#everything my friends and i speculated about last night and before down to the smallest detail.

[boylikeanangel]

seeing spoilers from the first screening of eps1+2 and I think I am actually having a panic attack right now 😃

[soulmate-game]

Well that happened.

B!dbwm 2020

Day 6: Meeting the Justice League

Marinette paced in her bedroom in Wayne Manor, running her hands through her hair as Damian laid on her bed and played animal crossing while completely ignoring her freakout. 

“Dami, how did I get myself into this mess?!” she asked, frantically pulling at her pigtails. Her brother snorted, rolling his eyes unsympathetically. 

“You never use your brain until after you’ve already made important decisions,” he responded ruthlessly. “All of your mental capacity goes towards planning out completely inane things like birthday parties and actually caring about what our even more idiotic class thinks about you, so when you actually need it you don’t have any intelligence left to spare.” 

Marinette turned her eyes on him, the blue lightening to an icy color in her panicked annoyance as she glared at him. “Gee, thanks. I can always trust my darling brother to have my back,” she said sarcastically, to which Damian only smirked. 

“When it matters? Of course. But in this case, watching the fallout will be entertaining and not at all dangerous to your physical safety.” 

Damian and Marinette had been sent to live in Paris a few years back, about a year after Damian had come back to life. Marinette had been far too attached to the twin she had thought she had lost for good, and had nearly driven him crazy with how overprotective she had gotten. Right alongside that, Damian had started to become even more stifled by Bruce’s own protectiveness and distrust of him, so he quit being Robin and they were sent to PAris to try and “recover” from their “trauma” somewhere “safe and peaceful, under the jurisdiction of the JLE.” 

Yeah, that was a great idea. Up until they found out the hard way that the JLE had up and abandoned the Paris headquarters and taken up unofficial residence in England somewhere. And then Hawkmoth showed up. And of course, of fucking course, an old chinese man from the pacifistic organization that acted as a direct foil to the League where they grew up somehow decided that they, out of everyone in Paris, were the best people he could find to wield the power of tiny gods to save the city. 

Sure, he was right, but Damian chewed him a new asshole as soon they met for trusting complete unvetted strangers with the gods of creation and destruction. 

And now Marinette had finally managed to leak to Tim, who then spread the calculated slip of information to Bruce, that Paris had had a supervillain for the past few years and the JLE had been neglecting their jobs. Which turned into Batman setting up a meeting with Ladybug and Chat Noir (Damian had tried to tell everyone his name was Chance Noir, Dark Luck, NOT ‘chat noir,’ since the last thing he needed was to be associated with Selina in any way. Nobody listened, and now he was stuck with being called Chat Noir). They had a lovely discussion about all the shit Hawkmoth did, their lack of resources, and the lack of assistance/straight up refusal to believe their word that came from the JLE. 

Which led to Batman inviting Ladybug to meet the Justice League to debrief on the Paris situation. Damian had been invited as Chat Noir, but had taken the smart path and opted out. Now Marinette had to not only go to the Justice League as Ladybug, but also as Batman's daughter Hummingbird, who was being brought in for consultation along with Damian as Robin. 

“I’m gonna die again,” Marinette continued her catastrophizing, Tikki and Plagg sharing a glance at once another from their spot on her writing desk. “I’m gonna die of total embarrassment. Don’t bother resurrecting me Dami, I’m just gonna die all over again once Dad finds out who we are and kills me.” 

Damian snorted. “Hah. Father killing anything, good one,” he snarked back blandly. “You’ll be fine. Remember, you’re the planner and I’m the one with actual skill. You have the strangest ability when it comes to getting out of situations like these by the skin of your teeth,” Damian grinned at something on the screen of his Switch before continuing. “You’ll be fine. And if you sell me out, I’ll bury you myself.” 

Marinette stuck her tongue out at him. Neither of them wanted their dad to find out that they were LAdybug and Chat noir, especially since they had already explained to him the basics of the source of their powers. They were both certain that Bruce would completely ignore how well they had been handling the situation on their own for almost five years and jump straight to the “my murderous children should not be left with the powers of destruction and creation at their fingertips,” line of thought. Bruce had never trusted them alone before, why now? 

“At least help me, shaqiq?” Marinette asked, walking over and plopping onto the ground next to her bed, so she could look straight into her twin’s bright green eyes. At first, he refused to even look at her, completely unmoved. Marinette hummed mischievously, a habit that was the source of her Gotham codename. “If I go down, I’m taking you with me.” 

Damian finally huffed, scowling. “Fine.” 

He knew better than to doubt her. Marinette always got her way when she decided she was wronged and needed to even the score for something. Always. 

—* — * — * — * — *

Hummingbird. The smallest Bat, by far, and the fastest when it came to natural speed. Hard to spot, with the sole giveaway that a short playful hum could be heard if she thought she had her prey cornered. She was hardly ever wrong. 

She had also been temporarily retired as she and Robin moved to some undisclosed location to get away from the vigilante life for a while. Or so Batman said. And for the most part, aside from the occasional League gathering here or glimpse that they got of the two’s civilian personas if someone visited the manor while they were there, Robin and Hummingbird stayed retired. Heroes who knew them wondered if Robin had finally given up and settled down somehow, if he was even capable of it. And they all speculated that Hummingbird was so scarred from Robin’s death that she wouldn't ever be able to leave his side again, retired or not. 

 Seeing Hummingbird in her navy blue and black uniform, almost identical to her brother’s but for the thick navy blue scarf that covered her neck and lower face, everyone in the Justice League who knew her thought they were right. She stood there, older and only a little taller, never leaving Robin’s side as they traded secretive glances and hand signals only they understood. They didn’t make any attempt to stray from one another’s side. 

But Jon Kent, superboy and Damian’s oldest friend, was of a different mind. He had been by Marinette’s side after Damian died, and by both of theirs when he was brought back. This was not the same terrified dependence he had seen back then. His eyes narrowed. 

The twins were scheming, and nobody else would notice until it was too late. 

Quicker than they could blink, he was by their side with his trademark smile. “Hey guys! Long time no see!” 

They gave the half-kryptonian identical deadpan expressions, sighing in tandem. “You facetimed us last night. And you flew to Paris to visit us last week,” Damian pointed out with a raised eyebrow. “Despite us expressly telling you not to.” 

Jon shrugged. “If I listened to everything you two said all the time, we’d never have any fun. So, excited to meet this Ladybug girl? Dad says that your dad won’t tell him anything about her until she shows up.” 

Hummingbird and Robin traded looks before Marinette answered. “Not really. We see Ladybug in action in Paris all the time—”

“She even saved Marinette from an Akuma who was obsessed with wanting to date her,” Damian interrupted with an insufferable grin. Marinette elbowed him hard, making her brother wince before chuckling at her red face. 

“I could have saved myself just fine! It’s not my fault we have to lay low, or we might get kicked out of Paris for being past vigilantes!” Marinette argued, voice high as she protested how helpless Damian had made her sound. She puffed her cheeks out in annoyance. Damian’s grin widened into a predatory smirk that showed off teeth.

“Oh? What about that one time that Tsurugi got akumatized, and Chat Noir had to save you because she wanted to duel you for the right to date me and you were cornered?” 

Marinette growled, throwing up her hands in frustration before smacking Damian’s shoulder angrily. He only laughed at her. “I’m leaving! Come find me when Ladybug finishes explaining the things we already know!” with that, a fuming and embarrassed Hummingbird stormed out of the room. 

“Huh,” Flash remarked, leaning against the wall. “She looks a lot better than the last time I saw her. And she actually left your immediate vicinity. Willingly,” he remarked to Robin, who glared at the speedster. 

“It’s been almost six years. If you think my sister is weak enough to be that thoroughly encumbered by the past for so long, you are greatly underestimating her,” he looked around to see almost all of the gathered League members staring at him. He grit his teeth and looked over at his father. “When is this woman going to arrive, anyway? You’d think she would actually be on time.” 

Just then, a portal opened in the middle of the room and Ladybug walked through. Quickly shedding the brown costume that allowed her to teleport in, she was left in just her black and red-spotted combat suit. Seeing as they finally found out how to alter the costumes the Kwami gave them, Ladybug’s hair now sat in a braided bun on the crown of her head and her costume was made to look more like Nightwing’s with the ladybug symbol on her upper chest and between her shoulder blades on her back, with black gloves that reached up to her elbows and black knee-high boots with red stripes up the sides. 

The brightly colored heroine smiled, seeming to light up the room with cheer that nearly put Jon to shame (it took her awhile to perfect that particular smile. She actually based it off Jon himself, and Damian was impressed by how accurate she had been able to make it over time. Not that he would say as much out loud). 

That was when Diana started choking on thin air, and Damian and Marinette both realized that they had overlooked something rather major. 

Hippolyta had been a Ladybug. Diana had met Tikki. Diana knew how to see past Tikki’s glamour. 

At first, Ladybug tried to play it off. Maybe Diana would catch on and help her out. So she walked over, holding her hand out for Wonderwoman to shake and putting on another wide smile for good measure. 

“Oh my Kwamii! It is so good to finally meet you, Wonderwoman, Tikki told me so much about you and your mother! Would you like to talk later—”

“Marinette Wayne, how in Zeus’ name did you become the new Ladybug?” Wonderwoman instantly yelled, making Marinette wilt. Damian tried backing away slowly, only for Diana’s eyes to then shoot over to him and narrow dangerously. “And you! I knew I felt something weird, but now I can pinpoint it. You are wielding the Black Cat! One of you explain what is going on. Now.” 

Ladybug and Robin instantly looked away, getting ready to make a quick escape right as their father walked up behind Robin, putting a firm hand on his shoulders. As always when Batman smiled, it sent a shiver down everyone’s spine. Marinette gulped a little. 

“I agree. Marinette, I forgot to tell you that we changed the locations of the League security cameras last night,” shit they were so busted. Bruce must have suspected them of something from the very beginning, stupid world’s greatest detective instincts— “But now that we have confirmed that my suspicions were correct, we can save that discussion for later. First, let’s debrief on the Paris situation like we agreed. Then, you two will explain why you decided not to tell me while you help each other clean the entire Batcave tonight.” 

Damian didn’t open his hand for the entire meeting. He and Marinette made eye contact as soon as everyone sat down for a suddenly very uneasy debrief, silently agreeing that they would not let their father take away their Miraculous. They finally had names and reputations of their own, away from the Batclan and their father’s influence. They had learned more about themselves and what they were capable of in those past years as Miraculous wielders than in all the years of the rest of their lives combined. They wouldn’t give it up, not even for Bruce’s approval. 

But when they got back to the Manor and began cleaning up the batcave as they had been ordered, they were surprised when Bruce made no mention of taking their jewelry back at all. And he stayed up with them, silently reviewing things on the Batcomputer as they cleaned. It could almost be considered family bonding. 

By the time the twins were done cleaning the sun was about to rise, and finally their father spoke up for the first time since they had begun their punishment chore. 

“I watched days worth of your Paris battles before going out to meet Ladybug and Chat Noir in person,” he said without ever turning around from his spot at the computer. “I was impressed. I still am. The teamwork was flawless, and the Parisian heroes never used deadly force. They even did their best to provide emotional support to the victims who were akumatized. I thought for sure at least one of you two would have been victims yourself, with all that you’ve been through. Anything can be a trigger for you, anything can make you vulnerable to Hawkmoth,” Bruce paused to take a sip of coffee. He didn’t have to look at his children’s reflections in the face of the Batcomputer to know they were drinking in every word he said. He did anyway, allowing a small smile that they couldn’t see to form on his lips. 

“I scoured through every akuma attack one by one, trying to find the one where one or both of you were the ones possessed. But I only found more reasons to be impressed by the heroes instead. By the time I was done looking through every scrap of video I could find, I had a feeling I knew who you were. Hearing your voices in person cemented it further, but I wanted video proof. So, knowing that Marinette would have forgotten about agreeing to accompany me to a JL meeting, I asked Ladybug to debrief us.” 

“You had us from the start,” Marinette sighed, shoulders slumping. But Damian said nothing, eyes wide as he picked up on the nuances of what Bruce was saying that Marinette was too tired to catch on to. 

“I’m proud of you two.” 

Then, even Marinette froze. The twins had identical expressions of shock on their faces, and Bruce finally turned around to look at them properly. For a long while, the three of them only made silent eye contact as dozens of emotions flew through the air silently, but understood. Then Damian and Marinette straightened up just and silently. Damian nodded to his father, Marinette gave him a vulnerable little smile, and then they both backed out and went to head to sleep. 

And once they were gone, Bruce sighed in content. Seems his meet-the-Justice-League plan worked out perfectly. He had finally managed to say something right to his two most troublesome children, for the first time. He leaned back in his chair, gazing up at the dark bat-infested cave ceiling as one more tiny grin played on his face, a little melancholy this time. 

Guess they never needed him to help them find their inner hero, after all. They had become even better at the whole hero thing than he was, and all on their own. Bruce closed his eyes, not noticing when Alfred draped a blanket over his body and left the Cave with a soft chuckle. 

--*--*--*--*--*

This sucked, but I wanted to give you guys something. So. here you go I guess? 

[bangtanlalaland]

more than enough | knj (m.)

synopsis ⇣ your unfortunate divorce has left you questioning life and your entire existence. that is, until, your counselor demonstrates just how much you’re worth.

— marriage counselor!au

⇢pairing: marriage counselor!kim namjoon x divorcee!female reader

⇢genre: angst, smut, pwp

⇢word count: 5.4k

⇢contents ⨯ warnings: someone plz stop me from writing these porn-filled, no plot having fics, i think i need help, dom joon makes an appearance (who doesn’t love this man? uwu), lots of filthy filthiness, swearing, oral sex (f + m receiving), drunk bathroom oral sex actually (oops), did i mention jungkook makes an appearance? (he’s that blonde babe from the bathroom scene) 😏, masturbation, unprotected sex (always stay safe!), rough sex, breathplay, dumbification, hair-pulling, spanking, slapping, choking, creampie, impreg kink (ugh my fave), over-stimulation, voyeurism (oof), multiple orgasms, name-calling (being called a slut), jungkook’s tongue is magical, namjoon’s dick is huge (don’t @ me), premature ejaculation (oops)

a/n: I’ve had this also in my wips for awhile 💜 including like 10+ wips with joon because he’s my bby & I love him so much ugh!

Your fingertips awkwardly fiddle with themselves, a slight tension in your shoulders that you’re sure is visible. With legs crossed, you take a deep breath and contemplate your next guilty pleasure meal of the day. Everything around you seems black and white; since your divorce, you’d become null and void — not understanding why life itself got you to this point. You’d often question your purpose in life.

Why me? What did I do wrong? Am I not enough?

But here you are, reminiscing when everything seemed smooth, lovely, and peaceful. When things weren’t always about arguing over finances, hectic work schedules, a decrease in the amount of quality time spent together, or most importantly: pleading for just the smallest ounce of attention.

The sudden sound of your counselor’s throat clearing startles you, “Mrs. ____?” His notepad and pen in hand, his eyebrows raising up at you, slightly. Not having realized you’d zoned out, your fingers stop moving on their own accord. Your back straightens up just a tad more.

“Sorry, I-”

He cracks a smile, his hand raising up in reply, “Don’t be. Take your time,” You take a deep breath, and silently woosah yourself. Some part of you is curious as to why people like your counselor work these kinds of jobs. You couldn’t imagine having a career where you’re required to keen in on people’s problems everyday and offer advice, when you have problems of your own and can’t get your shit together.

Ugh, life.

“I’m hanging in there. I guess?” He cocks his head to the side, eyeing your expression.

“Can you tell me one good thing that happened to you this week?” You take a deep breath, followed by a coy smirk.

It had been a long time since you stepped out and especially in risqué attire. Your roudy friend and co-worker, Candice, insisted that you needed to spend the night out to celebrate your now freedom — post divorce. A slight sentiment of anxiety takes a toll on you, that is until she orders you both a couple shots of tequila to rile you up.

“Here’s to being young, wild, and free baby!” She exclaims, clinking her glass against yours. The both of you tilt your heads back, inducing more alcohol — hissing due to the slight burn in the back of your throat. Candice taps your shoulder, and hell were you feeling the aftermath of the liquor. You’re all giggles and feeling loopy.

Next thing you know, you’re locking lips with a cutie in the bathroom. Teeth and tongues clashing against each other, the thrill of getting it on with someone you don’t know was exhilarating — courtesy of the liquor in your system. Your mind hadn’t registered the lingering aroma of his cologne, until he pressed you up against the wall and stooped down on his knees, reaching under your dress to pull your panties to the side. Your lady lips revealed to him, and it’s as if he’s as horny as you are in this moment, if not more. The blonde-haired babe glares up at you with those pouty lips and dives head first. His nose brushes up against your clit as he licks a long strip along your folds, stopping to circling his tongue around the bud. His lips encase around your clit, and his muffled moans vibrate against your core, making you throb relentlessly with much arousal. He lifts your leg up and over his shoulder, while your back rests against the wall — an attempt to keep some leverage while having him in between your legs like this.

“Mmmm,” was all you could hear from him as he licks up and down your pussy lips, coating them with his saliva.

Your mind couldn’t even process the last time you’d been eaten out like this; uncontrollable moans slipping out of you, and it feels oh so damn good. Your hips grind against his tongue, helping to bring on your orgasm at a much quicker pace. His soft fingers grip your thighs to keep you in place. He pulls away with a pop and stares at you with those gorgeous, doe-like eyes. Your chest rises up and down, panting to gain your breath back. His fingers find purchase on your lips, and with a light tap you open up sucking them in your mouth. A low groan slips from him, you bob your head back and forth making sure to coat his digits and suddenly he pulls away. With furrowed brows, you hadn’t even processed that his fingers rammed into your pussy, your walls now warm and wet, inviting them in. Your fingers grasp onto his hair, pulling and tugging once his thumb swipes your clit intently. You’re so close and just need a slight push.

“Damn babe, how can you be this wet?” He giggles in your ear. You can smell whatever it is he doused himself in from the bar. You can’t quite pinpoint what exactly, but it is there.

“Just fuck me already, please” You plead with his fingers still inside you, he rubs your clit just right and repeatedly thrusts his fingers in and out. The obvious squelching sound of your pussy can be heard, and you pray to God nobody else suddenly walks in. You guys did lock the door right?

Shit.

And then he stops, removing his digits from you. You frown instantly.

“Need you in my mouth,” He adds, returning to his previous position from before, His lips wrap around your folds, sucking and tugging them with hunger. Like he’s having the most delicious meal in his last day on Earth. He continues to make obscene sounds with his slurping noises, his fingers press and rub onto your clit in a rapid motion. Your thighs give out, and it’s a clear indication to you that you’re going to cum. Has it really been this long? Have you really forgotten what it’s like to have an orgasm? That feeling deep within where the bottom of your tummy and core meet, feels tight as a knot. He lashes his tongue out to glide along your folds and sticks himself inside of you, tongue fucking you while rubbing your clit.

“I’m going to cum!” You cry with a labored breath. He uses your cry as a sign to lift your leg over his shoulder while he grips your waist, his hands land on your ass — gripping your cheeks firmly. His tongue lands flat to paint his saliva all over your cunt, his hands aid in gliding his tongue up and down your pussy at a rapid pace. He shakes his head back and forth, his tongue brushing across your throbbing, aching clit as a result. He continues at his relentless pace and suddenly that feeling inside snaps.

“Fuck!” Your thighs tremble violently and your core contracts continuously. Your back arches off the wall, but the stranger doesn’t stop his motions, his tongue continues on its own accord, not letting up. You even feel his fingernails digging into your cheeks slightly. Your fingers grasp onto his strands, tugging with an necessary amount of force — mimicking his motions. His low moans suddenly drawing out more than you expected, adding an extra touch to your orgasm, — your clit feeling used having been stimulated for a moment too long. The trembling of your body subsides, your legs attempting to hold on for a little longer as you fight to push him from you.

“O-okay. Okay, that’s- E-enough. Fuck!” To your luck he pulls off with a swipe of his hand across his mouth, panting and out of breath. You assume that’s the only reason he gave up, until you notice he continues to moan, his face contorted into an expression you suppose is from a feeling of ecstasy. And then his gaze drops down to his clothed crotch; his wide eyes roam upwards to your form, with lips parted. Your trembling figure gradually regaining composure.

“Oops,” He slips, letting out a contagious laugh. You follow where his gaze was before and shake your head.

“I-it’s okay, I understand.” His eyes crinkle up in a crescent-moon shape, and you somehow notice the rosy tint of his cheeks, streaming to his ears. Poor thing. He’s probably embarrassed.

Your counselor listens with open ears, taking in everything you’re describing to him, while jotting down what you think are a few notes. But to your unknown avail, he has written:

Client lacks in sex life, due to divorce Stranger gives oral sex; client reaches orgasm

Namjoon clears his throat before proceeding, “And what is it that makes this-” He pauses to gather the correct words, attempting to wash away the imagination of you spreading your legs out, pussy on display, on his leather sofa.

“Experience a good one for you? Is it the thrill from having an orgasm? Maybe the act of having a stranger perform oral sex on you? Or is it because he orgasmed in his pants by performing oral sex on you?”

You contemplate for a moment, thinking deeply about his speculation. You admit it; he’s great at his job. Well, at least better than you would probably be in his line of work. With legs still crossed, you playfully dangle your ankle up and down, your leg now having fallen asleep but you’re somewhat in an awkward state — speaking to a male about your recent sexcapade.

It’s times like these that you wished you were referred a female counselor. And it doesn’t help with how attractive Mr. Kim is, which is definitely a deal breaker for you. You take in his lavender streaks that paint the strands of his hair, paired with highlights of platinum blonde.

Although, you can’t help but ponder what he thinks of all this? Seeing it as you’re a divorced woman, having developed a dry spell, and can’t seem to even orgasm from her previous husband — the person you’d committed your life to, to what you assumed would have been able to please you in the bedroom but unfortunately he failed. It’s embarrassing, to say the least.

Mr. Kim had been there through it all, the good and bad, the ups and downs, twists and turns. It wasn’t that he failed his job, no. He was perfect at it; but, your marriage simply failed. You wouldn’t be surprised if Mr. Kim confessed that he knew what the outcome would be, because it was that obvious. But your ex-husband had to hire a professional simply because he was too prideful to admit his wrongdoings and actually “man up” to fix his problems.

Part of you hated that you’d stuck around after the divorce, and you’re surprised Mr. Kim hadn’t suggested you no longer needed of his services. But, you suppose he was just being kind, offering the best of his services — while another part of you assumed he understood that you do need someone to vent to. Being as that, doing so helps to ease the mind. You’re sure he’s aware that everyone needs to talk to someone, even if it’s a stranger.

Except in this case, Mr. Kim isn’t a stranger — quite the opposite actually and some part of you felt vulnerable to him. The fact he knew your story; any personal thing you could think of that’s ever happened to you — you had spilled it all to him. You contemplate: Who does he confide in, despite his career being that he helps those in desperate times of need? Does he ever vent to anyone? And if so, does it help him to stay sane?

You shake your head at the thought of it all, wanting to piece the entire process altogether. You’d almost forgotten he was still here in this very room with you, awaiting a response to slip. And damn, is he patient. You curse yourself for having zoned out that much, and with a clearing of his throat you are gracefully brought back to reality. The atmosphere suddenly parching your form, an odd sensation of heat pooling over you — paired with a sheen of cold sweat approaching.

He stares into your gaze, as if studying you for a moment.

“Mrs. ____?” His eyes still glued onto you, searching for any sign that you will open your mouth for once. But, you can’t seem to say anything else but one word.

“Control.” His eyebrows flick in response and he slowly nods — having scribbled something into his notes:

Control?

“Control?” He questions, giving you the spotlight to elaborate on whatever it is you’re implying. Your foot stops dangling, having now closed both of your legs entirely, squeezing them together. The visual of that stranger’s mouth lapping at your cunt flashes through your mind.

You take a deep breath, “Yes, control.” Namjoon’s eyebrows quirk upward, as if signaling for you to continue already.

“I-I’m sorry, I can’t do this.” You blurt out while grabbing your belongings, in a hurry to leave. Namjoon seethes. He’d endured months, perhaps a year of therapy with you. He refused to let you walk out without being satisfied. And he knows exactly what you need. He had the date written down, when you came to him for one of your sessions and confessed how long it had been since you had sex. It’s a memory he’d never forget, because although he’s a licensed counselor and shouldn’t personally involve himself with his clients — with you it was different. He despised the way your ex-husband treated you. It was wrong, and he couldn’t take the pain of seeing you stressed beyond your limits.

“ ____,” His deep voice now dipped in a stern tone, one you’d never heard before, and he never calls you by your first name. Like ever. With your back turned, you can feel his presence directly behind you. So close, you could practically drown in the warmth radiating from his body. He reaches past you, his fingers finding placement over the lock of the door.

“Sit down,” he commands. You shudder under his rigid voice, finding yourself to obey as he instructs, somewhat afraid of what he’d do if you didn’t comply. His towering figure follows back to his seat prior to your attempt of departing. His legs now spread wide and back slightly slumped in his chair. Your shoulders naturally tense themselves, a result of the heat wave washing over you.

