#i just think it would have been more interesting if simon had to deal with the consequences of what he did as ice king

[bluebirdcurse]

Princess Monster Wife watching tv with Prismo: Oh okay, I'm glad they acknowledged the traditionally exploitative gender roles in academic couples. I guess my wish is to not be a Stepford wife abomination?

[soaps-mohawk]

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 44: Little Shit

Summary: John has left a mess in his wake. Can the pack pick up the pieces before it's too late?

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Word Count: 9,659 words

Warnings: Alpha/beta/omega dynamics, a/b/o, angst, language, some fluff, kissing, Simon being an asshole, angst

A/N: I'm actually very excited for this one and I know you will be too

MASTERLIST | <- Previous | Next ->

It’s cold out. It feels fitting, a mirror of the emptiness in your soul. They’re not happy about you being out here, but you don’t care. You don’t care about much right now. You’re wrapped in a blanket regardless, tucked into the chair, curled in, making yourself as small as you possibly can. There’s a need deep within you to feel protected and safe. Part of you had wanted to curl up in bed and lay there for the rest of time, but another part of you desired to sit outside and stare at the sea in the distance. A deeper part of you wanted to go, but you know they’d shut that down as fast as the words could come out of your mouth.

They don’t seem eager to do much of anything for you right now.

It’s a fair assumption. They’re all dealing with John’s absence as much as you are. There’s a definitive hole in your pack, and no one will be able to fill it, no matter how hard they try.

“If you’re going to sit out here, at least drink something warm.” A cup of tea is set down on the table before a figure lowers themselves into the chair next to you with a grunt. “’S cold out.”

“Feels good.” You murmur, ignoring the steaming cup. Of course he’d bring tea. He wouldn’t be caught dead drinking coffee after the playful rivalry that’s been ongoing between coffee drinkers and tea drinkers in the cottage. At least that can continue even in the tumultuous state of the pack.

It falls silent between the two of you, an awkward silence. He’s the last person you expected to join you outside. He’s been avoiding you like the plague, but then again he’s been avoiding you as much as possible since you arrived at the cottage. You know he doesn’t hate you, but you’d almost prefer it. The distaste he held for you back when you first joined the pack would be preferable to this quiet avoidance he’s wedged between the two of you.

“You...doing okay?” He asks, and you almost laugh in response.

Of course you’re not. He knows you’re not. He’s perceptive and aware. He knows what you’re feeling even without you having to say it. He’s asking purely because of societal expectations, but he already knows. He’s not stupid.

At least in his head.

“No.” You answer honestly, tucking your blanket up tighter around you.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asks hesitantly.

“Do you want me to talk about it?” You retort. “Feelings aren’t really your thing.”

He shifts in the chair, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. “Because you trust Johnny and Kyle more?”

“It has nothing to do with trust.” You say, your brows furrowing. “You’re just not the most...open person to talk to. Didn’t think you’d be interested in talking about feelings.”

“I’m just trying to be supportive.” He says.

“Well you’re doing a shit job at it.” You snap back.

Things fall silent between the two of you again, the wedge pressing on the edges of your bond, the little bond you have left. He’s done a good job at laying that barrier between the two of you, driving the space further and further in his distance. He’s the last person you want right now, but he’s the only one you have.

You let out a long breath, the air steaming in front of you. “He just had to be the one to go after Shepherd.” You say bitterly, your thoughts coming out before you can stop them. “He really just up and left and for what?”

“To make sure the pack is safe.” Simon says simply. “Alphas leave all the time.”

“But he didn’t have to! Not right now,” You say, turning your head to look at him finally. “Not when things were finally starting to get better.”

“He thought he had to.” Simon says, glancing sideways at you. “You know how he is.”

“Yeah and it sucks.” You say. “I wanted him to be better, to try harder to not think about the big picture...to think about me.” You let out a shuddering breath as you try to hold the tears back. “Just...why? Why him?”

Simon is quiet for a moment. “You wish I had gone instead.”

You give him a look. “You know that's not what I meant.”

“Is it? Because it sounds like it.” He says. “Would have been better if I had gone anyway.”

“Why, because then you wouldn’t have to deal with me?” You say, hurt and anger starting to churn in your chest. You’re getting frustrated with him and his emotional constipation.

“That’s not what I said.”

“Well it sounds like it.” You throw his own words at him, turning fully to face him now. “You really don’t want to be stuck here with me, in charge of me. Be honest.”

He’s silent for a breath, obviously trying to figure out how to answer in a way that’s going to hurt you the least. You don’t care. You want him to be honest and open, even if it does hurt. “It’s complicated.”

“That’s not an answer.” You say, letting the blanket drop from around you. You’re worked up enough from the emotions coursing through you, you don’t need it anymore.

“It’s the only answer I have.” He says, his voice firm.

You let out a sharp breath through your nose, pushing yourself up to stand. Some deep, twisted part of you wants to throw the tea at his face in anger, but you don’t. You won’t. You’re not brave enough for that. Instead you shove at his shoulder, barely making him budge. “You’re so fucking frustrating!”

You turn on your heel, storming back into the house.

“Well you're certainly not winning any popularity contests.” Kyle says, leaning against the door frame. 

“Piss off.” Simon growls, his shoulders hunched and tense like a coil ready to spring. 

Kyle glances over his shoulder as something thuds in your room. He wonders what it is you’ve thrown this time. Maybe yourself. That’s Johnny’s problem for now. Instead he steps out the door, sliding it closed behind him before making his way over to the tense alpha.

“You really are shit at this.” He says, sinking down into the chair you were sitting in. It’s still warm from your body, and so is the blanket as he drapes it over his lap. “You’re going to have to try harder than that.”

“I shouldn’t have to try at all.” Simon snaps.

“But you don’t have a choice right now.” Kyle says. “I know you’re scared.” He cuts off Simon before he can protest. “Shut up, I know you’re scared of having this much power, of doing something wrong, of hurting her, but you’re not doing anyone any favors being all moody. You’re throwing her off and you’re throwing the rest of us off.”

Simon stays silent, staring out into the distance as Kyle continues to speak.

“John did what he did and we can’t change that. There was no changing his mind. You know that more than the rest of us. Now you have to step up. He trusts you to do that. He trusts his omega with you. That speaks volumes of his trust in your ability to take care of his pack.” Kyle reaches over, putting a hand on Simon’s shoulder, rubbing it gently. “We’re right here with you. You don’t have to be scared.”

Simon slowly begins to relax, his shoulders lowering and jaw unclenching as Kyle continues to rub his shoulder, projecting his scent to try and diffuse the tension that had built in your exchange with the broody alpha.

“I hate it when you do that.” Simon grumbles, sinking further into the chair.

“It works, though.” Kyle says with a soft smile. “You’re the alpha in charge now, so start acting like it.”

“I don’t know where to start.” Simon says softly.

Kyle squeezes his shoulder. “Maybe with an apology.”

“He’s just so...emotionally constipated.” You say, throwing another pillow at the wall.

“He’s just...goin’ through a lot right now.”

“So are the rest of us!” You say, spinning on your heel to grab another pillow. “And we’re all doing just fine at trying to adjust!”

“Are we?”

You let out a huff as you stare at him, disheveled from the fit you’ve been throwing. Johnny grabs the pillow you’re bee-lining for, holding it out of your reach instead.

“That’s enough.” He says, letting the pillow drop to the floor before he reaches forward, wrapping an arm around you. He drags you up onto the bed, sitting you down between his legs.

“I just don’t get it.” You murmur as you sit there, drawing your knees up to your chest as Johnny starts to comb his fingers through your hair. “Why John had to leave, why Simon is being so difficult.”

“Ye want the truth?” He asks, tugging lightly at your hair. He’s starting to braid it, something to keep his hands busy.

“No.” You say, resting your chin on your knee. “I already know.”

“He’s just as scared as the rest of us.” Johnny says anyway. “He’s never been in this position before. None of us have. Sure, John’s left on solos before, but things are different now.”

“Because I’m here.” You murmur, leaning into his touch as his fingers brush your ear.

“A lot has changed.” Johnny says. “Not just because of ye.”

“A lot because of me, though.” You say. “If I hadn’t been here, if I hadn’t been added to this pack…”

“Things would have still gone to shit eventually.” Johnny says. “The truth would come out, Shepherd would run for the hills, John would chase after him. Difference now is there’s something tae come back to.”

Guilt churns in your stomach as you sit there, unsure what to say as Johnny finishes braiding your hair.

“You really think he’s coming back?” You say quietly after a moment, that guilt still chewing away inside your stomach.

“Course he is.” Johnny says, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you back against his chest. “He loves ye, he loves all of us. He has to ensure Shepherd is gone before he’ll feel safe again, before he’ll feel it’s safe fer you.”

He’s doing it for you.

It’s not the first time you’ve had that thought since your alpha left you.

You lean your head against Johnny’s arm, staring out the window at the grey world outside. It feels so dull and oppressive. For once you miss the sun and warmth of summer, the feeling of life instead of the chill that’s settled in your bones. It’s not cold in the house, yet you can feel a chill seeping down beneath your skin and into your very soul.

You curl up tighter in Johnny’s arms, pressing closer to his chest as if you might be able to sink deep into his very being. Maybe there you’ll finally be warm and that ache will ease just a little. His arms tighten around you, trying to offer you comfort, but it’s not enough. It’ll never be enough, not so long as John is gone. Your omega yearns for her alpha in a way you’ve never felt. You know separation can be hard on an omega, yet you’ve never quite experienced something like this.

Despite your hurt and anger and frustration, your omega longs to be in her alpha’s arms again. You want John to scoop you up and hold you tight in his arms and keep you there forever, safe and warm and protected.

Johnny’s trying his best, trying to offer you comfort but even he has to know it’s not enough. You need an alpha, you need someone there to offer some semblance of balance in the pack and for your omega. She’s not angry like she had been, but she’s restless still, pacing in her cage, waiting for something.

You let out a quiet breath, letting your eyes flutter closed for a moment as you sit there in Johnny’s embrace.

The quiet moment is broken by your stomach growling.

Johnny’s chest moves as he huffs out a quiet laugh, squeezing you tightly. “Come on, kitten. Let’s get ye some food.”

He finally lets you go, letting you slide off the bed. You grab a sweater from the closet before heading out into the main living area. Simon has disappeared unsurprisingly. Probably upstairs brooding, where he spends most of his time when he’s in the cottage. He almost spends more time outside the cottage now. He has to be going stir crazy laying low for this long. They all have to be.

Johnny passes by, brushing his hand across your back as he heads for the kitchen likely to harass Kyle while he tries to make lunch. Dr. Keller is nowhere to be seen, likely taking as much time to herself as she can. She’s been helping as much as she can while your pack tries to adjust to this sudden change. Mostly she’s been helping you, but the others have been utilizing her knowledge and understanding as well. It makes you feel guilty, making her work so much, but of course she’d never admit to being tired or worn out by the constant state of crisis within your pack.

You stand there for a moment, lost in thought until something warm presses against your back. You tense, slowly turning around to look up at Simon. He’s looming over you, staring down at you with his face hidden behind that stupid mask. You wish you could see his face and read him, but you know deep down his poker face is impeccable and you wouldn’t be able to read him anyway.

“You’re doing it again.” He says, and you know what he’s talking about.

“Sorry.” You say quietly.

“Stop apologizing.” He says rather harshly, making you flinch. His shoulders slump just a little at your flinch, a quiet sigh leaving his lips. “You shouldn’t be the one apologizing.”

You blink up at him. This is rather unexpected.

“We’re all going through a lot right now, a lot of changes...but that’s no excuse to be a dick towards you.” He lets out another breath. “I’m sorry.”

You continue to stare up at him in shock, not expecting him to go so far as to apologize for his actions. Especially not right now. “Are you...apologizing?” You ask him in disbelief.

“Yes.” He says simply.

You stare up at him for a long moment, staring into those chocolate brown eyes. He’s so big and imposing, yet he seems so vulnerable in this moment. Something stirs in the back of your mind, your omega starting to preen a bit at the idea of him finally bowing down before you and allowing you to be in charge. He’s lowered himself enough to apologize...what else can you get out of him?

A low rumble echoes in his chest as you stare up at him, a slow smile tugging at your lips. “You really mean it?”

“Stop it.” He growls, his eyes narrowing. “That’s not fair.”

“What’s not fair?” You ask innocently, batting your eyelashes at him.

He clenches his fist, his shoulders squaring. “I hate this new side of you.”

Your grin only widens as you step up closer to him. “Doesn’t smell like it.”

“Alright you two, come eat before you stink out the house.” Kyle says, breaking the tense moment between the two of you.

You give Simon a wink before turning on your heel, leaving the reeling alpha in your wake as you make your way to the table.

“How are things going?”

It’s an innocent question, but it almost has you in tears. How are things going? Your pack is on the fringes of a breakdown, the bonds have never been more tense, you have an alpha that doesn’t want to be an alpha. How are things going? Not great.

“They’re okay,” You lie, your fingers tightening around the edges of the book in your lap. “It’s an adjustment.”

“I bet.” Ashley says sympathetically. “I can’t imagine this would be an easy change.”

“They’re doing well all things considered.” Dr. Keller swoops in, saving you from having to come up with a response. “The separation of an alpha can be a hard thing to cope with.” Her eyes are on you when she says it, making the guilt in your stomach twist itself into knots.

“You’re a lot stronger than I would be in this situation.”

It’s directed at you, and you bring yourself to offer a small smile in response.

In truth you feel like falling apart. You doubt either women would care. They’re both betas, caretakers. You’ve cried in front of Dr. Keller so many times you’ve lost count, and you doubt Ashley would look down on you for showing such weakness. It might actually feel good, letting the emotions out in front of two people who understand.

“You need anything, you let me know.” Ashley continues. “Even if it’s getting the boys out of the house.”

They are out of the house currently, well, Johnny and Simon left. Well, it was more like Johnny dragged Simon out of the house. Going on a run, they said. A long run. Maybe to town and back. A run to clear the head. A run to get those emotions out.

How you wish you could go for a run right now.

Kyle is somewhere in the house. Kyle. You feel guilty for how much you’ve withdrawn from the beta. You can only imagine how he’s feeling. His alpha has deserted him too. You both share that closer bond because of John and yet here you are keeping Kyle at arm’s distance. You have something to bond over, something to bring the two of you closer together in your confusion and the adjustments you both have to make.

Yet here you are holding him at a distance.

It only adds to the twisting of the guilt in your stomach.

The room has fallen silent, Ashley and Dr. Keller both staring at you. You blink yourself back into reality, looking between them. You got lost in your mind again, a habit you still can’t break. It’s gotten worse in your isolation, often left with nothing but your thoughts for company.

Whose fault is that?

“Sorry.” You say quietly, adjusting yourself in your chair.

“Welcome back.” Dr. Keller says, giving you a soft smile.

“A fellow over-thinker.” Ashley says, giving you a wink. “I understand 100%. Why don’t we move on to less intense conversation.”

You glance down at the book in your lap. In truth you haven’t read much of it. You haven’t felt like reading much in the last few days. You haven’t felt like doing much of anything these last few days. Life has gotten impossibly hard with the desertion of your alpha. You hadn’t expected it to feel like this.

You hadn’t expected it to be so hard.

Everything has been thrown off, even your desire to function as a member of the pack. If you can even call what you have a pack. You’re more like four independent planets all stuck in the gravitational pull of the black hole that is the bond you share. You’re slowly inching closer and closer to the event horizon, the point of no return when the gravitational pull will be too much and you’ll be sucked in and spaghettified in the intensity of your bond.

You’ll all be sucked in eventually. There’s no escaping.

Well, that’s not entirely true.

There is an escape, a way to find the velocity to pull yourself free of the looming event horizon, but the pain of it will be far greater than the pain you feel now. There will be no recovery, no promise of a future for you. It will be the end of everything. You’ll fall into a different black hole and there won’t be anything waiting on the other side.

“So what do you think of the main character?” Ashley asks, drawing you from your thoughts once more.

“I think she could use a break from everything she’s been through.” Dr. Keller says.

You and me both.

As the days continue to pass since John’s desertion, things don’t improve much. Simon is still fighting his new role, driving Johnny to recede into himself again. Kyle is like a lost ghost, floating around the house like a specter. You...you’re going insane with it all.

You can’t take much more of this up and down, this lack of surety, the pain throbbing in the back of your head from the constant tugging of your bond. Their lack of motion has you spinning out of control. You need to take control, you need to help them and yourself. The pack won’t last like this, so you have to make things happen one way or another.

Looks like you have to do everything yourself again.

“Where’s Johnny.” You ask Simon as he passes by you in the living room.

“Upstairs I think.” He says, skirting past you.

“Will you go get him please?” You say, turning around to face him. “We need to have a pack meeting.”

Simon stares down at you for a long moment before nodding. “Fine.” He grunts.

You step out of his way as he heads for the stairs, his footsteps thudding up the steps. You let out a long breath, half expecting you’d have to fight him harder than that. You move to stand in front of the fireplace, a few seconds passing before you hear movement upstairs.

Three sets of footsteps make their way down the steps, the other members of your pack appearing one by one.

“Sit.” You say, pointing in front of you.

They move silently, sitting themselves down on the couches. Simon by himself on one, and Johnny and Kyle on the other. They’re sitting further away than they have been. It makes your chest constrict as you stare at them.

You clear your throat, the words you had planned vacating your mind as you stand before them. You have nothing to be nervous about. They’re just the members of your pack, men you’ve been around for almost a year now. You know them in and out, better than they know you. Yet you can’t hide the nervous twisting in your stomach as you stand there vulnerably.

You close your hands into fists to hide them from shaking as you look across their faces once more.

“I’ve gathered you here today to have a serious conversation.” You say, trying to keep your voice from wavering. “About us as a pack.”

Johnny shifts in his seat at your words, all of them staring at you intently.

“I know John leaving has been hard on all of us, but we can’t keep just floating around like a bunch of ghosts. It’s eating me alive and I can’t take it anymore.” You swallow the lump in your throat. “So, seeing as how no one else wants to do so, I’m taking charge of this pack.”

Simon shifts slightly at your words, just a flinch but you catch it out of the corner of your eye.

“My alpha is the one that left, so I should be the one to step up in his place.” You state firmly, not letting the thickening of Simon’s scent throw you off. “You can call me alpha now.”

Simon’s hands clench into fists, his scent nearly knocking you off your feet. “You think it’s that easy, do you?”

You steady yourself. You prepared for such an outburst from the broody alpha. “Yeah. I do.”

“You’re just going to step up and play alpha while yours is away?” Simon rises to his feet. “What gives you the right?”

“Well, you won’t do it.” You snap, steeling yourself as he steps closer. “So someone has to.”

His eyes narrow at your words. You’ve hit a nerve and he doesn’t like it. Good, you think. Serves him right.

“We can’t keep going on like this.” You continue, trying to reason with him. “Someone has to take charge and since you won’t, I will.”

“That’s not your place, omega.” His scent slams into you again and you feel the urge to drop as your status slips out of his mouth.

“Then do something!” You’re shaking now, fighting off his dominance. He’s using his own status against you. It’s not fair, but it’s what you want. “Man up and be an alpha.”

“Hey!” Kyle is between you before Simon can take another step forward, pushing the alpha back. “You’re not helping anything getting all puffed.” Johnny is on his feet too, halfway between you and the couch. “She’s right.” Kyle continues. “We can’t go on like this. John left and we can’t do anything about that. We need a leader.”

“You want that to be me?” Simon scoffs.

“Well, yeah.” Kyle says. “You are second alpha. It’s your job to take John’s place in his absence. We need you to take his place.” Kyle pushes him back another step. “You have to decide. You can’t fight our omega on wanting to step up because you don’t want to step up yourself.”

You feel like passing out as you stand there, still trembling from the onslaught of alpha you had just faced. You’re proud of yourself for facing it as long as you did. Months ago you wouldn’t have even approached the subject, much less stood up to him like that.

If you were stronger, you might have fought him back.

“It’s me or you.” You say, stepping out from behind Kyle. “It can’t be neither of us.”

