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bamfkeeper · 5 months ago

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Bamf Babies

RQ: 'I saw that you opened your requests and could I request a dabble of the daily life of Kurt and his partner who treats his bamfs as if they're are their babies? Like she cooks for them, makes them little clothes, tucks them in, gives them names (with Kurt's approval, of course), and all that?' - @mari-thesimp

Warnings: GN reader, though the term 'mother' is used just once just as a way to describe your role. Unedited.

A/N: Umm yes??? Ugh, this was a fun little drabble. The bamfs, come on, cute little guys. I wish I had one. I'd kill for one.

The bamfs were...a lot...when you first met them. They were like little gremlins who were constantly at full energy, scampering around and getting into things they weren't supposed to. The only time they weren't running around so much was when they finally sat to eat. Kurt noticed that they were fond of you right away, and while he has to leave for missions, he decides to leave them with you, or at least a few at a time before it gradually turned into all of them.

You became their unofficial mother. But like hell you'd deny that.

The bamfs slept with you, all curled up beside you like a litter of kittens. Their soft, velvety skin felt so warm against you, like gentle peach fuzz. Sometimes they fought to sleep the closest to you, some would cry and you'd have to reassure them.

Bamfs can be quite jealous, so you have to make sure to show equal amounts of affection and love, otherwise it can cause an unruly bamf which is never fun. As you learned how they worked, you got better at managing them all.

Each morning, you wake up and made them breakfast. Kurt is normally exhausted, so you let him sleep in. The bamfs scramble out of bed with you, eager and happy. their little chirps and chitters fill the kitchen as they gather by your feet. Some climb on the counter, trying their best to help you cook. Pancakes were their favorite, but they weren't so good at making them. They tried, but they often made a big mess with the batter. Then they fought...and an even bigger mess happens.

So you handle the mixing. You learned.

They still liked to try to help, so you let them put chocolate chips or blueberries in them if they wanted. Each pancake you poured, you held up a bamf and they sprinkled in their add-on. Each one was served and given syrup, and now you had a handful of happy, quiet bamfs. Still and busy eating their food. Their big cheeks full of sweet pancakes as they ate happily.

"Guten Morgen..." Kurt says groggily, making his presence known. He's got major bedhead, trudging over to you and rubbing his eye sleepily. You return the greeting, smiling at him as he hugs you from behind. "Any for me...?" he asks tiredly, his face nuzzles your neck.

"Of course," you chuckle lightly. The bamfs had to get their sweet tooth from somewhere, and Kurt's sweet tooth was crazy.

You make Kurt his breakfast, and pass out cut up bananas and fruits for the bamfs. Some pout, and you chuckle. "Now, you have to have something healthy too, little ones. Besides, bananas and berries are yummy." You spoke gently to them, scratching their heads as you distributed the food. They all reluctantly ate the fruit, wanting to make you happy.

After breakfast, it's bath time. You bath the bamfs twice a day, they get...dirty, very easy. Luckily all of them can fit in the bathtub, so it's not that difficult. You scrub them and wash their hair, seeing them happily splash and play in the water. Some hate the water, they are like cats, trying to get away from the tiniest of drops, but you manage. There are one or two where Kurt has to help hold them in so you can wash them. The poor bamfs cry and try their hardest to get out, but only when they're clean. You give them lots of kisses when they're done, so they feel better. The little dears eventually stop crying, but they pout and are grumpy.

You like to play with them, you go outside and play on the playgrounds with them, the bamfs love slides. They're also little spiders, crawling on every single thing they can.

"Careful!" you called, one bamf climbed on the very top of the castle and chirped victoriously. The bamf seemed so proud of itself, but like that instinct you had, the bamf slipped and slid off the castle top and down to the wooden pellets that covered the playground. It landed on its back and its little body rolled over, the force of the landing turned it onto its belly.

A soft hic and it started to cry. You rushed over, Kurt noticed and teleported beside the little bamf as it cried. Its tearful cheeks damp as it reached up to you. "Awe it's okay...I'm here baby..." you cooed, holding the darling bamf close. It was a little dirty, but otherwise okay. Nothing broken, "You're gonna have one hell of a knot on your head later, sweetheart."