Namjoon glares at you with an unreadable expression, as if he’s peering into your soul, a sudden churn resides in your tummy. You absentmindedly pull your dress down just a tad, the material now clinging to your skin due to the sweat that built up under Namjoon’s gaze.

He strokes his chin, and you thank the Heavens for that sight because it definitely gets you going. His slender fingers grazing amongst his skin, veins popping while doing so. You can only imagine what they would feel like inside your-

“Off the record, I know what you want.” He blurts out, stilling his motions. You question him with a rise of your eyebrows. The coy smirk that appears on his lips has you boiling on the inside, your thighs rubbing together pathetically — to ease the ache within your core. What the hell is this man doing to you?

“Should it be too much for you, the safe word is velvet.”

He removes his glass and places them down on the coffee table separating you both. He proceeds to make his way toward you, eyeing you down as if you’re his prey. He unbuckles his belt and slips, “You’ll do as I say when I say it and not give any back talk. Understand?” Your mouth flies agape at his sudden change in demeanor — only adding fire to the fuel in your heat.

He tilts your chin up with his finger, “Don’t make me ask you twice.”

“Yes- Yes, Namjoon.” He slaps your face, at first in a gentle manner, your kitty throbs in response at the sudden action.

“It’s Sir to you.” You nod in reply, “Yes, S-sir.”

Namjoon sits in his favorite spot, unbuttoning his slacks. His hands snake behind the garment, running along his shaft under his briefs.

“Open your legs and play with yourself,” He demands. Before your brain could process what he requested, your body moved instead. You pry open your legs and Namjoon is instantly met with your aching cunt.

“You little slut,” He mulls with a followed growl, his cock twitching under his grip. “You came all the way here with no fucking panties?”

You nod at his question, bringing your fingers to your wet folds.

“So fucking filthy.” Namjoon pumps himself at the sight of you grazing along your clit. “I should fuck you until you can’t think anymore.”

“Please,” you whine, grinding your hips. You lick the pads of your fingers and rub your clit instinctively, a moan falling from your lips.

“Is that what you want?” He coos, precum seeping from the slit on the head of his cock. “You want me to fuck you silly? Make you cream all over my cock like the good, little bitch you are?”

Wanton moans now become uncontrollable for you, and you lose yourself in Namjoon’s sexy voice laced with lust, “Yes, Sir. P-please, fuck me. I need your cock.”

A low rumble emits from his chest, he runs his fingers through his strands that were glued to his forehead. He pushes his trousers and briefs down to his knees.

“Come here. Now.” He motions with his index finger, and you find yourself at his beck and call. Namjoon slides himself down further in his seat and gestures you over him.

“Sit on my face,” You do exactly as he says and hover over his face. He doesn’t hesitate to grip your hips and lodge his tongue inside of your hot heat. His nose nuzzles your clit in the process, soaking in the fragrance of your womanhood. He graciously fucks your hole with his tongue, then slithers along your inner folds. He sucks and tugs onto them between his plump lips, groaning into your cunt. You naturally grind your hips, following his motions.

“Oh, fuck.” You slip, while grazing your fingers within his strands. Namjoon’s fingers dig deeper onto your hips. He lays his tongue flat down to glide against your clit, your folds having been coated in his saliva. He peers up at you with those wide, sexy eyes, and the sudden shock of his palm smacking your ass jolts you forward — your grip landing on the leather seat. His moans continue to reverberate within your core, emitting a cry of euphoria from you. He wraps his plush lips around your nub and sucks feverishly. His nails graze along the flesh of your ass cheeks and…

Smack.

“Mmmm, Sir!” He shakes his head back and forth, and sucks your clit again — sending you into your second orgasm in the past week. Your thighs tremble and back arches slightly, your nails claw the leather of the seat and your hips grind along his tongue — an attempt to ride out your high. Namjoon lands another harsh smack onto your bottom, and you scream maybe just a little too loud for your liking, yet it’s music to his ears.

But, he doesn’t stop.

He continues his ministrations, and just as you try to break away from his steady pace, he constrains your hips with his large hands, locking you in place. He doesn’t let up on your now sensitive clit, and instead continues to slide his tongue all around and onto your bud. You shake your head in reply, the stimulation being too much but somehow there’s this burning ache that re-approaches, and you know there’s yet another orgasm approaching.

You push his head away, desperately wanting him to get his mouth off your aching pussy.

“P-please, Please.” You plead. But he grips onto you harder and shakes his head in a “no” gesture, his tongue gliding along your clit while doing so. His lips encase around your nub again and eagerly sucks the life out of you. Your legs shiver.

Namjoon mumbles within you, “Cum on my face, again.” His hand slaps your ass cheek again and again, sending you into your second orgasm that seems more powerful than the first. Your entire body convulses, eyes roll back, and you let out a screeching cry. He gently rubs the area he’d smacked before, and peels his mouth from you finally. He slaps your cheek again and demands, “On the couch. Now.”

You’re barely able to recover from your orgasm, and with shaky legs you set on your two feet to make your way over to the leather sofa. Joon follows behind and drops his trousers and briefs down to his ankles, kicking the garments to the side. Your met with the sight of his length, and you audibly gasp. He’s so thick, and your kitty clenches just by looking at him. His dick springs up, and you note the precum now dripping from his slit and down into a thin line.

“Come here,” He says while pushing your head onto his length. He stuffs his cock into your mouth, fucking your throat relentlessly. You grab onto his thick, juicy thighs to keep some leverage. The lewd noises of your throat being fucked can be heard through the office space. Namjoon’s breath hitches at the view of you stuffed with him entirely, his dick literally choking the life out of you. He lets out a grimacing chuckle, “Finally you can keep your mouth shut, huh? Let someone else take control, hm?” He bucks his hips forward, the veins in his arm protruding as his grip on your hair tightens, thrusting himself back and forth into your mouth.

His head falls back in ecstasy. Your nails graze along his bare thighs, begging for a release of air. And you assume that inspires him to torture you even more because before you could process what’s happening. He pinches your nose shut, to keep you from breathing, and holds himself at the back of your throat. You pound his thighs as a result.

“Look at me.” He commands, and with tears streaming down your cheeks, your gaze follows up to his hooded lids as you eagerly pound your fists onto his thighs and scratch the flesh. You’re convinced you are on the verge of passing out until he lets out the sexiest moan you’d ever heard in your life and that’s when his thighs tense up in your touch, his lower abdomen contracts, and bursts of warm cum shoot down your throat. You shut your eyes to focus on not passing out, but somehow with his added jizz, it doesn’t help. You continue to smack his thighs to signal you’re on your way to Heaven if he doesn’t let up. You feel his cock gradually easing out, and then he says…

“Fucking swallow.”

And so you do, managing to swallow every drop of him and finally he releases his throbbing member from your mouth. As soon as you are let free to breathe in some kind of air, you suck in a huge breath — followed by some coughs to gain your breathing back, and then an odd sensation within your head subsides. Once again, you can’t recover. Namjoon pulls you by your hair and shoves you toward the leather sofa.

“Bend down.” And you do exactly as you’re told, obeying him as if you’re a puppy and he’s your owner. Namjoon pumps himself and slaps your ass once you bend completely over, arching your back to push your bottom out more profoundly.

“Such a good slut.” He slaps your ass and you whimper at his harsh demeanor. Somehow you manage to wiggle your goods at him, wanting to know what that monster between his legs feel like, and your craving doesn’t go unnoticed. Namjoon tugs your hair, making you arch your back whilst he forces your entire form against his chest. His stiff length is pressed against your ass, and you find yourself grinding against him for just any type of friction to ease the level of horny that’s overcome your being.

“Look at you all needy for my cock. I don’t think you’re fucking ready for me, hm?” His hold on you grows tighter, and the sharp pain of him pulling your strands, mixed with his cock rutting against your behind, strangely makes your core twitch — a dire need of attention.

“Oh, but Sir! I am ready. Plea-” With that, Namjoon shoves you forward back into doggystyle. And when your back isn’t arched enough to his liking, he takes a big blow to your ass, prompting you to adjust your posture. You’re sure by the end of this so called “session” you’ll slip from his establishment sore and bruised. The tip of his cock nudges at your entrance, he runs himself along your dripping labia, making sure to smother himself in your wet. The rising heat in the pit of your core makes you anxious. You can’t remember the last time it had been when you’d had sex, and you supposed Namjoon knows this. You’re not even sure what all this means. How could you both look at each other the same after this is all done? Will he let you go after this? Maybe refer a different counselor? Or will this continue to be what his “sessions” are about? Or is this just a one time thing, and after today, everything will go back to normal? But how could that be possible?

Your on-going thoughts are put on a hold when a slight stretching-like burn approaches so sudden, and you’re left with a wide-opened mouth. Your nails scrape the material of the couch you have left to hold onto. Namjoon feels like nothing you’d ever felt before. He’s big, you know that. But holy hell does he feel different than he looks; it’s something you can’t explain. With toes curling, you call out his name as if he’s the only person left on the plant. What did you do to deserve this kind of dick? Your walls clamp eagerly around his shaft, sucking him in entirely — like a vacuum.

“Shit! It’s been that long, huh?” He admits, gritting his teeth at the sentiment of how tight you are. “He- Let this go?” He adds, while bottoming out completely. Pulling almost all the way out to slam right back into you — your body jerking forward in the process. “S-so fucking stupid. How- Mmmm.” Namjoon can’t contain himself; he pauses for a moment to collect his thoughts, trying beyond his limits to not blow his load into you so quickly.

“How could he let this go?” He pulls out and slams back into you again, this time with a harsh punch. He reaches for your hair, balling his fist into the strands, because for this time, he can’t just take it easy on you.

“More for me, then.” And that’s when you scream as if you’re being murdered — more like your vagina is. Namjoon begins a brutal pace, ramming into you and having no second thoughts about it.

“Oh! Unfgh, S-sir!” Your eyes shut instantly and face scrunches up in pleasure; you’d honestly never felt so high in your entire life. If you could be fucked like this at least once a week, you’d truly die happy.

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve been wanting to fuck you dumb?” He shoots with a hint of hostility. “I was relieved-” He punctuates with a harsh thrust, “To find out you both divorced… Wanted to fuck the shit out of you ever since you stepped foot into my office… Told me every fucked up thing he ever did to you.” You’re not even sure why but his confession has you smothering him in your juices. The fact he had a desire for you was hot, and you would be lying if you said you wouldn’t have fucked him the first time you had a session with him — that is, without your now ex-husband. Maybe Namjoon is right, maybe you are a slut. But who cares?

Namjoon releases his pull on your hair and pushes your head forward, you languidly fall onto the cushion and bury your face within it while he continues to bang out places in you that you never knew could be reached — his animalistic mannerisms are beyond your comprehension.

“Oh, yes!” You cry out, your figure shifting upwards from his vigorous pace. You nearly topple over at how hard he’s fucking you, and at this moment, you can’t fully think straight with him fucking you senselessly. The only sound you’re aware of is the slapping of his balls against your ass and his grunting here and there. You mumble a few incoherent words, and then a few slapping sounds follows. Your ass cheeks now burning with a hot passion.

“Look at you-” Namjoon grunts as he stills himself inside of you and twists your body around, leaving you to rest on your side. “Can’t even speak properly with my dick inside of you.”

Slap.

“Should clog this little pussy of yours up with my children.”

“Fucking come here,” He hauls you toward him to bring you closer, his cock sheathing itself fully inside of you. Not able to form proper words, your nails drag across his thigh and you wrap your leg around his waist, the heel of your foot digging into his bottom cheek. And just as you blinked, he wraps his hand around your throat and begins plunging his cock in and out of you repeatedly. You’re so close to cumming again, that you find some strength to ease your way between your legs and mindlessly rub your clit. Namjoon notes your actions and squeezes your throat harder.

“Yes! F-fuck!” You attempt to choke out; then Namjoon rams into that certain spot within you that has you seeing stars, and your orgasm floods your entire self that you’re shaking underneath him.

“Fuck yeah,” He coos while releasing your throat and slapping your face left and right. “He was so stupid, hm?” Your walls contracting around him has his cock twitching in a way that he knows is a warning of his impending orgasm. You clench so tightly around him, almost locking him in place, whilst creaming all over his shaft.

“Say it.” You whimper in reply, and he grips your face in place to keep you from squirming. “I want you to say how stupid your ex-husband was for leaving you. Say it now.” Your body continues to tremble and grow limp, yet you force the words from your mouth that even you surprised your own self.

“M-my ex-husband was stupid for leaving me, ahh!” Namjoon jams into you again, his thrusts now a much sloppier pace while his thumb reaches for your clit again, rubbing relentlessly. You wiggle around to somewhat ease your now sensitive, aching clit. But he doesn’t let you. He slaps your face again and pins your arms above your head, his body landing fully on top of yours. He licks the pads of his fingers to find your clit again, and you don’t think it’s possible to cum for the fourth time today, but you’re convinced Namjoon would prove otherwise.

“I want you to cum on my cock again.” He states, with a much softer tone this time, added with, “And tell me how much you’re worth having.” Another wave washes over you, granting his wish. Your chest heaves up and down in an attempt to fully gain your normal breathing pattern back. Your writhing body sends a shock of pleasure straight to his groin, and the need to cum is slowly advancing.

You cling onto Namjoon, and slip “I- am worth it. I-I’m worth having,” It’s as if your simple doing of following his command pushes him over the edge. But your added comment fuels him on even more.

“Cum inside of me, please. Make me full of your children.” With that, Namjoon shudders above you. His member pulses inside of you, streams of his cum color your insides. His lavender-stained strands glue themselves to his forehead, and it isn’t until now that you realize how wet your skin is, courtesy of the leather material below you.

Within the silence that subsides afterwards, aside from the melody of the both of you panting, Namjoon breaks the ice.

“You’re more than enough.”

[neo-culture-mafia]

SOS Marriage (l.mrk)

— Warnings: Just prepare your uwus, freaked out Mark all over

— Words: 2.2k

— Genre: fluffy, soft and chaotic dreamies.

— Summary: “After Mark texted an “S.O.S” to his friends on their chat group, all of them came in a hurry, hoping that it wasn’t as bad as Mark made it sound like.”

“Guys, I’m screwed.” Mark stated as he was the last one to sit on the table looking like he had seen a ghost. 

He was looking awfully weird, but when he took off his cap and threw it off on the table, rubbing his face helplessly, his friends knew it was bad, they just didn't know how bad. Yet.

“Mark, what the hell? Don’t tell me you called us here just to rant about having to deal with that reckless group inside of the Junior Forces all over again.” Hyuck said in an offended, but joking tone as he stared at his agonizing friend.

“It’s worse.” Mark cautioned with an empty look on his face.

“What can be worse than that?” Jisung asked, even though he was the one with the smallest age gap with those punks.

“Marriage.”

Everyone but Mark smiled.

“What?! You proposed to Y/N?! Wow, congrats, man!” Jeno rushed to congratulate his friend, as the others on the table began to do the same.

“No, you idiots.” Mark cut off the happiness, rolling his eyes at his friends’ reaction. “She gave me the “I think we’re ready to take another step” talk last night when we were cuddling.” He motioned the quotation marks with his fingers.

“And what did you say?” Chenle asked in antecipation.

“Nothing, I panicked and pretended I was asleep before she would look at me.” Mark let his hands go to his head, messing his black hair and almost pulling hair by hair out to stop him from going crazy over the situation.

All that it could be heard inside of the room was a bunch of whines and disapproving screams as some of the boys throw no harmful things at Mark.

“Oh Mark, you are a shame! What are we supposed to do with you?” Donghyuck barked as he slapped his hand to his forehead in pure disappointment.

“I can’t even find enough words to scold you right now.” Jaemin complained, looking offended at Mark’s words. Deeply offended. “Who on earth would react like that?”

“I would.” Jisung quietly admitted, looking at the ceiling as he tried to pretend like he hadn't said that.

“You don’t count, you’re still a baby, but Mark?" Renjun quickly reassured his friend with now rose cheeks before pointing back to Mark. 

"Man, you’ve been living with this girl for the past three years! You see her every day, you talk to her about everything, you two share the same bed and...” Renjun stopped his sentence when he heard all the giggling from his friends, burning them his death stare before he could continue. “NOT sexually speaking, you dirty minds, just sleeping together…” He tried to make it better, only to hear the giggling all over again. “Okay, are you guys what? 10 years old?” He rolled his eyes in irritation.

“Anyway, MY POINT IS: How is that any different from marriage?” He continued. You’ve been through so much together here in Neo Culture and you two undoubtedly trust each other with your lives. I don’t see how marriage would be a bad idea.”

“He’s got a good point, dude.” Jeno said, shrugging when Mark cocked an eyebrow at him with wild open eyes.

“Yeah, I’m with him on this too.” Chenle backed his friend up, receiving the same shocked stare from Mark.

“Same.” Hyuck agreed in crossing arms.

“Tell me, you guys were dying to team up against me in something like this, weren’t you?” Mark questioned, trying to speak his way out of how serious he talk had turned to be. 

Unfortunately for him, he had no other choice but to sigh right after when his friends didn't express any reaction, all waiting for his answer. “It wouldn't be a bad idea man, I just feel like I’m too young for it.”

“Do you love her?” Jaemin asked, dead serious. He adored Y/N since forever and if he ever dreamed about Mark not being honest about his feelings towards you, Jaemin would be the first one to give him the biggest lecture of his life.

“I do! I can’t live without her anymore, it’s just…” He took a deep breath, shaking his head at his own puzzled state. 

“I don’t feel like I can be everything she needs her husband to be right now. I have the Junior Forces to take care of and day after day more kids come around looking for help, my help. And there’s this…” he stopped himself, not sure if it was the moment to bring that up. He wasn't even sure if he should bring that up.

“Rumor that Taeyong might pick you up to be his successor if he dies?” Jisung completed the unfinished Mark’s sentence.

Mark wasn't shocked. It actually made a lot of sense that his friends knew about it since no one pushed him to keep talking as it would usually happen whenever he stopped himself from spitting something out.

“You knew this already.” Mark affirmed in realization as all the puzzle pieces came together.

He had no idea his friends knew. This had been silently eating himself alive for the past few weeks, and he thought he couldn’t talk about it with anyone since it was just a rumor.

“We've heard of it, but man you can’t let future maybes command your life.” Chenle addressed in a serious tone that didn’t match his bright personality.

It was unusual to see all of his friends acting so serious about something. Every time the seven of them sat on that specific table next to the window, it meant they were going to spend some quality time chilling together during their rare mission-breaks, but since the matter was serious, Mark appreciated the lecture.

“Taeyong won’t die any soon, not under our watch.” Jaemin pointed at all the men sitting on the table, a few positive nods backing his words up. “So if you don’t think you’re ready to get married, you need to talk to her about it, but don’t use this whole speculation as an excuse not to do so.” Jaemin advised, staring right at Mark’s eyes as he handed his friend one of the random phones lying on the table. “Call her.”

“But...”

“Mark, man up! I’m sure she will understand.” Hyuck stopped his friend to continue. “Besides, if you dare to ruin this relationship, I’ll ruin you for murdering my dreams of being your best man.”

“And who said I trust you enough to make me a decent bachelor party?” Mark snapped at his best friend whose he was sitting next to.

“If by “decent” you mean no Vegas, then I’m really not your guy… yet.” Hyuck teased him with a sly smile on his face. “I’ll have some years to change your mind.”

“Please, don’t ever get married. I can’t even cope with the idea of Hyuck planning your bachelor party without thinking about how he would put us all in jail.” Renjun begged, bringing his hands together as everyone but Hyuck laughed in agreetment.

“Thank God we know how to break out of those, but I might consider leaving Renjun there as your marriage gift.” Donghyuck snapped. Renjun jokingly closed his fist before Mark started to calm things down.

“Alright, alright, that’s enough.” Mark interfered with a smile on his face as his motioned to both of them to just chill. “You guys never fail to make me feel better, thank you.”

“Quit the sentimentalism and just call her! That will be only the start of our payment.” Renjun stared at his friends’ eyes, telling them everything they needed to do.

“Payment?” Mark frowned.

“How do you think us, the mafia psychologists, keep on affording those?” Jeno pointed out to Chenle’s watch. “Oh wait, we don’t, Chenle is the only billionaire present here.”

“Here we go, we’re not having this conversation again.” Chenle rolled his eyes as he comfortably leaned his back to his chair.

                                                            …

“Hey babe.” You automatically smiled when you saw your boyfriend, you ran till him to hug him, only to stop yourself from doing it when you realized Mark’s serious facial expression. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, I mean, no, I mean… we need to talk.” Mark stuttered as he pulled the chair for you to sit.

For the first time in years, Mark was nervous around you. When the two of you met he was your superior in Junior Forces, so he didn’t let any nervousness show around you, not even in your first kiss — even if he did admit to you months later that his hands were trembling before he pulled you close that night —.

“Look, I don’t want you to be upset with me, okay? At least hear me out first.” His hands were shaking, making you finally worried.

“Mark, you’re scaring me. What’s going on?” You questioned, gently holding both of his hands, trying to calm him down a bit. “I hardly get upset with you, don’t worry.”

“It’s about something I know you’ve been thinking lately, something I don’t feel ready to do yet.” He started and you nodded for him to keep going. “I know you must think that we are strong enough to go through with it, but I wouldn’t be honest to you if I proposed something this important to you when I don’t feel 100% confident about it. Marrying you is such a big call, one that I don’t want to rush. I don’t want to risk all the good we have accomplished together in a rushed marriage that…” He started, rubbing the back of your hand while he tried to read your face that was holding a blank expression.

“What makes you think I wanna marry you?” You cut him off in a serious voice tone, realizing seconds later that maybe you sounded rude.

“You don’t?” Mark asked with a smile on his face. 

He had never sounded so relieved before, but that only lasted until it dawned on him that you DIDN’T want to marry him, maybe you wanted to break up or stop living together... “Wait… you don’t?!” he almost shouted in wide-open eyes, letting go of your hands.

“No…” You started only to see Mark’s face twist like never before which freaked you out about how your “No” sounded like to him. “I mean, yes! I do want to marry you someday, but why would you think I want to marry you now?” You held his hands again, trying to calm him down all over again.

You and Mark were very alike, so two easily freaked out people in the same conversation wasn't exactly the best idea. Especially when the matter in question was related to something as big as marriage.

“What you said last night kind of tipped me off, I guess.” He shrugged, still scared about what you actually tried to say last night and the suspense wasn’t helping his anxiety to go away.

“That?” You questioned as you remembered the words you’d spoken. “Oh no, I didn’t mean it like that! I meant that we should adopt a dog together.”

Ten seconds. That’s the time it took for both of you to stare at each other’s eyes and burst laughing out loud.

“False alarm, you guys. No marriage at sight.” Mark announced in a louder tone of voice, knowing his friends were hiding somewhere in that room.

“THANK GOD!” Jisung screamed before he felt his arm receiving a flick from Jaemin, not believing the youngest reaction 

“Ouch! What?” he stared at his older friend with a small pouting on his lips. “I’m relieved for him. Don’t get me wrong, Y/N, I do love you, but Mark can’t even be a good father for his plants, now imagine him with a real baby.”

“Please, do not imagine a real baby, you two are still too young for that.” Chenle emphasized the last part with a worried look on his face.

“I’m disappointed; however, I think the world is not ready to see my best man skills yet.” Hyuck boasted himself as he came out to the light, followed by the others.

“I can’t believe you guys are involved in this absurd. How am I supposed to get married when I have 6 other children to take care of? Impossible.” You reasoned in an ironic voice tone.

“He was the one who came to us talking all of this nonsense, we had nothing to do with it.” Renjun answered in a defensive tone.

“You indirectly encouraged him by going along with it, you’re guilty.” You snapped, giggling at your friends' faces automatically going down. “I love Mark, but I know you guys better than this to understand that there’s no way I get to marry Mark before asking for your blessing.”

“Wise woman, that’s why we love you.” Hyuck calmly agreed with a sly smile on his face.

“I wouldn’t mind giving you guys my blessing, but at least give it some good three years ahead of us before it actually happens.” Jaemin hopelessly looked at you with a jokingly pouting on his lips.

“Noted. I promise you that we won't have any marriage in a good time.” You reassured your friend, receiving a nodding and a sighting as a response.

“At least, we won’t have a mini Mark running around any soon, I can drink to that.” Jeno laughed at the smile on your face that literally vanished at the moment Jeno finished his sentence. The idea of having a baby at such a young age haunted you.

“I can freaking party to that! We should celebrate later. It’s been a time since we’ve been all the eight of us together. What do you think, Mark?” Renjun looked at his friends, finally noticing how quiet Mark was... and also how big and sincere was the smile on the oldest face.

Mark went from freaking out and fearing that he would lose the love of his life to smiling and laughing with all of his loved ones around him on the same day. The reason for his smile was reasoning so loud and so clear on his mind that he had no other choice but to voice it out:

“I think I don’t deserve you guys.”

[pearlplusau]

Chapter 6 - Part 3, The prophecy

Back at the temple, Rose was not doing well.

