that’s only found in this region. Not really the whole fish, I guess, but apparently some of it could help cure human blood diseases. So that’s more the part that he’s interested in. His research head from his doctorate program recommended him for the spot on the team, and so far it seems like they love him.”

“And you’re just…?”

“Enjoying the view?” You replied sheepishly. “Been doing a lot of reading, exploring the area, trying to keep myself busy. His stipend is enough to support the both of us, and the research institute provides our housing and all those utilities, so I’m really just trying to keep busy while he’s out and about for the next… eight a half months?”

“I’d say you’re living the dream, but I know you…” Your friend pulled his sunglasses down just so you could see it clearly as he narrowed his eyes at you. “You’re going to get bored.”

“I’m enjoying the break! Really!”

“Tell me when you start writing an academic article out of boredom.”

“Well…”

“Already? You’ve been here for six weeks!”

“I haven’t started writing it, but I was re-reading the screenplay for M. Butterfly the other day, just something short, you know, and started taking some pretty rough notes about this idea that I’ve been turning over in my head for a while.”

He shook his head. “Of course you were.”

“I have to get a job when we go back, LeLe! I can’t be a stay-at-home girlfriend forever,” you tried to defend yourself.

“Sungchan would probably be cool with it.”

“After he made sure I wasn’t replaced by a robot, an alien, or suffered some kind of head trauma because he knows I’d go crazy like that.”

“I’m just saying…” Your friend gestured to the incredible view that the waterfront restaurant offered.

“Sounds like you want to be Sungchan’s stay-at-home girlfriend, Chenle,” you crossed your arms, raising an eyebrow.

He grinned mischievously. “Hell yeah, you two looking for a third?”

“You’re going to eat those words when you see the size of the apartment they put us up in.”

As soon as Chenle stepped over the threshold into your small one-bedroom apartment in town, he looked around, as if expecting more.

“You’ll be sleeping on the couch, sorry. Mine and Sungchan’s room is in there,” you pointed. “And the bathroom is connected, so we all have to share this week, sorry again.”

“You know, thanks for the offer, Y/N, but I don’t think I’m cut out for the throuple lifestyle.” He patted you on the back. “Good luck on your search, though.”

“Ungrateful little—” You cursed, grabbing his ear and yanking on it. “Wait until I tell your mom about this!”

“Tell my mom what?!” He yelped, jumping back from you and cradling his ear. He clearly wasn’t over taunting you either, though. “You want me to tell her that I rejected your throuple offer?”

“I’ll tell her it was your idea in the first place. She won’t even care about that when she hears about you rejecting my kind and selfless hospitality!”

He merely stuck his tongue out at you, and you stuck your tongue back out at him. With the situation essentially resolved, you two relaxed again, and he gave the apartment another lookover.

“It is really cute in here, actually,” he appraised. “How much of the décor is yours and how much came with the place?”

“Most of it came with the place, we couldn’t bring a whole lot, and we can’t buy too much while we’re here if we can’t bring it back.”

Reclined on the beach later in the day, you hummed contentedly at the cool breeze blowing over your warmed skin as you sat under the shade of an umbrella and some trees. You and Chenle had already swam around for a bit, and were taking a short rest back up on the shore.

“So when’s Sungchan allegedly supposed to appear?” Chenle asked, taking pictures of the incredibly blue water with his phone.

You checked your watch. “They left pretty early this morning, but he didn’t bring a lunch, so probably soon. Thirty minutes or less if I had to guess?”

“Hey, can I see that?”

“My… watch?” You held your left hand out to him, confused.

“No, this!” He smacked you in the face with the back of your own hand.

“Hey! What was that for?”

“Sorry, thought you couldn’t see it.”

“See what? How fucking dramatic you are? I’ve known that forever.”

“No, this!” That time he didn’t hit you with your own hand, but instead pointed to your bare left ring finger. “No ring?”

“No ring,” you confirmed calmly, yanking your appendage back from him so it couldn’t be used for evil again.

“Isn’t this the same guy who said ‘I love you’ on your first date or something?”

“Second.”

“Right, my bad, second date. And you two have been together for…” Chenle silently counted on his fingers. “…Six years?”

“I was worried for a second there at five. Thought you wouldn’t figure out how to get to your other hand.”

Chenle ignored your provocation, though, already on a mission. “Same guy who said ‘I love you’ on the second date hasn’t proposed in six years?”

You sighed, sitting up in your chair and leaning over the armrest towards him as if you two were conspiring on some plot. “I didn’t want to say anything but… we did pick out a ring before we left.”

“And you didn’t tell me?!”

“Got a little distracted with having to move to a new continent in like three weeks, sorry!”

“Did he bring it? Is he proposing here?”

“I don’t know! That part’s supposed to be a surprise!” You shoved him, laying back against your chair back again. “We had all the big talks and stuff, he has the ring somewhere—here, home, I don’t know—and now’s the surprise part: When it happens, how it happens, where it happens.”

“Alright, alright,” he held up his hands. “I rescinded my right to making decisions in the relationship when I left the throuple—”

You smacked him on the chest, “Shut up! Is that is now? It’s no longer rejecting an offer, you now were in our relationship, and left us?”

Chenle cackled. “Yeah, keep up, Y/N.”

“This is going to be the bit, isn’t it?” You deadpanned as he continued laughing. “The running bit for your whole week stay is going to be continuing to develop this nonexistent throuple lore?”

“I’ve got to keep myself entertained somehow.”

“Well, I’ll have to tell Sungchan that you left us, he’ll be devastated, I’m sure…” You retorted, knocking down the brim of your hat to cover your eyes. “I’m going to rest my eyes. Don’t get lost and don’t drown.”

“Heard.”

Just a few minutes later, and you heard the sound of a motorboat coming closer and closer, then the chatter of several familiar voices. The sound of shoes kicking through sand got nearer to your chair, then there was an even more prominent shadow over you, and you could sense someone hovering there. Right as you opened your mouth to say something, a drop of saltwater dripped off of whoever was standing over you and into it.

“Pfft!” You sputtered, shooting up in your chair and wiping your mouth as the newcomer burst into laughter.

“S-Sorry, baby,” Sungchan clutched his stomach, holding onto the arm of your chair for support. “Should’ve toweled off better…”

He was in a wetsuit that had been unzipped so that it only clung onto him from the hips down, the black material going down to just above his knees. His hair was clearly still damp, sticking up in crazy directions and he had that same excited, breathless smile he always had when running up to you after a boat day. His bag of personal effects and materials was on the ground by his feet, and you could see a towel crumpled up on top of that.

You shrugged off his apology by grabbing him by the back of the neck and pulling his lips down to yours. Sungchan tasted like the ocean, like seabreeze and salt spray, and he happily hunched over to deepen the kiss, pressing your head back against the back of your chair.

“Hey Sungch… Christ…” Chenle’s voice trailed off from somewhere further away. “You two know there’s other people on this beach, right?”

You reluctantly let Sungchan go, glaring at your friend. “And where the fuck did you go? I said don’t get lost.”

“I was in the water! Like right in front of you!”

“Hey, Chenle,” Sungchan greeted him enthusiastically like nothing had just happened, wrapping the smaller man in a big bear hug. “Glad you made it here in one piece, dude. How was your flight in?”

“Don’t rile him up…” You groaned, covering your face, but it was already too late.

“It was the scariest fucking thing I’ve ever experienced! We like, seriously almost crashed into the ocean. Like, actual water landing!”

As Chenle took over your shower early that evening, you and Sungchan went about your own tasks. He had to wash out all of his equipment that didn’t get taken care of at the marina and you put the finishing touches on Chenle’s makeshift couch-be. Sungchan stood directly under one of the lights at the sink in your kitchen—well really, it was more of a kitchenette, with a sink, a few cabinets, and minimal counter space that was taken up by a microwave and single plug-in electric burner, both of which couldn’t be plugged in at once for safety reasons and because the counter could only fit one at a time.

Glancing up from where you had just completed Chenle’s couch-bed, you furrowed your brow thoughtfully as you looked a bit harder at Sungchan’s complexion. Meandering over to lean against the counter next to him, you reaching up to gently tilt his head to expose it to the light better. Then, you grabbed his collar and pulled it to the side to take a peek at the skin of his shoulder. Sure enough, bright pink as well.

“Baby, you’re sunburned again,” you declared, letting go of his clothes.

“I let you put sunscreen on me this morning!” He protested, putting the last small piece of equipment onto the hand towel sitting on your counter.

“Did you reapply? That stuff’s not supposed to last the whole day, you know.”

With a slight pout to his bottom lip, he looked down into the sink guiltily. “I forgot…”

“Sit down, I’ll get the aloe from the fridge.”

He plopped himself down into one of the chairs around your tiny dining table just a couple steps away, pulling his shirt off and setting it on the surface in front of him. You grabbed the already near-empty bottle of aloe vera from the fridge then joined him.

Depositing a generous amount onto your fingers first, you then started applying it gently to the sun-tender areas of his shoulders.

“Ugh…” He groaned in relief, dropping his head forward into his hands. “Thank you, baby.”

“If I didn’t know any better I’d think you were doing this on purpose so you could have me doing this every night,” you replied teasingly, making sure you went down the pinkened skin of his back as well.

“Ooh, hey, that’s a good idea.”

“Sungchan…”

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding. I really do just forget, I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, yeah.” You started on his other shoulder. “Anyway, I was telling Chenle about that little place we like by the water, with those scallops you love. Sound good for dinner?”

“Sure, whatever you guys want. I’m ready to third wheel for the week.”

“He’s your friend too!” You insisted, pushing him back so you could access his also sunburned chest and face.

“But he was yours first, and you two are best friends.” He closed his eyes, a content smile spreading across his face. “Just happy to see you so happy, baby.”

Having finished his chest, you stole a peck from his lips before applying a small amount to his red cheeks and nose.

“God, I’m going to need to gouge my eyes out by week’s end!” Chenle had appeared in the open doorway to the bedroom, fully clothed and with a towel wrapped around his hair.

“And who was practically begging to be our third less than twelve hours ago?” You snapped back, carefully leaning your elbow on top of Sungchan’s hair to avoid all the sunburned areas you’d just tended to.

“Wait, what?!” Sungchan looked up at you, knocking your arm off his head.

“Don’t worry about it, I broke up with you two,” Chenle waved him off, dropping onto your couch. “So when’s dinner?”

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[lethalchiralium]

No More | 8 | Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader

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It was still before dawn when you sat down in the briefing room, setting your cup of (coffee/tea) down on the wooden meeting table before looking outside. The sky was slowly becoming warmer in color, the sun nearing the horizon. Jet lag tricks always seemed to work on you, except for today. Laswell and Price walked in next, he looked more than pissed and she held a neutral expression. It was too goddamn early for whatever bullshit the U.S. Navy had to serve you on a silver platter. 

“Good morning.” A sip of your warm drink helped soothe the tension in your chest, even though your eyes didn’t change their intensity. 

Price’s eyebrows furrowed slightly. “You seem rather calm for a soldier being repossessed by the Navy.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Price, the ghost of Navy’s past will always haunt me.” You snickered into your mug before taking another sip, Laswell chuckled. 

“So you know.”

You set the tan mug on the table again, arms crossing across your chest. Your eyes flickered to Laswell for just a moment, voice low with annoyance. “Of course I know, Price. I’m not exactly thrilled to be back on a cockpit after I was promised that I never would again.”

“You were on loan from the U.S. Navy.”

“They were fine for seven years without me.”

“There’s nothing we can do if they desperately need you, Mercy. The 141 is, unfortunately, not your keeper.”

A hardened glare settled in your eye, knowing. To the untrained eye, you seemed indifferent. To your superiors, your friends who stood in front of you, knew what fear looked like. They somehow knew of the scared little girl looked behind your eyes. With a soft sigh, you relaxed your shoulders, pressing your back into the chair. “What will you do without a medic?”

The war worn captain across from you sighed, taking the second to roll his head to stretch his neck before meeting your gaze again. You’ve always found comfort in your friend, the man you considered more like a surrogate father, even though you were technically his equal. You’ve done a lot for him, he’s done so much for you - you’ve drank together, fought together, and worked together without many issues. You knew that Price knew you, yet at the same time, you knew he didn’t know you at all. It seemed like the second you stepped foot here, you were a different version of the Y/N that Price took seven years to shape into his perfect medic. So, what would he do without you? Gaz has minimal medical training, Soap isn’t much better, Simon knew enough, you weren’t sure about Alejandro and you were damn sure that Price would rather be shot than have to play medic to his bumbling oafs. There was no way he would do any sort of mission without you. Right?

He cleared his throat. “You know nothing will change this assignment for you, right?”

That gave you everything you needed to know, but you still needed Price to say it. “Yes, I do.”

“Alejandro will act as our temporary medic until you are finished with this mission and relinquished back to where you belong.”

Oh, you fucking assholes, making me think Alejandro was visiting for “official business”. Ass. Holes.

The scowl must have been obvious when you took another sip as Laswell continued, “I know you’re not happy about this, trust me, we’re not either.”

“If you’re not happy about it, why didn’t you pull your big ass strings and keep me away from here?” (Coffee/tea) rolled over the side of your mug as you carelessly set it down. “You knew I only agreed to joining the 141 ‘cause I never wanted to come back here to fly ever again. And here I fucking am,” Your hand gestured to your beige uniform, the one you were required to wear on base as base personnel. “In a uniform I didn’t want to wear again, seeing people I purposely did not say goodbye to, seeing my family again, and being forced to fly a fucking jet I don’t even think I could anymore. And you’re not happy?” You looked to Price with a furious look on your face. “Are you happy with it? ‘Cause I am, I’m sure you can tell by my huge fucking smile. For fuck’s sake.”

Laswell pressed her lips together, inhaling through her nose, seeming to choose her words wisely. “This decision wasn’t made lightly-“

Your arms crossed across your chest, the pins on your chest pressed into your forearm. It should’ve felt foreign, yet it didn’t. “Sure doesn’t seem like it.”

“But there is no workaround here. My contacts cannot overrule the Commander of the Fleet here. He was insistent.”

“What are you gonna do if I fail my flight testing?”

Price was firm with his response. “You won’t.”

“What if I do?”

“You’ll test until you pass.”

You wiped a hand down your face, your chest squeezing itself with stress. “You two do know I have a history of crashing, right? Fucked landings, the crash in Ukraine-“

“It’s not like you to be scared, L/N.” Price’s words were sharp, you knew it was meant to get a reaction. 

All it invoked out of you was a harsh inhale and sitting forward, looking directly at Laswell. “If I die in a fucking jet, you’re gonna regret it.”

“I’m sure I will.” She spoke with an even tone, a neutral expression as she placed something on the desk in front of you. A pair of American dog tags. Worn, black and red rubber silencers lined the metal tags - you felt like throwing up. The only two pairs of dog tags that had that marbled red and black rubber were yours and Rooster’s. 

MITCHELL, Y/N

“REAPER”

U.S. NAVY

309191712

O POS

“I figured you’d still want to keep “Reaper” and “Mercy” separate.”

“F’r a medic, ye don’t have much mercy.”

“You’re like the grim reaper with that aim, Jesus!”

There’s a knock at the conference room door, both Price and Laswell looked towards it - your eyes were kept down on the metal tags in your hands. It’s been a long time since you’ve worn your real last name of Mitchell, not your original one of L/N. It was like reattaching a frayed thread to its fabric - you were back in your old boots, your old ways. 

Laswell moved towards the door, Price splayed his hand on the table top, leaning his head down to look at your face - even when you couldn’t look up at him. “I’m not punishing you, Y/N. I don’t want this as much as you don’t, and I want to help you get out of this but I can’t. I’m here to support you as much as I can, you know that.” There’s a small pause as you heard the door open, his voice because low. “And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry for breaking my promise.”

There’s more pain underneath the broken promise than your friend, your mentor would ever know. Your heart rate could never grow slower, your anxiety could never ease, your sanity would not stop spiraling - all because you were alone. There wasn’t anyone meaningful yet that wasn’t Ice; Hangman was a brief fling and he never counted, Simpson was a pain up your ass, but no sign of your father or best friends. You were alone, drowning in your trauma, your life jackets seemingly lost to sea-

A firm yet gentle hand glided across your back, jolting you from a spiral. There was no need to look, the faint scent of cigarettes and your favorite cologne hit your nose - Simon. A soft pat before the chair beside you screeched and he sat down, his knee colliding with yours. It wasn’t an accident, it was a nod at you leaving before he woke up. Your hand left your dog tags, falling in between both you and Simon under the table; it wasn’t long until he took it in his own.

There was something about his temperament now, he seemed to be a lot more in tune with you than he was months before, when the trust issue came up. Maybe he could see your anxiety from being here? Maybe Price talked to him to watch out for you? No, he watches out for you regardless. Something was up since he usually never holds your hand in public, let alone when you needed it during the meeting. As Price and Laswell began the meeting, your focus was on your hands - one being held by your boyfriend, the other one holding the dog tags you screamed at your father to destroy, once upon a time. 

A pang of guilt hit your chest, making your stomach lurch and your breath seem to escape you. 

It was a quick decision, the one to join the 141. And you left behind your only family - your father, Rooster, and your other best friend, Rodeo. You’d abandoned yourself too, creating someone new with the friends you have now - but the residual guilt was there. What if they needed you and you weren’t answering? What if they were angry with you, deep down? You wouldn’t blame them. You tore yourself apart when you left and it took two years to put yourself back together.

“-not goin’ a damn mission without my medic.”

Ghost’s voice pulled your from your seemingly endless spiral, you raised your head to look at him. Eyes narrowed, you could practically feel the scowl radiating off of him. 

“We’re not leavin’ her here by herself. We’re a team.“

Laswell took a step forwards, her hand held up in front of Price to stop him from responding. “She cannot go on this mission. She has her own work to do.”

There was a hard squeeze from Simon’s hand before he let go and snarled back, “Fuck the Navy, she’s one of us now, they can go-“

“LT,” Soap spoke from your right, your head numbly turned to look at him. “The faster she gets done with whatever the fuck they need from her, the faster she can fix ye skull faced ass.”

The room fell silent for a moment, a breath invaded the tightness of your chest before you spoke, turning to Ghost, “He’s right.” There was a breath from you, “Faster I get this done, the faster we can go home, big boy.”

His eyes narrowed, Gaz chuckled from a desk down. Price continued his meeting regardless. “Mercy will be under the command of Captain Peter “Maverick” Mitchell and Admiral Simpson. We still have a job to do, which is eradicate this Makarov cell. There will be no changes until she has completed her mission, understood?”

There was a chorus of “Yes, sir!” between the four men surrounding you, yet you couldn’t find it in yourself to reply. 

Your dad was here. Of course he was here, why wouldn’t he be? Well, he wasn’t well liked, he was an asshole to anyone with a pay grade above his, and he was surely banned from here. Right?

“Dismissed.”

There wasn’t a moment spared in your seat, you were out the door in seconds. Cerberus, now awake from his nap beside your seat, was trailing behind you, as well as Ghost and Soap.  A quick dip down and you grabbed your dog’s leash, just needing to find a door to the outside. A door that will help you escape this crushing feeling in your chest, let you finally breathe. Right turn, left turn, right turn, and you could hear voices - from your friend, boyfriend, and people down the next hallway. Freedom. A quick right turn. 

A gasp and your heartbeat seemed to be lodged in your ear, you gazed down the hallway, your feet coming to a sudden halt. Simon almost barreled through you if it wasn’t for Soap reaching for him, pulling him back.

Ghost murmured, “Who’s that?” as Soap spoke to you, “Another shitty admiral?”

The man at the end of the corridor hadn’t spotted you yet, hadn’t taken a second to observe his peripheral vision, hadn’t understood that you stood at the other end. He held a helmet, a flight suit - the anxiety in your belly seemed to loosen and tighten violently at every moment. Soon enough, the man’s voice escaped your throat in a sudden call,

“Maverick.”

Your voice isn’t one that your father ever forgets, ignores. His head instantly turned to you, the scowl that rested on his face was quickly replaced with a smile. And just like that, you felt six years old again - running around these same halls, giggling and holding your hands out for your dad. Now, as your feet moved on autopilot, that memory seemed so close to the present. Mav had a few more wrinkles than the last time you saw him, some salt in his pepper hair - his smile was just as warm as it was when you last saw him seven years ago. 

The helmet and flight suit in his hands were long dropped onto the floor, and as soon as you were within reach, he grabbed you and pulled you in. His arms were tight around you, you mirrored him with your arms even tighter around him. 

“Welcome home, ladybug.”

The sweet childhood nickname made tears well in your eyes, your face then burying into his shoulder for just a moment - wiping them away. He smelled like oil with a kick of jet fuel, just like he always did - home. He let go, his smile wide as his hands settled on your shoulders.

“You know, I thought I was hallucinating when Ice said you’d need a helmet and a suit.”

You shrugged a little, smiling, “Can’t say no to him, can I?”

“None of us can.” He let go, turned away and grabbed your gear before he handed it to you. “You look different, kid.”

“So do you, old man.” You took the familiar gear, fear striking a deep chord within you, but it was soothed almost instantly by the presence of your father.

His smile was more infectious than before. “So?”

“What?”

He nodded towards your teammates behind you. “Gonna introduce me to your new sidekicks?”

You looked back at Soap and Ghost, ignoring Soap’s confused face and looking down for- “Ow!” 

Cerberus whined beside you after slamming his head into your thigh, you shook your head before pointing with your finger, “The dog is Cerberus, then it’s Sergeant John MacTavish, and Lieutenant Ghost. They’re both operators with me in the 141. Boys, this is Captain Maverick Mitchell,” there was a gentle pause, “He’s my actual commanding officer.”