The bamf cried and buried itself into you, the others were concerned and slowed their play as you comforted the hurt bamf. "He's okay, liebe...just a little hurt." Kurt reassured, but the bamf didn't want to be put down and you didn't want to let it go yet.

"I know, I know...just let me comfort him..." you whispered to Kurt, whom backed off and let you do your thing. "Shh, sh...it's alright, you slipped, that's all. You're okay, little one..." you reassured the bamf and gave it a little kiss on the head, your hand gently soothing the sore spot.

Playtime didn't last much longer, you all went inside to clean up once again, and it was dinner time. You cooked and hummed, the bamf who hurt itself didn't leave your side, crying and wanting to be held constantly. You of course held it, the poor thing kept itself buried against you. The darling had a wrap around its head where it fell and you held an ice pack to the spot when you weren't stirring dinner at the stove.

Kurt occupied the rest, they couldn't use sharp utensils, but they helped season things. When dinner was served, it was a typical mealtime, they ate happily with little complaint unless it came to brussel sprouts and broccoli. You cleaned up, and came to the den to relax for the evening and enjoy their company...and Kurt's of course.

The bamfs colored at the table, most of their drawings were messy and childlike. The injured bamf stayed close to you, laying in your lap with the ice on its head. The pitiful bamf was extremely attached to you, and would sometimes make cries to get your attention when it wanted more.

Kurt stayed close to you, sighing down at the little bamf. "He's really attached to you, schatz...all of them are. They might love you more than me," he chuckled lightly, kissing your temple. The comment and kiss made you smile lightly, your heart beating a little quicker.

"Ah well...I just try to care for them the best I can." Your thumb was gently rubbing the bamf's cheek, the little one had fallen asleep in your lap. "I think it's bedtime, the others are quite sleepy too."

The rest were slow and sluggish now, yawning and rubbing their eyes. Kurt agreed, leading them all up to your bedroom. "Alright little ones...let's get you in your jammies." you hummed, holding up little onsies you made for them. Putting clothes on them for the first time was hard, but over the months, they learned to adjust. It was like putting clothes on a cat, they acted funny at first but as you learned the sizes and where the clothes were pinching, you figured out how to make the clothes as comfortable as possible.

They all slept in bed with you, but they had their own little corner where there was a big nest they slept in too. However, you couldn't deny them if they wanted to sleep beside you, especially the hurt one. So after you changed and got ready for bed, you slipped in and they all piled in after you. The injured snuggling close, then the rest came around and settled.

Kurt was behind you, his tail wrapping around your leg. "Comfy?" he asks you softly, and you nod in return. You were exhausted. The day was long and you were ready for bed. You had a little family here, and you couldn't be happier with your life. Kurt and the bamfs were your everything, and you were theirs.

Thanks for reading.

*BAMF*

Dividers by @/adornedwithlight

Cover images from Nightcrawler #5 (2014)

#kurt wagner #nightcrawler #kurt wagner x reader #xmen bamfs #nightcrawler x reader #xmen #nightcrawler bamfs #x men #x men 97 #🎠my works

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verstappenverse · 1 month ago

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Home is Where the Heart Is

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: You’re very excited to redecorate, and Max is absolutely smitten.

1k words / Masterlist

Your phone vibrates on the coffee table, the screen lighting up with a new message. It’s Max, of course. He had to run out for a few hours, some training before his next race, but he promised he’d be back in time to help with the culmination of your decorating project.

On my way. Ready to hang up those weird plant things you ordered. followed by a laughing emoji.

You can’t help but chuckle. Max had poked fun at your excitement the entire week. You’d been planning this makeover for so long and now that everything was finally coming together you could hardly contain your enthusiasm. You had spent ages scrolling through home decor websites, adding things to your cart with gleeful abandon. Colour swatches were scattered across the floor, paint samples were smeared on the walls. The new shelves, throw pillows, and, yes, the complicated plant hangers he loved to mock, were all waiting in the corner of the living room.

"Okay, well they're not weird, they're aesthetic," you mutter to yourself, smiling as you look at the hanging baskets you’d planned to fill with greenery.

Just as you’re untangling the macrame ropes for the third time, the front door swings open, and Max walks in. He’s wearing that relaxed, post-training glow, one you’ve come to associate with this calm, off-track version of himself.