She was struggling the entire night, trying to figure out the pain in her after the event. However, she couldn’t keep on with the pain while pacing the endless room forever. At some point, she got so tired she decided to try the “meditation” exercise from Garnet, “Meditating can help you relax and clear your mind, especially my mind when im a new fusion” She once said.

Behind the gem, the room decided to show a visual representation of a memory, the problem. It showed a figure on a pink working desk with a giant mirror, a giant bowl of pebbles, along with equipment such as tweezers, containers and a dropper filled with pink fluids.

Behind the gem, the room decided to show a visual representation of a memory, the problem. It showed a figure on a pink working desk with a giant mirror, a giant bowl of pebbles, along with equipment such as tweezers, containers and a dropper filled with pink fluids.

Pink was testing out her essence on the newly arrived pebbles in her experiment chamber, but that day, she was out of her game.

“These pebbles should be emerging right now! Why isn’t this working like how I planned!?”

Before she barged in her chamber and tried to distract herself with work, she was rejected, yet again by Blue and Yellow of getting her own colony. Blue repeated it hundreds of times, “You’re not ready, you haven’t achieved your full diamond powers yet, without that being taken control, you could potentially destroy your own planet without starting the colonization!”

She was filled with more rage than ever! Yellow didn’t even blink an eye when she stormed out of the pool chamber, “We’ll let you know when you’re ready.”

“UGHH!” The smallest diamond frustrated and full of built up energy, the yet to emerge pebble was not helping her calm down, she tightened her fist, she stood up from the desk, and BAM! Where the working station was, stood a pile of rubble, with the giant mirror the only thing still intact.

She was surprised, taken aback, she noticed her slight glow from her physical form and her gem, which returned to her normal tone when she finally calmed down. She got down to her knees and speculated the damage in front of her.

The working station was in a state beyond recognition, the tools and essence containers are all in shambles, the pebbles were all scattered about, some chipped while some cracked, with none in good shape.

She was examining the pebbles with little damage, but then she heard something from the pile…

“Help…me…” A small, newly formed pebble was stuck under the piles of debris, “I can’t…get up…” The little thing tried to reach out...

The pebble’s face was covered in cracks, she was not going to make it.

Pink was mortified, it was very hard to believe, was this all from the new power? Was this all her fault?

How can she love, when the people she loves suffer around her?  

She composed herself, dried off her tears and sadness, and did what was best for the new gem in pain.

Outside of the chamber, pink pearl was just clearing up the toys lying around, until she heard a thundering crash from her diamond’s workplace at the other side of the wall.

The pearl wasn’t keen on entering the experiment chamber of her diamond, but her diamond was taking a comparatively longer time than last time.

She stowed the toys away and knocked on the chamber door.

Knock knock

“Yes Pearl?” Her diamond responded from the inside.

“My diamond, is there something wrong? You’ve been in there for an awfully long time, is there something I can do for you?”

“….”

“Why yes pearl, there is. I need you to bring me one of my rare sapphires, there is something I need to consult…”

“Of course, right away my diamond!” Pinkpearl scurried off the room and went in

Realizing her destructive powers are getting out of hand, She asked Coral to invite a competent sapphire and leave them be.

The pink sapphire entered the room in a little dress with various heart designs, her gem located at the side of her dress.

“Sapphire, I am concerned with a certain...force of destruction in the upcoming future, can you tell me anything about it?

The pink sapphire spoke to her diamond, “My diamond, I foresee something that is not in your liking. If the destructive force you spoke of is not tamed, someone you cherish, someone close to you, someone dear to you, will endure eons of pain and suffering for the rest of their gem life, and it will never be healed.”

Pink diamond made a small but unrecognizable “gulp” sound, but she kept her composure.

“Anything else you can tell me? Maybe an…alternative to…prevent that specific outcome?” Pink questioned nervously, gritting her teeth, trying her best not to speak from her mind.

“I can try...my diamond, but my ability of predicting another outcome comes in…a different  form.” The sapphire tried to look further into the future, and she found something, but what was spoken out of her mouth was not to her diamond’s liking.

“To lessen the pain of the one you hold dear,

Another must endure, it must be a peer,

Instead of one in sole pain and agony,

One shall hurt, but it will be an irony.”

Pink diamond was not pleased, she opened her mouth and tried to say something, but for a while she was speechless, moments passed and she was able to blurt out, “What…what was that?”

The sapphire slightly gritted her teeth, as if she was embarrassed of her extra special ability. “Apologies My diamond, but that is the only way to showcase glimpses of another outcome, you would have to decipher it, and come to your own conclusion.”

Sighh, “Very well, thank you sapphire, that will be all.”

The sapphire left the room, back to her duties.

Pink diamond became nervous after what the gem said, she thanked the gem and dismissed. After some thinking, and some anxiety, she realized the gem that would be hurt forever would be her own pearl!

“Nononono, I…I can’t risk losing her! She's the closest gem I have as a friend! I can’t…”

As she covered her face with her hands, she went through the poem one more time.

“Wait, it must be a peer?

She turns her attention to the edge of the working desk, a little diamond shaped pink box with three ribbons in white, yellow and blue wrapped around it. She gently lifts the box, and sighs, “If it can help me save pearl from eternal damnation, I’ll do it.”

Pink brings the box outside of the experiment chamber, and was met with her pearl.

The small gem salutes her diamond, “My diamond, is everything alright?”

Pink went to the centre of the room, placing the box in the midst.

She opens a gift from the other diamonds, they thought having another pearl might help her organizing her stuff, she wasn’t keen on opening it, until now…

The ribbons were unwrapped, the box was opened, and out comes a glowing shell with a pearl levitating from the box, “Please identify yourself.” The voice was rather different than pinkpearl.

“Pink diamond.” Pink stated while pearl observed from the other end.

“Greetings Pink diamond, please refer customization options.” The gem announced.

Pink was trying to not shove the gem back into the back, regretting her choice of opening the box in front of pearl, she also didn’t want her to think the new gem was replacing her. Moments passed by, and she didn’t say anything.

“Default setting selected, please stand by.” The gem floated with grace, rising to higher altitudes and glowed into a form of a pearl figure. Multi Color palettes were the design for the default setting, so when she walked off the platform, she was the only figure not entirely pink.

Pink reached her hand out to pinkpearl and said, “Pearl, come meet the new pearl from the other diamonds.”

“Ohh, a new friend! Hi! I’m pearl! What’s your name?”

“Greetings pearl, I am Pearl.” The multicolour pearl politely greeted, but it left Pink confused in how to differentiate the two.

It took her a moment, but she quickly came up with a solution.

“You know pearl, since she’s also called Pearl, why don’t we give you a nickname? You know, so it won’t be confusing.” Pink suggested to pinkpearl.

“Why of course! Another nickname! What will it be?” pearl said excitedly.

“Yep, and this time, it's gonna be different! How about…Coral?”

“I love it!” To be fair, pearl would have loved any name she was given, so she never thought of it once whatever Pink suggested.

For once, Pink was able to sigh without the need to worry about something else, everything was going well as the two pearls stood within her sight, facing one another, smiling bigger than the other.

The view glitched, and everything turned different, Pearl and Coral, pointing weapons at each other instead of the first smiling version

The images paused and dissipated all around the room. At the last moment, Rose gasped, lying sideways and waking up from her deep slumber.

The last image she saw, imprinted on her mind, bothered her even more.

“I… I need to find them and set things straight before anything terrible happens!”

She got up, rushed out from her room and immediately ran into the future seeing fusion, Garnet.

“Oh! Garnet! Hurry! I need to know where Coral and Pearl are, do you see them anywhere?” Rose unintentionally demanded while shaking the fusion by the shoulders.

After the intense shaking, Garnet pointed to the warp pad and said, “Pearl said if anyone needs her, she would be at the sky arena with Coral, they should still be there.”

“Ohok good, I’ll just, go check up on them, hopefully nothing’s going on. Haha…ha…” and immediately rushed to the warp pad,

SHiinningggg

End of part 3

(A/N: heyho! If you read till the end, you get some additional information!

At this point (If you did the bingo card that is) you should have a bunch ticked, but there doesnt seem to be a complete line? If it is, then congrats! You’re getting close! 

BTW the next part is the last for the chapter! BYE!)

[theories-just-for-funzies]

“What’s the very worst thing you can do to your very best friends? Tell them your darkest secret, because if you tell them, and they decide they’d rather not know... You can’t take it back. You can’t unsay it. Once you’ve opened your heart, you can’t close it again.”

This is the second post I’m making about BBC Sherlock S4 (or anything about any fandom, really). You can find the first one here, the topic is almost the same. I’m really slow in writing down my theories in a way that is comprehensible by others, so I’m sorry if i don’t have a lot for the moment. Read this with the knowledge that I firmly believe in TJLC as explained by Rebekah on YouTube, and that S4 is not real as we see it, but is telling us what we need to know before they release S5 (or the special if that’ll come first) through unusual ways, TJLC style.

I think here Culverton smith is mirroring the writers, and his friends are the viewers. During the whole scene we have TONS of mirrored shots in the windows, most of it infact. In all of the previous seasons mirrors and character shots in mirrors were there to signal “hey this character is currently mirroring this other thing”, so idk it might be even this time??

Faith when she’s still drugged and tries to remember something about the conference, the first shot of her that we see, she’s in a mirror, even the desk reflect her image. Wander which part of the audience Faith is mirroring? Yeah, you guessed it. The tjlc fandom. The ones that analyze things. The ones that are questioning.

And the nurses? Idk, I’ve never seen a nurse that’s just putting an IV wearing a mask (unless under special circumstances of course), it never happens even when you’re taking blood samples, it just doesn’t ring right to me. So, who are the nurses? They’re people working for Culverton, they know what’s happening, they know what the solution is and what it does, they know how to administrate it, but they leave the room in the moment of confession. The nurses are mirroring BBC Sherlock’s crew.

If you’ve never worked on a set let me tell you: nobody, apart from the smallest possible amount of selected people, knows the whole picture, they can’t risk it, usually it’s just the writers, the producers, and most f the times the main actor; everyone else just knows the smallest informations to do their single job of adjusting the lights or hair for that single scene just like it’s written in their schedule.

So the crew knows partially what they’re doing, but they can’t speak, because their mouth is covered.

I’m thinking this is exactly the reason of S4. S4 is the memory drug. Everything made sense till now, tjlc was more and more evident, it was extremely obvious to everyone that johnlock was an actual thing, i mean just look at the sign of three, MY MOM THOUGHT THEY WERE CANONICALLY IN LOVE BEFORE I EVEN DID (at the time the fandom wasn’t the greatest so I avoided pretty much anything that wasn’t fan fictions or fan art, and just thought it was queer bait). Everything was super clever and well made. And then S4 came. A cheap Hollywood movie where nothing made sense and with john and sherlock great platonic friendship. And it was the last season so how could you not except what they already gave you and still want more, right?

Wrong. S4 is either complete bullshit or a distortion of what actually happens.

Culverton say that he can’t say his darkest secret because he can’t take it back, yet he does tell, and he does take it back.

The show does say that sherlock and john love each other (and are still pining) but S4 takes that back. You want the distorted version? Ok. Sherlock does explicitly says the words “i love you” in S4 to Molly in a physical mirror, a character’s mirror for John, whose description of the coffin perfectly fits John. The show does say that the writers aren’t stupid and aren’t making a tv show that’s just a blockbuster action movie, with cheap Hollywood effects and made up physic laws. Yet S4 takes that back.

The whole thing they kept saying in earlier seasons about “making history of television” and “making unprecedented things”? What unprecedented things? That was extreamely cheap cinematic, with really poor writings and a rip off of James Bond and classic horror movies. Nothing about S4 was memorable or relevant.

They already said everything they had to say (for the moment) but then they couldn’t leave the public waiting for another 6 years before S5 with all that hope and knowledge. Especially considering the fandom suspected even the phone\heart metaphor before ASiB even aired. Leave those people with the tiniest hope and you’d find your plans stripped naked for everyone to see in less than half of that hiatus. That’s really not Moffat style, he needs to give you hope, rip your heart open, surprise you leaving you gasping, only then he can make another plot twist and make everything super beautiful again and making you crying because it’s too many emotions.

So they said their things before S4, the fans that were still not sold on johnlock or didn’t want it canon were the friends who would rather not know, they went on with the brain washing of S4, and said “ok, we’re done here, nothing else to see, the show is finished, good night”. But just as with Faith’s story you can reconstruct if not all, part of what happened; because i don’t know if you noticed, but S4 doesn’t have a lot of plot holes, it is one single gigantic plot hole.

But what happens if they kill everyone just like Culverton Smith said? What happens if they make S4 so bad and destroy everything they said up until now with the show itself? What happens if the same people that were able to decode everything suddenly lost any faith because they were let down so much they just let the fandom die, and there was no one left to analyze what they were actually saying?

Everyone would forget all about TJLC and about how clever of a show it was. They would erase the whole show from people’s memories, letting it pass by like any other show that’s there to fill your Sunday evening.

Also there’s another thing that doesn’t sit right with me, although i don’t have any proof backing this up and am not sure of what I’m saying, it’s basically just speculation, but still. TD12 package:

obviously this drug doesn’t exist, the only thing i came across with that name is a percussion sound module, you’re welcome to make your own theories with this informations since i know absolutely nothing about music technology and am not the smartest tool in the shed when it comes to music theories or clues.

I presume TD12 it’s something along the line of saline solution, since Sherlock made that replacement himself later in the episde, my research (because i also have no knowledge about medical stuff) told me that saline solution has en expiration time of roughly 2 years. On the package we see that the expiration’s date is October 2018, so counting back, assuming Culverton got the drug shortly before doing his speach, the scene takes place somewhere around October 2016. Wander what happened in October 2016?

On BBC Sherlock official YouTube channel they release just one video: Sherlock Series 4 release date. Now. You might say I’m looking a little to much into it, but if you go check the release dates of the other YouTube videos you would see that they usually don’t post just one video per month, that’s the only one around that time period. Idk if you ask me it’s a lot of strange coincidences.

Anyway, in the scene he then says “these drip feeds will keep the drug in your blood streams at exactly the right levels. Nothing that is happening to you now will stay with you for more than a few minutes. I’m afraid that some of the memories you’ve had up to this point might also be... corrupted.”.

So the victims starting now, will continue to take the drug for the next idk 30 minutes???? But apparently some of the events preceding that moment can be “corrupted”. Translated: everything starting from October 2016 is fucked up because of the drug, not only that, but also some things from before that. I’m guessing the “drips” would be the little occasional posts or news??

Might I add the information that in December 2018 the escape room Sherlock the game is now opened? Like, i know it’s not October, maybe I’m just looking where i want to look, but... I genuinely don’t know, that’s why I’m sharing things, so that people with a more objective point of view can come and say to me “hey you’re not making any sense, what the fuck are you talking about”.

And overall, I’m not native English speaker, but I don’t think you say “corrupted” when talking about human memories. It sounds more something used in the context of digital memories, usually it’s files that gets corrupted, not human brain memories.

[aerlths]

fourth rank. tseng

request: would like to request a tseng imagine where he finds out his S/o is pregnant probably back to the accounts of what they did in the office/home in your last fic and Elena being jealous of S/o tries to upset her as much as possible but tseng making sure what belongs to him but he happy to have a child with his s/o. Also can we get supportive uncles rufus, rude & Reno please.

previous imagine referenced (you don’t need to read that one, they’re independent works)

[reminder that requests are open for headcanons, imagines or fake text messages, all characters and pairings.]

word count: 3704

You hid the pearl white object between your palms, staring straight ahead at the dark cherry wood of the cubicle’s door. Shinra’s bathroom wasn’t quite the place where you’d idealized such a moment, but as you’d moved in with Tseng a month back, it was the only viable option. Your knee began moving on its own accord, up and down in a rhythm that resembled your rapid heartbeat.

The passing of those unbearably slow couple of minutes was announced with a light beep – a new model designed for discreetness while reassuring it had done its job. You took a second longer, just one, and turned the test in your hand to see ‘8 weeks pregnant’ written in bold letters.

“Fuck,” it left your parted lips before the magnitude of this new reality had even begun settling in.

You instinctively reached for your stomach, fingertips circling in a soft caress, as if to reassure this new life that you knew they were there, that mom was here. Fuck, mom. You were going to be a mom. And Tseng would be a dad - the two of you would be building a family? The thought of your fiancé coddling a small bundle immediately brought you to tears, and you had to bury your face in your hands to muffle the sounds of joy that escaped your throat.

Leaving that small stall you’d been sitting on for most of your lunch break proved to be a much more difficult task than it had been coming in. Your reflection clearly denounced that something had happened, and you could only pray that no one was to come in while you blew your nose and fixed your makeup.

When you finally walked out, you were met with a long-haired man leaning against the wall by the bathroom. You practically jumped at the sight of him, like a cat caught nipping at the fish. By the preoccupied look he threw you, it didn’t slip by unnoticed.

“Are you alright, love?” He asked in a cautiously low tone, and you couldn’t help the way your heart dropped in his presence. The little object buried within your suit jacket surely explained the overwhelming adoration you’d been feeling for him lately – you could tell daddy would be the favorite.

You considered him, leaving his comfort zone to approach you at work, and offered him a smile. “I am, shouldn’t I be?”

“You were in there for a while,” he gestured towards the ladies’ room behind you, “I was worried something might have happened.”

God, it would take immense willpower not to immediately blurt everything at him. You made an attempt at striking up a pose. “I was doing my makeup! You know I like to look good when we do field work.”

Tseng scrunched his nose and eyed you, searching. You felt yourself heat under his gaze, never quite getting used to the intensity of those eyes. “I don’t believe you. We’ll talk later.”

He’d caught you but didn’t seem the slightest upset. Instead, you were blessed with a brief kiss to your temple, the sweetness of it melting at your core. He guided you through the small of your back along the corridor, only inching away from you when you arrived at the office’s entrance.

The thought that graced your mind when he left for his desk in the adjacent room made you flush from head to toe, and you had to quickly turn away from him to avoid any questions. Eight weeks, the test had said. Six weeks dated back to a particular night in this very office, or perhaps its follow-up only a mere hours later. Six weeks in which he subtly eased your presence into his work life, where he slowly released his stoic façade to meet you in a healthier in-between.

You hadn’t had much time to think of just how you would reveal the news to him, but you instantly knew that you wanted to make him feel. For a brief moment the idea of requesting his friend’s help to surprise him crossed your mind, but you scratched that – you want him to be the first one to tell, and, figures, walls have ears and Elena does too. The last thing you wanted was her finding out this early, and your raging hormones would most likely have you clawing at her face or blowing up that annoying little smirk.

Breathing deeply to avoid feeding the thought, you searched for your two companions for the day’s mission – Reno and Rude. Tseng was to stay behind signing off some paperwork, and you would be exceptionally supervised by none other than the vice-president himself, Rufus Shinra.

No one knew exactly why he was involving himself in this case. Despite its importance, it was an extremely rare occasion to have him take even a smidge of interest in your activities. Some had speculated that he was planning to raise the position of one more Turk, but you doubted it – most likely, he had a personal connection to the group of men you were investigating.

And so, as cheerful as you had never been in the years you’ve served the company, the four of you arrived at the scene. Reno was tapping his nightstick against his shoulder, as if doing so enlightened him in some way, and you could see Rufus side-eyeing him, not maliciously, but with curiosity. He was about to go further ahead when you halted him with a raise of your arm.

“Wait,” you warned, and touched the yellow materia tucked within your wristband. When you felt no response from the sense command, you lowered down your arm. “Now it’s clear.”

Rude chuckled behind you, and you heard a chirp bark of something along the lines of ‘that’s tsengs girl’ from the fiery redhead already marching ahead. You proceeded with caution through the dark tunnel, fully aware that there was something very important that needed protection. Your fight style, though, was almost exclusively based on your powerful materia usage, as you had a particular endurance and skill for handling magic attacks than most. This meant that you could engage in a battle from a safe distance, and that you could just as easily cast a barrier upon yourself.

He probably won’t allow me to do missions like this once he finds out, though, were the words that found themselves into your head. Nevermind that, you continued on the second highest ranking turk’s heel, fingertips lingering around the green orb at your hip, just in case.

“Fuck!” You heard, and that was the catalyst to lead you all into a chase.

Reno, having mastered his impressive speed materia, was already way ahead, and in what turned out to be a very unsatisfying short-lived action moment, caught up to the runaway. He hit him right across the chest, harshly, and in the blink of an eye Rude had him secured, arms behind his back.

You remained in place, wary of the easiness with which you’d found this man. You’d been looking for an old Turk, a runway that had resurfaced with the threat of spilling all the dirty little secrets he’d learned while on the job, and the three of you – three of the very best – had been sent to take him down. Would someone who was fully aware of the risks and yet still provoked Shinra be this weak?

Just as you’d suspected, there was only the warning of rustling behind one of the pillars before something was shot in your direction. Without a thought, you cast Barrier on the Vice-president, knowing you should first and foremost protect him. Before you could shield yourself, however, a man came flying towards you, delivering a blow right in the middle of your chest. One of your hands came to instinctively meet your stomach as you fell to the ground, while the other reached for the metal staff that was shrunk in your pocket. As you pulled the object out, it extended to its full, massive length, and shone a silver-ish light around your body.

Beside you, Rufus was surrounded by the same protection, his pistol in hand prepared to shoot at the figure hiding once again. He looked over to you, blue eyes lingering a moment too long on your middle area, and back ahead. Reno and Rude rushed over two your side, and they too exchanged a suspicious glance, but said nothing. You weren’t certain if it was the hormones or the maternal instincts kicking in, but by the intensity of your glare and the iron grip on your staff, anyone could tell you had entered murder-mode.

“I know it’s been a while since you’ve been a part of the team buddy, but you really shouldn’t underestimate us fresh faces like that.” Reno taunted, clicking his tongue in disapproval. He too seemed more than a little pissed at the dirty trick.

“I don’t feel like playing.” You looked between the men around you and exhaled loudly, raising your weapon in the direction of their target. “We’re not giving you time to prepare, you stupid fuck.”

Rude winced behind you, but quickly changed his expression into one of awe as you wordlessly blew up the pillar where he hid with a powerful Fire spell, blasting him back in the process. You stepped back, knowing full well you should leave them to the rest if you wanted to keep up to barriers. They, of course, wasted no time in engaging him in battle, ultimately resulting in knocking him out.

As they fought, Rufus inched closer to you, his voice low. “The fourth spot is yours.”

You blinked, confused. “Pardon, Mr. Vice-President?”

He gave you the smallest of smiles, the silver shimmer still strong around his form. “At first, I was simply curious to see to exactly whose wedding I had gotten invited to, but I now see that there must be a change in rank. I can comprehend why Tseng would place a ring on you.”

The harsh sound of Rude’s fist against the target’s cheek had been unsettling enough that you were momentarily distracted, but Rufus continued, unphased. “I’m moving you up. You have very impressive control, especially considering your…situation.”

His gesture towards your stomach had your face going very pale, eyes wide. “H-How did you…?”

But you looked down, and realized your palm was still placed protectively against the area. Ah. “Thank you, Mr. Vice President. But please don’t mention the baby to Tseng, I have just found out myself.”

A very loud echo of “Baby?!” had you jumping in surprise, the seemingly finished duo turning towards you with cat-like grins. Well, there goes telling your fiancé first.

“Dude, Tseng’s gonna be a dad? What the fuck.” Reno practically yelled, twisting the arm of the detained man in his excitement. “Does this mean I’m like, an uncle?”

The usually calm and extremely quiet Rude nearly mirrored his colleague’s excitement, and it warmed your heart to see him as such. His expression changed significantly into one of worry as he seemed to have reached a realization – you braced yourself. “(Y/N), you do realize Tseng will murder us once he realizes we let you get hit, right?”

Reno widened his eyes and let out another loose ‘fuck’. You shook your head at them, smiling. “I can take care of myself, and I’m only eight weeks in. That trash bag hit me in the chest, I’m fine.”

They didn’t relax at all, but you didn’t blame them. Even you were preoccupied with the possibility of him being upset.

Upset?

Holy shit, Elena was about to burn the entire Shinra’s Headquarters down. She’d been the previous fourth place, praised for her martial arts skills, and now not only had she dropped down from the golden quartet in lieu of you, but she would also have to swallow down the very big ‘you’ll have her crush’s child’ lump. She was going to lose her mind, you were completely certain – and, well, she did.

In the trip back the two men chose to ignore the death countdown above their heads to go back to the excitement of the news. Even Rufus himself seemed thoroughly amused, and you felt a bit like a celebrity with the amount of attention you were receiving from them. The commotion didn’t go unnoticed when you arrived back at the office, mission successful, and you had to practically implore the two Turks to act normal and go back to their jobs. They had, however, helped you come up with a sweet idea, and were currently ensuring that no one would disturb you as you went over to his office.

Seriously, if you didn’t tell him right then, it was bound to reach his ears before the end of the day. Reno didn’t quite understand the meaning of secrecy, and had rambled so loudly in the truck you took that you wouldn’t be surprised if all the lower ranking SOLDIERs – snow-balled information from the drivers in your trip – already knew. So there you were, a small package in your hands, and the softest smile you’d ever given him.

You closed the door behind you as you entered, granting you an immediate raise of his brows. “I gather it went well?”