Soap’s jaw was snapped shut after it had hit the floor, then a wicked smile tugged at his lips and he held his hand out, “Oh, it’s nice ta meet ya, Captain-“

“Soap.“

“I’m John MacTavish, but you can call me Soap, I’m ‘er best friend-“

“Johnny.“

Soap finally stood down when Ghost’s low baritone snapped sharply, it caused silence in the hallway. 

Maverick responded with a firm handshake, a smile, and a quick, “Pleasure’s mine, kid.” before he held his hand out for Ghost. And with his unwavering and emotionless stare, he took it. “I like your face thing.”

Ghost’s eyes narrowed and you smacked your dad’s arm, “Mav.”

He spun his head to look at you, “What? I’m bein’ nice to your friends.”

“Be fuckin’ nicer.”

He rolled his eyes, letting go of your boyfriend’s hand before he pointed down the hall. “You ready for testing?”

Your expression dropped just a little, panic in your muscles. “Now? Like, right now?”

Mav gave you a confused look. “Yes, right now. You need to be retested for F-18-“

“I know that. I just thought I’d have an hour or two to kill.”

“Well, Simpson’s an inpatient man.”

You grimaced at that. “And he’s a cunt.“

Soap chuckled from beside you before wincing, you looked at your boys. Ghost was staring at you, Soap nursing his probably bruised arm, and Cerby looking as happy as a clam. You glanced at Mav again before speaking, “Would you two like a show?”

Soap grinned devilishly, “Depends- OW! I dinnae say anythin’ nasty!”

Ghost’s fist had connected with Soap’s arm again, eyes glaring daggers at him. “You were going to.” 

Maverick laughed a little before patting your back. “Go get changed, we’ll meet you on the tarmac.”

You nodded, meeting your boyfriend’s gaze with a silent plea for help before disappearing down the familiar hallway towards the female locker rooms. Your feet felt like stone as you lightly jogged into the rooms, hearing the familiar sounds of lockers slamming, women chatting, and showers running. The black SAS issued boots on your feet were a stark contrast to the tan ones you would wear here, standard pilot issue, but they would work. If Simpson had a problem with your uniform, he could bend over so you could shove the complaint up his ass.

Normally, a captain would have their own private quarters with their own bathroom, but this would be quick. In and out. Strip off the black compression shirt, city camouflage cargo pants, your belt of weapons, and almost your entire stash of weapons on your body. Just because you were in familiar territory didn’t mean that there weren’t moles, and you were not going to be caught off guard. You walked down a few aisles of lockers, ignoring questioning looks from younger and older pilots - deciding to change in the far aisle of lockers, away from everyone else. 

It took you just a few moments to start undressing in the far corner, back towards the wall. First came the belt, unclipping all sorts of weapons, then your beloved boots. You placed the belt down on the bench, before hiking a boot on it and bending over to untie it.

“Eject! Eject! Eject!” 

Your breath hitched at the intrusion of the same memory that has been plaguing your mind, but you bit your tongue to try and silence it. Nails dug into the black laces, tugging and tugging and tugging-

Snow covering the ground. Fire licking at the front of your jet. Warmth. Get out. Get out. GET OUT! 

Boot was off. Mindlessly, you switched feet. Take a breath, Mercy, take a damn breath. Your heartbeat in your ears, your eyes screwed shut and you-

Sounds of faint Russian in your ears, a cold pistol in your hands as you pressed yourself into the cabinet.

Your hands were shaking as you pulled off the next boot, they were trembling by the time you fumbled for the waistband of your pants. A breath, a deep one, filled your lungs - through the nose, held for five seconds, and out again. Think about something else, try to think about something normal, something good. What’s good? What is good in your life?

“Hey, are you okay?” 

A voice jostled you from your mind, your eyes darting to look at a fellow aviator, she wasn’t too tall, hair slicked back per regulation, with a kind look on her face. Sniffling, you stood a little straighter, taking a shaky breath as you answered, “Fine.”

“It’s okay to not be fine, you know.” 

She had dark brown hair, brown eyes, sun burn on her nose and cheeks - you couldn’t make out the last name on her badge but you could tell she was a Lieutenant. She wasn’t someone you knew. Fresh meat, you supposed. Can’t know everyone. 

“The mental health officer is down the hall. I could take you?”

You chuckled to yourself, looking back down at your two feet on the ground, your hands on your waistband. “I’ll be fine. Thank you.”

She nodded, not knowing what to say, before she backed away and disappeared from your sight. A simple distraction seemed to break you from your mental torture, and it helped. You were quick to throw off your cargo pants, pull on your flight suit, and pull your boots back on. Zipping up your suit, tying your shoes, and grabbing your helmet, you were physically ready to fly a F-18 for the first time in seven years. It’s muscle memory at this point, you’ll have to think for a few moments but you should be fine. Like riding a bike, right?Except this bike is worth essentially your soul, your task force, and five million dollars. 

It didn’t take you long to look at the helmet, hands holding either side. Its main color was black, with yellow and red stripes along the top and sides, REAPER adorned along the front. It was a sister match to Rooster and Rodeo’s helmets, all three of you having a black, red, and yellow helmet, just all different color combinations. Your thumb thread across the vinyl, a deep comfort settled over you like a warm wave. 

Your original helmet had a gaping hole on the side of it from it smashing against the canopy of your jet. The jet that wouldn’t eject you, the jet you had to somewhat land in a somewhat flat clearing in Ukraine. Gentle fingers traced where the hole should be in this helmet, but it’s not. It’s new, made from the same materials, but it has no memories attached to it yet. It hadn’t been left on your bed before departing for England seven years ago with John Price. This was a fresh start.

It didn’t take you long to get out to the medical facility for a quick check up - oxygen, blood pressure, BMI. Normal procedure for being out for so long, they didn’t have to do much else since you handed over your medical records for the past seven years, and the medic was impressed with your physical wellbeing. A perfect soldier, she had stated, before sending you on your way to the tarmac with the rest of your gear in hand.

Was there a hop in your step? Absolutely not. There was a quiver in your belly as you walked towards Admiral Simpson, Mav, Soap, and Ghost. Cerberus sat willingly in the shade, eyes following you as you approached, Mav and Simpson’s conversation ended the second the Admiral spotted you. 

“Captain, glad that you decided to join us.”

You gave him a saccharine smirk. “Sorry I was late, I was wondering how well desertion would treat me.”

Your father gave you a look, you ignored it, staring directly at Simpson. He flatly chuckled before turning, pointing down the line of jets on the tarmac to the one with a crew fussing around it. “That will be your jet. Fuel is currently being topped off, and you will need to-“

“Do an in depth outer inspection.” Your eyes never moved from Simpson’s, even as he glared at you. “You’ll do well to remember that I’m not a recruit and that I am a certified U.S. Naval Aviator with the damn medals to prove it.” 

The man whipped around, ready to lay into you when you walked around him, flicking down a pair of aviators you found in your breast pocket. You walked by a few jets before you came upon your own, that had your name brandished beneath the canopy. REAPER displayed in black in between your captain rank, first name, and Mitchell. A sigh escaped your lips, apparently Simpson still can’t listen to a word a woman says. 

Circling your aircraft, you took your time to inspect any blemishes or faults that may affect your flight - you pulled ‘Remove before flight’ tags, adjusted air valves in the underbelly before slamming the hatch closed, and placed your hand on the nose of your gray jet. The metal wasn’t scalding to the touch yet, but it was more than warm. You held your touch there for a moment, looking at the jet with a feeling of… something in your belly. This would be the first time you would be without your team in six years, they weren’t your backup and they weren’t able to work with you on this. Your safety net had been stolen from you and you didn’t know how to feel. 

Your forehead rested against the metal, a sigh escaped your lips. “We got this.”

Footsteps approached you, you took a deep breath before you felt a hand on your shoulder. “This is what you’re made for, kiddo.” Mav’s words seemed to soothe your anxiety like a balm, you didn’t have to turn to look at him to know he has your back. “These loons don’t understand the art. You do.”

“What if I crash again?”

“Eject.”

You pulled yourself from the jet, looking to your father. 

“Do you really think I could do this?”

He smiled, a comforting one. “I think you’re a Maverick.”

Your hand detached from the jet, your father’s hand left you and you didn’t feel alone. There was a comforting sense of grounding, knowing your duty, equipment, and service were all muscle memory. That your support was a short radio call away. A gentle look in your eye and Maverick nodded, turning and walking back down the tarmac - you turned away when you saw Ghost’s figure approach. You climbed the steps up, just a couple of them, so you could see into the canopy. You tossed your padding down, ready to strap it in when you were finally in. 

There was panic in your nerves, fear in your heart, and you felt your lover’s hand gently squeeze your calf. In normal circumstances, that was him practically shoving his tongue down your throat. Right now? He was showing Simon, not Ghost. Turning to look down at him, you felt your heart lurching at the way his brown eyes looked like honey in the morning sunlight. 

“Just a medic, hm?”

A simple breathless laugh escaped your lips before you pressed them together, inhaling deeply through your nose before exhaling.

He gently squeezed your calf again. “We can leave.”

“Yeah, right.”

“We can. You and me.”

Tears pricked at the corner of your eyes, glancing up to look at the sea of F-18s before looking back down at his skull mask. “What, and get court-martialed?”

He shrugged. “What’s a couple of charges? We’re war criminals. M’not worried about it.”

A huff escaped you, sounding half like a laugh as a smile broke on your lips. “I’m fine, Ghost.”

“Mercy-”

“I’m okay. Really.” Simon’s eyes seemed to dart all across your face - he knew you were lying. He knew you. You hated that he knew you so well, but it was one of the reasons you stayed. Why you keep fighting for the relationship, even if you don’t feel like he trusts you with his life.  “You gonna watch me?”

There was a pregnant pause, he blinked slowly before answering. “Yes.”

“I’ll do a trick for you.”

“Hold you to it.” A gentle squeeze of your calf and he leaned forwards, pressing a quick kiss to your leg through the mask before looking back up at you. “Be good.”

Heat rose into your cheeks as you softly whispered, “Love you.”

His eyes crinkled a little. He’s smiling. 

Ghost turned away, leaving the line of F-18s to stand in the hangar again with your executioner - who was waiting patiently for you to fail or crash and burn. Pulling yourself up and into the cockpit, you tugged the helmet snuggly to your head; attaching your air mask to the port beneath your seat, buckling your five point harness, then looking back up to the sea of levers and buttons. First, close the canopy.

The bulletproof glass enclosure descended, locking into place and leaving you in the one place you dreaded to be, but also felt at home in. Next, start left engine. 

Pressing it, you felt a jolt as the engine roared to life. It rumbled lowly at its minimum power to warm up, the jet jolted again as you started the right engine. Doubling checking fuel gauges, weight sensors, making sure the weapons were disengaged, and you had a clear connection to air control.

“Mission control, this is Reaper 6-0-3. Am I clear to taxi?”

Static for only a moment before someone responded, “Reaper 6-0-3, you are clear to taxi to runway B-2 right.”

“Thank you, Control. Reaper 6-0-3 out.”

With that, and your hand on the throttle, you pushed it forward slowly. You knew where to go from years of flying at this base, and the taxi didn’t take long. You were on the runway before you knew it. 

A deep breath filled your lungs, your eyes closed for only a moment as you settled all the fraying nerves in your body. If you think while you’re up there, you’ll get killed. You moved every finger on each hand, every toe snug in your boot, felt the comforting weight of your pistol strapped on your hip, embraced the snugness of the harness, the searing feeling of your lover’s gentle and innocent kiss to your knee only ten minutes ago. Stretching your shoulders, wrists, and cracking your neck, you opened your eyes as you gripped the throttle.

“Reaper 6-0-3, you are clear for takeoff. Proceed…”

You tuned them out. With a second deep breath, you pushed the throttle all the way down. Gravity pulled you tautly into the back of your seat as the engines roared with a familiar intensity, both of your hands grabbed the joystick again and you pulled steadily back. 

There is nothing like the feeling of leaving the sun bleached runways of Miramar, feeling each wheel leave the ground. The breath you were holding escaped with a rush, a smile adorned your face as warmth flooded your chest. A feeling of belonging. You were back where you were “meant” to be, and you were buzzing with the pride that you did it. You were back in a cockpit, in the air, the one place you loved to be. 

“Tower, this is Reaper, requesting a fly-by.”

A little crackle on the radio, “Negative, Reaper, the pattern is full.”

You turned your aircraft, bowing back towards base, a smile on your face and saying to yourself, “Well, it’s time to buzz the tower.”

[hostclubau]

By Any Other Name

This is an x reader, multi-ending, otome style story.

fem!reader

Summary: Your life is hell, and your parents abandoned you to a literal loan shark. A near death experience has changed the trajectory of things, but is this a blessing? Or an endless fall into things far worse than you had before?

Content Warnings: The host club has an After Hours that's effectively a brothel. There are BDSM themes and the exploration of a lot of kinks. Foul language, canon levels of violence, mature audiences only.

Chapter 1: Loaned Out

Your feet hit the pavement, spurring you forward through the tangle of streets. This was your city, but it was his too, and the only hope you had at this point was to either get yourself so lost he couldn’t find you, or get yourself to the nearest Marine Station.

Frankly, you’d almost rather take your chances with the fish-man. Marines were next to useless as far as you were concerned, and the only use they had was that most people wouldn’t shoot you in front of one.

You weren’t entirely sure if Arlong was most people or not.

Leaping over some boxes in a back alley, you turned in mid-air and darted down a different alley when you landed. Running errands for that stupid shark had at least paid off in the sense that you were capable of running for a lot longer than most people.

When you were strictly forbidden from fighting, it was a life or death skill to have.

You might be trying to dodge Arlong until his temper cooled now, but more often than that you were running from his competitors, the marines, and people who knew you worked for him. They were all idiots, and not because you could slip away from them easily, but because hurting you wasn’t going to do anything.

Arlong was more likely to throw your body in the river if you got your ass beat, than he was to see you patched up after. Probably grumbling the entire time about how much money you were costing him yet again.

Fucking loan shark.

Slowing down you take a look around and realize you’re in a part of town you don’t know well. It looked like it was almost central downtown, which was well outside Arlong’s turf. It also meant that whoever was in charge of this area was probably not going to be friendly to you.

Arlong always said that downtown was more trouble than it was worth. He didn’t trade loans with people who lived or worked around here, and he didn’t offer protection for any of the businesses. You usually avoided the area too, even if a delivery would be a little faster, but only because the city’s main Marine Office was here.

Well, looking out for marines was easy enough, especially if you stayed off the main street. Alleys were alleys no matter what city or island, so it didn’t really matter to you. Slipping back into the narrower paths you meandered through the back lines of downtown.

You’d took off from Arlong’s threats just after lunch, and with the sun lower in the sky it was probably closer to seven or eight. You might be able to find a street vendor and get something greasy and filling for dinner, and then sleep somewhere out of sight. Tomorrow he’ll be calm again, or calm enough, and you can deal with him then.

The blow to your face was a surprise.

You put your arm up as you stumble backward, nearly tripping over your feet. The punch had drove your cheek into your teeth, and you could already taste copper as you lean against the far brick wall and look up to see Arlong.

“Got tired of trying to catch you when you’re bad.” He snarls, holding up his snail box and showing you the tracker app that was running on it. “Technology’s a real bitch.”

“I completed the job,” you reply, struggling to speak clearly as your cheek’s already swelling. “I don’t get why you’re pi-.” You stop yourself. “Upset. Boss.”

“The job,” he says, breathing in and giving you a terrifying grin. “Was for you to deliver the package without being seen.”

Your stomach knots. If he’s mad, and that’s why, then someone or something clocked you. Otherwise he wouldn’t waste his energy being pissy.

“… What saw me?” You question carefully.

His brows raise. “Oh? Not going to argue huh? Finally wising the fuck up.” He straightens, tapping his snail box again until he brings up a still picture of you. It’s grainy, but the sequence of images show you dropping off the box and walking away.

It was pretty obvious it was you, but only because you and Arlong knew what you looked like. There wasn’t a shot of your face, and you weren’t wearing anything to mark you as a part of anyone’s crew. It’s a struggle to keep your expression neutral, but smart mouthing back at him right now wouldn’t help you.

“… Sorry.” You settle on the simple apology over any kind of argument. It doesn’t matter how grainy it is. It doesn’t matter that your own mother wouldn’t recognize you. All that mattered was that he didn’t want anyone to see you, and you were seen. You’d been dealing with him enough years at this point to know anything more would be an excuse.

You weren’t going to grovel, however, because there was nothing useful on those stills.

“Sorry?” He prompts and grunts something akin to a laugh. “Sorry might’ve worked before you ran through downtown to avoid me, little runt.”

At nearly seven feet tall, Arlong towers over you, and his large hand gathers most of your shirt at once, as he lifts you easily and shoves you harshly against the wall. “You’re never going to pay back what you owe as a runner.” He tilts his head, leering at you in that way he does every time he tries to convince you to do more lucrative work.

“I can tack on five grand for the inconvenience, and patch job.” He indicates your swollen check with a nod of his head. “Or we can write that off as the price of on the job training and pretty you up. Much as you humans pretty up, anyway.”

“I think I’d rather be a runner.” You grunt, the soles of your shoes scratching at the brick as you struggle to find leverage.

Your father, seas take him screaming, got into debt with Arlong when you were a kid. Dear sweet dad worked for the fish-man for a couple years before he took your mom and bounced. Or Arlong killed them, you couldn’t really be completely sure one way or the other.

With mom and dad gone, and the debt still on Arlong’s books, you were hired.

Aside from barely giving you enough money to live on, while working you to the bone, Arlong hadn’t paid much attention to you. Until recently. Maybe you hit some magic number in age, or one of his clients took a liking to you, whatever the case, he was getting pushier and pushier about turning you into one of his Dolls.

The idea of getting paid to fuck didn’t bother you.

The idea of having 80% of your earnings stolen by Arlong, who only wanted you to change jobs so he could make more off you, bothered you.

Arlong falls silent for a while, and you can feel your stomach knot. The look on his face is never a good sign. He’s irritated and what little good humor he might have had a moment ago is evaporating at an alarming rate.

“Don’t be like that,” his voice is flat, save for a slight tone of disappointment. “Really think about it. You’ll never pay off your debt as a runner.”

Even with him taking most of your earnings to pay off your debt, you would have more income. You’d be able to save up, and even have a chance at freedom. Assuming you didn’t screw anything up.

Wait.

“… I’ll never pay off my debt regardless.” You reply just as flatly. Realization had long since dawned on you the nature of this game, but there was a sudden clarity this time. There were no more slaves, not even for the nobles, not since the dragons were slain over twenty years ago.

Arlong had found another way to go about it.

Sure, you could turn him and his bullshit in, but you took a risk that the marine you reported to wasn’t already in his pocket. If they weren’t, and the risk might be small so it could be worth trying, but you’d be going down with him too. No one would give a shit that the illegal things you did were because you felt trapped.

It would be your own fault for not turning him in sooner.

Frankly, it wasn’t a comforting prospect to think about ending up in prison where Arlong would have far more reach than you’d have protection. Even as a runner you made him money, more than he spent on keeping you alive at least. It was more job security than some folks had, so you didn’t want to complain.

“That’s no way to be.” He laments, patting the side of your face. “I’m sure you’ll get-.”

“Every year I manage to pay you forty thousand berries.” You interrupt him. You shouldn’t have, you shouldn’t be talking, you most certainly should not be talking like this. “My dad’s debt was two hundred and fifty thousand berries, and I’ve been working for you for well over ten years. That’s over four hundred grand even with all the additions… boss.”

Arlong lets go of you, and you barely manage to keep your feet under you. He’s mad. At this point you’re going to earn yourself a lot more than a swollen cheek, and that’s probably going to cost you some random amount tacked onto your supposed debt.

You sigh, releasing your own frustration into the air. There wasn’t enough fear in you right now, just cold sure understanding, and anger.

Now that you’ve started its like the flood gates have opened, and you can’t muster the self-preservation needed to close them.

“Every couple months or so, something always seems to come up to tack more onto the debt. It doesn’t matter what the excuse is, the point is the principle hasn’t gone down in... fuck, nearly twenty years.” You shrug, an incredulous, clipped laugh escaping you. “It’s never going to go down. Even if you put me in a sexy suit and let your shady clients sniff my pits, it’s still not going to go down. You’ll just charge me for the sleazy dress-hurk!”

Arlong’s hand is around your throat, and the force with which he grabs you bounces your head off the bricks. You can barely breathe, your head’s throbbing, and the bricks are scraping your back through your shirt as he lifts you up roughly against them. You could swear his eyes are glowing red he’s so angry, and you aren’t sure what it was you said.

You expected you were pissing him off, but this is more akin to rage.

“Little bitch grew a pair of balls when I wasn’t looking, huh?” He snarls, driving his fist into your side. The hooked swing sends a sharp pain through you and knocks what little air was left in your lungs out. “You think some weak little cumshot can talk to me like that? Gonna stand there and tell me I’m charging you unfairly, yeah?”

He loosens his grip for a second and you suck in a pained breath. You know you should be using the precious oxygen to beg for forgiveness, but maybe this was it. The limit of what you could take. You’d been running for hours, and you were hungry enough you just didn’t care.

“Gonna… really… try an’… say you… aren’t?” You manage to choke out the words, but there’s spots on the sides of your vision and your lungs are pitching a fit again. Blacking out might be the last thing you ever do, and a small part of you wanted to succumb to it. Just be done and over with it all.

What would tomorrow bring anyway?

“You fuckin-.”

“Arlong.” A woman’s voice reaches you both and you see Arlong’s eyes widen before he looks away from you. “Don’t murder someone by my club.”