Simon stares down at you, his eyes hard. His scent has dispersed a bit, the heavy ozone of it fading. The scent of beta is pushing it aside, but your nose still burns from his anger. He’s still frustrated, but you can see the tension in his body lessening. You imagine his jaw unclenching, his shoulders lowering just centimeters. You’ve got him right where you wanted him to be.

You step around Kyle, putting yourself back in his space. Kyle doesn’t move, inches away from your back. He and Johnny are still as statues, waiting and watching what’s going to happen next.

You reach for Simon, putting your hands on his arms. You gently guide him back before pushing him backwards onto the couch again. He goes easily, slumping back into the cushions. You stand over him and he lets you take the dominant pose this time. You move yourself so you’re between his knees and you bend down to take his hand in yours. It’s rough and calloused, even time away from handling weapons unable to soften the roughness of his skin. It’s the first time you’ve touched his skin since the day he rescued you. It’s the same hand he used to scruff you, the same hand that saved your life.

“I don’t want to have to do it.” You say softly, tracing the back of his hand. “I’d prefer it were you.” You lift your gaze from his hand to his eyes. “I trust you to do it. I know that probably doesn’t mean much, but it’s the truth. John trusted you to save my life once, and you did. He trusts you to take care of his pack, and I do too.”

He stares up at you for a long moment, his chest rising and falling with even breaths. You’re projecting your scent just a bit, trying to ease it deep into his brain where his alpha lies, use your power against him to convince him to take on this role so you can stop going insane.

“I need you, alpha.” You whisper.

His eyes darken, his hand tightening around yours. You’ve got him right in his soft underbelly.

He pushes himself up to stand, forcing you back half a step. Your chests brush as he looms over you, his scent thickening in the air, but not in the way it had before. The leather and natural muskiness invades your senses, seeping deep into your brain. You stare up at him, waiting for him to make the next move.

“Fine.” He breathes, dropping your hand. “I’ll do it.”

A small smile tugs at your lips. You got him hook, line, and sinker.

More days pass and slowly your pack begins to settle. Simon has shifted into his role easily, taking over as alpha. Johnny and Kyle no longer seem so weighed down, and the tumultuous energy has subsided a bit. You feel lighter, like some of the pressure has been lifted from your shoulders.

It has.

You’re no longer the only one holding the pack together, desperately clinging to the strings of your bonds. Simon is right there by your side, gluing them down so they no longer slip away.

You quite like him being alpha. He wears the title like a king and you find yourself feeling a stirring of excitement in your stomach every time you think of Pack Alpha Simon. It fits him, being in control of not just Johnny but everyone. Even Kyle seems a bit more at ease despite the missing link.

Your missing link too.

“Kyle?” You say softly, almost afraid to disrupt him where he sits on the couch reading.

“Hm?” He hums, glancing up from his book.

“I...was just wondering...how you were doing?” You wince at the awkwardness of your own words.

“Fine.” He shrugs, marking his place in the book.

“You’re sure?” You ask, slowly lowering yourself onto the opposite side of the couch. “I mean, our alpha is gone.”

Kyle nods slowly. “Yeah, he is.”

You swallow the lump in your throat. “I miss him.” You hate to admit it, but you do.

“I know.” Kyle says, reaching out for your hand. “I do too. He may be a shit alpha, but he’s our alpha.”

You can’t help but laugh a bit at his words. “That is true. You really think he’s coming back?”

Kyle nods. “I think so. I doubt he’d leave us high and dry. He loves both of us too much for that.”

You stare up at him. You forget just how much John cares for you and Kyle. It’s easy to forget with how he’s been acting lately. He left for you. He left for the good of the pack, to go eliminate the last threat hanging over your heads. Once Shepherd is gone, then you can finally move forward. You can finally decide what comes next.

What does come next?

Will they return to the military? Will they go back to the way life was before? You can’t expect them to give it up. You’ve come to that conclusion easily. They won’t leave that way of life without a fight, and you can’t ask that of them, not matter how badly you want to. You’ll go back to life on base, life the way it had been before. The constant worry and stress will always be a part of your life, no matter what. They’ll always put the good of the world above everything else. Even your pack.

They promised they’d start putting you first, but you can’t ask them to give up their livelihood for you. It’s been their whole lives. They’re all career soldiers, they all started early and haven’t known anything else. This is what they do and it will always be what they do until they die or are forced to retire. You’ll always be there, waiting for them back home, praying they come back breathing and not in a coffin.

You’ll always have nightmares of that phone call, of getting that news.

“You okay?” Kyle asks, squeezing your hand.

You look back up at him, staring into those deep brown eyes. “Yeah.” You nod. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

“Simon?”

Simon glances up from his phone, turning his head to the side. No word from John yet, but then again it could be too soon. He doesn’t know anything, and it’s driving him insane. He doesn’t like not knowing. He knows Shepherd had been found, though captured or spotted he’s none the wiser. John could have been going on a stakeout for all he knows. It could be weeks, months.

It’s been just over a week and he doesn’t know anything yet.

He hates it.

He turns his head to the side, staring at you. You’re standing there, looking small and timid next to the couch. So different from how you stood up to him days ago when you forced him to finally accept he’s in charge. He had to take on that role because John wanted him to. That’s why he knew first, that’s why John spent so much time preparing him. Simon have to take on this role eventually, whether he wanted it or not.

“Have you heard anything from John?” You ask, shifting on your feet.

It’s the first time you’ve asked about John. Sometimes he wonders what’s going through your head. You’re angry and frustrated with John, he knows that much. He can read that on your face. He knew from the teary goodbye, the look of despondency hidden behind the quiet confidence on John’s face when he walked out the door that something had transpired between the two of you when he told you. Maybe you already knew. Maybe you already understood this would happen eventually.

If John would have let him, he would have gone instead, if only to save you from having to face this.

It would have been easier for him to play the soldier and assassin. He’s done it many times before.

“Nothing.” He says honestly. Better to give you the truth than false hope.

John will return, even if you told him not to. He’s too stubborn for that. He won’t give up that easily. He’ll know you’d change your mind if you told him to stay away. You didn’t. He can tell that much, but he knows. He understands.

“Oh.” You say quietly, almost as if you’d had a false hope that there was word, some small message to let you know he’s alive, he’s well, he’s coming home.

He can’t come home soon enough.

You slowly inch around the side of the couch before sitting gingerly on the edge of the cushion. You’re moving like you’re approaching a wild animal, but in your mind you might just be. He’s not a wild animal. If anything he’s the opposite of right now. He’s tired, worn down from the sudden weight of responsibility. He wouldn’t even bare his teeth if he could.

You’re holding a book in your hand. You clutch it to your chest as you slowly lean back, scooting until you’re comfortable on the opposite end of the couch from him. Why you chose there and not across from him, he doesn’t know. You could have sat anywhere in the house and yet you decided to sit next to him.

Perhaps it’s some deep omegan need for comfort and security. You certainly need a lot of that right now. You’re going through a tumultuous time and you’ll need all the comfort you can stand. He’s the one that’s supposed to give that to you, yet he finds himself withdrawing from that desire, that need. You won’t want his comfort because he’s not your alpha. He’ll never be your alpha, he’ll never be good enough.

Simon sits there, still as a sniper as he watches you slowly inch your way into a comfortable seat. You haven’t spoken a word since your small, quiet acknowledgment of his answer to your question. Maybe you’re too afraid to speak more, ruin the moment, drive him away when you’ve so obviously sought him out for more than word on your absent alpha.

He stays there as you move, slowly shifting yourself on the couch until you’re curled up in the corner. It’s reminiscent of how you used to sit in the rec room all those weeks ago, curled up on the couch while he sat as far as he could from you, at least until those bonds began to grow, those steel-bound threads of alpha and omega began to wind themselves around you like nooses.

Bonds are like nooses. One fails they all do. That’s why he’s always hated them, why he’s always avoided them.

Why his mother never gave in.

His hand curls into a fist, nails digging into his palm as he forces the thoughts away, shoves his past down into the recesses of his mind where it belongs.

You seem ignorant to his inner struggle as you sit there, book open in your hands. You’re lost in a fictional world, ignorant of everything going on around you. How easily you slip into a realm of distraction, he’ll never know. There will always be a part of him that’s aware, hypervigilant to the world.

Maybe you can drift off so easily because you feel secure enough to do so. You feel safe enough with him there to sink deep into a stupor brought on by words on a page. It stirs something inside of him. Pride? Honor? Guilt?

You’ve sought him out for safety and security and here he is blocking you out more and more. You had to face him down to force him into this position when he should have stepped into it in the first place. He should have done more, been more. From the start he should have been a better alpha, even if he wasn’t yours, even if he’d never be yours. He’s an alpha in the pack, he should start acting like it.

The vulnerability that takes. The weakness he’ll have to show.

It’s okay. The soft voice of his mother floats through his mind. Better to be soft than hard like your father.

A shiver runs down his spine, making his whole body tense. It draws you out of your book, your head turning to look at him. Not quite so lost as he thought, then.

“Simon?” You ask quietly, concern lacing your voice. “What is it?”

Your omega must be sensing some sort of danger. He’s on edge, your omega is responding, looking for reassurance that there’s nothing wrong, there’s nothing there.

“Nothing.” He answers, forcing himself to relax. He has to put his hackles down, otherwise the moment will be ruined. “Just thinking too much.”

He’s not sure why he said it. Maybe it was because he knew it would draw that small smile on your face.

He likes it when you smile. You haven’t been doing much of it lately, but then again, you haven’t had much of a reason to. Why smile when the world is crumbling around you? Yet there are still moments when he sees that side of you, you let out on base. Those happy moments when life was good and easy and predictable. Back when he allowed himself to feel, to touch, to smell, to devour your very being.

He misses it.

No he doesn’t.

It’s too much of a risk, too much of a vulnerability to allow that again. He can’t open himself up to that when it will only lead to more hurt on your part. Everything ends in hurt. It’s all he can do, all he’ll ever do. He’s hurt Johnny, he’s still hurting Johnny. You’ll crumble in his hands too, slipping through his fingers like sand.

He sits there still as you begin to slowly shift yourself so you’re facing him, putting your back to the fire. He watches you from the corner of your eye as you begin to stretch out, joints cracking as they straighten. His eyes lower to your feet as they slowly slip across the couch, inching closer and closer to him. His hand twitches, his breath stilling in his lungs.

He can’t move. He’s stuck there, stuck watching as you slowly press upon the barrier between the two of you, breaking down that boundary he’s set in place with just a simple movement. He can see it crumbling as your bare toes inch closer and closer until they press against the soft fabric of his jeans. Just a brush, just a tickle against his leg.

“Do you have to do that?” He asks, still staring down at your toes.

“It’s a small couch.” You say simply, not even looking up from your book.

“There’s an empty one right there.” He nods towards the empty couch across from him.

“I like this one better.”

His hand closes into a fist as you push against his leg with your toes. That boundary is crashing down, crumbling brick by brick as your toes bend, feet arching as you push against his leg.

“What are you doing?” He still hasn’t moved. He can’t bring himself to.

“My toes are cold.” You say, turning a page in your book.

“There’s a fire right there.”

“I don’t want to get up.”

Little shit.

He swallows the growl crawling up his chest, swallows down the emotions threatening to choke him. He’s right back in the rec room with your toes on his arm as the two of you read in silence. You’d gone toe to toe with him then too, the snarky remarks flowing like water between you. How easily it came, how easily it flowed, how easily you faced him on and didn’t back down.

Fucking hell how he’s missed this.

He doesn’t move, doesn’t get up like he once might have. Instead he sits there, letting you rest your toes against his leg, even though he knows they aren’t cold.

Something draws you from the sweet edge of sleep and forces you back into the world of the living. You’re not sure what it is at first, unaware enough you can’t think rationally. You had been so close to the sweet bliss of sleep for your morning nap when something woke you. You try not to think about it, chasing that edge of tiredness that’s quickly fading from your mind.

A pain in your stomach pushes it even further away. It takes your breath away, pulling you right into the world of wakefulness. For a moment you think you might be dying. Appendix burst, GI bleed, some sort of horrible gas cramp. You did have a big breakfast after all.

No, it’s none of those things. That pain begins to shift, morphing into a gnawing feeling that grows until a low rumble sounds.

You’re hungry.

For a moment you wonder if you did sleep and you’ve slept through lunch. A quick glance at the clock tells you it’s only eleven. Not quite time for lunch yet.

You try to ignore it, try to curl up and go back to sleep, but that gnawing pain continues, keeping you from finding that tiredness that drove you to seek out your bed in the first place.

Instead you sit up with a huff, shoving the blanket off of you. A snack it is then.

The gnawing pain continues as you rise from the bed, padding quietly over to your half closed door. You slip through the gap, the living area empty. Upstairs or outside then, you think.

You head for the kitchen, digging through cupboards as the pain in your stomach continues to intensify. If you don’t eat right this minute you might die. You want something fast, but all you’re finding is cans and packages of food you’ll have to cook. You don’t have time for that.

Desperately you search, your hands starting to shake as you comb through the cabinets for something that might calm the uncomfortable growling in your abdomen.

Finally you find an unopened package of cookies. Tea cookies, you think, but you don’t care. You nearly rip them open in desperation, shoving one in your mouth. They’re dry, but you don’t care. They may as well be manna from heaven in this moment.

You carry the package over to the sliding door, staring out at the yard as you continue to shove cookies into your mouth. It hasn’t rained in a few days, the deck starting to dry out finally. It’s still cloudy and grey though, the sea reflecting the sky in the distance.

You stand there, lost in space and time until you reach into the packet of cookies only to meet air and crumbs. You stare down at the package, your stomach still rumbling hungrily like an insatiable monster. 

Insatiable. Hunger. 

“Oh fuck.” You say, staring down at the package still. 

“What?” Kyle says, approaching you from behind. 

You turn on your heel, hand still in the package. “I’m hungry.” 

“It’s almost lunch time.” He says. “What would you like to eat?” 

“No, no.” You gulp. “I’m hungry.” 

He stares at you blankly for a moment before realization crosses his face. He stares at you wide-eyed, shifting on his feet nervously. “Oh shit.” 

“Sedation is an option but I’d have to get the supplies for it.” Dr. Keller says. “We’re not equipped here for something of that caliber. I can get the supplies, but we might not have enough time, even with Kate’s help.”

“It might be risky, drawing that much attention.” Kyle says. “People will have questions.”

“You’re not even nesting yet.” Dr. Keller says with a sigh, glancing at you. “This is bad timing.”

“It’s not like I can control it.” You say around a mouthful of chips.

You’ve already downed three sandwiches and you’re working on polishing off an entire bag of chips.

“I know.” Dr. Keller says softly.

“Is there any way to stop it from happening?” Johnny asks.

“Not without considerable risk.” Dr. Keller says. “Especially this close.”

“What do we do then?” Kyle asks, looking at you.

“It is possible for a beta to help, but it’ll be a long and painful heat without an alpha.” Dr. Keller says.

A hand lands on your shoulder as they continue to brainstorm. You look up from the bag of chips, a handful halfway to your mouth. Simon is standing over you, his hand on your shoulder. He tilts his head in the direction of your door before removing his hand. You blink at him as he walks towards it, pushing the door open before disappearing into your room. You shove the handful of chips in your mouth before putting the bag on the coffee table. You lick the crumbs off your fingers as you make your way towards the open door.

It’s bold of him, entering your room just like that, but your interest is piqued.

He’s standing next to the bed, fingers toying with the edge of the blanket tossed haphazardly across the mattress from your attempt at a nap.

“Simon?” You ask quietly.

“Close the door.” He says, turning around.

You pull it closed behind you, turning the nob so it doesn’t make any sound. Something tells you he wants to keep this as quiet as possible. Nerves start to rattle inside of you. What does he want? Why does he want to keep things quiet? They must notice you’ve disappeared, but Simon doesn’t seem to care either way.

“Come here.” He says, holding out his hand.

You approach slowly, a bit hesitant from the alpha being in your space. It is your space now, your room. Even if you haven’t nested yet, it’s still your safe, sacred space. He hasn’t been in your space yet. You haven’t even invited him in, and here he is just walking in and making himself at home.

Your fingers tremble as you slip your hand into his, letting him pull you closer. He toes off his boots before turning back towards the bed. You watch as he stares at the giant bear for a moment before he shoves it off onto the floor on the other side of the bed. It almost makes you laugh, it would have had you not been so nervous. What he’s doing is bold, and it’s leaving you unsettled.

He climbs onto the bed, sitting in your spot. He uses the hand in yours to pull you up onto the bed as well. He relaxes back against the headboard as you wind up in his lap, straddling his waist.

“What’s happening?” You say, staring at him wide eyed. You haven’t been this close to him in months, and here he is just sitting you right in his lap like it’s nothing.

You’re going to get whiplash if he continues this.

“I did you a disservice.” He starts, tilting his head back to stare up at you. “That time I made you use sedation for your heat. I was too afraid of hurting you to see what it really meant, to understand the risks and what it would be like for you.”

“You don’t have to apologize.” You say quietly, trying not to jump as his hands come to settle on your thighs.

“I do.” He says, his eyes soft as he stares up at you. “I wasn’t man enough to face down my fears. I’m not making that mistake again.”

“Simon-”

“Don’t.” He says quietly. “Don’t talk me out of this.”

You shake your head. “You don’t-”

“I want to.”

His words have your protests dying in your throat. You stare at him wide-eyed. This feels like it’s coming out of left field. Things have shifted since his ascension into pack alpha, including the distance that had wedged between the two of you. Though he’s still been spending the least amount of time with you, you can’t deny he doesn’t feel quite so distant anymore. It’s comforting, just knowing there is an alpha there that would catch you if you fell.

Still, to go to this extent, to move this fast feels uncharacteristic for him.

“Simon,” You say softly as his hands trail up your thighs, reaching for your own hands.

“I should have done more, I should have been more for you.” He continues, almost as if he’s talking to himself. “You were right. I should have stepped up as soon as John said he was leaving.” He lifts your hands until they’re resting on either side of his neck. “I want to do this for you.”

You swallow thickly as you stare down at him, your fingers trembling where they rest against his mask. It feels strange being this close to him after so long. He’s being so...vulnerable suddenly and it’s making your head spin.

“Take it off.” He says.

“What?” You blink at him in surprise. You didn’t expect this at all.

“The mask. Take it off.”

“You...you’re sure?” You ask.

“Do it.” He says firmly.

Your fingers are still trembling as they curl around the bottom of the fabric. You can hardly believe this is happening, this is real. You’re really going to see his face. You had resigned yourself to only ever seeing him in his mask for the rest of your life, that he’d never willingly become that vulnerable with you. Yet here he is, coming into your space and opening himself up to this vulnerability.

Slowly you tug the fabric upward, revealing his scruffy chin. It’s the most you’ve ever seen of him when he tugs his mask up to eat. You continue pushing the fabric upward over his lips, your thumb tracing the scar there for a moment as you try and gain the courage to continue. It’s really happening. You’re about to see his face for the first time.

You push the mask up over his nose, thumbs gliding over his cheeks as you continue, pushing it up higher and higher. You take a deep breath in before tugging it upwards, pulling it completely off. He blinks up at you, leaning his head back against the headboard. You stare down at him in shock and awe, taking in his full face for the first time.

“You’re so...British looking.”

It’s the only thing you can think of to say. His face falls slightly, his brows pinching.

“Not-not in a bad way, it’s just...I’d know you were British if I saw you walking down the street.”

You wince at your own awkwardness. You’re not making it any better.

“You’re a handsome British man.” You say, cupping his cheeks.

He stares at you blankly for a moment and you worry you’ve fucked this up before his lips twist up in a smile, his arms wrapping around your waist.

“Like what you see?” He wiggles his eyebrows.

“Very much so.” You say quietly, cupping his cheeks.

You want to kiss him. You want to lean down and press your lips against his. You’re not sure where the desire has come from, when this sudden shift and change happened, but you can’t deny the desire you feel towards him. Maybe it’s your looming heat, maybe it’s because he’s the only alpha around, maybe it’s because he’s finally stepped up into what you knew he could be for you, what he could do for you.

