#just price asking for permission to marry you because he loves your kid

[the-whispers-of-death]

John Price finally getting Grumpy!Reader's engagement ring. He had measured your left ring finger while you were sleeping (it was for a good cause) and he went to several jewelry stores to find the perfect engagement ring. It's everything you could ever want in an engagement ring, you'll love it and hopefully you'll say yes when he proposes.

But first, he has to ask for permission to marry you from your kid. After all, he's isn't just marrying you, he's officially becoming your kid's step-father (hopefully also adopted father if they want him to adopt them). So, he has to make sure they'd be okay with you two marrying.

If your kid's little, he's not too worried about them saying no. Especially since they've been calling him "Dad" so genuinely and have been so happy when he stays over. They tell him they want him in the house all the time, so he's almost certain that they'd give him permission to marry you.

Still, he crouches down to their height level to look them in the eye. "Hey, kiddo. You love I love your parent a lot, don't you?" he asks, easing them into their conversation. He smiles when they nod. "Sometimes, when people love each other so much, they get married. Which means that they're legally recognized as a couple and they move in together. And so I love your parent so much that I want to marry them, be officially a part of this family that we've created. You, them, me. The three of us together."

He lets the words sink in, lets your kid process what he said. "What do you say to that? You like that idea?"

Your kid thinks about it for a while before asking, "Would you adopt me?"

"If you'd like me to, kiddo. I'd be honored to adopt you," John says, smiling. His smile grows even wider when your kid says he can marry you and he picks them up, swinging them around and making them laugh. "I love you so much, kiddo. I'll love you and your parent for the rest of my life, I promise."

Now, if your kid's a teenager, then John's going to be very nervous because your kid honestly got your grumpiness (because they're a teenager and also because kids can emulate their parents a little) and so while he knows they tolerate him, he doesn't know if that's enough for them to be able to be okay with him marrying you. Liking your parent's partner is one thing, being okay with them integrating their life into yours is another.

"Hey, mate," John says to them when picking them up from school (or practice if they practice a sport, either way you're not available to pick them up). He waits until they're settled in the passenger's seat and he's driving home. "So you know how I love your parent and we've grown even closer over this past year?"

Your kid eyes him warily out of the corner of their eye before nodding. And then it dawns on them. "You want to marry them?"

John nods, his palms sweaty as he grips the steering wheel. "Yeah, I want to marry them. But only if you're okay with it."

"Why?" they ask, surprised at that answer. Apparently, they had been thinking John would just marry you without caring if they were okay with it or not. "You care about whether I'm comfortable with your guys' relationship?"

"Of course I care. You're their kid and... I've grown to think of you as my own too," John admits sheepishly. He makes a turn into the subdivision. "So yeah, I care about whether you're okay with us marrying or not. It's not just them and I, you're also being affected by this and I want us all to be a family."

They think on it for a while before smiling shyly. "I'm okay with you joining our family. I like having you around." They then glance at him, smirking. "But uh, you're going all the way with integrating into our family, alright? I'm getting adopted by you, that's my one condition."

John laughs, relaxing now that he's gotten their permission to marry you. He pulls his car into your driveway and parks. "It would be my honor to adopt you and officially call you my kid."

"Thanks, Dad."

Reblogs are welcomed & appreciated! Asks are open, feel free to pop in and talk or request something! (SFW requests only, please and thank you)

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Hi!

I just wanted to say that I absolutely love all of your COD fics! Your Price fics made me fall in love with him (I saw a recommendation for See No Evil on TikTok and just went down the rabbit hole from there (it’s also my comfort fic)) and Laughing Poets made me buy Ghosts for Keegan. Your writing is so beautiful and poetic and has inspired me to start writing again after a really bad writing’s block!

I also did want to put in a request for Ghost (because I love him so much) but given his hype, I understand if you don’t want to write for him or if it may be hard. But I was hoping that this hasn’t been done before (much) and that I could read it in your words since you are so amazing!

I was thinking of the reader being a CIA agent that was working undercover to get classified information and 141 was sent in to extract her after she was compromised. And her and Ghost don’t really get along at first, like they don’t hate each other but they could just care less about one another. But then they get separated and one of them is injured and the other fights tooth and nail to get to them, realizing how much they care. I was thinking that her callsign could be ‘Reaper’ but it can be anything else if it fits better. It can be angsty (because that’s the absolute best genre), fluffy, nsfw, whatever you want to do with it.

I know this is asking a bit much and I’m sorry for that. Feel free to change it as you see fit and do whatever you want with it, if you want to do it. I really appreciate and love your work!! Thank you!!

'Til it Hurts

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader

Synopsis: You thought that it would be easy - moving on and blazing your own trail, but at every step, memories seem to come back and haunt you. And the biggest memory takes the shape of a man with a skull mask. Can you still deny what you had always felt when he stands at your side once more?

Word Count: 12.5k

Warnings: This duology will be 18+ and contain the following: intense gore, blood, violence, vulgar language, angst, fluff, suggestive content, (smut, p in v sex, virgin!reader (relevant to plot) all in part 2), abuse of power in the past, toxic working environment in the past, copious flashbacks, soft!simon because I love him like that (I guess considered ooc), banter, etc...

A/N: Part 2 will be posted tomorrow after I edit it and the link will be added to this part as well for ease of access. But, anna, that's wild that people post about my work on tiktok, lmfao. I'm so glad I helped you out of that writer's block, though! Enjoy part 1, Love (I did change it around a bit)!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You often think of the friends you had when you were six. The neighborhood you grew up in was full of other kids your age, and there was practically a horde of young boys and girls outside at any given moment. Early mornings were ripe for adventures – ears perking up from your pillows at the sound of bird songs and lawnmowers like an instinctual call to cause mischief. Days would run long and nights would end late with games of tag. 

It was inevitable, at this point in your life, to not think about where your friends would be now. Were they happy? Starting families and getting married on island resorts; white sand underfoot and a gentle lapping of ocean water? You’d lost contact a long, long, time ago – never bothered to get back in touch, though you know things might be better if you had. 

God, you’d never have friends like that again. 

Selfless. Genuine. Without competition or a need to stab each other in the back. Friendships built on a childlike innocence that was never meant to stay or grow with the brutal stretch of years. People mature. They harden, sharpen. 

They break themselves to fit a mold of what they want to be without even realizing…Or maybe that was just how you grew up. 

Your feet pound against the cobblestone streets of Bergamo, Italy, as you make your way through the packed road of the Upper Old District. Under your chin, your fingers go up to grasp the scarf around your neck and pull the thick navy fabric up farther. Fast eyes flicker over faces as a fake plastered smile splays over your lips, and your jaw holds a tension that seeps into your shoulders.

Keep the act up, you have to remind yourself, fingers heavy at your hips, don’t let the facade slip, or else it’s over before it begins.

At your sides, past the unending sea of loudly speaking humans and loyal animals alike, the broad expanse of ancient architecture calls to the history of this city; red-terracotta roofing, extravagant greenery, and pillars as tall as the buildings themselves. A picturesque land filled with mysteries lost to time, stories never told beyond the scratch of a pen and moth-eaten parchment. 

A city now filled with killers. 

“Sitrep,” you grunt into the open channel, the earpiece fizzling as it sits in the clutch of your canal. No one answers and, slipping past a family of tourists, you glare at the ground; heart going so fast you feel like it could jump-start a car. “Damnit!”

The seconds draw on and as you pick up the pace, now shoving your way through the crowd, you feel eyes on you. Slithering over your skin like oil. 

Not good. 

Shit. Karver, where did you go!? 

Karver ‘Rigs’ Massarini was an informant – someone who’d been giving you everything that you needed to know about the cell in this area; along with a grouping of eyewitnesses to a stash of ICBMs. A stash that could do some serious damage if they stayed here with the wrong people. Intel suggests that those very missiles were going to be shipped off to Mexico in only a few days, smuggled across the border into United States territory with the intent of doing some pretty awful stuff and framing the US. 

If you and Rigs weren’t quick with this, so many innocents would suffer.

You’d already gotten into contact with Mexican Special Forces yourself, warning Alejandro Vargas and Rodolfo Parra of a possible breach and to watch for any unregistered shipments on the docks or coming in from the air. 

But now Rigs was missing, and you had a funny feeling you were being trailed. 

Back alley. You take a quick right, boots slamming to the ground and heart hammering. Get away from the civvies in case someone decides to go trigger-happy. 

This cell was known for being deadly, Mr. Massarini had sent the file over to CIA headquarters before you were shipped out; Laswell had set you on it right away without even taking the time to read it entirely.

“Extremely high Kinetic; I’m giving you full Execute Authority on this, Reaper. We’re running out of time. Find those missiles.” 

Torture, kidnappings, mutilations, the list went on for this group and how far they would go to keep secrets. No one had gotten any clear insight as to what their motives were – just that they needed to be put down in exactly the ways they had been doing to others. Ruthlessly, before they grew bigger or spread their influence beyond borders, and created a group that could rival what Al-Qatala had been. 

So that was where you came in. 

God, you wished Farah and Alex were here with you – at the very least you could rely on them to help, even if you sectioned yourself off from others more than a dying cat. There was a reason you preferred being sent in alone with only your wits.  

Mostly because of situations like this.

“Rigs, sitrep. Where are you,” you try again, the close walls shrouding in your shadows. Throwing looks over your shoulders, you take down deep breaths, a growl gradually digging itself a hole in your esophagus. Desperately, you say, “I’m heading back to the safe house ASAP. Wait for me there.” 

Your right hand gravitates to your pocket, slipping through the fabric and pushing aside the ripped seam at the bottom. The sheath at your thigh pinches you with every step, but you’ve endured it for years, calluses breeding where the leather had chaffed the flesh to toughness. To an ingrained perfection. Flinching when your fingers bump against the handle, the metal adornments feel cool to the touch despite the sweat dripping down your spine; temperature and nerves leaving your palms sweaty. 

None of this was going to plan.

You caress the small Dirk blade strapped to you, and when the first footsteps enter the alleyway behind you, your hand clenched into a loose fist around it. Your eyebrows pull tight with annoyance.

Taking a slow breath as the trailing stranger begins to move faster, you take a corner, halting the second you were out of sight. You nonchalantly turn on your heel and lean into the wall, feeling your body conform to the building and the stone dig into your back. 

The material is cold, and as you raise your Dirk up, you flip the blade parallel to your forearm, wrist lax, and fingers still. A slow breath flows from your barely-parted lips. 

3 seconds. You don’t blink, only gazing out across the space and noticing the dark shadow gaining ground. 2…1…

Your body jerks forward, free hand snapping out and grasping the fabric of a shirt. Twisting your hips, you plant your feet and wrench the stranger around the corner, breath coming out in a loud snarl. Without a shout, you have the person’s back shoved to the building in an instant, blade held above an Adam’s Apple. 

A man, then.

“I’m going to give you one full minute.” Your Italian was only surface level – far better at understanding others than speaking full sentences. But you think whoever this man is comes to a conclusion well enough. “Before I cut you open and watch the life spill from your eyes.”

You don’t recognize this person, his sharp face or dark, sly, eyes, and with a quick assessment of his large stature you figure out he’s the basic definition of a man sent to complete a job. One that would have left you dead if you were anything less than a contracted CIA Agent on a job. You had been trained among the best from your time in the Marines – years on Special Ops forces; taking point. Even if they were the worst times of your life, you still learned a great deal from them, particularly, how to know when to cut your losses. 

With one look into his smug face, you know that this stranger would tell you nothing. 

Your lips formed a grimace, teeth flashing under flesh at the rod-straight form of the man under you. He was smirking with eyes seeming to be laughing at you. Arrogant. Self-assured. 

“You’ll get nothing out of me, Reaper. We are already on your trail.” Your head tilts, a numb huff escaping your throat and pushing the individual's hair back as a breeze would. There was a small pause; tiny shiftings of your feet as your blade digs ever deeper. 

A thin trail of blood falls from the placement, and your muscles writhe under the epidermis. There’s no thought behind the laugh that enters the air, that cold, dark, thing that’s more of a bark from a hellhound. It was just a realization that no matter where you went, there could never be anything unique anymore. Everyone was always the same. 

“You’ll never get it out of me-”

“Break my bones; rip my flesh, you will never make me talk-”

“If you want to see me beg, you’ll be disappointed-”

There were countless memories you could bring to the precipice of your mind and re-live; moments ingrained into your psyche like a tattoo is to skin. So you can only smile and nod, scarf swishing around your neck. The man looks confused now, if not slightly nervous. That self-assured attitude leaking to the ground. Eyes as dark as obsidian beginning to snap back and forth – looking for a saving grace in the make-up of ancient stone that wasn’t going to come. 

You wondered how many people had died in this city throughout history. The stories lost to time. Have these alleys seen war? Famine?

Have they seen murder? 

But you are a woman of your word. A minute passes in tense silence, your eyes never leaving his own and ears carefully in tune, twitching like an antenna, to the joyous shouts and laughter just a street over. Here you wait like a rat in a trap, though you like to believe yourself more of the metal Hammer than the unknowing participant in a dance of death and wits.

You tighten your grip on your Dirk, shrugging up at the man. Your face is nonchalant as an understanding smile grows. As simple as a server at a restaurant.

“I believe you.” And you run the knife’s edge across his flesh like a match to a striker before he can scream.

Stepping back, you’re suddenly thankful for the scarf over your sweat-slick neck because as the spray of blood splatters over your nose bridge and forehead, you swipe it away with one of the ends of the thick fabric. You let the body drop, watching large hands snap to the gushing wound like that alone would stop the cold grip of death. 

Your mark has been met. 

The External Carotid Artery was easy enough to cut, though you had to dig deep for it, and it seemed the man had moved mid-slice. Frowning while the man gasps and gurgles; flails as a fish would, you study your work as you flick the blade clear of blood. Your brows furrow. 

“Nicked the Thyroid Cartilage, hm.” Sighing and shaking your head, you sheathe the Dirk and twist on your feet, still intent on making your way back to the hotel safe house and trying to find a lead on Rigs. The slumping of a body reverberates a moment later, a grandiose death rattle, and still, only a street over you hear animated conversations – the bustle of traveling feet, and the sound of the breeze. 

You often think about the friends you had when you were six. But, now, instead of being the one who fought off the monsters at the ends of the beds, you had become it. The monster. The boogeyman. 

The Reaper. 

Oh, what would they think of you now? 

You swipe at the blood along your fingertips, seeing the red bleed under your nails with such a numb feeling that it scares you more than anything. Taking down a gathering of saliva that feels more like a slug in your throat, you wonder when you lost the ability to value human life. Of course, the answer was slated in those early years in Special Ops, but you don’t dwell on those times. 

In fact, it was better if you never thought of them at all. 

Taking a left, you hum a tune under your breath and listen to the birds sing as the blood dries. 

—

The meeting room wasn’t even a room, just a vacant air-craft hangar that had been fitted out with two rows of metal fold-out chairs and a projector. Shadows danced over the floor, long streaks of darkness over concrete. 

“...I’ll be giving you full Execute Authority – but this mission is completely Black. Host weapons only. No Evac team.” Laswell’s voice echoes off the ceiling, and Ghost’s eyes flow over the projected intel, memorizing the faces and locations with nothing more than a blink of his blue eyes. Fluttering eyelashes caress the hard material of his mask before settling. 

Task Force 141 was being sent off on another deployment again, deep into Belarus and near the Russian border.

“Time frame?” The Captain asks, standing a small distance away and leaning against a crate of ammunition. His arms are crossed; jaw is loosely set. 

Kate looks at him, above the heads of Gaz and Soap, and nods her head before she comments, “one week.”

Gaz huffs from ahead of the hulking form of Ghost, and the silent man shifts his attention back to the group. 

“One week, Kate? No offense, but we don’t even know if the bastard’s in Belarus.”

“‘fraid to get dirty there, Garrick? Ah, we’re good enough for it.” Soap elbows the male at his side, and the masked man releases a puff of breath one row back. The Scot twists in his seat, mohawk tendrils falling over his forehead, and smirks. “C’mon Lt. back me up here. We’ve got this in the bag already.”

“Bit confident, Johnny?” Ghost grunts out, accented voice low and muffled from under the black fabric over his lips. His hips shift over the chair, legs splayed and arms crossed as he reclines back; letting the bulk of his gear weigh heavy. “Just wait until you’ve got us sitting on a pile of dry leads and rotting corpses.”

“Eh, nothin’ we haven’t dealt with before.”

“Focus, you three.” Kate interrupts as Gaz rolls his eyes to himself, fixing his ball cap over his head with a fast flick of his wrist at the antics of the other two. “You’re going to be shipped out at 2000–”

An easily recognizable ringtone starts to play. 

Blinking in surprise, Laswell takes a glance at the table that had been long forgotten and spies her phone buzzing over the metal. Her light brown hair, kept securely tied back, swished at the nape of her neck. She wastes no time.

Briskly walking over, the rest of the men in the room watched intently, heads perked up. Ghost couldn’t stop the pique of interest at the strange behavior, though his form remains still, only making a noise under his breath in contemplation. In the hold of his crossed arms, his fingers tighten.

“Not the person I’d imagine keeps her phone on for just anyone…” Gaz makes a slow comment, and John slides up beside him, hands hooking onto the sides of his combat vest. Watching. 

“Hm,” their command affirms.  

 Kate picks up her phone and immediately answers, brows furrowed. She shifts her weight as an inhalation reverberates. The conversation on the other side was too muffled, a small droaning the only signal that someone was on the opposite.

Unconsciously, Ghost straightens in his chair as the rolled-back sleeves of his undershirt leave his black ink tattoos on display. A deep intrigue spilled in his chest but otherwise, he was still focused on the previous instructions for the next Op. This was just another cog in the wheel, perhaps a location change for their safe house, or an accelerated timeline. No matter, they would get it done regardless–

“Reaper?” Laswell speaks, and blue eyes slide to stare at the Captain, whose legs had tensed. “What’s happened–” 

The Lieutenant knows something was wrong just by the simple fact that he’d never seen their Station Chief talk on her personal phone with that look on her face before – he’d seen it mirrored on the Captain and he’d clocked it from her just as simply. The wrinkled skin at the side of her eyes, and stiff-set lips peeled back in a frown. She’d always been serious, but the air was different. 

Reaper? He runs through the database of his mind and ignores Gaz’s and Johnny’s muttered words and glances. 

“Now who do you think that is, then?” Soap grunts out. Ghost doesn’t answer.

Brows furrow. 

Sounds familiar, the man can’t help but admit. 

“Patch me through. Now.” Kate slips to the computer a few steps away and opens a fresh tab, sorting through files and months of intel as if it mattered just as much as a bug under her heel.

“Kate?” Price prompts. The woman only holds up a finger and keeps the phone in between her shoulder and cheek, hands fast across the keys. 

Soon enough, a feed pops up on the projector, and the three previously sitting all rise to their feet in an instant. 

An open wound is in the process of being stitched and displays itself over the entire available space, violent red internal flesh puckering over the edges of…Ghost narrows his eyes, unphased.

Was that a fabric needle and thread being used for sutures? Resourceful, he admits.

“Bloody fuckin’ hell.” The manchester man levels thought the blandness of the tone contradicts itself. “Where’s this feed from, Laswell?”

“What the fuck…?” Soap growls out, and the Scot blinks at the screen in shock as the Brit beside him lets off a sound of disgust akin to a sick cat. 

“Reaper, sitrep.” Kate doesn’t flinch, rushing off into procedure as steady hands delve back into flesh, blood falling from their fingers like water to splatter to a rundown wooden table. The world-away computer was most likely getting a rain of crimson all over the keys at this rate. 

Price grunts under his breath. 

“Shit,” a distinctly feminine voice wafts out, a harsh sigh held back, though the annoyed tone was noticed immediately, “can’t a girl stitch herself up in peace? Besides, Watcher-1 answer me this, huh?” The computer is jerked, its screen going staticky as Ghost watches with roving eyes to take in the background when the visibility returns. A bed, nightstand, and sitting by the floor of the front door, copious amounts of weapons. The man takes stock – an M13 assault rifle, X12 handgun, and Arctic .50 sniper rifle. Ammunition lines the floor in a way that leaves Ghost’s lips thinning under the mask. 

Someone’s in a hurry. But from what?

“…what goddamn hotel doesn’t have mirrors in it?” Kate’s sigh can be heard a mile away. “No, I’m being serious here, Watcher – how the hell does that happen?” 

Watching you take a step back, Ghost as well as the other three all blink in surprise when you come into view. Your top was off, only a sports bra covering your flesh, as your focus stays on the digging needle you send into yourself over and over. 

Yet again a feeling of intense familiarity strikes the Brit in the chest. Your soft face, your hair, your voice. It was infuriating.

Who are you? The inability to call forth a memory leaves the fists at his sides gradually clenching under his gloves. 

“Reaper.” Seriousness grows in the Agent’s voice, and Price lets out a slow chuckle that leaves Gaz turning to him in confusion. 

“Sir?” But the inquiry is ignored.