The words are enough for him to release you. This time you can’t keep your feet under you and crumple onto the ground. Gasping and coughing, it takes you a moment to recover, and both the mystery voice and Arlong seem okay with giving you that time.

You get yourself set up against the wall, opting to stay down on the ground rather than try to stand, and look around enough to see the most elegant woman you’ve ever seen standing on a raised platform. It looked like the back exit to a business, a smaller man door with the words ‘Employees Only’ stenciled across it.

It was only maybe four or fives steps up from where you and Arlong were, but she looked like she was untouchable from that far up.

A puff of smoke leaves her lips and your brain catches up enough to see the long cigarette between her fingers. The edges of her bob hair cut curl up, framing her face perfectly. She’s tall, slender, and dressed casually, but you’re left with the distinct impression she could salt and burn the ground Arlong was standing on.

And he knew it.

“I’ll buy her debt.” She states, taking a slow drag on the cigarette.

“What?” Arlong almost growls the word.

She exhales. “You said so yourself. She’s got balls.” The grin on her face is comforting, but you can’t shake the strange feeling that two demons are currently haggling over who will own your soul. “I like that.”

“You don’t even know how much it is, Shakuyaku.” He grumbles.

She laughs. “You think that matters? Leave her here, Arlong. Come by tomorrow in the morning with your books, and we’ll settle the balance.”

You notice Arlong’s fist tighten, but the angel on the balcony doesn’t seem to be bothered by it. He glares down at you for a second, but doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t even mouth anything as far as you can tell.

Not that he’s in a position to try and force you to turn down whatever’s being offered.

From one taskmaster to another, as far as you were concerned. The angel on the balcony only had your attention for the moment because she probably saved your life.

“You can call me Shakky,” she begins, pausing to take another drag before letting the smoke out in a slow exhale. At the very least she was more relaxing to be around than Arlong. “Can you stand?”

The question catches you off guard, and you blink dumbly a couple times before you reply. “Yeah. I think so.”

“Alright. If you get dizzy, sit back down.” She commands, taking out a snail box. She’s not watching you, but at the same time she is. Using the wall you get to your feet, but your head swims and so you just let yourself sit back down.

“I’m out back, we have a patient too dizzy to walk on her own.” She speaks in the same even and relaxed tone she’s been using from the start. You didn’t think your situation was anything to get excited about, but you wondered idly if she was ever anything other than calm. “Tell Blackleg I expect his best meal.”

She hangs up, tucking the box away and returns her focus to her cigarette. There’s silence between you that doesn’t feel heavy or awkward, but you also don’t really know where you stand. With Arlong you’d simply stay there quietly until someone came along.

Honestly, with Arlong, you’d be trying to walk no matter how dizzy you felt.

“What happens now?” You hazard the question. It’s safe enough, and you need to understand how this lady operates.

Shakky lets out another slow line of smoke and offers up a warm smile. “Our head doctor’s going to tend to you. The shift’s lead chef is going to make you something to eat, and depending on the doctor’s orders you’ll probably go to bed after that in one of the guest rooms.”

She stubs the cigarette on the railing as the door behind her opens up. A tall man steps out, and looks over at you before heading down the steps. His dusty blonde hair is pulled back into the ponytail, and he’s wearing a button up dress-shirt and slacks. There’s a noticeable scar on his forehead over his eye, but it looks like it was stitched well.

He frowns once he gets a decent look at you. “Any loose teeth?” He questions, and after you probe with your tongue you shake your head. “Feel like you’re going to vomit?”

“Not right now.”

The frown twitches into more of a smile. “Injuries anywhere I can’t see?”

“Mm.. M’back, probably.” You mutter. “Hit the bricks more’n once.”

“I’m going to shine a light in your eyes,” he explains, pulling out a small pen light, and checking your pupil’s reaction to it a couple times on each eye. He hands you a thermometer. “Under your tongue, however you can without it hurting.” He says, pressing the back of his hand against your forehead briefly.

“You should be good, but that’ll give me a more accurate reading. May I have your hand? I want to check your pulse.”

After a second’s pause you hold your hand out. He gives you thanks and then presses his fingers against your wrist for a moment, going quiet as he concentrates on his counting. Once he’s done he pulls the thermometer out and checks it.

“Nothing concerning enough to warrant the hospital.” He turns toward Shakky. “I’d like Law to scan her,” he stops and turns back to you. “If you’re okay with that. It’s a devil fruit ability, but it won’t do anything to you. It’ll just let Law know if something’s wrong that I can’t see.”

“Uh… sure?”

“Alright. I’ll get him after we get you inside and settled.” He offers you a warm smile. “My manners are awful, young miss. My name’s Hongo, if you’re not against it, it would be my pleasure to carry you inside, since you’re not feeling well.”

“I, um, I…” You stop, pressing your lips together and look over at Shakky. She’s smiling, and you can’t tell if she’s giving you permission or not, but there’s no signs of irritation on her face at all. Turning back to Hongo, you consider asking him to just give you a hand walking, but he’s a good bit taller than you.

It’s probably easier for him to just carry you. It’s not what he’s offering that has thrown you, honestly, it’s the way he offered it.

“Sure.” You aren’t sure what you expect, and accept the little medical bag he hands you before he scoops you up like some damsel in distress. Being treated kindly was wild enough, but to be carried like you weren’t just a sack of potatoes was… different.

You didn’t want to get used to it. Good things were always just a veneer. Something pretty to hide all the shit underneath no one wanted you to see. If nothing else, you had to give credit to Arlong for being ugly right up front.

But if these two wanted to feed you and let you sleep somewhere nice for a couple days, you weren’t going to say no.

[dotcie]

— BAD DOG. [2]

》 PAIRING: simon 'ghost' riley x f!oc 》 NOTES: taglist is open! please let me know if you want to be added or removed. if you don't care about my OC, you can skip her backstory on ao3. 》 WARNINGS: 18+ | MDNI | hair pulling 》 CHAPTER: 3.9k | 2/? [masterlist] | AO3

Before she met Laswell, Jane did media monitoring for the DISA. 

It paid well for a job straight out of undergrad. Had reasonable hours, pleasant enough colleagues. She commuted the twenty minutes from her shitty apartment in Kingman Park to the Pentagon—arrived at seven forty-five with a cream cheese bagel and a skim milk latte. Wrote reports, emails, and memos. Hours and hours of political speeches, barking rifles, and screaming civilians ingrained in her brain. 

''Like a fucked up collage of the human greed for oil and retribution,'' she once called it over an almost empty espresso martini. Condensation pearled off the glass's rim and pooled on the table of an overpriced speakeasy bar, so unimpressive it was not worth remembering its name. Her questionable Tinder date had been late, his small-talk rather boring; No, she didn't like her job. Who ever did? But rent was expensive in DC, and Jane had student loans, expensive taste, and maybe eight hundred dollars in her checking account. 

She covered newsstreams out of Egypt, Lebanon, and Jordan. Iraq, and Yemen. Algeria. Libya.

Ate lunch at her desk—usually a salad and a protein bar, four busy screens in front of her. 

Had meetings with Cairo, Beirut, Amman, Baghdad, Sana'a, Algiers, and Tripoli.

She joined the white-collar crowd on their evening run around the Mall after work. From the Capitol steps to the Lincoln Memorial, around the reflecting pool. Two times, sometimes three. Always depending on the restlessness that hummed in her bones and tingled in her fingertips. 

Jane shoved her damp hair up with a clip and hopped on the blue metro line afterwards; sweaty and breathless, body humming with spent energy. She stopped at Whole Foods on her way home; bought dinner-for-one and a four-pack of sugar free Redbull. Put on noise canceling headphones without listening to anything on her way home—spying into warm lit windows and other people's lives. 

She ate in bed, crouched over her Macbook, the TV always set to CNN. She practiced Arabic. Scrolled through subreddits about zero-day exploits, but never commented on them. Went to bed late, woke up early. Got up the next day and did it all over again. 

Washington is a big city, in a big country, in a big world, and nothing ever changed. Jane just sat in her gunny-covered cubicle and watched whole cities crumble to dust like sandcastles. The local newspapers only covered a watered-down version of the turmoil overseas, but the mental images were always in the back of her head—no matter how loud she turned the TV. 

It's all part of a grand plan, she told herself. Just another rung on the ladder, an essential middle-step in her career. It was comfortable and disturbing. Exciting enough, but nothing impactful.

Nothing with an edge. 

The job had a sky-high turnover; a bad impact on employees. Turns out, swallowing the documentation of invasions, and civil wars, and an endless flow of American exceptionalism was only manageable for a couple of months. Jane became miserable and angry. Tired and strung-out. When handing in her two-weeks notice without a back-up plan, her supervisor accepted the neatly printed note with tired eyes and an annoyed flick of the wrist. 

Her therapist blamed her sense of weightlessness for everything she did afterwards: the thrill-seeking, the risk-taking. All her screw-ups in pursuit of sticking her fingers in better pies. When the agency sent her to the embassy in Urzikstan, Jane canceled her rent-controlled apartment lease early and donated most of her belongings to the Habitat For Humanity in Capitol Hill. Burning the boats, she called it. 

For months, no one could get a hold of her. 

Analyst positions for counter-terrorism overseas will chew you up and spit out your bones, a friend in the IOC had warned her. Jane was up for it anyway—of course she was. She had witnessed a few horrendous things through screens in Washington, but nothing compared to the situation in Sakhra. Like most soul-crushing things in life, it all wasn't real until it was. 

The first time she experienced the ruthlessness of the real world, a local contractor whose family was killed by American soldiers blew up half a base with some DIY C4. 12 soldiers dead, 24 injured. If not for Laswell yanking her into the shadows behind a M1A2 when panic erupted, she would have been trampled to death under the burning afternoon sun. 

Instead, Jane heaved, and coughed, then sank to the dusty ground with ringing ears. Kate towered over her with a drawn P890, yelling all-too-calmly over the wailing of sirens: You have twenty seconds to get it together.

They made her take time off two years later, after a black site she was stationed at suffered another, similar attack. Jane was resentful of it, but she wanted to keep her clearance, so she left with the next supply plane and said what she needed to say to pass the psych evaluation. 

She considered moving back into her grandparents ranch in Arizona. Maybe traveling through Europe, starting a new hobby (rock climbing, pottery, crocheting); but there was no real drive or push behind it. Instead, she bled in secret. Fucked strangers on her frameless king-size mattress and worked out too much in her unfurnished apartment. She got offers; a few private-sector contracts she knew she couldn't entertain. Jane wanted to stick it out with the agency—and Laswell. Especially with Laswell. 

The first question Shepherd asked her when she stepped into his office was if she had any family; a partner, kids, siblings. Parents to take care of. The General asked bluntly, but Jane was used to force as the most efficient method to get answers. 

She had spent three years interrogating Al-Qatala members and contacts. Trading money, safety, and threats for intelligence. Sleeping through the sound of gunfire, bystanding interrogations, interpreting intelligence, and snooping in places Americans aren't supposed to. Jane had left her old life behind and dove head-first into a tunnel vision.

No. She had no one. 

When saying it out loud she almost sounded proud. 

Working for the General is different. Non-official cover work for SAD intel suits her better—scratches a certain itch, too. Like finally tasting blood after biting your tongue for years. 

Laswell has been helpful, the additional training too; but nothing ever prepared her for the void between long-term missions. When the work is done and restlessness returns in weird jet-lagged hours of the fading days. When there are no objectives to sink her teeth into. No foreign streets to roam under false identities. No predictions to be made, no strings to pull. 

She's stuck in Iceland now, attending debrief after debrief. Her target is dead, the missile prototypes returned to the lab, but that isn't enough. They want to know everything. First the higher-ups at the Headquarters, then the Senate Intelligence Committee. They want the process. The months of searching, the people involved, the rules she broke. 

She did a good job, she got what she wanted, but she is part of Shepherd's system now, and he didn't approve of her moving forward with the operation. 

Since she returned to the lab, he hadn't answered any of her calls. 

Ghost is nothing but a silhouette in the low light of the crescent moon; sitting against a weathered wall of heavy concrete, a half-burned cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth. Insects batter against a naked lightbulb overhead—the light orange and warm against the dark of night, casting long, unproportionate shadows over the smoking area. 

The sky hangs bruised and stormy over Vatnajökull, a million stars dotting the night. It's quarter to one, and the grounds of 102 are deadly still—so still, that the sound of a nearby metal door opening and closing shut remind him of gunshots piercing through the air. 

Years ago, he would have flinched at the sound, but there is not much left that startles Simon Riley anymore. 

Jane tips her head back in annoyance as she steps outside, cradling her phone between ear and shoulder. ''Listen—,'' she scolds into it, patting the outside of her clothes for the pack of cigarettes she bought from one of the kitchen workers yesterday. ''Louise, right? Louise, with all due respect—'' 

She takes a deep breath of restraint when she finds nothing but a crumbled straw wrapper in the pockets of her leather jacket. Sharp words spill on the other end of the line, and she squeezes her eyes shut, pinches the bridge of her nose. ''I'm not going to argue with some mid-level bureaucrat, get him on the phone— No, no, you listen! I need a black passport, don't— Fuck—'' 

Jane's grip on the iPhone loosens with the sound of a disconnected call echoing blatantly against her ear. Simon can hear her mutter a spool of curses, the sound of gravel screeching under her feet, and how all sound seizes as she pauses at the sight of him. 

The smoking area is dimly lit, but there's no mistaking the broad-shouldered figure with the cramped up skull mask looming in the corner of the building. Simon appeared in her sight so suddenly, so unexpectedly, that Jane would not be surprised if he materialized out of thin air. It would suit him; Ghost that he is.

Smoke pools out of the soldier's mouth, the balaclava pulled up to his nose; exposing a sharp chin with a shadow of stubble forming its way up a jaw set tight. He is hunched over, his elbows digging into his thighs. He doesn't look up to see that the expression on her face is one of mute surprise, or that her eyes narrow at the sight of him. 

''Thought you'd be gone already,'' she calls over, lounging near the door she slipped out of. 

''Change of plans,'' he returns easy and low, eyes glued to the book in his calloused hands. 

It's only been a few days, but his voice is as deep and as resonant as Jane remembers; it fills the air and makes her blood rush with the mental images of his fingertips digging into her skin. 

There's always a certain quietness after she's been fucked good—the world stands still for a moment, and it helps to quench the thirst, to fill the void.

Jane needs to hold something in her arms sometimes. Something unattainable and distant. Something unwise. Something like him. 

''Mind if I bum one?'' She nods to the lit cigarette between his scarred fingers, stepping closer.

For a split second, she thinks he's going to ignore her—then he dog-ears the page he was reading and abandons the book onto his lap. 

Simon looks up all casually and unfazed, shakes his head. 

''Last one,'' he says, half-lidded stare fixed on her in that particular Ghost sort-of-way. The way he always gets when you rip out the half-assed social niceties and expose the weirdo underneath. 

Jane exhales through her nose, leaning against a pole holding up the roof. The urge for frustration refuses to be ignored, so she buckles, comments: ''Of course,'' like she's taking notes on the irony of it all. 

''Stop pondering, will ya?'' Inhaling another mouthful of tar, Simon stretches out along the bench, crossing his booted feet at the ankles. The set of dog tags around his neck clink together when he scratches the underside of his chin. "No point in gettin' all antsy." 

She shoots him a cold, hard look for it—the one that makes his blood sing, makes him remember the expression in her eyes when she told him she wanted her target dead. 

''Thank you, Simon, for your unsolicited wisdom.'' 

The subtle fuck you isn't boarded in her voice, but it throbs under every word of hers. He doesn't bother scolding her for saying his name again, but the bitter taste of disapproval sure does coat his tongue. He's not foolish enough to argue with her when she's like this; all gutted and pent-up. Ready to hiss, bite, and lunge at his throat. 

The familiarity of it all stirs something up in him. For a moment, Ghost almost believes that it's sympathy, maybe—or at least a pinch of pity. A distant part of his mind remembers the dogged woman he faced when they first met; working out of a one-room shithole in a broken-down, brutalist apartment building somewhere in the Balkans. Reviewing surveillance logs, transcripts, and maps in shorts and a sports bra because the AC was utter rubbish. He recalls her hunched figure and unwashed hair as she worked out of the tiny living room—the space a mess of cables and empty microwave meals, her tech always charging. Her curtains always closed, dust dancing in the beams of light that crept their way inside.

Two days after the exfil, he barely recognized her anymore; with fresh clothes, twelve-hours of sleep, and hair neatly cut to a shoulder-length. It was like meeting a stranger, a whole different woman. He was certain, then, that the only way out for her was the same as his: leaving rotten and zipped up in a body bag.

Simon holds his half-smoked cigarette out to her, and she lets her head roll to consider the silent peace-offer. Her expression bleeds into something less angry in the face of him, and she hates that it makes him snort in response. 

Jane gives him the illusion of thinking it over before breaking away from her frozen stance and closing the distance between them. She takes the stub, and sinks onto the wooden bench next to him.

''Thanks.'' — ''Mhmh.''

Even with some distance between them, Simon towers over her. He doesn't make a sound, doesn't attempt to embarrass himself with comforting words and distracting small-talk. He's quiet—a man of few words and fewer smiles—but that's what drew her to him in the first place. There's caution behind his eyes, and his words are always cleaved off at the knee. A person weathered and hardy. A man who, just like her, has seen things most wouldn't even believe.

They both fall quiet passing the cigarette back and forth, and for a moment he thinks that the conversation has faded out completely. Simon's eyes return to the book in his lap, trying to find the spot where he left off before she interrupted him, but— 

''Do you think I went too far?'' Jane keeps her eyes forward, burying her free hand in the left pocket of her jacket. 

Simon hums in response, dark and low. ''Doesn't matter what I think,'' he says in a way that makes it clear he believes it, too.

''But you are somewhat capable of forming opinions, yeah?'' 

It coaxes a half-huff, half-laugh from him. He gets it. Logically, he gets it. Everybody is somebody's dog, hanging onto a leash; but he's military, and he much prefers to not comment on any of it. 

''You ignored authority,'' he starts, then pauses. ''Whether or not it was worth it, all y'can do now is handle the repercussions.'' 

''That's not an answer.'' Two dimples appear on either side of Jane's frown as she tucks some loose strands of hair behind her ears and leans forward. ''Forget I even—''

''I think," he interrupts calmly, but stern, ''that your self-doubt won't help you.''

Jane keeps her gaze flat, level. Perhaps if she mimics the face of apathy, Simon won't be able to see that she's hanging onto every word of his. What he says resonates; a quiet truth echoing through the air between them. The regret in her chest strikes like a bomb and for a moment, she fears the possibility of Shepherd cutting her TS/SCI clearance once and for all. She's been ignoring the thought, avoiding any evidence of worry that could shape her suspicions into something tangible, something real.

''Just thinking ahead'' she says quietly, scuffing her boot against the pavement below. "Little catastrophizing, worst-case-scenario planning." 

"Doomsday prepping?" He offers and gets a little smile for that. 

His chest tightens at the sight, an aching warmth interweaving his thoughts with sympathy. He looks away then, trying to collect himself. Seeking control, reaching for reason. Better judgment. Something else.

Jane studies his side profile for a moment, and Simon suddenly feels like she's too close, too comfortable in his presence. It's only a split second, the length of a heartbeat, but it's enough for Jane to take in the way he blinks his intrusive thoughts away. 

''Why are you still here, anyway?'' She asks in a change of tone, plucking the cigarette from his fingers.

''Taking a break,'' he drawls, words dripping slowly as molasses from his mouth. There is no further explanation offered, no words wasted on reasons or truths. Simon blinks languidly, his lips pressing together as he closes his book for good. 

''Because of Soap?'' There's an off-tone in her voice. ''I thought he is getting better already?"

Simon exhales roughly. ''No,'' he says with a lazy shrug. ''Yes.'' 

It's short and curt, but she doesn't let his vague hostility deter her. Jane just stares at him, impatience reflecting in her eyes, and he's not used to it; all the questions, the curiosity. 

''Do you know,'' he continues slowly, taking the cigarette back to keep his hands busy, ''the number of classifications and regulations I'd have to ignore to tell you shite like this?'' 

It's easier than admitting that he failed his psych evaluation for a second time in three years. 

Price is doing the paperwork for him, because they apparently want to negotiate some kind of terms for him. No rumors, no records, no further questions asked. Simon would be mad about it, if he wasn't so bloody tired. 

It's been years of regaining control and gripping bloody bathroom sinks. Endless hours of running, shooting, yelling over comms, and saving Johnny from the stupid, stupid shit he gets up to when nobody's there to keep an eye out for him. Simon is not a reckless man—at least not when he doesn't let his rage blind him—but you can't teach an old dog new tricks. 

He's not sure why he hasn't been able to admit to himself that his life has been nothing but fear, rage, vigilance, wanting, and searching, wanting, and never finding what eases the pain. 

He knows that Price goes back to a Rosewood desk with whisky and cigars in the upper right drawer, before driving home to a house and a woman that were once his. Laswell has a wife named June and a flourishing garden waiting at home. Gaz goes back to a two-bedroom flat in London, decorated by a girl he met during the siege of the U.S. embassy in Urzikstan. Simon doesn't have anywhere to be—nobody's waiting for him—so he stays. For Soap, he tells himself, and everyone who's paid to listen. 

The Scot's injuries happened under his watch, so he might as well play messenger for his moms, sisters and one-thousand nephews until he can travel back home. It's what a good Lieutenant does. It's what Price would do. 

''Alright,'' Jane says cold, flatly. ''It's none of my business anyway.'' 