He doesn’t stop you as you start to lean down, giving into the impulsive need. You wait for him to push you away, wait for him to change his mind and walk out the door, but he doesn’t. His arms tighten around your back, pulling you flush against his body as your lips touch his in a gentle, hesitant kiss.

A low growl rumbles in his chest as you kiss him, his hand flattening against your back. Shivers run down your spine, a quiet whine leaving your lips. His hand slides up your back, sinking into your hair to stop you from pulling away.

“Missed this.” He murmurs against your lips.

“Why did you wait so long?” You say quietly, kissing him again.

“Couldn’t stand the thought of hurting you again.” He says, pulling away. “I did it enough times before.” He stares up at you like you hung the moon and the stars. “I wasn’t fair to you.”

“You seriously don’t have to apologize.” You say, putting a finger on his lips. “I know you were being Mr. Emotionally Constipated So I Have To Make Myself Suffer For No Reason. It works for you, though.” You shrug. “Pairs with the Mr. Dark and Mysterious well.” You smile down at him. “Who knew Mr. Dark and Mysterious would also turn out to be Mr. Very British. Should have known with all the tea talk.”

He tightens his grip around you before suddenly pushing himself up. He flips you over onto your back, his hand squeezing your side, making you giggle. You trust him not to hurt you, his movements done in jesting not anger.

“You little shit.” He chuckles, resting on his elbows above you.

You smile up at him, pulling him down for another kiss. “I missed this.”

“So did I.” He says before kissing you deeply.

The kiss has electricity shooting down to your toes. Your whole body feels alive as your lips move against his, your arms wrapping around his neck. One hand slides into his hair, the short soft strands slipping through your fingers. You rake your nails across his scalp, a low growl rumbling in his throat. He pushes his body down against yours, squishing you into the mattress but you don’t care. He’s so big and warm it makes you feel safe and secure and for the first time since John left, your omega has settled contently.

You pull away begrudgingly after a few moments, staring up at him. You still can’t believe you’re seeing all of him, that he’s honored you with this chance to see his face fully.

“You really mean it?” You breathe, the hand in his hair sliding to cup his cheek.

“Of course.” He murmurs, pressing a kiss to your palm.

“We should go let them know so they can stop stressing.” You breathe.

“Good idea.” He kisses you one more time before he pulls away, letting you get up off the bed.

You grab his mask, handing it to him. “Here.”

He stares down at it for a long moment before pocketing it. “I don’t need it.”

You stare at him in surprise. “What?”

“I’ve been hiding long enough.” He says. “There’s no reason to now.”

You give him an incredulous look. “What happened to you?”

He shrugs. “Had an epiphany I guess.”

“One hell of an epiphany.” You say as he opens the door.

“It might be our only option.” Dr. Keller says as you step out of the door. “It’s going to be a rough heat though.”

“I’ll do it.” Simon says, standing next to you.

The three of them look up, Johnny doing a double take. Dr. Keller’s face slowly morphs into a smile as she stares at Simon. She’s seeing his face for the first time as well. It speaks volumes to his sudden new-found trust that he’s letting her see him as well. Or, maybe he’s solidifying her place among the allies of your pack. He knows how much she means to you, how much she means to the others.

It almost makes you want to cry.

The room is silent as Johnny and Kyle stare at Simon in shock. You stand next to him, a small smile on your face. Things are finally turning around, things are finally starting to shift and heal within your pack, even with John out of the picture for now. He’s going to be surprised when he comes back.

Simon shifts on his feet next to you, his hand squeezing yours gently. It grounds you, keeps you steady as he speaks the next words, the words you never thought you’d hear from him. They’re sincere, not born out of necessity or need. He really does mean them.

“I’ll help her through her heat.”

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[cherie-doll]

Cherie cheriee, my love. Wish you healthy and happy.

I got something. If you're interested in.

You've write COD man when they got jealous, but- what if WE get jealous? Like- these men are gorgeous. Yes, they're scary big military men but people have preferences and nasty too :( light touches, playful eyes and flirty tone. Bluntly ignored the shining ring on his finger, especially if some of the men just straight up oblivious to these advances cough könig cough.

having a damn good looking husband has it's pros and cons ;(

You getting jealous >;)

✄ Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Roach, Alejandro, Rudy, Phillip Graves, Makarov, Keegan, König, Horangi, Nikto

𖦹 You kinda hate how Price being nice to literally almost anybody backfires. The woman is practically salivating and all over him, her hand on his arm as she leans in pretending to be interested in what he's saying rather than his face. She's much too close for your comfort. For the next few moments you nudge him too many times for your liking until he gets a hint and thinks it's time to go.

𖦹 Simon is blunt most of the time so you can’t even imagine how cold and dry his responses would be when someone is trying to get his number and notices your serious face. He ain’t letting some stranger ruin your mood, he won’t let that conversation last not even five seconds before he’s walking away.

𖦹 Johnny wouldn't even go near another woman if it bothered you let alone one approach him. Even if it embarrasses you he'll wear a "I love my girlfriend" shirt with your face on it anytime you're not with him in public. Often, when he's with you he doesn't wear it because he has you close to him at all times. Still, you can't help but roll your eyes at the audacity someone had to straight up drop a pickup line with you right there. He's all for strong women but he had to hold you back.

𖦹 Kyle thinks maybe they don't notice the ring around his finger. He taps it against a hard object, purposely to hear the 'clink' of the glass as he taps on it. Their gaze temporarily shifts to his hand before continuing to bug him with idle-like conversation. He’s sighing and has stopped smiling when he sensed their intentions. “Nice talking to you” is all he says and he just walks away from her mid conversation to you. He ain’t dealing with this bs.

𖦹 Roach would hate the idea of you getting upset over this, in his mind he can already imagine how you'd react if he let it continue. He's constantly looking around for any signs of you, not really paying attention to whoever is complimenting him, obviously wanting something more. He nearly jumps out of his skin when you appear next to him, tugging at his collar to take him away.

𖦹 Alejandro has to calm you down before you attack your widow neighbor who has been trying to come over when Alejandro is alone. You've left signs of yourself outside the door like shoes that are clearly yours, maybe an old handbag you no longer use so she can get a hint but they fly over her head like arrows. It's either she gets evicted or you move out because it's making your blood boil.

𖦹 Rudy will take one look at you and be on his way. No unhappy spouse on his watch and if in his control. And him being the great husband he is will apologize as if it were his fault but really you're not mad at him you're mad at whoever had the nerve to hit on him even if he showed them his ring. You better be kissing that man and hugging him for being so attentive to your reactions, seriously no one else can give you that attention and devotion like he does.

𖦹 Phillip only chuckles as you glare at the waitress who's being overly nice to him. But you know the difference between being nice and attentive and straight up almost offering herself to him. She's constantly smiling a little too wide and pressing herself over the counter, leaning towards him thinking her cleavage would show. He only flashes her a polite smile, leaves a $1 as tip and grabs you by your waist as he walks by, pressing a kiss to your forehead and making sure his hand travels a little further down, as if making a clear statement that he is TAKEN.

𖦹 Makarov gets amused seeing how jealous you can get. It's not like he flirts back, he finds that repulsive. He'll pretend to sit and listen but not sending any wrong signals back to them. Half the time he's really just watching you, and you know he's smug about it so you try not to show it but you really are getting impatient. Finally, when he can't torture you anymore he'll brusquely cut the other person off and leave with you.

𖦹 Keegan has to hold in a laugh when he sees you practically burning a hole in the back of the woman’s head. You won’t quit staring and when she asks him what’s so funny he just shakes his head and bites his lip. The lady will follow his gaze to where he won’t quit staring and when she sees you he turns to him and says, “annoying, right?” But instead of agreeing Keegan goes, “nah you are”.

𖦹 König would in fact not understand the flattery that is being directed at him right now. Just a friendly person? He’s grown accustomed to weird behaviors by others and just interprets it as differences in cultures. Maybe what’s strange to him is only friendliness or the norm. Why are you so mad? He doesn’t understand and he’s confused.

𖦹 Horangi would laugh meanly when he saw how riled up you got. Seriously, he doesn't even consider that other person a temptation, see how he doesn't even mention their name? He doesn't know it and isn't interested. Until he gets disgusted by how close they try to get and hands that can't seem to keep to themselves. He's briskly walking away before it can turn into a misunderstanding.

𖦹 Nikto is oblivious, blunt and confused. He doesn't understand the advances of another person when he's clearly happily married. You've even a second ring for him to wear so there's no way someone could miss that if he shakes their hand when being introduced. No matter how much you'd want to take matters into your own hands, Nikto has already set boundaries with the other person and ignoring them. Don't worry, no one will ruin your peace.

[quarterlifekitty]

I love your takes and bring you this piece, if it's fine with you.

Visiting Ghost/Simon because of reasons and learning he only has a few deals of silverware like four spoons, three forks. And one random holiday you gift him a new full container of silverware. And the only thing he can think of, is you clearly want to move in. You're telling him something aren't you? Why else would he need so much cutlery?

Doesn't matter you're a new recruit trying to be nice or a new neighbor. Clearly you're hinting at something.

Love the idea of you living next to his flat, and you’re just a very kind person. But he’s never known kindness with no reason behind it. So you must want something, right?

When you bring him dinner because you made too much. When you give him a full cutlery set because he said he only had 3 spoons. Really— it was just an extra set you’d had still in the package from when you moved in because your mom insisted you needed more. When you keep giving him everything you notice he doesn’t have— dish towels, area rugs, a napkin holder… you’ve already made his apartment so homey. Why would you bother putting in so much effort unless you wanted to move in?

And he would probably tell Price about it. And his captain would listen with interest and smile. Tell him he’s exactly right! That you’ve been taken with the urge to nest with him, whether you realize it or not. And birds only get like that when they’re serious…. So he ought to do the right thing and snatch you up before you set your sights elsewhere. Birds like you are a rare breed these days!

[marvellous1917]

Icarus Falling Far.

(Part 3)

Pairing: mob!bucky x tattoo artist!female!reader

Summary: it’s the day after giving the dangerous mobster his first tattoo, and he hasn’t contacted you yet. What a dick.

Warnings: cursing, crime, mentions of guns, stalking/harassment (brief), think that’s it.

Word count: 3.6k ish

A/N: i had no plan to make this story into a mini-series, so if this seems a little unplanned… it is. Anyway, hope you like it my loves 😘

(This is not beta’s so any mistakes are my own)

Part 2 ⬇️:

———————

Bold is readers thoughts

Italics is Bucky's thoughts

This starts in Bucky’s POV.

———————

His home office was always the place he went to feel at peace. Ironic really, considering the dealings done within the room. The walls had seen him order his men to assassinate his rivals, to eliminate anybody that got in their way. The desk had felt the tip of the pen write extortionate contracts, sent silently to some of the cities most powerful people, the non-explicit threat sent with photos of their family’s, to reminds them what they were risking if they refused to comply. The window that felt the full strength of his prosthetic too many times to count. The hole in the floor after one of his employees managed to literally shoot himself in the foot. {guess who}

But his peace was teetering on a cliffs edge. His hands were woven into his hair, pulling to try and alleviate the headache forming. Elbows resting on his desk as his eyes stayed staring at one specific groove in the wood.

A knock at the door broke his trance and he sighed. It was a rule in the Compound that if the boss was in his office and the door was closed, you do not interrupt or enter unless there was an emergency. Only one man was brave enough to completely disregard Bucky’s rule, which had led to some… interesting situations when Bucky had girls in there with him.

“Come in,” he called, knowing the longer he waited to respond, the louder and more incessant the knocking would become.

The door opened and there was Bucky’s very own personal dumbass: Steve Rogers. The man had been a part of Bucky’s life since as long as he could remember, if-fact some of his earliest memories were with Steve; young boys playing cops and robbers together, attempting to protect Steve when he picked a fight he had no business being in- which had led to Bucky getting his ass beat as well, and scheming together about how to make sure that Simon Justin never played baseball again after pulling his sisters hair on the playground.

“Fuck me Buck, I’m not sure if today could have been anymore fucked,” Steve stated as he collapsed on to the couch, flinging his legs over one arm and resting his head in the other.

Today was a stressful fucking day.

It was the day that Bucky was making all necessary moves. Why all the problems had to pop up now, he wasn’t sure. And the kicker to this awful day? He had no time to talk to you, the girl he could not get out of his head, no matter how hard he tried. You’d managed to flood his mind, memories of the kiss you shared playing over and over again.

“Did you close the door?” Bucky asked, not moving an inch.

“Yeah.”

“Good because I do not need anyone else talking to me right now,” Bucky said, his voice low and quiet, an air of danger ever-present in his tone.

“C’mon Buck, y’know you love them,” Steve responds with a dopey little smirk on his face, and he tilts his head to make eye contact with the man he calls his brother.

I hate that fuckin smile.

He softly hums his agreement and returns to inspecting the groove on his desk.

“We just gotta talk it out, figure out what the fuck is going on, then plan our next moves accordingly,” Steve says, swinging his legs back to the floor, hands clasped together, his arms leaning on his knees.

“Yeah thanks man, I didn’t think about figuring everything out, maybe I’ll give that a go now” Bucky retorts with weak sarcasm, mind too busy, replaying the events of the day.

“I can leave you alone to get lost in your head, or we can figure this shit out together. It’s your call jerk.” Steve says, tilting his head down to catch Bucky’s eye.

“Alright.”

“Stop pulling your hair jackass.” He adds.

I hate it when you do that.

Bucky drops his hands to the desk and says, “Ok let’s start this debrief with Walker.”

“Nat’s got his ass tied up in the basement for ya, he’s ready when you are.”

“Anybody looking for him?”

“One frustratingly loyal friend, but he has no idea that Johnny-boy is with us. The rest of his little fan club have no idea he’s even missing.”

“Ok, one problem down. Rumlow?” It’s the question he doesn’t want the answer to. He’d much rather spend his time thinking about you. His history with Brock Rumlow was bloody and painful, for both of them. There was only one person from his past that Bucky hadn’t dealt with, and here he was, coming back to ruin the name Bucky had made for himself.

Rumlow knew things about Bucky’s past that made him a a high security threat, but after he failed to blow himself up in an attempt to kill Bucky, he had disappeared. Bucky thought it was finally over, but the asshole popped back up about a year ago, with more power than before, making himself seemingly untouchable by Bucky’s hand.

“Currently moving like he has been, not causing too much trouble for us, though his crew are getting closer and closer to our dealings at the port.” Steve said, a slight look of digits on his face.

“Put extra hands down there for the next couple weeks, see if we can’t scare them off a little.”

“Yes boss. I’ll let them know after this.”

“The commissioner’s dealt with?” Buck asks, remembering the deviation the man had decided to make.

“Yep, send him that gift basket. He called Sam this morning and agreed to our terms.”

“Good. How’s Barton?” He asks, moving into what they class as ‘personal business’.

“Pissed, man. He wants blood for what happened, we all do.” Steve answers, the memory of seeing Clint covered in blood and bruised made his blood simmer.

“We sure it wasn’t Rumlows’ lot, or fuck even Walker?

“Walkers’ fanclub do not have the brain cells, the power, or the information to organise an attack like that, and Parker tracked Rumlow and his men, all are accounted for and have alibis. This is someone new.”

Oh for fuck’s sake. Isn’t two power hungry assholes enough.

“We haven’t found anything? No security cameras, no cell tower pings?” Bucky asks, leaning back in his chair, resting his head on the back.

“Actually, I sent Scott there this morning to check out if there was anything left there and he found something.” Steve responds, some apprehension creeping into his voice.

That got Bucky’s attention. His head snapped back up and locked eyes with Steve who now stood in-front of his desk, pacing back and forth slightly.

“Care to share with the class Rogers?” His voice was hard now, his extreme dislike of not knowing all the information shining through.

Steve exhales sharply, biting his tongue to not retort and piss Bucky off more.

“He found a package tucked behind a dumpster addressed to ‘Bucky Barnes’ that had a memory stick-“

“Like a USB?” Bucky interrupted.

“- Yeah a USB-“ he gets cut off again.

“Then just say USB, calling it a ‘memory stick’ makes you sound 100 years old.”

“-oh dear god, you gonna let me finish?” Steve responds.

Bucky waved his hand at him, a sign for him to continue.

“Scott found a package addressed to you with a USB inside, we gave it to Stark ‘cos Parker was busy tracking down Rumlows crew, and he checked it out and told us it was completely normal, no virus or anything bad in it.”

“Was there anything on it?” Bucky asks, his brow furrowed.

“It..uh..has two pictures on it.” Steve said lowly.

“…of?”

“It’s probably better if I just show you.” Steve said, his tone of voice made Bucky a little nervous.

Steve took out his phone, tapped a couple of time before turning it around to give to Bucky. As soon as the latter had ahold of the phone, Steve took a full step back, which caused Bucky to raise his eyebrows in question.

“Just look.” He says in response to Bucky’s unasked question.

He looked down at the screen and almost immediately removed his left hand as to not break the phone.

Fuck. Shit.

The first picture was of the night he met you. It was taken through the window for you apartment, and clearly showed both you and Bucky, stood side by side, looking through your flash book.

“What the fuck is this?” He pushes out through gritted teeth.

“I assuming that’s the tattoo artist you told me about, the one you got a thing for?” Steve says.

The one I’m obsessed with.

When Bucky gives him a sharp nod, Steve just drops his head, suddenly fascinated with his shoes.

“Shit.” He says under his breath.

“What?” Bucky’s voice was louder now.

“Look at the next picture.” Steve says while avoiding eye contact.

Bucky looks down, his finger swiping to the next picture before he can think about it.

No. No no fuck. Not her.

The next photo was taken from inside the apartment. Inside your bedroom. It’s of you. Asleep. Completely unaware of the danger stood at the foot of your bed.

Bucky couldn’t look away, he was frozen staring at the picture. Your shorts and oversized tee had both ridden up slightly, showing how truly vulnerable you are. The clock on your table showed the time as 3:54 and showed the date.

“…this was taken this morning.”

“..yeah.”

fuck.

———————

Fuck Bucky Barnes.

The bastard hadn’t contacted you since the shop.

Bitch ass told me to keep my phone on so I wouldn’t miss his message, kept me glued to my phone like a weirdo waiting for him to call… and he didn’t. Dick.

Despite the annoyance at the very very attractive mobster, you couldn’t help wonder how he was, what he was doing, if he was thinking about you too.

You’re overthinking about Bucky was interrupted by a knock at your door.

“One sec!” You shout to whoever’s there, getting up and walking to the door. The second you undo the lock, the door is being pushed into your face with a chorus of greetings.

“Come in I guess,” you say to the three who just walked in.

“Well thanks darlin, you got food?” Billy responds, already making his way to the fridge.

“Don’t fucking eat my pizza Bill, I swear I’ll kill you,” you answer, giving both Frank and Curtis a hug, letting the door close behind them.

He laughs off your threat as the others take a seat on your couch.

“Not that I don’t love you guys, but why the fuck are you here?” You ask, moving back to the arm chair in the corner and taking a seat, your phone pinging in the back ground.

“What, we can’t pop in on you whenever we want?” Frank says, leaning back in the arm of the couch, moving to put his feet in the coffee table.

“Frankie if you put your feet on my table, I’m gonna beat you with a spoon.” You call at him.

He freezes and slowly lowers his feet back to the floor.

“We just wanted to come see how you were…Frank told us about Barnes.” Curtis says, cutting into the conversation and completely dampening the mood.

God-fucking-dammit Frank.

Oh fuck do I tell them that he’s not an issue and I actually quite like him.

“Yeah are you ok sweetheart?” Billy asks and he collapses on the couch in the middle of the other boys.

“I’m fine guys, I swear, like I told Frank he’s actually not bad,” you answer, shifting uncomfortable lay in your seat due to the indecision of how much to tell them, “He was nice, polite and kind of…charming, I guess-”

“Is that why you kissed him?” Frank interrupts.

Shit, how does he know?

“-what?”

“You kissed him. Or rather he kissed you but you seemed to enjoy it.” Billy says with an annoying smirk on his face.

“How do you know that?” You ask, shock still written all over your face.

“..the security cameras, kid. You forget about those?”

Ahh fuck.