“Hey you,” he calls out, dropping his keys on the table. His eyes roam the living room, his lips curling into a grin. “So… what are we hanging first?”

You barely register his question as you concentrate on an imaginary layout in your head. "Do you think the sofa should stay in the centre, or should we move it to towards the window?"

Max walks over and stands next to you, pretending to study the space like he’s an expert. "Definitely the centre,” he says after a pause, though it’s clear he hasn’t actually thought about it.

You narrow your eyes at him. "You’re just saying that so we can be done faster."

Max’s grin widens, completely unbothered. "I might not care about throw pillows as much as you do, but I’m here to help. You’ve got my full attention."

“You underestimate the complexity of decorating,” you said with a grin. “It’s an art form.”

He bends down and kisses your cheek, his stubble brushing against your skin as he hovers a second longer than necessary. He walks back and leans back against the wall crossing his arms with a teasing smile. “Promise I’ll bring my A-game."

You shake your head, feigning exasperation, but you’re secretly thrilled to have him here. "I want this room to be perfect," you say, more to yourself than to him.

Max looks at you with soft eyes. "It’s already perfect."

"Max…" you groan, "the couch isn’t even in the right spot!"

"You know what I mean."

Your heart does a funny little flip at his words, but you push it aside for now. "Okay, so this first," you announce, grabbing the ropes and handing them to him.

He takes them reluctantly, staring at the pile in his hands like they might start moving on their own. "Are you sure about these?"

You giggle, reaching for the small hook you bought for the ceiling. "Of course. Plants are a must. Greenery is very calming you know."

Max raises an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. "You’ve seen my old apartment right? No plants there and I was pretty calm."

"You’re calm on the outside, but inside you’re one bad plant decision away from chaos."

He laughs at that, the sound warming the space instantly. “Fine, fine. Where are we putting them?”

You point to the corner near the window, excitedly showing him the exact spot.

As Max climbs up to attach the hook to the ceiling, you sit back on your knees, looking around the half-decorated room. The shelves are still leaning against the wall, the box of candles untouched, and the cushions… well, they’re scattered everywhere. But you can already picture it in your mind, your perfect little sanctuary.

He finally gets the hook in place and hangs the first rope. Stepping back to admire his work and gesturing towards it.

You clap your hands together. “It’s perfect!”

Max shakes his head, chuckling. “You’re way too excited about this.”

"I just love how everything’s coming together," you say, getting up to wrap your arms around his waist from behind. He’s warm, solid, and his familiar scent fills the air, making the room feel even more like home.

The room starts to take shape, and with each new addition Max’s admiration for you grows more than he thought possible. He’d occasionally step back to admire your work, his gaze lingering on you with a look of pure adoration.

Max leans into you from behind, his arms resting over yours. “I like seeing you like this.”

“Like what?”

“Happy,” he says.

You smile up at him, “I am happy. Especially now that you’re here.”

He turns you around in your arms, catching you off guard as his eyes meet yours. There’s that familiar spark of mischief. “You know, I never thought I’d spend my afternoon hanging plants or arranging cushions,” he nods vaguely towards the room, “but if it makes you this excited, I guess it’s worth it.”

“You are so cute,” you tease.

He reaches out, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face, “Well, you’ve certainly outdone yourself."

You stand there in the middle of your half-finished living room, surrounded by unpacked decorations and the future plans you’ve been obsessing over. But for a moment, it all fades away as Max leans in and kisses you, soft and slow, like you’re the only thing he wants to focus on.

When he finally pulls back, he cups your face in his hands, his eyes locking with yours. “You’ve made this place beautiful, and it’s all the more special because you’re in it.” Your heart flutters, touched by the sincerity in his voice. His hand gently strokes your cheek. "So, what’s next?" he teases.

You laugh, resting your head against his chest. "Maybe we can take a break… but just for a little while.”

Max pulls you closer, wrapping his arms around you. “Take all the time you need. This place already feels like home.”