She declines the last drag of the cigarette when Simon offers it to her, and he can't help but feel like he's been rude; like he just ruined something delicate. A particular flavor of guilt clings to the underside of his tongue, and he's willing to answer whatever her next question might be in order to make it up to her. 

He stubs out the cigarette, and it takes a moment or two before he realizes that his guilt is the reason she gave in so quickly in the first place.

''I'm not gonna tell ya,'' he says, prompting a smile to tug at the corners of her mouth; like she doesn't fully believe it, but is willing to play along. 

He is too exhausted to not condemn her for it, so he covers himself in heavy silence. Simon doesn't break eye contact, doesn't move—his dark glance intervenes with the amusement in her eyes, and when the quiet stretches on for too long, her eyes dart to his exposed lips shamelessly. 

''Anyone ever tell ya' to mind yer' own business, Spade?''

It coaxes a genuine laugh out of her. Simon is not sure he's ever heard her laugh before; the way the sound bubbles out of her throat, limpid and clear, and then almost turns into a snort. 

''I like you,'' she says pointedly, with purpose. 

"You're just bored.'' — ''And you aren't?" 

Simon remains silent, and the glint in her glance grows bright, pinning. Like she just learned a secret; an inside joke. 

It's unhealthy, this habit she's developed of digging her fingers in his wounds. She feels like a parasite trying to crawl under his skin, and she should probably feel far more ashamed of how much she enjoys the thrill of it. 

She has heard the stories, of course. The legends about the masked, faceless man; the perfect soldier, the silent killer. Everyone affiliated with Shepherd or Shadow Company in the slightest is aware of Ghosts' reputation, and Jane had been curious to meet the man. Dead-eyed, mass of muscle. A walking depiction of death. 

The warning signs about him are written in blood, telltale stories, and that half-lidded stare of his; Stay away, they say. Keep your distance. 

''Don't—,'' he starts with the exhaustive sort of contempt: the kind that says he is tired and bored of this tedious game. ''Don't look at me like that.''

Jane bats her eyelashes at him. ''Like what?''

 ''Like you want something from me.''

''Maybe I do—''

"You don't,'' he interrupts, tongue like a blade. ''All bark no bite, last time I fucked you.'' 

In some twisted ways, his fury excites her. The insistence on his dominance, too, and Jane laughs out loud at words that don't sting. She's practiced; chin tipped up, meeting his disapproving stare with a smirk.

''You ever let anyone kiss you, Lieutenant?''

He looks away, hisses through his teeth in frustration. ''That what you want?''

''I think,'' Jane retorts in a tone both cruel and tender, ''you want it, too.''

The hard look in his eyes lets something uncurl in her. Something satisfied, something real. 

''You do,'' she says again, and then he's on her; hand tangled in her hair, pulling her close. His grip on her scalp is not gentle, nothing about him is, and she smiles—shows teeth—at the broad display of it. 

Simon stares at her for a long moment, a frustrated hum forming at the back of his throat. She can feel his breath on her face. Almost hears the whir of the wheels turning in his head; calculating, calibrating. 

''You don't know what you're getting yourself into,'' he finally says, loosening his grip. 

''I've done worse,'' she spits out, pulling away. 

It happens somewhere between her leaning back and him not wanting her to. It happens and it's familiar, and new all at once; the way he stops her from turning away, pulls her closer by a fist of hair. He kisses her like he does everything else: a little cocky, a little mean. Their teeth clack together, and Simon kisses Jane long and searching—like he was waiting for it to happen.

Like he means it. 

》 Previous Part | Next Part 》 Masterlist.

》 Tag-list: @devcica @glitterypirateduck @queen-ilmaree @widemiffyhappy @cathnoneofyourbusiness

[wonderboygenius]

Lucy in the Sky (at Charming)

Fandom: Sons of Anarchy Pairing: Jax Teller/Happy's Sister Rating: M Part 1 of 2 Light smut, comedy

Synopsis: Lucia, Happy's baby sister is coming to scope out Charming. Once Happy gave the all clear, bets are taken on which Son will bag a Killer's sister.

“Wendy’s deciding to keep the fucking kid,” Jax blew out his smoke from his joint. He was at the tail end of a church meeting with the MC. This was the part where they each just updated each other about their lives, if they didn’t already know through the gossip. This was a more official way that the men gave each other serious advice. There was also the fact that Happy was down here from SAMDINO, this was his first church meeting since coming down so he was getting fully caught up on his brothers’ lives. “If she fucking stays sober enough for the kid not to die…we’re keeping it. We’re still fucking getting divorced, but,” the VP of SAMCRO shrugged. “I’m not getting any younger and I dunno. A son sounds pretty cool,” he smirked. 

Clay clapped his stepson on his back. “A son for a Son,” he chuckled. “Taking responsibility, I like it. Anyone else before I close out church?” He grabbed the gavel. 

Happy pounded the table once, turning the table’s attention towards him. “My baby sister is coming down to Charming to see me tomorrow; she’ll be here for two weeks. I already talked to Clay about it; she’s safe and ain’t no snitch. You guys don’t have to welcome her, but Gemma already agreed to show her around Charming.” His raspy voice informed the brothers, “watch out for her at the clubhouse parties when I can’t, and don’t fucking treat her like a croweater,” he slapped the table and pointed to the younger men at the table. “She’s my sister, but she’s an independent woman; if she chooses to fuck one of you, that’s not my business, but if you hurt her or can’t control your croweaters, I’ll meet you in the cages.” He glared at Opie, glared hard at Jax and Juice, and surprisingly stared down Chibs and Tig. 

Tig chuckled as the rest of the club looked at him and Chibs in shock. “I’ve been waiting for baby sister to be of legal age since she hit puberty,” he grinned lasciviously. 

“She’s 24, Tig,” Happy growled, reminding his brother who has known his baby sister since she was a young girl.  

“And it’s only for my love for my brother that I did not tap that shit when baby girl started having sex, because brothers,” Tig created an hourglass movement with both his hands. “Beautiful  bourbon brown skin, and the best T and A you men have ever seen in a dream of a small and flexible body. She was in that cheerleading and gymnastics team, wasn’t she?” He muttered to himself as he lost himself in memories, a twinkle in his eye. 

Clay raised an eyebrow at his ‘Killah’. “You gonna let him talk about your sister like that?” 

Happy grimaced. “He’s not wrong. Lucia’s my sister, but she’s a beautiful woman. I’m also not fucking blind, she’s fucking hot,” he grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest. “That and she’d kill me if I corrected him. Keep your comments clean around me or I’ll shoot your dick off, Trager.” 

Tig lifted his hands up in defense. “Noted, Killah.” 

“Where’s she staying?” Piney asked.

“At my house; I’ll just continue staying at the clubhouse.” Happy purchased a house as he was loaned to Charming more and more frequently and for longer periods of time. He usually spent his time at the clubhouse, but when he just needed a night to himself, he decided to purchase a small two bedroom Spanish style home. It was bare bones, letting Gemma decorate it within his budget, but it was enough for him, and knowing Lucia, it would be enough for her too. 

“So if we convince baby sister to move here, we could possibly get the Tacoma Killah permanently? I’ll make sure Gemma turns on her most best self and take her in,” Jax grinned. “You know you love coming down to Charming,” he reminded the assassin. 

“Got the best croweaters on the West coast,” Happy smirked. 

“Alright, alright, enough chit chat, I can feel my tampon slipping. We good with anything else, boys?” Clay chuckled, trying to bring the meeting to a close. After no one else chirped up, he banged his gavel and officially ended the meeting. “Happy, give your sister’s information to Gemma. I’m sure you ain’t got shit in that fridge, and they can fill up that house for you and your sister.” 

Happy nodded his gratitude. “Thank you, Prez.” 

—

Happy stood by his rented Harley Davidson Tallboy, smoking his cigarette as he waited for his sister to approach from her luggage pickup. His normal bike didn’t have an extra seat big enough to comfortably sit both him and his sister, plus her luggage. The croweaters he occasionally took on his bike were thin as hell and were only on his bike for 20 minutes at max. He still wore his kutte as he glared down at airport security who nervously shifted near him. 

“Ki-ke!”  Happy turned his head to see his happy sister running towards him. He grunted as she slammed into him, taking the weight of her body and her heavy luggage. “Hey Cici,” he threw his cigarette to the ground as he wrapped an arm around his sister. He hid his face in her curly hair and inhaled, his heart feeling full as he held his sister. He held back his joyous grin in her hair. “I missed you too, beba.” 

Lucia pulled back, her wide and dark brown doe eyes sparkling with delight. “You look good, healthy,” she nodded once, taking her brother in as she pulled away from his embrace. 

“Jesus, you sound so much like Mamá,” Happy’s accent slipping through. He took in his sister, as she did him. Her rosy cheeks were flushed pink, her smile genuine. She was happy. She still had her same figure; she didn’t look underweight, or too unhealthily overweight for her body. He felt relieved. It was all he wanted. His sister; happy, healthy, and safe. And he did that. He felt complete having his mother and sister back in the same state. 

Lucia rolled her eyes. “C’mon, I want to get on the road,” she bounced in excitement. She’d always loved riding with her brother on his motorcycle. She loved the feeling of freedom that surrounded her in the open roads of California. 

“You ain’t tired of sitting on your ass? You flew, what? 5 hours?” Happy questioned. 

“Six, actually, but I’m good!” Lucia grinned as she insisted. “I did some stretches and it's only a one hour ride to your house and with your speed, we’ll be there in less time. Once we get there, I’m taking a nice hour nap before I meet up with Gemma to grocery shop, I’ll be recharged by then,” she smiled. “C’mon! I wanna fly!” She pulled him, grinning as she felt her brother’s protective arm take its place on her shoulder. 

Happy grinned, seeing the happiness come across his sister. She loved riding almost as much as he did. His favorite time riding besides by himself was with his sister. And he knew she felt the same way. He noticed airport security checking his sister out and he growled at them as he took his sister’s bags to tie on both sides of the bike. 

Lucia giggled as she hopped on behind her brother, her arms immediately wrapping around her brother. “Nunca cambias, huh, Ki-Ke?” She strapped on her helmet and handed her brother his. 

Happy chuckled, revving the bike, causing the loud rumble to echo in the pick up area. “Never.” He patted his sister’s hands that were around his torso. 

–

Gemma, Jax, Tig, Chibs, and a few of the non-Son mechanics sat around the picnic tables, on their lunch break as they were ahead of schedule with the cars they had for their day. Gemma, feeling generous, decided to order pizza for the boys; she decided to forgo the pizza, deciding to wait to eat a late lunch with Lucia. She had indeed been communicating with the young Lowman sister, through texts and phone calls. From what she knew of the young girl, so far, she liked her a lot. 

Lucia, for her and Happy’s childhood, was everything good about Happy in a small woman. But she was also respectable and endearing, whereas Happy was fear inducing and scary. She was looking forward to the club’s reaction to her as she knew from Happy that she was apparently curvy and beautiful. But she also knew from speaking to her that Lucia was an extremely confident woman and confident in herself. She couldn't wait to see which Son was bold enough to try to take on Happy’s sister. She was silently rooting for Chibs, or Jax. It would be fun to see either happen. 

The group’s heads perked up as they heard a new grumble from a motor come ripping through the street. They watched as Happy rode in on his rented bike with the expected Lucia riding behind him. 

Gemma smirked in amusement as the men at the table immediately elbowed one another. Fresh meat was a commodity in Charming. 

Happy backed into a parking spot, fighting the urge to cringe at the itchiness in his skin. He could feel all eyes on him. Well, not on him, on Lucia. But they were still observing him. For an assassin, being observed was a stimulation nightmare. He grumbled as he removed his helmet, getting off his bike. He helped his baby sister, her height causing her to need assistance climbing on and off the large bike suited for two. “I fucking hate this,” he covered his sister’s body, and their view. 

“Get over it, you’re making it more of a moment, than it needs to be, Ki-ke,” Lucia patted his shoulder as she walked around him, and towards the table of expecting pairs of eyes. 

Gemma observed the wide eyes of all of the men at the picnic tables as they took in the beautiful woman before them. Shit. They all looked dumbfounded at her beauty. She certainly looked like all of their wet dreams come to life, but in a new and different package that more that outsold their own dreams. Tig was certainly right. Lucia had an hourglass figure; her body more similar to Marilyn Monroe’s, Sofia Loren’s, or Raquel Welch's, but her ass poked further out, matching her plump thighs. She wore a cut off leather jacket, classic tight light wash denim high waisted jeans, and a white halter top which beautifully offset her russet brown skin. Her makeup was done lightly, enhancing her already natural beauty. Her full plump lips were burgundy bruised and carried a mischievous smirk. She walked with confidence, noted in her large three inch platform boots and sharp long red nails. Her long curly dark brown hair perfectly curved around her full breasts. Shit, Gemma thought to herself. Lucia was a siren come to life. Even she was feeling a bit hot at Lucia’s entrance. Jesus, she’s gonna bring trouble. 

Gemma stood up and made her way to the beauty. “Hi Cici,” she engulfed the girl in her arms. She found herself warming to the young woman as Lucia hugged back just as fiercely, rubbing her back. 

“Hey Gemma, thank you so much for welcoming me and being so nice,” Lucia hugged the Queen of SAMCRO, grateful for the woman’s help in feeling comfortable in Charming. She immediately respected the badass woman for being a matriarch in an all boy’s club; literally. 

“You want me to introduce you to everyone?” Gemma asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“Ask Mopey over there,” Lucia shot back to her brother. 

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Happy grabbed his sister’s arm and walked to the picnic benches. “This is Lucia, I already fucking warned you all about them. Lucia, this is Jax, my VP; you already know Tig. This is Chibs, Lowell, and some other pieces of shit that I don’t care about. Done, now take her out to Charming,” he turned his sister and pushed her into Gemma. “Let’s get back to work before I shoot one of you. I’m not drunk enough for this.” 

There was silence as the men watched Gemma and Lucia walk away, all of them taking in one or both of the women. 

“So, if we were all at the party tonight at the clubhouse?” A voice that was obviously fake deepened asked. 

“Next fucking car!” Happy barked out.

--

Gemma laughed with the young woman as they had their brunch together. “So you won’t tell me which one you like the best?”

Lucia raised an eyebrow at her, a smirk on her lips. “You think I’d give you the advantage when I’m a bit certain that you bet on this with someone? And I’m not getting a cut?” She playfully scoffed.

“Baby girl, I just wanna make sure I put the right money in the right places; if my highest risk gets the win, I’ll share my winnings with you,” the black and blonde haired woman bargained with Happy’s little sister. 

“Do you really want me to tell you or do you wanna win as an honest woman?” 

“Baby, I put money in a few guys just to make sure I always win,” Gemma revealed. “But I do wanna let you have your pick.”

Lucia smiled, liking Gemma’s answer. “I liked a few,” she admitted. “You’ll win something,” she laughed. “If it was worth enough for a redo, I’ll let you keep what you make.”

“Why didn’t Happy bring you around sooner? I like you,” Gemma happily chewed at her food. 

“Trust me, Gemma, I’ve tried to get Happy to settle down long enough for me to come down, but he’s never really had a place. He’s always been a nomad even when he wasn’t a Nomad,” Lucia bantered. “When he told me he finally bought a house down here, I immediately put in for vacation at work. He’s never bought a house until here, so really I have you and SAMCRO to thank for convincing him to come down here so often. It’s not that other charters never offered, but Happy never felt like he needed to settle.”

“A true nomad,” Gemma observed. It put a chill down her spine. She couldn’t imagine not having Charming as her home. She couldn’t imagine not having a true home, period. 

Lucia nodded. “As long as he stayed in the West coast and close enough to Mamá, he was okay with a bed, roof, kitchen, and bathroom,” she pushed at some of the remnants of her food. “A lot of Happy’s money went to me and our mom, and I was able to go to school. I work for a publishing company in New York; I’m now their Vice President,” she smirked. “I always told him that once he bought a house anywhere, I’d move to the closest branch there. But on his own time; I know he liked being a true nomad,” she shrugged. 

“You missed him,” Gemma discerned easily. When you gained the young woman’s trust, clearly she was an open book with her own feelings, but private with other’s. 

“Yeah, but Happy keeps his emotions to himself and I respect that. I don’t want to make him feel any way. He already gets pulled in so many different ways for the Sons, but I know this life is his passion. I can work in my career from anywhere in the world, I just needed a base. I was just waiting on him. He never made me feel less; we both would take trips to see each other, me more so, and we would stay at our mom’s house,” Lucia’s smile lit up her face and made her eyes twinkle. 

Gemma couldn’t help but smile at the happiness that radiated from her. She could tell the young woman truly loved Happy, and her family. She felt like pure innocent joy. Gemma craved that feeling; and she felt that pouring out of Lucia’s skin towards anything and everything that could touch it. “Well, if you like it here enough, and we like each other well enough; I’ll be sure to make Clay bring Hap down here more often enough for him to ask for a transfer. Charming is a special place and I’d love to share it with you.” She made her decision. She really liked Lucia. Liked her enough that she was glad that she put the most amount of money on Jax. Most of the club put their money on Chibs or Tig, much to Happy’s dismay. She wouldn’t push Lucia on Jax or vice versa, but it wouldn’t hurt any of them if either head was turned to one another’s. And if something came of it, all the better for everyone involved. 

“Thank you, Gem. Really. I want to spend more time with my brother. I want to settle down and have a family and be around family. But I’m a little tired of waiting,” Lucia giggled. “And he seems to like Charming enough to keep volunteering to come down here. I’ll work with you on that.” 

Gemma grinned widely at the young woman, recognizing the girl’s desire for family pouring from her aura. “Let’s use these two weeks to get you hooked up with someone in town; what’s your type, darlin’?” She grabbed her glass of soda to take a sip. 

Lucia smiled wantonly as she blushed slightly. “I’m bisexual, Gemma. And I’m not picky. I like how I’m treated more than how someone looks.” 

Gemma raised an eyebrow. “Okay, then how do you want to be treated then?” She didn’t blink an eye at the woman’s reveal. “What do you want in a partnership or marriage?” She appreciated that the girl was just as blunt as everyone in SAMCRO. 

“I want to be treated with respect. With loyalty,” Lucia listed. “I don’t fuck with cheating. At all,” her face turned stern and serious. She pulled what she called her Happy stare; a stare that invoked fear. She knew she succeeded when Gemma tried to hide her body’s subconscious shiver. “Unless we wanna have a fun night once in a while, I’m fine with that, but I want to find my partner. Not just fuck around.” Lucia said, her face dropping into a thoughtful expression. She bit her lip gently as she thought further. “I want kids, so I pretty much expect one or two. I’d negotiate any child after that depending on how my pregnancies go. I’d be committed to living in Charming forever if I ended up with of the Sons or someone local, but I’d like to visit my family back home, so I would need them to compromise on that. There may come a time that I have to take care of my mom so they’d have to be okay with that,” she revealed. “I want to know their culture, as they learn about mine. I’m all about a legacy,” she admitted bashfully, her hair falling like a curtain on either side of her blushing face. “But a complete one. I want them to be kind, to not put their hands on me. I need them to be good in bed, and often,” she wiggled her eyebrows playfully. 

“Amen to that!” Gemma let out a cackle, throwing her head back. “Anything else on this reasonable list?” 

Lucia shrugged. “That’s it for now. Anything else, I’ll deal with it in time. I’m easy going.” 

“I can work with that,” Gemma nodded, her eyes sparkling as her mind ran through the many names of many people in town. Her son included, but she was biased. And Chibs. Hell, she threw Juice in the mix too. Now to see which man had the balls to approach her first, and which Lucia liked the best. Whether tonight at the party, or in town during her two weeks. 

—-

Gemma and Lucia sat next to Luann, laughing at the blonde woman’s dirty joke when the club came bounding through the clubhouse door, loud and raucous as the croweaters and hangaround cheered at their homecoming. The party can now really start. 

Gemma immediately wrapped herself around her husband, but not before giving her son a quick kiss on the cheek and a playful slap on his ass. She entered Clay’s open embrace watching the club rush to the bar, or to some of the croweaters holding liquor. 

Lucia hopped off from her stool in the kitchen. “Tig, c’mere, I’m never gonna fuck you and I need to pick your brain,” Lucia demanded, grabbing three beers in one hand and holding two shots in another. She held them out to the blue eyed man. “I picked out two girls for you and told them how to play with you later, now drink and hear my confessional. They’ll approach on my orders, and no I won’t tell you who they are.” As instructed, all of the available croweaters, and Luann, gave Tig a flirty and seductive smile. 

The surrounding people in earshot’s jaws stopped, except for Gemma’s. The room laughed as the Sergeant at Arms of SAMCRO kneeled before Lucia and kissed her stomach. 

“Yes, Sister Lucia, thank you, Sister Lucia,” Tig took back the two shots offered back to back, and grabbed the beers from the woman. He stood up quickly, feeling the burn of the spirits run through him, cycling his already high adrenaline. He wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “Can I cop a feel?” 

Lucia sighed. “If you must. Make sure you sneak it when I don’t notice,” she grabbed him back outside towards the benches. “See y’all later!” She waved as she shut the door behind them. 

“What do you need to know, Lucy?” Tig took a swig of his beer, sitting on top of the table. 

“Who’s worth my time in there? Really?” She gave him a look. 

Tig, despite always joking with Happy and Lucia, always respected that she was just as blunt as her brother. She never cut to the chase or wasted time; he appreciated that about her. So he and she had a unique relationship; Tig saw women as mothers or whores. Lucia was the only woman he viewed as both and wouldn’t cross the line to actually fuck her. He couldn’t say that about anyone else. “Jax and Juice. Maybe Chibs if you can get over that age gap.” 