“Ahh fuck,” you say out loud.

“What the hell are you doing making out with a mobster, Y/N?” Curtis responds, looking at you with those eyes of his that show he’s not judging, just trying to understand.

“I..uh..I wasn’t-really-thinking.” You put you hands on your head, even though Curtis wasn’t judging you, the other two definitely were.

“Obviously you weren’t, he’s a goddam mobster Y/N-” Billy starts, anger in his voice, but you cut him off.

“I know that Bill, ok, I do,” you say, shifting to place your feet on the floor, “but he’s not the animal you think he is, he’s kind and considerate and he makes me feel…” happy. you cut off before the last word, wanting to keep that realisation to yourself for a little longer.

“Plus you bastards can’t be judging me for meeting the guy twice, only yourselves and the devil knows what fucked shit you three have been up to.” You almost shout.

“The fuck does that mean?” Frank answers.

“C’mon Frank I’m not stupid, you three have some shady shit in your pasts. I mean you were goddam military for fucks sake, and don’t think I don’t see the fake payments on the books at the shop-“

“Stop Y/N.” Billy cuts you off. “Stop it now.” He leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees, eyes never leaving yours.

You were about to respond to his demand, when a knock sounded at the door.

“Told you to keep you phone on.” A dark voice calls through the door.

Oh shit. No no no not now please not now.

“Who the fuck is that?” Frank asks, suddenly sitting up straight, eyes pinned on the door. Both Billy and Curtis stand, facing the door as if waiting for it to bust off it’s hinges.

“Please all of you, shut the fuck up and don’t do anything dumb,” you answer, moving towards the door.

“Is that him?” Curtis asks.

“Didn’t I just say shut the fuck up,” you retort a little snappier, opening the door slightly.

He cut his hair, it’s looks good on him.

Bucky lowers his arm from his thwarted attempt at a second knock and says, “Is your phone broken or are you ignoring me?” The smirk on his face made your heart beat a little faster.

“Neither, I just missed your text because I have some friends over right now,” you say.

“Is that why you’re not opening the door properly? I can barley see you,” he says with a grin.

“…kinda? Ok wait..” you exit your apartment, pulling the door closed fully behind you, “long story short, they know about the k.. uh about what happened at the shop, and they know who you are and they are not happy about it.”

His eyes darken and his smirk grows wider at the almost mention of the kiss. He shifts until he’s leaning his shoulder on the wall by your door.

“Oh yeah? Doesn’t really matter what they think though, does it doll? Both you and I know how much you enjoyed it.” He says, mouth forming a cheeky grin.

Oh my god.

“Me? You’re the one who started it Bucky, seemed you enjoyed it more,” you respond, having no idea where the confidence came from.

He hums at your statement and says “Well I can admit that I did enjoy our kiss sweetheart, but I may need a little reminder of how it went, it’s been a long day you see.”

“Bucky-” you’re cut of by him stepping closer until your chests are barley touching, the new position making you tilt your head back to see him better.

“What darlin? You ok with this?” He asks slowly, tilting his head to the side slightly, looking into your eyes for any sign of discomfort.

Why does he have to be so sweet.

You nod in answer to his question and he smiles. Not the terrifying grin or the cheeky smirk, but a genuine smile - one that makes him even more beautiful. Bucky raises his right arm, dragging his thumb over your lips and cupping your cheek while you stare up at him, his other hand sneaks around your back, pulling you flush to him.

“You have no idea what to do to me, do ya?” He mumbles, probably not intending for you to respond as he’s closing the gap between you. The kiss is harsh and a little messy, shocking you slightly with his apparent desperation, hands holding you tightly. He takes advantage of your shock, tracing your lips with his tongue and pushing past to deepen the kiss.

His hand drops from you face to your waist, gripping so tightly, you’re sure he’ll have left a bruise. That thought got you’re heart pumping faster, the idea that an imprint of his hands, his fingers would be left on your skin. It felt right. Bucky pushes you until your back hits the wall, hips fitting against yours almost perfectly, one leg sneaking between yours as you let a light whimper escape.

You break the kiss to get some air, leaning your forehead against his, both of you catching your breath.

“Bucky, I mis-”, you didn’t get to finish the sentence before your door opens and you’re suddenly faced with three pissed off ex-marines.

-(Bucky’s P.O.V)

Bucky immediately steps back, releasing you, and straightens his posture. He looks at the men, quietly analysing them. He can tell that they either are or were military, and definitely care immensely about you, probably to the point of beating the crap out of anyone that hurt you.

The one in the middle is a frightening creature , he thinks, but the wedding band means he has something to loose, he should be less quick to anger, in theory.

The one on the right with the short buzz cut and the tense muscles reminds him of Clint, he’s ready to fight at the drop of a hat, and by the look on his face, I’m gonna be his next target.

The man on the left intrigued Bucky the most. His face is blank, showing nothing. He’s favouring one of his legs, and the other shows a bulky piece of metal at the bottom. Wonder if that’s an old military injury.

“Guys, what are you doing?” You ask, apprehension in your voice. Bucky wonders if you’re scared for them or for him.

“Oh we are gonna head out, let you have some time to really think about what we talked about.” The man in the middle says, putting emphasis on the word really.

“Frank please-”

“No it’s ok sweetheart,” Bucky bristles at the pet name the Clint wannabe says, “we’ll see you later.”

“Billy-”

“Shit, I left my phone on your table, could you get it for me?” The other says to you, cutting off your words, smiling at you to calm the stressed look on your face.

“Of course Cutis, one sec,” you respond, Turing to Bucky at the end of your sentence with a look at says please don’t make this worse.

You pass by the men and let the door fall closed behind you.

The silence is tense as the men all stare at each-other.

“So…how’s your man doing? Y’know the one that got jumped,” Billy says, smirking at Bucky.

“How do you know that?” Bucky asks as his muscles tense.

“…Y/N told us, obviously,” Billy says.

The pause was intentional, she didn’t tell them that.

“He’s fine, thanks.” Bucky responds shortly, all to aware of the lie he was just told.

The door opens just before Billy can respond, all four men going silent again.

“Here it is Curtis, guess I’ll see you guys later then,” you say, before hugging each man.

The three shoulder past Bucky as if he was just a man on the street, no care in the world that he could have them killed for that disrespect. But he lets this one slide, for her, as they’re her friends.

“Did you tell them about Clint?” He knows it was a lie but he needs to make sure his cynical brain isn’t marking it up.

“No? Why?” You answer, unaware of the turmoil occurring in Bucky’s head.

Then how the fuck do they know.

“Give me one minute doll, I forgot something at the car,” he says, “go on inside I’ll be back soon.”

“Uh.. okay.” You answer, walking back into the apartment.

He watches the door and as soon as it closes he is moving back down the stairs, hoping to catch and ask the men how they knew about Clint. Bucky normally has an reasonable explanation for everything, but this time he was stumped. He catches them outside the front door to the building, the three of them stood leaning against their car, watching the door, waiting for him to come out.

“How do you know?” He repeats his question from before, voice lower and more dangerous now.

“Y’know…that bastard has a solid right hook.” Billy says. The sentence sends red hot anger through Bucky’s blood.

It was them. But that means…

“Did you get our package?” The big one in the middle asks, Frank, she called him.

Fuck. The anger that has been burning in his veins since the second he saw those photos of you pours out of him and he immediately pulls a gun on Frank.

“Hey now that’s not smart, is it?” Curtis asks in a placating tone.

“Don’t forget about our girl up there. What’s she gonna think if you shoot me for no reason?” Frank says, unflinching staring down the barrel of Bucky’s gun.

Fuck. Fuck. These bastard are the ones threatening everything, they jumped Clint and are using you to get to him. They’re your friends and you? You have absolutely no idea.

————

Yo this took so long to do!! Hope you like my lil twisty turn at the end there 😈.

Lemme know what u think 😘

Tagged :

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[the-raindeer-king]

The 141 and having kids with them :) This was fueled by a random thought I had at work, and it was written at like 3am. Pls be kind.

Simon “Ghost” Riley

Due to his personal experiences, I think he probably would be against having kids in the beginning. Like he's seen and been through so much, and I think his main fear would be ending up like his dad. So he always just wrote it off as something he never wanted to experience

UNTIL YOU COME IN 

And at some point, maybe after Johnny starts having kids, Simon sees you interacting with one of the babies. And something about seeing you with a baby on your hip flips a switch in his brain. 

He wants a kid and he wants one now.

Anyway y'all definitely don't stop at just one kid. I like the idea of Simon with 3 kids, all girls of course. He just exudes girl dad energy. 

He's a great dad too btw. Retires from field work after the second girl is born, and absolutely adores them. Encourages them to engage in extracurricular activities. Would coach their sports team if any of them join. Never misses a recital (totally doesn't try to get the other task force members to show up. 🙄 They just happened to be free lmao)

If any of the girls enlisted, he'd probably try to talk them out of it at first. War is brutal, and the idea of any of them going through what he did makes him sick with worry. But he comes around to the idea, and in the end, is so proud of them. 

He's proud of them regardless. All three are firecrackers with big personalities, and he loves them so much. 

John Price

I think, when he was younger, Price wanted kids. Liked the idea of a wife/husband, a house with a yard, and a couple kids. And it just… never happened. Life got in the way, and how could he bring a child into this world, with all the things he's seen? He made his peace with it, and moved on. 

And then he meets YOU. And suddenly he finds himself hoping for these things again. Especially kids. 

Give this man a baby, please! He exudes fatherly energy (in more ways than one ;p) 

After y'all have the first kid, he retires from the military all together. He's paid his dues, and he's got something far more important now: you, and your sweet baby boy :)

I could see Price either only having one, or having a handful of kids. Probably no more than 3 (two boys and a girl) 

A good dad. Maybe gets a little too invested in their sports games, probably ends up as a coach after correcting the old one too many times lmao 

Would be so proud if any of your kids followed in his footsteps. If none of them do, I think he'd be quietly disappointed but proud of them nonetheless. The two of you raised some wonderful kids. 

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick

Probably never really gave it much thought. Like having kids would be cool. Not having them is fine too. Kyle definitely wasn't stressing it, he's got bigger things to worry about.

I mean that is until YOU come along. And now he's thinking about getting married and having babies. 

Definitely talks with you about it in detail. He wants your opinion on it, what method to go about it, if you think you're ready for that. A very lengthy conversation that ends in a mutual agreement. 

I think Kyle wouldn't want more than 2. Like you could convince him, if you want more. But he's fine with a small family. 

2 boys. Twins. Absolutely a handful, and Kyle's there to help when he can. I don't think he'd leave the military until the boys are older, maybe 10/11. But he steps up when he is home, giving you a well deserved break from parenting. 

Loves your boys. Play wrestles with them when they're little, brings them trinkets back from his deployments, takes note of their interests and different personalities. 

Wouldn't mind either way if they enlisted or not. Kyle would be proud of them regardless. You've raised two fine boys, what's not to be proud of?

Johnny “Soap” MacTavish 

Oh, Johnny boy here wants a big family. He's dead set on having kids. It absolutely is a deal breaker for him. His partner has to want kids too.

So when he meets you. And you want kids too, he's over the moon. 

If you've got a uterus, the first kid definitely happens unintentionally. Y'all weren't actively trying, Johnny just can't keep it in his pants lmao. 

If not, then it's all planned out and everything goes smoothly, whether that's surrogate or adoption. 

Like I said, BIG family. I'm talking like 5 kids at the least. You cannot talk him out of it.

Also gives big girl dad energy. Probably ends up with 4 girls and 1 boy. And he's fine with it! Loves getting his nails painted and throwing tea parties, just as much as he loves playing soccer and wrestling 

Like Kyle, Johnny doesn't immediately retire. Sometime after the girl 4 and the baby boy, he'd retire from field work. But he's always facetiming with the kids and bringing them stuff back. Being dad doesn't stop just because he's halfway across the world. 

Would be so proud if any of them enlisted. Would probably cry unashamed. But he's equally as proud of them if they don't. 

[frudoo]

For the slasher 141 AU, imagine they didn’t find the guy. He lays low, evading police and CPS until they eventually lose interest, or another case “takes priority” (AKA they can sweep it under the rug.)

141 lies waiting, but maybe it slips their minds, until John gets a call that reader’s been attacked by the guy, or maybe it’s a hostage situation type deal where he has reader and her class under duress while making orders. Does reader dare to try and fight back, knowing her class and the legal trouble it could bring? Does she pretend to comply, until she can overpower him?

Alternatively, 141 using her as bait (consensually ofc) to lure a notorious abuser out of hiding that goes horribly wrong. Love your AU!

I am kissing your brain right now anon

Reader gets some more backstory <3

Part 2 to this.

Warnings: Dark!Fic/DDDNE. Mentions of abuse. Brief mention of teen pregnancy, forced miscarriage, infertility, hysterectomy. Cancer. Cliffhanger ending (sorry!).

“Faster, bitch!”

     You grip the steering wheel tighter, jaw clenched shut. You want nothing more than to smart off to him, but you know better than that. With four armed and dangerous men of your own, you’d think that they would have taught you to check your surroundings at all times, or at the very least to always lock your damn car. You thought it was harmless—all you had to do was run back inside the building to grab your lunchbox you’d left by accident. How were you supposed to know that someone with a vendetta would sneak into your backseat?

     You had forgotten all about the situation for the most part—Oliver had been coming to your class like normal, happy and unscathed, and his mom had been picking him up with no issue. Maybe that’s why you’d assumed the police had taken his father into custody, or that the man simply just didn’t want to come after you. That theory has been completely obliterated, now, with his knife to your neck, barking orders in your ear. 

     “Are you deaf? I said faster!” He’s erratic, positively irate, and you can feel the cool blade pressing harder against your throat. 

     He’s been screaming at you to take him to his wife’s house, and you plan to do just that. You know for a fact that Oliver’s mother has taken him to her parents’ house because she felt unsafe at her own—too many bad memories and the nagging fear that her husband may come back—and for good reason, apparently. The house is totally empty.

     “I’m trying not to get pulled over,” you say plainly, willing yourself not to wince as he leans in closer, hot breath puffing against the side of your face.

     “Whatever. Just- just fucking get there.”

     The man leans back once more, but he’s getting more and more anxious by the second, frantically checking his phone and tapping his leg nervously. You use his distraction as an opportunity to pull out your own cell, quickly searching for one of your lovers’ contacts. You land on John’s, cautiously typing out an SOS and sending it. There’s a read receipt immediately and you know John is already tracking your location, making Simon start the truck and gathering up the other two. 

     You hide your phone before the fuming man behind you can see what you’ve been doing and pray that Simon’s reckless driving will get them at the house around the same time as you do. Your heart and head are pounding with irritation and, for the first time in a while, true fear. 

     Suddenly, you feel like you’re sixteen again, with your father pressing the tip of his blade into your pregnant belly. You can still hear his voice berating you, calling you words no daughter should ever hear from her father. You can still feel the excruciating pain of the bowie penetrating your abdomen right where your womb sat. You can still remember driving yourself to the hospital and being told that you’d lost your baby, and as a result of the knife wound, would never be able to conceive again. There’s emptiness where your uterus should be, loss where there should have been life. Your boyfriend at the time left you after finding out about your hysterectomy. 

     Sometimes you wish you could have been the one to kill your father. Not the stupid fucking cancer that slowly made him hate you less and less as he got weaker. The sickness seemed to take all the spite in his heart and manifest it into a malignant tumor in his pancreas. The doctors found the mass too late, just like your father found some twisted form of love for you far too long after he ruined you. You didn’t have control over his fate, but you do have control over the piece of shit behind you.

     It’s another fifteen minutes of being threatened before you finally make it to the house, and your heart drops when you realize that your boys aren’t there yet. Your mind starts racing—what if they got pulled over? What if they got into a wreck? You don’t know what the hell you’d do without them, especially not now, as the man is dragging you out of the car and forcing you inside the house with him. Thankfully, it’s empty as you expected, but that just infuriates Oliver’s dad more. 

     “Where the fuck are they?” He grabs you by the throat, spittle spraying across your face in his rage. 

     “I don’t know,” you whimper.

     You’re cursing yourself for showing him just how scared you are. He can practically smell your anxiety and it fuels his ego, makes him squeeze your neck so tight that you know it’ll leave bruises. You’ve already resigned yourself to the fact that this is more than likely where you’ll die, with no courage rising up from your belly and none of your boys to have your back. Maybe it’s a fitting end—your father coming back in a different body to finish the job he was too weak to complete all those years ago. 

     “I think you do,” he hisses, tightening his hand and effectively cutting off your air supply.

     Your vision goes spotty and then black, gasping for breath but not even bothering to fight back. At worst, your death will alert the police and your lovers won’t even get to see your body for the last time as you’re dragged to the morgue. At best, the boys will finally show up and get rid of this fucker, albeit too late to save you, but at least they’ll get to see you and take you back home to lay you to rest. Your absence may hurt for a while but things would inevitably go back to normal—and your sweet little kiddos at the daycare. They’re still so young that they won’t remember you after a while, and you take comfort in that fact as you slowly lose consciousness.

     You don’t feel your body hit the ground.

[agentmarvel]

center image by @/ave661

PART I

hitman!ghost x fat!reader (afab, fem) w/ arranged marriage

mdni - 18+; minors and ageless blogs will be blocked

rating: explicit

word count: 2,992

read on ao3

summary: in which contract killer simon "ghost" riley has to marry by a deadline, and of all the women to pick from, he chose you - without your knowledge, against your own stubborn will, and without much hesitation. your entire life, what you thought you knew, is flipped on its head while you try to navigate your new worldview and the complications therein.

cw: toxic parenting

♡

Simon stares at the photos before him, eyes flittering across the array wordlessly as he contemplates the question at hand. As migrant as his gaze has been, he keeps circling back to the same photo in his grid. Something about it draws him in, calling to him like a siren song. There’s no inclination that this path could lead him to his death, leave his bloated corpse floating just below the surface like seaweed, equally as limp and lifeless, nor can he be bothered to mind the possibility of rocky shores ahead, nearly certain to run his ship aground if he’s not exercising the utmost caution. His sails have never flown higher, and this? This feels like the right rigging for his needs.

It’s not that Simon wants a wife. Truthfully, he wants for nothing - he fucks when he feels like it, does as he pleases, and has hired hands to handle his household; anything he desires is placed at his feet with the snap of his fingers. He’s earned the life he has now, paid for it in blood, sweat, and tears - the likes of which belonging both to him and the piles of bodies he prefers to think of as stepping stones rather than people. But Simon Riley is nothing if not a man of his word, and the bill has come due.

Twenty years, he promised. Twenty years, and not a day more. It seems like an eternity to an eager, naïve teenager.

John Price, the master of hired guns, trained Simon. He put years of his life into molding Simon into the perfect weapon while instilling a moral compass impossible to sway. It did not come without cost, though. When he agreed to teach a driven, persistent, gifted fifteen year old Simon the ins and outs of the business, they made a deal. In exchange for John’s knowledge, Simon would be given time to build his empire before being required to take a wife.

“A mountain can’t rest upon a single pebble,” Price had told him. “Strength is in numbers, my boy. Earn loyalty where you can and buy it where you can’t.”

He’s been on his own for just over a decade, John becoming his equal, and he still takes those words to heart; hence the spread of pictures. Word travels fast, and when it gets out that the Simon Riley is seeking a bride, every magnate - respectable or otherwise - with a daughter to spare is throwing their hat into the ring. Conceited, perhaps, but having connections with Simon gives a man the kind of power they’d be foolish to reject.

His right-hand, Johnny, has already weeded out those with seedier dealings - those who cater to terrorism or are even suspected of having connections to human trafficking. While Simon is merciless in his kills, he does not kill without compunction. He’s swift and silent and doesn’t believe in leaving them to suffer. Death itself is punishment enough. There’s no purpose in his life for those who inflict undue dolor for their own gain, and he will not be associated with the uncouth.

The process limits his options, though not by nearly enough. Still, nigh on two dozen remained. He culled the field down to a mere nine by adding stricter constraints: age, employment history, education, and the like. He has no interest in the barely legal, the spoiled socialites, the vapid, shallow, or vain. As hollow as this state of matrimony may ring under the circumstances, he’d prefer not to be one of those men who feels disdain for his partner.