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capquinn · 3 months ago

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Disarm | Q. Hughes

summary: quinn is lost in a mood he can’t quite shake, but you’re determined to bring back his smile — one kiss at a time. pairing: reader x quinn hughes content: fluff, grumpy/sunshine word count: 1.1k ↪masterlist

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

Quinn’s been drifting around the apartment all day, carrying an invisible weight that seems to have wrapped itself around his shoulders. He moves from room to room like a shadow, quiet and slow, casting this low hum of heaviness in his wake. It’s not the kind of mood with sharp edges; there’s no snapping, no outbursts. It’s just this unspoken gloom, dimming the usual warmth of your space.

You’ve been watching him, feeling a twinge of frustration mixed with that urge to help him shake it off. You know him so well — how he bottles things up, how rare it is for him to get lost in his own head like this, so deeply that even your usual go-to comforts don’t reach him. You’d tried everything to pull him back, from suggesting a walk in the fresh air to putting on his favourite movie. You’d even taken the time to make that one snack he devours on sight, the one that usually brings him to the kitchen in under five seconds flat. But today, he had only mumbled a quiet thanks, barely glancing up before returning to his brooding silence.

Now, he’s leaning against the kitchen counter, arms crossed and eyes fixed on a spot on the floor, his brow slightly furrowed. You stand there for a beat, taking him in from across the room, feeling the urge to do something to break through whatever storm is brewing in his mind. The familiar space feels oddly foreign under the weight of his mood, his silence filling it in a way that makes you want to step in, to tug him out of this fog even if it means trying something a little… different.

You draw in a breath, your determination firming up as you cross the room, setting your mind on one last attempt to reach him, ready to try anything to bring back the warmth that’s always so natural between you.

You step right into his line of sight, tilting your head with a playful smile. “Quinny,” you drawl, stretching out the nickname just enough to catch his attention. His lips twitch, almost like he’s about to smile, but he quickly glances away.

“It’s nothing,” he mutters before you can even ask, his voice low, though there’s a trace of grumpiness he’s clearly still trying to shrug off.

“Oh, really?” You take a step closer, letting your hands settle on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingertips. “You’ve barely said a word all day.” Your voice softens, teasing but gentle, hoping to coax something — anything — out of him.

When he doesn’t respond, you tilt your head, searching his face, and ask, “how can I help?” Words tender, an open invitation, but he just gives a quiet shrug, his gaze still far off, his arms crossed as though he’s trying to hold onto whatever’s got him weighed down.

You can tell he’s not ready to talk, not yet willing to open up, but you’re not about to let him stay locked away in his own head. Not if you can help it.

You slide your hands up his chest, leaning in close until you’re on your toes, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his cheek. “What about this?” you ask, pulling back just enough to catch his eye. Still nothing — he’s holding firm, jaw set, though you can practically feel him fighting to keep up the wall he’s built around himself. “Any better?”

You don’t wait for an answer, leaning in to kiss his other cheek with just a bit more purpose this time. “Still nothing?”

He’s working hard to stay grumpy, to hold onto whatever’s weighing on him, but you catch the faintest flicker in his eyes and the smallest tug at the corner of his mouth. You’re close.

“Oh, come on,” you murmur, tracing the line of his jaw with light kisses, feeling his skin warm under your touch. “You’re really gonna make me work for it?”

He inhales sharply, and you can tell he’s trying to resist, to keep his guard up, but his resolve is slipping little by little. And you’re determined, pressing kiss after kiss across his face — the bridge of his nose, the soft space just below his ear, the warm curve of his cheeks. Each one is light and lingering, sweet and relentless.

You’re close now, so close that your breath mingles with his, and his eyes finally meet yours. His expression has softened, his lips hovering at a not-quite-smile, just waiting to break free.

“If you don’t smile soon,” you whisper, your lips brushing the corner of his mouth, “I’m just gonna have to keep kissing every inch of your face.”

A small huff escapes him, and it’s only a matter of time before the frown softens and quiet amusement flickers in his eyes. His arms drop to his sides, shoulders easing as he gives in, the tension unwinding with each little kiss you press to his skin. After all, having you close, showering him with affection… it isn’t the worst thing in the world.

Your lips brush just below his ear, and he breathes out a long, slow sigh, his eyes falling shut as he relaxes into you. Encouraged, you shift back to his jawline, letting your lips trace its sharp curve in gentle, spongy kisses, feeling his jaw slacken and his chest rise and fall against yours. You hover at the corner of his mouth, lingering there, savouring the way he’s finally melting under your touch, the edges of his guarded silence slipping away.