Lucia nodded. “Who’s worth my time in bed?” 

“Jax is known as the best lay in Charming,” Tig admitted. “But he’s a bit of a whore. Got a kid on the way with his junkie ex-wife. Broken hearted over an old relationship and been jaded ever since. Juice is also a whore, but he isn’t attached and doesn’t have any baggage. He’s from New York,” he easily spilled the information. The sooner she hooked up with a brother, the sooner he could press for details of her in bed for his fantasies. “Croweaters say he’s pretty good in bed. More of a romantic.” 

“Can he get rough?” Lucia asked, an eyebrow raised. 

“Shit Lucy, why'd you say that?” Tig whined as he adjusted his half chub that suddenly appeared.

Lucia wrinkled her nose, laughing at his actions. She decided to tease him even further. “Can he pull my hair and ride me like a cowboy should? Can he punish me when I become the true brat that I am?” She teased, batting her eyes and pouting her lip at him.

“Fuck no, he can’t. Jax can. Pick Jax,” Tig swallowed back his first beer, quickly grabbing the second one that Lucia preprepared. “He’s good for a night, a short time, or you can get him to settle if you need. If you guys got shit in common and you can deal with his baggage, then that’s on you and him.” 

“Hmm, and Chibs?” Lucia tilted her head. 

Tig shook his head. “He’s got an estranged wife and daughter back in Ireland. She’s a bit younger than you. Old enough that you’d get compared as sisters. His wife is black, and their daughter is brown like you. He’s good for a night ride only.” He wrapped an arm around her shoulder and pulled them back to lay down on top of the picnic table. He stared at the stars as he heard Lucia light up something. He took whatever she offered him and discovered it was a nicely rolled joint. “You always did pack the prettiest and fattest joints, Lucy,” he chuckled. “What are you looking for right now?” He asked, suddenly seriously. If he couldn’t have her, but maybe one of his brothers could, he would help both along their way. He took a large hit from the joint. 

“Either a short bit of fun or settling down. I want kids and a family. I want community. I can do that in Charming. Or I can start to build a family here. You think Jax can offer me either?” Lucia asked, grabbing the joint that Tig passed her. 

“Juice and Jax can offer you a short bit of fun. Both men are pretty good men at the end of the day. I don’t know what Juice wants for his future; think he's waiting for a good Old Lady. He's the type where he follows his Old Lady's lead and happily. He'd be good to you," Tig nodded. "I know Jax wants a family, but he hasn’t really loved anyone but his high school ex. I think you can make it work with both if you really like them,” Tig deduced. “Juice is silly, but he’s got a good head on his shoulders when it’s crunchtime. He was Jax’s prospect; his first actually. Jax wouldn’t have asked him to prospect if he thought he was that dumb. Jax or Juice can really offer you though. I’m not sure about anyone else in town, but I could always find out for you.”

“Thanks Tig,” Lucia said after a moment. 

“I’ll always watch out for you like I do for Happy,” Tig squeezed her shoulder. “You’re the closest thing to a step-daughter I got,” he fake cried. 

“Jesus!” Lucia cried as she threw herself off the picnic bench, her laughter being drowned out by the raucous music playing from the clubhouse. “C’mon, drop the intel to both of them and let’s see who’s got the biggest balls tonight?” 

Tig sat up, a wicked grin on his face. He loved pranking his brothers and this was a harmless prank. “Right now?” He raised an eyebrow. He knew if he told Jax or Juice, they would immediately jump on her so he needed to be sure what Lucia wanted.

“Nah, I want to be surprised on the approach,” Lucia told him. “Let’s have some fun, Tig. Don’t forget the girls I arranged for you,” she smiled. “Once I bag my guy, your girls will get to bag you.” 

“Oh you’re the ultimate tease, you sure you don’t want me?” Tig begged. 

Lucia shook her head. “I see you as my horny step-brother who I don’t want to fuck because you act like a dad sometimes,” she admitted. “Your ship sailed a long time ago but that just means I’m gonna try to find your ultimate happiness,” she gave him a quick hug. 

Tig was speechless. He didn’t think that Lucia viewed him as a father figure. He never thought he was a fatherlike man even though he had two daughters already. His heart stopped for a bit, his adrenaline freezing. Could he possibly redeem the damage he inflicted on his daughters with Lucia? Was it wrong to do that? Yes, but Alexander Trager, at his core, always wanted to be a better man. He just always failed. Here was a chance to—

“Tig?”

Lucia’s voice pulled the man from his rush of thoughts. He stared up at her.

Lucia gave him the rest of the joint. “Don’t think about this now. Wait until you’re sober and then think about that shit. Just have a good night tonight. You guys just came back from a run, enjoy your girls and enjoy inciting sexual chaos.” 

Tig suddenly relaxed back into his normal state of adrenaline, feeling the drugs and drunkenness slam right back into him. “God, I love Lucy!” He couldn’t help but quip.

—

Lucia and Tig’s cackles were boisterous and loud, and it captured everyone’s attention. Tig normally was an attention grabber and people gravitated towards him. 

Gemma smirked as she saw Jax and Juice both blatantly check out Lucia even as they both held on to croweaters by the waist. She patted Clay on the chest and nodded her chin towards him when she knew she had his attention. 

“Which one you put the boat on?” Clay chuckled. He knew his wife put money on a whole bunch of odds regarding Lucia’s homecoming. As President, he knew everything that went on in his club, and even in their personal lives, thanks to his meddling wife. Money was put on which Son Lucia would hook up with first; if she hooked up with no one and chose a civilian, if she ended up dating a Son. From there, even more various bets were placed on Jax, Juice, Chibs, Tig; and surprisingly Opie, Piney, Half-Sack, croweaters, hangarounds, even Gemma and Deputy Hale were on that list. Clay knew Bobby was keeping the books in order. Clay didn’t place any bets, but he didn’t discourage his wife when she asked for some extra money for a ‘donation to the school’. 

“Jax, of course,” Gemma said smugly. “I always bet on Teller/Morrow,” she bit her lip as Clay slapped her ass. “But ultimately, whatever makes her happy, and what doesn’t make Happy kill anyone. He’s too important to catch a murder charge,” she laughed. 

Clay was taken aback at Gemma’s approval of her. It was small indications, but Clay knew his wife, knew her tells especially since he and her successfully committed an affair under the club, and JT’s, backs. She liked Lucia. Gemma’s approval was hard to come by, especially when it came to beautiful young women who could be a threat. “You like her?”

“She’s got a good head on her shoulders. Blunt like Happy, but she’s not unapproachable like him,” Gemma told him. “Would I like her and Jax together in love? Of course; but Jax’s got a lot of baggage with Wendy and the kid. Lucia’s too fucking nice to deal with my whore of a son. He loves just like JT, with all of him. But he’s honorable like him too.”

“It’s what makes him a great Vice President. He can overlook his emotions to be logical,” Clay reminded Gemma. “If they choose each other, you already like her and you can meddle your way to solidify their relationship. If they don’t, you can still meddle for her with another Son or anyone else. Please,” he begged, chuckling with the joke on his tongue. “The less you meddle with Jax, the more I get my VP around.” 

Gemma slapped her husband’s chest. 

—-

“Righ’, give us the information, we’ve watched your two gals for th' night swallo' tongues enough,” Chibs, antsy to fuck someone for the night, was growing impatient. Since he knew he was in the running, and took in Lucia’s figure and her openness to bed who she wanted (and Happy’s rule of ‘don’t ask/don’t tell’), he held off from hooking up with a croweater. He was attracted to the Lowman woman and knew a night with her would be worth it. But with Tig coming in after his talk with the beauty with the grin that swallowed the canary, everyone knew that Tig knew her choices, and knew that Tig being the conniving asshole that is was, would keep it shut.

Tig chuckled, having enough of teasing his brothers. “Lucy’s got good taste; after asking her creepy uncle who’s worth her time, I made it clear it was a Son.” He grinned, watching the hangarounds grumble and grasp at some croweaters. “Can’t watch to watch Lucy’s new season,” he jested, snickering at the confused faces. “Heard Lucy’s divorcing Ricky; her new eligible bachelors include a Prince, a shady Irishman, and someone’s who’s fresh out of psychotherapy.” He got up, sleeping both of his croweaters on their asses. He was ready for his private party to begin. He was sure Lucia, Gemma, or Bobby would tell him who popped Lucia’s Charming cherry.

[toournextadventure]

everyone but her pt.7

a/n: guys we're boutta start the FEELINGS. we're getting there, i promise. if we keep this up we might even get a smooch before too long 👀

Word Count: 3.7k Warnings: swearing Pairing: Wednesday Addams x Reader (Masterlist)

@extinctspino @basichextechml @cfvgbhndun-new-blog @jinxscatbomb @awolfcsworld @n0p35 @suzhiman @gengen64 @eclipsesmoonshine14 @asters-abditory

There was a habit you had that Wednesday was starting to pick up on, and she was not fond of it by any means. Somehow, by some cruel trick played by whatever spirits were watching over her that day, you always, always came by her dorm while she was busy. She was playing the cello? You miraculously dropped from the sky and started talking before she could even set her bow down. She was writing? You burst into the room with whatever stupid question was on your mind for the night.

More than once you had even appeared while she was in the shower, knocking to let her know you were there and then yelling through the door. It was times like that she almost wished you would get struck by lightening on your next flight.

Tonight, however, you had crawled in through the window because Wednesday had finally gotten the bright idea to lock the door. She should have known better.

“You seriously need to lock your window,” you huffed as you pushed yourself back up to your feet. There was a nice tint to your cheeks from the cold. Wednesday stared for too long, thankful for the fact that you were too busy brushing the dirt from your knees. “What if someone came in?”

 “Oh yes,” Wednesday sighed, “what if.”

“Anyway, with that safety lesson out of the way, here’s...” You dug around your satchel until you pulled out a book that Wednesday… didn’t remember loaning you. “Your book!” You handed it over with an obnoxious smile. A Tale of Two Cities.

“You stole this,” Wednesday said simply, though she still reached for it without hesitation. Her fingers grazed yours as she took it from you; your fingers were cold. Would you mind so terribly if she wished to warm them?

“It’s not stealing,” you huffed before throwing yourself face-first onto her bed. “It was borrowed without permission.”

Wednesday didn’t dare dignify your nonsensical excuse with a reply, instead just placing the book on her desk and flipping through it to find where you had left your mark. It came in the form of a single downy feather stuck near the last third of the book. She exhaled slowly and put it in her drawer; you weren’t even looking.

“The Rave’N is coming up soon,” you mused as Wednesday started writing. It gave her a welcome distraction from… well, from you. “You thinking of going?”

The clack of the typewriter stuttered for just a moment.

“I could not fathom a greater form of punishment.”

“Oh,” you said before covering it with a cough. “Yeah, that’s what I was thinking too.”

Wednesday felt a twinge of disappointment. Her words had been no lie; there was truly nothing more miserable than going to a stupid high school dance. But if you had intended on asking her, then maybe, just maybe, she would have considered it. After all, it wasn’t like you would be going with anyone else anyway. Right?

She said nothing, just continued typing away at her novel. Out of the corner of her eye, you shuffled and moved around, grabbing her pillow and resting it under your chin. Your eyes bore holes into the side of her head; god, did you ever blink? Didn’t you have anything better to do than lay there and stare at her?

“Thing, you smell absolutely divine,” you said in the most Enid-esque sing-songy voice after a few agonizing moments of staring.

With the slightest turn of her head, Wednesday watched Thing crawl onto the bed and start showing off. A pose to the left, a pose to the right, showing off his good side. You would “ooh” and “ahh” as he turned and would make ridiculous faces at him. It was beneath you, yet Wednesday couldn’t stop from watching with a morbid curiosity as you egged him on.

“You simply must tell me your secret,” you said as Thing finally crawled up onto your shoulder. “Tell me, is it the bergamot?”

“Can you two take this elsewhere?” Wednesday interrupted Thing mid-gesture. You pouted; it was enticing. “This isn’t beauty hour.”

“You, Wednesday Addams, are a killjoy.” You pushed yourself up to your knees - you were getting your shoes on her bed - and stepped onto the floor, Thing holding tight to your shoulder. “We’ll continue this in my room.”

The blatant stomping as you made your way to the door was enough to get Wednesday’s teeth grinding. Your ability to set her on edge just by being a brat was impressive, she wouldn’t deny it. Yet it still made her want to reach out and strangle you, no matter how far she had to go to reach your neck. She watched you leave only for a moment, more than ready to turn back to her novel but-

“-Stop.”

You froze with your hand only inches from the doorknob. Your right wing twitched, drawing Wednesday’s attention to the feathers that were still growing back from your flight in the woods all those weeks ago. She stood up from her desk and walked over to you with slow, purposeful steps until you turned around and were face to face with her.

Well. For the most part.

Wednesday stared you down, reveling in the way your wings twitched and shook under her gaze. Their reaction always intrigued her, always activated her curiosity in ways very few things could. Her own fingers ached with the desire to reach out and brush against the smooth feathers.

Instead she just grabbed the sweater you were wearing. It was made of a rather particular pattern in some rather familiar shades. She hadn't seen it in a few weeks, but surely she hadn't misremembered it. There was only one real difference between then and now.

“This is my missing sweater.” Wednesday met your eyes and took note of the way they widened only for a second.

“Is not,” you said quickly. “Thing, is this Wednesday’s?” Wednesday shot Thing a glare, one that he knew the consequences of. Instead of answering, he just shrugged and scuttled around to your other shoulder. A true coward. “Told you.”

“My mistake,” Wednesday said before giving you one last look - you practically shrunk under her stare - and walking back to her desk. “Thing, be back by curfew.”

“See you later, Wednesday.”

Your voice echoed in Wednesday’s head long after you had closed the door behind you. It was impossible to count the amount of people that had said her name, and yet when you said it… it was different. Something about it struck a different chord in her cold heart.

Maybe it was the fact you were shamelessly wearing her sweater.

—---

Hummer’s meetings, though necessary, were becoming the bane of Wednesday’s existence. It wasn’t Eugene’s fault, he tried his best to make them fun, but your snoring from the other side of the hive was enough to drive anyone insane. What were you even doing there anyway? Hadn’t you officially given up on Eugene’s inability to make friends?

A loud slap reverberated off the walls, followed immediately by a "fuck!" and a disgruntled groan. Eugene halted in his speech as they both looked at you, now wide awake with glassy eyes and a bright red cheek. You gave Eugene an enthusiastic thumbs up and a grin that would make anyone swoon.

Eugene smiled right back at you and continued whatever it was he was going on about. But Wednesday noticed the way your smile dropped and you rubbed your cheek, looking around for the culprit. Thing snuck up Wednesday’s leg and hid on her shoulder, as far away from you as he could get. Smart hand, she thought behind a smirk.

The meeting continued, and even though Wednesday had never started paying attention to what Eugene was saying, now she was downright distracted. By the way you would hold your hand out for the bees to land on, to your absolutely pitiful sneeze when a bee landed on your nose, to the loose feathers you left on the floor. Why couldn’t you just pay attention so she could pay attention?

“Hey, I gotta head out.” You stood up. “I’m late for practice.”

“Okay,” Eugene said with a look that gave away his disappointment. “Wednesday can fill you in later.”

“Nah, I’ll hear it from you,” you said, shooting him a smile that had no doubt made many a woman swoon. “I’ll text you.”

“Sounds good,” Eugene answered, and you gave him a thumbs up.

“See you later Thing. Addams.” You winked at Wednesday before heading out of the hive.

The way her stomach dropped was downright embarrassing.

The meeting continued to drag on for another 35 agonizing minutes. Wednesday’s only saving grace was at least they were harvesting a few of the hives so it helped pass the time. Slowly. By the time everything was finished, Wednesday wanted nothing more than to escape and get back to her dorm. This much socialising was exhausting work.

“Hey Wednesday,” Eugene called out before she managed to escape. She stopped in her place and turned to look at him. “Is Y/N going to the Rave’N?”

“How should I know?” She asked, but what she really wanted to say was why do you want to know?

“Think she would go with me?” He asked; his eyes went wide at Wednesday’s sudden coldness. “As a friend!” He defended instantly. “Only as a friend.”

Wednesday’s shoulders relaxed slightly. Only as friends, she thought with the most miniscule nod to herself. That was acceptable. Not that she would have cared, obviously, if you would go as Eugene’s date. But surely he wasn’t your type- she stopped her thoughts right there. She was not going to proclaim to know what your type was or that she even cared in the first place.

“Just ask her,” Wednesday finally said before promptly turning around and walking out of the hive.

A mix of emotions tumbled around in her chest as she walked around campus. Why had she gotten such a visceral reaction to Eugene asking if you would go to the Rave’N with him? It was a dance that she cared absolutely nothing for. There was nothing enticing about a room full of sweaty teenagers drinking spiked punch.

What were you doing to her? What was it about you that was different? She had yet to care about anyone the way she did about you. Her protectiveness over Enid, Eugene, Pugsly, it couldn’t even hold a flame to how she felt about you. And she couldn’t even figure out what kind of feelings those were. How was she-

-the sound of a piano caught her attention and froze her in her spot.

The door to the opera hall was open just enough for music to spill out into the quad. It sounded like a jumbled mess, the keys being hammered and played in a way that was reminisce of a child. Thing pointed through the doors, and with a roll of her eyes, Wednesday walked in.

The pitiful excuse for music got louder as she walked further into the opera hall, her steps almost silent on the carpet. A twang from the piano staggered her steps and she tilted her head. The riff played twice, slowly, then picked up speed again. With a singular nod to herself she continued walking until finally she could look upon the stage.

You sat there on the bench, playing away as if you had not a single care in the world. Your posture was absolutely horrendous, Wednesday noted as she eyed your hunched shoulders and bent neck. It looked like you were too big for the instrument even though your hands flew effortlessly over the keys. Jazz, it finally clicked as she listened to you continue.

At least, it was jazz until it wasn’t. Maybe she wasn’t entirely sure what you were playing.

But she stood there and watched dutifully as you played, a smile seemingly etched onto your face. You looked completely entranced, your eyes falling shut as a laugh fell from your lips. You looked- no, Wednesday would never admit to that. She stood up straight and moved as if to leave until she noticed something.

There, on your right wrist, were three black hair ties. Her black hair ties.

Somehow, she didn’t mind.

—---

You were late.

You were late and Wednesday had already pushed back her writing time for you. Now, 37 minutes past when you were supposed to already be in the room for tutoring, you were still nowhere to be seen? Wednesday would’ve strangled you if given half the chance.

“She’s probably asleep,” Enid said after Wednesday had paced the room for the seventh time that night. “Just go wake her up.”

Still asleep? How? It was a late start, of course, but it was a Monday. What could you possibly still be sleeping for? That decided it, she was going to go find out for herself. She didn’t bother saying bye to Enid and Thing - who were having yet another manicure party - and walked out the door, making a beeline for your dorm.

How could you stand her up? Tutoring had been moved around a few times but you always showed up. Now, the week before the Rave’N, you were going to abandon her? To spend time with Enid? How very well dare you, you certainly knew better than that, did you not?

She knew your room by heart; not because she had ever been inside, but she had walked you back numerous times. So she could be forgiven for not stopping to knock on the door and instead just walking in, closing the door behind her.

“Where were-”

-her heart froze in her chest when she actually looked into your room. It wasn’t untidy by any means, but the amount of… things was rather impressive. Bookshelves were littered with pens, badges, coins, daggers - is that her dagger? - and whatever else the mind could imagine. In the far corner of the room was a pile of blankets and clothes, and you were resting face-down on top of it.

Your wings were outstretched across the pile - your little nest, she thought - and for probably the first time, Wednesday stared in awe at how large they truly were. Realistically she knew they had to be big enough to carry you around, but to see them up close just hammered the idea home. They were stunning.

There was a peaceful look upon your face, one that she rarely saw during the day. You were snoring lightly and holding onto a piece of cloth so tightly that Wednesday could see the individual tendons in your knuckles. If anyone else had seen you, they would’ve called you adorable.

But not Wednesday, of course.

Wake her up. But you looked so comfortable laying there, spread out for no one but her to see. How many people got to see you like this? Free, unbridled for everyone else’s convenience. We’re here for a reason. Does that reason matter when you look so at peace? This is pointless. It most surely is because she can’t bring herself to move or turn her head away from you.

A shift in your breathing pattern, and suddenly Wednesday was brought back to her current situation. Right. You were supposed to be tutoring right now. Your math test was in three days and you needed help, and she was doing nothing to ensure your ability to pass the test.

Wake her up. But she didn’t have to, because you shifted and suddenly Wednesday was met with your groggy, half-open eyes that struggled to stay open. In those first few moments of consciousness, what were you thinking of? Was your head filled with the remnants of a dream that would be long forgotten before you spoke your first word? Were you thinking of someone that brought such a stupid, childish grin to your face?

“Fancy seeing you here,” you mumbled with that same dopey smile. It was pathetic. Wednesday was pathetic for letting it affect her.

“You missed tutoring.” She sounded too harsh; good. There was no chance she was going to let you know what you did to her.

“I was out late,” you mumbled again, finally pushing yourself to your knees. Wednesday turned her head when your sleep pants fell low on your hips. “Give me a sec and we can get started.”

She couldn’t see you, but she heard you shuffle around until the bathroom door clicked shut, and finally she could breathe again. Everything about you was really starting to wear her patience thin. She had come here with a purpose and now she was busy trying to keep her breathing in check because of your sleep pants. You truly were a testament to her patience.

“Ready?” You walked out of the bathroom while still pulling a shirt down. Thankfully, Wednesday didn’t notice until you were finished and-

“-is that my shirt?”