“Still as stubborn as ever, then, Reap?” Everyone sees your hurried stitches stop, head snapping up as they clock a veiled panic behind the iris’. 

Your eyes tell all the story they need, and Ghost’s body freezes as the color evokes a physical twitching of his hand. 

“Holy hell,” he utters under his breath so silently no one even realizes he spoke; eyelids pulling back before settling like nothing had even happened.

“You know, you're the first person who’s been nice to me out here.”

“...Then I’d tell you to get better friends, Sergeant. I’m not sticking around.”

“I never said they were my friends, Ghost, and I never expected you to stay, anyways. That’s not how this works.”

“You’re right. It’s not.”

“Bravo-06?” You ask, voice sometimes cutting out over the line. A laugh breaks out, and a small smirk twitches the corners of your lips, “Hey, Old Man, how’s it going over there? Been a while.”

“What have you got yourself into now?” Price asks, chuckling under his breath with a groaned continuation, “and how do you need me to get you out of it?”

The spectral man now watches with a newfound fervency, blue eyes boiling so violently that if anyone had seen, they would have thought he was about to attack. Like a split second of eye contact with a wolf before it rushes. The build of his shoulders was still loose, however, and the only indication of shock was his optics; the mask shrouded all. 

But there was a subtle movement of his hips, feet transferring over the floor to stand shoulder-length apart.

“Oh, this,” you point to your injury with a free finger, tying off a knot on the last line of sutures. “Nah, it’s nothing. A couple of assholes tried to get the jump on me a block back, one had a knife on ‘em.” Your hand tosses the needle and thread to the table, a muttered, thunk, sounding off. Looking down at your work with a raised brow, everyone watches. “Took care of it – they gave me a name, too, but with the trail of bodies I left today, I wouldn’t be surprised if it didn’t pan out.” 

A pause before you turn your head back up, face now completely serious as you focus on Laswell. 

“But we have a bigger problem, Watcher. Rigs is gone; I think my position’s compromised. I’m going black.” Your form leans to the side, and a wrinkled t-shirt is thrown over your head. From your mouth, a stifled groan releases. Ghost blinks in surprise.

The Captain’s lips thin, and he looks at a tight-wound Kate. 

“I have a contact in the lower levels, Reaper, meet up with her and she can have you out of the city by tonight. I’ll send over her info.”

“No can do, Watcher.” You sigh, and Ghost simply stares, following your figure as you back up, heading to the X12 and shimmying it into the back of your pants before looking over your shoulder. Kate hums under her breath. “If they’ve got Rigs,” Walking quickly back over to the computer, one of your hands grasps the top of the frame, thumb poking out from the corner. You tilt your head. “I ain't leaving without him right behind me. I’ll be in contact in a month – if I’m not, then I’m dead already.” 

Your chuckle strikes a cord through the room and Soap snorts in answer. 

“Glass-half-empty kind of person, then?” 

“I’d say,” Gaz mutters.

Continuing, you’re about to say something else – lips already partially parted and breath sucked in  – before your eyes lock onto Ghost. The atmosphere of the room flips like the page of a book. 

You stare at him with what seems to be a million emotions flying past the glossiness of your optics; lids already peeled back and whites showing in a display that showed more than told. The man could only begin to imagine what you were thinking – how long had it been since he’d seen you last? You’d obviously gotten out of your Marines Special Ops unit. 

Not quite how I remember you. It wasn’t hard to recall that small branch of the MRR – Marine Raider Regiment – and how they treated you. But that wasn’t any of his business. He’d been there to do a job, and he’d accomplished it. Quite thoroughly, if anyone would have checked the file after it was all over. 

Ghost’s life was counted in the sands of an hourglass, small, molecular, bits hitting the bottom one after the other; rarely was that time wasted on pointless squabbles and words but at that moment, he was conflicted. 

The Brit had never expected to see you again, and the sand briefly halted when you spoke. Hm. 

Yes, he remembered that voice… he’d just never heard you this confident before. 

“Ghost.” He watches the emotions on your face settle, and he was thankful for the mask covering his visage because he knows he would have left at least a small twitch of his lips slip. “Long time no see.”

“Mutt.” The Lieutenant nods in a monotone greeting but notices a slight jerk of your shoulders at the name. His eyebrows furrow, but mentions nothing as his pulse slows. 

Your neck moves as you swallow, looking to the side as a dark curiosity fills the space in Ghost’s lungs; head nanoscopically tilting to the side like a vulture. 

“Nice seeing you, Bravo-06,” You tilt your head toward the Captain before clearing your throat and addressing Laswell. “I’ll be around.” 

It wasn’t hard to tell that the title had made you freak, a kind of bad cloud suddenly springing to life above your head. 

Seems to bother her more than being in a Hot Zone, Ghost tells himself, the deep well of dark water in his gut still. That didn’t make any sense. He watches your hand slaps over the computer and the feed goes dark in an instant. 

The room is more silent than Ghost is. 

“Kate, she’ll need our help.” Price shakes his head from side to side; body moving to the front of the room. “I’m not asking.” 

The two talk it over as Ghost’s mind trails, head tilting down more towards his chest as his eyelids narrow. 

“Hm,” He grunts, arms tensing as his grip shifts. Soap turns around as Gaz goes to join the conversation between the Captain and the agent.

“What? Know ‘er or something, Lt?” The Scot asks, slapping a hand on the taller man’s arm. Ghost eyes lock on the grip before he blinks, looking back up and leveling the Sergeant with a dead stare. Johnny laughs awkwardly and moves his limb back to his side. “Just…didn’t peg you for the type to start relationships.”

The Lieutenant turns down the aisle of chairs and lets out a bland, “negative. Leave it, Sergeant.” 

Why did you react badly to the namesake you’d gone by for the entire time you’d been in Special Ops? Mutt was when everyone had called you when he had been around for that short time. 

He felt no great concern for you – no hatred or care – you were just another Agent that would probably end up dead like everyone else. Another time, maybe, he’d have gone in a heartbeat, and if the team decided to go after you, he’d follow. A mission was a mission, it wasn’t like it largely mattered. 

But there was something in the back of his mind. Intrigue? Yes, perhaps. The blue-eyed Lieutenant wasn’t one to dwell on these types of things, but a colleague was still a colleague. 

Whatever the outcome, he’d do his job with all the ruthlessness and tact he always did.

Ghost’s hand goes up to fix the position of his mask and glances at the blank projector stream, eyes boring into it as they darken. A moment later, he was leaning against the ammunition crate that Price had previously been on, arms crossed and ears twitching at the ongoing battle of wills; isolated to himself as his intimidating form towers ever upwards. Spine straight. Bones stiff. Eyes grim. 

You’d been nice to him – a person that, for the limited time he’d interacted with, had left an impression that was only just starting to come back full force. Smart and resourceful; not too bad on the eyes. 

He takes down a sigh. Stubborn…but undoubtedly loyal. 

His thumb brushes your cheek, and you look up at him as if he wasn’t the one in a mask – as if his entire being was laid bare before you. He swipes away the trail of blood with one firm press. The gentleness of your skin is known even through his glove.

“You’ll live, Sergeant.” He utters, teasing in his monotone voice, “now, where the hell are we goin’? Gun’s itchin’ to lay a few out.” 

Ghost would have smirked at the way your eyes dilated if he had the ability, but in the end, he brushes past. Because if he hadn’t, you would have seen his own do the same.

‘Reaper,’ he frowns, feeling the ammunition crate dig further into his hip, they never called you that one.

Perhaps the real battle of wills was happening inside of him – not five feet away between his Captain and his Station Chief.

—

You remember every interaction like it was yesterday, and although he might not, you can’t help the memories from flooding as you gather your gear. Stuffing guns into duffel bags and intel into crossbody sacks that weigh you down like boulders. 

Fuck, you open the back window and shimmy out into the back streets, knowing that your position is compromised and not waiting any longer to test your luck. Your side burns something awful; horrible stitches peeling back skin as you groan in pain. What the fuck was Ghost doing with Price? I didn’t know they knew each other. And the two other men in the room…eh. Not the problem right now! 

“I shouldn’t be surprised,” you pant, swinging your legs out of the window frame and sharply inhaling when a suture tears. “I’m never in the loop.” 

In all honesty, you don’t want to be – too complicated. It’s better to just stick around and be told what to do. 

Glaring down at the ground with glazed eyes, you only take a breath of hesitation and let off a curse before dropping. 

Your knees take the brunt of the force, and the ricochets of landing on cobblestones travel up your ankles and leave your legs shaking. If you weren’t running on adrenaline, you would have come up with a dirty joke to mutter to yourself. 

The discomfort can only last so long, you tell yourself, and ignore the spreading liquid on your side, only thinking of Rigs and the mission. 

And Ghost. 

Gritting your teeth, eyes vulnerable, you turn down the backroad and stay away from others, drowning in memories more deadly than blood. It had been a while since you had thought of it – the lockbox in the back of your mind keeping all under tight watch; guard dogs with metal teeth and chained necks. 

But that title; that namesake you’d scrubbed your skin raw over. Mutt and all the others said in cruel breaths. Oh…but Mutt. 

Mutt was the worst of them.

Your hands were vibrating, the tremors traveling up your wrists and arms – past elbows and bruised flesh under skin; bloodied nose and quivering lips. Why did they always yell at you? But worse, why did they always make you do the dirty work? 

The Captain, everyone just called him Alke, was standing in front of you, berating your accuracy on the last round of target practice. Fortunately, this deep into the Unit itself, you’d found a way to let it go in one ear and out the next, eyes as blank as a starless sky. 

You could see the spittle flying from the man’s lips and some even splashes across your cheeks like acid, but there was something artful to the way you didn't react. A culmination of crafted numbness that bleeds like trauma. It was a constant, everlasting, void.  

What they were making you into was not what you wanted, but what possible other option was there? Resign? No, this was nearly an unimaginable position to be in at such an age. You deserve to be here. Should you report the blatant unprofessionalism and favoritism in the ranks? And be blacklisted by these people's friends so that you never ascend the line?

Your ears twitch. 

“...You’re not sleeping until your marks are perfect – else we’re overthinking your position in this Unit. Can’t have a Mutt in our ranks, can we?” The last sentence is punctuated with a ruffling of your hair almost like a brother would; teasing, but you know that isn’t what it symbolizes. Harsh laughs and mocking remarks from the bystanders. “Least of all one that’s gonna get us killed. Tch.” When you don’t answer, staring off in a daze at his nose in a perfect image of formation, the Captain raises an eyebrow. “Affirmative,” he smirks, “Mutt?”

“Sir!” Your mouth shouts, though the action is more instinctual as your back straightens.  He frowns at that, perhaps wanting to torment you more, but huffs and files out, ordering the rest to follow with one last call.

“I expect you to be up for morning drills an hour early. I’ll be checking your shots myself.” 

“Sir!” 

After everyone’s gone, you blink back to reality. There’s a second of confusion, creases forming in your forehead at the sound of birds and blowing glass. Head turning side to side, your lips thin at the absence of others as if only realizing how spaced out you’d actually been. 

Flashing teeth and heated eyes flash through your mind before you blink them away. Signing away the tense nature of your chest, you clear your throat and relax your legs. Your vision slides to the corners of the concrete dugout, snapping past sectioned-off areas for privacy to search if there was someone who might have stayed back. 

Not finding anyone, your hands, clenched behind your back, loosen and fall limp to your sides like bags of rock. One weakly goes to swipe at the trail of blood from your nose, wrecking your already wrinkled sleeve with crimson; but soon an identical trail drips off your chin regardless. Licking your lips and tasting copper, you take a shaky breath and nod to yourself. 

You knew what shooting all night would bring on – lesions under the firing pad covering your shoulder; deep-rooted pain leading to nerve damage later on. Blisters that leak puss and blood onto your bedsheets. Not to mention the mental strain, the bags under your eyes burn from lack of rest. 

Gritting your teeth, you walk over the tossed rifle on the floor and pick it up with shaky fingers, the tips flinching back from the cool metal before encompassing it tightly. 

Silently, you get on your stomach and set the weapon in the crook of your already pain-laced shoulder. Your blood splatters the stock.

—

It had been two weeks with no luck in finding Rigs, and you were starting to get paranoid.

Staring at the dead body tied to the wooden chair, you growl and tear your Dirk from the woman’s chest angrily. 

There had been increased police patrols from all the corpses you were leaving, so you’d compromised and limited the chance of being caught at the same time. 

Bergamo, Italy, was an ancient place, and the underground was what you were now both metaphorically, and physically, exploiting. Sewer systems. Catacombs. You’d lost track of the paths you’d taken a million times over, and had started to hate the constant darkness only kept back by the small hand lamp you’d stolen. 

But there were ups to this constant downward slope. 

It made interrogations increasingly easier to pull off with multiple feet of stone all around you. The screams don’t meet the surface.

“Catello Tullio,” you mutter, caressing your sensitive side with your free hand and placing your blade on a turned-over piece of rock. The area reeks of blood and gore, a stack of bodies chucked carelessly in the corner beginning to reek something awful; even as you have another to add to the count. It wouldn’t be long before the rats came in droves.

Another given name, another score. But this one was new. Apparently, the title of the one that took Rigs while he was out getting more rations in the market. 

You point a finger at the slumped body, “you better hope I don’t find you in hell if you gave me the wrong damn name.” 

Grabbing your light, you stalk off down one side of the tunnel back to your camp, dodging drag lines that strike your eyes with their crimson streaks. 

The raggedy blanket and gun-sack you’d been using for a pillow take form in the dark, and somewhere in the corridor a rat squeals; feet pitter-pattering until it disappears altogether. You didn’t even want to think of the spiders living down here. Files and notes are strewn along the floor, perfect hiding places for eight-legged monsters. 

You couldn’t do anything until nightfall. It was just too risky. 

Massaging your side as you bend down, you grimace at the partially healed wound and scoop up your pistol before plopping to the ground with a grunt. With the deadly object held in your lap, you take a moment to breathe and try to push away a growing headache in the back of your skull. 

“This has to be one of the worst Ops on record, huh?” your small voice speaks back to you in bouncing waves of echoes as you begin to fiddle over the gun's small grooves and dents. “How did you manage this, Reap?”

Smiling blandly, the overwhelming quiet and nothingness all around you is like a curse. And in those pockets of a void, your mind always trails to him – or at least it had been for your time on the run. Ghost. That dark and brooding mass of horribly bleak humor and…well…you couldn’t call him mean. 

Your eyebrows furrow.

He was never mean to me. 

There were soft instances where you would question yourself as to if the Brit had possibly had some affection for you. It wasn’t a long shared history of course, but you had sworn that there was something about the way he looked at you…something that you remember so vividly…

You shake your head and stand after a small while, stretching your feet. Placing your pistol in the back of your belt, the weight brings you dull comfort.

 Shining your light on the hand-held radio on the ground in passing, you rove back to it after you scan the perimeter. Its black metal mocks you.

No one’s coming to help ‘cept you. One voice says, and another grunts out, get it together, Mutt. 

You turn on your heel to go and take a breather to disperse your dark thoughts but only make it three steps before your eyes widen, lips parting in awe. Nearly falling flat over yourself, you whirl around in an instant. 

A static enters the air as if the gods above were laughing at you - toying with your fate like it was a rock tossed to the sky. The familiar British drawl causes your chest to tighten, though the sentence is broken and barely understandable.

Someone’s here for me! A smile slashes your face – fierce hope lighting your eyes. You hadn’t wanted anyone to explicitly come for you, but this was a welcome discovery. Someone to talk to!

“--eper…Copy?” Darting like a cat, you move so fast that you stumble over rocks on the way there. “Lead…cafe…red cloth…Out.”

By the time you snatch the small black object, the garbled and firm tone has already shut itself up. Your mouth parts.

“Shit!” You yell, shaking the thing in your hand with an iron grip, hissing like a snake. You look above you at the cracked ceiling of stone and a growled accusation.“I’m too deep…Fuck. Gotta get up there if I want to be able to respond.”

But it hadn’t all been fruitless. Lead. Cafe. Red cloth. You clip the radio to your belt and make sure your shirt covers your weapon; pat your thigh and tell yourself to stop forgetting your Dirk everywhere before setting off in a jog. The light flashes over dead eyes and stiff bodies.

You snatch the blade off of the stone as you pass it, slipping it into your cut pocket and hearing the satisfying clink of it sheathing.

“Let’s just hope I don’t smell too bad…” You say aloud, chuckling, and listening as the sound echoes off the stone. If no other company, you still had the sound of your own voice. 

You couldn’t decide if that was a good or a bad thing. But, you were getting side-tracked. 

A Cafe with red cloth, then. Not exactly the place you’d go for an intel swap, but if someone had been trying to contact you for more than a week, you’d imagine they were getting desperate at this point. 

If I had known…you frown. 

Thinking over the multiple blueprints and pictures of the city in your files, you go through your internal cabinet of knowledge for color schemes - not what you’d have thought you’d be using it for, but, oh well. A lead was a lead.

“Golositá!” You laugh, sudden glee on your face as you dodge a pile of large stones; lips peeling back as you take a fast corner. “Gluttony! Of course, that’s the place.” 

The bustling business on the upper side of Bergamo with red table cloths as well as red awnings extending into the street. Anyone would be a fool to miss it. 

Like blood lining the street. 

You force yourself to run faster.

—

You met him last, despite being a Sergeant. The Captain had you up late last night yet again – running the forest trail this time rather than shooting. In the back of your mind, you wondered if it surprised him when you were still up early with the others; from the looks that he was giving you, you just decided that, yes, he was. Or he was just pissed he didn’t have an excuse to get rid of you. 

Blinking away fatigue, you keep your stance relaxed as a gargantuan shadow comes to loom ahead of you. 

The man everyone had whispered about called himself ‘Ghost’ and, if nothing more, was certainly intimidating. Shoulders wider than a bench, arms as rounded and as strong as boulders; not to mention the tattoos that made him look like he took cross-country motorcycle rides in his spare time. Tan tactical gear and dark patches for the SAS, the red and white British flag. Gloves covered his large hands, straps carried knives on his biceps and thigh. Something akin to a tan cape that was loose around his hidden neck.

But the mask was what really caught your attention; your head tilting with an innocence that no longer lives in you.

Skeletal. Half a visage of a dead and gone intimidation of humanity. Sewn into a hood of black cloth from which only the eye sockets were open…But the eyes there were no different than if the holes had been empty in the first place; as if the person inside was as dead as sun-bleached bone. Was a corpse piloting this suit?

Ice blue. Freezing blue. Harsh. Colder than a grip of a phantom, you thought as you blinked up at him, colder than the nights you would stay awake working yourself to death. You watched this Ghost’s chest move in a steady inhalation and you stuck out a busted-knuckle hand. Foolish, maybe, but there were worse things to be afraid of than a mask. Then of those eyes that made your spine shiver. 

But you didn’t look away.

“Pleasure, Sir.” There was a moment of tense silence where your Captain, at Ghost’s side, was frowning at you silently. The man could say nothing as long as this SAS member was here to assist in your next Op overseas. At your sides, your colleagues on the tarmac shuffle on their feet like nervous penguins. 

Ghost glances at your hand, and you try not to show how fast your pulse is running when his eyes leave a cold trail as they grace your split knuckles and torn nails. He ends with a slow look at your name patch. 

“Sergeant.” He says and slips past without another word. His shoulder brushes against yours, and you inhale smoke and ash; gun-cleaning solvent paired with a canvas tent. Dirt and metallic blood. Snickers bounce off air particles, striking your ears as an embarrassed heat rises to your cheeks, but that scent stays in your nostrils for days. 

Your Captain scurries after. 

“Erm, forgive, Mutt. She’s a helluva strange woman, that one.” You keep your sneer hidden, a hiss lodged in your throat and a twitching finger. But your anger isn’t directed at the masked beast that stalks away. That yapping bully of a Captain would hold all of it as long as you were here.

At that point, you were sure you’d seen the last of Ghost until the Op – not really getting the feeling he’s a people person so much as a ‘give orders and follow them’ type. 

But that was fine by you, it didn’t change anything. You’d been told to go back to the firing range tonight for opening your mouth and ‘making an embarrassment of the Unit’....whatever that meant. All you did was welcome the guy with the barest hint of a good attitude. 

You supposed manners were a foreign concept around here.

The world ahead of you was blurring, red circles in your eyes that gloss over with water every minute you force yourself to stay awake. The stars were out, sky dark, and the area was only lit by large lights situated around the base. In some sort of strange way, you enjoyed the sound of crickets and the cold breeze over your bare arms as if the only sense of peace you got was when you were half-passed out, nailing shots from a rifle. 

The stock was where it always is, your cheek pressed to the side; staring down the scope at the multiple holes in the paper targets. Dots surrounded by multiple other dots like a slice of cheese. You suppose that made you the hungry mouse in that case. 

‘A mouse with a fucking day before she drops.’ You frown, blink, and pull the trigger as the trees rustle. The force lands directly on your shoulder – the kickback is usually not one to bother you, but seeing as your appendage was one bad day away from being dislocated and forever damaged – you took it with a grit of your teeth. 