That’s the thought that keeps him circling back to one specific photo - a grayscale surveillance-style photo. The subject is undoubtedly stunning, appears to be precisely his preference in every physical aspect, but the devil is in the details. A delicate necklace that appears to be well-worn but treasured enough to stay polished, a purse that bears no distinguishable designer but shows no sign of detrition, neat, complimentary nails, but he can see a thin sliver of dried glue at the cuticle of the thumb; all signs of frugality without sacrificing sophistication...

Even the tiniest observations sing a haunting, operatic tune that keeps Simon hypnotized with little regard for what could lie within the treacherous depths below. Instinct drives interest, and if there’s anything Simon’s learned in his line of work, it’s to trust his instincts.

Not another beat passes before his fingertips finally close around the edge of the picture. He hands it to Johnny.

“Dig up everything you can on this one, yeah?”

♡

Fascination seems to be the weakest word to describe the rabbit hole Simon finds himself in when Johnny slides a file across his desk. He thumbs the manila tab that peeks out beneath the slew of staggered papers, taking caution to remember the name printed neatly across it - your name. It tastes sweet when he says it out loud. Pretty name for a pretty girl, he muses with a nearly imperceptible smirk.

The surname strikes him with a notch of recognition. Your father, if memory serves correct, is one of the largest arms dealers in the world. A pleasant man by reputation, though Simon has never met him directly. Sans the obvious, he keeps his nose clean. Nothing iniquitous or unscrupulous. There aren’t many American families that Simon has ties to, and forging a bond of this sort with a weapons tycoon would certainly be beneficial.

He digs into the contents of the folder, the pages feeling almost like silk between his heavily calloused fingers. A vague eagerness settles into his bones. Simon feigns disinterest outwardly, expression masked in stoicism, but he can’t lie to himself - he’s undoubtedly curious.

Each barely-cooled sheet turned only draws him further into a spiral. Your basic documents - driver’s license, birth certificate, passport - fill in a few blanks. The additional knowledge of your height, weight, and eye color offer insights not clear from the photo. He knows your middle name, birth date, that you’re an organ donor. You’re not living off your father’s money, as evidenced by the consistent bi-weekly paycheck deposits in your bank records. Educated, obviously, as your student loan payments are automatically drafted monthly.

On paper, it’s almost as if you were made for him, and what a thought that is. Optimism isn't in his nature; a heavy dose of skepticism hangs like a dark cloud, brewing a storm of adversarial rationale. But the pinch of hope that hovers like the sun in the back of his mind tells him to digest before coming back for seconds, and he concedes.

In the days that follow, Simon notices himself spending every spare moment revisiting your file. He placates Johnny’s lingering nosiness with the assurance that he’s merely trying to make a prudent choice under the circumstances, but that’s not quite honest. Truth be told, you’ve become a bit of an obsession of his over the last week. He often notes that his mind is wandering to the things he didn’t learn from the dossier - how you take your tea, what perfume you use, where you’ve always wanted to go but have never been. It’s a dangerous admission, one best kept to himself.

He toys with the notion of conducting the same research on a couple of the other candidates, just to be sure, but his decision is made final when Kyle sends over the links to your social media accounts. None of them are private - an issue Simon will have to address quite thoroughly at a later date - so he has no trouble combing through the last several years of your life.

Admittedly, it leaves an adequate mark. You’re witty and smart while remaining a bit sardonic. Thoughtful and warm, but not without your sharp edges. You’re ambitious and driven, a bit of a firecracker. Color him impressed; he quite likes that.

Demeanor aside, he also finds that you really, genuinely are an absolute beauty. The few photos from your file don’t hold a candle to the selfies you’ve posted. Something about seeing you when you feel most confident, when you’re exuding that effervescent glow of aplomb, it sparks a sensation in Simon’s stomach that he can’t quite describe.

That all but seals the deal.

He snaps up his phone and sends a text to Johnny before placing it face-down and turning back to his laptop.

>>> Set up the meeting

♡

As his jet touches down in Bogotá, Simon is reminded of what a nasty beast jetlag can be. It’s an animal he’s not had to contend with since his younger years, a fact for which he’s grateful. Call it a perk of his constant travel over the years and the more… unconventional hours he entertains on jobs. They’re approaching hour fourteen of their flight, though, so he supposes he can’t fault his men for falling asleep.

(He did, however, take a picture of them sleeping on each other before the turbulence awoke them; you know, for the sake of posterity and potential future blackmail.)

Simon’s mind had been far too occupied to allow him the opulence of rest. Upon his lap sits a dossier on his next target, a relatively high profile subversive at that, and all he can think about is the pretty little thing that’s been haunting his subconscious for the last two weeks.

By all accounts, it’s baffling. He understands that this sudden onset of infatuation is irrational, illogical, and quite frankly, irresponsible. It distracts him from things he ought not be distracted from, and that irritates him to no end.

The whirring of the engines slows to a dull hum, and Simon, with a grunt of discontentment, stuffs the file into his briefcase. He’ll accomplish nothing as long as he’s preoccupied. Hopefully, focus will be far less elusive on the flight back.

A loud thunk from the cockpit draws him from his spiral of ire, and Nikolai emerges. He greets Simon only with a curt nod before disengaging the door and deploying the stairs. Once they’ve kissed the asphalt, he ventures back a step, creating room for the men to disembark.

“Welcome to Colombia, gentlemen,” he announces. “We leave in six hours; gives me time to refuel the bird and grab some fuel myself. Enjoy your time, and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, okay?” He tacks on a wink for good measure, which draws a bark of laughter from Kyle. Nik’s been with them long enough for them to know that’s a very short list, a fact Johnny is very quick to point out.

Simon claps a hand on Nikolai’s shoulder and hands him an envelope before stepping out - a hefty cash sum for his time and efforts. He may have also snuck in a sizable bonus as an anniversary present, but that will stay between the two of them.

“Get some rest, too, yeah? You’ve earned it.”

The air outside is crisp and pleasant. Underneath the standard airfield smells, Simon detects a pinch of coffee and cocoa. He wouldn’t be surprised; there’s a manufacturing plant not too terribly far from here, and if the wind blows just so, it may carry on the current. It’s refreshing, especially after being trapped for hours in an aluminum tube with three men who, today in particular, seem to be having a war over who can wear the strongest cologne.

Kyle and Johnny flank him on either side as they stroll off the tarmac. They’re both covertly armed to the teeth as a general precaution, but he trusts there will be no sinister intent behind a simple lunch. Surely, his appointment won’t mind. He likely won’t be attending alone either.

At the far end of the strip, a hired car is waiting. It’s relatively inconspicuous for the part of the city housing the restaurant, according to Simon’s research - a sleek, black SUV with windows tinted dark enough to hide any passengers, but passable enough to not draw attention.

Once in the city, it’s inherently obvious that there’s plenty of time to kill before the agreed upon hour. Place and time re-confirmed, the boys are turned loose to occupy themselves however they see fit, and Simon delves into the rows of local shops.

He finds things here and there; a pair of stunning leather boots, a box of cigars for Price, trinkets and treats he can share with his staff or gifts he can bring to gatherings so that he never greets his gracious hosts empty-handed. Even a little something for you, should all go according to plan. He smiles inwardly as he tucks the velvet box into the pocket of his slacks. It won’t replace the necklace you clearly adore, but he hopes you’ll wear it regardless.

After a quick trip back to their driver to leave their finds, the trio makes their way to the restaurant. Johnny and Kyle lag behind, keeping a respectable distance from Simon, whose eyes are immediately combing the patio for your father.

He spots him closer to the corner, sitting with his back to the wall. Two tables over, a pair of rather conspicuous men sit, cliché aviators perched in place while positioned to have a clear view of the upcoming interactions. Simon makes a mental note to wait until closer to the wedding to offer suggestions for higher quality detail. Assassinations are easier when you can gauge your obstacles so easily; trust him, he’d know.

In his periphery, he sees his companions select an empty table four over from the rent-a-cops. Kyle sits with his back to the table, glasses off. Johnny sits across from him, keeping his on to supply a reflective overview. Simon can’t help but crack the tiniest grin. He’s taught them well. They move as a singular unit when needed and rely on instinct over protocol. It’s the perfect display of how safe you’ll be with him. If he seems a little arrogant about it, that’s because he is.

Your father looks up from his phone and meets Simon’s eyes with an unspoken question. Simon tips his chin just once before the man stands, greeting him with a gracious smile.

“Ah, Mr. Riley… Pleasure to finally meet you.” He’s sincere in tone and offers his hand. Simon takes it without hesitation, giving it a firm shake while he shares the sentiment.

“You as well, sir.”

His smile widens a bit at that, and he gestures to the open chair, saying, “Please, sit.”

Simon takes the invitation, settling into the seat and the subsequent relatively meaningless small talk. They cycle through the basics before ordering their food and get a pinch more personal while they wait, discussing their respective hometowns and places their work has taken them. It isn’t until they’re digging into their plates that your father finally broaches the subject they’re both most anxious to discuss.

“As much as I’m enjoying getting to know you,” he begins, gaze not rising from his fork as it prods a pile of coconut rice. “I’m sure you didn’t fly halfway across the world just for that.”

“No, sir,” Simon responds. “I’m here to talk about your daughter.”

That draws the man’s attention, eyes finally meeting Simon’s with a subtle grin. It’s almost somewhat unsettling, like a cat finally catching that damn canary, though he’s unsure whether it’s him or you that owns the role of prey.

“But you already knew that, didn't you?”

“That I did,” he confirms, dabbing the corner of his mouth with his napkin. “Tell me, Simon, what exactly is it about my daughter that calls to the infamous Ghost?”

Simon pauses a moment, unsure of quite how to approach the response. He'd rather not tip his hand until he determines what sinisterity lies behind that predatory gaze. The mask your father is wearing at the moment is approaching uncanny, and a faint alarm bell sounds in the back of Simon’s mind.

“I only ask because, well, I never would’ve expected that a man of your stature would choose someone so… plain, shall we say? Don’t get me wrong, she’s a good girl, but she’s certainly not without her flaws. Stubborn, opinionated, talks too much, certainly far from the ideal housewife. And don’t get me started on how she takes care of herself. Really makes me wonder, Mr. Riley, what ulterior motives might you be hiding?”

“None, sir. Nothin’ I need from you that I can’t get myself.” Simon’s voice is flat as he tamps down the anger crawling beneath his skin. How does a real man speak ill of his own daughter so flagrantly? Does he really have no regard for you? He has half a mind to remove your father’s tongue after the wedding, if only for your sake.

“Pray tell, then.”

Simon scrubs a hand over his jaw before he answers, “Pretty girl. Smart from the sound of it. Doesn’t rely on attention from the public or ‘er daddy’s money. Ain’t lookin’ for a sweet little housewife; I like it when they bite back.”

“And you understand that she’s… How do I put this delicately?” He pauses. “She’s a bit bigger than what you'd consider a trophy wife."

Simon scoffs, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. Of course, he's aware of that. That's part of what drew him to you.

“Quite like a fuller figure. Don’t want a woman who’ll fuss over calories when I cook for ‘er.”

Your father mulls it over, chewing thoughtfully as he considers the words before him. Simon watches as the muscles in his jaw flex and reflex, and he swears he can hear the scales tipping back and forth as they try to find some balance.

Finally, he wipes his face with his napkin. His expression cracks into something adjacent to genuine, and that alarm gets just a little bit louder.

“I suppose this little meeting has reached its end.” He snaps his fingers twice as the waiter, gesturing for the check. Rude, in Simon’s opinion, but he bites his tongue.

“Sir?”

“I’ve got business to attend to back in the States, and by the sounds of it, a wedding to start planning.”

♡

part ii

[callofdudes]

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Autistic Reader headcanons.

A/N: I myself am not autistic but I do know a fair bit about it. So I figured I'd write headcanons before writing a fic just to dip my toes in and see if I can get it right.

I know that autism can present a bit differently for some things across different people. Please feel free to let me know if something in this list is not correct. ❤️

Ghost would be lying if he said he didn't give you extra special treatment apart from his other teammates. And it's well justified. Simon knows not to compare you to a child but he also knows that you need things the others don't.

Simon has picked up on subtle signs throughout the months working with you. How sometimes when things didn't go according to plan on base it would leave you more stressed out than it should have. Sometimes if your food wasn't what you had expected it to be, he'd notice how you'd react.

He eventually consulted your file before making any decisions. That's how he'd found out you are autistic.

Simon knew someone who was autistic, so he made sure to keep his eye close on you.

He noticed each little shift. How you would stim with your clothing or your hair, too embarrassed to carry a fidget toy around base. But that didn't matter to Simon. He made sure to take care of everything. He bought some fidget toys small enough to fit in his jacket and when in meetings or just sitting around, he'd pull a toy like magic from his pocket and hand it over.

You'd been incredibly grateful the first few times, and then it just became routine that Simon would carry around the toys for you and have one on hand whenever you needed.

He also noticed which ones you liked, and didn't like. Some you would hand back because they didn't feel right on your fingers. Others clicked and slid in a way you didn't quite like, and he kept a tab of that. He compared fidget toys you did like to similar ones and was very precise every time he got you a new one.

He made sure that in every environment he was nearby. How you'd react to the lights, different sounds. How you'd react when it got to loud and crowded or too quiet. What noises bugged you and what calmed you.

When on missions, Simon made sure to talk you through each step. He thought his voice would help you to face the unexpected. Telling you where to go and exactly what to do, ready to face any situation.

"Take a deep breath y/n, you're doing great. Two Shadows on your left, you can take them out from where you are without being spotted"

Your level of empathy and emotional awareness was also something he had to take into account. You could sensitive to anger. You could feel a great deal of empathy and almost take on the burden of It being your fault even if you had nothing to do with it. Because of this, Simon made sure that you were aware his anger was never on you.

"Simon? Did I do something wrong? You looked really upset when you looked at me earlier and I just thought that maybe-"

Simon places his hand on your shoulder. "No no, just had a rough morning. You did absolutely nothing wrong. Got it?"

Simon has also become much more aware of how he teases you. You were emotionally aware to the point that you very clearly understood Simon would joke about being hurt, or would make fun of you and it was all jokes. He understood that you understood how his emotions worked as well.

But there was the occasional time where Simon would pretend to be hurt by your words and you'd have genuine regret. It doesn't happen as often as he would have thought, but when it does, he's right there to reassure you he is completely fine.

Simon actually gets more upset than you do when people call you a child wrapped up in an adults body with a nice little bow on top. Of course you have your traits but Simon has seen your hobbies and interests. You're no super genius but you are more than a child. You just have a different trajectory point on life's train tracks. And Simon makes sure to remind anyone he doesn't think is being respectful of you as a person.

Nightmares can affect you more harshly because of your emotional investment with things and the people around you.

The first time Simon saw you become overstimulated he was a little scared he'll be honest. He panicked a little bit. But now he knows exactly what to do. At first he tried to comfort you, allowing you to be swallowed up in his embrace, he crushed you tightly in his arms and smoothed his hands over your muscles. It would sometimes take a while for you to come down from your high, but he was there for every moment.

When he becomes a bit better at knowing how to handle a situation when you get over stimulated the process is smoother. Simon will notice how you can completely shut down. Sometimes it's near a meltdown with tears flowing everywhere. And other times you just disconnect. You don't move, don't speak, completely distant. Simon approaches you gently and picks you up in his arms.

"This ok?" He whispers near your ear as to not startle you. You cling to him tightly, burying your head in his neck. "Alright, come on, you've had a long day."

He rubs your back and brings you to your room. If you're away from base he just finds a separate room that is quiet. Anywhere he can go to separate the noise and bustling energy from you. If you're in your room he'll lay you down and just get you to relax.

Tears flow down your cheeks, hands still clasping the material of Simon's hoodie. Simon gently rubs your collar and down over your shoulders. He presses on different parts of your arms until you relax. "Take a deep breath. Take a deep breath." Simon breathes in deeply, prompting you to mimick. He wipes the tears from your cheeks and fetches your heavier blanket from the end of the bed. "See? You're ok."

He grabs your fidget from your desk and place it in your hand, or sometimes he'll lean over you and allow you to play with his sweater.

He talks softly and calmly, he does know kinder and softer words of reassurance help.

Sometimes all you want to do is hug Simon under the warmth of your weighted blanket, his arms wrapped around you like mountains compressing you from all angles.

And sometimes Simon will shut the door, lay you on your back and lay the weighted blanket just above the bend in the bottom of your spine. If you want a fidget toy he'll get you one to distract your hands while he runs soothing motions along your muscles, feeling them relax and contract. He plays white Noise in the background for you, or he'll give you his phone so you can watch soap cutting videos or other visually satisfying things.

"How are you doing?" He whispers near your ear, thumbs rubbing over your stomach and up around your back to cup your shoulder blades. "Look at it." You flip the phone to show a satisfying paint video. "Oh, that's a cool one isn't it?" You nod and go back to watching it.

Wherever Simon got so good at doing massages, you would not change it for the world. You've expressed before how nice they feel and how they calm you down. And Simon continues to do them.

Simon always makes sure that when you're over stimulated you have something to do with your hands. Again, if you want to play with his hoodie he'll stay with you so you can. If you want to run your hands through his hair, he's become comfortable enough to allow it.

"What are you doing up there?" He asks with a smile. You hum, combing your fingers through the short hair of his nape and up into the longer locks. "Soft." You express the feeling over your fingertips. "Yeah? I did shower." "I like your hair."

The occasional times you go nonverbal and are unsure how to express your needs, Simon will pull out a few toys and just crawl up next to you. He holds out his hoodie strings and comb his fingers through your hair.

He lays next to you, holding up one of the fidget toys. You gently take it and allow your fingers to move over it. Simon stays, fingers moving to drift through your scalp. You abandon the toy quicker than he expected and reach for his hoodie. "Oh you want this?" He smiles and moves closer so you can play with the strings of his hoodie.

Simon knows that you are incredibly passionate about what makes you happy. He often bugs you that you never shut up, but he knows you love it. One time when you both couldn't sleep early on the morning, Simon made you both tea and sat silently while you went on for nearly four hours about the lore of your favorite game/movie/TV show. He'd add little key points and poke out certain details, which would lead you down a detailed side rant before coming back to wrap everything up. The conversations would ring you dry of information. Simon would be lying if he said he didn't like it when you info dumped on him.

It was one of your ways you expressed your love. Sharing these things that made you so incredibly happy and Simon wanted to be a part of that.

Simon is still learning, and honestly he's very happy to learn. Sometimes he gets things right and sometimes he doesn't. But he is always here to make sure you get the care and provision you need. Whether it's taking a step back or a step in.

[specialagentlokitty]

Negan x reader - trade skill

Hello. I was wondering if you could please do Negan X reader, where Negan is unable to find Lucille and thinks that someone has taken her. So he has people to search every area in Alexandria (I think it is), only to later find out that Y/N took Lucille in order to clean and repair her, and accidentally forgot to notify him. - Anon💜

You didn’t know why a lot of the saviours were taken to Alexandria, you had a thought maybe it had something to do with Rick not doing what he was supposed to be doing.

You weren’t all too sure but you didn’t really have the time to find out either, you were busy with your own project which is why you refused Dwight when he came to get you to go with him.

Was it the smartest choice?

Definitely not, and you knew you were going to get it in the neck from him and most likely Negan after, but you were always in some kind of trouble.

Sitting on your bed, you picked up the pair of wire cutters, carefully getting ready to cut the barbed wire.

You had already caught your arm once, you just tired a bandanna around it and carried on working.

You had to be careful, you didn’t was to break it, and you had to do everything exactly right otherwise you would be more screwed than you were going to be.

Setting the old barbed wire aside on the floor, you picked up the new one and looked at it.

It was a little rusted with the weather, but it was in a lot better condition than the other one.

Wrapping it around like the other was, you nodded to yourself a little.

Setting the bat aside, you got up, grabbing everything you had been using to fix it you shoved it into a box and left the room.

Making your way down to where the workers were, you walked over and set the box down.