You froze in your tracks. This was becoming a common occurrence, Wednesday realised. At the very least this was the third time she had noticed you wearing some article of clothing that had belonged to her. First the sweater on Parents’ Weekend, then the sweater when you brought the stolen book back, and now this? How had you even managed to get them?

It was while you were frozen and staring at her that Wednesday finally looked at the pile you had been sleeping on. And how she could pick out at least three things in it that she knew had come from her closet. A blanket, one of her secret pairs of fuzzy socks, a jacket. Her glare shot back to you, and the room was so quiet you could both hear you audibly gulp.

Were you going to lie to her and say it wasn’t hers? She would have loved for you to try and talk your way out of this one. Everyone else might buy your lies, but not Wednesday Addams. She could not be won over by honeyed words and convincing smiles, no matter who gave them to her. No, she wanted to hear what you were going to say.

“I have a perfectly reasonable explanation for this-”

“-is it?” Her gaze never left yours. Say something.

“Not anymore.” You straightened up and crossed your arms over your chest. You had nerve, Wednesday would give you that.

She liked it.

“It looks better on you than it does on me.” Your eyes widened at her words before a blush rapidly ran down your neck. “Grab your book,” Wednesday said. You rushed to follow orders and made a spot for the both of you on your pile.

It was actually quite comfortable.

Wednesday went over everything she could with you in the time you had left. There was no doubt in her mind, you were still utterly hopeless at math, but by the end of the morning she had a little bit of faith that you would pass. That would have to be enough unless you could squeeze one more tutoring session in before Thursday.

“Hey, Wednesday.”

She stopped packing her things. She didn’t say anything, only turned her head just enough to look at you out of the corner of her eye. You were playing with your fingers; they seemed more pale than usual. Every time she would meet your eyes, you would find something else to look at.

“Eugene asked if I wanted to hang out with him at the Rave’N,” you said far too softly. “If I had no one else to go with, that is.”

Of course. The Rave’N was that weekend. It was coming up and you still hadn’t asked anyone to go with you. Why hadn’t you asked Bianca, or Yoko? Surely they would have enjoyed you as their date. What could have possibly been holding you back where you would consider going with Eugene?

Why did she like that you would consider going with Eugene instead of Bianca or Yoko?

“Enjoy the dance with Eugene.” She didn’t think she liked that so much either. Your attention would be on him, or Enid, or anyone else at the dance. What if she didn’t want to share your attention? What if she wanted it all for herself, just for one night?

“Wednesday.” Your huff brought her attention back to the look you were giving her. What was that for? “This is the part where you ask me to the dance and I say yes.”

What?

“Why would I ask you to the dance?” Wednesday asked incredulously. And that was what brought a smile back to your face. An embarrassing smile that made Wednesday’s stomach twist into knots.

“Because Eugene and I have been trying to force you to ask all week,” you continued.

“What?”

“He thought asking you for permission would force you to ask me yourself.” Your smile faded into nothing, leaving only a gleam in your eyes. “He’s not even going to be here.”

To say she was astounded at your planning was an understatement, but she was also amazed at your lack of execution. She never got the hint, so clearly your plan had been foolhardy at best. Besides, why would she be jealous of Eugene? It was clear you two were barely even friends to begin with.

But you were still standing there and staring at her, and you looked like you were waiting for a response. Did you truly think she would ask you to the dance? You knew how she felt about it, surely you didn’t genuinely expect her to ask. Did you? Then again, maybe a small part of her wanted to ask…

“Go to the dance with me.” It wasn’t a question. You didn’t seem to care.

“I’d love to.” You grabbed your backpack and started leading her out of your room to finally head to class. “We can work on your romance skills next time.”

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[delusional-dinosaurr]

Nice Sleepover? (Alessia Russo x Reader)

After what felt like years you finally get off the plane in Manchester. You got loaned to City from Barcelona, being from Manchester it's a perfect loan for you, as you've been at Barca for just over a year and needed a little change of scenery.

Lauren was of course there to greet you at the airport with a sign which said "Queen of Nutmegs". You giggled and jogged over to her and gave her the biggest hug. "I'm so happy you're playing for us Y/N, I can't believe it still!" she says giddily whilst clinging onto you. "You'll be ready to play in the Manchester Derby as well!" "I can't wait to beat them with you, It'll take me back to the U19 days" you smile. Years ago you used to be an unbeatable force for the England younger squads, you with the assists and her with the goals. Being reunited was fantastic but also terrifying for those who faced you. After a long week of getting to know the team and staff at City alongside some training days, you crash on Lauren's spare bed at her shared house the night before the Derby. She slumps on it next to you whilst you both aimlessly scroll through your phones. You can't help but get stuck on an Instagram post by Alessia Russo, there is an audible gulp when you looked at the photos of her and Lauren spotted it instantly. "Now why is my best friend dribbling over Lessi?" Lauren said whilst looking at you with a big smirk on her face. "I'm not dribbling, it's just been a long time since we've seen eachother" You sighed and drop your phone on the bed. You used to have quite the crush on Alessia back in the day which hasn't really gone away, and haven't been interested in anyone since. You still talk every so often with national camps but nothing like you used to. "Now now young Y/N, don't go acting like this on the pitch, we need to win, yeah?" She slapped your hand gently "I'm off to bed, sleep well and don't dream about Miss Russo, you need to stay focused!" she giggled as she leaves the room, leaving you to sigh and get cuddled up in bed. ---- You're getting ready in the locker room after the warmups for the away game at Old Trafford. Feeling confident for your first game you pulled over your sky blue shirt whilst hearing a wolf whistle from Leila, you saluted her and gave her a wink in response. When you start to approach the tunnel the nerves hit, Lauren notices it and instantly puts her hands on your shoulders, gripping them tightly. "We will win, and I swear we will get a classic Y/LN-Hemp assist and goal for our first match together!" Lauren cheers whilst patting your shoulders firmly. You look over to your side to see the one and only Ella Toone grinning at you, you give her a nod and a smile. "Y/LN! Shame you aren't in red! Would look better on you" She cackles at you, you've missed her dumb laugh. "Never in your wildest dreams Tooney, red isn't my colour. Think you'd look pretty stunning in blue though" You wink. You and Ella used to play together for Astley & Tyldesley when you were younger. Your parents and her parents are close friends so you've always been fairly close. You still talk every now and then but since moving to Barca not so much. Not like it's in a bad way, more so that you're both very busy but will always be there for each other. She gave you a brief hug in the tunnel before you head out. "Good luck on your first game for City, shame you'll be losing" she chuckles whilst giving you a gentle smack on the ass which you instantly laugh at. You all start walking out onto the pitch and the game starts. As a midfielder you're already seeing loads of action in both attacking and defending. Around 20 minutes in you see a Alessia making a run to receive a ball in from Ella. Before Alessia can receive the ball, you cut in with a fantastic slide to clear the ball from her. This sends Alessia tumbling over you and she lands on top of you. You couldn't help but get a little flustered as she lifted herself off you whilst looking into your eyes. You shake it off and return to the game. You look to your side and see Lauren looking at you, very amused at what she had just witnessed. The game continues with a fair amount of back and forth between the two of you, she even fouls you when you're trying to connect a longer pass to Hemp, which you brush off as she gives you a hand up. As half-time comes around the score is 1-1, one goal from Toone and the City goal from Chloe. You get told that you'll be likely to stay on for the full 90 with Lauren, to try and secure another goal. You run back onto the pitch and into position feeling energised and ready to win. 74 minutes in you receive a pass and run it up the wing ready for Lauren when you feel a pair of boots collide with you. You instantly tumble to the ground and clutch your ankle in pain. One amused looking Alessia Russo stands over you whilst the ref is waving a yellow at her whilst she's protesting. She wipes the sweat off her face using the bottom of her shirt, you can't help but glance and melt at the sight "Oi, she's getting in your head, we've got this" Lauren gives you a quick hug from behind before jogging off ready for a free kick. The free kick is taken by Leila which you receive and effortlessly cross it to Lauren, who of course scored an excellent goal. She points at you and runs full sprint to jump in your arms. "I TOLD YOU WE WOULD DO IT! Y/LN-HEMP BACK IN ACTION!" Lauren screamed whilst the rest of your teammates are yelling and hugging you both. The game restarts and the goal has lit a fire in the United girls. They're playing more forcefully and riskier. You notice a Toone-Russo connection again which you pull off a bit of a dodgy tackle which earns some colourful language from Alessia in frustration. This earns your first yellow card for the team which you accepted as you knew it was a dodgy tackle. 2 minutes of added time and you're making a run up from the midfield, the United girls are playing ultra defensive to prevent a last minute goal from City. You receive a beautiful pass from Chloe and as you’re running closer to the box you see a flash of blonde hair. Knowing who is about to attempt to tackle you, you manage to nutmeg Alessia and run through the defenders, the city fans break out in loud cheers as your nutmeg was clearly well received by your club. You get to a 1v1 with Earps and chip the ball over her effortlessly. 3-1. Your teammates are going absolutely nuts over your goal.

The final whistle is blown after your goal. You couldn't be more pleased with your performance, especially after receiving the player of the match award. You walked around the stadium chatting with the United girls and swapping shirts with Ella for some photos, she takes a photo herself of you in a United shirt and makes a joke about it looking hot on you. You continue walking around the stadium and take photos with fans and chat with some of them for a bit before going and cleaning up. After getting clean and changed Leila pulls you aside "Hey Chica! We are all going clubbing tonight, coming? I heard your favourite player will be there" she gently shakes you with excitement. You knew you had to go as it would be your first outing with the girls, even though you'd rather go sleep at Lauren's. That and a chance to reconnect with Alessia is all you want to do right now. You sigh and nod at Leila resulting in her squealing. --- You enter the club which both teams and staff have hired out for the night and spot some of the team already here, who are waving frantically to get you to go over. You decided to just wear casual blue skinny jeans and a white shirt to keep it casual and comfy. Some of the girls dressed up but some went with the same theme as you. As the night goes on you spot Alessia and Ella at the bar, you quickly make your way over and pay for their drinks before they can tap the machine. They both turn to put a face to the mystery arm with a card and smile when they realise. "Thank you Y/N, you really didn't have to though!" Ella says whilst giving you a strong side hug. "Ah it's the least I can do after breaking your winning streak" You wink as you take a sip of your drink, to which Ella gives you a shove for. Alessia wraps her arms around you and gives you a squeeze. "I've missed you Y/N, we need a catch up later" She says and you agree to meet up with her later on in the evening. The night goes on, the drinks are flowing and everyone is fairly drunk, which has resulted in the majority of you dancing and chatting between the clubs. You and Lauren are throwing some wild moves which has both teams laughing. Leila has joined in but isn't dancing as enthusiastically as you and Lauren, but still enjoying herself. "God you're still awful at dancing" Alessia shouts in your ear with you laughing in response. "Speak for yourself, Leila thinks I'm a great dancer right?" You shove Leila who just throws her arms around you whilst still dancing, which results in you shaking your head laughing.

“Clearly I need to tell the Barca girls to teach you to dance like us Spanish do!” Leila sasses back whilst dancing away from you to go to the bar. She runs back to yank Lauren away from you and Alessia, very obviously trying to get the two of you alone at last.  

"It's been so long since we've seen each other right?" She yells to you. You can barely hear her over the music and you give her a puzzled look in return. She drags you over to a quieter corner before you can answer her. "Well, it's not every day I get dragged around by a pretty woman" You say whilst Alessia shakes her head at you. "Always been a flirt haven't you?" She smacks your arm in response. You both talk for what feels like hours, you discuss the fouls on each other during the match and apologise, you buy her a couple drinks and seem to be gravitating closer to each other. Your hand is resting on her thigh instinctively which she blushes at. "Just fuck already!" Tooney yells in your ear, you cough at how forward she was about your not so little crush on Alessia back in the day. Back when you were in the youth teams you had a massive crush on her, Ella used to tease you for it but eased when Alessia had a boyfriend for a while. "Who says we haven't already" Alessia smirks at Ella whilst she's staring at you with her jaw dropped. Alessia also takes the opportunity to move closer to you and hold your waist. "She's joking, we haven't. She would've told everyone how great I was if we did" You joke with Alessia now blushing again. "I have a strict rule of no footballers actually. Especially if I have to play with or against them, too distracting for me. Conflict of interest or something like that" Alessia says to Ella who scoffs, not believing a word of it. "Yeah yeah yeah, whatever Less. You'll change your mind soon enough" Ella winks as she grabs her drink and dances away. --- All you feel is your pounding headache as you groggily open your eyes in the morning, or at least it feels like the morning. What really wakes you up is the one and only Ella Toone swinging open the door. "Morning Alessia!" She draws out the A's in her name until she gasps, noticing another person in bed with her best friend. "Well clearly you had a good night, and on that note I'll leave you both to it!" she shuts the door quickly. You realise you are pretty much naked under the sheets cuddling Alessia, who is also in the same predicament as you. "So... " She drew out the O. "Well, it was gonna happen sooner or later wasn't it" You mumble to her. "We don't have to tell anyone and can forget about it if you want" she says quickly. "No, no. I honestly just wish it wasn't a one night thing Lessi. Not like that but like a more official thing where I can take you out and spoil you and...yeah" You sigh. She kisses you gently, breaking you out of your rambling state. "Tooney was right" Alessia sighs back with you giving her a questioning look "My dumb rule for no footballers was my way to try and throw you off. I've had a bit of a crush on you since we were younger. I only dated others because I thought you weren't interested" "Well same goes for me! Ella used to harass me for when I used to crush on you" You laugh as you both chuck some clothes on so you can face chatting with your friends downstairs. You borrow Alessia's United jumper and some joggers, you bundle up your clothes from last night which Alessia brings you a carrier bag to put them in.

“So um, where does this leave us?” You ask her quietly.

“Well I’m looking forward to you spoiling me on some dates Y/NN. If you want a label we can always just say ‘dating’?” She smiles and gives your hand a reassuring squeeze, you smile and nod in response. You both head downstairs to see Alessia’s teammates and face Tooney after her walking in on the two of you.

"Nice sleepover?" Millie laughs as she spots you both entering the room. "Mmm was nice, didn't get much sleep though" You say whilst looking at Alessia, which earns you a smack on the chest. "I knew you'd fuck!" Ella sings whilst dancing around the kitchen like a lunatic. "I better head off, we've got some defensive training today. I'm also due a telling off for my yellow for fouling Alessia" You chuckle as you put your shoes on in the doorway. Millie grabs her car keys as she didn't drink the night before and she offers you a lift to Lauren's house. "Wait!" Alessia scurries over to you and gives you a gentle peck on the cheek "Dinner tonight or something? Like a date? I've missed you" she nervously rubs the back of her neck saying the last part quietly. "I'd love nothing more, I'll text you when I'm free beautiful. For the record, I've missed you too" You kiss her gently on the lips, a feeling you never want to forget. --- You arrive home and thank Millie for the lift. You open the door to see Lauren sat on the sofa, ready to interrogate you. You plop down on the sofa with a satisfied sigh. '"Now where were you last night?" She scoots up closer to you and notices your shirt "TAKE IT OFF" she yells whilst tapping the United logo, she starts yanking your shirt off for you in rage with you protesting. Leila had stayed over for the night so she walks into the living room with Lauren and you playfighting with your jumper half off. "Guys! Stop! What's going on?" Leila breaks up your playfight "Y/N do not wear that filth around us!" she then also starts tugging your jumper off successfully. You chuckle as you quickly go get changed for training so that you don't have to worry about it later. You sneak back into the living room hoping they didn't hear you walk back in. "Right go on then, spill. You better have a good reason to have been wearing a united jumper" Lauren says patting the sofa which you slump next to her on. Leila is watching the conversation intently, clearly wanting to know all the gossip. "So I spent the night with Alessia, and we are hanging out later" You say nervously, not knowing how your best friend would react. Luckily for you she's over the moon, slapping her legs in excitement. "I knew you guys would eventually do something! I'm so happy for you!" she squeezes you into a tight hug. "We have to plan a romantic night for you two, I've got so many ideas". Do we want a part 2 or should I try something else? It's my first fic so I'm still get used to how this all works! I'll happily take requests too:)

[legobiwan]

Mario and Luigi for the drabble, “When I’m with you, I’m home.”

Thanks!