And you took it because you knew you could. Just as you knew that you felt a pair of eyes on the back of your neck. Freezing, you remove your finger from the trigger and loosen your grip. Turning your head to the side, a free hand goes up and shifts the ear mufflers from your head to your neck in a single movement. 

You swear your heart jumps to your throat when you see a skeleton’s icy blues numbly watching you; arms crossed while a nice-looking SA-B 50 Marksman Rifle sits against the wall at his side. How…long had he been there? Watching?

“What’re you doing, Sergeant?” Ghost asks sternly, that Manchester accent making him sound harsh. Grating like a rock being run against concrete. “I’m sure your Captain wouldn’t be thrilled at a scene like this, eh?” 

Blinking, you remind yourself to breathe before answering – voice tough and hoarse.

“I have my orders, Sir. You’re free to join me.” 

You turn back as a grunted huff falls from behind muted cloth. Ghost walks up to your laying form, standing on your left side and picking up the binoculars from the hanging hook in your station. As you look back through your scope you don’t know why, but you hold your breath; waiting for something.

“...Not a bad shot. You’re prone to firing more to the right, judging from the grouping. I’d fix that, less you miss a moving target runnin’ the opposite.” He lowers the object - staring from the side of his eye. From your position, your neck cranes to see his fingers twitch. “Wouldn’t want that, would we?” For someone you’d expected to be quite harsh – though you had no doubt he still was – Ghost was more sarcastic in his mannerisms. 

Backhanded comments that wound sting if you got on the other end of them.

“I’ll keep that in mind, Sir.” Shifting your grip, you move the stock farther up your shoulder, feeling an immediate release of tension, though the expansive trauma still leaves needles in your tissue.

“Hm, pay attention and you just might learn something.” You feel yourself quirk a lip for the first time in months; your mouth doesn’t stop to think.

“You mentor a lot of people in the middle of the night, then?” 

“Only the ones stupid enough to be awake.” He takes a step back, going to grab his own rifle as his footsteps don’t even make a sound.

‘Quiet for a guy with thighs that could choke me out.’ 

Your brows furrow at the heated thought, taking a slow breath and flexing your hands as the shadow disappears from over you. Why were your hands sweaty?

Were you…afraid? That…that wasn’t it.

“You’re up too, you know, Sir. Bit hypocritical.” This was the first time you’d had a full conversation with someone since you’d gotten in with this Unit. A mildly pleasant one, at least…you wouldn't really call this bonding.

“I can always leave ya’ to it, Sergeant.” Deadpanning the words, you clear your throat and fall silent at the threat. 

‘No,’ you wanted to comment, ‘no, I want the company so badly it hurts.’ 

You swallow saliva and reposition your ear mufflers back over your head, heart bruising your ribs, as you bring down a calming breath of air to still your nerves. 

The two of you don’t speak again, and you don’t ask why he takes the shooting cubby right next to yours, the nose of his rifle peeking out from the concrete wall. You certainly don’t ask why he’s up, either.

And in return, he doesn’t ask you the same.

—

When you find Golositá you’ve managed to sneak through the city unseen, taking every backroad and alley you could as the heat of the day increases to near sweltering. Panting, you stick to the thin shadows of the path across the street, eyes dancing over red cloth and flicking to faces; studying visages as one would a medical report. 

Your chest hurts, and you run a hand over your side, feeling the raised skin under your shirt before digging into the aching ribs. All this running around and little food to help keep your normal strength was troublesome, and it would only get worse if this Op from hell continued. 

I need new intel. Badly.

About to retreat, not finding anyone you recognize off the bat, a black-shrouded figure kisses the side of your vision as if a phantom. 

On the outside table, the farthest removed, a man sits stiffly with an untouched teacup in front of him. Smirking, you can’t help but scoff at the thought of Ghost using the thing – you’d think his thumb and forefinger would break the delicate porcelain in an instant. Like a spine over his thigh.

Your cheeks heat. 

He looked almost identical to what you remember – minus the gear, obviously – and your stomach twisted at the thought. Was a simple look enough to bring you to the breaking point? Why were your lungs tight?

As if feeling your stuck eyes, those icy blues shift from people-watching to lock onto yours immediately. As hollow as they always were, it seemed. He blinks and the blonde eyebrows on his sliver of visible forehead move.

Shit. Your hips trade weight. Look at you.

Loose shoulders under a rugged buttoned-down and painted balaclava make your breath go thin, not able to resist sneaking a glance at those tattoos you remember so vividly. Yes, that was still Ghost.

Jesus, is this how it felt to see someone you barely even remembered suddenly appear? Was it elation or caution that was making your heart race? 

Ghost doesn’t look surprised. His eyes don’t widen; don’t soften or light up. They blankly watch you as you shake away the shock and raise a brow in return. A sarcastic finger goes to your head, and you mock salute. 

What are you doing? You seem to ask, a mischievous expression growing as you start forward when he dismissively narrows his eyes. You look ridiculous. Are you asking to be spotted? 

The man leans into the too-small chair he sits in, one hand going to hang off the back and the other resting on the tabletop. Gloved fingers tapping morse in slow measures.

Clear. Come here. He follows you with his gaze, head stationary, as you enter the flow of traffic, smiling at people at your sides and letting off polite greetings when you could. Steadily striding, you weave through groups and individuals like water, legs steady even as your ears pick up every little sound. 

A comfortable middle point of visible excitement and strict business. Why were you so…happy?

When you approach Ghost’s table, you slip up beside him with a sly chuckle, pulling out the chair to his right. You, softy, lower yourself down into it, not turning to him but instead simply making sure no one had followed you with a quick scan. His heat only adds to the warmth of the day like a walk through damnation.

“Well, well, well,” you smile, addressing the SAS member with his shadow hanging over you once more; such a heavy thing, though you don’t mind. Your expression mellows to have it above you again. There was a safety to it, you had to admit. The cold comfort of death. “Trip to Italy, Sir? Take a little vacation?”

“Came to bail out a bird from my past,” You smell that scent again – smoke and ash; gun-cleaning solvent paired with a canvas tent. Dirt and metallic blood. “And if I ever went on a vacation, I sure as hell wouldn’t pick this place. ‘Bout to burst into flames; traumatize a few kids and their mums.” 

Hadn’t he changed even a little bit? 

“Now that’s dark.” 

“Never said it wasn’t.”

Of course he hasn’t, you answer your own question, feet shifting and skin pliable, why would he? He isn’t like me – didn’t have to reinvent himself based on atoms and in the wake of silent nights. 

There was a piece of you that believed that Ghost had always been this way, though you knew it was false. Nobody in this profession was just born like this, they were led to it. Whoever it was under the mask or balaclava didn’t matter anymore. 

They had died a long time ago.

“Not a fan of the history, Brit?” You tease, bringing up a hand to itch at your undereye, finally taking a peak at the form that nearly swallows you. 

Your lids try not to peel back, but you didn’t realize how close you’d sat next to Ghost – any closer and you would be in the crook of his arm; the relaxed spread of his knee bumping into yours and arm over the back of your seat. Trying to act nonchalant, you ignore the strange swirling in your gut with a hum and a twitching of your leg.

Stop that.

“Don’t care a smidge, just not a fan of the damn heat.” The gruff man responds with his inked arm on the table flexing, as though he was tenser than he showed. Ghost clears his throat, “needs a good downpour, eh?” 

“Try living underground for two weeks. Literally. Sun’ll feel like a blessing.”

“Fuckin’ hell…That’s why the radio wasn’t working, then.” While this was all cute – re-learning each other like a shaken puzzle – there were dangers to being this open. The Brit would be fine, but if you got spotted, well, there would be worse things to worry about than an achy side and a pile of bodies in a tunnel.

“You got something for me, or are we here just to stand out like bullet holes in a forehead?” Feeling his head tilt to you, snaking down your form, your body leans forward, palms sweaty as they lock on the table. “Price with you? The other two I saw on the feed?”

“Negative. Op in Belarus. Sent me in alone.” Your knees brush, delicately; like a touch of down feathers. You refrain from taking in a shallow breath, knowing he’s analyzing every movement with a hidden mouth and gentle huffs of air that rises his sculpted chest. Through a grunted sigh, Ghost tells, “The Old Man insisted. Laswell thought you’d be alright by yourself, regardless,” and falls silent.

What was he doing? Why was he talking with that rasp in his tone? Your heart swells at the comment about Kate, but a confusing feeling settles in your lower body. Why did the air feel thick?

The warmth of the sun was making your skin perspire, leaving a sheen of sweat over your arms. But the thought of heat stroke fled as you became hyper-aware of the man beside you, keeping careful not to touch you, though his gaze still bore into the side of your face like prodding fingers anyways.

He can’t quite figure you out, he admits to himself. So much of you was different – and he couldn’t tell how. 

She’s lighter, he tightens his face, not the same as when I left. 

But there had been an utter satisfaction when he’d seen you in that alleyway, even if you were different in a million ways, that would never change. Ghost’s body had loosened, his clenched jaw let go, and snappy answers to servers stopped entirely. 

Because those were still the same colored eyes that he remembered. He takes a long breath. 

Through the haze under your creased skin, a red alarm starts to sound off. Not because of the confusing way you felt the chilled form of Ghost on a near internal level, but because of the hooded individual across the street.

When your eyes lock, they back up three paces and bolt down the adjacent street, vanishing into the crowd. Your expression darkens, and Ghost shifts his attention from your face to the streets. 

His eyes blankly follow where you were looking.

“Come on,” you get to your feet, hand snatching at the SAS member's sleeve, dragging him with you as a mother would a toddler. It was ironic – if he resisted, you wouldn’t be able to force him to move, not in a million years, but he slid off his chair with fluid muscles. 

He doesn’t question you when he’s brought into an offshoot of the road, vacant of tourists or locals besides a stray cat and a few scavenger birds. Flies jump off garbage cans, buzzing through the air above your heads as you level Ghost with a serious stare. 

You nearly stumble over your words when you get to look at those long blonde eyelashes that you remember heatedly, but push through as they move to half-lid his blank eyes. Your heart skips beats as you spare looks up and down the space.

What the fuck is going on with me? Focus. This is serious. 

But, Jesus, he should really stop looking at you like that.

“You said you had a lead over the radio – anything on someone called Catello Tullio by chance?” You ask, voice like stone.

“Tullio?” Ghost hums in the back of his throat, all business, hips moving under him as he goes to glance at the street. His balaclava moves as he speaks. “Someone made a mention of it. ‘Fore I put a knife in ‘em, ‘o course.” Nodding, he huffs out, “On me.” 

Turning on long legs, he starts to walk farther down the path, and you follow at his side, peering up and eager to gain more intel. “You’ve caused quite a panic around here, Sunshine. Cell’s terrified of the ‘Reaper.’ I’m nearly impressed.”

He briefly flashes an optic to you, heart betraying him as he remains locked on your lips. Rotating his jaw, he turns back forward.

“Oh, my,” smirking slowly, you roll your eyes, “whatever will I do without your approval, great Ghost.”

“Dunno – kick the bucket probably.” Shaking your head in false annoyance, the slow, mocking, stain in the man’s tone leaks into your very DNA; coating it with honey. Like a warm sunrise, you clock a small hitch in his chest and equate it to muted chuckles when you laugh. 

“Don’t go placing bets, now. I’m not so easily broken.”

“Oh, wouldn’t think of it, Sweetheart. Wouldn’t be my handiwork if it happened,” his tone goes light, “don’t wanna take credit away from you.”

“Brit.” You spit with fake venom.

“American.” He grumbles back, but you clock the small spark in his iris, cold blue bouncing silver light like snow. 

He sounded…entertained? Snide in a sarcastic way. 

Your mouth rises in a stupid, dopey, grin as you stare from the side of your vision, chest jumping in easy comedy. What a strange pair you two were, but you find you liked his company even more, this time around. 

Or maybe he had changed slightly. Or maybe it was just you.

At the end of the day, you were relieved that it was easy to talk to him. Conversations with corpses are a bit one sided, after all.

Ghost’s lips had to be at least quirked under that dark fabric to achieve mischief like what he was spitting out, you leveled with yourself. At the minimum, the man wasn’t annoyed he’d been forced out of his own primary mission because of you. 

You remember he wasn’t averse to cracking jokes – particularly dark ones – but it had…it had never felt like his before.

Strange, you admit with a raised brow and a cocked head, cheeks burning for no apparent reason. You’d gotten him to chuckle? Holy hell, you deserve a Nobel Peace Prize for that. I’d think he would be pretty pissed about being sent here. He’s never been one to fuck around. 

You both continue in easy silence until you decide to speak once more, intent on asking where you were being led. 

Ghost’s head had perked up in what you assumed to be soldier-like attention, but then his head had whipped behind the two of you. Oblivious to his shift in mood, like a dark cloud, you open your mouth.

“Well, where are we–” 

“--Get down!” Hands slap on the back of your arm and jerk you to the opposite wall as a loud echo rings out. Whizzing over your head so close that you feel the breeze of it. 

Gasping, the air is expelled from your lungs in one fell swoop; your spine grating over the rough stone as your legs scramble to keep upright. Wiping away the shock quicker than an eraser over a whiteboard, your neck snaps to the problem; brain already hardwired to get over being shot at and the adrenaline that floods your veins immediately after. 

Across the way, Ghost’s fast hand was reaching to the back of his outfit – without a doubt going to grab a concealed weapon. Eyes fiery and arms tight. And as though you were seeing it happen in slow motion, you lock onto the hostile in the middle of the alley back the way you both came. And then onto the hooded silhouette ahead of you. 

Boxed in. 

Hyperfocused, all of it happens in only three seconds, two trained professionals protecting each other without even realizing it. 

One, you realize how this will have to play out if you don’t act immediately. You don’t know how you can trust Ghost to take the other hostile while you focus on the one ahead, but you don’t question it. Two, your gun lays heavy in your hand as your legs pivot. Three, you fire double shots with a loose finger and hear mirrored gunfire from the man beside you. 

You don’t bother watching him drop.

Snapping your head backward with a rageful expression to see Ghost’s corpse hit the floor with a cracking of a skull, shouts start to ring over the city. When you lower your weapon, you turn to notice the Birt examining your own downed hostile with a satisfied stare. If you hadn’t had his back, he would have been shot in it. 

But what you didn’t know was that he was thinking the same thing about you. 

Turning to stare at each other, your widened eyes lock; fingers twitching along the cool X12’s metal as those stormy iris’ only seem to darken further when they dart to your lips. Like staring into a wild animal’s gaze and pretending you’re not in a trance because of it – stuck in that moment of infinity and nothingness with not a single muscle moving. Waiting for either a mouthful of fangs around your supple neck or for the beast to turn away with grace and practiced steps. 

You swore Ghost’s mouth parted under that damned balaclava, but whatever he was going to say was lost when the world came back in a violent storm of screams. Panicking, you gape at the entrance – seeing multiple shadows shoving through the crowd to get to you.

“On me!” Keeping your pistol in one hand, you bolt, hearing heavy footsteps pounding behind you as your mind begins to run.

Ghost trails without a single doubt in his mind as to why he’s following you, and it makes him cautious. 

Catacombs, you decide, get under the city and backtrack to the outskirts. Survey and have Ghost tell me his intel before making a move…yeah! 

“Where are we headin'?!” Ghost shouts, keeping right your heels as you turn corners. Gunshots ring over your heads as you jump up small groupings of tile steps, blood pounding in your ears. You try to remember the maps you had stored in your files underground. Left…no, two rights. Shit! I need to be higher – see the streets like a bird would! “Reaper?!”

“Do you trust me?!” You call over your shoulder, and though it seems deranged, a smile forms over your lips. “I’ll need an answer in the next few minutes, yeah? I’m on a time crunch!” 

“What are you on, Girl?” The adrenaline speaks to you, propelling your legs faster and faster. You vault over a fallen trash bin and take the shock to your ankles as it travels to your thighs. Snickering, you feel the brooding man’s presence like you always could – just beside you like a loyal hound. His focus excites you as you put your gun away in the small of your back. “Bloody hell! Not giving me a choice?”

“Not if you don’t want to get shot in the ass!” Taking one more right, you find yourself rapidly approaching a dead end, tall walls, a balcony, and a large dumpster – the flap already closed overtop. Not answering the man as he barks out a comment, you throw yourself atop it with a puff of breath and spasming lungs. 

Laughing, your hands don’t falter. Reaching up with eager fingers, you grab at the black metal front of the balcony a small distance above and suck down a hot breath. Your arms strain, sickly sweet sweat on the top of your lip, and eyes wide with glee despite the gaining footfalls rising like a battlefield cry. Jerking your body up with only your upper-body strength, you slide your abdomen over the railing with barely a second passing. Once your feet are firmly on someone's property, you twist around and slap your hands to the metal with a twinkle in your vision; face wrinkled with all the animated amusement. 

A wide grin is stuck on you.

Ghost stares up with slightly widened eyes from the ground, arms poised on the garbage bin.

Oh, hell, when she smiles like that…

“But I can’t judge, can I?” Teasing, you extend a helping grip with a smirk. “Everyone has their fetishes, hm, Ghost? Maybe yours is just having a gun pointed at you.” 

He blinks at that, but knowing the urgency in the back of your throat, he pushes himself up with a grunt. You try not to watch his muscles strain, but spy the way the veins in his forearms grow larger as his alluring hips flex. They situate themselves under him as he crunches before straightening in an instant. 

Fuck, don’t drool, you scold, lips lightly parted like seven devils were flying in the back of your mind. Jesus, imagine the weight those things can carry…shit. Wouldn’t mind losing my virginity to that. 

A leather-coated hand slaps into your awaiting one. You snap back to a screaming reality and stare down into hypnotic sheens of ice and…wait…did Ghost have fucking green flecks near his pupils?

“You sure it isn’t yours, Sunshine?” He harshly comments, and his balaclava moves with a rising of his eyebrow. 

Clearing your throat, you murmur a weak reply as your face begins to feel like a blazing fire, squeezing his limb before pulling. He chuffs. Grunting violently, you know he does most of the work in helping himself up, though the Brit still slaps your shoulder in comradery when he’s stable. Kneeling down, he forces himself into the wall behind the two of you, fingers weaving to create a cuff over his knee. 

Tossing his head up, he motions with urgency.  

“C’mon. Be quick ‘bout it.”

Catching one foot in the basin of his clutch, you force down your illicit thoughts about Ghost and jump, pushing off with your opposite leg on his shoulder and his added boost. Scaling the wall, you arch and scramble - with a growing bite in your side – to the terracotta-shingle roof.

Following after and checking your six, the beast of a man joins just in time. 

Shadows dart around the corner far on the ground, and the both of you are speeding animals over the rooftops in the meantime. Against better judgment, boots pounding the tiles, you release loud bouts of genuine laughter. 

How long had it been since you’d had such fun? Enjoyed someone else's company like this? Running across homes, you look at your side, only to find Ghost’s eyes already digging into you. Unrelenting. Unmovable. Panting, you smile brightly, giggles making your sides hurt something awful but your pace doesn't slow for an instant. 

All it took was a glance at the streets – you know where you are now. 

“Enjoying yourself, Reaper?” He asks, arms pumping and barely winded, and you wonder for a moment how he breathes under that covering of his – it had to smell horrible by the end of the day.

“For…the first time in ages, Ghost.” He chuckles at that, and it is a betrayal of his nature. How could someone so violent, so cloaked in oceans of blood, produce such a soft sound? A genuine sound that makes your stomach flip? 

His bewitched eyes rove back in front of him, and he can’t deny the simplicity of speaking to you. It wasn’t a chore, just a conversation with a person who he wouldn’t mind having on 141 at his side. 

There were few people worthy of that.

You swallow thickly and take point, leading the shadow of death to your home underground so you can re-evaluate. 

You can only wonder why you don’t feel nervous as he watches over you, skin marked with horrors but his hand had fit so well in your own. And you also wonder how you can come to care for someone you haven’t seen in ages so quickly, as if you’d both been around each other for years. 

Had you really ever forgotten him? Or just tried to push the affection, both emotional and physical, for him out? But that was the problem, you tell yourself with a clenched jaw, that physical attraction. All of that was just…tied into a million knots. Complicated. 

You’d never had sex before.

And, Ghost questioned himself as he watched your legs move, did he forget you out of necessity? Because those eyes of yours won’t leave him alone, and he so very much enjoyed looming over you.

He sighs heavily and follows in silence.

—

When you first joined them, they all created rumors. This was long before you were permitted solo Ops, long before half of your file was filled and bleeding with black ink that would shame a warlord. When everyone just thought you were signed up because you were some unhinged kid, brimming with unchecked problems and willing to throw everything away just for the chance to prove yourself. Who got into it for kicks. 

They would say you enjoyed it, killing. Reveled in it, really. That it got you off when you were covered in blood and crimson guts as they pooled at your feet. 

You suppose that was what turned you away from sex in general – those heavy comments said with no remorse that stuck with you. It was fear almost, a genuine twisting of your mind to make it your fault. It wasn’t your fault, you knew that; you could sleep with anyone you wanted and the comments weren’t a brand on your skin.