“I’ve not used it all so I’m sure someone can get some use out of it.” You said.

The man looked up, nodding her head as she set the box on the floor.

Humming to yourself, you began to browse through the other things that were laid out on the table, looking for something of interest.

Finding nothing, you decided to head outside instead, looking for some part of a fallen tree or a decent sized branch for a new project.

“Hey (Y/N)?”

You looked to one of the other saviours.

“We got problem with the walkers out front, a few got free somehow.”

You sighed, stopped what you were doing and you pulled out your knife, following him to the front where some of the walkers were banging on the fence.

“You said a fucking few, this is a mini horde dumbass.”

He just shrugged and you glared at him.

“Go get the fucking pole idiot.”

He grabbed the pole and you tried to make quick work of clearing the walkers that were building up.

You heard the cars and trucks pulling up and you ignored it, stabbing the final walker in the head, you turned to the man who went to leave.

“Not so fast, you’re waiting here I’ll deal with your ass in a minute.”

Opening the gate, you walked through the bodies, maybe your way to the far end of the fence, slowly looking along it.

For the walkers to get in the gap would have had to be pretty big, so it wasn’t hard to finally find it.

Kneeling down, you carefully inspected the fence and grabbed some zip ties from your jacket to seal it temporarily for now.

Making your way back over you looked at Simon.

“Sort your dumbass out Simon, this fucker hasn’t been checking the fence, there’s a massive hole.”

“You fix things, you sort it.” He said.

“Not my job asshole.”

He stuck his middle finger up at you and you did the same thing, walking over to the doors to head back inside but you stopped by Dwight.

“What was the trip about anyway?”

He glanced at you.

“He’s pissed someone took that stupid bat of his, I’d stay clear.”

You slowly nodded your head and glanced at the leader.

You had three options, either sneak the bat back into his room, leave it somewhere for someone else or come clean.

You didn’t want someone else to take the heat for your actions, and you couldn’t exactly sneak it into his room so with a heavy sigh, you walked over to where he was stood.

“Negan?”

“What?” He snapped.

He turned around and glared at you and you subconsciously took a step back.

“I know where Lucille is…” you mumbled.

“Where?!”

“I uh… could you follow me?”

Negan didn’t say anything as he trailed behind you, and you took his to your room, opening the door and you gestured to the table.

He walked inside, picking up the bat, carefully inspecting it.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing with her?”

He slowly turned around and you stepped inside the room, closing the door so nobody passing by could look in.

“I uh.. I forgot to tell you…”

“What the fuck were you doing with her?” He growled out.

You sighed, heading under your table you pulled out a box and set it down, showing him to contents.

“I noticed that Lucille was breaking, and you left her on the table so I decided to fix her and forgot to tell you.”

“Why?”

You shrugged a little.

“I like fixing things a guess, plus you wouldn’t be Negan without Lucille.”

Negan stared at you and you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, but you could feel his eyes practically burning into you.

You couldn’t tell if he was still angry or not, and part of you didn’t want to know.

At least if he wanted to kill you for taking his beloved bat then you wouldn’t see it coming so it would make it easier.

“Look at me.”

You took the box, setting it back under the table and began to inspect a few of your things, just doing anything to avoid looking at him.

“I said look. At. Me.”

You turned around, connecting your eyes with his, he wore a blank expression and you watched as he slowly began to grin.

It was that grin that sent a chill down your spine, the same grin that you knew was the last thing some people saw.

“She looks just as good as the first day I made her, shit (Y/N), if I knew you were so handy I woulda moved you ranks ages ago.”

He put the bat on his shoulder, stuffing a hand in his pocket as he looked at you.

“What do you want? Name me one thing and it’s yours.”

“Anything?”

“Damn straight.”

You went quiet for a moment.

“You got anything else I can fix?”

Negan blinked a little in confusion.

“I just gave you permission to ask for anything, anything you fuckin’ want, anything at all, and you want to fix shit?”

You shrugged a little and he laughed.

“Fucking weird as ball man, but alright. I got a few things for you, you’re to return them directly to me.”

“Yes sir.”

Negan began looking around at a few things you had already repaired and made.

It was why he kept you around at first, you were just handy when it came to fixing something that had broke.

He turned around to look over at you.

“How’d you know how to fix her?”

You paused what you were doing.

“My dad owned a repair shop, mostly just household shit, but he could fix up other crap too, loved baseball.”

Negan slowly nodded his head.

“Next time you take Lucille without asked I’ll start breaking fingers.”

“Understood.”

He smirked at you, and he picked up a little figurine you had fixed of a baseball player you didn’t even know the name to.

“I’m taking this too.”

With that he left and you let out a sigh of relief.

Maybe you shouldn’t have drawn more attention to yourself, but in the world it was now, you needed to have people you could rely on, so you needed to prove yourself to Negan if you wanted a chance of being kept around and surviving.

Maybe you didn’t agree with how he did things, but you sometimes had to do these things in order to survive

[skamenglishsubs]

Subtext and Culture, Young Royals, Season 3, Episode 5

Episode 5 starts sometime after August dropped the bombshell about Erik at the end of last episode, and Wilhelm decides for some reason to visit the party palace, in order to make himself feel extra shit? I don't know what's going on here.

Blink and you miss it: Hey, that's one of the clown masks they used for Wilhelm's initiation back in season 1.

Blink and you miss it: Henry and Valter are doing a class presentation on rhetorical analysis, and for some reason they chose former US president George W. Bush as their subject, which is pretty hilarious given that he was a notoriously bad public speaker.

Blink and you miss it: Instead of asking Wilhelm, who is sitting right next to Simon, how he's feeling, he writes the question in his notebook and slides it over.

Subtext: Gotta keep up that facade and bottle all the negative feelings inside!

Lost in translation: Vincent uses the word "nyanländ", "newly arrived", which is the current politically correct way of saying immigrant.

Subtext: ...but in typical bully fashion he asks the target of the racist "joke" if it was funny, and Marwan obviously lies about it as to not upset Vincent.

Subtext: Felice tries to play it off as no big deal, but she actually wants this opportunity to spend time with Sara without her other friends, in order to rebuild the friendship.

Subtext: Sara is right to be suspicious of her dad, because he is a lot more energetic than usual, and excuses his behaviour by him simply being in a good mood. It's probably his new medication that kicked in, though.

Subtext: Speaking of having a hard time showing weakness, that's exactly what Wilhelm's been struggling with by not telling Simon how upset he is about having learned that Erik took part in the gay porn initiation.

Subtext: So the whole subplot of the past four episodes was that the school locked up all the phones, and Wilhelm joined the little strike to get them back, pissing Simon off in the meantime, and now that they have their phones back he's not picking up when Simon is calling him? Not cool.

Culture: The choir is practising "En vänlig grönskas rika dräkt", a Swedish hymnal with text from 1889, but this version of the melody is from the 1930's and composed by Waldemar Åhlén. It's a very well-known summer song that pretty much every Swedish schoolkid has sung at some end-of-schoolyear summer assembly.

Cinematography: We're in the cursed music room, and this time the lighting is harsh and sharp, Wilhelm is in stark contrast to the rest of the room, there's no soft golden light smoothing things out, so we're gonna have an argument!

Subtext: Yeah, no, Wilhelm, sweetie, that's projection, that's what you are thinking about your brother. Simon isn't doing anything wrong here, he's just concerned about you being a moody asshole.

Cinematography: To illustrate how the relationship is going south, the music room which used to be full of instruments, is just getting emptier and emptier, and Simon is left standing alone at the piano.

Subtext: No, he's not feeling ok, and no, he's not interested in making up with Sara right now, because he's still angry at her.

Subtext: There are different kinds of homophobia, for example, there are people who talk loudly about how accepting they are of The Gays, but who react negatively when someone close to them comes out, because they were only fine with it at a distance. And then there are people who are ignorantly homophobic in general, but who turn out to be supportive of anyone close to them who comes out, because they know that that person isn't like The Other Gays. Shitty, but less shitty than the first group, and I think that's how Erik would have reacted had he known about Wilhelm.

Culture: In Sweden, you do the practical driving test in a car provided by the testing centre to make it fair and equal for everyone. These cars all have a red sticker saying they're for driving tests.

Subtext: Micke is failing exactly how he described it in an earlier episode. He's on new medication, it made him feel good and like he was in control, so he thought he could take just one beer with his friends.

Subtext: No, it fits horribly, and you can clearly see that it was on sale and that the price tag is still on it. But this is what Linda can afford.

Lost in translation: Simon actually says "jag vet", "I know", when Sara tells him that their dad let her down and that she is sad and upset about it.

Subtext: Unlike Simon who got a cheap suit on sale, Wilhelm just has his perfectly tailored suit delivered to him by his bodyguards.

Subtext: Last episode Wilhelm picked a sport charity or something that he doesn't actually care about, because he thought it would best fit the narrative the royal court is going for. So now his internal homophobia is screaming at him to remove the nail polish, because it doesn't fit that image.

I don't know what this is: This has got to be an editing goof? This sequence of events doesn't work. Everyone else is up and about, preparing the third year's dinner with the teachers and they're even cooking the food with a chef, but it's early morning and Wilhelm is still sleeping in? Anyway, the whole thing is yet another example of how the school teaches hierarchy. As a younger student you service the older students, and when it's your turn to graduate, someone younger will service you.

Throwback: Aww, Simon made Wilhelm a sandwich, just like Wilhelm made one for Simon a bunch of times in previous seasons.

Culture: Man, early summer in Sweden is beautiful, isn't it? This was shot at Åkeshofs Slott in Stockholm, and if you do a 180 turn on that path, you'll see the subway station Åkeshov, and if you go through the tunnel under the road and then up to your right, you'll end up at a sports centre where I went twice a week as a kid for fencing training!

This tumblr is now about French school fencing! Doublé! Riposte!

Subtext: Time and time again the show has shown us how much August loves this shit, and that he wasn't lying when he said he knew everyone, because clearly he does!

Subtext: And to show how much Wilhelm dislikes this shit, he is so stiff when talking to the invited kids who are actually benefitting from his charity foundation, while August just immediately jokes around with them and is much more comfortable.

Culture: I've seen how a lot of fans think that the flower Wilhelm is wearing is a green carnation, which is a symbol for being gay, popularized by Oscar Wilde. I don't think so, that's not a thing in Sweden as far as I know. Instead, I think it's an alternate version of a Majblomma, which is an actual Swedish charity thing, where you can buy these plastic lapel flowers from schoolkids to show your support around this time of year.

Subtext: Even though Simon is there, he's being shoved to the back, because his presence doesn't fit the narrative. If Wilhelm instead had chosen to start some kind of LGBT charity, Simon would have had a much more prominent role. Oh, and poison or not, that Princess Cake looks delicious!

Subtext: Farima is expertly letting August down, who of course pretends that he's not the least bit disappointed at being excluded from having dinner at the royal palace.

Blink and you miss it: IT'S LISA! HI LISA!

Culture: Kalle Stropp och Grodan Boll are two characters from a radio show for kids from the 1940's, but they've also been featured in books, comic books, a live action movie, and animated cartoons. It's about the two titular characters, a cricket and a frog, and their adventures. The last movie was made in the 1990's though, so I'm not so sure kids these days knows who these characters are. Personally, I can't hear this song without hearing their silly character voices.

Subtext: The Queen is still keeping up appearances and lying through her teeth about how she's actually feeling.

Culture: In real world Sweden, Victoriadagen is celebrated in mid July when Crown Princess Victoria has her birthday, she hands out a sports award, there's a concert, some charity stuff, and you can sort of meet the royals or sing her happy birthday or something.

Subtext: August is repeating the excuse Farima used on him as to why he didn't attend the birthday dinner.

Blink and you miss it: That's a Rolex Oyster Perpetual GMT-Master II. It's only about $10,000 and change.

Subtext: Simon, sweetie, I don't think the royals have any clue as to what "the usual" means when you're describing how regular people celebrate birthdays.

Culture: Simon actually says Laserdome, which is a company in Sweden that has been running laser tag arenas since the 1990's. I had no idea they still existed!

Culture: They're singing Lambo, a drinking song for students. It's a challenge song, so while the rest of the table sings, the target has to finish their glass, correctly sing the response lines, and turn the glass upside down over their head. If you fail, like August does in this scene, you have to do a penalty round and chug another glass.

Subtext: ...before her parents heaped all of their family's expectations on her. But maybe if Felice can break free she could pursue her actual dreams?

Throwback: Remember the scene in S1E3 when Simon is practising the Hillerska song in the music room?

Subtext: Queenie, sweetie, you're not looking Wilhelm in the eyes, you're not engaging in the discussion, and the only thing you do is to talk about Erik every chance you get. No wonder Wilhelm has had enough and explodes at his parents.

Blink and you miss it: Vincent won the "Daddy pays" award. Pappa betalar.

Subtext: In this context the award just means that he's the image of a bad boy, a player. But throughout the season, August has been struggling with whether or not he's actually a bad person, which is why he's not exactly happy with the award.

Cinematography: Fuck me that's a pretty shot of a typical summer sunset. In late May in the Stockholm area, sunset happens at around 9:30 in the evenings.

Subtext: One more explanation for August's body dysmorphia is that he got bullied for being weak and scrawny when he first started at Hillerska, so he decided to start working out more.

Blink and you miss it: The reason Fredrika is outside and happens to see Sara and August kiss, is because she's trying to sneak away the bottle of wine she stole earlier from the kitchen.

Subtext: And the reason Felice looks upset when Fredrika tells her what she saw is because she truly thought Sara was over August, and that's a condition of them reconciling.

Blink and you miss it: Wilhelm plays the first few notes of the original Hillerska song.

Subtext: And to cap off this terrible no-good horrible cliffhanger episode, Simon breaks up with Wilhelm by repeating the words his mom said to him earlier in the episode.

[sinkovia]

Black Market: III

Hitman Simon Riley x Doctor Fem!Reader

In desperate need of money to clear a million-dollar debt, you accept Simon's offer to become his personal doctor, earning twenty percent of each contract he completes. But as you plunge back into the black market, ghosts from your past emerge, threatening to unravel everything you've worked so hard to run away from.

Mention of sexual assault, mention of Simon Riley's canon backstory, light angst.

Masterlist - Black Market Masterlist

A few weeks passed and with thousands of dollars now sitting in your bank account, you began to reassess the deal you had made with Simon, realizing that it wasn't as terrible as you had initially thought. Slowly, you found yourself lowering your defenses and growing more at ease in his presence and the space around you.

Simon respected your wish to not accompany him on contracts, so you found yourself reluctantly harvesting organs from someone he had killed just minutes ago. It was a grim task, but you saw it as the least you could do for him being so cooperative with your demands.

As you worked, Simon leaned against the counter, watching you tear apart the insides of the man and carefully placing his organs into iced containers. "Thought you wanted to save lives? Here you are tearing into a man I only killed minutes ago," he teased, a smirk playing on his lips. You rolled your eyes at his comment.

"You offered me twenty thousand knowing I'm in desperate need of money. You're a sick man, Simon," you retorted, continuing your work without missing a beat. Simon simply smiled, crossing his muscular arms over his chest.

He looked at the dead man split in half on the table and then to you, marveling at your focused precision and fast hands as you expertly took him apart.

"You think you could've brought him back?" he asked, a hint of curiosity in his voice. You smiled as you took out the last part, carefully placing his heart in the ice chest and sealing the container shut. Then, you turned to Simon, your smile lingering.

"I know I could have," you replied confidently. "But he would have been brain dead."

With that, you took off your gloves and sighed before heading up the steps to your bedroom for a much-needed shower. Simon remained in the basement, his mind swirling with questions about you. He had never cared for anyone before; his life had revolved around accepting contracts and killing people for money. 

No socializing, no interests, no curiosity for other people. But you were different. There was something about you that intrigued him, something that made him want to peel back the layers and uncover your past.

Simon formed a plan in his head to extract any sliver of information from you that would allow him to delve into your history. He needed to know what made you such a skilled doctor at such a young age, considering that medical school takes years of study and experience to achieve the level of proficiency you display. 

You were lying in bed, engrossed in the book that Simon had so graciously bought for you when the savory aroma of garlic and herbs wafted into the room.

Your stomach grumbled in response, prompting you to abandon your reading and make your way to the kitchen. Simon looked up as he set two plates down on the dining table.

"Made you dinner to make up for earlier,"

You raised a skeptical eyebrow as you surveyed the meal before you, but your doubts vanished the moment you took the first bite. "Holy shit, I didn't think you knew how to cook like this," genuine surprise evident in your tone.

A smile tugged at Simon's lips at your reaction. "Wanted to be a cook when I was younger," he admitted casually.

Which hadn’t been a lie, when he was younger he dreamed of opening his own restaurant.

Your eyebrows raised at his revelation. You hadn't expected him to be so open about himself. Relaxing into your chair, you took a sip of wine before sharing a bit of your own past. "I wanted to be a florist."

Simon's interest was piqued, finally getting a glimpse into your backstory. "Florist to surgeon? Pretty different occupations," he remarked, taking a sip of his own wine.

You laughed as you finished your glass and reached for the bottle to pour yourself more. "From a cook to a hitman?" you teased lightly.

Simon grinned in response. "Fair enough.”

Curious about what had steered him away from his childhood dream, you prodded gently, "What steered you away?"

Simon's expression shifted briefly, a flicker of memories passing through his eyes as he glanced down at his plate. "Different circumstances,"

Reflecting on your own past, you nodded in understanding. "Yeah, me too," you murmured, the weight of shared experiences hanging in the air between you.

As the evening wore on and a few more glasses of wine were shared between you and Simon, you found yourself loosening up. Eventually, you began to vent about your past jobs, particularly about a hospital where the nurses were brain dead fucks. You launched into a rant about all of them, each one seemingly worse than the last.

Simon listened intently, his grin widening as he realized the wealth of information you were unwittingly providing him. With each complaint, he mentally cataloged the names and details, knowing that he now had enough clues to get a glimpse into your past.

That night as you slept upstairs, Simon delved into the depths of the internet, scouring through various websites until he stumbled upon a list of old employers associated with your previous job. It didn't take long for him to piece together the missing parts of your identity, and soon enough, he discovered your last name.

Simon navigated through the dark web, his fingers typing in your name with a mixture of curiosity. What he found made his stomach clench.

Before him lay a website, one he was all too familiar with, an organization specializing in sex work. As he scrolled through, he saw old listings featuring you, offering your services for hire. He glanced away when he clicked on a link and saw pictures of you dressed in scant clothing, your eyes reflecting a mixture of exhaustion and fear.

You were only a teenager, no older than seventeen.

His eyes read over an old listing offering a hefty reward for anyone who could locate and return you to them. 

It didn't even cross his mind to entertain the idea of betraying you. In his eyes, you were worth infinitely more than any sum of money or reward. As he sat there, reflecting on your past and the horrors you endured, he couldn't fathom the thought of dragging you back into that nightmarish world.

Your value to him went beyond any material gain, your skill as a doctor made you irreplaceable. And as someone who understood the pain of being used, he couldn't bear the thought of subjecting you to that kind of life again.

With a heavy sigh, he leaned back in his chair, everything suddenly made sense, your reluctance to work for him, your aversion to joining him on contracts.

He hadn't expected you to be remotely tied to the black market, let alone be a victim of it. He had unknowingly brought you back to a world you were desperately trying to escape.

You find yourself unable to sleep, plagued by a throbbing headache that refuses to go away. Desperate for relief, you make your way down to the basement in search of Advil, hoping it will alleviate the pounding in your head. As you reach the last step of the basement you see simon at his desk with his back turned toward you.

Your eyes glance at the computer screen and your heart plummets.

Images of your younger self, captured and exploited, sold into a life of servitude and suffering. The shock of seeing your own face reflected back at you in such a vulnerable state leaves you reeling, the pain in your head momentarily forgotten in the wake of this unwelcome intrusion into your past.

"Happy with what you found?" The words escaped your lips before you could stop them, your voice tinged with bitterness. Simon's startled expression told you he hadn't anticipated your arrival, his eyes wide with a mix of surprise and guilt.