I realized I'm answering this one out of order. Whoops! Anyway, have some pre-Mushroom Kingdom conversations and lore-building as your author reminisces about the New York of the '90s.

~~~~~~

He wonders, sometimes, what their lives would have looked like if they had never left Brooklyn.

Barring a miracle - pretty bleak, in all honesty. Maybe being here, in the Mushroom Kingdom, was the miracle. He remembers the frenzied few days leading up to their disappearance. The previous few months had been a mess of unpaid bills and awful business decisions governed solely by spite and fear. They were probably a few months of missed rent payments away from eviction. They were definitely two days away from getting their kneecaps bashed in by some loan shark’s goons. 

He and Mario had gone for a walk, all the way down to Coney Island, 75th to Stillwell to Bowery, to the decrepit-looking Wonder Wheel and a depressingly empty Nathan’s Hot Dogs. It looked like the last of the hotels, some once-bright vestige of his mother’s era, had finally been condemned, tall wire fencing curling up towards the grey winter sky, a perfunctory guard which did nothing to keep out the local graffiti artists and homeless population. 

Luigi jammed his hands into his jean pockets, shivering. He couldn’t tell if he was freezing or terrified.

“What are we gonna do, Mario? We can’t stay here. If he doesn’t get us, the landlord will. You see how they’re starting to develop all that stuff around 86th Street. It’s going to travel north and we’re already behind two months in rent. We can’t stay in Bensonhurst.” Luigi sighed, little frozen puffs of air floating from his mouth. “I don’t even know if we can stay in Brooklyn at this rate.”

It was a miracle they weren’t out on the streets already. For once, their landlord’s habit of sitting around with a bottle of Thunderbird watching Honeymooners reruns and screaming at “that bum El Duque” to throw more strikes fell to their advantage. Sure, there was no such thing as maintenance in the dilapidated six-floor walk-up. But they were plumbers, tradesmen - a leaky faucet or misbehaving shower wasn’t going to be an issue.

Unfortunately, they weren’t also exterminators. 

Mario took a large bite of his hotdog, mustard splattering on the gum-stained sidewalk. It looked like something they’d hang in one of those trendy galleries that kept popping up in lower Manhattan, down around Houston Street. 

“We’re gonna be fine, Lou,” Mario said between bites, bits of bun falling from his mouth.

“We’re gonna end up homeless.” Or missing our kneecaps. Or worse.

Mario crammed the last of his dinner in his mouth, finishing off the hot dog with a few loud chews. He gave a contented sigh, licking at his greasy fingers before wiping his hands on his pants. “No, we’re not gonna be homeless. I’ve told you a million times, Lou, we could be in a cardboard box under the Van Wyck. When we’re together - “ Mario slung an arm around Luigi’s shoulder, pulling him in tight. “When I’m with you - I’m home. We’re unbeatable. And that means we’ll make it through this.”

Luigi eyed his brother’s yellow-tinged fingers and stained shirt cuff, hoping the impromptu moment of fraternal affection would pass. He could deal with Mario’s sunny optimism, usually. But living in a studio apartment one step up from a garbage dump had apparently encouraged his brother’s disposition towards a more slovenly existence. They might be home when they were together, but it wouldn’t hurt if Mario took a damn vacuum to himself once in a while. 

“Mario, I think this time - ”

“Oh, I get it.” The warm arm around his shoulder disappeared, his brother’s voice hardening. Luigi snapped his head to the side, his heart rocketing into his throat. What did I say this time?  

“It’s the location, isn’t it?” His brother gave him a searching, serious look. He looks just like Dad. He even seemed as if he were towering over Luigi, just like Dad used to, despite Mario being the shortest of the three of them. “You’d prefer a box under the BQE.”

Luigi gaped. “I - what?”

“Nah, nah, okay,” Mario waved his hands. “Let’s talk location. You wanna be by the Belt? Or maybe - “ A sly smile grew under his brother’s burgeoning mustache. “You want to move to Queens.”

“Oh my God,” Luigi groaned, slapping his forehead with his palm, pulling his hand down over his eyes. I’d move to Jersey if it got us out of this mess. “Mario, be serious.”

“I am serious! Your secret’s safe with me, bro. Even if you would betray Brooklyn like that." Luigi felt two steady hands take him by the biceps. “Besides, we’re gonna be okay.”

“Vinny Razzanti’s uncle said we had forty-eight hours,” Luigi groaned between his fingers.

Mario barked out a laugh. “Vinny Razzanti’s uncle couldn’t tell a pizza from a clock if we arranged the pepperonis the right way. The guy’s a dumbass.”

“Yeah, but he’s - “

“No, I ain’t hearing it.” Mario gently guided Luigi’s hands from his face, keeping his fingers wrapped around either wrist as he brought Luigi’s arms to his sides. “Look at me, Lou.”

Luigi swallowed down the wet desperation clawing its way up his throat, opening his eyes to his brother’s concerned, but steely gaze.

“If he comes, he comes. I’ve got a baseball bat next to the mattress and you can - “ Mario waved one of his arms in a broad gesture. “I dunno. Make some kind of exploding gadget or something. You used to want to show off your stuff to Cooper Union, right? Well, think of this as practice, you know, for the application.”

Luigi gave a small shake of his head. I don’t think home pyrotechnics meant to fend off low-level mafia muscle are going to impress the admissions committee. Not that they were going to waste their time with a twenty-one-year-old plumber’s application, anyway. That dream was long gone, buried in Cypress Hills along with their parents. 

“Here’s what we’re gonna do,” Mario’s voice broke through his dreary ruminations as he guided Luigi towards Bowery Street. “We’re gonna walk home, maybe pick up a cannoli on the way. Then we’re gonna check the answering machine. If we’re lucky - and I’m feeling pretty lucky right now - there will be a call from some lady in Borough Park.” His brother’s eyes gleamed. “No, even better, some widower in Carroll Gardens. One of those nice brownstones. She’s going to ask for our help. Clogged drains, backed up shower, toilet’s kablooey.” Mario made a slobbering sound meant to resemble a backed up toilet. Luigi thought he sounded like a dog on downers. “The whole shebang. We’ll say, of course, we can fix this, but we’ll have to charge the emergency rate. You know, business and all that. Three hours later - maybe four - boom! Vinny Razzanti’s uncle is out of the picture and we’ll be on our way to the good life.”

“You make it sound so simple, bro.” Luigi couldn’t quite contain the bite of sarcasm that accompanied that statement. 

As always, his brother took his waspishness in stride. Long strides, in fact, as they hurried past the metal skeletons that made up the Coney Island Train Yard, the whirr of traffic from the Belt Parkway rushing and thumping above them. Luigi felt like at any moment some old, rusted buckle would give way, sending a line of cabs and buses crashing into their heads.

He felt like that most of the time these days, to be honest. 

“It is simple, Luigi. You just gotta think positive. You never know what’s around the corner.” Mario tugged at his sleeve. “Now, come on. If we walk fast enough, we can get to Villbate’s before they close.”

“Alright, alright, you win, Mario. Something’s around the corner and for once, maybe it won’t be a guy with a baseball bat.” No. It won’t be a bat. It’ll be something worse. Like a flamethrower. Luigi was too tired to argue with his brother’s indomitable optimism. “Maybe we’ll get to your widower in Carroll Gardens and find the answers in her bathroom.”

Mario slapped his brother on the back. “That’s the spirit, Lou! Could be a whole new world waiting for us. Now let’s go - there’s a pistachio cannoli with my name on it and I am not missing out.”

“Hey, the pistachio cannolis are mine!”

“Not if you don’t run fast enough!” Mario gave his brother a playful push, taking off down Stillwell Avenue. Luigi watched his brother leap over a pile of trash bags, skittering between two cabs, one of which blared its horn in anger.

“Where you go, I guess I follow,” Luigi muttered to himself, adjusting his cap before taking off in his brother’s direction. And who knew? Maybe something was waiting for them around that corner.

[concussed-to-pieces]

Wolves At The Door; Part Six

Fandom: Resident Evil [Village]

Pairing: Eventual Karl Heisenberg/AFAB!Reader

Rating: Holy shit M.

Summary: The man tongued at the inside of his cheek nervously, the faint taste of hot chocolate abruptly cutting through the phantom smell of iron.

A/N: Welcome all, welcome to our sixth installment! Enjoy!

Tag List: @cookiethewriter @amneris21 @topgirl17 @vodkafolie @a-smol-witch @clockworkmidnight @calwitch @silver-quinn01 @velvet-paradox @hijackser @mrs-wolfwood @nonstop-haikyuu @mic-sunderland @somethingthatsaysbubbles @fullofmoonsandstars @stargazerofgoldenwords @imthegreenfairy86 @karlskitten @nitrogennightmare @chunnies @thirstworldproblemss @highly-unknown @tartimaar-bloggeth @thesmartbiscuit @spoopyredacted @crowtrobotx @kotall-ohh

Prelude

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains mentions of blood, canon-typical violence, graphic depictions of mental duress and unprotected sexual acts between two consenting adults. Stay safe!]

Despite his unfamiliarity with the terrain, Karl would say the two of you were making good time. Even with your heavy pack on you were always ahead of him, gliding effortlessly through the snow. It made carrying on a conversation difficult, of course, but he didn't mind the quiet all that much. If anything it seemed to suit the hushed aura of the forest, all noise dampened by the towering forms of snow-covered spruce trees. Intermittent birdsong did break the stillness, as well as the occasional squirrel scolding them from their impenetrable fortresses of boughs. Those interruptions were invaluable to Karl, because it meant that the wildlife was behaving normally.

He had offered to come along because privately, secretly, he was immensely concerned about lycans coming across you while you were out in the woods unattended. It wasn't even a concern at this point, he would grudgingly label it a legitimate fear. So if hauling a sledge loaded with gear and crates of jars was what he needed to do to stay near you, then Heisenberg was going to be as docile as a fucking lamb about it. 

It would be pretty poor form if he let you get eaten by those freaks, especially since you had been so hospitable.

The sun was just barely peeking through the clouds overhead when you called for a halt, settling yourself carefully down on a boulder alongside the vague outline of the road. Karl was grateful for the pause, if only because he wanted to take the moment to get his bearings. Being forbidden to leave Miranda's clutches hadn't done his sense of direction any favors! Oh certainly, he could always feel where north was, but that didn't do much for him if he didn't know where he was.

"If we keep up this pace, we should have no trouble reaching the lean-to before dark." You patted the rocky surface next to your thigh. "Take a breather. The sled's not giving you trouble, right?"

Karl shook his head, dropping onto the rock and taking a sip from the old water bottle you had loaned him. "Light as a feather, sugar." Without his input, his eyes strayed to your lips while you had a drink as well. 

He hadn't minded kissing you at all that fateful evening. If he was being honest, it had been on his mind in a fairly insufferable way. He chalked it up to maybe just some weird development with the cadou; the Black God must have gone up in flames with the rest of the madhouse so it made sense that there would be variances in his cadou's behavior.

He realized he was staring after a moment and averted his gaze, busying himself with dusting some of the snow off the toe of his boot. "What's on the list for supplies, anyhow?"

You squinted upwards at the white sky as if you were thinking hard. "Staples, of course. Sugar, flour, oatmeal, peanut butter, lard... Is there anything specific you want me to add? No promises, but if there's extra credit left over we can prioritize it."

Karl bit his lip contemplatively. Most of the things that immediately came to mind would pose a spoilage problem. "Nah," he said instead. "I'm content."

"We'll impulse buy, then!"

…

The two of you arrived at the halfway point by a little after three o'clock, if your watch was anything to go by. You immediately got to work, unstrapping your boots from your skis and then using your gloved hands to sweep the gathered debris out of the corners of the lean-to. Seeing the usual dry leaves and piles of acorn shells left by the local wildlife gave you a warm feeling of familiarity; though the past year had been so, so odd, some things had stayed consistent. 

"Want me to clear a space for the fire? We could use those leaves for tinder." Karl suggested and you agreed, pointing him in the direction of the folding shovel you had strapped to the sled. The rusty metal barrel base that you had always built the fire in previously was in useable shape, so the man began to excavate the snow from its interior. 

It looked like the lean-to roof had survived unscathed, though a few large limbs rested on top of it precariously. More detritus from that last wild storm that had ripped through the area, no doubt. The small woodpile that you had carefully stacked and covered with a canvas cloth last winter had been toppled as well, but it hadn't done the wood much harm. You were just glad the canvas had gotten caught by the fork of a nearby tree instead of entirely blowing away to parts unknown.

With the base cleared out, Heisenberg began the careful process of coaxing a small fire to life. Luckily whoever had left the barrel had cut the sides high enough to block most of the wind, though Karl did end up reshaping them into more of a curve for added protection.

For your part, you untied the thick wool blanket you had lashed to the bottom of your pack and rolled it out on the concrete floor of the lean-to, then placed both bedrolls down as well. After that, you rummaged around in your backpack for the mess kit and the carefully-packed remains of cured boar meat, getting started on melting some snow for safe drinking water.

Karl sidled up, pilfering a fatty piece of cold gristle and chewing it meditatively. "Where's that road go?" He asked, gesturing at a well-worn track that branched off from the one you followed into town.

You shrugged. "Dunno'. Never checked." Now that he mentioned it, though, the other road did seem a bit more traveled than the last time you had seen it. Maybe you were imagining things; it had been at least a year since your last visit. The trees also appeared to grow thicker together further down that road. Despite their leafless forms, their branches met overhead in an ashen arch that for some reason reminded you of gnarled, bony fingers.

You shook your head at yourself, annoyed with how unnerved you were by trees. Granted it wasn't as if the pines were much better; what little you could see of the greenery on them under the snow read as nearly black against the white foreground. They stood as stoic sentries for their brittle brethren, filling in what gaps remained on the forest floor with their multitudinous, quick-spreading seedlings.

It's just because it's darker over there, you told yourself in an effort to rationalize how weirdly uneasy the road made you feel. It's been a strange year. Vowing to put it out of your mind, you began heaping more snow into the small pot over the fire and then dug back into your backpack. "I brought cocoa," you sang at Karl, flapping the two packets in the air. 

The man practically lunged at you to snatch a packet, his expression one of unbridled delight. You made a mental note to get chocolate chips if you could swing it. Judging from his reaction, his sweet tooth had been neglected a little too long! You didn't anticipate the kiss on the forehead he gifted you in thanks, your face immediately flushing with heat.

Night fell as the two of you settled into an early dinner, and even while you tried to ignore it, you couldn't shake the creeping sensation you felt anytime your eyes strayed to that other road. Karl seemed to be in good spirits though, the man savoring his cup of prefab hot cocoa with the air of a seasoned connoisseur enjoying a decadent treat. 

"We should do this more often." He mused, his words giving you an odd little thrill, only for him to dash the feeling when he continued, "I can't even remember the last time I had hot chocolate." Heisenberg paused, as if attempting to recall. His voice bore an uncharacteristic softness when next he spoke. "Always with a little caramel drizzled on the spoon, so it would melt when you stirred it."

You added caramel to your mental list, taking another sip of your cocoa. "I usually don't bother with premade stuff. The packets get damp sometimes and then it's just wasted product, y'know?" 

He nodded, shifting in place alongside you in the lean-to until his thigh pressed to your own, the man somehow putting off heat that threatened to put the fire to shame. It was a companionable silence that the two of you shared for a while after that, interspersed only with the crackling of the small fire. 

"What time do you usually get to the town?" Heisenberg queried quietly.

"Depends on a few things. I've gotten there as early as one in the afternoon and as late as six at night."

Karl's brow furrowed, the man seeming confused. "What, and you made it back here that same night?"

You realized the source of his confusion and hurried to elaborate, "no no, there's a campground on the outskirts of the town. It's kind of a tourist spot, or at least it was once. The terrain around here attracts a lot of people." You then gestured at the sled full of crates. "Backpackers and those 'finding-myself' types love nothing more than purchasing local goods at inflated prices. That's the only way I managed to strike a deal with Emil."

"Emil?"

"He's the man who runs the supply store in town. He used to buy all the pelts off my family when they would swing back into town after an extended stay at the hunting cabin, but obviously I'm not much one for big game," you sighed. "I'm not sure if he'll even be interested in the rabbit skins this year, truth be told, but no harm in trying. They aren't exactly heavy."

…

You kept melting snow after the two of you had eaten, making sure it was boiled sufficiently before starting to refill your water bottle. His was next, and you sternly told him to finish at least half of the bottle before he went to bed. 

Karl gamely did so, not overly worried himself with dehydration but touched by your concern all the same. "What time are we up?" He asked while you carefully poured the last of the water into an old hot water bottle.

You fastened the plug on the bottle, shaking it a bit to make sure it didn't leak before stuffing the bottle all the way down into the base of your sleeping bag. With that done, you brushed off your hands and offered him your most eloquent shrug. "Probably a little before sunrise? It gets too bright to sleep late out here, even when it's cloudy." Heisenberg nodded, his eyes drawn once more to your mouth when you absently licked your lips and muttered something about needing chapstick.

Stop it, stop it. Frustrated with himself, he once more directed his attention elsewhere. Specifically, towards the darker area down that other road. It wasn't even so much the actual darkness, but the feeling of it. Knowing that it was there whether he looked or not, but also grappling with the sensation that if he looked away, it would somehow change, get larger, swallow the area-

Karl didn't need a map to know that the road led to Miranda's village. It was insidious, an echo of a trace of scent in the air; dull ochre of rust and gray of decay filling his mind with thoughts of his time before you. Deep down he knew he was just imagining it, he had to be. Either that or the bitch was tormenting him from beyond the grave, more mind games just when he had finally started to think he could live peacefully.

The man tongued at the inside of his cheek nervously, the faint taste of hot chocolate abruptly cutting through the phantom smell of iron. Plum spice cake. He found himself willing the pleasant memory to the forefront of his mind: your smile of relief, the way your eyes had looked, cinnamon and sugar and the bright, rosy stains from the plums on his fingertips…

He knew he was being stupid, seeing things that weren't there, but it almost seemed like the waning fire burned a little brighter. You leaned into his side companionably, banishing the rest of his past specters with the simple comfort of your presence.

"Thanks for coming with me." You murmured. "It can be a little spooky out here all alone."

Karl draped his arm around your shoulders. "Don't worry," he assured you with a confidence that he didn't feel, "I'm the scariest shit in these woods."

"Oh of course. Absolutely." You were humoring him, your tone suspiciously dry, but the man ignored the jibe in favor of unzipping his sleeping bag and casually wrapping it around himself. You followed suit, squirming down into your bedroll and then issuing a long sigh of contentment. "I know I'll regret not owning a sleeping pad or something to put my bag on aside from the blanket, but it just feels nice to lay down at this point."

"You can curl up closer to me." Karl offered rapidly before he could think better, grimacing and then amending his words, "I mean, uh, if you get cold."

"Thanks, I'll definitely leech a little heat from you." You laughed, wriggling your sleeping bag over until the two of you were side by side once more. "The hot water bottle can only do so much for me and you don't seem to be suffering from these balmy temperatures."

Karl shrugged, "I don't think my temp can drop below a certain level." The cadou wouldn't allow it, he privately believed. It had nearly killed him with fever responses in the past.

"Keeping yourself warm with static electricity, huh?" 

"What? No, that doesn't even–why do you say things, damn." Karl huffed in bewilderment, narrowing his eyes as you began to snicker. "Fuck you're odd."

"And yet here you are with me. What does that say about you, weirdo?" You mused playfully, coaxing a grudging chuckle out of the older man. "In all seriousness, I tease to let you know I'm okay with…how you are. I may not totally understand how your everything works, but I don't want you feeling like I'm walking on eggshells around you."

Heisenberg opened his mouth, thought better of it and just spread his sleeping bag out over the two of you, burying his face in the nylon so that you couldn't see how red he was positive he had gotten. "Go to sleep." He muttered gruffly, rolling over so that his back was to you. That way, he could keep an eye on the road. It had nothing to do with not letting you gloat over his…embarrassing expression.

…

You woke to darkness and Karl's rumbling snore overhead, so you guessed it must still be in the middle of the night. Your watch let you know it was a few minutes before two a.m., and you shifted your weight as your back began to protest your current position. 

The rustling fabric of the sleeping bag must have woken your companion, because you felt him start. His hand gripped your leg when you tried to move it, so you whispered, "just me."

You didn't get a response, which was a bit unnerving. Karl's hand groped upwards, ending up on your shoulder where he paused, seeming confused. After a second or two of silent fumbling, the man's fingers caught the hood of your jacket and tugged it off. He then rested his hand on the back of your neck, heaving a sigh before using his other arm to pull you bodily against his chest. His mouth pressed a prickly kiss to the area just above your left eyebrow, the facial hair brushing your skin in a way that left you tingling. 

Gods, he was so warm. Despite him keeping his sleeping bag unzipped, he was still radiating heat. You curled up in his arms, accepting a few more haphazard, lazy kisses before the man apparently fell back to sleep. His hold on you tightened momentarily, and then went slack.

You, for your part, simply buried your face in his chest and pressed even closer to him, hooking a leg over his hip to steady yourself. Heisenberg groaned at your movement and you realized suddenly that he was hard. Not only that, but that you had slotted your body against his in such a way that you couldn't really avoid rubbing against him. You, certain that your face was about to burst into flames from embarrassment, attempted to ease yourself back, but a soft, shuddering exhale stopped you in your tracks.

"You keep wriggling on my dick like that, sugar," Karl murmured, now very obviously conscious, "I'm goin' to pin you down."

"Sorry," you squeaked out, "was cold and trying to get comfortable. Didn't mean to wake you." 

Heisenberg rocked his hips into your own, startling a little noise out of you when his rigid cock ground against you. "Well I'm awake now."

"I can tell."

"How about I fuck the two of us to sleep, hmm?" Karl breathed, the filth of his words only amplified by another insistent shift of his pelvis. "Warm you up a little, you poor thing." You stammered momentarily, incredibly flustered, and Heisenberg seized the opportunity to mouth around the shell of your ear. "Trust me sugar, I'll be as gentle as a lamb." He promised in a searing whisper, and you could feel the curve of a wolfish smirk against your skin. 

"Oh." Oh. "B-But we don't…I mean, you want to?" You had to make sure, certain you must have misinterpreted. Somehow. 

"Do you want to?" He asked, the heat still in his words. For a moment you believed you could see the reflection from his eyes in the darkness, as if he was no longer a man but some kind of animal. Hungry, wild and sharp and yet…patiently waiting for your answer.

"I…I do, yes." You admitted softly. 

…

Yes.

Karl no longer cared about the damn darkness that had encroached upon his already-uneasy dreams. He no longer cared about anything really, aside from getting your pants off without tearing them. He got the feeling you'd be a little pissed off with him if he ruined the integrity of your gear. 

Yes. Was it being greedy if you wanted it too?

Gods, he couldn't think straight. How could anyone think straight when they were confronted with something like this? Confronted with the reality that even without intimidating, conniving, taking, he could just…have something. He could have this, without scraping, without scheming. 

You wanted him. It was…beautiful in its baseness. 

Karl had no idea whether this was affection. He would certainly be the last damn person to know if it was, but whatever it was gentled his touch, held his greed at bay for the moment in favor of savoring the sensation. 

Unbidden, however, a memory surfaced. Well, it was more like a piecemeal of dozens of similar interactions. "You're so strong, Heisenberg." Miranda had often sighed, gazing upon the carnage he had wrought in his latest fit of temper. "My special, powerful child."

Strong, that was what he was. He needed to be just to survive the implantation process, and everything after that had served as lesson after lesson beat into his stubborn skull. Karl had grown from a child desperately seeking love into a jaded, spite-filled man driven by the need to both fawn and lash out, alternating between the two methods with a sinking, baleful sense of inevitability to get what he required to succeed. 

I must kill her.

The last thought before his mind had snapped, the last, hateful oath of the man he had been. Maybe it was a little too ambitious to say he had been that man, as if he wasn't still that man. All the progress in the world wouldn't fix the damage that had been done to him, the damage he had done to himself.

"Poor Heisenberg, so strong you ruin everything you touch," Miranda cooed from his memories.

Karl's brow furrowed, fingers flared across your collarbone while he felt your chest heave. "I'm gonna' be real careful with you," he murmured, half to you and half to the echo of the false mother from his past. He offered you a faint smile he was sure you couldn't even see in the darkness, continuing, "bear with me, alright?"

You nodded, your hand grazing his shoulder before coming to rest on his cheek. Heisenberg, without meaning to, leaned into the touch. Something in his chest ached with a foreign need, an unknowable desire he couldn't put words to, and Karl made a soft noise in his throat before he could stop himself.

"Guess the Duke was right," he muttered reluctantly, "seems like you may have tamed me." Your thighs framed his hips and you raised your pelvis to meet his own, making Heisenberg rumble out a curse and seize your pants at the waist, the man yanking them down to your ankles so you could kick them off. "One or two to start?" Karl asked, his mouth pressed to your ear while he tapped two fingers on your stomach. 