You could forget about it. You should. 

But the words were so mean. Just cruel for the sense of being cruel. And it stuck with you.

If that was all anyone would see, why try and force them to look away? You kept to yourself, never spoke unless spoken to, and shoved all of it down like a kill switch. No sex, no relationships. Nothing to make you think about the rumors. 

Getting off on death? You were horrified at the concept, horrified that people would play around like that with you – with your life!

You just ended up telling yourself you wouldn’t feel it until it hurt too bad. In a way, you were right…but you can only force emotions down for a while until they break forward like a fist to the mouth. 

Besides Mutt, they had many names for you – titles and backhanded monikers. Rabid. Demon. Devil. Monster. Sometimes, beast.

But they all had the same meaning. Inhuman. Wrong. 

It shouldn’t have bothered you that much. It…It shouldn’t have made you stay up at night still thinking about the way they would laugh and pinch your arms as you were left shaking; drowning in gore not your own because they sent you into the heart of the Hot Zone for a few jokes. Teasing you about how you probably touched yourself because of it.

But it was just an excuse to make you too scared to leave. Your reputation…

“There’s that Devil for ya’, always ready to slit some more throats for us. You think you could do the next few, Mutt? You’ll love it, I know you will. I’ll give you a good report if you do it without alerting the guards – see there… ‘Course you will. Fucking freak.”

Your eyes stare forward blankly, Dirk leaving a dotted fluid trail over the dusty ground.

Why did they do this to you? 

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[saiyanprincessswanie]

Chrome & Leather - Chapter 8

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC, Brother Bucky x OFC, Eventual Billy Russo x OFC

Chapter Warnings: Mention of Smut, Cussing, Angst, Violence, Minor Death

Word Count: 4189

Chapter Summary: The engagement is celebrated amongst family and friends the same night of the proposal but not everyone is happy about the news. Winnie finds out the next day about the tension between the sisters and makes Becca promise to talk things out that evening with Jessie. Secrets are revealed about the family debt and why Becca what to the extent she did. The debt always comes with a price to pay but what’s the cost?

A/N: This is my first fic with an original female character,  Jessie Barnes. Face claim for Jessie Barnes is model Jessy Hartel, Images of her are slightly altered to give her blue eyes for my OFC by @happygowriting​

A/N 2: Please read the warnings. DNI if under 18 years old. I’ve been so nervous to release this chapter because it is now going to be more towards drama for a little bit.

Picture below of Steve with his Jessie tattoo is by the talented @nix-akimbo​

To read more of my work here is my Masterlist

Thank you to my beta @music-culture-mythology​​​​​ for looking this over for me.

Page-break by @whimsicalrogers​​​​​​​

I will only be doing mini tag-lists for mutuals that interact with me. To stay up to date with my writing follow my side-blog and turn on the notifications for @saiyanprincessswanie-sideblog​​​​

Reblogs & Comments on Tumblr are welcomed and encouraged. 😊💜

I do NOT give my consent to have my work translated or reposted on any social media platform, apps or third party sites. If you see my work anywhere else besides my personal Tumblr & AO3 accounts then it has been stolen. I will NEVER give written or verbal permission to repost or translate any of my fanfics as they’re MY intellectual property. 🚫🚫

Before heading to the bar, Jessie and Steve made their way to Winnie's house to share the good news with her. She deserved to hear about the engagement from them instead of the town gossip. As Steve’s bike pulled into the driveway they saw Winnie on her porch taking in the cool breeze that the evening brought. Together they walked hand in hand up to the porch to greet her.

“Well if I knew you kids were going to stop by I would have made a pie.” Winnie got up from her chair and hugged them both. 

“Oh mom, we don’t need anything. Actually, we need to tell you something,” Jessie admitted as she looked between Steve and her mom.

“My god, are you having a baby?” Winnie asked as her hand went to her chest. 

“No!” Both Steve and Jessie exclaimed in unison. 

Winnie was concerned now as she watched them both. “Well, what is it? Is everything okay?”

Jessie flashed her left hand at her mom. “We’re engaged,” she excitedly said.

Winnie looked at Jessie’s hand and then Steve. Tears started to fall from her eyes as Winnie wrapped her arms around them both, hugging them tightly. “I can’t believe my baby is getting married. I mean it’s about damn time you asked her Steven.”

Steve let out a chuckle as Winnie winked at him. “I wanted to make sure I could provide for your daughter. Jessie deserves the world and now that I have the means, I can give it to her.”

“Money isn’t everything Steven, but I have no doubt you will take care of my little girl.” Winnie smiled as Jessie wrapped her arms around Steve. “You know, your ma would’ve been so proud of the man you’ve become. Sarah and I knew that you both would end up together. A love like yours, well it’s what we call true love. Just know Steve, you've already been a part of this family for a long time and this makes my heart happy to call you my son-in-law.” 

Jessie watched as Steve wiped his eyes at what her mom said. She knew just hearing that his mom and Winnie were both proud of him meant the world to him. Even though Steve had been considered a part of the Barnes clan, getting married would officially mean he had a family for life. 

“Not to drop this news and run ma, but we're meeting Bucky and everyone at the tavern,” Jessie mentioned.

Winnie nodded as she pulled them both into a hug one more time. “I would like to throw a luncheon this weekend to celebrate the engagement. Nothing too big so don’t worry. We can talk about it tomorrow morning. Now go have some fun.” 

They waved goodbye as they got back onto the Harley and headed off to see their friends.

Finally arriving at the tavern Steve and Jessie saw their friends at a table in the back corner. Bucky sat with his arm draped around Nat, Laura leaned against Clint, while Wanda, Tony, John, and Thor all talked amongst themselves. As they passed Sam at the bar Steve asked him to join everyone at the table. 

Approaching everyone Steve held Jessie’s hand as he spoke, “I’m glad you all showed up on short notice we have news to share. Tonight I asked Jessie to marry me and she said yes.” Everyone gasped as Jessie lifted her hand to show their friends. Nat and Wanda quickly got up to congratulate Jessie and stare at her ring. The men all stood to congratulate Steve and tease him.

Bucky was the first to pull Steve into a hug. “About time you asked her punk. Just don’t fuck this up cause I swear if you break her heart I’m gonna hurt you.” Bucky let him go and smiled at his friend.

“I don’t plan on it jerk. So you don’t have to worry about that.”

Bucky nodded at his friend and turned to Jessie, pulling her in for a hug. “I know you have been dreaming of this since you were little. You both deserve all the happiness in the world.” He pulled her back just enough to look Jessie in her teary blue eyes. “I can’t believe my little sister is marrying my best friend.” 

“At least I’m marrying a good guy. Could be worse.” Jessie chuckled as she wiped the tears from her eyes. She searched the small crowd for her sister but didn’t see her amongst everyone.

Bucky let her go and could sense the disappointment from her. “I’m sorry Becca didn’t come. I wouldn’t worry about it though as I might have told ma what happened in the market with Brock.” Jessie looked at him in shock. If their ma was involved then Becca would stand no chance of being angry for long. 

Sam had offered up a round of free drinks for his friends as they discussed when the wedding might take place and where they were thinking. It was revealed that Steve had gone to Bucky to ask for his blessing to marry Jessie since her father was not around. That alone meant a lot to Jessie. 

As they continued to talk amongst themselves they didn’t see the anger rolling off of Billy who was sitting on the other side of the bar. Throwing down some bills on the table Billy left discreetly. By 11 pm everyone decided to call it a night as work would be waiting for them in the morning. 

Steve and Jessie waved goodbye to everyone as they pulled out of the bar parking lot. Lost in thought Jessie paid no attention to where Steve was heading until he pulled up to a tattoo parlor. 

“What are we doing here?” Jessie asked curiously as she got off the bike.

Steve hopped off the bike and grabbed her hand as he pulled her inside. “I figured since you’ve been my best girl for as long as I can remember and now that we’re engaged I wanted to get a little ink.”

“Okay, but of what?” Jessie tilted her head as Steve grinned at her.

“I want your name tattooed above my heart. Since you already own it I might as well make it official.” Steve kissed her lips gently but pulled away when the tattoo artist approached them.. Steve told the man that he wanted “Jessie” above his heart. 

An hour later they were at home and crawling into bed. Jessie’s fingers danced around the tattoo on his chest. This gesture on top of being engaged really meant he was hers. Steve gently rolled Jessie onto her back and softly kissed her lips as his hand made its way in between her legs. His fingers found she was already dripping with her arousal. Spreading her legs more he pumped his hard cock a few times and pushed into her with ease. They made love to one another, taking each other apart slowly and building each other up to an intense orgasm. Tonight was all about celebrating the start of their future together and their love for one another. As they lay in bed in each other’s arms, tangled in their sheets they both fell asleep unaware of what the day would bring.

Becca woke to a banging on her front door at 7 am. A groan left her lips as she crawled out of bed and padded to the door. Opening it up to yell at the person she inwardly cursed as Winnie pushed past her and walked towards the living room.

“Rebecca Barnes, we need to talk right now,” Winnie spoke as she sat down in a chair.

Becca followed her into the living and dropped onto the couch.“Ma, do you even know what time it is?”

“I don’t care what time it is. What I want to know is why you were seen talking to your ex at the market? Is this why you aren’t talking to your sister?” Winnie asked.

Dropping her head in her hands Becca cursed. “Did Jessie tell you that?” 

“As a matter of fact no she didn’t. Your brother did and he is worried about you.”

“Ma, there is nothing to be worried about.”

“Don’t pull that with me. Did you forget how that monster beat you? Why are you letting him come between you and your sister who stood by your side? What did you get yourself into?” Winnie furiously questioned her daughter knowing that there was something more to it that would make her talk with Brock.

Becca could feel both anger and sadness wash over her. “I know what he did to me. You don’t need to remind me of that. You don’t need to know what is going on. I'm an adult. All you need to know is that I have it under control.”

“Then start acting like an adult. If you don’t want to talk to me about this then fine. At least talk to your sister and work things out. Jessie doesn’t deserve your anger especially since she is now engaged.” 

Becca looked at her mother in shock, taking in what she said. “What? When?”

Winnie stood from her seat. “Last night Steve proposed. They went to the tavern to celebrate. I take it you weren’t there. See what you miss out on when you get mixed up with Brock.” At that comment, Becca started to tear up. Winnie walked the short distance to her daughter, sat down, and hugged her. “I love you, Rebecca. Please work things out with your sister tonight.”

Becca hugged her mom closely. “I will. I promise. I’m sorry ma.”

Winnie pulled back and warmly smiled at her. “Nothing to be sorry for my dear.” Winnie got off the couch and left. 

Her ma was right. Becca needed to confide in someone about what she got herself into. Tonight she planned to talk to Jessie after they closed the diner.

The day was flying by due to it being the end of the work week for most folks in town. Jessie and Becca arrived for their shift at 1 pm, swiftly joining both Wanda and Sharon who were busy serving people during the lunch shift while Pietro was taking over the kitchen service. Their crew worked perfectly in sync with one another as they made sure everyone that was in their dining room was always checked on and taken care of. By 1:30 pm Wanda and Sharon were clocking out for the day leaving the two sisters to do what they do best.

Jessie tried to give her sister distance and only spoke to her when it was necessary. The last thing she wanted to do was make Becca angry again before they had the chance to work things out. Throughout the shift, she was congratulated on the engagement with Steve. She couldn’t help but smile the more the day rolled along. The thought of finally being engaged to the man she loved made her feel like she was on cloud nine. 

By the time 10 pm rolled around it was finally closing time for the women. They had cleaned after the last customer left at 9:40 pm so now Jessie was tidying up as Becca counted the money in the office. 

“The kitchen is all cleaned for the evening,“ Pietro spoke as he walked into the dining room.

Jessie looked up and smiled at her friend. “That’s great. Why don’t you go ahead and head home for the night.”

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“Yeah, plus Becca and I have some talking to do. We might be here for a little while.” Pietro gave her a hug goodbye and left, leaving Jessie to continue to work. Finally finishing up in the dining room Jessie took a seat at the counter and texted Steve.

Jessie: Hey babe, everything is done cleaning-wise.  I’m waiting to talk to Becca. I’m a little nervous so wish me luck.

Steve: You got this sweetheart. Once you are done I’ll come to get you. Bucky, Thor, Tony, Clint, John, and I are hanging at the shop down the road. Message me when you are done.

Jessie: I will, love you.

Steve: Love you too

As Jessie tucked her phone in her pocket Becca came out from the office. Becca walked over to the counter and sat a couple of seats away from her sister. They sat in silence for a moment before Becca spoke. “I want to apologize for the way I treated you a couple of days ago. I shouldn’t have lashed out at you.”

“I appreciate that Becca,” Jessie said as she studied her sister’s face. She could see the hurt in Becca’s eyes. “What is going on with you and Brock?”

“It’s complicated Jessie.” Becca looked down at her hands in her lap trying to avoid Jessie’s eyes. 

Jessie blew out a sigh as she tried to keep her composure. “Look, Becca whatever it is, just know I have your back. Obviously, you have a good reason for talking to him and I’m just trying to find out why. You might be my big sister but I worry about you. I want you to be safe. So please, just tell me what it is so I can help.”

Tears fell from Becca’s eyes as she looked up at Jessie. “I didn’t want to borrow money from him, I swear. I got a letter in the mail around the time the guys opened their garage. The letter had stated that pa’s bad debts were being called in full by someone named Jigsaw. Apparently, pa borrowed money from Alexander Pierce to bet on the horses at the track in the next county over. The diner was in need of new kitchen appliances and upgrades. The hope was the winnings at the track would cover the expenses but pa lost. Pierce then offered to help with the diner but in return, pa would have to pay Pierce back with interest. If the debt wasn’t paid Pierce would take over the diner and sell it. Then Pierce died and pa had his heart attack a few years later. I thought the debt was settled until I was contacted by someone named Jigsaw. Apparently, they took over the debt and said it had to be paid in full. Even though Steve, Bucky, you, and I were paying on what we thought were all of ma’s debts there was still this larger debt. I’m not sure if ma knew or not how bad it was. The letter went on to say that the diner was expected to be sold to settle everything out. I knew that couldn’t happen. Ma would be devastated if this happened. I mean hell, pa and her started that business together. I knew that the four of us couldn’t afford this debt so I decided to borrow from Brock. I figured he has loaned out money to people before and I was hoping that maybe he could help.”

Jessie sat in disbelief at what her sister was telling her. How did she not know how bad these debts really were. If Jessie only knew that ma and Becca were facing this she would have sold her own house to help ease the burden. 

Becca sighed as she continued on. “Once I had the money from Brock I asked him about Jigsaw. Brock was able to make contact with him and get me an account to wire the money to. After that I thought I was in the clear, all I had to do was pay Brock back. But a few months of paying him back Brock approached me and told me he wanted to get back together again. That if I did he would forgive my debts to him. Of course, I denied him and he got mad. Said he was giving me a month to pay him back. When you walked in on us talking he was threatening to hurt you. Brock said he would make an example of you and if I still didn’t pay up he would hurt mom. I should have told you, I’m sorry Jessie.” Becca was now sobbing as the weight of the world was finally off her shoulders. 

Jessie got out of her seat, walked over to Becca, and wrapped her arms around her. Jessie could feel the anger radiate through her at the thought of Brock pulling this. She held Becca close as she tried to soothe her. “We’ll figure this out, Becca. I promise you that we will get Brock paid off and out of our lives for good.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, kitten.” Brock’s deep voice cut in, making both women turn around and look at him as he strolled into the diner. 

Jessie stood in front of Becca as she stared down Brock who stopped a few feet from them. “It’s after hours Brock. If I were you I would turn around and leave before I call the cops.” Her fists clenched and unclenched several times as she tried to keep her anger from boiling over.

A dark chuckle escaped his lips. “I’ve always loved that spitfire attitude of yours. It’s a shame someone else made you off-limits or else I would’ve had my fingers in your pie long ago.”

Jessie pulled her phone out of her pocket and was about to dial 9-1-1 when a gun clicked. Her eyes snapped up to see the barrel of the gun aimed at them. 

“Put the phone on the counter and slide it to me now or someone is going to be hurt.” Brock’s dark expression made Jessie’s stomach drop. Complying with him she slid the phone towards him. “Now since I’m here I want to make a withdrawal.”

“Last I checked we weren’t a bank and the diner doesn’t hold a lot of money.” Jessie sassed back at him. 

Brock took a few steps towards the women and stood toe-to-toe with Jessie. His hand quickly slapped her hard across the face, sending her into the counter. Jessie felt as if her cheek exploded as her hand lightly touched the hot skin. As Becca stood to come to her sister’s defense Brock pointed the gun in her face.

“I know for a fact you have that money you raised with your pie sales in that safe. So we are going to grab that with no further problems.” Becca started to back up slowly towards the hallway that led to the office. Brock grabbed Jessie by her long hair hard causing her to scream in pain as he dragged her down the hall with them. 

Jessie’s hands flew to where his hand was fisted in her hair as she tried to alleviate the hold on her. She stumbled, trying to keep up with Brock as she heard Becca plead with him to not hurt them. As they reached the office Becca went inside and started to open the safe. Jessie tried to get Brock to release her again but his grip never relented. 

He pulled Jessie close so they were eye to eye. “Stop struggling, you are only going to make this worse for you and your sister.” The barrel of the gun moved from her temple down her jawline. Jessie started to shake with fear. Would he be dumb enough to kill her?

“Stop it, Brock.” Becca pleaded as she took all the money out of the safe and placed it in a bag for him. “Look here is everything that you asked for. Please just let my sister go.”

Brock looked from Jessie to Becca. “Bring the bag to the dining room.” He stepped back with Jessie, allowing for Becca to walk by and towards the dining room. The gun now hung by his side and Jessie started forming a plan in her head.

Jessie wasn’t sure what Brock had planned for them but whatever it was there was no way she wasn’t going to fight back. As soon as Becca exited the hallway Jessie pushed her body weight into Brock, sending them both into the wall. Jessie threw her arm between his legs hard, hitting him square in the nuts. 

“Bitch!” Brock howled as his grip loosened and he let her go, his hands flying to where she hit him.

Quickly she ran out of the hallway and was just making her way around the counter. “Run Becca!” Jessie screamed at her sister as she was tackled to the ground by Brock. He straddled her waist as he hit Jessie with the butt of the gun. Her head instantly felt like it was going to explode as she continued to struggle with him. 

Becca ran over to them, trying to pull Brock off Jessie but he reeled back and punched Becca, sending her to the floor a few feet away. Jessie was mad and screaming curse words at him when her eyes locked onto the hand holding the gun. She dove for it and tried to pull it from him. There was no way she would let him get away with this abuse. Jessie leaned up high enough to bite Brock’s hand so hard that she drew blood and he dropped the gun to the floor.

“You stupid bitch! I don’t care what he says I will fucking kill you.” Brock yelled as both his hands wrapped around Jessie’s throat and squeezed. Jessie's feet kicked underneath him, trying to get him off of her so she could breathe but his weight held her body down. Her hands tried to pull his larger ones off her neck but Jessie was no match for him. 

Jessie could feel herself become lightheaded as his grip seemed to dig harder into her neck. Her eyes looked to her right side and she caught the gleam of the gun. Her right hand let go of his hands as she started to reach for it. The world was slowly growing darker by the second. This was how she was going to die. At the hands of this insane man. Would Steve ever find out? Was Brock going to murder them both? Her hand continued to reach for the gun and when Brock’s eyes followed her gaze he briefly let up just enough for her to reach it. Now it was the struggle for the gun as his hands let go of her neck and he tried to pry the weapon from her.

Becca was back off the ground and pulling at Brock once again. Jessie was trying to push the gun left towards his body as he tried to push it away. Brock’s fingers were getting tangled with Jessie’s as they all screamed for control of the situation. Jessie closed her eyes as she tried to put the last of her energy into fighting him. 

Then the gun went off… 

There was nothing but silence at first. It was as if time stood still. Then there was a choked gasp.

Jessie’s eyes flew open and locked onto Becca’s as she stumbled backward away clutching her stomach. Brock quickly got off of Jessie and looked down at a bleeding Becca. He grabbed the money that was on the floor and ran out of the diner as Jessie crawled over to her sister.

“Oh my god, Becca. What have I done?” She looked down on Becca who was bleeding heavily from her wound. Jessie saw her phone on the ground and quickly dialed 9-1-1. Jessie knelt next to her sister and placed her hands over the wound. She was shouting at the emergency dispatcher telling them what happened and their location. As soon as the dispatcher said help was on the way Jessie cradled Becca close to her. “We just have to keep pressure on this wound. The ambulance will be here soon. I just need you to hold on.”

Becca reached a bloodied hand up to Jessie’s face making Jessie look down at her. “It’s okay Jessie. It’s not your fault.”

Jessie began sobbing as she felt Becca cough a few times. She watched as her sister struggled to keep her eyes open. “I shouldn’t have fought him. Please just hang on. Just fight this for me.”