And then, a small grin pulls at his lips, a soft laugh tumbling out as his arms wrap around you, pulling you flush against him in surrender.

“You’re impossible,” he murmurs, shaking his head with a mix of exasperation and affection as he tucks you against his chest. But the grumpiness is gone, the weight he’s carried all day dissolving into warmth that spreads through both of you.

“There it is,” you say with a triumphant smile, winding your arms around his neck, leaning in with a gentle nudge. “Knew you’d give in.”

He chuckles, a deep, warm sound that fills the space around you as his hands settle at your waist, pulling you closer until there’s hardly any space between you.

“Guess I didn’t stand a chance,” he murmurs, his voice low and soft as he bends down, his lips finding yours in a kiss that feels as natural as breathing.

His hands splay warmly against your back, pulling you close like he never wants to let go. The kiss is gentle, steady, the kind that disarms the weight of the day, melting away every bit of tension between you until all that’s left is the soft warmth in the air, quiet breaths, and the steady rhythm of hearts.

#finally wrote about my lifelong dream of kissing his pretty face!!!!!#quinn hughes #quinn hughes fic #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes blurb #hockey blurb #capquinn's writing

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nastybuckybarnes · 4 months ago

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Street Mouse

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley X Reader

Summary:

Warnings: Language, Violence, Minor Angst, Hinted attempted assault, fluff, military inaccuracies (teehee)

Word Count: 2.3K

A/n: i've got a whole bunch written for this pairing, and i might make some hc explanations. I've never played COD, sue me. I hope y'all enjoy and I'm gonna probably keep pumping out more parts of this cause i love love love it.

~*~

The distant sound of gunshots is akin to a lullaby now.

You're curled up in a rundown building, a tattered blanket draped over your legs as you try to get some rest.

The sound of more gunshots, these ones much closer, jolt you upright.

Risking a glance out the broken window, you peer down at the street below you, eyes widening as you see two men fighting intensely.

Your heart jumps into your throat at the display, and you can't tear your eyes away.

Eventually, the larger of the two plunges a knife into the smaller man, watching as his body crumples to the ground in a heap.

A shiver races down Simon's back, and he straightens, eyes carefully scanning the area for danger.

He turns around, glancing into each window before finally resting on the eyes he could feel piercing through his gear. His hand twitches toward one of the many weapons strapped to his body, but something about the wild curiosity in her eyes has him pausing.

You hold his gaze, unblinking and absolutely entranced.

He's a huge man, with a skull mask covering his face. Only his eyes are visible, and they all but gaze through your soul. He holds the staring contest, turning to face you fully until there's a soft grunt from behind him.

He glances over his shoulder as his comrade comes into view, and when he glances back at the building, you're gone.

He turns back to Soap slowly, risking one more glance over his shoulder, but it's as if you were never there in the first place.

"What is it? Ya see somethin', Lt?"

Ghost says nothing, only starts heading back the way he came, pausing to rid the corpse on the street of the weapons he was carrying.

You slowly peek out the window again, watching as the two disappear into the darkness of the night.

For weeks, maybe months, the country you now call home has been war-torn.

Schools have long since shut down, and the majority of the population has fled to find refuge elsewhere.

Which makes it a perfect place to hide.

And even though you know you should be keeping a low profile, you can't help but be intrigued by the skull-faced man.

And so you begin to follow him.

The streets are familiar now, as are the schedules of the soldiers and the hostiles.

Which is how you find yourself here.

You're not dumb enough to follow him onto the base or anywhere near it, but in the city when he's on patrol, those hours are all yours to observe.

Your curiosity does have you venturing farther outside of your comfort zone than you normally would, but it pays off every time your eyes meet.

And he's not oblivious to the new eyes that seem to be following him whenever he's in the city. Sure, he's gotten used to the locals staring whenever any of them walk through the streets, but these eyes aren't afraid or hostile. No, these ones are curious. Excited.