“It did! The Vice President even gave me Elena’s place.” You mused, slowly walking up to him.

“He did?” He asked, and the pointed look you shot him had him backtracking. “Not that I don’t think you deserve it! He just doesn’t seem the type to make sudden changes like that.”

You leaned against his desk next to where he sat, trying desperately to hide the excitement. You faked a pout. “I’ll have you know he was impressed by my quick response and magic use!”

“I know love, you’re the most talented I know.” He assured you, and you felt your cheeks warming at his words. He closed the laptop he’d been typing on to fully turn to you, giving you his undivided attention. There was something in that little gesture, something that was still novelty in your relationship, that had you melting inside. “You came here for something, right? Is everything okay?”

Smiling again, albeit a bit shyly this time around, you placed the nicely wrapped package in front of him. “It’s a gift for you. I think you’ll need it.”

He looked at you with that warm, loving gaze he reserved for your most intimate moments. It had you dying to jump him and hold him tightly, but you didn’t want to ruin the surprise. He palmed the packaging, instantly being able to tell what it was, and smiled. “I always need book; you know me well.”

“This one is special though.” You commented, almost as if absentmindedly, and waited for him to tear apart the dark blue wrapping paper.

The cover for the parenting book “Cribsheet” was staring right at him. You didn’t fully comprehend what it was from the way his expression transitioned from confused to understand to blatant happiness that turned on the faucet and had the water works begin. Wordlessly, and with every inch of him practically yelling adoration, he pulled you into his lap and sank his head in your chest.

You arms wrapped around him, holding him close. “We’re going to be parents.”

He nodded against you, still refusing to look up. He whispered against your body. “I love you so, so much (Y/N).”

Your heart was filled to the brim with a type of joy, a blissful feeling you couldn’t explain or pinpoint. Only then you realized, you hadn’t once considered the chance that he might not want this child. You knew the man you loved, and you knew he didn’t do anything on accident – if he was occasionally ignoring contraceptives, you knew that it meant that he was ready. And you were ready too, to love and protect whatever precious thing that you’d give birth to.

After a little while, he pulled away to take in your image, the goofy grin on both your faces priceless. “How long?”

“Two months.” You said, to which his smile only grew. “There’s actually a chance that they were conceived right here, you know?”

Tseng visibly gulped and scratched the back of his head, pretending it had nothing to do with him. You couldn’t help the giggle that escaped your mouth.

                                                                       ***

            The following day, it soon became evident that the entire floor was aware of your situation. On the pleasant side, it did feel good to have people gushing over you, praising you, and overall just being extra nice. You knew you wouldn’t tolerate it if you were to spend the next seven months being coddled as if you were made of glass, and you’d made it very clear to Tseng the previous night that you’d continue working for as long as it was safe for the child. However, this initial warmth from your coworkers was doing wonders to your ego and already excellent mood. That was, until Elena came into play.

You’d pondered before that if she were to bother you while you had something this important, precious baby growing inside of you, she’d finally get to see you at your worst. For two years – the time you’d officially dated Tseng, you tolerated her and her big mouth under nothing but respect for her as a coworker. She, on the other hand, had gotten bolder and bolder instead of realizing that he was playing catch with no one, as Tseng was completely off limits. You had yet to give her the taste of your metal that you’d been wanting to solely because of your man, who had to protect the order within the Turks.

Right now, with that lopsided smirked and the malicious twist of her hair, you were about to say a big fuck you to all of that.

It started in the early morning, when you were in the line to get coffee, when you heard a snicker and the words, “That’s why she’s been looking so fat,” out of Elena’s mouth. The baby inside of you not only was obsessed with daddy, but also apparently with blood, because you very nearly spilt the hot liquid in her flat chest.

Breathe, remember? You told yourself to find that perfect picturesque place inside your head, travel far down there, and leave the blond alone or she would, and emphasis on the complete certainty, get some serious bruises on herself.

The baby, think about the baby.

And so you ignored her. And you ignored her when she complained about her rank swap, when she commented on your appearance at least three other times, when she wondered aloud whether Tseng was cheating on you or not, and soon the “think about the baby, calm down” turned into “think about the baby, they want you to destroy her”.

At about the seventh time you heard another off-hand comment from her, you understood why she was acting so bold. Somewhere on that dysfunctional brain of hers, she concluded that you would sit quietly and take it because you had a child to protect. She’d apparently forgotten that you could most likely beat her up with an eight month’s belly, much easier with only two months.

Reno and Rude had been off on a mission of their own, nowhere near to hold you off, and Tseng was working from within his personal office. There was no one around with competence to pull you off from her if you did decide to give in to bloodthirst. Good.

It was at the eight comment, that was met by even her friends with disgust, that you flew from your chair to stand in front of her.

“What the fuck did you say?” You snarled, dared her to repeat. You’d heard her pretty clearly, much more than you ever wanted to hear.

Your profession wasn’t particularly dignified, and you all did a lot of bad things – but fuck if you aren’t going to bash her head in for the words that escaped her mouth.

She stared at you, clearly taken aback. “It’s a joke…calm down.”

“Say it,” you taunted, reaching for a blue orb that dangled in the belt by your waist, fully ready to go all out, “repeat how you just “joked” about me losing this child. Say it.”

Elena gulped visibly, and you were right to assume that she was under the impression you magically became a defenseless centerpiece. “Lighten up, I was obviously jo-“

She didn’t finish, because you’d already taken your staff out, fully intending to rip her a new one. Before you could even Poison her, though, a firm hand came to rest on your shoulder. You knew without turning around who it belonged to.

You attempted to explain. “Tseng, she just--“

“I know, I heard you.” His tone was cold, borderline terrifying, but you knew you weren’t the target of his rage. If there was a hole in the ground, Elena would’ve hopped in without looking back.

“Tseng, I can expla--” She tried.

“You’re suspended.” He stated firmly, a gloved hand pointing accusingly at her. “I’m taking up this matter with Vice President himself. I’ve had it up to here with your antics. Your big mouth has caused us enough troubles as it is, but you can’t even keep it to yourself in your workplace. Workplace harmony is also extremely important for a job like ours where we only have each other to rely on, and the only conflicts we’ve had in ages we’re solely provoked by you. You’re suspended.”

            You were left staring in a mixture of shock and absolute delight at your future husband, relieved beyond measure that he’d finally put her in her place. You were, however, disappointed that you didn’t get your chance to finally get revenge.

Later on, when the two of you lay in bed, his hand lazily tracing soothing circles against your back and chin tucked atop your head, he reinforced just how amazing you were, and that no Elena would change the fact that you were the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. (Ah, and perhaps you discovered that this man had an…inclining to seeing you fight. Figures.)

[chickensarentcheap]

Best Part of Me -Chapter 31

Warning: Profanity

Tagging: @c-a-v-a-l-r-y​, @innerpaperexpertcloud​, @alievans007​,  @ocfairygodmother​

Two days later he finds himself on a chartered plane to The Kimberley; paying handsomely and out of pocket for the privacy and security that a flight of that nature could...and would...provide him with. Contacting an old buddy from his SASR days that had started his own travel company flying people throughout the northern territory of Australia; mostly tourists wanting to spend their time roaming  the remotest of places. Thrill seekers who wanted to try their hand at cliff diving or getting up close and personal with the prolific wildlife;   exploring the waterfalls and the gorges and getting a taste of life in the outback. When Tyler had called and offered triple what one day of flights would bring in plus a bonus for fuel and for a vow silence, his buddy had jumped at the chance. Clearing his schedule for twenty-five hours and offering at be at Tyler’s beck and call, promising not to ask any questions or expect any answers or explanations. He was on a need to know basis, and he simply didn’t need to know.

He rents a vehicle in Broome under a fake name; paying cash and giving extra when he fails to provide any identification verifying who  he is.  He barely speaks; simple yes or no answers, never giving too much or too little. Keeping his sunglasses over his eyes and his ball cap on his head; beard trimmed close to his face; hair tightly cropped to the scalp.  He wants to keep things on the down low just in case he is on someone’s radar. The less people who know his business, the better. Fewer bread crumbs left scattered about means he has a better chance of keeping things off the grid. If someone IS watching him and his family, it’s of dire importance to keep things quiet. Don’t draw attention to yourself. Don’t arouse suspicion. And most importantly, don’t put an even bigger target on your back.

He sits in the car rental parking lot; behind the wheel of a Range Rover that’s used to the roads and can handle the rugged and sometimes unforgiving terrain, checking his text messages and emails. The mystery of who Salena actually is continues to deepen; there’s no record of anyone with that name -first or last- having ever attended college of university anywhere in Australia within the past twenty years. Nothing found through the department of transport; no record of a driver’s license issued through them, no vehicle ownership, no tickets or other driving infractions. It’s going to take long than Tyler had anticipated or hoped; his contacts needing time to hack into government databases. Years on the job have left him a wealth of ‘friends’; people who respect and trust him ,who he in turn can rely on to not ask too many questions and he knows won’t turn him away when he shows up out of the blue asking for help.

There had been  no luck on the Jeep; other than learning that the plates had been stolen three days before from a grocery store parking lot in Victoria. How they’d ended up on a vehicle in Cooktown presents an even bigger question. He’d wanted to avoid confronting Salena himself; hoping he’d get the answers he wanted -and needed-without resorting to calling her out. He plans to give it three more days. If he hears nothing by the end of the week, he will go over to the house and demand she tell him what the fuck is going on. No one puts his family in jeopardy. Perceived or not. And if he doesn’t hear what he wants, she will find out the hard way just how savage he can actually be.

He calls home. One of the ‘rules’ they’d adopted years ago -and stuck to - when they’d first gotten married was to always call when you reach your destination; so the other knows that you’ve arrived safe and sound.  The other is that you never leave the house without saying ‘I love you’. Life is too short, and if Dhaka had taught them anything.  it was how quickly and drastically things could go wrong;  your entire existence dramatically -and permanently- altered.  And although he hadn’t seen the Jeep or the driver in the past forty eight hours, the lack of leads and solid information have left a bitter taste in his mouth, along with the even more speculation and suspicion. Things are NOT what they seem. He’s one hundred percent sure of that. It isn’t paranoia or hypervigilance or a case of him being an overprotective husband and father; it’s fact. The neighbour and the Jeep driver both sounding the alarm and kicking his instincts into high gear.

He hasn’t said a word. Not wanting to spook her or the kids. For now he simply plays his cards close to his chest. Keeping an eye on everyone and everything; coming up with a game plan for every possible scenario.

“But when will you be home?” Tanner asks, sounding dangerously close to tears. He’d expected Millie or TJ to be the emotional and sensitive ones; they’ve always taken his absences a lot of harder than their brother. Tanner had always been the strong and stoic one; the emotional and moral support for his siblings. But since Tyler’s return from New Zealand, the dynamic between them has changed. Their relationship tighter and stronger than ever.

“I’ll be there when you get home from school tomorrow,” Tyler assures him, his own lump of emotion sitting squarely and solidly in his throat. It’s so fucking hard. Leaving them. Even when it’s just an overnight trip.

“You promise?”

“I promise. I just have a couple of things to do. An old friend to see. Then I’m coming right home.”

“”You’ll be here when we get off the bus?”

“I will. And I tell you, I’ll pick you guys up. We’ll go out and do something before going home. Just the three of us. Okay?”

“Okay daddy,” Tanner swallows noisily.

“You tell Millie and TJ what I said.  That I’ll meet you guys at school. And you help out your mum, yeah? You do whatever she saw and whatever she asks. No giving her a hard time. Promise?”

“I promise. You promise, too? That you’ll be there to pick us up?”

“I promise, mate. I’ll be there.”

“I love you, daddy.”

“I love you too. And I’ll see you tomorrow. Let me talk to mommy.”

“Okay,” Tanner sniffles noisily, and there’s a slight rustling as the phone is passed from one person to the other, followed by Esme giving gentle yet firm orders about starting -and finishing- homework before anyone is allowed time on the beach.

“You got there okay?” She speaks to him now, voice quiet and tired.

“Safe and sound. It’ll take a couple of hours to get there. I don’t know how good the reception is going to be when I get there. It used to be shit when I lived there.”

“That must have been so disappointing for you and your harem of women,” she teases. “Hard to sext with unreliable reception.”

“You’re a smart ass, you know that?”

“So you tell me.”

“If the signal is decent later, I’ll sext you later.”

“Yeah?” she laughs. “I think I’d rather it happen over the phone. So I can hear your voice. I’d much rather hear you say disgustingly dirty things than type them. You’re a master of naughty talk. And in that voice, ” she sighs happily, then turns serious. “You sound tired.”

“I am. It wasn’t a good night last night.”

Another nightmare; a new one this time. Of masked and heavily armed men breaking into the house and binding him to a chair and  forcing him to watch as they raped and murdered his wife. Then shooting him -non fatally- before taking off with the kids. He can still hear their voices; his children...his flesh and blood...screaming in terror and pleading with him to help them. He’d woken up with a choked sob; bolting into a sitting position, body covered head to toe in sweat, tears streaming down his face and his heart pounding and his chest aching. Somehow he’d managed to not wake Esme up, and for an hour he’d laid beside her watching her sleep. Marvelling in the way the moonlight bathed her skin in an ethereal glow and how her lips were curved into the smallest and softest of smiles; the ends of her eyelashes brushing against the top of her cheeks and her body rising and falling with each slow, steady breath.

And when she’d mentioned at breakfast how restless he’d been through the night, he’d lied and placed the blame on his shoulder and knee. She didn’t need to hear that; the horrific and grotesque details of some fucked up night terror. In the same way he’d never tell her about Gaspar’s real offer and the things Asif had planned for her.

“You’re okay now?” she asks. “Is it any better?”

He wants to tell her that physically he feels pretty damn good; nothing more than a dull ache in the shoulder and a stiff knee. Mentally he’s struggling. The cravings for the Oxy have diminished, but the ones for booze are powerful and nearly all consuming. It’s the stress of not knowing what’s happening; the worry of the unknown. Just exactly who is the new next door neighbor? Who was it that had been watching him and the kids? Is his family going to be safe while he’s gone? Ovi and Kyle are there; and while it gives him some piece of mind, they don’t stand a chance against the type of people that Tyler has faced.

“It’s better,” he replies. “Knee’s a bit stiff but that’s nothing new. I’m always going to hobble like I’m eighty. I’m used to it now.”

“Well for what it’s worth, I think your hobble is kind of cute,” she says.

“I’d like to tell you that that makes me feel better, but when you use the word cute…”

“You ARE cute though. In a lot of ways. And you can’t convince me otherwise. You call me cute.”

“Because you ARE cute. You were especially cute this morning when you were looking up at me while waking me up by sucking my…”

“Okay,” she interrupts with a giggle. “We do not need a play by play of this morning. Because it will only get me all hot and bothered and now is not a good time to be hot and bothered. Behave yourself, okay? Don’t get into any trouble.”

“I promise I will not get into any drunken bar brawls.”

“I’d like you stay sober, please. I know how much Koen likes his beer and he’s going to want a drinking buddy and he hasn’t seen you in a long time and...”

“I know how to say no. I’m forty years old. I won’t give in to peer pressure.”

“I just worry about you. I know you’re in a bad place right now and being away from home might make the urges stronger and…”

“ I’m not going to lose you. Or my kids. I’ve got this. It’s not going to beat me.”

“You’re a strong man, Tyler Rake. Regardless of what you think.”

He smiles. “I love you, baby.”

“I love you, too. Come home quick, play? We miss you. I miss you.”

“That soon?” He grins. “That’s gotta be a record.”

“Well I’ve gotten used to you being around. I know I sometimes bitch and moan about you…”

“Sometimes?”

“...but I still like having you here.”

“Yeah? Well I like being there. You make it pretty easy to stick around.”

“Even with all my bitching and moaning?”

“Even then.”  

“Drive safe,  okay? And don’t tell me not to worry about you because that will never happen. If you can get a signal, call me later. Just so I know how you are. I kind of like hearing your voice  before I go to sleep.”

“I will,” Tyler promises. “I’ll be home tomorrow. My flight gets in at noon.”

“I’ll pick you up.”

“Esme, you don’t…”

“I’ll pick you up,” she insists. “Don’t give me a hard time about this. Just me do something nice for you, alright?”

He smiles. “Alright.”

“We’ll talk soon. I love you, Tyler.”

He’s always loved the way his name has sounded coming out of her mouth. Whether it’s sweet and loving like just now,  or soft and sleepy when he wakes her up after she’s falling asleep against him on the couch. Or   when she’s in the midst of a round of hysterical giggles when he’s tickling her mercilessly or when it’s interspersed with moans and sighs during more intimate moments or she’s screaming it loud enough to wake the dead.

“I love you, Esme,” he says in return. “So much. I’ll see you when I see you.”

She gives a small laugh. “You haven’t said that in a long time. That used to be our ‘thing’. Whenever you’d leave for a job, you never left without saying that. I’ve missed it. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

With that she disconnects the call. And for several minutes he sits there in that dusty parking lot, tears stinging his eyes as he stares down at the phone clutched tightly in his hand.

****

The road is ragged and rough, but there’s a familiarity to it that Tyler has missed. The way the SUV rocks and slides; the crunch and pop of stone and dirt under the tires and the patter of pebbles against metal and the windshield. The plume of dust that is kicked up behind him.  It’s been years since he’s been out this way; returning once shortly after he’d finished his stint in rehab after Dhaka. His counsellor convincing him that it would be beneficial to his progress if he visited one last time; the act of saying goodbye to that part of his past giving him a sense of closure, and making it easier for him to get on with the present AND the future. But he’d felt nothing upon his return; he’d never formed any kind of bond with the place, using it primarily as just somewhere to eat and lay his head. And drink himself into oblivion nearly every night.

His mind is much clearer now. It’s been years since he’d last taken Oxy, and six months since even a drop of booze. He feels a little more nostalgic;  the mountain range and the sparse treeline coming into view, spying the rusted old gate that’s still standing after all these years.

He immediately thinks of that afternoon seven years ago when he’d returned home to find a helicopter sitting in his front yard and Nik waiting for him on the porch. He’d been irritated at first; all he’d wanted was to be alone and to wallow in his own self pity and maybe even drink and drug himself to death. Then he’d realized that Nik was likely bringing what he needed the most: an escape. That she had something big for him; a job he couldn’t -and wouldn’t- refuse.  And he remembers standing in the kitchen as she sent into a spiel about one drug dealer snatching another drug dealer’s kid and how he was being held in Dhaka. The front door had been open and he’d let his mind wander as she spoke and that’s when he saw her: a tiny brunette with an impossibly tight and toned body in jean shorts, tank top, and flip flops, climbing out of the helicopter.  Chatting and laughing over her shoulder with Yaz as she headed towards the shack. Pausing on the porch as Maggie -his old and faithful canine companion- happily greeted the newcomer; immediately flopping over onto her back and demanding stomach rubs.

He’d stood there watching; barely hearing a word Nik said as he noted all the tattoos and the piercings in her nose and and just below her bottom lip. The way one strap of the tank top kept slipping off her shoulder.  Knowing that his life was about to change, but never imagining just how much.

Koen is standing on the front porch when Tyler steps out of the SUV; an Australian cattle dog with a yellow bandana tied around its neck sitting patiently as his friend’s side, tail wagging in excitement. Koen’s one of his oldest -and dearest- friends; serving together throughout their years in the SASR. Walking through hell together in war zones like Kabul and Kandahar; dodging bullets and escaping death and shedding blood, sweat, and tears. He’s a decade older than Tyler; grittier, weathered. Several inches shorter; stocky and wide, his youthful and more muscular days behind him. But he’s rough; tough as nails and fearless. And even now Tyler would still trust him to have his back in even the most dire and dangerous of situations.

“Jesus...Christ…”  Koen grumbles as Tyler approaches, and then ruffles the scruff of the dog’s neck. “...Sadie, get the shotgun. We’ve got a sketchy bastard in our midst.”

“Is Sadie your right palm or your left?” Tyler inquires.

“Always were a smart ass little prick. You kiss your mother with that mouth?”

“Nope. But I kiss yours.”

Koen smirks, and in two strides he’s off the porch and embracing Tyler warmly; a tight, affectionate huge that comes with years of surviving the worst together. “Holy shit…” he drawls, and gives Tyler’s hair a tussle and then holds him out at arms length. “...you’re a big bastard now, ain’t ya.”

“Two thirty, two thirty five. Maybe a bit heavier.”

Koen squeezes Tyler’s shoulders, then his biceps. “Like a fucking brick wall. What the hell she been feeding ya?”

“Lots of good shit. She treats me right. I can’t complain.”

“Can’t believe she’s still putting up with the likes of you. I gave her the chance, you know. When you were all laid up in that hospital with a tube in your dick. Told her if she wanted a real man, I was ready, willing, and able.  She wouldn’t take me up on it, though. Already attached to you for some fucking reason. How you keeping? Things are good? You look good.”

“I feel good. What’s this?” He slaps the back of his hand against Koen’s stomach. “When ya due?”

“I oughta slap that shit eating grin clear off your face. And I would if I hadn’t missed your sorry face. Good to you, mate. Damn good to see you.” Koen embraces him once again. “Wasn’t sure you’d make it. Didn’t look too good for a while.”

“That was almost seven years ago,” Tyler points out.,

“Been that fucking long?” Koen gives a long, low whistle and shakes his head. “Sometimes feels like it was just yesterday. Getting that call. How she ever tracked me down while you were in a coma, I’ll never know.”

“A nurse gave her my phone. She just went through my contacts, picked a name, and hoped for the best.”

“You’re a fucking lucky bastard, you know. Having a girl like that. Any lady that will stick by your side like that...do the things she did...well that’s a lady worth keeping. You’ve been treating her right, I hope. Because I’m not above calling her and finding out. Or kicking your ass if she’s got bad tales to tell.”

“We’ve been through some shit,” Tyler admits. “But she’s still hanging in there. For some reason or another.”

“Needs her goddamn head read, if you ask me. Why should she be stuck with that,” he nods at Tyler. “When she could have this?”

Tyler just chuckles, and Koen slings an arm around him and leads the way inside.

****

The shack is more habitable now; the living area, bedroom, and kitchen are still open concept, but a wall now separates them from the bathroom. There’s insulation and sheetrock; no rickety wooden planks with gaps and holes that used to let in the rain and dirt when the wind storms picked up. It’s plain yet bright; light beige pint, a wood floor glazed over with a natural stain, hand constructed butcher block counter tops in the kitchen and a toilet, sink, and tub in sparkling condition. The roof is still tin though, and Tyler can vividly recall the sound of rain hammering against it; lonesome and depressing on the darkest and emptier of nights.

Koen gestures for him to take a seat at the kitchen table -the same one that had been there when Tyler had given him the place nearly seven years ago- and he takes a seat in one of the weathered and wobbly chairs. Watching as his old friend moves to the cupboard above the sink and takes out two glasses and a half empty bottle of whisky. Tyler  doesn’t say anything at first; silent as Koen pours the amber coloured liquor into the glasses and then places one in front of him before taking a seat across the table.

He considers it; just ONE drink. Something to take the edge of. His fingertips against the cold, smooth surface of the glass; smelling it, tasting it on his lips and his tongue. The craving gnaws at his belly and preys on his mind; telling him he needs it. Deserves it. And the rim of the glass is pressed against his lips when the sunlight streaming through the kitchen window catches the white gold of his wedding band. The glint capturing his attention; a proverbial kick in the ass for even considering what he was about to do. And he sets the glass down on the table without taking a single sip.

Koen frowns. “Something wrong?”

“I don’t do this anymore,” Tyler says.  “Drink. I haven’t for six months.”

He expects some kind of trash talking, or at least a laugh and incredulous shake of the head. But Koen just gives a nod of understanding and then stands up, carrying the glass to the sink and dumping the whisky down the drain.

“Why the fuck didn’t you say something?” He asks, then grabs a bottle of water from the fridge and then sets it down in front of Tyler before returning to his seat. “Sober, huh?”

“Half a year now.”

“Must have been hard.”

“Still is,” Tyler admits. “But I made a promise.  To stay clean. To my wife and my kids. And that’s a promise I intend to keep.”

Koen grins. “Good man. About time you cleaned yourself up. You were on a pretty dangerous path there. Didn’t like the way you were headed. But you’re a stubborn bastard and you wouldn’t listen to a damn thing I had to say. Go figure it took a pretty girl to get through to you. She’s good?”

“She’s  good,” he confirms. “Very good.”

“And the kids?”

“Getting big. Every day I look at them and I notice things changing about them. And they’re smart. Crazy smart. Especially Millie. So much like her mom.”

“Well thank God she got the brains from her momma because if she got the looks and the smarts from you, I’d pity the poor child. And the new one? How’s she doing?”

“Growing like a weed. Still tiny as hell though. Looks just like Esme.”

He reaches into the side pocket of his cargo short and takes out his phone; bringing up the photo gallery and then passing the cell to his friend.

“Now ain’t she a teeny thing,” Koen smiles, as he scrolls through the pictures. “How does something that small come from the likes of you? And Jesus, look at the twins. Spitting image of you. Especially this little bloke…” he holds the screen out towards Tyler, showing him a picture of Tanner taken just minutes after  he’d gotten Tyler’s old hair cut; the one he’d been sporting when he’d met Esme. “...which one is he?”