“Jessie, this isn’t your fault. It will be okay.” Becca took a stuttered breath again. Becca’s eyes fluttered as she fought to stay awake. The sound of sirens was growing louder by the second. 

“Don’t talk like that. Help is almost here. Please hang on for me,” Jessie pleaded.

Becca’s eyes start to glaze over. “I’m so proud of you.” Becca gasped, tears falling down her cheeks. “I’m sorry.” Becca took her final breath, dying in her sister’s arms.

Jessie screams echoed in the diner as she tried to wake her sister. “No! Please, wake up for me. Don’t leave me. Please, Becca!” Jessie cried out in anguish, begging for her sister to breathe. She begged God to let her sister survive this. Jessie pulled Becca’s body close to her chest, slowly rocking them back and forth. This was not real. This was a nightmare that she couldn’t wake from.

Chapter 9

[enterprisetrampstamp]

Request: TOS Spock and Bones being an adorable married couple while aboard the Enterprise!

"All I'm saying is, you could've warned me," Bones was complaining, before the fabric of his uniform pants had even touched the plastic of the bench across the table from his Captain.

Jim, his focus directed at the PADD containing the paperwork that Yeoman Rand would be coming to fetch in less than five minutes, hummed a neutral acknowledgement and trusted his Chief Medical Officer to continue his diatribe with only that minimum of prompting.

"A chance to prepare--" Bones's fork flicked through the air-- "A chance to brace myself. Pretty sure that after everything you've put me through over the years, Jimmy, I deserved one."

"Almost certainly," Jim agreed, dashing off another signature with the rubber tip of his stylus.

"Good of you to admit it. Spock didn't!"

"What didn't I do, Doctor?" Spock asked, and-- unlike when Bones had sat down-- Jim looked up to shoot his Number One a crooked grin of welcome. (It wasn't about Spock, specifically-- it was about that, that warm feeling of vicarious happiness he got at seeing his two best friends oh-so-casually brush their fingers against each other in a gentle "Good morning" kiss.)

Bones rolled his eyes; Spock raised an eyebrow.

"You wouldn't admit I deserved a bit of warning before you dumped an entire crop of fresh-faced, bushy-tailed morons in my lap." Bones stabbed at his eggs vindictively, his expression sour. "Do you know how much work--"

Oh, that's what this was about? The new nurses and interns who'd joined the crew at their last pit stop?

"They're not morons," Jim told him, amused, as hebturned back to scrolling through his PADD. "And you did have warning, Bones; you had to sign off on all of them."

"I was told that I was offering my opinion on their placement on other ships!" Bones threw his hands wide, his left hand smacking into Spock's chest unapologetically. "Not mine!"

Spock gently removed Bones's hand from his personal space, and Jim sighed. "At the time, you were," he said dryly. "But several of your nurses have resigned their commissions recently, and this mission has been turning out a lot differently than we anticipated at the start; you could always use some additional hands in surgery--"

"Like I would trust these fools with a scalpel--!"

"They aren't even fresh out of the Academy, Bones," Jim reminded him. "Every one of them has at least a year of prior experience in a hospital and performed admirably--" he looked up, eyebrows raised. "At least, according to your own assessment."

"Have they yet shown themselves to be unsatisfactory?" Spock asked, calmly cutting to the center of Bones's ranting, and Bones scowled as he buttered his toast.

"They're fine," he said, shortly. "But not a one of them is prepared for the differences between traditional hospital practices and those of a starship, Jim. On another ship--" he waved a hand. "They'd have time to ease into things. But here? On the Enterprise? They need their hands held, Jim, and Chris, Geoff, and I only have so many hands to go around."

Spock looked to be considering this point deeply, so Jim left him to it for the moment, glancing guiltily at the chronometer on the far wall of the mess and resuming the race to finish his paperwork. It's not that Bones was wrong, in Jim's opinion; it was just that they didn't have a lot of choice in the matter. The CMO and the indomitable Nurse Chapel would simply have to ride herd on the new kids until they either shaped up or washed out-- no ifs, ands, or buts about it.

"You believe they are likely to freeze the first time they're placed under pressure," Spock surmised.

Bones-- when Jim glanced up into the silence of hesitation-- pulled a face and shook his head. "All hospitals are, by definition, life or death situations; they've already proven they can handle 'pressure'," he said. "But basic xenobiology credits don't do justice to the realities of practicing your craft on biological systems you barely understand-- present company included-- with diseases no one's ever seen before and half the equipment you would have wanted. It's their imaginations I'm worried about, Mr. Spock."

"Then perhaps it is their imagination you should focus on training, Doctor."

"There are a couple security officers trying to put an improv comedy club together," Jim suggested, hiding his grin by ducking his head further towards the PADD as he dashed off another signature, and a bit of toasted crust bounced off of his temple after Bones threw it at him. "That was assault of a commanding officer, I'll have you know."

"Shove it, Jim. The grown ups are actually brainstorming solutions over here."

"Of course," Jim agreed, smoothly, and pretended that "brainstorming" was the only reason Bones had laid his hand over Spock's when Spock placed it palm up on the table.

"Sims, maybe?" Bones murmured. "I could write something up, if you'd be willing to code it. No right answers, only better ones; see what they come up with."

"It would be my pleasure, Doctor."

A beat, a shit-eating grin in his periphery, and Spock repeated, sharply-- "Doctor."

"My virgin ears and I are glad Bones kept that one telepathic," Jim said, hiding his own shit eating grin behind his cup of coffee as he took a sip, and Bones laughed.

"Not in front of the Captain, Mr. Spock, or whatever will appear on your next performance review?"

Spock sighed. "You have a singularly frustrating personality, Doctor."

"You're one to talk. You know, Jim, he uses cinnamon toothpaste?"

"Perish the thought." Jim signed another dotted line, his feeling of foreboding growing as he scrolled further and further down towards the next. Janice was going to be here in--

"Your yeoman has just walked into the mess, Captain," Spock told him.

"And she's a woman on a mission," Bones added, eith a thread of laughter lacing through his tone. "A tactical retreat may be in order, Jim boy."

Captain James Tiberius Kirk did not turn to look over his shoulder, because that would be a sign of weakness. "Buy me five minutes," he said, his tone just shy of an order. "I'll speed read."

"How are we supposed to do that?" Bones demanded, but Spock-- bless those pointed ears of his-- was already rising to his feet.

"Accompany me, Doctor," he requested.

And, with a sigh, Bones took a few quick bites of his toast and then rose to his feet, wiping his fingers on a napkin as he trailed behind Spock. Jim paused his reading only long enough to watch them intercept Janice--

What they said couldn't be heard from across the room, but Bones's right hand found the small of Spock's back, his wedding ring glinting under the light as he waved the other about enthusiastically, and his exuberance combined with Spock's quiet intensity commanded Janice's attention quite completely. By the time she'd wormed her way free, Jim was outting the last flourishing signature on the paperwork, and he handed the PADD over to her with his most charming smile.

"Thank you, Yeoman."

"No, Captain," she said, with a smile that was far too shark-like for the sweetness of her tone. "Thank you." And then-- laughing-- she was gone.

Bones looked smug, and Spock's eyes glittered with Vulcan amusement, and suddenly, Jim was feeling much less charitable towards the man's ears.

"Gentlemen," he said suspiciously. "May I ask what price I've just paid for those five minutes?"

"You know, Yeoman Rand has a lot of friends on the ship, in all kinds of departments," Bones said, as he tucked into his remaining eggs. "Including Security."

"She's a popular woman," Jim agreed, slowly.

"Ensigns Martinez and Harper will be most grateful to hear of your interest in joining their improvisational comedy group, Captain."

Jim stared at Spock. "No."

Bones smiled. "Oh, yes."

"No!"

"His idea," Bones said, jerking his thumb at Spock.

"I was under the impression you had been looking for a method of engendering further goodwill between yourself and the crew," he said, with a perfect Vulcan poker face.

"Wouldn't do to back out on a promise now, Captain," Bones told him cheerfully. "Say, they still encourage audience participation st these things, don't they?"

"A staple of the genre, Doctor."

"My," Bones said, smiling into the horror dawning across Jim's face. "I guess I'll just have to make sure I never miss a show."

Spock hummed as he returned to his own breakfast. "I believe I shall have to miss every show, for fear that you would volunteer me for a sketch."

"Well." Bones wiped his mouth on a napkin, blue eyes twinkling. "Even so, Mr. Spock. I'll see you at lunch."

Spock bid him a pleasant morning shift, and-- with a brush of their fingertips-- Bones was gone.

"You didn't really promise Janice that I'd be doing improv comedy, did you?" Jim asked, weakly. "I'll forgive you for the implication if you simply admit--"

"No, Captain, I did not." But the way he said it...

Jim closed his eyes. "Spock. Did Dr. McCoy promise it?"

"Yes, Captain, he did."

"I know you love him, Spock, but I'd like your permission to ship him back to Earth--"

"Negative."

"He'll be happy there," Jim promised. "I'll set him up on a nice farmstead in Georgia--"

"I don't believe that the life of a farmer would especially agree with me."

"I'm not planning on sending you."

Spock raised an eyebrow, and Jim sighed, relenting. "I suppose you would follow him, wouldn't you?"

"Of course, Captain."

"Of course," Jim agreed, with a ghost of a smile breaking through his glum mood. It was nice, seeing his two best friends in love--

Even when they ganged up on him.

[hoshis-tigers-den]

TAG A LONGS

Pairing - ONEUS Leedo x Male Reader

Genre - Idk

Warnings - Swearing, Mentions of Dying

Synopsis - Your parents leave you to look after your siblings but it's date night. Guess they'll have to tag along 🙄

"Why, Y/n?" Leedo spoke into the phone.

"My parents have an emergency visit with my aunt." You answered.

"Well, tell her to fuck off, it's date night!"

"Geon-Hak....she's dying..."

"Oh...I mean can she hang on a little longer?"

"Hey! Watch your mouth!"

"Sorry. *sigh* I guess it's fine if they come."

"I wasn't asking for permission. I can't leave them alone."

"I know. I guess I'll see you and the kids later."

"Okay, I'll pick you up at 5."

"Mmm k, love you."

"Love you too, baby. Bye."

You hang up the phone and let out a sigh. You felt bad that you had to bring your younger siblings along on your date.

Leedo and you haven't had private time together in a long time as he was busy with promotions and you being caught up in university.

"I was hoping to get laid tonight." You mutter.

"Get what?" Your mother speaking scaring the shit out of you. You clearly weren't quiet enough voicing your thoughts.

"Nothing mum."

"Better be nothing." She gives you a pricing glare. "And you better make sure your siblings are taken care of."

"I will. I promise." You put your hand up as if you were swearing into court.

"Okay, Your father and I will be back in a few days. Don't host any party while we're gone."

"Mom, I don't have friends." You roll your eyes.

"Whatever you say, honey." With that your mom walked out of your room. "And say hi to Geon-Hak for us."

You sit in your bed till you hear the front door slam shut, not wanting to break the news to your siblings about date night.

Letting a frustrated groan as you haul yourself out of the comfort of your bed.

"Where are you kids?" You call out. It takes a second but they appear.

In front of you stands your eleven year old sister, Chungmi and your eight year old brother, Minji.

"Yeah, Y/n?" Chungmin says as she punches your calf.

"Ouch! Why do you have to assault me?"

All she gives is a shrug and you stick you touch at her.

(Does anyone's little sister just punch them? Mine bullied me so hard lol.)

"Today my boyfriend is spending time with us and I need you to be on your best behavior." You sternly tell the little ones.

"Yucky, I bet you're going to be all gross and kissing." Minji makes a kiss face.

"Well, too bad. We're always going to be gross and kissing because I hope to marry him one day." You retaliate back.

"I'd rather stay home!" Minji protested.

"Yeah, me too!" Chungmi agreed.

"I know you'd rather that but mom told me I had to bring you two."

More protests ringed in your ears as the children were on borderline tantrums.

"Calm down. Let's make a deal if you come along, I promise I'll buy you both something."

The deal changed the attitude of the once distrot children. Smiles overtook their faces.

"YEAH! OKAY WE'LL GO!" Minji jumped up and down.

Chungmi started to list off all the things she wanted.

"Hey, I said ONE thing. Now go get ready."

The children immediately ran to the bathrooms to get ready.

Timeskip

You arrive at the ONEUS dorms and park in front. Turning around, you grab to attention of the young children behind you.

"You. Both. Better. Be. Good." Pointing from child to child as you spoke.

They both nod and give you a salute. Hopefully the enticement of a reward will keep them in line.

The three of you wait for Leedo in silence for a few minutes.

You smile as you see him came out of the front entrance. He gave you a quick wave and you give one back.

"Sorry bout the wait." Leedo leans over to give you a quick peck of the cheek. The kids in the backseat let out fake barfing noises.

"It's okay, babe. Kids say hi to Geon-Hak." You says as you look at them through the rearview mirror.

"Hi, Geon-Hak Hyung!" Minji says with a wave.

"Hello, Geon-Hak Oppa. How are you?" Chungmi asks.

"I'm well. Are you guys ready to have fun?" Leedo gives a bright smile as he speaks.

Even though he didn't want them to come, Leedo was going to have fun with them. Plus he had to stay on their good side. They were his boyfriend's siblings.

"How about we get a meal and than catch a movie?"

The company of three agrees in unison with your idea. You pull from your parking space and try to decide where to go.

"Let's get McDonald's." Minji suggests.

"Fine but don't tell mom I took you." You tell him and Leedo let's out a laugh.

He found it was cute your interaction with your younger siblings. Even though the three of you had your bad times, you equally had good. He felt the love you shared.

Your hand feels lonely and needed a companion so you grab Leedo's hand. You gives a little squeeze and bring it to your lips. Once again a echo of disgust comes from the kids.

The lot of you continue to drive for about twenty minutes, conversing about random things. Leedo spoke of his group's upcoming album, you of university, and the kids of everything under the sun.

You reach McDonald's and order through the drive thru deciding to eat in the car. Everyone ordered what they wanted, you and your company sits quietly eating occasionally you break the silence to scold one of the kids for dropping food your sits.

After you had finished, you start the car and make your way to the movie theater. It was hard to find a movie where it wasn't a children's movie and a movie suitable for kids.

You all settled for 'Into The Spiderverse'. Sure you'd seen it a thousand times and so had Leedo but the kids hadn't so you made to sacrifice for them.

As the kids watched intently the movie, you and Leedo let them be and sat a little further. Thank God the theater was nearly empty besides a few kids and their parents as focused on the playing movie.

The two of you talked about your busy schedule, trying to figure out another time where just the two of you could spend time alone.

"I know my siblings weren't a part of the original date but it was kind of fun with them." You spoke quietly not wanting your siblings to hear your admission.

"Yeah, it is. Plus it's nice to spend with them. I realised we've never done it before." Leedo smiled. He was going to treasure the memories.

"Maybe we could do it again. My parents want you to have dinner with us too."

"Sounds good."

"I guess this is practice for when we have kids together." You and Leedo Leedo giggle happily.

"Let's just enjoy what we have now." Leedo whispers as he pulls you into a kiss. The kiss didn't last very long as you heard the children's protests again.

"Gross, we're in public!" Chungmi said with disgust.

"Yucky! Get a room!" Mingi covers his eyes.

You and Leedo blush in embarrassment . You had forgotten you were in the company of such critics.

[tiaragqueen]

Give and Take

✂ Pairing: Yandere! Mafioso! Park Jimin x Singer! Reader

✂ Word Count: 1,8k+

✂ Trigger Warning: Mention of abduction, obsessiveness, possessiveness, implied forced marriage, murder, blood, death

✂ This story is fictional and for amusement only. I don’t believe any of the members would do this in real life. All in all, thank you for reading and I hope you have a good day!

Do not re-upload my writing to another website or use it without my permission.

[Edited]

***

You know you’ve been out of BTS fandom for too long when you accidentally mixed Jimin's surname with Kim. Also, I nearly forgot to write this.

Part 1

If you like my writing, please support me on ko-fi!

“A hundred and five is the number that comes to my head, when I think of all the years I wanna be with you. Wake up every morning with you in my bed, that's precisely what I plan to do.” - Marry Me [Jason Derulo]

Being the girlfriend of a mafia boss was surprisingly… relaxed; or maybe because it was Jimin. When you woke up in a spacious room completed with a queen-size bed, a walk-in closet that kept lavish dresses and clothes in your favorite colors, en suite bathroom, and balcony, Jimin had barged in and immediately leaped on you. You remembered shrieking at the sudden attack of affection and tried to push him off, but he was surprisingly strong for someone so… short.

Suffice to say, he didn’t quite release you for the next ten minutes.

You’d never met a man so clingy, so affectionate except, maybe, a sasaeng. And even so, your guards never let them touch you. One or two times, yes, but their service was pretty good overall. However, they weren’t here to protect you now. You were left at the mercy of a mafioso, the boss��one at that.

Now that you thought about it, what happened to your guards? You only remembered snippets of you going to a supermarket to buy snacks when someone abruptly knocked you out. You weren’t sure if your guards saw the culprit, but since the car was basically across the street, you concluded that they must have. After all, it was their job to watch over you.

But you supposed even the most experienced guards were nothing at the hands of mafioso.

You hoped nothing particularly bad had happened to them. Who knows what your kidnapper had done to them when you were unconscious. Wasn’t Mafia a cruel organization? It’d be understandable if the members were trained to act that way. Though, you prayed that they only knocked your guards out as they did to you.

And what about your manager? Oh, God. They must be worried sick about you. Well, maybe not necessarily your well-being.

However, it didn’t seem as if Jimin shared your concern. Not that you were expecting much from him, to begin with.

When you asked him about their conditions, he merely whined and proceeded to bury his face further into the crook of your neck.

“Why are you asking about other men when you already have me here? Am I not enough for you? Why do you even care about those puny men, anyway? They don’t deserve your attention. Not at all.”

You didn’t understand why he said it as though he was your boyfriend already, and that he deserved to be the center of your focus. In fact, you didn’t understand anything at all!

“O-of course I care about them! They’re my guards, after all. You can’t just…” You squirmed in his hold when you felt it tighten around your stomach. “You can’t just dismiss them like they’re nothing! And who the heck are you, anyway?” 

His giggle sent an awkward vibration throughout your body. If he sensed your discomfort, then he chose to ignore it. He probably noticed, because he soon giggled again and nipped your neck playfully.

“I’m your number one fan, of course.”

It finally dawned on you that you were dealing with no ordinary fan, but a sasaeng. Out of all people, he just had to be one.

And out of all frantic thoughts that circulated in your head, the worst just had to happen.

“… But,” he continued thoughtfully. “now that you’re here, I guess you could say that I’m your boyfriend!”

You learned pretty early that Jimin was serious about this whole ‘boyfriend’ thing, or maybe it was just him drilling his affection into your distraught brain. Every gift, from big to small, and from cheap to expensive, piled on your floor. Although looking at the ‘cheapest’ present he gave you, it was probably worth a thousand dollars. Your favorite food would be served every day, and any snack you craved would be sent to your – or should you say, your shared – room, regardless of the time.

Compared to your manager who needed to watch over the finance, Jimin didn’t bother to hold himself from spoiling you thoroughly. It came to the point where you had to keep your gaze from wandering to the things that interested you in fear of him buying them with or without your knowledge, usually the former.

Obviously, he wouldn’t do anything without a price. This was a give-and-take world, after all.

Luckily, the price wasn’t that outrageous. Just the things a lover usually did; affection and attention. But, as expected, he forbade you to look and speak to other people for too long. Not even the guards that were stationed outside your room was an exception to his ‘rule’.

And, of course, they’d be more loyal to him than to you. You were just a stranger who was suddenly plucked from your vibrant yet taxing life into his suffocating hug. A weak woman who could do nothing in the face of a muzzle.

“If you talk to other people for longer than ten seconds, I’ll shoot them.” That was what he said to you one day, during one of his impromptu cuddles. Despite the guileless smile he wore, you knew that he wasn’t kidding with his threat.

He’d told you that he’d spoil you to your heart content, and he’d ordered his subordinates to kidnap you. How could you doubt his words?

But you were lonely. The life in Park mansion was generally quiet, and although Jimin liked to invite you to his office, it still wasn’t enough. Not to mention, the guards had forbidden you to accompany him to his meetings because you weren’t ‘official’ yet – not that you necessarily wanted to come in the first place. You weren’t sure if you wanted to know the meaning of ‘official’ – though, you did have an inkling – and quickly backed down. Too quick because Jimin had whined, hand outstretched to grasp even a hem of your clothes.

You were so lonely you decided to bite the bullet and greeted the servant who came to give your food.

“… Hello.”

The servant was startled at first, eyes bulged out of their pockets as if you were threatening his family with a gun instead. Once he discerned your friendly, albeit awkward smile, he relaxed slightly and nodded.

Just a nod. He couldn’t even bring himself to return your greeting. That was how much he feared you, or rather, your affiliation with Jimin.