"Just wanted to know who you were… wanted to know why you didn’t want to work for me," he explained, his voice tinged with a hint of remorse.

You couldn't tear your gaze away from the screen, the images of your younger self serving as a painful reminder of the horrors you endured.

"Sometimes people want their lives and past to be private," you murmured, your words heavy with the weight of years of suffering and trauma.

Simon knew that feeling better than anyone.

"I'm sorry," Simon offered, his apology hanging in the air like a fragile thread.

"No, you're not," you muttered bitterly, turning away and ascending the steps. As you disappeared from view, he sighed heavily, sinking back into his chair.

“Fuckin hell.”

The next morning, you found Simon waiting for you with breakfast prepared, a silent acknowledgment of his attempt to bridge the gap between you. Awkwardly, you took your seat at the table, the tension between you thick as you both ate in silence. The weight of his invasion of your privacy hung heavily in the air.

But then, as if unable to bear the tension any longer, Simon spoke up, his voice carrying the weight of his own past.

"The reason I didn't pursue my dream as a kid was because I enlisted in the military… my captain sold me out and I was captured, tortured, and used... anything to break my will and force me into blind obedience to their commands."

"I escaped," he continued, "After being buried alive and digging my way out with the jaw of the rotting corpse I was buried with. I made it home, went to therapy, and fixed my family troubles."

As he spoke, you could feel the weight of his trauma, the scars etched into his very being. "My teammates were also captured, but they were brainwashed. When I returned home one night, I found my family dead, my former team being responsible for their deaths. I hunted them down with the help of the black market and killed them. Since then, I've remained in this line of work.."

You sat there in stunned silence, his words sinking in like heavy stones in a pond. Simon continued to eat as if what he had just revealed was just another fact of life.

In that moment, you realized he already knew so much about your past; perhaps it was time to lay it all bare. With a heavy heart, you met his gaze, finding a shared understanding in the depths of his eyes.

“I was seventeen when a few men broke into my house one night, dragged me and my parents into the living room, and made me watch as they tortured my dad and had their way with my mom before killing the both of them.”

Your focus shifted to the small droplets of water falling against the side of your cup, each one mirroring the weight of the memories you carried.

“I was sold around before I made my way to the organization you were looking at last night. There was a group of us, we were sold to different men for our services.” The room fell silent as you paused, your gaze dropping to your lap for a few moments.

Simon, ever perceptive, sensed your discomfort in revisiting those painful moments from your past. “You don't have to talk about it, love,” he said gently, his voice carrying an understanding tone. “I understand—”

“A lot of the girls were rebellious, so they would get taught lessons,” you cut him off, your voice carrying the weight of each painful memory.

“That's where I learned how to patch up the girls with very little supplies. The man in charge noticed, so he made me start patching up the men who worked for him.” You picked at the skin around your nails as you furrowed your brows. Simon’s gaze never left you, his eyes bouncing over your facial expressions.

“Their injuries weren’t just simple scratches and cuts. They would get stabbed, or shot, and when I failed to save one of them, he made me watch as he tortured one of the girls, killing her slowly as my punishment… It happened two more times after that. I wasn't a fucking surgeon, I didn't know what I was doing.” you recounted, your now fingers picking at the hem of the place mat, the memories still haunting you.

“My lack of skill resulted in the deaths of three girls. I spent five years there, playing doctor for him when he needed it and earning him money with my services. During one of my transports for a service, the car was attacked by one of their rivals, which allowed me to escape. Now I'm here.”

The weight of those years is heavy in your voice. The barriers between you seemed to dissolve, replaced by a shared understanding of the pain and suffering you both carried within you.

"I became skilled out of necessity; failure meant the death of innocent girls."

You took a deep breath before locking eyes with him. “I'm sorry about what happened to you and your family. You didn't deserve that."

You paused for a second before continuing, "I wish you never enlisted.” His brows furrowed as he studied your expression. “Why?”

“Because you’d be working at some restaurant, and I would have never met you or been dragged back into this business.” Simon exhaled deeply, leaning back in his chair.

“You're safe here. We're nowhere near Russia, and if someone tried to fulfill the contract, I’d be here to protect you.” You furrowed your brows, your voice tinged with confusion. “What contract?”

“There’s an eight hundred thousand dollar contract open to whoever can deliver you back to Finn.” Your expression twisted with disgust at the mention of his name, recalling the fear he instilled in you for years.

“When was the contract posted?” Simon shook his head. “Years ago.” You nodded slowly as you picked at your food with your fork.

“I'm sorry, for digging into your past and dragging you back into this, you didn’t deserve that. If you want to leave you can.”  You smiled and scoffed, “And pass up a free bodyguard, free five-star meals, and easy money? Yeah right.” Simon laughed and you smiled.

“Resourceful girl.”

“What can I say.” 

You finished off your breakfast with a comfortable silence and some light back and forth about a new contract Simon was thinking about accepting. Simon picked up both plates and rinsed them off before putting them in the dishwasher.

“A colleague of mine is coming in two weeks or so, he’s going to help me with a contract.” 

You hummed and nodded your head, “Where is he going to stay?”

Simon grabbed a bowl of fruit out of the fridge and started picking at it. “He’s staying here.” You furrowed your brows and leaned against the counter next to Simon, your arm grazing his slightly as you reached for a strawberry in the bowl.

He watched as you brought the plump strawberry to your lips, looking away before you glanced back up at him. “What’s he like?”

“Don’t worry, you're safe around him, he is Scottish though.” You lifted your brow as you looked up at him, “Is being Scottish bad?”

“Bastard will talk your ear off.” 

Black market tag list: @shinchanboi @talooolaaloolla @lieutenantlashfaz @neothewitch @birdienotting @jupiternighties @samiiii333 @silverianni @elowynnlane @lotionlamp @ssc7514 @iloveloveeducks @rejectedbytheempty

If you want to be added or removed from the main tag list or the Black market tag list just lmk!

[dollypopup]

I know what happened, the writers didn't know what to do with a male lead that wasn't Simon and Anthony. Simon had to deal with the trauma, neglect and anger towards his father. Anthony also had major trauma dealing with his father's death and mother's depression.

Colin? They didn't get into his deal. Not really. They were like "Oh, it's Colin. He has no deep dark issues we can explore."

And they left it there, not realizing that a 20 something guy who has no wait time and really wants to do stuff can and will cause all sorts of chaos and no, I'm not talking about the brothel.

It's Colin Bridgerton. The boy breaks things. Let him.

Truthfully? I think it's a lot of things.

I agree that the writers had no idea what to do with Colin, but he *does* have issues to explore. He does have depth. And it's more than just chaos and breaking things.

Colin's story could have spoken to so many people. How many of us have our lives figured out by the time we're 23? He's a middle child in a family of overachievers, in a family where roles have been snatched up already. Anthony is the leader, Benedict is the artistic one, Daphne is sparkling perfect, Eloise is outspoken, Fran is musically gifted, Hy and Greg are just children, but Greg's got determination and Hyacinth has so much sass and fun spirit.

What does Colin have?

How much better it would have been if there was even ONE writer in that room who loved him and understood him. Colin who is lonely. Colin who is young and unsure of himself. Colin who has been rejected. Pretty boy Colin that no one wants to listen to, who no one takes serious. Colin who stumbles through everything, just trying to be helpful. Useful, kind hearted Colin, who does his best and it never pans out for him. Colin who knows how to apologize, the ONLY ONE who knows how to properly apologize, because he has had to have so much practice in it before. Colin who has had his heart broken. Colin who has been lied to. Colin who has to build his trust up again, only to have it broken anew by Penelope when he realizes he's in love with her and she's been Lady Whistledown this whole time? That he can't *stop* loving her, even if his trust is in pieces? That he tries to understand?

How many of us are out here in the same boat? Earnest, good intentions, trying not to hurt anyone- pushed to the side? Unsure of our futures, doing our best?

They could have leaned into his neurodivergence- Colin who needs extra time to respond, who writes down and rehearses what he should say, who practices to fit in, who masks in society. Colin who can be himself around people he trusts and only them- even still feeling like they don't completely understand him.

Colin who hardly anyone wrote to. Colin who loves so deeply, and just wants someone to love him back in the same efforts.

Colin *does* have trauma. Colin has pain he can't voice. Colin cries alone in his bed. Colin tells everyone he's fine. Colin stops talking about his travels and his interests- no one cares. Colin brings ease to his mother, who went catatonic after his father passed when he was 12, and he smiles at her and brings her a beautiful gift and does his best to ease her. Colin compartmentalizes. Colin deals with his concerns alone. Colin is afraid to open up completely.

There is so, so much depth and beauty and relatability and humanity in Colin's story, in his narrative. There is so much to explore. Colin who smiles and laughs and looks to ease people, knowing that he likely had to take on such a role after his father passed. Colin who would rather be an outcast than the center of attention, bonding with Fran. Colin who respects Eloise's passions, bringing her feminist text and listening to her, who didn't tell anyone about how she went to the printers, who didn't disapprove, who supported her. Colin who just wants his brother Anthony's approval, too, and never gets it, no matter what he does. Colin who relates so much to Benedict, the both of them with an artists heart, but doesn't tell him, doesn't break open to confess what weighs heavy on his heart. Colin who watches over Hy and Greg in every scene they're in together, but is never overbearing as a protector. Colin who is tender and sensitive like his mum. Colin who holds the mirror to Penelope in reflection- well intentioned but fumbling, kind but ignored, but also in distortion- lost where she is sure, hypervisible for his exterior and neglected for his interior to her invisible exterior, though everyone listens in to her thoughts.

Colin who loves Penelope, so so deeply, who believes she would never forsake him, only to realize that yes, she would. Yes, she has. And Colin who, instead of cradling this heartbreak, puts himself aside to apologize, only to be lied to once again. Colin who *loves* in every definition of the world, so selflessly, and even when it blows up in his face, decides it was worth it because at least he *tried*.

Colin who tries. Tries and tries and tries, puts forth so much effort, rarely reciprocated.

How many of us can relate to that? How poignant would that have been to see? A man growing up, sloughing off the expectations of his society because at the core of him, he's a lover, a romantic, a dreamer, and he's been raised and influenced by the women in his life so he respects them and listens, who is coming into his own and struggling with his masculinity in a patriarchal society, who doesn't know what he's doing, who feels embarrassed and other.

I love Chaos Colin. Colin who goes in with his heart in his hands, no matter how many times it's been broken. Earnest, open, eager Colin.

But he's even more than that. There's so much to him.

I think the writers didn't know what to do with him, or they were afraid to fully lean into his story. They were influenced too much by a cruel fanbase who hated on him consistently for absolutely terrible reasons, for one mistake, one line, and his character suffered as a result. His actor suffered as a result. And honestly, I do genuinely think there was ableism involved. They even said they rewrote some extra Colin scenes in (like the willow and marketplace) because Jess saw Luke Newton perform Shape of Things and realized just how wide his range was. Why not write to the fullest? If you can't support and believe in your actor, why cast him? Especially when Luke Newton acted the HELL out of Colin. He did more building of Colin's character than anyone else

If the writers weren't ready to dig into him, I just wish they left him be, you know? If you can't love the character you're writing, if you can't find it in you to do him justice, why bother at all?

[creativeashproductions]

Murder Mysteries and Afterlife Businesses Part 2 // Wally Clark

IN WHICH: In which the aftermath of Dawn’s crossing over, other things come to light, and Reader becomes more involved despite her resistance. But what happens when more and more information comes out and more secrets become unraveled.

Warnings: Swearing, angst, mention of murder, ghosts and some fluff

Words: 4k

A/N: Welcome to part 2 of Murder Mysteries. Thank you for the support and interest you’ve had since I posted the first part! The gif will make sense.

Part One

Masterlist

It seemed lately it was all the rage to barge into your studio since Maddie had joined the death crew. Charley had burst through the door with a gust of nervous energy and a lack of manners.

“Dawn’s crossed over.” He huffed, clenching the doorframe with his fingers.

Your brows furrowed, “When?”

“Did the lights flicker? Did you get goosebumps?”

Your teeth came down to gnaw on the skin of your lip, thinking back to the odd moment you’d been standing outside. All new blankets or quilts you liked to hang out on a line to catch the scent of the morning breeze. You’d noticed all the buildings on campus had lost power for a split second.

“I was outside. The light in the school did.” You replied, twisting to focus back on organizing the new fabric and thread you’d gotten.

“That was Dawn.”

Your head snapped up to meet his freaked-out eyes.

Now you knew for a fact that when Janet left, it was absolutely nothing like that. From what you’d gathered, she’d been there one moment and gone the next.

“But that didn’t happen when Janet left. Or when Brady crossed over.” You murmured, forgoing your tasks to focus solely on the unnerved ghost, “Are you sure?”

“He’s sure.” Wally breathed from the entrance. His hands shoved in his variety jacket pockets, his hand one raising in a friendly wave, “Hey.”

Your eyebrow lifted, “Ain’t I miss popularity lately. Okay, I’ll bite. In the decades since either of you joined the afterlife, have you ever questioned how crossing over works?”

Wally shrugged, “I thought it was a very personal and sensitive event. Besides, Janet and Brady are the only ones we know that crossed over.”

The sound of your brother’s name falling from Wally’s lips makes your own twist sourly. The loss of Brady aching all the more.

“The only one who’d know would be Mr. Martin. And we have no reason to not trust him. Right?” Charley said, breaking the silence brought on by Wally’s words. Then, Charley’s dark irises peered as you shifted to toy with a keychain on display, “Right…Renai?”

Okay, so maybe, just maybe, Maddie’s ability to speak with Simon wasn’t the only earth-shattering piece of information. There were reasons for not wanting to join the support group. You couldn’t stomach looking at Mr. Martin. A level of disgust was always there, tying in with your morals.

Mr. Martin held a lot of control as the only adult ghost on the property and, with his position, held more respect. A lot more than a slimy teacher deserved. In order to not attend the sessions, you had a deal of sorts with him. Besides, the weird lightning-fast glances with Janet were a little odd when you saw them together.

“No. Not a reason.” You uneasily replied, shifting to scratch an itch on the bridge of your nose, “I’m not sure how Dawn’s crossed over like that, but maybe it’s just something that changes with each person. Your best bet would be asking Mr. Martin because Wally is right. Crossing over is a deeply intimate moment, and it’s really taboo. But, honestly, even the death event is as well.”

You watched as Charley left the building before shifting to look at Wally, “Hey, Wally?”

“Yeah?” The athlete whipped around to stare at you, “Something wrong?”

“Just…be careful.” You whispered, reaching to squeeze his arm, “Something isn’t right.”

All Wally could do was scan your features; he was sure he saw a flicker of guilt wave over, but he shoved that thought away. He nodded and turned on his heel to follow the ’90s ghost back to the school and the group they’d left. They had a group session to attend and answers to be demanded.

“Oh, Brady. You’d know what to do.” You mumbled, shifting to grab the phone off the desk to check in on other matters.

Split River High School, the late 2000s

Your hand clenched the backpack tossed carelessly over your shoulder, listening to Linkin Park’s album on your iPod. You and Brady had spent the better half of the night ripping albums off of Limewire and creating playlists with each other. The lack of sleep was worth hearing the lyrics flowing into the earbuds from the iPod.

Brady’s shoulder bumped yours when he waved to your father from the parked car on the corner. Brady had always gotten along better with your father than you did. You had an easier time with your mom instead. 

“You should take him up on his offer,” Brady spoke when he noticed the song winding down. His eyes flash to yours on your trek over the football field.

“Spend hours in uncomfortable silence while our dad tries and ultimately fails to connect with me?” You scoffed, “Isn’t that a typical Tuesday for us? Besides, I’m heading up to Chicago for that new thrift store?”

“It’s not like you make it easy, Renai.” Brady snorted, tugging the one earbud to put in his ear, “Get him to drive you. There’s that record store you two to go to…and because I’m using the car.”

Your jaw dropped, shifting to turn to face the bane of your existence, “Brady! It’s my weekend! I missed the last two because you forgot to take the car for an oil change!”

“Just take Dad, please. We don’t have much longer until we’re far from Split River. Please make an attempt at fixing your relationship. That way, you can say you tried.”

You rolled your eyes, but you silently promised you’d at least try to have some form of bonding with the guy that tried his best. But really, why bother when all you needed was Brady, and you had your entire life to get on better terms with Dad.

Famous last words.

“What do you remember the day that Brady crossed over?” Wally questioned from his position near the blankets hung up.

His hands removed each clothespin to carefully fold the new quilt you’d finished only a few days ago. He’d shown up somewhat out of nowhere to help you, and you didn’t put up much of a fight. While angry and hurt, you had missed him in the years of distance.

Your hands froze, “Why are you asking?”

“I’m curious.”

You poked your head around the burgundy fabric you had little clue about what you’d use it for. A new item one the ghosts had snagged from the fabric store in town.

“Well…uh.”

Split River High School, Highlands House Studio

You and Brady never worked Sundays. Ever. In life as kids, it had been days spent as part of your family’s religion before it evolved into how you spent it as teens. In the afterlife, you considered it to be the one day a week you would decompress from all the work and relax. You and Brady were close in life and death, but Sundays you spent away from each other.

You never knew what he did; he preferred not knowing what you did with Wally on those days.

This Sunday, you had woken up with Wally in your small bedroom in the studio and treated yourselves to breakfast in the school cafeteria. You took a walk and smiled when Wally gently dropped his varsity jacket over your bare shoulders. His hand slipped into yours.

“Can we postpone our date? Brady needs my help with something.” Wally questioned, leaning back against the crumbling brick of the school’s side. He felt your head nod in response from its position against his chest.

“Yeah. I can finish up on a project.” You murmured, curling further into his warmth.

Your eyes focused back on gently taking the burgundy fabric from the line and breathing in the scent of the crisp morning air. It was the closest you could get to your mom’s laundry soap. 

“It was Sunday. You surprised me with waffles you made in the cafeteria, you’d spent so many nights figuring out how to use the school kitchen. You were so proud of the smiley face you did on my waffle with the whipped cream.”

“-my momma’s recipe. The waffles and the whipped cream, by the way.” Wally interjected with a grin. It faltered because, while a good memory, it was the last he had shared with you.

“And then I remember learning about Brady.” Your words caused the mood to drop, and the brunette to peer at you as well.

You’d think it was Wally who would have found you and told you that your twin, your soulmate, the other half of the ‘two for one’ joke your parents had used your entire lives crossed over. But it hadn’t been. Instead, it had been Mr. Martin who had shown up on your doorstep.

“I never wanted to keep it from you,” Wally whispered, clenching his fingers on the quilt he ever so carefully placed in the basket. 

The tears marred Wally’s slouched form standing on the field with more distance than ever between your two bodies. Not a second to waste, leaving Mr. Martin to find the one person who had seen Brady last. With the beautiful weather, Wally had taken up residence on the empty football field with art supplies from the art room with one goal in mind.

You and Wally didn’t attend the Homecoming dance in the years together. Not for lack of trying, but the ghosts from the Support Group usually went together. You and Brady would volunteer your talents to decorate with them before bowing out. It wasn’t really your scene. But, out of all his friends, Rhonda had convinced Wally to give it a chance in a promposal-esque event.

You’d stumbled onto him after rather ruthlessly dragging the information out of Janet.

“How could you?” You tearfully asked the jock, limply holding a forgotten brush in his hand. The blue dripping off the bristles matched the streak on his pale cheekbone.

The words were vicious. Dripping with hatred and so much pain, Wally felt horrible. He felt like he was watching his body hit the field back in 1984 all over again, his life falling to pieces in seconds. He struggled to find words to adequately respond to your agony.

“He’s all I had.” You sobbed, curling in on yourself, “You should have told me. Why would you do this to me?”

Wally was out of his limit here with zero relationship experience in his life with the time and energy dedicated to football. Honestly, he’d never had the opportunity, or interest, to woo over a girl or her parents. Then he stumbled into you in the hallway holding that blanket he was done for. And as a ghost, he didn’t have anyone but your brother to win over. And what began as trying to impress Brady turned into a friendship Wally was grateful to have.

“He asked me for time.” Wally quietly spoke, finally releasing the grip on the paintbrush to mar the football like his death had done decades ago.