“That’s Tanner. The youngest of the two.”

“Fucking looks just like you. Especially with that hair. That’s how I remember you looking. With that hair. Now you got a mini me wandering around out there. Hope all the parents lock their daughters up. Especially if he’s anything like you. You���re very fortunate, you know. Never thought I’d see you like this...a husband...a father...but I’m glad I did. If anyone deserved to get their shit together and deserved to have a second chance at life, it was you. And this…” he holds the phone out once again; a candid photo of Esme on the beach. A close up that Tyler had taken after he’d tried to teach her how to surf; her hair wet and dangling down the sides of her face,  freckles of sand on her forehead and cheeks, a slight sunburn on the bridge of her nose, eyes sparkling as she smiled.  

“You lucky fucker,” Koen scoffs. “You better keep on the straight and arrow, ‘cause I reckon there’s a lot of blokes that wouldn’t mind taking your place beside the likes of her.”

“She’s definitely a keeper,” Tyler agrees. “I’m not letting her go anytime soon.”

“Or ever,” his friend says, and he nods. “I was surprised when you called and said you were taking a trip out here.  Didn’t expect to you see until next weekend when I gave up the place up for a couple of days. What’s going on? Everything okay?”

“I’ve got something I want to run by you. An idea. A business proposition. I thought it was best if I didn’t wait until next week. And that we should talk about it face to face.”

“Sounds pretty serious. You okay?”

“I’ve got some shit going on.” Tyler admits.

“The PTSD still?”

He nods.

“That shit is a fucking nightmare,” Koen mutters, and takes a long swallow of whisky. “So what’s this about? This idea? This business thing?”

“I’m getting back into the game.”

“The mercenary gig? Why the fuck would you want to do that? Didn’t learn your lesson the first time you took a bullet to the throat?”

“This won’t be like the last time. This is different. I’m different.”

“You’re fucking crazy is what you are. Wanting to get back into that shit. You’ve got a family now. Think that’s the best life for them? For a wife and kids? Especially five little ones. Why would you want to put them through that? Going away and leaving them to wonder if daddy’s ever coming home?”

“Leave my kids out of this. It has nothing to do with them.”

“It has everything to do with them,” Koen growls. “I can see why you’d want to do this if you were alone and had nothing to lose. But fuck, mate. You’ve got everything to lose. What the hell is wrong with you?”

Tyler scowls. “You going to listen to what I have to say or are you just going to keep lecturing me?”

“I should be beating your ass is what I should be doing. For being so fucking stupid.”

“You done? You going to let me talk or…”

“I need another drink to put up with the likes of you,” Koen mutters, then gets up from the table and pours himself another.

“I’m starting my own business,” Tyler tells him.

“Your own merc business?”

He nods.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Koen knocks back the whisky in one gulp. “Why the ever loving hell?”

“I’ve already started getting the word out. Reaching out to people I’ve done jobs for, guys I’ve worked with, contacts I’ve held onto. Once things really start spreading around, there won’t be a shortage of jobs. And guys willing to jump ship to come work for me.”

“So why you here? Why come talk to me?”

“I’m offering you a job.”

Koen’s eyes narrow. “As a merc?”

“A well paid one.”

“Holy...shit…” Koen chuckles and shakes his head. “What in the blue hell?”

“You and I go back a lot of years,” Tyler reminds him.

“A hell of a lot,” his friend agrees.

And I wouldn’t come to you if I didn’t trust you. With my life I know a lot of guys...a lot of experienced mercs...and I still would want you having my back over any of them.”

“Don’t try and sweet talk me, blue eyes. Your pretty face won’t work its magic on me.”

“You’ve got the experience. You’ve put in a fuck of a lot of years with the SARS. Even more than me.  So you’d be able to do this. You’re a hell of a good shot, you’ve got tons of combat experience, and you know your way around a tons of different weapons. Your hand to hand combat leaves a little to be desired, but…”

“A little to be desired, huh? How about we go outside right now and I show you how good my hands are.”

Tyler scoffs. “You wanting me to fight me or are you offering to jerk me off?”

Koen smirks.

“I know your military benefits are shit. Probably not much more than mine. You can’t live off that forever. I’m offering you a chance of a lifetime here. We’re talking big money.”

“How big?”

“These would be big jobs. High profile clients. You know that gig I had in Ireland? Right before we moved back here?”

Koen nods.

“I got five million for that. And that was only part of the job. I didn’t even need to see it through. Imagine the kind of payouts we’d bring in from big spenders?”

“Are you telling me I’m sitting across from a millionaire right now?”

Tyler just smiles.

“Jesus fuck. Are you serious?”

“I won’t tell you who paid me. That doesn’t matter. But we’d be attracting people with even more money and even bigger scores to settle. You can’t tell me that doesn’t sound like something you’d go for.”

“How many of us are there?”

“I’ve got three so far. An ex Marine, Ovi…”

“The kind you pulled out of Dhaka?”

“...and Rata.”

Koen’s glass is pressed against his lips. “You already talked to that rat bastard? Before me? When?”

“Last night he came by the house. He was in Cairns with that new girlfriend of his. Didn’t take much to get him to come on board.”

“Yeah, he’s always been a few bricks short a load, though.”

“I need you in on this,” Tyler insists. “You’d be the perfect fit. I know the things you can do. I saw them...for myself...in Kabul and Kandahar. This is right up your alley.”

“How the hell are you going to pull this off? Get everything you need? Guns, ammo, whatever the fuck else a merc uses.”

“You don’t spend years as a mercenary and not make contacts. Reliable ones. I’ve got a guy stopping here in the morning.  He has a haul of stuff for me. Rifles, handguns, utility vests, grenades. You name it. And there’s more where that came from. A lot more.”

“You’re fucking insane, you know that? Getting mixed up with this shit again.”

“Maybe,” Tyler admits. “But it’s what I know. It’s who I am. Why piss away an opportunity like this?”

Koen sighs, then shakes his head and gets up to fetch himself another drink.

“So,” Tyler says, as he leans back in his chair, legs stretched out in front of him, arms crossed over his chest. “You in or out?”

“Fuck it,” Koen growls, then downs his drink and slams the empty glass down on the counter top. “I’m in.”

[aromanticautobot]

Uhh fanfic time? Just joined Tumblr today, trying out some stuff. This is a quick oneshot.

This takes place right after the events of Orion Pax, when Optimus returns with his memories. Angst and hurt, sad stuff. Optimus and Ratchet are lovers in this.

It wasn't difficult to tell when Ratchet was upset. He was very expressive, from his tone to the smallest of his movements. Optimus had known him for a very, very long time, and had learned how to determine his medic's mood simply by watching his servos move, or the swivel of his hips as he turned around, or the way he would set his jaw.

He could tell now that Ratchet was very upset.

Ratchet was not vocalizing his feelings, which caught Optimus off guard. He was very vocal about his emotions when he was with Optimus. Not now, however.

From his seat on a workbench, he watched Ratchet work. The base was quiet, it was late, they were the last two up. When he lovingly embraced his medic and invited him to their berth, Ratchet had brushed it off harshly and ignored his further presence.

This was strange.

Ratchet had been overjoyed when he came home, his memories in tact, finally safe and with his friends and family. Everyone had welcomed him back so happily, and he was so spellbound by the warmth, he had failed to notice how Ratchet's mood seemed to decline as the night progressed. By the time everyone had retreated to their berths, Ratchet had become quiet and bitter.

Optimus, his elbows resting on his knees, and his servos supporting his chin, observed Ratchet closely. His shoulders were tense- stressed. His servos were unsteady and shaky- pained. His digits pounded at the keyboard harder than necessary- angry.

After his analyzation, Optimus concluded that Ratchet was conflicted and hurt.

Now was the time to approach him.

He rose slowly, the bench creaking as his weight left it. Ratchet's unsteady typing didn't falter. Venting quietly, he strode over to his medic, moving to stand beside him at the monitor. He sensed a tremor in Ratchet's tense plating. He reached out to soothe it, to stroke and massage those tense shoulders, but Ratchet moved away from him and uttered a stern, "No, Optimus."

His first attempt rejected, Optimus hesitated a moment to rethink his follow up. "Ratchet, will you please speak to me?" He asked in a quiet, gentle voice, as if he were addressing an aggressive stallion that could charge him any moment. Ratchet's servos stilled on the keyboard, but his optics still didn't meet Optimus'. "Please? I know you are. . . Upset." He inwardly cringed. He had made another mistake.

"Did the Wisdom of the Primes tell you that? Did the Matrix tell you that I was upset, or was it your keen librarian instincts?" Ratchet snapped.

His second attempt was also a failure. Optimus stopped himself from sighing out loud. "I didn't mean-"

"No no, please, continue to analyze me. How upset am I? Am I angry?" The rise in his voice made Optimus glance at the door warily- he didn't want any of the others to wake and investigate. Still, Ratchet didn't meet his optics.

"I didn't mean to assume, though I do believe my assumption- my speculation is accurate. You are not pleased with me. Will you please tell me why?" Optimus' voice stayed quiet still.

Ratchet didn't answer him, only stared straight ahead, his jaw clenched.

"I speculate," Optimus watched him closely, "That I have hurt you in some way, and that you are angry with me."

There was a pause.

"Ratchet, please." He closed his optics and inhaled. "This has been hard for me, Ratchet. I am afraid of what may have happened while I was on the Nemesis. I am afraid of what will follow." His tanks churned at the thought. "I feel that I've lost a part of me." He waited through a silence, basking in it, drowning in the heavy atmosphere. He had thought that maybe opening up to Ratchet would be the answer, but evidently-

"You feel that you've lost a part of you." Ratchet's voice brought him to open his optics. He was surprised with what he found.

All of the angry energy that had practically been rolling off of Ratchet's frame was gone. Instead, he sagged, looking weak and sad. Optimus' spark froze when he saw the tears rolling down Ratchet's cheeks.

A joyless laugh left Ratchet. "You were really going to leave me. You didn't have a second thought about it, did you?" He looked at Optimus, his tear streaked face burning a hole through his Prime. "You aren't the only one who lost a part of himself."

Optimus stared at him, absolutely clueless. That seemed to aggravate Ratchet.

The medic turned to fully face him, his fury replenished. "You really have no recollection? You have no idea what this is about?"

"Ratchet, I-"

"No, I don't want to hear it!" A fresh round of tears made it down Ratchet's cheeks, and he turned away to pace back and forth, not unlike a caged tiger. "Optimus, you went to Unicron, FULLY BELIEVING that you wouldn't be returning home. You gave the keycard to Jack because of it. You KNEW that something bad would happen to you, you KNEW that you wouldn't be coming back."

Optimus stood, silent and helpless, listening. Everything Ratchet had said thus far was true. What was his point?

"You knew all of this. . . And you didn't tell me. You didn't tell me that it would've been the last time we ever spoke. We are fragging LOVERS, Optimus, and you couldn't even spare me a 'goodbye'. A 'I love you and I'm sorry that I have to do this.' You were going to leave me without saying ANYTHING to me. You were going to walk out and give your life for Earth and I would never have known until it was too late." Ratchet was sobbing now, covering his mouth to stifle the sounds, his pacing halted. "I was going to lose you. You didn't even think to tell me that I'd never see you again. Why? Was I. . ." He lowered his servos to look into Optimus' optics, his face wet, his frame trembling. "Was I not important enough?"

Optimus took a step towards him and he flinched away. "Ratchet. . ." He whispered, spark aching. He wanted to grab his medic and hold him so badly, he shook with the effort of holding back.

"I love you more than anything, I'd do anything for you," Ratchet choked through sobs, "You didn't. . . You don't love me enough to say goodbye before leaving me forever?"

Optimus tried again to approach him, and Ratchet turned on his heel, fleeing to the hallway. The sound of his door closing and locking echoed through Optimus' helm, like a bell, a powerful sound that sent a pang of hurt straight to his spark.

I hope you enjoyed? I'm TheEnchantedQuill on AO3, check my work out!

[d-noona]

MAKE OVER

Chapter 3: Date Night 

Jung Hoseok x Reader

Reader as Kang Hyeonji

 SUMMARY: When Kang Hyeonji transformed herself into a striking redhead, the entire male population of Seoul stood up and took notice. But her make over was for Jung Hoseok’s benefit alone. He began to show interest in the new look but not in the way she wanted. Suddenly he was over-protective, perhaps a little jealous. It seemed that the idea of having a relationship with her couldn’t be further from his mind. The girl however wants more. So it was time for an ultimatum. If Hoseok didn’t want Hyeonji to lose her virginity to another admirer, he had no option but to make love to her himself.

"Is that you dear?" her mother called out as she pushed the door. "Yes Ma," the smell of roast dinner teased Hyeonji's nostrils as she made her way along the hall and into the kitchen. Not a pork smell. Chicken. Naturally, came the rueful thought. Chicken carried the least fat and calorie count, provided the skin was removed. Which it would certainly be. She almost sighed when she also spied her mother wrapping the hope-for crispy potatoes in foil. Zil glanced up and smiled at her daughter "Have a good day dear?"

"Pretty good, Choon hee, Han Byeol, Namjoon and the others bought me some cake, and you'll never guess who dropped in to see me this morning," she said brightly. Her mother answered her "I can't think. Who?"

"Hoseok"

"Hoseok? You mean Jung Hoseok?" asks her mother peculiarly. "The one and only." Hyeonji declined telling her mother about the fiasco of his new car. "He was up this way today and asked me out tonight for my birthday."

"But I'm cooking a special dinner for you tonight," she announced with a hint of displeasure in her tone. "I'll be here tonight for dinner Mum, Hobi isn't picking me up till around eight." Her mother gave Hyeonji a sharp look "You do realize he has a girl friend? A very beautiful one too, if I recall rightly" Hyeonji controlled her growing irritation with difficulty. "I'm well aware of that Mum, but were only going somewhere for coffee. Don't forget Hobi and I were friends before Tinashe came along." Her mother began to frown "I still don't know about this. I have an awful feeling this is not a good idea." Hyeonji came forward to give her mother a hug. "Ma, stop worrying. I'm a big girl now and quite capable of looking after myself.

At five to eight, Hyeonji was standing in her bedroom window, watching for Hobi's car. She doubted he would be late. Surprisingly, punctuality was now one of his virtues. He hadn't always been like that. When Hyeonji had first met Hoseok, and he'd been a computer-mad adolescent seventeen, she could not count the number of times he'd been late for things. Time had a little meaning for him once his concentration was focused on his latest games or graphic design.

Hyeonji was about to turn away from the window when Hoseok's bright red car came up the hill and turned into their driveway. Right on time. She shook her head in acceptance that Hoseok had changed in many ways. He was no longer the forgetful boy next door. He was an exceptionally sharp businessman. Ambitious. Brilliant. Successful.

Way out of Hyeonji's league. Sighing, she bent to switch her bedside lamp, and was about to leave the room when she hesitated, walking back to where she could watch Hoseok, unobserved from now the darkened window. He sat there for several seconds, combing his hair, though not with undue vanity. He didn't even glance into the rear-vision or side-mirror, just swept the comb quickly through both sides and down the back before slipping it back into his jacket pocket.

At least in that Hoseok hadn't changed. He'd never been vain about his looks, and still wasn't. There was nothing of the peacock in him. Yet after all that he looked good. A quiver rippled down Hyeonji's spine as she watched the object of her secret obsession unfold his elegant frame from behind the wheel. He was dressed in the same blue jeans, navy top and a cream linen jacket. He stretched as he stood up, and another deeper quiver reverberated all through her.

For the first time it struck Hyeonji just how intensely sexual her love for Hoseok had become with the passing of the years. Her more innocent school girl crush had long since graduated to a full-on physical passion filled with needs and yearnings which would not be denied. More and more she dreamt of making love with Hoseok, rather than just loving him. She would lie in bed at night and think about what it would like to kiss him and touch him; how he would look, naked and erect; how he would feel, deep inside her. She blushed in the darkness, her blood pounding through her body, her head whirling with a wild mixture of shame and excitement. Was she wicked to think about such things?

She didn't feel wicked. She felt driven and compelled, oblivious to everything but wanting Hoseok with a want that had no conscience, only the most merciless and agonizing frustration. How she wished she were dazzlingly beautiful, with the sort of body no man could resist. A bitter longing flooded Hyeonji as she watched Hoseok confidently stride towards her front door, his dark hair shining like the stars in the dark night. Her grip on the curtains tightened and inevitably her thoughts turned to the dreaded Tinashe.

How often did he sleep with her?

She wondered enviously. Hyeonji knew he didn't live with her, but that didn't mean they didn't share most of their nights either at his or her place.

Was she great in bed? What was it she did to him that kept Hobi interested in her for six whole months?

Another awful possibility snuck into Hyeonji's mind. Twisting her heart and stomach. The front door rang, the sound jarring Hyeonji's suddenly stretched nerves she resisted rushing down stairs and her thoughts still simmering with resentment at the situation. She should have not agreed to go out with Hoseok tonight, not even for coffee. She was only torturing herself.

She heard her mother slide the door back from the family room then walk with small steps along the plastic strip which protected the hallway carpet. The front door creaked slightly on opening. "Hello Hobi"." Zil said with stiff politeness. "Hello, Mrs. Kang, You're looking well."

Hyeonji listened to their small chat for a minute or two before gathering herself and coming down stairs glad now that she hadn't made a super human effort with her appearance. Even so, her mother looked up and down at her as though searching for some hit of secret decadence. Hyeonji doubted if even the most devious mind could find anything to criticize her in her knee-length black skirt and simple white knitted top, even if the latter did have a lacey design and pretty pearl buttons down the front. Her choice of jewelry could hardly give rise to speculation. The rest of her was equally sedate. Skin colored pantyhose, medium length black pumps, hair up in its usual knot and no make-up on except coral lipstick. Even her underwear was sedate. But only Superman with his X-ray vision could see that. Not that the sight of her modest white crossover bra and cotton briefs could would send any man's heart aflutter.

Hyeonji was at a loss to understand then why Hoseok himself frowned up at her as she came down the stairs. She had no illusions that he was struck by some previously untapped appreciation of her beauty. So why was he giving her the once-over with slightly surprised look in his eyes? Her curiosity was not satisfied till they were alone and walking along the curving front path towards the parked car.

"You know, Hyeonji," he said, "You've lost quite a bit of weight lately have you?"

Hyeonji clenched her teeth down hard in her jaw. She'd been losing weight steadily for two years and had been this size for more than three months. Hadn't he noticed before this moment? No of course not. For the last six months his eyes had all been for Tinashe.

"Not lately I haven't," she replied coolly. "I've been this weight for quite a while."

"Oh? I didn't notice" says Hoseok whilst scratching his nape.

Tell me something new....

Hyeonji thought tartly. She felt piqued that there wasn't the smallest change in him that she didn't notice. She knew whenever he had his hair cut; when he bought a new jacket; when he changed women. "Are you sure Tinashe won't mind you're taking me out tonight?" she was driven to ask, barely controlling the lemony flavor in her voice. "Tinashe and I are having a trial separation," he bit out. "Oh?" Hyeonji battled to look perfectly normal. Difficult when your stomach had just done a back-flip. "You guys fought or something?"

"Or something" he muttered.

"You don't want to tell me about it?" she asked. His smile was wry as he wrenched open the passenger door. "Not tonight Hyeonji. I don't want to spoil my mood by thinking about women."

"But I'm a woman, Hoseok!" she pointed archly. "Yeah, but you're different. I don't really think of you like that. You're my friend. Come on. Get in. I'm going to drive us out, it's a lovely night for a walk along the beach."

Which it was. Clear and warm, with stars sparkling in the night sky. A night for lovers. Hyeonji tried not to think about that. Masochism was not one of her vices. Or maybe it was?

"But I'm not dressed for the beach," she protested when Hoseok climbed in the wheel. "I have heels and stockings on for one thing."

Hoseok in turn laughed "You can take them off in the car," he said without turning a hair. Is indifference to her undressing in front of him was depressing in the extreme. She could just imagine what would happen if Tinashe stated stripping in the passenger seat, wriggling her pouty bottom while she unpeeled her stockings down those long, tanned legs of hers. Hoseok wouldn't concentrate on his driving for long. Hyeonji had an awful feeling that she could sit stark naked in front of Hoseok and all he would do was ask her if she was cold.

"I hope you don't think you're going to worm your way out of buying me coffee!" she told him while he reversed out of the driveway. "I was going to order a big rich slice of cake with it. You've no idea, Hobi, what food Mom has been feeding me ever since Dad died. She's become a "fat-free forever" nutcase!" as Hyeonji evades thoughts of Tinashe.

"No worse than having a mother who wants to feed you up," he countered dryly. "Every time I come home, Mother says I'm getting too thin, then come out the pastries and chips and God knows what else."

"You're not too thin," Hyeonji said, "You're just right."

He smiled over at her and her heart lurched. He was heart-stoppingly handsome when he smiled. Just as bright as the sun. "You know you're good for me Hyeonji. You always say the right thing. And you always do the right thing" he added meaningfully "You put me to shame today. I never remember your birthday and you always remember mine. So if you open the glove box in front of you there's a little something there which I hope will make up for all those other forgotten occasions."

Before Hyeonji could even start to protest she was cut off by Hoseok "And don't tell me I shouldn't have, "He went on "And don't tell me it's too expensive. I can afford it. Fact is, I can afford pretty well whatever I want these days. That computer game I told you about some time back has just gone on the worldwide market and it's going to make me a multimillionaire."

"Oh Hoseok! That's wonderful." Hyeonji exclaimed in excitement for her friend. "Maybe," he said dryly. "I'm beginning to find out being rich and successful isn't all it's cracked up to be. Except when it comes to buying my best friend something really nice," he added with a warm smile "Now, come on, go on, rip the paper off and open it up. I'm dying to see what you think."

Hyeonji then just did that, and gasped "Hoseok! You shouldn't have!"

"I thought I told you not to say that," he said ruefully. "I was in the jewelry store for hours this afternoon trying to decide. In the end I settled for something simple, but solid. Like you"

Hyeonji tried to take his words as a compliment, but somehow some of the pleasure of his gift dissolved at that point. She lifted the heavy gold chain necklace from its green velvet bed, laying across one palm while she slowly traced the heavy oval links with the index finger of her right hand.

Simple and solid. Like me...

"You don't like it?" Hoseok asked alarmed. Hyeonji heard the disappointment in his voice and forced herself to throw him a bright smile. "Don't be silly, I love it."

Chapter 04

Masterlist

[thisdiscontentedwinter]

Bad Blood - Chapter 17

You can read it on AO3 or find the Tumblr Chapter Index here. 

___________________

Stiles wakes up sometime late on Friday night when his phone buzzes. He rolls over to grab it off his bedside table, and squints at the screen. It’s from Allison: Get in loser, we’re going shopping. That… Stiles doesn’t get that reference. He texts back: What?

A moment later her answer comes: I’m parked up at the gate on Northwood St. Hurry up.

Stiles rolls out of bed and dresses quickly in his jeans, Converse, and a black hoodie. He listens in the darkness for a moment, but can’t hear any movement in the house. He opens his window carefully, and drops down onto the garage roof. From there it’s easy enough to get onto ground level.

Ten minutes later he scales the fence near the gatehouse on Northwood Street, and jogs toward Allison’s little silver car.

“We’re not really going shopping, are we?” he asks as he gets into the passenger seat.

She raises her eyebrows. “You don’t watch many movie, do you?”

There’s a hint of a smile on her face, and Stiles hasn’t seen one of those from her in days. It makes his chest ache, so he disguises his swell of sudden emotion by fumbling with the seatbelt.

“Not really,” he says. He used to, he thinks. He loved movies and TV and comic books and gaming, but he has to focus on his training now, and Gerard says anything that takes away from that is a waste of time. “So where are we going?”

“We’re going to get milkshakes,” Allison says, and puts the car into gear.

Stiles glances out the window as she drives, and wonders if he should at least text Kate and let her know he’s out with Ally. He doesn’t think she’ll mind. Or at least he doesn’t think she’ll mind enough to punish him for it. If Allison is going to be sneaking out, better to do it with Stiles at her side than on her own, right? Even Gerard will have to agree with that.

But he doesn’t send the text, and he’s not sure he wants to think about why. Of all the ways he’s betraying Allison’s trust, this is probably the smallest. But it’s also the only one Stiles has control over. Maybe that’s the reason he doesn’t want to tell.  

In the days following Scott McCall’s death in the woods, Allison has become a fixture around the house. On one hand, it rankles because Stiles hates lying to her. On the other hand, he loves Ally and feels a certain kinship with her—he’s a liar, and she’s being lied to, and both of them are powerless to do a thing about it. They’re the kids being kept from the adults’ table, even though Stiles is supposed to be a man and a hunter. That rankles too.

“How was school?” he asks as she drives.

She rolls her eyes. “You sound like my dad when he’s trying to make awkward conversation with me.”