The hesitant response you received sent a pang of disappointment in your chest. To think that one day, people would fear you instead of admiring you like you were accustomed to seeing. You might not have many fans, but you were happy and grateful for their efforts to watch your concerts. You loved looking at their glittering eyes as they followed you on the stage, their wide beams, and their boisterous cheers.

And now, people couldn’t even glance at you without flinching and recoiling. Granted, it was only the servants. The guards didn’t bother to notice your existence beyond necessary interactions, which was very rare.

“Please don’t be afraid of me,” you said softly as though he was a cornered animal. “I’m not Jimin. I… I don’t even know what I’m doing in here, to be honest.”

The unnamed servant frowned, and after a moment of awkward silence, finally muttered. “Young master really loves you.”

You frowned while still smiling wearily. That wasn’t what you wanted to hear at all. The reason why you spoke to him was that you wanted to talk about anything, not him. But you supposed it was inevitable, wasn’t it? After all, you were under his ‘protection’.

“I-I see…” you trailed off, unsure of what to say next. Jimin was still in his meeting, right? Maybe you could prolong this, honestly useless, conversation. “Can you at least tell me what your name is?”

He shifted a little and looked down. Ah, you really made him uncomfortable, didn’t you?

Reluctantly, he opened his mouth. “It’s–”

Drops of blood splattered your face as he abruptly collapsed to the floor, dying with a shocked expression that rivaled yours. The bang managed to deafen your ears and froze your body momentarily. Slowly, you looked up and discerned the short figure on the doorway.

Jimin held his gun in one hand, face stony despite the death he caused and the trauma he inflicted on you.

“I really don’t want to do this because I know that not many people like to see real-life violence. But sometimes they need a lesson, don’t they?” He averted his emotionless gaze to you and smiled coldly. “I told you that I’ll kill anyone who talks to you for more than ten seconds. So why did you do it? Are you doubting me?”

“N-no, I…” You began to clamber away as he slowly advanced towards you, but the empty spot on your wrist forced you to stop. “I just… I just wanted someone to talk to me, is all.”

He squinted. “Why? Am I not enough for you until you had to go to someone else? A man at that?”

“… I’m sorry. Please don’t kill me.” you whimpered, eyes stinging from upcoming tears.

“Oh, I know!” You glanced up to him when you heard him snapping his fingers. “You must be lonely, right?”

Well, he wasn’t wrong but… you really didn’t want to hear his next words. It’d be worse, you were sure of it. There was no way he’d be lenient to you anymore after he caught you talking with a servant. As far as you were concerned, it was considered a ‘betrayal’ to him.

Jimin chuckled and swiftly locked his gun. “You should’ve told me! No need for a drastic measure like that!” he chirped despite the irony of the situation. “After we get married, I’ll definitely bring you to my meetings more!”

Your breath hitched. Get what…?

“What… what do you mean?” That was impossible. There was no way he said what you heard him saying, right? No, he couldn’t. He couldn’t just–

“Get married, of course!” he beamed, oblivious to the severity of his words. “My organization only acknowledges the official members, you know? So if you marry me, you’ll become a part of us too. Isn’t that great? That way, I can freely bring you anywhere.”

No, that wasn’t great. It’d never be great. You might not see another violence, hopefully, but you didn’t want to become a part of them. People tended to lump someone with their affiliations, and that meant they’d perceive you as a criminal, too!

You slowly shook your head, the tears started to spill. “Jimin, no… I can’t. I can’t marry you – I don’t want to.”

Jimin blinked owlishly. “What do you mean? Of course, you want to! You’re my girlfriend, after all!” he chirped. “My parents have seen your pictures, and luckily, they want to meet you tomorrow!”

You could’ve sworn your heart stopped beating for a second as the news crashed your head like a brick.

“So I think we should sleep early. It’ll be bad if you start yawning in front of them.” He giggled and plopped down beside you. “Don’t worry, we’ll be eating together from now on. I’ll tighten the security so people can’t come into our room as they please. That way, you won’t be lonely anymore!”

[all1e23]

Different City, Same Hearts [One-shot]

Pairings: Biker!Bucky x Reader

Summary:  A lot has changed over the last year but a few things have stayed the same. 

A/N:   This is a short one-shot for my series Swallow. You don’t need to have read the series to read this, but obviously, I encourage it so it makes complete sense. It takes place a year after the series ends. No warnings. It’s all fluffy, sweet Bucky. 

***My fics are not to be saved or posted on any other sites without my written permission. Reblogs are my jam though! Thanks!*

You sat in a small booth in, tiny diner just off the interstate in the middle of Nowhere, USA. Some little town that looked like the right place for a night or two. One of the many stops you’ve made over the last year since you were lucky enough to get your life and heart back. You stared dopily at the straw sticking out of your ice water. It was all your Bucky’s fault you had that dumb lovestruck grin on your face. He had played with the wrapper while you waited on your breakfast, and when you finally looked up to see what he was doing, he had turned the flimsy white paper into a heart and stuck it in the top of your straw. 

He had been doing a lot of that lately – little moments where his heart showed through the tough leather. Things were different from how it had been before, but they weren’t all that different in a sense. Bucky has always loved you with a fierceness that excited you and scared the hell out of you – he filled the little cracks in your soul, and you put his back together, none of that has changed. He was simply more open now, gave his love a little more freely. He has never shied away from touching or kissing on you in public, but it was less fearful,  less forced now. It was no longer something he needed to prove to himself that you were still his and more because he simply wanted to. 

Bucky insisted there hasn’t been a moment when he has been able to keep his hands to himself with you nearby, but you could see the difference. His touches are his and his alone. 

His touch was no longer fear or club driven; all his. 

Bucky slid into the booth next to you and pulled your legs over his lap swiftly, capturing your lips before your brain could register it was him. His tongue swept across yours, and his hand rested on the side of your neck, shielding you from the onlookers he knew were watching. He didn’t care if they looked. They were already judging him for his tattoos, the bike they pulled up on, the leather he was wearing, and the pretty girl on his lap in the middle of pancakes and bacon.

Might as well get a few kisses in and really get the whispers going.  

You hummed softly when he broke the kiss and pecked his lips once more before letting him go. These were the new moments that mirrored the old and shined a light on the new parts of his heart. You settled into the crook of his arm and rested your forehead against his cheek. 

“What did you want to do, pretty girl? We goin’ North or south?” 

You sighed contently at the question and sank into his warmth. This was pretty typical. You would end up somewhere with a decent cheap motel and spend a couple of nights before moving on to somewhere new. The longest you’ve stayed in one place was two weeks, and that was right after you became his missus – there wasn’t a whole lot of sightseeing those two weeks though. You two had lots to make up for after all. 

This morning, you both decided you didn’t want to hang around much longer, so after breakfast, you would hit the road again and find somewhere new to rest your hearts. That was before you asked your waitress for directions. Bucky had gone up to the counter to settle the bill, and when the redhead, Molly, had come by to collect your plates, you bugged her for the best route towards Louisiana. You’ve always wanted to see Baton Rouge and now was as good a time as any. After you got to talking, she mentioned there was a music festival just off the highway, and that was how you would know you were going the right way. 

That was when you decided what you wanted to do. 

You sat up so you could see his face, and his lips immediately found your skin, pressing a kiss to your forehead. You smiled and tangled your fingers in his hair at the base of his neck. 

“I kind of had another idea if you’re okay with it.” 

Bucky looked very amused by your phrasing. As if he would refuse something you really wanted to do. “Okay, what’s your plan, baby doll?” 

“Okay, so.” You sat up straighter, fingers tightening around his hair from the excitement you couldn’t keep down. “I was talking to the waitress about how to get to Louisiana, and she was giving me directions, but she mentioned there was a three-day music festival not far from here, and I was thinking…” You lifted your shoulder in an attempt to seem relaxed, but you were vibrating with excitement. 

It’s been a bit since you went to something like that together, but there was a time when the two of you were at a concert or festival every weekend. 

“Sounds fun. You get the address?” 

“There is a flyer by the register, but it’s right off the highway, according to Molly.”

“According to Molly,” Bucky echoed with a grin. “Well, let’s go then, pretty girl.” 

He squeezed your legs and slipped out of the booth, holding his hand out for yours. You followed close behind, pulled your purse across your body, and took his hand, letting him lead. 

“Oh, wait!” You squeaked, starling the older couple by the door.

You were halfway to the door when you dropped Bucky’s hand and rushed back to the table. He watched as you grabbed the paper heart he made and skipped back to his side. He grinned and took the hand that was free. 

“For your box?” He asked, even though he knew the answer.  

“Yes, for my box.”  You pursed your lips, trying your best not to smile. He chuckled quietly and kissed the side of your head, snatching a flier for the festival on your way out. 

Not everything had changed. 

——– 

You stood at the top of a grassy hill, couples surrounding you and watching some band you didn’t know play their second set. Your husband stood behind you, his arms wrapped around your waist, securing you against him – in case everyone around you didn’t already know you were utterly smitten with the man. 

It wasn’t the kind of music either of you listened to, but you were still having a good time. The two of you had walked around the fairgrounds that were posing as a music festival for the weekend, stopping at the large white tent to browse through the forty or so table of homemade items for sale. 

Bucky ended up getting a new lighter, and the man etched your names and wedding date into the metal – he really was a complete fool for you. At one of the many jewelry tables, you found a necklace that caught your eye. It was a thin gold chain with a rose-colored round stone. You must have stared for too long because bucky was pulling it off the hook and passing over several bills, he pulled you out of the tent and towards the stage, never letting you see the price.

Bucky kissed cheek and squeezed your hip. “You see the stand with postcards over there?” Bucky breathed into your ear. “It’s been a while since you sent something to Clint. You wanna go pick something out?“ 

You leaned your head back on his shoulder and smiled at him. “Such a softie. If the boys could see you now." 

Bucky chuckled and nudged you forward with his hips. "Yeah, yeah. Let’s get one picked out, take a picture with your new camera like I know you’ve been dying to and grab some grub, hm?" 

"If that’s what you want, Mr. Barnes." 

"That’s what I want, Mrs. Barnes.” You snorted. You didn’t change your name after you got married, but Bucky got a kick out of calling you Mrs. Barnes, so you let him. If the two of you ever settle down somewhere, maybe you will talk about making that change officially. 

With Bucky’s hand tucked into the front pockets of your black high waisted shorts and his chin on your shoulder, you browsed through the postcards. He watched your fingers brush over each card as you mulled over which you wanted to get, he could tell you were struggling to pick one. You ended up settling on three different ones after he reminded you that you could always send more than one. He wrapped his arms around your waist and tightened his arms as you paid the dollar forty for the cards. 

“Do you miss home?” Bucky whispered, a tiny bit of fear in his voice – as if he was scared of the answer. 

“Mmm, sometimes.” You confessed as you stuffed the cards into your purse. “I miss Clint and Nat. Of course, I miss Peggy and the kids." 

"And Steve. Admit it.” Bucky pushed with a smirk. “You miss Steve.”

You chuckled and pressed your back into his chest, “Yeah, I miss Steve, too." 

"Is it time? Do you want to go home?" 

You turned around his arms and looped yours around his neck, smiling at your husband. "Nope. I do miss them, but this is where I want to be. Right here with you. We are finally good, and I don’t want to mess that up. I wanna stay in this bubble with you just a little while longer." 

Bucky smiled and pecked your lips. "Whatever you want, pretty girl. Whatever you want." 

[thestarkerisobvious]

Sixteen -- The DeSlaughter House -- 1

Sixteen -- The DeSlaughter House

1.  I Didn’t Do Anything Wrong

“I didn’t do anything wrong, I didn’t do anything wrong.  I didn’t tell him to do anything wrong.  I didn’t tell him to do anything…”  Peter chanted it to himself like a prayer as he walked as fast as his legs would go, ignoring the burn in his calves, ignoring the stitch in his side.  Soon the pain in his lungs was going to become a problem, but mostly he ignored that too. 

He was good at ignoring things he didn’t want to know.

The gravel road seemed longer than it ever had before.  He ran until he simply couldn’t run anymore.  Then he walked.  And as he walked, he prayed.

Sweat stung his eyes and he cursed himself for the hundredth time.  If he had just let Uncle Ben drive him to Mike’s house, he would be there by now.  It was a 45-minute walk, normally.  He was hoping the adrenaline caused by sheer panic would make him run faster.  That was what happened to the Incredible Hulk, the science magazines said.  A mutation exacerbated by the onslaught of adrenaline.  Peter couldn’t possibly have more adrenaline than he had right already, but it wasn’t making him incredible.  He needed to be incredible now.

But he couldn’t have asked Uncle Ben for a ride, he explained to himself the for the hundredth time.  How would he explain?  Explain that with three dead animals laying in the front yard in the most important thing he could do was check on his next-door neighbor?

All because of a whispered conversation he had a few nights before, while lying in the arms of his demon… friend?

“There’s got to be a price to pay.  There’s always a price to pay.  Everything has a price…” Peter moaned to himself as he pushed himself to move forward.  He was longing to stop but if he stopped he might collapse.  “Even if it isn’t wrong… even good things have a price…”  He stopped talking.  Talking required air he didn’t have.  But the thoughts in his head hurt almost as much as the pain in his ribs.  He couldn’t stop thinking.  So he just started running.

Even if it wasn’t wrong to have Tony in his bed every night, Peter had realized at some point during the day, there still had to be a price, didn’t there?  Everything had a price, that’s what all the old people at church kept saying.  They talked a lot about “sin” at First Devil’s church, but Peter had decided a while ago that having Tony as his friend was not a sin.  Tony couldn’t help what he was, or what he had been forced to do long before Peter was born.  And as for what they did in bed together in the darkness…

Peter moaned even as he ran.

He had tried to replay the conversation in his head, but replaying the conversation was causing him too much pain.  Because he had just been talking to be talking, he knew that without a doubt.  He had already told Tony all the important stuff that had happened while Tony had been asleep.  He didn’t have anything left to tell.  It was 3 o’clock in the morning, oh god he remembered, and by then he was just talking to stay awake.  Stay awake and enjoy what Tony was doing with his hands.

When Peter climbed onto Tony’s lap first night Tony had come from the place where he lived under the bed, well, that had been the bravest thing Peter had ever done in his life.  And probably the bravest thing he would do for a while, because pulling Tony’s mouth to the vein in his neck had resulted in a very surprising, embarrassing problem.

Namely, a very sudden and very painful erection.  Instant.  Aching.  Seemingly two feet long.   And pressing shamelessly and helplessly against Tony’s stomach  as Peter clung to Tony, wide-eyed and speechless.

Not that Tony commented, of course.  (But how could he?  He had been moaning and clutching to Peter like a drowning man, drinking deep.  Maybe he didn’t even notice himself.)

The next night Peter had to feed him the same way, of course.  After fulfilling his summer-long plan to demand it, he couldn’t exactly go back on it now.  That meant they lay on the bed more like the letter V than the letter I, Tony’s mouth attached to Peter’s neck, Peter’s body angled safely away in the other direction, his problem hidden under the covers.

But the third night, Peter had found a solution that was both simple and delightful.  Laying in Tony’s arms, his back pressed against Tony’s chest, his problem became a non-problem.   And it felt incredible. 

When he was in Tony’s arms, facing Tony, Tony’s hands stroked and caressed his back, which felt good.

But when he was in Tony’s arms, turned away from Tony, Tony’s hands stroked and caressed his chest which felt amazing. 

And that’s what he had been doing.  That’s why he had been talking.

He had been talking just to stay awake, just to enjoy Tony’s arms for a few more minutes.  Just to enjoy Tony’s hands for a few more minutes before Tony slipped away. 

He remembered it so clearly.  Tony was done with his second feeding and now was content to lick and nuzzle along Peter’s neck and shoulder, his hands roaming and exploring over Peter’s arms, and chest, and stomach.  Complimenting over and over the new muscles he found there.  Making Peter glow with pride.

“And that’s why you just had to keep talking”  Peter told himself.  “And that’s why this is your fault.”  He left off running and bent over, hands on in his burning thighs, struggling to breathe, fighting back tears.  He had been talking so Tony would keep touching him, not because he really had anything to say.  When he fell asleep Tony would slip into the basement and go back to hunting and consuming the rats that Peter had tasked him with.  Then, if there was still night left, he would be into the forest to consume “whatever the owls and the foxes eat,” with Peter’s permission.  Peter had been talking to keep Tony with him.  That’s why he had been complaining about his neighbors.

And he only had two.  The Lovelaces on the south side, and the DeSlaughters on the east.

On the south side, Missy Lovelace and her constant insistence that she was going to marry Peter.  Because once upon a time a girl that had lived in her house had wanted to marry a boy that had lived in Peter’s house and somehow that meant something.  Missy and her constant, unwelcome attempts to hold his hand.  Missy and her constant complaints about her dad, about school, and her ever-present fears about grades, both good and bad. 

On the east side, Mike DeSlaughter, who actually thought comics were a good idea.  Who thought college was a smart idea too.  Who had been friendly to Peter’s face but seemed to also be saying things behind his back.

“Shall I slay your foes in their beds, sweet Peter?” Tony said with a smile, nuzzling and nipping at his earlobe.  Peter had laughed (because Tony was joking, he could tell Tony was joking) and slapped at Tony’s hand playfully.  Then pressed it back to the center of his chest.  He loved it when Tony pressed his hand to the center of Peter’s chest.

“Just slay the rats in their sleep,” he had said that night.

“There are so many tasks I could perform for you, my master scholar.  Sometimes the Patriarchs would send me far and wide to seek out the prettiest maidens in the counties beyond.  I would spy upon them for weeks, then report back.  The Post sons wished to know all about the ladies and their lives, so they would know what to say when they went courting…”

“Stop,” Peter said laughing, reaching up to put his hand on Tony’s mouth, laughing even more when Tony began sucking on his fingers.  “The last thing I want to talk about is girls.”

“I didn’t do anything wrong, I say anything wrong,” Peter started up the chant again as he forced himself to keep walking.  “I didn’t tell him to do anything… I said I wish he’s stop telling the kids at school… I didn’t say anything else… I said good things.  I said he was a decent guy, although a little gun-crazy, I said his dad went to college, and that we were talking about college, and that’s all I said…” 

But he knew.  It had been days since that conversation, but last night was different.  Last night was something called “The Day of St. Cyprian,” which meant something to Tony, but Peter hadn’t really been interested right at that moment.  Right that moment, he wanted to Tony to keep feeding.

But when he woke up, Peter knew.  Knew that Tony had been to the DeSlaughter house, sitting right there inside the border of what had used to be Post Family property. 

He knew the moment he woke up that morning, Uncle Ben knocking on his door, calling him ‘son.’  Telling him he needed to come outside.

He didn’t know how he knew, he just knew.  It was in a dream he had, or dreamed that he had, a dream he struggled to remember as he headed straight to the sideyard, barefoot and pajamaed.  In the dream Tony had been apologizing, panting and straining, his voice almost too weak to hear.  Begging for something.  Something that sounded like ‘pardon.’  And Peter knew exactly where he had been.  That he had chosen that special night to visit the DeSlaughter house.  Because Peter had said “I wish.’   

Uncle Ben explained that Old-Blue, the dog that they always said had “come with the house” had not come with the other dogs to meet Uncle Ben when he went for his morning walk.  The dog wasn’t hard to find, he was still lying, unmoving, in his doghouse.  Peter could hardly hear him over blood pounding in his ears.  The three doghouses Ben and Peter had built together each had detachable roofs.  Without speaking Peter unlatched all four sides and pulled Old-Blue’s roof free.  He looked directly into his dead friend’s face.  Old-Blue’s eyes were closed, his face relaxed.  He had died in his sleep.

Just like those neighbors who had made the mistake of asking Evan Post when he would get himself a a wife.

Just like the full-grown male raccoon that was lying dead in the middle of the yard, not 8 feet away from Old-Blue.  It was the two peacefully-dead animals that were causing Ben and May much consternation, but Peter didn’t stick around to exchange theories.

“I didn’t tell him to do anything.  I didn’t.  I said Mike was a decent guy.  He is a decent guy.  I just said I wish he’d stop telling people…”

Maybe it was just a coincidence.  There was nothing special about Old-Blue dying, he was old, that’s why they called him Old-Blue.  He was a stray, all the family dogs were strays, but they considered him older than the others because he appeared the same day they moved in, sitting happily at the door as if he had been expected.  And the dead racoon wasn’t strange either (although the fact that the other dogs wouldn’t go near it was) and neither was the skunk lying dead in the ditch by the driveway, the one May and Ben hadn’t seen.  No, those three dead animals might not mean anything in particular.

But the crows laying beside the road, the two snapping turtles, the multiple rabbits and what might have been a coyote (Peter didn’t stop to check) were no coincidence.  No coincidence at all.

“I just said ‘I wish he would stop telling people he sees strange lights over my house.’  That’s all I said.  I said he was a decent guy.  I said I liked him…” Peter moaned as he sprinted.  There was no one on the empty gravel road to hear him.  Tony was gone and wouldn’t reappear until dark.  There was no way to talk to him now, to tell him Mike was a good guy, had even warned Peter in front of the other guys that the shed was just a prank.  But Peter hadn’t told Tony that.  Because Peter didn’t want to talk about the shed.  Not with Tony.  Not with anyone.