The next time he feels the gaze on him, he's outside at just past one in the morning, puffing on a cigarette in one of the few safer areas of the city. Goosebumps rise on his skin and he flicks the end of his cigarette, watching as the ash floats to the ground.

"As much as you try, you're not going to sneak up on me," He says softly, flicking his cigarette onto the ground and crushing it with the steel toe of his boot.

You say nothing, only watch curiously from the second floor of the house he's leaning against.

He turns around, backing up a few paces as his eyes dart from window to window, searching for your face until finally, they land on you.

"Show yourself."

You cock your head to the side, eyes shining in the moonlight.

"Come on, I won't hurt you, but I won't ask again," he warns.

A little grin pulls at your lips and you lean forward in the moonlight, not enough to fully show yourself, but enough for him to see the outline of your face.

You shake your head at him and bring your hand up to the side of your head. With your pointer and middle finger extended, you curl your ring and pinky finger in, pointing the faux gun at your head.

'Bang,' you mouth, knocking your head to the side dramatically.

Ghost lets out a breathy chuckle at your theatrics, his hands resting on his tactical belt.

"Why have you been following me?" He finally asks.

He's not one to second guess himself, not after all he's seen, all that he's endured. But he has to give you credit - you made him question his sanity for a day or two there.

Knowing that you're real, that someone has, in fact, been following him, puts his mind at ease.

You give him a soft smile then lean forward and press your lips to the glass.

He stares at the kiss mark left on the window, traces the soft pink mark with his eyes and then looks back up to where your eyes were, only to find that you've disappeared once again.

Simon Riley is a man who prides himself on his attention to detail, his situational awareness. But he cannot, for the life of him, understand how you manage to disappear into thin air like that.

This starts happening more and more frequently. Little run-ins, kisses left on windows, your twinkling eyes in the pale moonlight.

It's gotten to the point where he volunteers to go out on patrol if only for the possibility of catching a glimpse of your pretty eyes hidden between shadows.

And soon enough, the drawings start to appear.

The first one is drawn on a window, and he doesn't even notice it. Soap is the one who points it out.

"Look, Lt, looks like you've got a fan," he says, pointing to the window across the ally.

He glances over, following Soap's finger, and his brows raise.

On the window, drawn in what looks like marker, is a skull that matches the hard-plated mask on his face.

He scoffs, but deep down, he knows exactly who put that there. His suspicions are confirmed when he catches a lightning-quick glimpse of your eyes peeking through the curtains.

He starts seeing them more often. It surprises him how you manage to get into some of the most dangerous parts of the city and leave nothing but a skull drawing behind.

What really gets him, however, is one particular day, when they're tasked with a particular assignment.

Hostage rescue.

But the exact location of the hostages is unknown.

That is, until he notices little skulls drawn on the windows of one building. More skulls than he's ever seen you draw before.

Trusting his gut, he nods toward the building, signalling for his team to follow him as he approaches.

Sure enough, the skulls lead them better than breadcrumbs exactly to the hostages, and the hostiles are taken out quickly.

"How did you know it was this one?" Gaz asks once the building is secure, leaning outside with his Lieutenant as he lights up a cigarette.

He takes a long drag from it the blows out a cloud of smoke, his eyes flickering around in search of his helper.

"A little mouse told me," is his reply.

Never one to question his Lt, Gaz only nods and heads back inside to meet up with Soap.

As he smokes, Ghost notices a small piece of paper fluttering in the wind, half hidden beneath a rock on the ground.

Crouching down, he picks it up and unfolds it, scoffing out a chuckle.

On it is none other than one of your signature skulls. His little Banksy.

With his cigarette tucked between his lips, he grabs a pen from his breast pocket and scribbles down a half-assed picture on the paper, then tucks it beneath the rock one more time.

Though he can't see you, he knows you're nearby. He can feel your ever-present gaze.

"Ghost! Let's go!" Price calls from inside.

Tossing his cigarette onto the ground, Ghost turns on his heel and heads back inside to meet up with his team.

His back is turned for what feels like only seconds, but when he glances over his shoulder to check on the paper it's already gone.

~*~

You don't see the man with the skull face for a while after that, but you keep his drawing on you at all times.

It serves as a pleasant little reminder that life isn't so bad. Not all the time.