Things have been strained between Allison and her parents. She thinks they’re angry she was seeing a boy and didn’t tell them. She thinks they’re horrible for not letting her go to Scott’s funeral. She’s so caught up in being the teenager whose parents don’t understand her that she doesn’t see the lies she’s being told are covering up a far larger truth. Chris and Victoria aren’t just coming down on her for arbitrary reasons, but that must be what it feels like.

“Hey!” Stiles exclaims. “That’s not fair. When your dad does it, he’s being weird and awkward, but I’m asking from a place of genuine curiosity. Home schooler, here. I want to know all about bad cafeteria food and pep rallies. What is pep, and why does it need its own rally?”

She laughs at that, and Stiles doesn’t know whether to feel pleased or guilty, or a weird sickening mix of the two.

“We don’t have pep rallies every day,” she says. “Actually, I don’t think I’ve ever been to a school that had a pep rally.”

“Well, so much for you being my inside source,” Stiles tells her.

She laughs again.

They drive a little while longer, and then Allison pulls in to the parking lot of an all night diner. It’s a dinky little place that looks straight out of the 1950s. Stiles half expects to see waitresses on roller skates, but apparently the retro-flair starts and ends with the décor, not the staff.

They get a booth, and Allison orders a chocolate milkshake. Stiles orders strawberry, with a side of curly fries. He hasn’t had curly fries in—

His mind stutters over it.

He hasn’t had curly fries since the last time he lived in Beacon Hills and his father bought them for him. Jesus. It was possibly even this exact same diner.

“Are you okay?” Allison asks.

Stiles grips the edge of the table until his dizziness passes. “Yeah. Low blood sugar or something, probably.” He forces a smile. “Guess we’re in the right place to fix that, huh?”

Allison’s answering smile is cautious, and Stiles wonders how long it will take for her to realise that he’s part of the conspiracy of lies wound as tightly around her life as the web of a spider, slowly constricting the fluttering moth caught in the middle.

When his milkshake comes, it doesn’t taste as nice as he thought it would.

Stiles sips it, and thinks of a hundred different ways to tell Allison the truth. A hundred different ways he’ll say it, and she’ll hate him for having lied to her. Scott was a monster,he wants to tell her, but he can’t even bring himself to say the words, let alone fully believe them.

Because Scott was a werewolf, but maybe that’s not the same thing.

The milkshake sits heavily in his roiling stomach.

***

“What happened to your neck?” Allison asks as they’re walking back across the parking lot to the car.

Stiles reaches up and touches the bandage on his throat. The wound is healing quickly, but Stiles has kept wearing a bandage because he doesn’t like to look at it. He’s been hurt before, but not like that. Not with such slow, careful intent. And that’s not even the part he doesn’t like to think about. It’s the way that Derek saved him. The way that the other werewolf, Peter, just stopped when Derek said his name. That’s not how werewolves, mad with bloodlust, should act.

“A mole,” he says. “Well, I’m covered in them, but this one was weird.”  

Allison’s brows draw together. “You didn’t say anything about it.”

He shrugs. “It was last week, in the middle of everything. I didn’t want to worry you.”

He feels a rush of hot guilt at the way her expression softens.

“Oh, Stiles,” she says, and grasps his hand. “We’re friends. You should have told me. Is it all okay now?”

“Yep,” Stiles says. “Turns out it just looked weird, but it wasn’t a melanoma or anything.”

He tugs his hand free of Allison’s before she notices that he’s shaking.

“Come on, he says. “You’d better get home before your parents notice you’re gone.”

***

In the morning, Stiles wakes later than usual. He heads downstairs to find the house empty, and checks his phone to find a message from Kate. Her and Gerard have headed to LA to make a pick up. Of reinforcements or weapons, Stiles isn’t sure. He feels like he’s being treated like a child in Beacon Hills, when at least back in Kroměříž he’d been treated like a hunter. The lowest one in the chain of command, sure, but a hunter still. It has to be because they don’t trust him. Because they think that being back in Beacon Hills, back in a place thick with the memories of a childhood spent with his father, that he’s more susceptible to his father’s weaknesses. That he might succumb to the same treachery.  

And a part of Stiles is afraid that maybe they’re right. He hasn’t felt as unsure of the ground underneath his feet in years.

Stiles makes oatmeal in the microwave, and pours a glass of water to take his Adderall with. He’s still in his sleep pants and an old t-shirt when the doorbell rings. He pads to the door and opens it.

Chris is standing on the doorstep.

“Chris,” Stiles says, and moves aside to let him in.

“I’m not coming in,” Chris says. His gaze drops to the bandage on Stiles’s throat, and then he lifts it again to look him in the eye. “I followed Allison last night.”

Stiles doesn’t react. He can’t read Chris as well as he can Gerard and Kate. He knows Chris doesn’t like him—he gets narrow-eyed whenever he looks at Stiles—but he’s never felt like the man’s actually going to hurt him or anything. Still, it wouldn’t be the first time Stiles was wrong.

“I want to know what you two talked about,” Chris says.

“School,” Stiles tells him. “Teenage stuff. And Scott McCall.”

An emotion Stiles can’t name flickers in Chris’s blue eyes. “What did you tell her?”

“I didn’t tell her anything,” Stiles says. “I let her vent.”

“And that’s all?” Chris asks.

Stiles nods. “That’s all.”

Chris stares at him without saying anything, and Stiles tries not to fidget under his scrutiny. He knows the stories. Stiles’s father and Chris Argent were legends, once upon a time. They were heroes. And then Stiles’s father left, spitting on hundreds of years of proud history, and Chris Argent—his best friend, his hunting partner, the man who’d been so close to Janusz Stilinski that he’d married his cousin—was tarred with the same brush. Chris was no traitor, but the facts never got in the way of speculation. Mud sticks. Who knows that better than Stiles?

Stiles wonders if Chris hates him for being his father’s son, or pities him for it.

“You wouldn’t have to follow Allison if you told her the truth,” Stiles says, lifting his chin. “She’s an Argent, and one day she’s going to be head of your family and—”

Chris takes a sudden step forward.

Stiles flinches back.

Chris stops. For a moment he looks puzzled, and then a weary sort of resignation overtakes his expression.  He nods, and takes a step back, as though he’s dealing with a small, frightened child, and not a fellow hunter. His gaze settles on Stiles’s bandage again. “Take care of yourself, Stiles.”

Stiles flushes.

“I’m glad Allison has you as a friend,” Chris says at last, and then turns and walks back down the front path toward his SUV.

Stiles closes and locks the front door behind him.

Then, his unfinished breakfast forgotten, he heads downstairs into the basement and spends the next hour unloading his fear, his shame, and his uncertainty into a punching bag. He works it until his muscles ache and he’s too tired to think.

And then he keeps going.

[takadasaiko]

Second Chances: Chapter Fifteen

FFN II AO3

Summary: Tony and Peter talk, Steve decides he's done waiting, and everyone tries to relax with a movie night at the Starks' house.

Chapter Fifteen

He had swung wildly from frustration to anger, around again, and had settled into a sad kind of guilt. It wasn't the first time Mr Stark had laid into him over a screw up, but Peter still wasn't entirely sure he'd actually screwed up. The situation sucked. It wasn't that he trusted Director Fury, per se, but the man had a point. One that had been broadcasted all across the expo. And Mr Stark had reacted just like Peter had been afraid he would, both by jumping into the fray and how doing so had hit him hard. He couldn't shake the image of how exhausted he'd looked, like the suit had taken a toll on him in just the handful of minutes he'd worn it.

And now he was striking some deal with Fury and Peter had been sent home like a child. His own suit hijacked to make sure it happened. He ought to find a way to bypass that stupid gps tracker again. Mr Stark had probably upgraded it with the newest suit, but still. He'd give Ned a call. He could help him find it and deactivate it.

His phone buzzed loudly from his desk and Peter offered it a glare like that would do anything. It flashed, a hologram popping up and showing the caller as none other than the focal point of the teen's frustration. And the designer of the phone, but if Mr Stark thought that haranguing him into taking a Stark Phone entitled him to an answered call, well… he had another thing coming. Peter wasn't going anywhere near it just to get yelled at again. No way he was going to -

"Voicemail being left by Tony Stark," Karen's voice echoed into his room.

"You know, it wouldn't take much to bypass your settings on this thing and just activate the answering protocol," Mr Stark's voice sounded over the speaker. "But I guess that would be an invasion of privacy, and… honestly, I probably wouldn't answer if I were in your shoes either."

Peter wasn't sure if that was a slight or just an acknowledgement, but he offered the phone another glare anyway.

There was a pause and then a long sigh. "I'm sorry, kid. I'm not gonna say you made a good call, but... neither did I." It sounded like those words may have physically hurt and Peter finally perked up. "I shouldn't have yell at you. I -"

Karen had said that the voicemail was being left. Currently. That meant it was live. Peter dove across the room for the phone. "Mr Stark?"

There was a beat of silence and he thought maybe he'd misunderstood the AI. "Hey, kid. Thought I'd missed you."

"No, I'm uh…. I'm here." Another awkward stretch of silence met him. "You were saying?"

"Not going to cut me any slack, huh?"

That tugged the smallest of smiles from him. "No sir."

Mr Stark chuckled thinly and cleared his throat. "I'm sorry, Peter. Fury twists things around to get what he wants. I shouldn't have yelled at you."

"I know you think I should've told you, but I just…." He squeezed his eyes shut, willing the truth out into the open. "I was scared of losing you again, Mr Stark. I know you don't remember much. At least you say you don't remember much, but it's…. I can't stop seeing that day. We nearly lost you, and I just… if I could keep that from happening again, I wanted to. I still want to. I want to protect you too. Somebody's gotta protect you."

"Pete." His name was soft from the other end of the line, almost like a sigh, and he wished he was sitting there with the older man. "I can't lose you again either."

"What'dya mean?"

"Five years. I went five years with you dead and gone and it was…. Hell, kid. It was hell. I can't do it again. Not when I can stop it this time."

Peter's chest tighten dangerously and he gripped the phone. "It'll kill you. You can't do what he's asking you to do. Mr Stark, you can't." His vision blurred. He would not cry. He was nearly sixteen years old. He would not cry.

"What'dya say we make a deal?"

"Huh?" the teen managed, the word sounding more like a squeak than an actual response.

"I'll promise you not to suit up if you promise me you won't make a move with Fury or any version of the Avengers without talking to me first."

"You won't risk it?"

"I won't risk it. Not if you won't."

"What about all of the bad guys that came back? They're out there, Mr Stark. They're out there and I can -"

"Not alone. We'll figure out, but we'll do it together, okay?" He snorted a laugh. "Listen to that. Rogers is finally rubbing off on me."

"Promise you won't?"

"Promise." Mr Stark cleared his throat again. "And I remember pieces. Only time I've ever heard you call me Tony."

Peter tilted his head. "When?"

"When you thought… It's not your fault. Not then, not today, not ever. If I die tomorrow or in fifty years, it's never gonna be your fault. No matter what."

"Mr Stark -"

"Tony. C'mon. Pepper gets the first name treatment."

He started to argue, but swallowed it whole. They'd argued enough. "Okay, Tony."

"Thatta boy. Get some sleep, kid. We'll figure out how to handle Nick."

The call ended and Peter took a heavy seat on the floor. They were okay. Mr Stark - Tony - wasn't mad at him. Not really. Scared, angry at someone else, but not mad at him. And maybe he was right. Maybe they had a better chance if they went at it together. That's what Avengers did, wasn't it? They fought together, and in the end the Avengers always won.

                                                  _______________

In the last thirteen years since he'd come out of the ice Steve had dreamt about Peggy often. Most of the dreams were soft and gentle, with her pulling him onto the dance floor and the band playing in the background. They moved and they swayed, laughing and smiling as she pressed her ear against his chest, her arms around his neck and his around her waist. He'd lived the life he knew he wanted again and again in those dreams, but had never expected to have another chance at it. Until now, and maybe that's why that night was the first one that he could picture her dressed all in white, red lips tilted up in that subtle smile, and him waiting at the end of the aisle for her. His friends had been at his side, but his eyes had been fixed on her until she reached him, and she had all of him. She always had, even in the moments he'd tried to convince himself that he was capable of moving on.

He'd woken alone in his bed, the apartment quiet around him. Bucky and Sam had found another apartment in the building just a few days before to give them some privacy, and as he made his way out into the living room he found Peggy sitting at the kitchen table, dressed for the day with a paper in front of her. She sipped on her cup of tea as she read, several other papers laid out before her in addition to the one in her hands.

"Has everyone always known that Tony was Iron Man?" she asked, glancing over to where he lingered.

"As long as I've known him. I think there was a press conference."

She snorted. "He is Howard's son."

"Through and through," Steve chuckled, moving to the kitchen for a cup of coffee.

"And the media loves him. I never knew so many reporters could speculate on if a single man might come out retirement."

"Honestly, I'm surprised that any of the photos went to press at all. I guess even Tony can't bribe every outlet out there."

"This one's the Daily Bugle."

"That should be interesting. The editor there hates Tony almost as much as he hates Spider-Man. Never could figure out what he had against Queens," Steve said as he re-entered the living room, sipping on his coffee. He paused for a moment, his gaze fixed on her and the dream he'd woken to hit him like a tidal wave. With everything that was happening, they were still living in a temporary state, their focus on getting Howard back to his own time before they looked to see what was really next. It had made sense, but Steve had thought Tony would have had him back by now, especially with the Pym Particle formula at his disposal. Howard was still there, though, and they might not hear anything for days from them if they were still cleaning up the expo debacle.

"Oh, here's a bit on Rescue with a full write up theorizing who she might be. I'm sure Pepper will love that," Peggy murmured and turned to look at him. The amusement faded. "What?"

Steve hadn't realized he was staring, lost in thought, but her words cut through it. He blinked hard and set his coffee down, motioning for a moment. He didn't wait for a response as he disappeared back into the room, dug down into one of his drawers, and pulled a small box from it. Peggy was watching him from her seat when he returned. "I was going to wait," he said, his voice faltering halfway through.

She stood slowly. "For what?"

He crossed the room, steeling his nerves as best as he could, and he held the box up. Soft brown eyes fixed on it and he popped it open. "For this."

"Steve…."

"It was my mother's. It was one of the few things they had for me when I came out of the ice and I've had it in a lockbox for safekeeping. I got it out when we got back, but with Howard and Tony and everything that's been going on….. Oh." He stopped, dropping down to one knee. "Right. Sorry. I've never done this before." He looked up at her, finding her eyes wide and fixed on him. He'd surprised her, that much was obvious, but he couldn't tell if it was a good or a terrible surprise just yet. She hadn't moved an inch. "Peggy, I meant what I said after we went dancing. I love you. I've always loved you, and I always will. Second chances like this don't happen very often and I can't wait any longer."

Peggy swallowed hard. "You still haven't asked a question," she said a little breathlessly.

"Will you marry me?"

The smile was the same one from his dream, even if with a little less lipstick. Her lips tugged upward and suddenly she was on the floor with him, kneeling down in and her hands closed around his. "Yes."

"Yes?"

"Yes. I think you're supposed to put that on my finger, or has that changed in the last eighty years?"

A laugh escaped him at the tease and trembling fingers pulled his mother's ring from the box to fit it on Peggy's. He leaned in, his forehead pressed against hers. "What'dya know? Fits like it was made for you."

Peggy's hands moved so that her fingertips touched his jaw and she guided him into the kiss, his own hand moving to the side of her face. They melted into the kiss, both kneeling on the floor together, and Steve did his best not to groan as his phone started screaming an obnoxious song that he was certain he'd never chosen as a ringtone.

"What is that?" Peggy laughed, not quite breaking the kiss.

"My phone."

"And that noise?"

"Something Tony thinks is music. He likes to change my ringtone when I'm not looking. Still not sure if he actually needs to have his hands on the phone or if he can do it from anywhere."

"Should you get it?"

"He can wait."

                                                 _______________

"Mr Star - Tony, you have a lot of movies!" Peter called from the living room as Tony made his way down the stairs. He found the teen perched on the back of his couch, Rhodey standing behind him to look at the selection on the tablet and Maria Hill was the only one using the couch as it was intended. Tony still wasn't sure how he felt about his best friend dating the SHIELD spook who had continuously proven to be loyal to Fury above anybody else, but it hadn't taken Rhodey long to drop a not-so-subtle hint that it was none of Tony's business who he dated or what they had or had not discussed about what had happened a couple days before at the expo.

So he had told Rhodey offhandedly to bring Hill with him to the movie night that he'd gotten suckered into - Tony was still trying to figure out who had sparked the original idea and how it had ended up at their place - and there they were. Fury was going to have a detailed layout of all of his home security within an hour of her leaving. Fantastic.

"You okay there, Stark?" Hill asked, dragging him from his thoughts.

"Oh, that's just Tony struggling to keep his mouth shut," Rhodey popped off.

"Not at all," Tony answered lightly, reaching forward and plucking the tablet from Peter's hands, ignoring the yelp of indignation from the teen. He waved it in his friend's face. "You had one job: don't let the kid near the movies."

"I already picked the movie," Rhodey groused, scowling a little.

"Yeah, this really, really old one," Pete chimed in. "Back to the Future."

Tony glared, motioning with the tablet. "And now you have no job."

"With you giving me the parameters you did, I think I picked a pretty good one. You wanted something everyone could watch. It won't spoil too much for your dad, and even Morgan should be able to watch it without too much trouble."

If Tony was desperate trying to avoid his discomfort with Rhodey's dating situation, he knew his buddy was trying to avoid digging too deeply into the Howard thing, so he let all that was wrong with that statement slide and focused on the Morgan aspect of it. "Oh no. I'm not subjecting my kid to shoddy science and warped time travel logic."

"It's just a movie, Mr Stark," Peter tried hesitantly.

Rhodey rolled his eyes. "Don't try, Parker. He's been complaining about this since the movie was out in theaters."

Tony held a hand up. "I swear kid, if you make an age crack…."

Peter flashed an innocent grin and Tony tilted him back so he flopped into the couch with a laugh, nearly landing on Hill. It was good, despite the potential spy in their midst and the terrible movie choice that he knew he couldn't talk Rhodey out of. A night in and away from the chaos, away from the multitude of problems and worries that surrounded them, was already doing him good. Peter had been quick to forgive. Probably quicker than Tony deserved, but having him there helped the older man believe it.

"So what's the flick?" Howard asked as he strode into the room.

"Something terrible," Tony groaned and Rhodey took a playful swipe at him.

"Did you ever get ahold of Steve and Peggy?" Pepper called from the other room. She entered with a tray full of snacks and Morgan running around like she'd found something loaded with sugar to hype herself up on.

Despite the very real irritation over the movie, Tony felt his lips quirk up and he caught her as she came flying by. Morgan let out a squealing laugh as her father used her momentum to hoist her into the air and back down again, feeling the strain in his right arm from it. It was worth it for the laugh though.

She turned, arms raised. "Again, Daddy!"

"You're getting too big for that," he chuckled, but she didn't buy it for an instant.

"I wanna fly!"

"Maybe after the movie I can take you swinging?" Peter offered.

"As in web swinging?"

Peter looked like a deer in the headlights at Pepper's tone. "Yeah….?"

Tony had his hands up before she turned that look on him. "What part of any way that we've raised our kid makes you think I'm okay that?"

"I'll take that as a no then," Peter managed, drawing Pepper's attention back over.

"Smart choice. Any word on Steve?"

"Apparently being engaged means they're gonna be late for everything. They should be here any minute." Tony glanced over as Howard took a seat next to Hill, all the charm he could muster in that smile of his.

"So, Agent Hill, what agency did you say you worked for?"

"No."

Howard looked over to him, apparently startled by his would-be son's sharp answer to a question that hadn't been directed at him. "I just —"

"No."

Hill flashed him a smile of her own. "That's classified for you, Mr Stark."

"Just for me?"

"Since you're going back, just for you," she answered, almost cheekily, and Tony had to remind himself he didn't trust her no matter how amusing she was.

A distraction came just in time in the form of Steve and Peggy's arrival. They joined the mostly entertaining chaos easily enough, Steve admitting that he hadn't gotten to Back to the Future in the long list of movies he was still catching up on.

"Don't listen to Tony. It's a classic," Rhodey assured him.

Cap shot him a questioning look and Tony sighed dramatically. "FRIDAY, play the movie. The sooner we start it, the sooner it's over."

                                                 _______________

Howard was sure the movie would have been funnier if he knew what the 1950's were going to be like. Or maybe even the 80's. Instead he found himself at a loss on all fronts, which was the type of unfamiliar territory he hated the most. He tried to tune into the small conversations going on around him: Pepper asking Cap about a wedding date, Maria Hill taking the first chance she could to snag a conversation with Peggy. Apparently Peg was her hero. An inspiration and why she'd taken the path she had. Howard had watched her expression turn strained at that, thanking her tightly.

Midway through he watched Tony slip away quietly and decided to follow. He found him in the kitchen, grabbing water from the fridge. "Give it a decade or two and that'll be hilarious," he muttered, pulling his son's attention around.

"Maybe. I can count the number of movies I saw you watch over the years on one hand, and none of them were comedies."

"Huh. Funny. I was thinking about trying my hand at the whole Hollywood thing someday."

Tony cracked a smile at that. "If you did, it was your best kept secret from me."

"Sounds like there was plenty I kept from you. Maybe this time'll be different."

"I'll never know."

There was a sadness in his voice and Howard cleared his throat awkwardly, rounding the island in the middle. "Guess you must be pretty close, huh?"

"I only need one more thing to finish."

"What's that?"

"To synthesise it."

"So it's done?" Howard asked, the realization hitting hard. This might be his last day here. His last evening. In a flash he would be thrown back to 1946 with the rest of them there in 2024. His son and his family, Steve and Peg, and everyone….

"It's been done for days."

That slammed his thought process to a stop and he blinked hard. "What?"

"I've been putting it off," Tony confesses softly.

"You were the one pushing for me to go back."

Tony loosed a long breath. "I know. I should want you to go. You don't…. you've got a whole life to live. It's just…" He tried for a smile and failed at it. "Every time I think I know you, that I've made peace with who you are, I find out something else. I wanna keep getting to know you. I want you to stay."

"I can't," Howard said, the words riding out in a breath.

"I know. I know, I—"

"I don't think you do." He met a set of brown eyes that looked a great deal like his own. Another version of himself hadn't known how to say it, and even as Howard tried to form the words in his own mind they didn't sound right. A small part of him could almost hear his own father berating him over weakness, but Tony needed to hear it. It might not fix everything, but it was something true that he could give his son. "I'm selfish. You probably know that, huh? I get what I want one way or the other, even if it means tricking two people I respect the most into bringing me to the future." Tony chuckled at that and Howard gave him a lopsided smile. "I wanna see it all. Between there and here."

"There's a lot to see," Tony said softly.

"With you, I mean. I wanna see you grow up and become the man that I've met. Brilliant and a hell of a lot braver than I could ever be. I don't want to miss a second of it."

Pain flashed through those dark eyes. "You're not proud of me."

"Sure I am. And if I wasn't, I was an idiot."

There was a moment of silence, like the world had stopped and Howard wondered if his attempt had fallen short, but then Tony reached forward and dragged him into sudden hug. "I'm gonna miss you, Dad."

Howard wrapped his arms around him, holding tight. It was a long moment before trusted his voice, and even when he did it quivered. "How long we got?"

"Two days. It'll take FRIDAY two days to synthesize it."

"Guess we better make the most of it."

                                                 _______________

TBC

Notes: Well, this one took longer than I expected. The Steve and Peggy scene was started and scrapped at least 6-7 times. I switched POV's, I adjusted content, and then I finally did a total shift of focus for the scene and there we have it. Steve proposed! :D You know, one of the things I love about him is that no matter what happens, no matter what he goes through, he's still that kid from Brooklyn in so many ways.

I think the other reason this chapter was so hard to write is because I'm kind of with Tony here: the moment he has those Pym Particles he has to send his dad back, and that's getting harder and harder with each chapter. But hey. I finally got to the scene where Tony calls Howard "dad", so I'm going to just float in my feels over here for a bit and ignore the fact that this story is winding down.

[foreverbeingthunderbuddy]

Just Say It [one-shot]

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Prompt: “Not to be dramatic, but I am going to die if we don’t do something … like now.”

Summary: Tony throws a Halloween party – the first ever for the reader. What to wear when you want to impress your superhero crush, Steve, but also want to hold on to your dignity? light, fluff, and one or two cuss words ;)

A/N: This is my piece for @starksparker’s 10k Writing Challenge! I’m so so sorry this is coming so late ://  Prompt is in bold. Also first time I wrote for Steve so please don’t kill me :) Word count around 5,5k. Gif by @drunkromanogers .

Masterlist

Until you moved to New York, Halloween was never really a big thing for you.

Your little group of friends in your hometown never bothered throwing an actual party or attending one, it was always more like a coming-together while wearing cat ears and eat chips in candlelight kind of thing. Of course a scary movie would play on TV and you’d spend your night screaming at too many badly done jumpscares while your friends would laugh and talk about how badly done these jumpscares were.

You like to think you never went to a party dressed like a slutty bunny because you are better than that, but behind that carefully built wall of denial you know it’s because you never got invited.

So? There are worse things in life.