-----------------------

The Master (Post)     -- please ask/comment/question/argue on @witchwayisright​

[wizardessheart-sideb]

[Image ID: A chapter image done in the style of Wizardess Heart. A large, off-white imagine with a guy on it. He’s wearing a dark gray uniform. There’s a lavender bar over him that reads “Tsukasa Kuze.” The rest of the text reads “Main Story” and “Chapter 10-2: Contract” /End ID]

Chapter summary: Amidst the chaos, a solution arises.

You could have heard a pin drop. We all turned to Aika.

“Aika… What?” Dorian was clearly struggling for the words. But she kept going.

“If I break my contract with you, you can make one with Tsukasa and heal him, can’t you?!” she demanded, grabbing Dorian’s shirt, looking frantic. My mind felt like it was in a whirlpool.

“What do you mean, ‘your contract?’” I demanded.

“I don’t know what you are exactly, but you’re not human, are you, Dorian? I knew there was something off about you since the moment we met,” Azusa revealed.

“That’s right,” Dorian nodded. My brain stopped working.

“You’re… You’re not human?” Tsukasa asked.

“No, I’m an incubus. And technically speaking, Aika’s familiar.” It all made sense now. The interest in demonology. Being able to detect love and lust. Heck, even suggesting making contracts with demons.

“An incubus?” Tsukasa’s brow furrowed. I was about to explain what it was, but Azusa cut me off.

“Why didn’t you or Aika tell me?” His voice was dripping with pain.

“No one but Headmaster Randolph and Isabelle know, and Izzy only found out on accident. We didn’t think advertising what Dorian is would be a good idea,” Aika explained. There was a flash on pain in Azusa’s eyes, but he nodded.

“Dorian, I’ll do whatever you want if you’ll heal Tsukasa,” he said, standing up.

“Hold on -” Dorian began.

“Yeah, wait a minute,” Tsukasa cut in, riding to his feet. “If anyone’s making a new contract, it’s me.”

“No, you’re absolutely not,” Azusa snapped.

“Can’t I get a fucking word in?!” Dorian shouted. Azusa and Tsukasa immediately fell silent. “I’m already in a contract with Aika and due to the conditions we set years ago, I can’t make other contracts.”

“I told you that I want to break our contract,” Aika said angrily. “I don’t care what happens to me. If it means you can make another deal with them, I’m fine with it.”

“But you know what will happen if we end the contract before you’ve fulfilled your end of the bargain,” Dorian reminded her.

“I know. But the most important part of our deal’s already done. I’m okay with breaking it,” she insisted.

“What will happen to you if you break the contract?” Tsukasa asked.

“I have an idea, but I’m not sure. I won’t die. I know that much.” She refused to look at anyone. I didn’t know what she was hiding, but I just hoped it wasn’t something serious.

“I’ll have to take back my gift to you and your soul will be mine,” Dorian said.

“That last bit was already in our initial agreement. Let’s do it,” she said. Dorian grimaced before glancing over to Tsukasa and Azusa.

“If I’m not your type, there’s others like me you could make a deal with. But I can’t verify how trustworthy they are,” he told Azusa.

“No, I’m fine with making a contract with you. I’m more than okay with it,” Azusa said.

“Wait, hold on a moment. I’m making the deal,” Tsukasa butted in.

“No, you aren’t,” Azusa replied.

“I’m an adult now, Azusa. I need to start doing things for myself,” Tsukasa argued.

“You are, but I’m making the contract,” Azusa said stubbornly. “You don’t even know what an incubus is.”

“What if I made the contract?” I offered. I would be okay with it and I didn’t want to see them fight. “Then you wouldn’t have to argue about this. I’m willing to make the sacrifice for you, Tsukasa.”

“Uh, I get what you’re saying, but ouch,” Dorian said with a frown.

“No,” Azusa and Tsukasa said in unison.

“I don’t want anyone to make a contract when I’m the one benefiting from it,” Tsukasa went on, turning to his brother.

“We’re all benefiting from it. We all want you to alive, Tsukasa. Look. I get it. I know I can be smothering sometimes. But you’re the only family I have left and it’s my job as your guardian to keep you safe. If I didn’t want to do this, I wouldn’t offer,” Azusa told him.

“I know, but…”

“How about we make a deal? I’ll promise to try and stop being so overprotective if you let me make this contract for you,” Azusa suggested.

“You should be trying to do that in the first place!” Tsukasa cried. “You always act like I’m incapable of doing anything and you never give me a chance to prove myself.”

“I’m not doing that on purpose,” Azusa defended himself. “I’m just trying to do what’s best for you. I know you’re capable of things, but I want to take care of you, Tsukasa.”

The two fell silent. Tsukasa frowned, folding his arms in front of his chest.

“Okay. You can make the contract,” Tsukasa relented. Azusa smiled genuinely for the first time I’d met him. It wasn’t as nice as Tsukasa’s.

“All right. And I’ll try to stop being so overprotective,” he promised. He glanced over to Dorian. “So, what’s the price of making a contract with you?”

“It’s… Uh, I feel weird hitting on you while your brother’s here,” Dorian commented, glancing at Tsukasa.

“He doesn’t mind,” Azusa claimed.

“Yes I do,” Tsukasa spoke up.

“I’m flexible with payment,” Dorian carried on. “First-born children, letting me roam the earth, marriage… Other things. I take it you know what an incubus is?”

“I do,” Azusa nodded.

“You have options.”

“What did you give him, Aika?” Azusa asked. She laughed nervously.

“Uh, well I kinda went overboard with mine. But in my defense, I had to because he kept refusing to make a contract until I made him a deal he couldn’t refuse,” she responded, refusing to look him in the eye.

“You were twelve years old. Of course I didn’t want to make a contract with you,” Dorian pointed out. Suddenly, the “engagement” story made more sense. But still, making a contract that young… Just how awful was her family that she made a contract with Dorian to get away from them?

“I let roam him the earth, make other contracts, get other energy sources until I was eighteen. Then I promised him I’d have his kid and we’d get married and all that domestic fluff,” she explained.

“What do you mean, ‘roam the earth?’” Azusa asked.

“Unless my partner puts it into their contract, I’m only able to come up to the human world when summoned,” Dorian clarified.

“I see.”

“If we’re going to do this, let’s do this. I want to get this over with,” Aika said. She sat down next to where Azusa stood. Dorian sighed, and nodded, kneeling on the other side of her.

“I’m sorry, baby, but this is going to hurt,” he said tenderly.

“I know.”

Dorian put his hand to her head. Azusa knelt down, grabbing her hand and already it looked like she had a vice-like grip on it. There was a flash of light and Aika screamed. Azusa let out of string of profanities. Something gold and sparkling flowed out of her in and into Dorian’s hand. I reached out, stroking her back. It looked like she was convulsing.

When Dorian pulled his hand away, she stopped. She doubled over and vomited, gagging and chest heaving.

“Are you okay?!” I crawled over to her, helping her sit up. She just nodded.

“Azusa, Tsukasa?” Dorian spoke up.

“Let’s do this,” Azusa said.

They stood up and I stayed on the ground with Aika. Dorian reached out his hand to Azusa, who took it.

“I want you to completely heal Tsukasa and fix his immune system. He’ll be healthy and able to fight off illnesses just fine. In exchange, I give you permission to stay in the human world indefinitely and I will provide you with any energy you need,” Azusa told him. Dorian grinned.

“I accept your deal, Azusa.” Again, there was a blinding light. Red ribbons of light wrapped around Dorian and Azusa’s arms. They quickly faded from view. Dorian smiled and looked over to Tsukasa.

“Come over here. It’s time for Dr. Dorian to fix you up,” he said. Aika groaned. Tsukasa walked over to Dorian, who raised his hand. “I’m not sure if this is going to hurt, so brace yourself.”

“That’s not very reassuring, but okay,” Tsukasa replied. He stiffened up and Dorian put his hands on Tsukasa’s shoulder. A calming blue light radiated from his hands and enveloped Tsukasa’s body. Tsukasa twitched, biting his lip, but his reaction to whatever Dorian was doing was a lot less violent than Aika’s.

It was like a switch went off. Tsukasa’s face, which had been drained of color, looked lively. He no longer looked exhausted; I hadn’t realized how tired he looked until now.

“There you go,” Dorian said. He knelt down to help Aika and I traded places with him, hurrying to Tsukasa.

“How do you feel?” I asked.

“Not like garbage,” he replied with a crooked grin. I couldn’t help but laugh. My arms wrapped around him, pulling him into a hug.

“I’m so glad you’re okay.” Tears welled in my eyes and I learned into Tsukasa, resting my head on his shoulder. This nightmare was over. Tsukasa was going to be okay. He wasn’t going to die. This was all over.

“We should head back to campus before it gets too early,” Dorian spoke up. He picked up Aika and motioned for us to leave. “And I’m not going to make you do this, Azusa, but you should probably free that unicorn.” Oh yeah…

We looked to the unicorn in the magical cage. It still looked furious.

“Thank you for finally noticing me, filth,” it seethed, glaring daggers at Dorian, who returned the cod glare.

“Do us a favor and die, you waste of space. I hate unicorns,” he muttered before turning to head back to campus. Tsukasa grabbed my hand and started pulling me along, but Azusa stopped him.

“Hey, can we stay back for a moment and talk?” he asked.

“Uh, sure,” Tsukasa replied.

“I’ll be waiting at the dorms for you,” I told him. I quickly leaned in, giving him a quick kiss. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” He gave me another kiss. He squeezed my hand before going over to his brother. As I caught up with Aika and Dorian, I glanced back at Tsukasa. I felt so much relief. This nightmare was over.

[irhinoceri]

back on my bullshit....

have written 11k words of my new Dragon Age fic and am jealously guarding it. no posting this baby until it has some coherency to it.

but under is the outline of the worldstate and such (subject to complete overhaul and capricious whim of course)

it’s a Morristair fic. no dark ritual dubcon needed because they love each other. i’m so fucking corny.

it will be in a series for a worldstate where all the DAO wardens survive. Mahariel deals the killing blow to the archdemon and is upset because he craves the sweet release of death and doesn’t get it. Morristair don’t tell anyone else anything about what happened at the final battle, and are kind of like “don’t look at us or our perfectly normal son Kieran ever again” parents. You wanna get rekt just ask “so what’s the deal with your kid why is he like that?”

Morrigan, preparing a spell: “did you just”

Alistair, drawing his sword: “nice hand you got there, be a shame if someone... cut it off...”

The Inquisitor: “jeezus forget I said anything....”

Aeducan and Brosca are the terrible two from Orzammar who just happen to be accidental in-laws and they WILL figure out that Harrowmont poisoned Endrin, which will end their fighting over who to support for King.

Tabris and Zevran are Together Forever Finding Healing and Love in this Dark Time... further plot ideas to follow.

Cousland marries Anora on the stipulation that he does whatever he can to ensure Loghain is spared... which includes but is not limited to throwing himself in front of Alistair’s sword. Alistair would be more upset about this if it entailed conscripting Loghain but he will just be put in the dungeon to await judgement after the battle. By that time Alistair will be gone for other reasons (Morrigan) and other characters who especially hate Loghain (Tabris) won’t have much power to do anything about it because Cousland is King Now and Doesn’t Give a Fuck what the Wardens Think, and needs to keep his new wife happy so she doesn’t arrange a poisoning. Loghain will be conscripted though since Cousland doesn’t want Anora and Loghain to have united power over him, so Loghain gets sent to Amaranthine to participate in Awakening with the Wardens who don’t defect after the final battle to travel the world with their lovers. He’ll be one of the new recruits that gets the Joining from the Seneschal.

Cousland is not a Warden in this worldstate... he didn’t get recruited by Duncan but instead escaped Highever and followed Fergus with Elissa, whom he leaves at the Lothering Chantry with Sister Leliana. He’ll arrive at Ostagar after the battle and ending up saving some of the other wardens who weren’t at the beacon lighting tower and didn’t get saved by Flemeth (I’m thinking that will be Alistair and Mahariel because Mahariel wants to die so badly because of Tamlen and keeps getting saved by Flemeth and Morrigan, please stop). Honestly thinking of doing a Merrill/Mahariel da2 era ship for this series because who better to make someone want to live again than Merrill?

As for DAI era shenanigans, Loghain will come to Skyhold and find Alistair there and they’ll both by like “you fucker what are you doing here” and Alistair will be like “not following Morrigan around everywhere she goes, I’m not a kept boy, spoiler, I’m a kept MAN” and Loghain will be like “you lack honor” and they’ll start punching each other until the Inquisitor pulls them apart and says “I’ve got two Wardens for the price of one!” Spoiler, neither of them get left behind in the Fade because Marian “I love to die, Mama I’m coming home” Hawke will fling herself into the Nightmare demon screaming “you think you’re scarier than real life, bitch??” without asking permission from anyone, first.

In fact, there will be very little Asking of Permission and Deferring to the Player Character in this Fic because everyone thinks they are the Player Character and wants things done their way. The Wardens will have to vote on stuff a lot unless one or more of them just says fuck it and does something before anyone else can stop them.

Amell and Surana will represent the two sides of the Circle Mage coin. One hates the circle and has always wanted to escape and rebel, the other is The Very Picture of a Perfect Circle Mage and they will be friends but also not. Their relationship will be defined by the struggle between these two ideologies but they also super care about each other and are ride or die when it comes right down to it.

While there is a male Cousland, there is also a fem Cousland, they’re dun dun da The Cousland Twins, but she is not a fighter (think Sansa not Arya), and there’s a whole bunch of sibling angst there. Aedan leaves their parents to die because he had to protect his sister and he resents her for it. Elissa feels like a massive burden. Eventually Aedan will get it into his head that he can marry Elissa to Alistair and take the throne, using them as puppets and being the true power as their Chancellor. This plan is totally spoiled by the fact that Alistair and Elissa don’t take to each other at all and will not cooperate with Aedan’s matchmaking. Aedan will be very upset that Elissa prefers the company of Leliana and Alistair prefers the company of Morrigan, until he gives up on that idea and switches to negotiating a marriage for himself to Anora. Aedan Cousland is absolutely the character who thinks he’s in Game of Thrones while everyone else is constantly like.... Can We Not? Can we? Not? Please?

(Except for Aeducan and Brosca who are always in Game of Thrones mode and don’t know any other way. they were born in the dark, molded by it... omg is that a bird? is that a bird? Duncan is that a bird? what the fuck the sky is so big. fuck. fuck fuck fuck!)

(Also Anora will be smitten with Cousland because she’s never met someone so devoted to machinations who was actually on her side, before).

Anyway that’s my broad outline. I will probably come up with more ideas for DA2 and DAI era plots for the various wardens as I flesh them out. Right now the only really fleshed out characters are the Cousland twins and Morristair, because I’m a Cousland Warden aficionado and a Morristair shipper at heart. But I know that once I spend enough time writing these kids I’ll end up with a dozen unmanageable story ideas for all of them.

[the-whispers-of-death]

So part two to the Grumpy!Reader x Neighbor!John Price Drabble came faster than any part two to any of my other reader drabbles, but whatever. Might need to make a masterlist of all of the reader drabbles I've done. Anyways, enough rambling.

After a few dates at the local café and of course some few dates at local restaurants (because it's Price, of course he'd take you out to dinner), you two are officially dating. It's going well, he's a gentleman and understands completely when you have to reschedule dates because of your kid.

But you have one foot out the door when it comes to this relationship. It's nothing against Price, you're a grumpy, closed off person and also he has yet to meet your kid. What if your kid doesn't like him? Then you'd have to take a quick exit out of the relationship.

For the first time ever since you've started putting yourself out there in the dating realm, your kid is the one asking to meet Price. So you talk it out with him and schedule a day for when he comes over. It's nothing fancy, just dinner at your house. So he comes over and he's more (visibly) nervous than you are, dressed casually but also fancy with a buttoned down shirt on and long pants.

He's so gentle with your kid, asking for permission to even get close to them, much less touch them! He talks to them in the most soft-spoken tone you've ever heard a military man like him speak in, listening to their talking even if they ramble about everything and anything.

The dinner is splendid and after much begging to you on your kid's part, he even stays for another hour. He plays whatever game your kid wants, even braids their hair if they have long hair and want him to braid it. It goes so well that by the time Price leaves, you and your kid is impressed with him (and you're more in love with him than ever).

And so your kid turns to you and asks (either in a teasing way if they're a teen or in a serious way if they're younger), "When are you marrying him?"

Reblogs are welcomed & appreciated!

[antiquecompass]

Untamed Winter Fest Day 25: Celebration

Anyone who knew the two of them were completely unsurprised when they announced it would be a winter wedding. Mo Xuanyu’s love for the season was well-known among their friends and family and Nei Huaisang’s indulgence for everything Xuanyu loved was equally as well-known. Huaisang had always said he didn’t care where or when or how he and Xuanyu married. He just wanted to marry him and he’d do that in the county courthouse or in the middle of a frozen pond, he truly didn’t care.

They hadn’t wound up on a pond or in a courthouse, but instead at the Boston Public Library. A beautiful, if cold, outdoor ceremony, both grooms in dashing winter capes. A dinner inside Bates Hall among the iconic green lampshades. And dancing, now, in the Abbey Room, transformed into a winter wonderland that perfectly fit Little Sparkle Xuanyu and Master Even Planner Huaisang.

Nie Mingjue had never been prouder of, and happier for, his baby brother. Brothers. Xuanyu had legally become his half-brother upon his own marriage, but it was an even closer tie now. Xuanyu was as much of his brother now as Huaisang and he’d fiercely protect both of them until the very end.

They were so happy, still staring at each other, oblivious to everyone else around them on the dance floor. Their faces held that stunned amazement that came on a wedding day, still somehow running on adrenaline and stress and all the emotions.

“Is that a tear I dare see in your eye?”

“Nobody asked you, Xichen,” Mingjue said, giving his best friend a playful shove.

Xichen laughed at him, but laid a friendly, grounding arm across his shoulders.

It’d been an emotional day for Mingjue as well. It didn’t matter that they were all basically living at the Nie Farmhouse these days. It didn’t matter that he loved and trusted Xuanyu with his brother, one of the most precious things in his life. He had zero hesitation walking down that aisle in the Courtyard this afternoon, giving his brother ‘away’ to the man who loved him.

His baby brother was married now. Had sought and found and achieved his own fairytale happy ending. Had told the supposed Nie curse to fuck right off and stood now, surrounded by everyone they loved, stealing kisses from his new husband as they whirled around.

“He’s just--”

Mingjue couldn’t put it into words.

“He’s all grown-up,” Xichen said. “And you know he has been for years, but it’s different now. He’ll always be your baby brother, and in your case, even more like your son.” He laughed. “But just look at them.”

Two bright and shiny spots of smiles and love and joy, and yes, some glitter, on the dance floor.

It took longer than any of them thought to get to the actual wedding. Mingjue knew they wouldn’t be like him and his little fox. They’d gotten married months after the engagement. Huaisang was a planner though, and he certainly wasn’t going to let anyone else plan his wedding (he’d explained to Mingjue one day in the midst of all of it about the ridiculous ‘wedding surcharge’ that came with so many things. While he couldn’t control the catering company because it was in-house, he’d argued and bartered and worked his magic to get the best price. The event organizers didn’t need it getting out that they managed to acquire, and then lose, the wedding of THE Nie Huaisang). He wanted it to be perfect as it could be for Xuanyu and up to his own exacting standards, and so that took time. Almost a year and a half. Mingjue would’ve said that was too much fucking time, but tonight had been magical for them, for the guests, for everyone.

A perfect celebration of the two new husbands and their relationship.

From the little petit fours decorated with icing in the designs of fans and theater masks to the centerpieces made of dark red and purple amaryllis, orchid, and roses to bring spots of color, to the silver and white and sparkling theme of everything else. Classy, but still them. Fashionable and sleek and yet still full of warmth.

“Speaking of happiness beyond measure,” Xichen said. “Where have your husband and the ring-bearer gone?”

Mingjue felt his smile soften even more as he thought of his husband and son.

Jesse had been one of the youngest kids to visit the farm that first year they hosted the children’s homes for the winter wonderland spectacular. He’d been quiet and a little terrified, but absolutely struck by the horses. Yao had asked permission of the caretakers, and of Jesse himself, to pick him up and introduce him to Moonshadow and Shadowfax.

He hadn’t put him down until it was time for the children to leave.

Mingjue had asked Priya to start looking into adoption laws and procedures the next day.

Two years later, here they were.

“The ring-bearer needed the restroom,” Mingjue said.

Mingjue grinned as he saw his husband and son enter the room. Jesse, in all his six-year-old enthusiasm, dragged his father to the dance floor as The Jets’ Crush on You started playing.

“Meng Shi’s really pushing those dance lessons on him hard,” Xichen observed.