"One, please." You requested softly. Karl knew you couldn't see him because you kept focusing your eyes somewhere past his left shoulder, but that was alright. Normal human night vision wasn't exactly something to write home about. He would just be careful.

Please. You had said please. 

Karl bit his lip, walking his fingers lower until he could slide his hand into your underwear. Your body moved without his urging, propping yourself up a little, and you struggled out of your underwear. Then, you were fully exposed to him. 

Heisenberg wasn't proud to say he froze. Despite his bravado, he wasn't exactly knowledgeable when it came to this specific act. He took in the sight of your body for a moment, commiting the visual to memory, and then slid his finger into your waiting entrance. The heel of his palm ended up pressed to your pubic mound and you were hot, so wet, Gods, his mouth was suddenly dry. 

You whimpered something, fingers plucking at his clothes in the dark and Karl settled into a slow, plunging rhythm with his hand. Back and forth, curling his index and gently rocking the heel of his palm over your clit, the man eased himself against you, into you. For what he would argue was the first time in his life, Heisenberg let himself be led. Your reactions were his heading; soft sighs or nails digging into his arm or sweet, needy kisses that left him struggling for breath…it all urged him onward and Karl almost mourned the debaucherous moment. Somewhere deep in his soul he knew that this was important, gravely important, there would only be one time to do this right.

Should he lose himself and hurt you, even accidentally…that would be it. He would never trust himself near you again, would never take another risk like he was taking right now. And so, the man did his best to be tender. Clumsily, motions unsure and hands trembling a little despite his attempts to steady them, but his best all the same. Making certain you were ready before he inserted the second and third fingers, letting you beg and plead with him before he finally allowed you to unzip his pants, cautious. Everything moved at a maddeningly slow pace, yet you didn't push him at all. Your requests were gentle, honeyed with want and braced by the steely heat that he loved…that he enjoyed so much about you.

If he didn't know any better, Karl would have thought that you could hear what was going on in his head.

…

Even after you helped him shove his pants down, Karl continued to work his fingers inside you. "Let me know when you want me." He muttered, and you felt his free hand clench into a nervous fist beside your hip.

"You're b-being awfully considerate," you pointed out, more than a little breathless as his thumb rubbed circles around your clit.

"Bare minimum. I'm not small and I don't want to hurt you," was the curt reply. 

"Can I…?" You trailed off, your face hot even while your hands rested on the outside of his thighs. 

"'Can you…?'" Karl taunted, making you puff out an annoyed sigh and slide your hand over the divot of his right hip. Christ, if you weren't already used to how warm he was, you might have been concerned. 

"Yeah, can I?" You mocked him right back, your palm pressed to a promising thatch of curls. 

Karl hitched in a breath through clenched teeth and his fingers stilled inside you. "Y…Yeah. Please." His voice was so soft you nearly missed him saying it, practically a whisper. 

A little stunned by the sudden change, you just nodded, assuming he could see you in the dark better than you could see him (which was not at all, by the way). "Spit or dry?" You asked, unprepared for the groan he let out at your simple query. 

"Fuck, sugar, spit please, m'sorry." He mumbled, burying his face in your shoulder and plunging his fingers inside you with renewed vigor. 

"Shh, I asked because I know it matters to some people," you tried to soothe him, confused at his apology but more than willing to acquiesce. Plus, if he kept moving his fingers like that-! Well, it was only fair that you oblige him in what he liked, he had been so considerate and thorough. 

You licked your palm, pausing and letting a little extra saliva pool in the creases. Then, you reached out, seeking blindly with your other hand until you located his groin. 

Oh. 

He certainly hadn't been selling himself short. You swallowed hard and Heisenberg choked out a laugh against your neck, obviously guessing what you were reacting to. "Sorry, sugar. Tried to warn you." He breathed. "Should we scrap the whole idea?"

"No." Your voice was louder than you intended it to be and Karl laughed for real this time, a little hysterically but you couldn't really blame him. Unable to articulate something to get your sincerity across, you chose to simply close your slick fingers around his cock. It throbbed in your grip and Karl's laughter turned into a moan, the large man panting into your neck while you stroked him. His hips kept pumping forwards into your palm and he slurred out a swear when you swept your thumb over the head of his dick, his free hand fumbling to shove up your shirt so he could toy with your breasts.

"I want–to fuck you." It sounded like he was having difficulty speaking, but maybe you were just having difficulty comprehending. This was more stimulation than you'd had in years and you were finding it nearly impossible to focus on one sensation, your mind adrift in a haze of different pleasures. The rub of his fingers, the rough skin of his palm grazing one of your nipples, his voice grating out the request he had issued…it was almost too much to handle. "Sugar. Please–want to fuck you."

Please. That word, spoken the way that it was, made your pussy clench down on his fingers. You exhaled raggedly, caught off guard by your own reaction. "Okay." You breathed into his ear, "okay."

"Tell me you want me." He ordered, and you were sure you saw that faint eyeshine once more. "Please, sugar, lemme' know you want this. I just…I need to know."

"I want you." You assured him, whining unintentionally when he withdrew his fingers. Karl ducked his head, swiping his tongue over one of your nipples while you tried your hardest to get your hand to cooperate and line him up. Teeth teased at your nipple, making you sob out an embarrassingly loud, "fuck, please!", and Karl snarled in reply to your desperate noise. Finally you felt him nudge your entrance, but you were so wet his cock slid upwards to bump your clit instead, the hot pressure making your whole body quiver. 

Heisenberg took himself in hand then, gently tapping your clit with the head of his cock and chuckling at the way you writhed pitifully underneath him. "Exhale for me now, sugar. Nice and slow," he coached, his voice almost maddeningly soft. Obediently you complied, and you felt the tip of his cock breach you. Overhead, Karl swore again, his body surging forward momentarily before quickly halting. "Fuck, sorry, sorry." He apologized breathlessly, then, "you're so wet sugar, fuck's sake."

"Good thing, too," you managed to respond, your ankles hooking into the back of his thighs so you could urge him deeper. Karl nearly toppled over, just managing to catch himself with his hands, and you tipped your head back in ecstasy as his hips met your pelvis. A low, wordless cry made its way from your mouth, the noise exclusively born of wanton need, and your nails dug into the back of Karl's shirt. "Yes," was all you could think to gasp against his cheek and Karl growled, snapping his hips forward.

The pace he set would have been absolutely punishing if it was anyone else doing it. You were still pretty sure you'd have bruises in the morning, but you couldn't bring yourself to worry about them. As Heisenberg panted and rutted himself against you, your mind was, for one blessed moment, utterly devoid of thought. You surrendered wholly to being cherished in the most feral way, and you let Karl work you through to your climax while chanting his name in his ear like a prayer. The man reached down abruptly, his thumb rubbing your clit, and you had to bite down on his shoulder to keep yourself from screaming as you came apart at his touch. 

Karl shuddered violently at the bite, quickly withdrew himself from your body and began to stroke his cock. "Where?" He rasped, his voice wrecked. 

You pressed your breasts together, hearing him groan seemingly in response. Then, the tip of his cock was bumping into the base of your breasts, his knuckles grazing your abdomen as he rapidly moved his hand back and forth. "Come for me, Karl?" You begged softly, listening to his breathing stutter. Karl started muttering curses one after another with no real rhyme or reason, his motions getting more and more frantic. Something began pooling beneath your breasts, the hot fluid making you shiver. 

Heisenberg snapped to a halt and you felt his cock twitch as he came. "Oh, oh fuck." He panted, thrusting his dick absently up into the valley of your breasts. "Fuckin' hell, sugar." His come smeared with his movement, some of it dribbling down your side and making you yelp due to it tickling. Karl flinched at your sound, clapping a hand to your ribs and then issuing his own noise of dismay. "Shit, sorry, sorry sorry, I'll–here, my sleeve, I can just-" he fumbled to wipe at the drips and you couldn't help your laughter, batting his hand away.

"I've got it, I've got it." You continued giggling, muscle memory guiding you through the dark to the front section of your backpack where you kept some spare cloths for washing up. "Always prepared for any occasion. Including getting railed in the woods in the dead of night."

"Aren't I lucky." Karl remarked dryly. You found your mouth captured by another kiss, the man whispering, "get some rest, sugar. I'm not gonna' go so easy on you next time." 

"Next time?" You asked curiously after he pulled away, the man settling in alongside you while you were doing your best to mop up the mess that was migrating towards your stomach. 

"Yeah. Next time." You felt Karl's shoulder shift against your own in what was clearly a shrug. "If you want, of course." 

You retorted, "I'll let you know if I can walk in the morning," making him snort. "Let's hope for the best, okay?"

"Mmhm." Heisenberg's arms wrapped around you, the man pulling you into his chest once more. 

Without really thinking about it, you reached upwards and started stroking the back of his head. Your fingers gently untangled some of the knots in his hair, smoothing the messy, wavy strands back into some semblance of manageability. Karl went still against you for what seemed like an overly long time, and then suddenly a trembling sigh issued from him, his breath gusting out over your head. "This okay?" You whispered, somewhat concerned. "Not pulling or yanking on your hair, right?"

"I…" Karl hesitated, as if he was struggling with something. "Never had anyone touch me like that, that's all. Caught me off-guard."

Your chest ached at his admission, and you caught yourself biting your lip to stave off the tears. "Well," you finally said, proud that your voice didn't waver, "I'll do it whenever you'd like."

"Really?"

"Yes, really." 

"I'd…I'd like that, yeah. I-If you want to. If it's not a nuisance." He was speaking painfully slow. "Sorry, I'm uh…I'm not used to this. You can forget about it, if you want."

"You're fine." You murmured. You ended up finger-combing his hair until the two of you fell asleep, your face buried in his chest and Karl's arms still holding you tightly.

Part Seven

[mar3ggiata]

professional help, c22. Tarantella.

simon riley x original character.

trigger warnings: violence, sexual assault, mentions of rape, trauma, sexual themes, swearing, use of alcohol and drugs, mentions of mafia-type organisations.

song to listen to when reading this: Napule è, Pino Daniele.

abstract: This is Jude. are you not excited to see if I died? go on and read to see what happened, not my proudest moment, but still. you get a little glimpse of me as a baby, how joyous… I bet you didn't expect last chapter uh? Hell of a journey, hopefully we're almost done with the suffering! enjoy.

She always took the same route, met the same people in the same spots. She usually got dropped off in the 'Spanish Neighbourhood'. They weren't so turistic back then. She remembers them vividly. She remembers the smell of food, the smell of fried, oily food. The voices. The blue sky, the sun was always shining on her. She remembers the markets, the noise of people screaming, the graffiti, pairs of shoes thrown over the power lines. They used them to signal a member of a family was in prison, or that in the building lived someone who dealt drugs. It was common knowledge, the police knew. Where she's from, it is said the Camorra has a special seat at the dinner table. It's history, it's culture. It's in the economy, it's inside politics, it's in the institutions. Those who should protect us are corrupt, or too afraid to go against it. It's in the police, in the bourgeoisie. In the Church.

The Camorra is a mafia-type criminal organisation, one the oldest criminal organisation in the south of Italy. Naples based. The Camorra's organisational structure is divided into individual groups called "clans". Every capo or "boss" is the head of a clan, with hundreds of affiliates, depending on the clan's power and structure. It's really bad represented in movies, it's actually pretty morbid. All it takes is a glance, all it takes to get what you want is the fact that you're part of a clan. I am talking contracts, certificates, loans, money and permissions. Everyone is scared over there. Everyone lives in fear and in denial, everyone accepts it because, trust me, it's better this way. People get melted in acid, you know. And if anyone asks, no there is no criminality here! No Camorra here. They usually deal drugs, they do money laundering. Every now and then if two clans get in a fight, which can last for decades, people will die. Children die all of time. If you're born inside a family that's part of a clan, you've basically sold your soul to criminality. Boys especially tend to be extremely proud of their origins, they have fun playing with guns and power, they die young but with fame. Baby boss, that's what they're called. Being dangerous and feared is the real accomplishment. It's what girls seek in a man, the fame, the possessiveness and violent jealousy.

Her story was a little different. Her mother was the dealer in the family along with her uncle, her dad was already in prison when she was born. Even when she was in her momma's belly, she would hear her uncle's voice, talking to her mom. The things he would say. All the sex they had, she was born with a migraine. Her older brother Edoardo died in a shooting. She knows who killed him, she debated killing him for a long time. Her little sister, Maria Adele, was the first in many generations to do something else with her career, which meant being a normal child who went to school and liked drawing. She on the other hand, helped mom with the family business. No one would ever suspect a little girl with a pink backpack to sell heroin around Naples. They realised she was perfect for the job when she was caught playing with some bullets on the kitchen floor as a toddler. Her uncle did her homework after school, so she could work. The only thing she did other than that was ballet class, to have an alibi. She met other kids or adults in specific places to sell the same amounts of heroin and get paid. Sometimes, the grown ups would touch her hair and call her beautiful. '*F'o cess, e damm i soldi',* she would respond. It means 'shut your mouth and give me the money'. She learned all her swear words from her uncle.

She had a specific route she followed, she would walk for hours and at the end of the day she would go back to her mom, give her the money and keep a small percentage. Now, we're not talking about a few hundred dollars a day. We're talking good money, money that lasted her a long time, dirty money that paid for her education. That was how her mom was raising her. You get a part of what we make, cause you work. If you work hard, you'll get more. If you disobey, Tarantè… She knew already. There was no escaping. Or so she thought. Truth is, she quite liked that life up until she was 13. Then she really started to understand what being part of a clan meant, and if you're thinking shiny cars, a mansion of a house, parties and sparkly dresses, you're reading the wrong story. I don't know who told you that was what mafia meant, but they're mistaken. She had blood on her hands for the first time when she took revenge for her brother’s death. She was the youngest terrorists Naples had ever seen. Her actions reached the news.

The Camorra is indescribable. It's terrorist attacks to journalists and activists who end up dead on a daily basis, while trying to tell the country how corrupted the south is. It's killing your family members, is constant fight and constant fear. It's wanting to commit crimes from a young age, cause your brother got killed. Knowing the meaning of rage and revenge too soon. And liking it, liking the power, the control, liking that everyone knows when you're walking by, they should keep their eyes on the ground. But it's also casualties, civilians getting killed by mistake and being able to do absolutely nothing about it. It's not trusting the government and the institutions, it's a parasite that's devouring Italy from the inside out. The Camorra sits at the table with you. There is no justice. No faith.

Arash pressed the red button on her phone and ended the call. 'Get up.' He said. She slowly did as he said, her legs nearly giving out. 'Please…' she murmured and he pressed the gun firmly in the back of her head. 'Shut up!' he screamed, 'How could you?' She realised this was an opportunity. She had to use what she knew about him, she had to use her skills and press his soft spots. If he screamed someone would hear him. He spoke again, still from behind her. 'I should have never brought you that prophecy, I should have known you wouldn't understand'. His voice was filled with sorrow and anger, she could have sworn he was shaking. 'I know, I- ' He cut her off, she didn't feel the gun anymore for a second. He grabbed her arm and turned her around, she suppressed a scream at the sudden gesture. He was waving the gun in the air while speaking, taking a step towards her and caging her between his body and the table. 'Shut up! You know nothing!' She had to make him scream again, 'You betrayed me Jude, you fucking sold me to them!' She tried to look apologetic and focus on his face and not the gun he was frantically shaking in the air. She felt guilty. Not only because she was about to die, but because he was right. 'I didn't know what to do…' she tried, and that only made him more furious. He didn't respond, only shut her up one more time. He grabbed her by the shoulder shoving her away from the desk. 'You did the wrong thing.'

She tried to protest but his grip was firm. He opened the door of the office and peeked in the corridor. He grabbed her arm and hid the gun in his belt. One hand on her arm one around the back of her neck. She twisted her shoulders in pain, feeling his grip tighten, he was pulling her hair and practically dragging her by the neck. She whimpered in pain, he urged her to shut up. They walked in the direction of the main exit, then they started to see people. Soldiers, pilots. She heard him cuss under his breath and she thought about screaming. She should have shouted, she should have called for help. Arash grabbed his gun and forced her to turn around towards the stairs. She felt the gun press on her side before she could say anything. 'Walk' he urged. He wrapped an arm around her to hide the gun between their bodies. Her arms were stiff at her sides. 'I'll tell them to let him go.' She murmured. 'I'll call them and tell them it was a mistake and to let him go.' They climbed the stairs, at this point she didn't know where he was taking her. 'Fucking shut up!' he said again, louder this time. He threw her on the stairs. She felt a sting of pain vibrate over her whole body, she fell face down, her knees on the concrete of the stairs. He quickly grabbed her again, she felt like he could rip her hair from her scalp. They reached the fourth floor, she realised that was where Laswell's office was. He's gonna kill us both.

He was speaking Farsi by that point, he was reciting what sounded like a prayer. He pushed her in from of Kate's office, knocking on the door. No one answered. When he knocked again she realised he was getting mad, looking around nervously to see if anyone was coming, sweat forming on his forehead. He suddenly cursed out loud and took a step back. He shot the lock to open the door, she screamed at the noise, someone fucking hear me please. He pushed her inside so hard she fell. She felt pathetic. She had to fight. She quickly rose to her feet and took cover behind Laswell's desk. The room was dark, the blinds closed. She looked at him like a deer in headlights from behind the desk, looking for something, anything. Concealed weapon, a fucking paper clip. She felt Arash's shadow on her from the other side of the desk, which made her take a few steps back. I need more time. 'How did you know it was me?' she asked. Her throat was dry, her hand slightly shaking. Make him pity you. 'I heard you on radio.' He answered. Simon..? 'You're the reason my people died.' She squinted her eyes and shook her head. 'War is the reason your people died.'

'NO!' He raised the gun, holding it with both hands. He was shaking too. She raised her arms in the air, 'It's because you told them, you stupid cunt!' He took a step towards her, she closed her eyes with a whimper of fear. 'You told them, you betrayed me! They would't have found us Jude!' She felt sorrow and regret in his voice, he must have been hurt. She had hurt him, it wasn't just rage and violence, it was because he believed his secret would be safe with her. The gun was close enough to be pressed to her forehead. Just one more step ahead. 'You did this, you deserve to fucking die now…'

She ducked down under the desk when the door flew open and Arash got distracted for a split second. People stepped in and two shots were fired. One landed inside Arash's thigh. One made the window next to her shatter to pieces. The second bullet was aimed exactly at where she had been standing.

notes: I got emotional reading this back!!!

I always get a little tense when I see people writing about mafia bosses and what not, cause they romanticise something that is very real and fucking dangerous in Italy. of course, this is a free space and you can write what you want, I am a true believer in the concept of don't like it, don't read it. but, if you want to know, I will give you what mafia really is in Italy. you can do with this what you want. it's culture, it's new knowledge.

notes: Tarantella is my favourite nickname ever, Tarantè for short. Tarantella is a common group dance in southern Italy, in which women dance with their hair down, some bacchanal thing. The music gets faster and faster. So Tarantella is a nickname for someone who gets mad easily and likes to fight, typical for girls that are not shy and quiet. Also, tarantola, which is the origin of the word means tarantula, the spider. isn't it perfect for Alba, I'm in love.

taglist:

@ghostlythots @sweetfemmefatal @natxpat @chavarriakeren647 @ravenmoore14 @farther-than-pleiades @internallyscreamings @hwromi @atoxicrat @cuti3maddi3 @deafeningkittenblaze @its-celeste @serene-hills @lexidoll12 @poohkie90 @lunatiquess

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[fangirlwithoutafandom]

Heroes

Prompt- Heroes

The world was not a safe place. Porchay learned that lesson early.

Despite what some may have thought, he wasn't naive. He understood the way the world worked. He knew it was cruel and filled with people who would do anything for a dollar, no matter the cost to the people they hurt.

So how, did he retain that softness in his heart ? How is it that his eyes still sparkled like a child's on Christmas morning?

Hia

In a world full of darkness Hia was the sun. He was never too tired from working, never too exhausted from his fights , never too busy for Chay.

'

Sure, there were bruises. There were always bruises. Either from the loan sharks who frequented their home or from the fights Hia did to keep food on the table. And yet his Hia was never without a smile.

If he had the strength to smile then Chay could too. So he smiled his way through life knowing that though life was hard, he would never have to do it alone.

He'd been hurt when he'd finally been clued in on the dangerous life Porsche had become apart of . This wasn't a street fight anymore, these people had guns.

Finally, the last straw. His heart had folded in on itself after finding our the truth about Kim and it seemed all the light had been drained out of Porchay's world. So here he was, lost and in darkness, standing in front of the dream his brother worked his whole life to get him in front of.

But there was that smile again. Porsche looked at Chay with stars in his eyes and for a moment, the sun was in the sky again.

The comic books have it all wrong' Chay thought, wrapping his arms around his big brother. 'This is what it means to be a hero."

[landofspaceandrainbows]

Thanks to @flashfictionfridayofficial for the prompt!

~

Dark and Stormy Night:

Or a different story about Dominic and the strange book, from a different timeline -

~

Well, Pinhole books never quite panned out, and he never got rid of that damned book in latin, but Dominic Swain had been waiting for vacation, and he was going on vacation anyway, successful trip to a creepy bookstore or not.

His doctor had cleared him for travel even with the weird extreme lightheadedness he'd been having recently, and besides, he was bringing the book with him, Spanish and Galician and Catalan etc. were closer to latin, and the tour was stopping at a monastery on the way, maybe he could get someone to read it to him.

He was still curious about it, all the old illustrations full of stars, even the one, the fucking one, that was full of damn heavily-drawn lightning of all things. He didn't like to think on it to much, but lightning? It was almost like the book knew every bad, selfish thing Dominic had ever done, even as a kid.

He could swear the book somehow knew about the incident with Mike... somehow, even though that would be impossible. But even that page fascinated Dom, in a sick way. Anyway, he'd love to be able to read that book even a little so he brought it along for the monastery.

Anyway, that might be the only part of the vacation that went entirely according to plan, Dominic had been struck by a series of rainy days, from drizzly days to outright peals of thunder. In the high parts of the Pyrenees, and even on the bright white cliffs of France's Nez Blanc on the way over. And he could have sworn the same companion was there to help him all the time. Handing him a tarp or umbrella, hard to see in the downpour but always wearing some sort of scarf and with dark hair and pale, pale skin and eyes.

The only time it wasn't raining on a special outing was that peak in the Canary Islands with all the telescopes. (A man with a scarf loaned you his sunscreen there.) All Dominic could see there was the blue of the ocean stretching out below him all around - like a great gleaming chatoyant sapphire.

And now he was face to face with the man again, in the Picos de Europa,

"Excuse me, do you know the way back to the path up to the Torre de Cerredo?"

"Yes, but for you, only for a fucking price. And I think you know what." The stranger's voice held an angry edge to it, and the man laughed darkly and it made Dominic shiver.

"The book, right?" The man nodded. He took his hand and lead Dominic through the sheets of rain and the grey and white of rock and ice. When the ground leveled out again, Dominic chewed on his lips, not liking the idea of taking the book out into the rain, but knowing what he must do.

The man loosened his scarf to show a bright white branching scar, and a matching flash lit up the heavens in a similar fashion. "Mike?" Dominic mouthed to himself. As the man grabbed the book, and brought it into the rain, the ink seemed to pool and run, scoring more black lines into his skin.

The ink seemed to disappear into the ends of the man's scarf, into his coat, and at last into his skin, lightning, and stars, and the endless curls of ocean waves.

And then Dominic was left with a business card with a work address and a scrawled note. "Come see me, once." And as the storm cleared -

Dominic was left with a clear sky and the great peak of the Torre de Cerredo looming above him in noon's light. And his little pool of safety on the bench he was sitting on below it. He shivered again, half in pleasure and half in fear, and a bit in relief.