For instance, being invited by your boss Tony fucking Stark to come to his probably way-over-the-top Halloween party with no Halloween party-experience on your side whatsoever. Do people still go slutty these days or are scary costumes actually in now? Should you come alone or bring someone? Besides, for a party of that scale, do people even put on costumes or is that just an excuse to have another sinful fête (how May, your supervisor, always calls it) and everyone wears the usual glamour and glitz-attire?

Google doesn’t seem to be able to give a clear answer.

Another question. Assuming people actually go scary nowadays, what could you wear that would both showcase your funny, spontaneous side by committing to a creative, spooky outfit, and your sexy, I’m-single-too-must-be-destiny side by, well, wearing something sexy? 

Even though sexy isn’t usually the style you feel most comfortable in, a party is a party and a party whose guest will be Steve “strongest BDE” Rogers calls for special actions.

“Before I forget, have you finally figured out your costume for the party next week?” Roxie asks and takes a sip from the cup filled with hot chocolate in her hands. Her dark eyes roam over your face curiously, eager not to miss the smallest hint of emotion. Roxie knows about your crush on Steve.

“Nope. Last night I had a drink, or four, and I thought it’d be super funny if I showed up as Captain America. With a shield and angry eyes and everything. But then I thought, maybe that’s weird to dress up as … Steve basically to impress said Steve.” Your last words hang in the air like a question and you see Roxie raise her eyebrows.

“Odd mating call, I have to admit,” She says and breaks into a grin but collects herself when you threateningly lift your index finger. “But of course, I, too, think that’d be a great idea. Or you don’t dress up as an Avenger when going to a party hosted by the Avengers. Just a suggestion.”

You sigh and look down into your own cup on the table in front of you. You’re sitting in your little kitchen, both gulping down hot chocolate like it’s water and listening to old songs playing on the radio.

She came straight from the hair salon to show off her now super short hair à la Danai Jekesai Gurira and you spent the last fifteen minutes admiring every single inch of it. And then you spent another ten minutes praising the white eyeliner she’s wearing that builds the perfect contrast to her dark skin and got all the details about the collection that “Never gonna buy anywhere else, Y/N, I’m serious”-eyeliner comes from.

“What if- I mean, we know Steve lived in the 40s right, so what if you went all retro and dressed up as someone from the fourties or fifties? That’s trendy nowadays and you like old stuff, right?” Roxie asks and you don’t miss the teasing sparkle in her eyes.

“You like old stuff?” was the exact question she asked the moment you told her you fell for Steve Rogers. She didn’t intend to be mean, she just wanted to provoke you out of your Finally-we-have-world-peace, trance-like state that you were in during the first weeks of having a thing, a huge thing, for him.

“Isn’t he like a hundred years old?”

“Um, no, I mean, uh- no. He didn’t age, Roxie, not his fault he was frozen.”

“….. Imagine the diseases he could have. I’m sure a hundred years ago diseases were different. I don’t think our modern bodies are made for 40s’ STDs. You could die.”

“Um, I don’t think our bodies are made for any kind of STD but that’s not the point.”

She has admitted she finds him kinda hot, too, but she’s too proud to go any further than that. Sometimes you wish you could read her mind. Or more accurately, all the time.

“Yes, I like old stuff. Old music and clothes, everyone does. It’s called vintage,” You say and try to distract her before she gets the chance to start philosophizing about Steve’s STDs again.

Alleged STDs. She has no proof he actually has them and you’re definitely not going to tell her that he probably was a virgin until he woke up in the modern day. Again, no proof, but people talk and people speculate, especially people who work for Stark in the Tower or Upstate Facility and who regularly pick up a couple of words and sentences here and there, making six out of two and two.

You probably shouldn’t believe anything that gets exchanged in the daily Stark Industries gossip meetings in the hallways and kitchens but … believing Steve didn’t bang his way through the country in the 40s does help calm your jealousy a bit. A tiny bit. 

You know he had girlfriends since starting to work for Tony but a girl can ignore that and wait ‘til she’s home and has a glass of wine in her hand before she turns to google to figure out what the “Ten Signs He Likes You” are. Preferably, there’s a phone in her other hand and her best friend (Roxie) on the line.

Cliché, you know, but … there’s a reason why these things are cliché, they’re just too fitting. And relatable. Roxie disagrees.

“But just imagine. You, in a 1940s vintage style tea dress, grey tartan, short sleeve. Black T-Strap Pumps, but sexy. I’m talking five inch heels. You’re going to a Halloween party, not church. Ooh! And one of those little hats that women wore on the side of their heads. And red lipstick, heavy eye make-up, some rouge. Did they have anything else? A highlighter?”

“You look remarkably excited about your vintage ideas for someone who doesn’t like old stuff,” You comment but can’t hide a smile. Your best friend is a stylist first and a lawyer second. Only the latter professionally, but the former at heart. If you let her, she would give you a complete make-over. Needless to say, the thought alone scares the shit out of you. She is just too unpredictable.

“Y/N, maybe try to contribute to this brainstorming, would you, I’m trying to get you somewhere.”

*****

You shouldn’t have made brownies. What made you think bringing brownies to a Tony Stark party was a good idea? You are going to make a fool out of yourself if you walk in there with two loads of self-made goods in your hands. What made you think this was “cool and spontaneous”?

Ah, yeah, right. Ally told you this year’s party wouldn’t be held in one of Tony’s mansions or the Tower. Due to some mild excesses last year, Tony – and the various authorities involved, yikes – has decided to keep it small and personal this year. His words, not yours. The party will be at someone’s apartment in New York where you live, but rumour has it that that someone is loaded as fuck, so apartment probably doesn’t apply entirely.

Read: a gigantic loft.

The fact that there aren’t going to be as many people here as you thought, makes you a little nervous because your anonymity and option of turning invisible, if everything gets too much, go downhill the minute you step through the front door. Hard to disappear without leaving if there’s hardly any space to disappear into.

Why the brownies?

How Ally put it, it sounded like this is a cozy, little get-together among friends and bringing something is usually what you do when you’re invited to something like that, right? Right?? Roxie talked you into it, to be honest.

“Men love those!” She screamed whilst wildly pointing at the freshly baked goods on the counter, “Everybody loves chocolate caramel layer scares, trust me. He won’t know what’s happening to him.”

Ha. You can guess what’s going to happen to him if he tries more than one of these: diabetes. Not that you told her that.

It’s fine, Y/N, it’s gonna be fine, just drop the brownies on the diamond counter and never get near the kitchen again, so no one will suspect any connection between you and these health risks.

You take a deep breath and one last look at the intimidating building in front of you before you start walking to the entrance. It’s been a while since you last wore heels, but thankfully Roxie doesn’t just understand style but also comfort and picked a pair that looks and feels good. You shouldn’t get too optimistic, though, the evening hasn’t even begun yet.

Before you reach the glass door, you see your own reflexion in the dim street lights.

Your outfit is exactly what she envisioned in your kitchen, grey, very 40s, very femme fatale and tight on the right places. She even got you one of those “little hats women wore on the side of their heads”. Her sister Florence took care of your make-up which means you have your face all done up, smokey eyes, lashes who aren’t exactly your own, dewy cheeks and serious red lipstick.

To add a tiny scary factor, Roxie and Florence put some fake blood on your stomach area to make it look like you got stabbed, some on the side of your head where the hat sits – “Someone crashed the hat needles into your skull, Y/N, and blood is dripping down your temple” – and on one corner of your mouth.

You wish you could have taken Roxie with you as your plus one, but Ally said no companion – small circle. Well, judging by the music already coming from a window on the, what, sixth floor (?) small circle means something entirely different to Tony. Who knows how many people he invited.

You step into the building and walk to the reception. Yes, you heard right. Reception. This is going to be fancy, you can tell. Doesn’t help your goddamn nervousness. The box in your hands gets heavier and heavier the longer you hold it and there’s one needle attaching the hat to your head that just pokes into your scalp like it’s holding on for dear life. You need to fix that as soon as you find a bathroom.

Nothing in this lobby hints at the ongoing party or its theme, everything looks as sterile as possible. Not Tony’s style, admittedly, but you guess he had trouble with the neighbours, so he refrained from decorating everything.

“Good evening, Miss, can I help you?” The man behind the desk asks and looks up to you over his round little glasses. Is that a smile or just a coincidental shadow illusion on his face?

“I’m Y/N Y/L/N, I was invited to Tony Stark’s Halloween party,” You answer (um look at my costume?) and try another smile that doesn’t get reciprocated, instead he nods and pulls up a piece of paper that looks like a list. Oh, there’s a smiling pumpkin candle on his desk, right next to the little box of paperclips. Mister Dead Inside rebelling against the stuck up neighbours, what a nice touch.

Within a few seconds he finds your name, puts a check mark behind it and meets your eyes again with a sober look on his face.

“The elevator is over there, the party is on the fifth floor, 1-0-3-1 is the code for tonight. I hope you’ll have a very nice evening, Miss Y/L/N.”

I hope so, too.

You thank him and walk to where he pointed, punch the numbers into the little keyboard on the wall and step into the opening elevator. The last thing you see before the doors close is him pulling out what looks like another pumpkin candle from one of his drawers and positioning it on his desk.

There’s no music coming from any speakers in the elevator during your ride up, but there’s definitely music coming from outside the elevator, growing louder and louder the higher you get. Hrrr, your pulse really has no business speeding up like that. It’s not like you’ve never been to a party.

You’ve just never been at a party smaller than Tony’s huge orgies (basically) and therefore never got the chance to talk to Steve with a champagne glass in your hand and no “I have to go save the world now, sorry, dear” between you two. All you know is Business Steve, stern eyes, determined eyebrows, important stuff to do. You have no clue what Private Steve is like. And that’s … kinda scary.

What if Private Steve is a douche? No. He isn’t. You don’t need to know him to know that. But what if Private Steve is boring and stiff (hmm) or … what if he likes to collect stamps or miniature trains? Is there a bigger mood killer in this world than collecting miniature trains and would you be able to stand above it?

Roxie would be of great help right now, it’s a shame you couldn’t bring her.

The doors open and reveal an open, dark hallway that is decorated with spider nets, candles, two skeletons, fake blood on the wall, a couple of pumpkins, a crooked mirror and various dusty boxes and murder equipment. This looks surprisingly awesome. After what you saw in the lobby, your expectations fell to a humble level but this is really cool.

At least a dozen voices can be heard from around the corner and the music is a notch too loud for your liking. You hesitate for another second before entering the apartment and slowly walk around the corner. What you see definitely has Tony Stark written all over it.

Take the decorations from the entrance and multiply it by a hundred. You have never seen this many different candles, and someone really had a blast with the fake spider nets. There is even a broken chandelier hanging from the ceiling, adding to the dim, mysterious atmosphere produced by the candles and blinking chains of lights.

It looks like a great party.

Oh and the people? As diverse as it gets. From vampires, werewolves and witches to pirates, various animals including a giraffe, to cartoon show characters, murdered people, injured people, angry people, to clowns, zombies, princesses, nuns, nurses, monks, angels and devils, the KFC guy and oh, is that one-armed Spongebob?

Looks like people go scary, sexy and funny. Questions answered. Time to drop off the brownies that are still in your hands and that feel like two hundred pounds at this point. No one seems to notice you as you walk past the Power Rangers and follow Ernie and Bert into a hallway that hopefully leads to the kitchen.

It doesn’t. It leads to another hallway with several closed doors which could be bedrooms. Ah. Ernie and Bert want to make out. Your bad. You turn around and walk back to the gigantic living room that in itself looks like a loft and try to make out the way to your admired location.

“Am I having hallucinations or did the 1950s just arrive at my party?” A voice suddenly asks and you jump, not expecting the noise next to you. The person who the voice belongs to turns out to be a black Aladdin, open vest showcasing abs and everything, completed by silver eyeliner and a fake wig to get the typical 1001 Nights Prince’s hair but doesn’t quite fit the rest of his appearance. But who are you to judge a dedicated man’s Halloween costume at his own party?

“Yeah, that actually might be a hallucination because I don’t represent the 50s, but the 40s,” You say and smile, just as Albert Einstein walks past you. Something to tell your grandkids about.

“Oh, I’m sorry M’lady, I got the decade wrong but the costume looks, um, fetching.”

Is this really how people talked in the 40s? Probably not. You laugh and feel a little of your nervousness go. Only a little, but still.

“So this is your party? Can you tell me where the kitchen is then?”

“Over there, next to the skeleton on the wall and the bloody unicorn. Thank you for bringing something, Miss 40s, I really hope this is dessert.”

“It is. Brownies,” You say and watch as Aladdin punches the air in joy.

“Nice! I’m glad Tony invited you, no one else brought Brownies yet. Speaking of, Tony should be here somewhere,” He informs you and roams the crowd.

Oh, please let him be Genie! Please let him be Genie, God, please!

Tony Stark topless in blue body paint and a little ponytail on the top of his head is something that would make the whole stress worth it.

You scan the room and look for Tony but you find someone else. Steve. Standing with a small group of people, a beer in his hand, he looks too beautiful to handle. So much about getting calmer.

“Okay, I’ll bring these to the kitchen, thank you!” You quickly announce and start to move.

“It was my pleasure, a lady in distress, how could I not help? The royal court has raised me to be a Prince, not a dizzard,” Aladdin proclaims and tips his fedora- you mean, his little hat. Didn’t Aladdin grow up on the street and only got access to the palace when he met Jasmine? This Aladdin here either forgot his own origin story or had more than a couple of drinks already.

While dodging guests, you walk over to the skeleton and the bloody unicorn (another guest) and enter the kitchen. Having a will of steel, you didn’t once look at Steve or check out his outfit. Like a powerful queen.

You walk around the kitchen island and put the box on the huge counter (not diamond by the way) and start unpacking. It looks like a lot of people brought some stuff, thankfully, and you place yours at the dessert side of the buffet. There are a couple of vampires with you in the room, but suddenly you hear more people walk in behind you.

“… like it’s the worst, Abe.”

“If anyone makes another theatre joke to my face, I think I’m actually gonna shoot someone,” A deep voice answers and you turn around. 

Abraham Lincoln and a zombie nurse are deep in conversation while the nurse pours glasses of bowle on the kitchen island for them. You need a couple of seconds to recognize them as Mark and Jess from your department.

“You chose the outfit, Mark- um Abe, so you gotta live with that now. Just suck it up like a real man and get drunk with me. I never drank with a president before,” She says and hands him his glass. That’s when she notices you.

“Y/N, hi! Good to see you! Nice costume, are you … I don’t know who you are. Someone from the 60s? A celebrity? Meryl Streep?”

Did she just say 60s? Wait, did she just say Meryl Streep??

“Um, no. I-“

“Jess, why would she be Meryl Streep, she looks nothing like her, look at the hair. There were other actresses besides Meryl in the 60s, by the way. Also, I don’t think Y/N is going for the 60s, I think she is going for first World War,” Abraham Lincoln muses and takes a sip from his cherry bowle.

1910s definitely wasn’t what you envisioned.

“That’s why she is all bloody, because she served in the war and got killed by a grenade splinter in her chest,” He continues and seems very sure of his ability to identify vintage fashion.

“Women didn’t fight back then,” Jess retorts and pushes a strand of red hair out of her face. Even if women had served in the World War, they wouldn’t have worn a dress and heels. Time to solve the mystery.

“I’m a lady from the 40s and I got brutally murdered by my unfaithful husband who didn’t want to pay for a divorce.”

“Makes sense.”

“At least you got the decade right, Abe,” She says and pinches Mark’s side who squinches his eyes at her comment.

“The first World War wasn’t in the 40s, that was the second one. Did you leave your brain at home tonight?”

Geez.

“Y/N, by the way, Steve was asking about you.”

What.

WHAT.

Your eyes grow wide as you stare at Jess.

“He was?”

“Yup. Wanted to know if you’d be here, too, ‘cause he had overheard Ally telling you about Tony’s invitation. I said I didn’t know and that you’ve never been to Tony’s Halloween party before, so who knows if you’d be going.”

Yeah, because you’ve never been invited before but that’s the details. Steve asked about you!! Is this even real?

“I, um, okay? Cool. Well … I’m here. Um … do you know why he asked?” Okay, can your voice sound any more unstable? Try to keep your cool, for god’s sake!

“Nope,” She simply says and eyes you curiously. Poker face! Poker face!! You smile.

“Okay.”

Short silence.

“Wow, Y/N’s got a thing for Cap. That’s cute.”

“Mark!”

“Jess, I’m Abraham Lincoln, please respect your presid-“ A rather violent punch against his shoulder cuts off his sarcastic remark.

At that moment, a small group of people walks in and to the dismay of your previously relatively steady heartbeat you see Steve with them, now being nerve-wreckingly close. The kitchen seems quite crowded now.

Did he dress up as Han Solo? Heart be still!

Before he can catch you staring, you quickly turn back to face the counter and pretend to be occupied with inspecting the cover of the box you brought the brownies in. Oh, click-closure, interesting. But is it purple from both sides…?

From the corner of your eye, you see someone push in right next to you, and you don’t need to look up to know who it is. You’d recognize that cologne anywhere. You dare a glance to your left and realize that Steve has his back to you and is talking to a fantastic-looking blonde in a Super Woman costume.

It’s easy to see that every single woman in this room and a couple of dudes are subtly staring at Captain America and you can’t blame them.

He doesn’t notice you and you think you’d get away when, on the other side of the room, two of your co-workers in sexy Harry Potter costumes (Hufflepuff and Slytherin) come up to the kitchen island. Hufflepuff sees you, claps her hands and laughs, getting everyone’s attention.

“I didn’t think you would come!”

Slytherin whistles approvingly at your costume and excessive make-up just as Steve turns from having his back to you to looking at you. His expression is kind of friendly when he turns, surely because he’s having an inspiring discussion with Wonder Woman, though he also looks curious to see who Hufflepuff is yelling at, or at least that’s how it seems to you. The minute his eyes meet yours, he freezes and stares.

“Look at you!” Slytherin calls out and grabs an empty glass to fill it with bowle, “That dress is beautiful, so retro, I love it. 50s? You should come to work looking like that, no wait, we should all come to work looking like that. Every Wednesday. We’ll make it our Mean Girls-inspired theme day. Minus the fake blood of course.”

You want to run. You don’t want everyone looking at you.

“You have no idea how long I have waited to hear those words,” Hufflepuff comments and goes for her own glass, “I’m a sucker for everything vintage. It’s so cute.”

“I’m actually a lady from the 40s, whose, um, whose husband cheated on her and now doesn’t want to pay for a divorce, so he, uh, killed me,” You explain, now not so sure about your costume idea anymore. You also try to avoid Steve’s beautiful eyes which are so painfully close and they are looking at you! One might think you never had a boyfriend before, it’s pathetic.

“Ooh, drama! I like that,” A guy who you don’t know says, “Trouble in paradise?”

Trouble in paradise? Does he think you had beef with your *non-existent* boyfriend and now you went for Murdered Wife? That’s something Roxie would do, no doubt.

“No, just liked the idea.”

The general attention in the room moves away from you and the little groups get back to their own conversations.

You chance a look at Steve out of the corner of your eye and see he’s still staring at you, no longer frozen. There is activity behind his eyes, lots of it. Just nothing you can understand. You stop trying to look at Steve without looking like you are looking at Steve and take a step forward.

“Can you pour one for me, too?” You ask Hufflepuff and she does as you ask. Steve’s gaze burns into the backside of your head. Why isn’t he saying anything? He never seemed shy around you.

The music in the living room changes into a different song and a Pink Power Ranger shrieks and pushes against the pirate next to her.

“Let’s go dance! Please!”

“No, let’s just stay here for a while.”

She sighs and looks annoyed, as far as her body language tells you because the mask covers her face completely. All of a sudden, you feel a heat at your back, like someone came up behind you and you think you know who it is. For the sake of your reputation – ‘cause you’d definitely ruin that if you turned around now and stuttered like a horse – you keep your back to him and hold on to the surface in front of you.

“We’ve been standing around all night. I need to move!”

The pirate doesn’t answer and demonstratively takes a sip from his cup. You do the same and listen to the music blasting through the apartment (Steve has moved to stand next to you now), all while ignoring the tension between the two of you in the air.

The music goes into the chorus and the bass booms.

“Not to be dramatic, but I am going to die if we don’t do something … like now.”

“Sarah, if you want to go dance, go.”

Seriously. You start to grin at her childlike crossing of the arms.

“Y/N.”

The blood in your veins freezes at his voice, so close, so him, captivating you instantly although you try not to let it show. You turn your head, still smiling, and look at him. You barely smile around him, let alone at him, because you are usually too nervous but he took you off-guard this time. Then you realize where you are, only a few inches away from Steve fuckin’ Rogers, and your smile dies on your face.

He is still staring at you, but now he is staring at your mouth.

You feel your knees get a bit weak.

The tension gets unbearable, so all you have in mind is ESCAPE. You turn away and attempt to walk around the kitchen island when Steve grabs your wrist.

“Hang on, Y/N,” He says.

He pulls you back gently and you involuntarily get close again, head tilted up to meet his eyes but immediately regretting it because how are you going to get out of this situation now?

“Hm?”

“I like your outfit. Been a while since I saw someone dressed like that.”

Roxie would high-five you now if she was here.

“Thanks.”

“I was actually … hoping to see you here, I-“

“Oh my god, who made these brownies?!” Someone cries out next to you and both of you turn your heads to the side. Albert Einstein stands at the counter, eyes huge, one of your brownies in his hand and his mouth is chewing wildly.

“Me,” You inform him and hesitantly raise your hand.

“These are unbe-fucking-lievable. I’m in love. Everyone please leave me alone now, I need some me-time.”

You smile at him, what a nice thing to say, especially from a physicist that legendary.

You look back at Steve and realize he is watching you again, this time a small smile plays around his lips. Seeing a Private Steve Smile up-close creates a tingling flutter in your belly and kind of detaches you from reality for a second. Where are you again?

“Y/N, what did you put into th-“

“Okay, that’s it,” Steve declares, interrupting Hufflepuff, lays one arm around your waist and starts to move, so you have no other option than to follow him. “I can’t even have one solid conversation with you without anyone interrupting.”

You don’t say anything because you’re way too overwhelmed by the sudden physical contact. He has never really touched you before, aside from shaking your hand or platonically laying a hand on your shoulder, and now you don’t really know how to react. The wild beating of your heart doesn’t help the matter.

He guides you out of the kitchen and you find yourself standing in the loud living room. Pink Power Ranger is dancing like there’s no tomorrow and if this wasn’t such an important moment, you would laugh. Are you being dramatic or just needy?

“I mean, I’m sure the brownies are great, but … well,” He says, arm still around your waist, blue eyes looking down at you, his smell has long catapulted you into a Steve-induced trance, “What I was saying is, I’m glad you’re here because- actually I was trying to approach you at the Tower this week but you’ve been busy and I didn’t want to interrupt, and … well, I was wondering if you want to go out-“

“Han Solo and Lady 40s, arm in arm in my living room! Never thought I would see that happening,” Aladdin booms a few steps away from you. Is this night even for real? Since when have you been so popular??

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Steve bursts out, grabs your hand and drags you past Aladdin into a hallway. You shoot the host an apologetic look but don’t bother stopping the grin on your face. This is kinda funny, not gonna lie.

The hallway is empty and there seem to be no other horny guests so far. As soon as he knows the air is clear, he turns around to you and moves way into your Personal Space (like always, it seems), his beautiful blue eyes locking on yours.

“What I was trying to say is-“

“Hey, Steve my man-“

“You better piss off now, Carl, or I can’t guarantee for anything anymore!” Steve growls at Carl, who just appeared behind him, without even looking over his shoulder.

At this moment he sounds so threatening that you can’t help but wince a little, your eyes grow huge as you watch Carl do a 180 and walk into the direction he came from. Your gaze flickers back to the man in front of you and it’s obvious he is trying not to lose his temper – a trait you never thought he had in him, losing his temper, you mean.

A small muscle in his jaw twitches and his eyes look unusually dark while they stare at the corner of your mouth, so you try a smile. At that, his face changes and he looks up into yours.

“You wanted to ask me something?”

Phew, who would have thought you would be that fucking courageous. Roxie won’t believe this.

“Yes.”

He gets even closer, so you retreat until your back hits the wall, and he puts his big hands against the surface next to your shoulders. Caging you. It’s just that it doesn’t feel like it. He could show you a way out and you would still stand glued to this spot.

“Before anyone gets in the way again, I’m gonna make this short. Do you want to go out on a date with me?”

****

Permanent Tag List:  @izzy-the-teawitch @wowpeterparker @brightcolorsoffendme @strangequakson @rosegoldquintis @thirdwheelchurchill  @hazel-eyed-bi @goldenkillmonger @yourwonderbelle @spyderparker @irondadandspidersoncute @thirtiethnovember @kaitsepticeye @appalo0 @lionheo04 @vivideley @mae-shower @jitterbuck @bookgirlunicorn @stanningissohard @chook007

[whatarubberchicken]

Cat’s Cradle

(Or: the beginning of many, many Marichat stories.)

Cat’s Cradle

“You can thank me later.”