Your thoughts are shattered when you bump into a hard chest, tumbling to the ground with a grunt.

The night may be dark, but the moon shines brightly enough above you to illuminate the back alley you were sneaking through.

"Well, well, boys. Look what we've got here," the man says, a sick grin on his face.

He wears a similar uniform that your skull-faced soldier does, but this man's eyes are sick and snake-like. They send a shudder racing down your spine as you scramble back, scraping your hands on the ground until your back hits a wall.

"It's a long time past curfew, sweet cheeks. What're you doing out so late?" The ringleader asks, stepping closer to tower over you while his comrades circle around you, leaving you with no escape.

One of them grabs your arms and yanks you to your feet in front of them, and your heart almost jumps out of your chest.

The leader drags a dirty finger down your cheek, his brows drawing together when you yank your head back.

"I asked you a question, bitch," he snarls, grabbing your jaw and forcing you to keep your head where he wants it.

You glare up at him, then spit directly in his face, watching with satisfaction as he flinches back.

He chuckles after a moment, squeezing your face harder and glancing at his friends.

"Looks like we've got a fighter. That's okay, we know what to do with those, don't we, boys?" He asks.

This elicits chuckles from the men around you, and you feel your stomach drop.

"Do we?"

The voice is like the crack of a whip in a still room, and the laughter stops immediately.

The men beside you straighten up, hands coming up in salute.

Like water dousing a flame, you feel some of your fear ease at the newcomer.

"Tell me, Corporal, just what might we do with those?" Ghost asks, stepping out of the shadows.

"Lieutenant! We were just... this street rat was out past curfew," the man holding your chin tries to reason, quickly dropping your face.

Ghost nods, looking between the men, his eyes scanning over their names before finally resting on your eyes.

"This is what you lot spend your nights doing? Terrorizing the locals? The people we're supposed to be helping?" He asks, stepping even closer.

The tension grows thick, and you watch as the man in front of you turns around to face his superior.

Ghost chuckles dryly, the sound lacking any humour.

"You know bloody well what we do to terrorists, Corporal," he whispers, his voice deadly, dangerous.

"Now, would you care to explain to me what exactly you were doing to this nice young lady?" He asks again.

You stare up at his icy blue eyes as he makes the man cower, absolutely bewildered and warm inside.

"She's out past curfew," the Corporal tries again, his voice whiny and afraid.

Ghost nods, "and if I remember correctly, we give the citizens a warning and escort them home, we don't corner them against a wall and try to have our way with them. Or did you miss that day of training?"

The soldier's mouth opens and closes several times, but Ghost stays stoically staring at him, gaze sharp enough to kill.

"I asked you a question, Corporal, and I expect an answer!" He snarls, stepping into the man's personal space.

"There's a place for scum like you, and it's not on my team. You're removed, go back to base." His eyes find the other men, "if I ever catch you lot in the city pulling a stunt like this again, I won't be so forgiving. Dismissed."

With that final word, the three men all but sprint away, leaving you alone with the man who's consumed your every thought for the past several weeks.

He watches the men leave, and you're tempted to make your escape.

As if reading your mind, his gaze snaps back to you and his head cocks to the side.

"Even you can't go everywhere unseen, can you, mouse?" He asks.

You blink up at him, your heart racing in your chest.

He watches you for a moment longer, his brows drawing together.

"You speak English?"

You blink up at him again and he sighs, "Christ."

Slowly, you reach into the pocket of your sweater and pull out a piece of paper, opening it up and showing it to him.

His lips twitch upward when he sees his scribbled mouse next to the skull you've drawn.

"Mouse," you whisper, touching the paper.

He nods, pointing to the little drawing.

"Mouse. S'what you are. Quick, hard to catch."

You cock your head to the side and he takes that moment to take you in.

Since that first day, he's imagined what you look like, what you really look like, and he has to admit, he's not disappointed.

You're pretty, lovely even. If circumstances were different... if he were to see you in a bar, he might buy you a drink, ask for your number.

But you're a local, a street mouse, and he's here on business.

He gently pushes the paper back into your grasp and takes a small step back.

"You keep yourself safe. Try to stay out of the streets after curfew." He turns his back to you and takes a step away, then pauses.

"Or at least don't get caught."

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