“I’m his twin, Wally! He’s supposed to trust me! Confide in me.” You pushed his chest when he attempted to step closer.

“I-“

“You took him away. You went behind my back without even considering how I’d feel and did everything in your power to help him cross over.”

Wally’s sadness dissipated enough for anger to drip, “Because of this! He asked my help because you’ve always brushed his concerns off! So sue me, I decided to help my best friend. Just because you’re content to be stuck here doesn’t mean he should have had to be!”

Like a bullet hitting your midsection, pain erupted in your very soul. Wally’s expression dropped, digesting his own words and your reaction.

“Wally, I didn’t get to say goodbye. So why couldn’t you let me say goodbye.”

Wally’s brows came together. How could he let you say goodbye when he hadn’t seen Brady since Wally stumbled out of your bedroom this morning. He couldn’t find him although they had had plans together.

“But I-“

“I don’t care. You’re the reason he’s gone, and to be honest, Wally, I wish he was here instead of you. We’re done.”

The finality of your tone and your back was the last thing he saw that tore him apart. He dropped to his knees with the pleading slipping one by one out his mouth for you to stay.

“I know that now Wally. It was easier to be mad at you than at Brady for wanting to cross over and leave me.” You whispered, dropping your hands from the quilt on the line to stare at the material that matched Brady’s eyes to a’ t’.

It was going to take a while to properly heal the damage the breakup had done, but baby steps had begun. It was Maddie who put it into play the night of the Homecoming Dance. 

Before Maddie left the gym, Charley and Rhonda had each broken down and explained the actual history between Wally and his ex. And Maddie feels doubly guilty for upsetting the tall ghost after agreeing to join him as a friend at the dance. For a hot minute, Maddie had thought Wally was upset because he liked her, but it was because this was the one night he truly let the past go. Wally used to try to convince Brady to attend the dance for a few hours.

“Wally, I’m sorry,” Maddie spoke from her position on the periphery of the concrete, meeting the grass. Her blue eyes sadly looking at the boy listlessly sang along to Joe Jackson’s Steppin’ Out.

Wally kept staring up at the dark sky, going quiet as he listened to her.

“There was a lot happening, and I didn’t want to ruin the night for you. But I should have been honest and told you what was happening.” Maddie nervously brushed her hands on her dress. Her small steps brought her closer to the desolate teenager.

“Maddie, it’s… it’s fine. You don’t have to apologize to me. I’m used to Homecoming sucking for me.” Wally replied, pushing his hands into his pockets. Maddie was already shaking her head.

“That doesn’t mean it’s okay. I kept brushing you off. You and everyone else have been so kind to me, and I’ve treated you poorly tonight.”

Wally nodded his head, “I haven’t been fair either. Can I be honest?”

Maddie’s lips parted into a slight sympathetic grin, “That this entire time you’ve pictured someone else sitting at the table with you? If you weren’t so sickeningly in love with Renai, I would have kissed you.”

The two teens stared at each other, noting how while they’d come as friends, they weren’t even remotely with the right people. Maddie’s blonde eyebrow raised.

“Wally Clark, don’t you have an artist to win back?” 

Wally turned on his heel racing off towards the football field set in between the school and the former art studio. Maddie beamed, watching Wally’s getting smaller and smaller until he disappeared around the corner. 

In the art studio, you’d opened the windows and climbed onto the roof of the building to settle in to look at the constellations. Then, finally, you could pick out the ones your mother had spent summers introducing you to. A dedicated astronomer, your mom had always liked the stars and mysteries of outer space.

You could faintly hear the music playing in the gym where the Homecoming Dance was in full force. You wondered when the punch got spiked and what teacher looked the other way. If Rhonda wore the dress, you’d surprised her a few years ago. She routinely rotated it into the apparel every couple of years.

“Seen a comet?” 

Your eyebrows raised, finding Wally standing in a tuxedo, holding a maroon blanket he gently draped over your form. He’d ditched the dress shoes to climb from the window to the roof and left the jacket with the shoes as well. 

“No, just an idiot.” You smirked. His foot nudged your ribs, causing your to flinch off the mattress. Brady and you dragged it up one year for stargazing.

“Do you think we’ll still be around to see Halley’s comet?” Wally asked, shifting to lay down by your side.

“Halley will perihelion in 2061. After that, we have another thirty-eight years before it returns, so who knows if we’ll be here.”

Wally was quiet as he stared at the side of your face, “I hope that somehow and somewhere, you and Brady can see it together.”

“And you.”

Wally tried to keep from visibly reacting, but he couldn’t. Wally wore his emotions on his sleeve for everyone to see.

“And me?”

His only response to his disbelief was the feeling of your pinky linking around his leaving him breathless.

The dark-haired teen had managed to sneakily grasp your hand in his while you’d been stuck in the scene from a week ago. A warmth only he could ignite slowly fanned that made its presence known in the apples of your cheeks.

“He didn’t want to leave you. The last thing he wanted was to leave you. All he ever wanted was for you to be happy.” Wally quickly informed you and gently pushed you away from the clothesline to step in front of you, “He loved you with every part of him. I really truly believe wherever we cross over to, he’s waiting for us.”

“-probably to kick my ass for dumping you.” You winced thinking of the hell Brady would have raised.

“Oh, absolutely.” Wally full-heartedly agreed with that statement. But, to be honest, Brady was the only person in the world who could get you from being so stubborn.

Wally had known since meeting your twin brother that he’d never be your number one. That was and always would be Brady’s place, and it was vice versa. Wally understood and, quite frankly, loved the bond you both had.

“What do you say to a movie marathon?”

“I’d say hell yeah. I’ll raid the library for one.”

The watch on your wrist ticked down the time to both sundown and the meeting time for your date with Wally. The chainlink fence was cold on your skin, and the lack of noise unsettled you. The popcorn machine had been in a long overdue dusting when the phone had vibrated on the desk. You’d hadn’t time to grab one of the items you kept on hand for Joel.

You couldn’t look at the shadow box containing a specimen for the Civil War soldier without wanting to cry. The things he collected, other than stamps, made your skin crawl.

The red-haired soldier slinked from behind the shadows of the trees to come closer to the fence. His time was perfect when the sun set behind the horizon; he didn’t like being visible in general. You attributed his unease primarily to an adult life spent under the cloak of darkness when he was a soldier. Your Converse slapped against the dry dirt when his lanky form appeared from the back of the tree.

“You said Maddie Nears is dead.” Joel skittishly spoke, slouching down into his body. His anxious eyes refused to stay on you.

 “Well, to the living, they’ve classified it as a disappearance, but she’s dead. Her spirit is tethered to the school.” You responded, turning to look over your shoulder where he was staring at.

For a second, you thought you saw the silhouette of someone on the dark top floor of the school but quickly disregarded that.

“Joel?” You questioned him, “Are you okay?”

Joel’s eyes snapped to firmly meet yours. That cold feeling he always brought slithering around your body. You could see the deep fear in his gaze, so unlike how he usually looked.

“I-I have to go. There are things at play. Vivify.” Joel skittishly stumbled back from the fence, taking the cold ambience with him.

Your mouth dropped open, “Wait! Joel, what does that mean!”

The soldier disappeared back into the thick of the forest, leaving the shadow box in your hands. He hadn’t even looked or questioned the payment for information. He was so stuck on looking at the school.

Your ear tuned in to the whispers coming from in the woods. 

“-can’t be trusted.”

“-spirit and body.”

“Do you think this is the end? Is this hell on earth-”

“We’ve waited centuries for- “

“-locked-”

“no, stuck”

The unease of lingering around flared, and you felt the foreboding of something going wrong. The hands on your watch revealed that you’d been on the edge of the woods far longer than you had thought. Your Converse squelched under the dewy grass in your race back to the studio where you hoped Wally was waiting.

No dice. Every room was silent, and the roof was empty.

“Wally?” You shouted, flinging open the back door to a dark abyss.

You knew something was wrong. Deep in your gut, you felt the balance of the two worlds change. And you had a feeling it tied to Maddie Nears and to a particular be-speckled ghost too many people put their trust into.

Fuck the deal. And fuck Mr. Martin too.

“You know the little breadcrumbs you’ve left over the years…well, they’re getting really irksome. I’ve been kind. Let you own a corner of what I’ve spent decades building.”

Your spine stiffened hearing the words of someone you’d have called the devil. You ever so slowly turned to see Mr. Martin standing with his hands in his pockets.

“The beauty of your Civil War soldier is Joel’s…easy to get help from. A little promise to crossover, and he folds easier than the stamps you’d paid him.” Mr. Martin removed his glasses to clean before returning the vintage pair on the bridge of his nose, “Besides, can you ever really trust a Confederate soldier?”

Your feet stumbled back, “What are you doing here, Martin.”

His lips parted in a grin, “It’s what you can do for me and what I will give you in return.”

Your eyes coldly stared him down. Was this the time to play the card you’d hidden for years?

“You know, I always found it morbidly interesting how Split River High School has had two fatal fires. What gets me, however, is how your fire was brushed under the rug and hidden. The scene changed into a bunker and faded from everyone’s memory.”

Mr. Martin tilted his head and attempted to keep a neutral expression, but you saw the minuscule flicker of worry.

You picked ups a ceramic figurine of a phoenix off the corner of your desk, playing the part of nonchalance. You kept a fair distance from the former teacher.

“But when the fire that killed Brady and me happened…the school rebuilt the art building, tried to revive the program and provided a memorial for us. So tell me, Everett…did you mean to kill Janet too?”

You saw Mr. Martin stumble back as you revealed your hand. His eyes blinked furiously.

“Yes, Everett, I know you two died in the same fire, and you’ve tried to play it off as an accident, but we both know the truth. Go ahead. Ask me how I know and why I haven’t told anyone?”

He tilted his head, “Why?”

“I’ve always left weird about Brady’s crossing over. And you sure ain’t slick with your glances with Janet and how you postponed the first meeting after Janet crossed over. So tell me, what really happened to Brady? Because the way Dawn crossed over confirmed that something happened to Brady, and it wasn’t crossing over.”

Mr. Martin had never fled as fast as he did in that moment.

Fallout Shelter

“I wouldn’t bother.”

The voice came out of nowhere, scaring the three ghosts attempting to break through the door. Wally flinched, looking up to the shelving to see a fourth ghost in the room with them.

“Mr. Martin’s good at locking them. He’s made a game out of it for years now.”

Wally’s lips parted, “Brady?”

Brady turned his head to peer at his best friend and your boyfriend.

“Hey, Wally. Long time no see.”

Tag List: Send an ask/notes if you want to be tagged! 

That way, it’s all in one place for me to go through

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[stankworth]

Hi, I love your Simon Blackquill art! I was wondering if you had any thoughts on him and Kay? (I’m a little obsessed with them)

Ahh thank you for the kind words! I've been thinking about your ask since you sent it- I haven't had much time to draw this week so these are a bit rough.

I did imagine them first meeting when Simon is opening the window for Taka while Kay's scaling the prosecutor's office. She doesn't work there, she just does it to prank Edgeworth.

I wish I had more thoughts about Kay and Simon, but I have trouble picturing them interacting. Kay has a sunny disposition, and is the kind of person who can get along with anyone. But I think after years of not letting people know his true self, Simon would still be very closed off. And someone else who appeared to be sunny and the kind of person who can get along with anyone turned out to be using those traits to manipulate him. I don't see Kay's behavior triggering Simon though- I think it'd be her earnestly trying to engage him, and Simon being awkard about it. I HC Simon as autistic (it adds meaning to his getting along with young Athena, his unwavering dedication to his moral principles and the fact that he seems defined by his 2.5 interests), and tho he got good playing the role of "The Twisted Samurai," those scripts don't help him in social situations where everyone's getting along.

I do see Simon getting along well with Ema Skye: they both have an older sister who was incarcerated for doing morally dubious things to protect them; they're both dealing with their life goals (being a forensic scientist and dying for a righeous cause) not panning out; and they're both dicks who like throwing things at people. And Ema and Kay are besties, so, Kay and Simon would wind up hanging out. I HC Ema as being hopelessly in lesbians with Kay but not ready to make a move, and Kay being oblivous to it bc theyre besties. So he gets to be party to that.

Thats just how I'm writing them, for now. I think there's a reading of Simon and Kay get along like a house on fire since they're troublemakers, or where Kay is instrumental in getting Simon to open up. Maybe I'll have more thoughts about it after I finish playing through Investigations 2 again.

[in-amor-veritas]

7 for the Spotify drabble challenge? 💚

Elloooo Phnelt :)

You got

Dust: Elliphant

I listened to this song so much after s3

This might be a little specific but in my current fic I mentioned Wilhelm had once punched a reporter that was harassing Simon so…. have a little divorce fic/ hate me like you love me drabble (unedited lol I’m too lazy)

Wilhelm has had plenty of experiences with the press, with journalists and even with the occasional paparazzo that time he and Simon had taken a vacation to the Amalfi coast.

However, it’s not so common in Sweden to be accosted in this manner especially when attention has turned to Crown Prince August. Now that he is no longer a working royal, Wilhelm’s presence is not required for events or press conferences and without a juicy scandal to obsess over the public interest has more or less waned.

It’s given them more freedom than they were extended in the beginning of their relationship. They can move through the city unbothered for the most part, even though he remains hyper-vigilant, always a tense edge in public. That kind of constant alertness is something Wilhelm doesn’t think he will ever shake.

And it’s not as though they don’t get recognized, but it’s mostly tourists or young people that approach and usually they remain fairly respectful and compliant when Wilhelm tells them they would appreciate privacy.

He’s not a public figure anymore, at least not officially, so he doesn’t indulge people with their requests for selfies and doesn’t answer questions or give any information to people he doesn’t know. One would think that this would be common sense, but it doesn’t stop people from trying.

It’s rare that it happens though these days. There’s plenty more scandal and intrigue to keep the public’s eyes off of them, there’s far more interesting gossip.

When the court announces Crown Prince August’s decision to renounce his title however, things change and quickly.

He and Simon had been briefed on this of course, had had a meeting with the court and been told to lay low as they expected the announcement would cause a spike of public scrutiny and opinion.

Yet they still have lives to carry on with. At the meeting Simon was very adamant that he wasn’t going to hide away, he has classes and rehearsals and a part time job to go to after-all. Wilhelm understands, but he worries especially when he reads the more extreme things being said by certain anonymous groups online. They may be a small minority, but it makes him uneasy.

Still they go about their lives in the best way they can, trying to pretend they aren’t on edge, hoping that eventually people will lose interest.

It hasn’t blown over yet though and that’s how he and Simon find themselves dealing with the current situation on hand.

The journalist had surprised them, having been lurking around their apartment. Wilhelm had noticed him first, squeezing Simons hand and adjusting the plastic bag of their food shopping in the other.

He’s asking all the things they all ask. Wilhelm’s opinion on the announcement, if Wilhelm will become Crown Prince again, what the Queens opinion is, whether or not Wilhelm thinks August was good in the role.

He and Simon steadfastly ignore him, remain silent and tightlipped as they try to get around him.

The man must be frustrated that he’s getting nothing from them because then calls out.

“Simon! A source confirmed your sister and the Crown Prince used to date, is this true?”

His husband stops, the composure slips from his face. It’s just a small mistake, but it’s enough for the journalist to double down, a predator on the trail for prey.

“So it’s true—Is that why the Crown Prince is stepping down? What do you think of this? Has your sister told you—“

“You need to leave.” Wilhelm says finally, stepping in front of Simon and leveling the man with an unimpressed expression, “Leave or I will call the police.”

The man ignores him, “The Erikssons certainly have a history with the Royal Family, are you glad the Crown Prince is stepping down? This leaves it open for Wilhelm to reclaim his title and for you to become—“

“I’m not talking to you.” Simon says, with much more heat and anger laced in his words than Wilhelm. “Get out of here or—“

The man is not deterred, Simon’s reaction seems to only encourage him if anything, “What does your mother think about you becoming Prince Consort Simon, certainly it comes with perks that your family could use considering your economic status.”

The way he says it, with an underlying ribbon of mockery, the smug, knowing smile. Wilhelm sees his husband’s eyes widen, the indignant furrow of his brow, the angry curl of his lip.

“Hey asshole,” Wilhelm steps in until he’s face to face with the man, eyes narrowed, “I said to leave.”

“Or are you not going to allow Wilhelm to reclaim his rightful title considering your deeply anti-monarchist views? A source claims you are a member of the communist party which wants to see the monarchy abolished in the country—was this your plan—“

“Hey! Wilhelm is allowed to do whatever he wants to do—“ Simon growls, “What kind of shitty sources are you getting your information from because you need to reevaluate them.”

“Simon” Wilhelm starts, slipping around him to grab him by his jacket and pull him toward the doorway, “Let’s just go inside—“

Burning anger is bubbling up under his skin, but he tries his best to ignore the man’s words and focus on getting the two of them away from this situation. It’s better this way, to give them nothing and ignore them. People like these feed off of any response, any small reaction. They are only waiting for it.

The man seems to have realized the best way to get information out of him is through heckling so he doubles down, “There are people who blame you for the current predicament that the monarchy faces. Do you realize if August steps down and Wilhelm does not take over the position we could be facing a complete overhaul of the country’s system of government.”

Simon scoffs, gritting his teeth and turning away as Wilhelm tugs him into the doorway to the buildings entrance.

“Have you heard that some blame you for seducing Wilhelm and believe that you were in fact the mastermind behind the video of the two of you, which was released as blackmail against him—“

Wilhelm’s stomach does a funny thing, a kind of swell of anger as the implication falls hard around them.

“Did you sleep with Wilhelm with an ulterior motive to tarnish his reputation—“

That’s all he can take.

Wilhelm whips around, barely hearing the noise Simon makes as he jerks out of his grip, curling his hand into a fist and throwing it with all the strength he can push forward right into the man’s face.

There’s a sickening crack and the journalist falls back onto the ground, clutching his jaw and staring up at him in surprise, “What the hell—“

“How fucking dare you talk about him like that!” The punch doesn’t make him feel better, it just makes the anger build, his knuckles and his wrist aching from the force of impact, “We were sixteen you sick fuck, we were children. You don’t know shit about anything, how dare you imply that he was at fault at all when it was always—“

“Wille!” Simon calls quickly grabbing onto his arm, there’s an edge of panic in his voice.

“You better get the fuck out of here or I swear—find someone else to harass you rotten bottom feeding scum.”

The man scrambles to his feet, eyes narrowed falling back with a tight expression. There’s going to be consequences for this, he knows it, but right now he doesn’t care. Right now he can’t quell the anger over how unjust it is that this continues to follow them, to damage their lives. How fucking wrong it is that it always will and August won’t ever experience this particular brand of horror. How fucked is it that the one who caused all of this doesn’t have to be reminded of it.

His vision is blurred but he feels his husband pulling him into their apartment, closing the door behind them, talking to him even.

But it’s the feeling of his hands cupping Wilhelm’s cheeks that startles him into the present. When he finds Simon’s face he sees the mess of unspoken emotions that sit heavily on his features and the anger slips away.

Fuck.

“Are you okay?” He asks quickly, “Sorry I just couldn’t listen to him say all that shit—“

“I know.” The other man says, voice strained. His husband’s hands fall to his sides. “It’s always going to be like this isn’t it.”

It breaks a part of him. Seeing the weight of this realization as it pulls down Simon’s shoulders and turns his expression into something overwhelmed and defeated.

And he doesn’t have the answer, he doesn’t know.

“I’m sorry.”

“I know you are.”

Silence rings through the apartment and neither of them speak until finally he can’t bear it any longer, can’t bear seeing the man he loves look like this, can’t bear knowing the role he’s had in the why of it.

Wilhelm opens his arms and slowly Simon steps into them. They embrace there in the hallway, holding each other tightly, Wilhelm placing a kiss to his temple in silent apology.

After a long moment Simon pulls back and takes both of his hands with his. Wilhelm watches as he rubs a thumb over the heart tattooed with dark lines on his skin.

“We’ll get through this.” His husband’s murmurs as though he’s trying to convince himself rather than Wilhelm.

“Yeah. We will.”