It had seemed like such a little thing. And at the time, she’d honestly had more on her mind than what Cat Noir could possibly mean (namely, defeating the monster that Nathaniel had turned into). So she was completely caught off guard when a pair of bright green eyes appeared in her window later that night as she was getting ready for bed. Her only warning was Tikki, who suddenly zipped behind her computer.

“Tikki?” she’d called, confused by her kwami’s behavior. Then she’d seen the peeping tomcat in her window.

She’d screamed to high heaven.

To his credit, he seemed to realize his mistake quite quickly, and didn’t hang around for her bear of a father to come barreling up the stairs at his daughter’s cry. She’d spent a few minutes catching her breath and reassuring her father that she’d just seen a stray cat and it had startled her (she didn’t say who the stray cat was, she didn’t need her partner getting that kind of reputation around Paris, thank you!), before all was calm again, her father told her to get some sleep, and she cautiously made her way up to her balcony to see if the superhero was still there.

He wasn’t. Apparently, he did care about saving his tail. Cause ohhh, she wanted to rip him a new one for that!! She’d gone to bed that night plotting and planning for Ladybug to completely lay into him for stalking girls at night the very next time she saw him.

By morning, she’d forgotten about it until Adrien came up to her, asking about her interaction with the superhero. Of course, she wasn’t about to let her crush know some other guy had seen her in nothing but her pajamas! So, she’d stuttered and rambled on until he left.

It made her think a bit more about Cat Noir, though. He wasn’t really that type of guy, was he? She knew him, at least she thought she knew him better than anyone else, and up until the night before, she’d have sworn up and down that he was completely safe.

Now?

Curious, she’d asked Alya about it. After all, the Ladyblog was the leading authority on all things Ladybug and Cat Noir. If there were reports of the tomcat peeping, surely her best friend would be the first to know!

To her surprise, Alya had responded positively and enthusiastically. She’d said that it was now considered common practice for Cat Noir to visit akuma victims after the incident; making sure they were okay, or recommending local doctors, shrinks, or whatever else they might need to help them. He’d even gotten a couple of them jobs or helped others keep their jobs (many akumas were turned because they’d lost their job) by pulling strings with the higher-ups.

Her partner had even been recorded reiterating their standing policy that the former akumas be considered and treated like victims, not perpetrators. There was a whole section on the blog that Marinette had never even seen before, called Cat’s Cradle.

Marinette couldn’t help smiling as she read the whole section. She usually saw her job as done once the Miraculous Cure went through and fixed everything. Apparently, her partner had been working in the shadows, pulling strings, and making sure it stayed that way.

And it didn’t take much. Alya had said he’d visited for less than five minutes after she’d become Lady Wifi, and that was after she’d begged him for an interview. He’d even given her some extra money to buy a better phone because, as he’d said with a wink, he wanted to see better pictures of Ladybug on the Blog.

Marinette had blushed and quickly changed the subject.

But that night, she left a box of cookies and a thank-you note on her balcony. It was Cat’s turn for patrol. They were both gone the next morning.

“Careful, Marinette,” Tikki had giggled, smirking at her sideways. “Don’t you know you’re not supposed to feed strays?”

“There is nothing wrong with thanking my partner for doing a good job,” she’d replied defensively. And he’d been going above and beyond, it seemed. Besides, now that he’d been thanked properly (she wasn’t quite sure all of this wasn’t for some extra-preening opportunities), he should be satisfied and leave her alone, right?

Wrong.

A couple nights later was the incident with Rogercop. And damn, had that taken a long time. All day and into the night before the akuma had finally been purified. So, she’d stayed up late, trying to get at least some of her homework done, when she’d heard a light knock coming from her hatch. She’d whirled towards it in shock.

Surely not…? He had to be as exhausted as she was! Why wasn’t he at home, resting?

But she couldn’t just leave him there with no reply. And she was curious as to what would drive him to feed his kwami and transform again (he’d used his Cataclysm, there was no way he’d held onto the transformation for this long) after everything else that had happened tonight. So, she’d gone up and opened the hatch, to see him smiling sheepishly on her balcony holding a single violet. He held it out to her with a courtly bow.

“Cat Noir?” was all she could say as she took it, totally flummoxed.

“I wanted to apologize for scaring you the other night,” he said, rubbing the back of neck sheepishly. “I really wasn’t trying to peek in your room, I was trying to see if you were awake—”

“By peeking in my room,” she’d interrupted, folding her arms and raising an eyebrow. He’d paused, his mouth still open, but unable to contradict her. He seemed to realize this after a moment.

“Yeah, I got nothing,” he admitted in defeat. “I’m sorry, and it won’t happen again?” he tried hopefully.

“It had better not,” she said, crossing her arms. “The last thing Paris needs is for its superhero to be labelled a ‘peeping tom.’”

“Oh God, no,” he actually whimpered in horror. “I already get enough flack from the press for the leather-looking catsuit.”

Marinette giggled. “Well, I guess I can let it go. You did save me from the big, scary, evil akuma, after all.” She batted her eyes at him playfully.

“Evillustrator wasn’t that big. He was one of the smallest—,” Cat argued, turning to her with an eyebrow raised. He scowled. “You’re teasing me, aren’t you.”

Marinette laughed. “Sorry, but you make it easy.” He huffed and pouted, looking like an irritable kitten. “Sorry, sorry,” she said, her laughter dying off. “I really am grateful for everything. Is there anything I can do for you in return?”

“Actually…,” he said, looking speculative. He licked his lips and looked at her eagerly. “Do you have any more of those cookies? They were really good. I mean, I know the bakery’s closed right now, but….”

“No, no, it’s no problem,” Marinette said, turning to go get him some.

“I can pay!” he said quickly, before she could disappear down the hatch completely. She looked at him in surprise, only to see him toss his hair like some sort of shampoo commercial. “I mean, you don’t owe me any free cookies or anything for rescuing you,” he said, lowering his voice and obviously trying to be seductive. “Being this fabulous just comes with being a superhero.”

Oh, my God, she thought, cringing. He’s so over the top. And where’d he learn to flirt? An anime?? It was taking all she had not to break into laughter again.

“Oh, no,” she said, taking the higher road and not laughing at her partner. “No superheroes pay here, Cat Noir. Rescuing princesses means you eat for free.”

“Oh, really?” he asked, flashing her a dazzling smile. “Better be careful then, princess. I’ll eat you out of house and home.” She snorted at him, but he shook his head, his smile dropping for a moment. “No, I’m serious. I had to take on the entire police force today. I’m starving.” She laughed.

“Well, then, I’d better add a few croissants to the bag then,” she said.

“Really??” Now the excited look on his face was real, she was sure. She winked at him.

“I’ll see what I can scrounge up. Wait here.”

She closed the hatch behind her, still not entirely comfortable with the thought of a strange boy in her room (superhero or not). She was sure she heard a whoop behind her though, and could easily picture him doing a fist pump. She giggled again at his antics and went to go get him his treats.

When she came back with a whole box of macaroons, as well as various breads and pastries from the bakery (her father usually got rid of the stuff not sold the previous day anyway, so he’d never miss these), she swore his eyes glowed. He thanked her profusely, and did try to pay her several times, but she insisted.

...she really should’ve listened to Tikki about feeding strays.

End.

[benbarnesescape]

Blood, Sex and Whiskey - Part 4

$ecret – Part A

Warnings: None for this part. Cursing?

A/N: Two things. Teaser clip triggered this. Was going to hold out for a few days to write this next bit but that cute little exchange of men perfectly aligned where I was going to take this. Secondly, Ben with a southern/Bostonian accent might be the death of me. Also sorry that is just a part within a part – can’t help but be a tease 😃  

Tag list: @iheartbinbons @binbonsadoration @delos-mio @lafemmedemon @la-fille-en-aiguilles@ladyblablabla @drinix @padfootagain @princesse-de-ravenclaw @lovelysiriuss

Iraq 2002

The air was thick with tension as the shadows of four soldiers slumped their way to the hidden bar. Didn’t matter that they were in Istanbul for the next two days, temporarily considered a safe zone, to find time to unwind. They still walked with their eyes in their pockets, their trained eyes watching civilians on guard.

It was a tough week.

They had lost almost a quarter of their recon team over the past three days and the weight of that realization laid heavy on their minds as they slunk through the door of the well-used establishment. They had decided to go out to distract themselves. Get drunk. Maybe get laid. Anything to help them forget about the impossible mission that was taking them out one by one, like a row of cans standing vulnerable to be shot at.

Billy refused to allow it to bring him down.

He knew loss. Knew what it felt like to look someone you loved dearly in the eyes and tell them that everything was going to be all right while you slowly watched the light burn out of them until you’re left with nothing but their shell. He didn’t get attached anymore so that sort of human experience – grief - could move past him.

His comrades had yet to learn such an art.

Except Frank. Frank, similarly to him, understood that to maintain sanity that meant sacrificing intimacy. It wasn’t the best exchange but it guaranteed an existence that didn’t end with you shooting yourself in the head or getting yourself killed. Ironically, they were closer because of this knowledge, and Billy nudged him now as the group slowly made their way to a booth.

“Bet we’re a sight to see.” He says, his eastern drawl causing a few naked ears to turn their way but nothings done or said. Just watching. Like an exhibit at a museum.

“What do you mean by?” Franks asks, sliding into the booth and Billy shrugs, following his motion.

“You got two white guys, a black dude and they probably think Rafi over here’s Iraqi or Afghanistan or whatever. Never guess the guy was from the islands. We’re like the start of a horribly racist joke.”

Rafi laughs, motioning for a waiter and Billy looks over to their last friend, Jason, who has his head down. In this last run, his good friend and childhood friend had been the last victim. They were mainly out for him. To distract his brain for falling into that dark place that takes away any sense of hope.

“You ok J?”

Jason looks at him, nods before slinking back in his seat and they all exchange glances knowing it was the opposite. Better to pretend that it was fine then dwell on the memories. Memories that could only temporarily fulfill.

“Plan on getting laid tonight Rafi?” Frank interjects as a man with a turban walks over, four beers in his hands. They don’t ask how he knew they wanted beers. Figured it was because of their dog tags, the way they commanded the room when they had entered. It was hard to disguise the fact that they were soldiers, despite how hard they tried. Couldn’t turn it off because that was the difference between living and death.

“I mean, I was going to just sit here and listen to you idiots drone on about who jerks off the best,” That earns a soft kick from Billy from under the table as Rafi smiles, “But I just saw a cute little thing that’s just begging for me to go say hello.”

Billy rolls his eyes as Frank laughs and Rafi slinks out of his seat, his beer nestled safely in his hands.

“I don’t understand how that guy gets so much pussy. He doesn’t have a nice face. Looks like Mohammed Ali practiced a round on it.”

Frank shrugs, taking a sip and shaking his head.

“It’s Rafi. He’s got personality and charm and…….” Frank tappers off before looking at Billy. “I really don’t know how he does it either. He really does have a fucked-up face.”

That causes even Jason to give the smallest of laughs as Billy falls back, playing with his beer, shaking his head.

“I mean it. Back in New York, I could get a dame easy. Didn’t even have to say much. But ever since this Marine life, I’ve been striking out that I might as well call my hand my girlfriend.”

Another laugh from Jason, causing Frank to smile as he slaps him on the back.

“Well, we all hear you moaning out her name each night so it’s no surprise there.” He fires back and Billy smiles, taking another swig and surveying the room. Not because he was paranoid. Because it was what he was trained to do. What they were all trained to do. And he couldn’t turn it off.

“It’s because Rafi is our intel guy. Knows how to read women and tap into them to get what he wants. Then, make them believe they wanted him to leave. Guy has it down to a science,” Jason finally makes eye contact with Billy before giving a sad smirk. “You just are kind of an idiot when you talk to women. It’s like fear – they can smell your stupidity a mile away.”

Frank is laughing harder and Billy can’t help chuckling, shaking his head.

“Whatever man.”

He takes another swig of beer, before placing it on the table and noticing that something has changed. The room’s energy has shifted and he sits up in his seat, hoping that it’s not the worse scenario playing in his head. Recounting the exits and the people he’s already suspected might be in on it.

Frank and Jason notice too, but there not on edge like Billy. Instead, their eyes are too busy following the figure that’s just walked through the door across the room, their beers still frozen on their lips before Jason’s whispering out,

“Damn.”

“Hot damn.” Frank echoes before Billy follows their movement and raises a speculative eye.

“Holy hot damn.” He finishes. The figure that has just walked isn’t wearing anything particularly sexy. Black pencil skirt that hugs you in the right way. Burgundy button down with a jacket pulled over. Your hairs down and it’s a contrast to the business look you are donning. You only have a single bag and they’re all wondering. Journalist? Reporter? You were too cozy with the bartender – speaking perfect Turkish before handing him over a lira and drinking your beer. You sit at the bar, a notebook in front of you as you jot down notes, not paying attention to the men who are watching with ravenous eyes.

Perhaps you were American. Or British. Definitely new world – your mannerisms speaking for themselves.

“She’s mine.” Jason fumbles out and Billy shoots his head toward him.

“Wait, what?! No! That’s not how this works.”

Franks laughs as Jason counters.

“I saw her first.”

“Doesn’t matter! Besides, aren’t you sad? She’s not going to be into a sad dude.”

Jason cracks his knuckles, shaking his head.

 “She’ll condole me. Chicks love that.”

“Does she look like a simple chick to you? No way. ‘Sides, I’m the one with the streak. I should get a chance of talking to her before you all swoop in.”

“Looks like Rafi wins, once again.” Frank chuckles, pointing toward the bar where Rafi has already dumped his previous conquest and is moving toward her. Billy and Jason groan simultaneously, watching as their friend stand beside this new woman.

“Fuck, back to being depressed.” Jason mutters, waving his hand to the waiter for another round.

“Basically.” Billy mutters.

Billy’s all about forgotten about you by the third-round in. Not because he wasn’t intrigued – no, he had chanced to many glances your way. It was the fact that Rafi always got what he wanted and if he wanted you, that left little chance for him.

Except it doesn’t.

He’s walked up to the bar, trying to figure out where they can grab dinner when your voice cuts through the crowd.

“Who’s your friend?”

He hasn’t realized how close he’s stumbled to you and Rafi and he hears his tall friend shrug, immediately returning his attention back to you.

“Oh him? That’s just Billy. Like I was saying, about that time when I went to London-“

You cut him off, placing your hand on his lips as you maneuver your view to look over at Billy, whose drumming his hands on the countertop.

“Hey. Billy.”

Hearing his name roll off your tongue causes him to stop his whistling to look over at you and you smile as you hold up a beer.

“Wanna beer?”

He gives a side grin, cocking his head to the side and you laugh.

“What? Not a beer drinker? Into something earthier. Like bourbon or whiskey?”

Billy chuckles, walking toward you and Rafi who he knows is glaring at him with eye daggers as he moves between him and you.

“While I love a solid cup of whiskey, I’d be more than happy to have a beer with you.”

“Done!” You smile, snapping your fingers and turning toward the bartender. You deliver the order in quick tongue and look back at him. Billy goes into his wallet and you shake your head, stopping him.

“Don’t worry about it. Couple of weeks back, I saved the owners daughter. So I get all my beers for myself and my guests for free.”

Billy smiles as Rafi watches the both of you, his both dropped low before asking, 

“What the hell? I bought our past rounds!”

“Because you invited yourself into my space. You were never invited and quite frankly I’m bored by you. So if you could…..” you nudge toward the table where Frank and Jason are watching in amusement and Billy can’t help to start laughing as Rafi looks at you, mouth still agape as you turn your attention back to Billy.

“So Billy -what’s a gaggle of soldiers like you doing in Istanbul. Far from the sandbox and the rest of your units?”

Billy turns to you as your beers are delivered and shrugs.

“We got the weekend off. Wanted a change of scenery.”

You nod, not pressing as he asks,

“What’s an attractive, smart lady like yourself doing out here?”

You smile, bringing the beer to your lips and taking a slow sip. When your finished swallowing you shrug,

“Journalist. It was more fun to come out here to report updates then stay in a stuffy office in Paris to talk about some stupid party or political move or whatever.”

Billy laughs nodding,

“Restless spirit.”

“Something like that.”

Silence. You both are sizing each other up and down before he asks,

“You bored, restless spirit?”

“I’m horny.” You say and he coughs on his beer at your boldness as you lean closer. “Your friend talks a mean game but I’m not an insecure woman looking for validation in the form of his dick. I’m more into a guy of shy confidence and an air of humor about him.”

He leans closer to you, whispering back,

“What makes you think I’m shy.”

“You’ve been eyeballing me for the past forty minutes but did nothing about it. When you got up I thought you were finally making your move not wimping out.”

“I didn’t wimp out.” Billy barks back and you laugh, getting up and shaking your head.

“A game of pool says otherwise.”

Billy quirks up an eyebrow before asking,

“You saying if I beat you in pool, I get the satisfaction of saying I’m right.”

“Yep,” you smile as you cross your legs and eye him under your lashes. “and if I win I get the satisfaction. Either way gets you laid.”

He shakes his head smiling, not believing his dumb luck.

“You’re on.” He finally relents.

[aaluminiumas]

There’s Our Future Behind It

“Just don’t tell me I’ve been explaining it to myself.”

“As you wish, Tall-boy. I won’t.”

        Brewster gifted his friend, Major Benjamin Tallmadge, with a broad silly smile. His calloused fingers were now fiddling with a knickknack he had grabbed from a shelf – his thoughts indeed wandered around something else – some matter at hand Ben had mentioned in passing – but at the same time he was still able to contrive and add the details he missed. Strategy was his forte; Caleb seemed to succeed in what Tallmadge spent hours on. Brewster didn’t need either an outlined plan, or a site plan as he used to explore the surroundings all by himself. He used to lay an ambush on the enemy using a sidelong hill near the river simultaneously demonstrating the prowess of an experienced soldier. Furthermore, he was good with his hatchet – but this honed skill Major Tallmadge sometimes tended to disregard.

“Stop staring at me as if I stole your money after a night with a wench,” Caleb drawled swiveling his eyes to the bagatelle in the scratched fingers. “I might accidentally think you’re in love with me, Benny-boy. I’d be very much flattered but you’d better taste a woman before you try a guy!.. Let me not be the lucky man though.”

        “What a wise thing to say,” it was obvious Tallmadge got embarrassed by such a remark about his monastic private life, but the young man decided to ignore the comment hoping that Caleb would calm down. “But Caleb,” Major’s eyes slid across the avuncular bearded face, “did you get what I was talking about? The great significance of the operation, its upcoming impact on the…”

“Yup, yup, Major,” Brewster interrupted the stream of rebuke that was about to fall upon his head. “I got it. I just can’t understand why the heck we aren’t shooting them down at the river.”

“Because they have supplies, that’s why. If we use our cannons while the redcoats are on board, everything will drown. We will lose the chance to snatch the rations.”

        Not eager to discuss the wide range of problems the army had to face during the war, Tallmadge briefly mentioned the lack of supplies – and dwelled on some other things Washington dealt with. Although a cut and thrust in Congress wasn’t going to abate, Ben could easily imagine it had nothing to do with the circumstance in the country at the moment. Delegates jettisoned letters from the camp and used their agile minds only to contrive a new tax to levy on the emaciated nation. Working on Virginia’s court system, the sagacious congressmen operated in cahoots although normally they were at loggerhead with each other. They were incredibly unanimous when they needed a better way to ignore Washington’s orders and demands. Considering the fact they barely reached a compromise even talking about the comeuppance that was to befall the British for oppression and decimation, this was a worth mentioning achievement. The Congress was the first to yell about the knell heard in the distance – but the last to work out the kinks whether it was about a financial project, or the army.

        “True. Wet gunpowder is as helpful as a broken gun,” Brewster uttered, putting the bric-a-brac in its place. “You can hardly kill a foe with a ball of gunpowder… while he sure can hole your head with a bayonet.”

        Tallmadge nodded absent-mindedly – and glared at the unfolded map. The Congress didn’t even believe they were able to vanquish. Politicians never declared it openly, yet they undoubtedly would lick King George’s boots in case of defeat. Washington, the man, whose valor inspired people, was seen as an extravagant warrior putting effort into the wrong hobby: his endevors to fight destitution and hunger seemed silly and futile to the congressmen. Look, he was trying to challenge the mightiest empire wielding power all over the world! Strong, inflexible, General Washington revealing his deflating sangfroid, led the way to independence – and wasted time on the homesick Congress refusing to search for allies. His talents were evident – but he was all alone, and even the greatest needed confederates. That was what they could not quite fathom.

        “This is not my plan, actually,” Tallmadge said after a long pause. “General Rochambeau and Marquis de Lafayette offered it.”

        “General who and Marquis who? Those tall messeurs never leaving Washington’s tent?”

        “Correct. Lieutenant Colonel Hamilton wrote to them.”

        “So the French are taking over?”

        “To some extent. They suggest cutting the British off at sea.”

        Caleb nodded in agreement, already lost in thought. How did it turn out this way? He was standing here with his best friend, casually maintaining a confabulation about people they were going to kill by cannons, guns, bayonets and blasts. He barely speculated on the subjects like that, but this time the whaler suddenly caught himself thinking there was no way out. They were not to go back in time, and the childhood dreams they were so determined to pursue… went belly up. Brewster didn’t miss the younger years dearly, moreover, he was quite contented with his life, but… how did it change so quickly?

        Silence fell upon the tent. Tallmadge marked something on the map, wrote something down in his journal.

        “You know, Benny-boy, I never thought to see you such a burly man-at-arms. I mean, we’re at war. You, a Yalie, and Abe, and even our Annie. I mean… she used to treat your grazed knees all the time! Remember, how loudly you howled when you fell off a tree? I thought it was fatal. But then you squalled so loudly that we sighed with relief: the dead don’t shout at the top of their lungs.

        “I didn’t shout at all,” Ben got confused, “My Dad would give me a good scolding, I was wearing my new pants. Every child is afraid of the parents every once in a while.”

        “Well, Abe never was and never is,” Caleb japed amiably, “So as Annie. She came home scratched all over.”

        “While you were somewhere else!.. And then popped out of nowhere having some ‘intelligence of topmost significance’! Where did you take it, finagled out of a merchant’s son?”

        “Really, ‘intelligence of topmost importance’, you say?” Caleb let out a laugh, “Somebody had to brighten your smug prolixity! You’re grinding at English days on end, Woodhull’s having law in the head, cabbage on the head, dreams about his own farm in the eyes, and Annie can do nothing about you both. While one is expecting to have his elbow bandaged, the other…”

        Suddenly, Brewster fell silent. Tallmadge was about to mention his elbows had always been in great condition, but didn’t say anything himself realizing that his friend touched upon something bigger than just a childhood game. Abe got married, Anna did the same; but their mutual attraction did not subside a tad – and was clear to others. Devoted to their spouses, both Anna and Abe eluded greetings, even the slightest interaction that could awaken a maelstrom of emotion they strove to mortify. People did see the storm of those feelings; neither Mary nor Selah was blind dolls, and even though they possessed enough power to ignore and defy the obvious, they could barely miss out the glances, voices and smallest changes in the faces of those they loved. Jealous, Selah tried to prohibit his wife to meet his rival – and Mary suffered quietly; Selah nearly exploded in his room, accusing Abe of all the sins committed in the world – and Mary patiently waited, although knowing her husband was wandering around the tavern. Selah was direct – and Mary fought on her own, never letting the people of Setauket pry into her private life. Whatever they saw was not grounded, but how can you judge people for their desire to watch and to gossip?.. She took it as a duty of a home goddess she was not to shirk: the notion of the family she had in mind demanded to be indemnified from public conviction of any kind. Let them run their mouths, let them drive a wedge between the couple – she will never give him an opportunity to diminish the peace she has been creating for ages. She didn’t interfere – but didn’t plan to turn tail either.

        It didn’t work that way with Selah. He was put against Abe by those who craved for a show. Shouting that they ought to topple tyrants as quickly as possible, the same people morphed into the declared tyrants, who doused the lights and pretended to be blind – just to embellish the reality that never took place. The boisterous ire transforming into a perverted desire to faze and tantalize was another manifestation of war in which the world of Setauket had been beguiled into. And Selah still strove to resist – to resist waspish remarks that aimed to sully his family reputation. His fury was always genuine and unadulterated – and never addressed to Anna.

        Come to think of it, they used to call her Annie!.. That feisty girl who easily parried both jocular and acerbic comments! She was constantly the winner if Caleb made an attempt to play a trick on her and Abe; moreover, she managed to persuade Tallmadge not to do the same using the right tone of the voice – she mildly threatened him with a punch on the long nose and an embarrassing situation she would not help him with.

        The war derailed their plans.

        The war exposed the most sensitive places people tended to hide.

        The war impelled them to sacrifice themselves – their hopes and dreams.

        “It can’t be a mistake, can it?” Ben whispered, swiveling his sapphire eyes to his friend. “Everything. Those casualties, our past, dreams… How can we go on knowing there is… nothing behind it?”

        “There’s our future behind it,” Brewster smiled again and canted his head to the side. Now he was perusing the plan the French had offered. “And write this down, Benny-boy. You have a frightening tendency to fall into philosophy. Man up, Yalie, and let’s show the French how we can fight!”