“He loves it,” Mingjue said. “All of the different styles. Though he loves ballet the most. Jenna’s demanding we visit soon so he can sit in on one of the practices with her dance company.”

He laughed as Xuanyu bent to pick Jesse up and hoist him in the air, lifting him like he was a ballet dancer too.

He knew it wouldn’t be an easy dream. Jesse, a black boy adopted by two gay Chinese men, trying to break into the ballet world, but it was always a mistake to underestimate their family. And maybe Jesse’s dreams would change as he got older, but they’d support him, and fight for him, no matter what they were. No matter who stood against them.

“Come on,” Xichen said, guiding them both towards the dance floor. “We can’t keep holding up the wall. Let’s join our family.”

They were all there, around the couple of the hour. Jiang Cheng teasing Huaisang by flipping up his perfectly coiffed hair. All of Springfield Security not working jobs, towering over most of the guests. Everyone from Huaisang’s company; Ebony taking constant pictures, James openly crying in happiness, Aki taking control of the event so Huaisang didn’t have to. And endless sea of Nies, Lans, Jiangs, Yus, the three good Mos, the few good Jins, the decent Wens, even some Delaneys.

Their family, brought together, in a celebration of love.

Huasiang and Xuanyu had done well, so damn well, and Mingjue was so fucking proud of the both of them.

“Look at you,” Mingjue said, his baby brother having stumbled into his arms. He pulled on the sleeve of his tux and started wiping away some of the tears. “You’re a mess.”

“A happy mess,” Huaisang said as he stood still.

“You too,” Mingjue said to Xuanyu who had joined them. “You’re a make-up artist. Don’t you use setting spray,” he asked as he dabbed at traces of mascara on his cheeks.

“It’s been an emotional day,” Xuanyu said.

“Could you please use a handkerchief,” his husband said. “I put them in your pocket for a reason.”

“I don’t have a--”

Yao reached into his jacket pocket and pulled a white handkerchief out, embroidered with silver thread bearing his initials.

“You were saying?” his husband asked.

“Is this grooming ritual just for Nies or can they rest of us get in?” Xichen asked.

Jiang Cheng’s massive eye roll was the final straw that broke the entire group into a round of laughter, one that rang out loud, even over the music.

A perfect family moment on a perfect day.

[soobadnoonecanstopher]

TL:DR - LAST SEASON ON THE PRICE OF PRIVILEGE

Can’t remember what happened in this story when you read it 16 months ago? You aren’t alone. I couldn't remember either. 

Anyway here’s the gist of it.

OBVIOUSLY...OBVIOUSLY SPOILERS for POP

You meet prince dickhead and he’s a dickhead. At first what seems like a spoiled brat of a man child turns out to be kinda sweet deep down inside if only you can get past the drinking and the murder rumors and the brooding OH GOD THE BROODING. 

Prince Dickhead mocks your inexperience for your age, and he is not talking about life skills unless you count a blow job as a life skill which, i mean, the jury is out. It could be a life skill if you use it right. but secretly likes it because men are creeps sometimes about that shit. Hes all ‘dId YoU SaVE YourSelF fOr Me???” and youre all like ‘fuck yeah i did baby” and yall do the hoodly doo, before you get married, as kinda like an appetizer idk.

You only have one friend. She is May and she is fucking a Prince while you are also fucking a prince. Only one of you has permission to fuck a prince. Someone is in trouble. And its May.

Shes arrested for TREASON because she was caught poking around the palace by Kyungsoo and he feel super bad that he had his new girlfriend’s best friend arrested omg what if shes killed KYUNGSOO WHAT DID YOU DOOOO. Everybody cries about it. 

May tells you that kyungsoo is a murderer and the chapter just ends like that what an asshole move on the authors part. 

Youre angry at ksoo and he feels real bad.says hes sorry and uses his big puppy eyes and you pretend to fall for it but REALLY youre secretly working with Baekhyun who is a troublemaker. And a bastard prince. So his Mom was not married to the king when they did the hoodly doo and then ooops aNOTHER prince, someone get this king a condom.

Baekhyun is weird but he is fun. He does drugs though, thats not cool, don't do drugs. He moonlights as a nurse? He moonlights as a cop?? He has LOTS of uniforms and lots of dresses and he does better makeup than you do. He can work these heels, don't even try to look better than Baekhyun because you will lose this contest. He has a crush on a doctor at the hospital where he sometimes practices medicine without a license when he is bored. He is the only source of happiness for you in the whole palace. Everyone else is big sad. 

Oh Queen Hong, she is Sehun and JOngin’s mom, but shes a bad one. She’s power hungry and has Kyungsoo under her foot...under her fist. Under her ass? What is the expression? Anyway she controls everything in the palace WHERE EVEN IS THE KING? Has anyone even seen him in ten years? I think i heard a rumor that he was on a boat somewhere. Making more babies probably. Sons in line for the throne. Minseok, Junmyeon (who will abdicate when he gets married, don't ask me why i don't make rules) (yes i do), Kyungsoo is next in line, Jongin and Sehun even though they were illegitimate at the time the slutty king got it on with Lady Hong, when Kyungsoo’s mom (who was the acting queen) was killed SLASH possibly murdered by her own son, how accurate can dreams be anyway? COMMA when kyungsoo’s mom was killed, Lady Hong married the king and SWUNG THINGS to make Jongin and Sehun accepted as candidates for the throne. 

I mean this lady wants power. She also hits kyungsoo sometimes and we hate it. Poor baby soo. 

Okay so Sehun actually loves May. May is pregnant with his baby. There are no condoms in this land.  Sehun goes against his mother, the queen and fakes May’s death with the help of Baekhyun and you actually, you know about the ruse but youre unable to tell anyone because all sorts of people would die. 

There’s something up with Ara. 

There’s something up with the old man security guard. 

There’s a WHOLE LOT up with Baekhyun.

The last chapter you might have read was the wedding dress fitting/dress rehearsal for the wedding that is happening in TWO DAYS. 

The papers have already been signed for the wedding. As soon as the ceremony takes place its official and there’s no backing out for anybody. Even if he hates you, which i think he might be getting there, even if he hates you because you STABBED him in the back and stole the tape, which you got by pretending to be drunk and weak to him, and yes you are little weak to him, you still shouldn’t have tricked him by using his dick against him, but you did it anyway FOR MAY, and then he found out about it because you’re a terrible spy, you got caught real bad. 

Kyungsoo got so mad omg, he punched the wall behind your head and his hand was bleeding and he was probably going to do something worse to you but yall were interrupted by JUN, the security kid, with bad bad news that the body had been identified as MAY and Kyungsoo is FREAKING OUT because he’s KILLED AGAIN omg and this time there’s a baby he’s so sad. :(

THERE! You’re all caught up.

[whimsically-ominously-auspice]

Uncle Donald gave her $800 in the 1980s

She let him invest it for her up until now

And she has now $45B

I hope you enjoyed your game as there are more to come but with more people as it enters TV for free of course on Channel Fox.

As always enjoy life and what it brings with the most care you can afford.

Don't let the economy, crumble, Uncle Donald, i hit up JP for some cash since Jesse stole mine from United Business Bank located in Oregon, Washington, and New Mexico.

I own Chase, bought it with Donald and sold to the US Government for a mint. Jesse could got in on this deal but he wanted to challenge me instead.

So I asked Uncle Donald for a cash loan, how much he could afford and what was in his wallet. $4000 roughly. So we split it between his 4 kids (the 4th being me) and I gave him back $200 for the rest of the day.

And we returned to the bank and I asked him how to deposit the money into Chase Manhattan because Denise had bought me clothes but I wanted to be a fashion designer and had altered them So she threw them all away in a rage of jealousy and heat.

Of course i started to cry so we went back across the street to McDonald's and we talked. He said "i have a surprise for you, lets get to the bank"

So we walked alllllll around the building, up and down and he talked to a man and got us inside all the back rooms. He said "i wanna buy it!" And he turned to me and asked "would you like to invest your $800 into my bank as an investor?"

I said "what about my clothes! She said i had to return the money or else i get none!"

"But who did she spend the money on?"

"Me and my brothers and and her!"

"Well don't you think Its time to invest in you and your fashion?" He asked for my $800 i had to pull from 4 different pockets and my sock as he taught me to split to beat pick pocketers. And handed it all. He handed me back $200 and I handed it back then he handed me a $5 from his breast pocket and t told me to keep it.

And began to walk to the counter to buy the bank.

I chased after him and put it in his left cost pocket and told him, 'well you know you bought me lunch so you keep it"

I pulled it from his pocket to produce proof I had already given it and he couldn't give it back and then stuffed it back in deep, all the way i nearly ripped his shoulder off for which I promptly apologized, jumped on the counter and rubbed his soreness off and jumped down.

And he started to cry a little bashful at first then a full sob. And I tried to console him and Robby appeared with a trailing line of toilet paper so his silk hanky wouldn't be soiled with snot.

He thanked him and became startled and asked if he wanted in on the investment.

Robby said, "i might but i need to talk to you, I belong to this boarding school ran by this might be soon white bigger as he calls himself, inspired by her and taken completely out of context"

"Michael Jackson" interjected our new found Uncle Donald. "Come let's sit"

We moved to the side of the spacious lobby to a small table accompanied by two plus club chairs.

He and i talked about how neat it would be to have chaise chairs in Chase bank.

"Well, her mom is abusive, mostly about money so i would like to take control of her stock with her permission"

"Yes! I do! And i will wanna get married!" I jumped with my fist in the air and pushed against the chair like a standing push up and stood

....

"Her sit. First I would like to talk to you as an investor. I am run by the boarding house and they teach us things like to steal and bring back to get 'rewards' much often things less than they are worth like a stick of gum for $2 when I can get a whole pack for 20 cents. Uh oh, here he comes"

"Im about to invest into this bank with these two kids you got something you wanna say to me?" Instead of waiting for a reply, uncle Donald got up and briskly walked to the counter, asking to return to a different room, promptly and away from Mr Jackson whom was still solidly black (he doesn't have vitaligo its just bleached).

And we entered a nearly empty office and he turned fiercely, angry even, "this will be your office where you will WORK"

...

"Its okay! We are still friends!" I climbed into the chair then up onto the desk "this is where I will sit"

"Well close your legs and sit like a lady, like this hand me your foot, no don't take off your shoe"

"Well I didn't want to ruin you! Your suit is NICE!!"

And he moved my foot and crossed my ankles and patted my knee and said "or you cross at here"

I took my ankle to my knee "no not like that, that's like a man. Knee to knee"

"Oh like this?" I squeezed my knees together

Robby laughed and Uncle Donald looked flustered

"Oh i know I know cross at my knees, you need to explain better!" I patted his shoulder. In the 80s it was okay to touch, at least for a child.

"I said that first!"

"Oh! I interrupt!"

"No apologize" Robby groaned

"I apologize for interrupting"

"For?" Asked Donald "you can't tell her that Because ---"

"No he could I get misinformation that way"

"Except when I'm being scolded and she knows the truth" said Robby.

Tune in next week for another Miss Adventure of one Wild Single Mom's Childhood!

I had 48 cents. Robby had put in 2500 front Hayes then 1500 each from Mark and Mike Andrews which he had not signed and they got rejected. Yet Jesse notified me of this, restricted my remote deposit privileges and now i am to notify the Sheriff of Hays County, Austin, Texas that the money is kept hidden in the tax and revenue accounts of his great county. And to open an investigation which he will pretend he did and then not. So i get his hush money as well as the other two and the $15B JP Dejoria stupidly just paid me because i Told Jesse to tell his father in law that Jesse is a stupid piece of shit which he didn't.

And of course I will invest in schools across the nation, installing playgrounds at any schools that do not have them, including intermediate, Jr high, middle, High and etc.. And may be finally lockers at least were I'm centrally located and/or where i want to be, namely at high schools at least.

Because that is what I want to do. Make people happy in the funniest ways possible.

And if there is any left I want to reinvest at the parks i originally invested in, initially, to make them better snd brighter, starting at the older to the newer.

I want the world to seem happier and brighter and in the case of schools at least around here once they hit 7th grade (middle school) they change schools to those that no longer have lockers or desks to put things in, 7 or more teachers to please instead of one or two they spend all day with, like a parent who gives love and kindness and retribution, they go through puberty which in itself is a chore. Then the kids riot. I've seen it in small schools and i know it happens in big ones. 20 in one week at the beginning of school less than a mile from my house where i can hear the school bell.

And so they need a place to sleep their weary heads like the shoulder of an old friend instead of weeping a soul they can no longer call their own.

The secrets i have included here broke my heart to where it actually stopped over and over.

Instead of asking what was wrong, Mr Moneybags Jesse sent me to the doctor alone. -.-

He could have provided me with what i needed like I provided and protected him from Ms Dejoria and Mark Hindberg, Afghanistan and Iraq, which I will no longer do.

He is the one that encouraged Michael Jackson to pickpocket the slaves he had created.

Yes Michael Jackson is Wacko, is Him and is burning in Hell because I killed him with my own pistol Jesse had stolen from a cop, altered and resold to himself at a cheaper price than the way over inflated price he created to create a deficit in his company to receive a refund from the US government's IRS Department in the amount of $8,000 instead of paying the $1M he owed.

I plead guilty before a judge and Uncle Donald, Mrs Katherine Jackson, the Anne my 4 year old daughter that Michael Jackson attempted to rape in front of me, as well as Robby, my true love and of course Sunny and Jesse James himself whom gave me the gun.

Then, before then President Barack Obama, i was exonerated and pardoned completely without the possibility of parole or any other misconceptions that would be included with self defense manslaughter.

This week total I have arrested a total of 19 men and women thanks to the CIA as an unpaid civilian.

That would guarantee me Presidentship of one really great country, now, wouldn't it?

Thanks. And not to be repeated: No more games. Only truth.

Until next time my fair weather friends!

Now! Let's grab the bookie!!! Snag! You're in jail. What did ya know, Mike Andrews, I knew all along that Mark Hindberg was FBI. Why didn't you think that?

Moving along, hi JP. How are you? No one cares. Good thing you trusted into your rapist daughter who was married to a true hero whom puts up with my shit even after we name him Mr Vomit cause I make him so scared he actually vomits like I did tonight (that's included. No more scare, only truth)

Oh yes, JP, you have already been arrested and so you know -- you have no guns with you, right? Alexis Dejoria is no rapist, she's actually an excellent FBI agent whom hates her dad and is included in any exonerations I may have to hand out butbat my leisurely pace, because she actually didn't rape anybody!

Also the US government will pay your wages as you did file a lawsuit this very week by signing up with Namus.gov like we all did.

She like me, was an unpaid civilian whom ran into luck. While she's smart, she's not smart like me. Thus she's the FBI vs me who is CIA and can work against the world in a millisecond as i usually do and have in Afghanistan and Iraq where i protected many NHRA members during their tours in the US Military while they served with Jesse James and my little brother and were even kidnapped thanks to Matt Hagan's temper tantrum and Jesse James refusal to listen to command. Eventually I saved them from that too in a day and 6 hours after leaving base. They were involuntary bound and gagged and beaten within 20 minutes of their capture. Within the next 20 when I was finally told of their status they were rescued by Tony Schumacher and his team.

And now i have saved the NHRA from being beaten and raped and tortured. My time to continue here at home is not wasted,

I love you all and thank you very much for listening...

And now i have something to say about Jesse since i made him puke from a lie via email Because he made me mad for being a Dick douchebag and not caring enough about me, not wrecking his motorcycle and then lying to make me feel bad and stupider than ever although I saw the wreck and my being a girl, up and President running, couldn't stop to rescue or assist a man on his feet whom had already picked up his bike after a wipe out and the trailer passed me up to show me he would assist because forgive those trespassers as we trespass ourselves and i care that he could really been hurt. That may be a fault of mine but it is called Grace and not salvation which is being my daughter reincarnated into a goat in Iraq to keep everyone safe because Jesse is a dumb dumb sometimes and Matt Hagan prefers truth over himself, sometimes. Like being in love with a goat of my daughter's soul, in Iraq. (I bet he fucked her, too. Bestiality freak. Not my business tho, nor yours. But still, let's laugh instead of poking fun at his misadventures. It is funny, yo!)

Jesse cared about the goat so much he listened to her over every one, even me. Because he believed she was closer to God where he needed to be..

I changed his life once in Alabama and several times then, over and over, any time that need be.

But finally for this one time he trusted somebody else and learned to love as much as he could, the soul inside of him.

So God bless to all of the two headed creatures we will see wandering around the backs of people at the NHRA in the future to come. Including even on me.

I'm Mrs Cougar cause of my fingernails and my desire to be with someone young to keep me fresh and Alive -- not by his blood byt by the life he gives me. And he will be Mr Snake the one who slithers up beside me only for love while I labor in the grass kicking myself for what i might have done but not for what i might have missed out on because I was there the whole time thinking and feeling and frolicking through the grass, same as me.

And of course my tattoo will be scary cause the world as I know it, very much can be.

And you can thank me for the past or you can think about the future and beyond!!!

[secondgenerationnerd]

What the Future Holds

EDIT: I posted this before under DickKory and I do apologize. It was a mistake and I was going to fix it before falling asleep. Did not mean to offend anyone.

Sorry for all the radio silence. It’s been a weird few weeks and I have been traveling. This is a story I’ve wanted to do for a while and was inspired by @laquilasse ‘s DickBabs weeks submissions. All the artwork is hers and I have gotten her permission. Please go follow her, spam her inbox with likes and good vibes. She is a constant source of inspiration for me! Please enjoy this story!

Barbara hums timelessly as she wheels through her apartment. A smile plays on her lips as she reminds herself that it’s her and dicks apartment. Dating has been different since this time compared to other times they were together.

They’re older and have priorities more or less straight. Plus Dick doesn’t have to worry about his daughter approving Babs (since she was the one who insisted they dated). They don’t have to worry about kids of their own, other than Dicks grandkids. Barbara loves them with all her heart and M&M loves sitting in her lap and watching the hacker do what she does best.

Barbara reaches up for a box of noodles for dinner when a familiar hand reaches over her and puts it just out of reach.

“Just Because your name is Dick doesn’t mean you have to act like one.” She turns her chair, an amused smile on her face. Dick Grayson smirks down at her.

“I might be willing to help… for a price.” Dick gives that annoyingly handsome smirk that he knows she can’t resist.

“C’mere.” Dick leans down and picks her up out her chair for a loving kiss.

A dumb as he can be, Dick really us a good guy. She smiles up at him.

“How was class?”

“Fun. You should see the kids now! Regular acrobats, I tell you.” Dick beams, thinking about the classes he teaches at the local youth center.

“You hear from Mar’i?” Barbara wheels over to the fridge for vegetables. Dick starts getting pots and pans out.

“Yep! She’s bringing the kids and Jon over Sunday. There has been a request for mici.” Barbara loves the smile he gets when he talks about his family. He’s always had it, especially about his siblings and his daughter. There are few things in this world that he loves more than his family.

They have a nice quiet dinner complete with a movie before getting ready for their nightly activities. As Dick suits up and gets his escrima sticks and other gear ready, Barbara gets set up at her computer. There are very few secrets in the hero community that are kept from her. Dick comes over to her and kisses her cheek, just like he always does.

“I love you, Babs.”

“Love you too, Dick. Come back safe.”

“I always do.” And with that, her boyfriend climbs out the window, into the chilly Bludhaven night.

***

This mission should have been like any other. Her intel was good. He’d gotten in uniform and kissed her cheek before leaving. It was supposed to be fine. But something went wrong. Now her boyfriend lays on a hospital bed covered in bandaids.

Babs heart is lodged in her throat as she sits by his bedside. Mar’i is on the other side of the bed, gnawing on her fingernail. Barbara wheels over to the other side and takes the young woman’s hand, holding it tight in hers.

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

“I-I do not know.” Mar’i stutters over her words. Babs knows how much she struggles with contractions when she’s scared. “I feel as if I am 7 years old again. And I am going to lose someone I love and I will be alone.”

Barbara squeezes Mar’i’s hand,” as long as one person in our messed up family is alive, you’re never going to be alone.”

Mar’i gives a soft, sad smile,” thanks, Barbara.”

The women sit in silence for a while. Mar’i begins to speak “Dad loves you.”

“I love him too.”

“No. I’ve only ever heard him talk about someone like that with one other woman. He talks about you the way he talks about mom. Like he’s still in awe that someone like you all could be with someone like him.” Other women would worry about that comparison. Barbara doesn’t. She knows what dicks like with women he truly loves. “I should call Jon. Check on the kids.”

“Ok, sweetie. I’ll be here when he wakes up.” Mar’i gives the older woman a small smile.

“I know you will be.” Mar’i leaves. Barbara sits in silence, running her fingers through Dick’s hair. When had the midnight black become streaked with gray she wonders? She traces the lines on his face with a gentle touch.

“Hmmm…Babs?” Dick’s eyes slowly flutter open. “What happened? Is Mar’i ok?”

“Yes, she’s fine. She’s talking to Jon.” Barbara tears up. “You’ve been out for a day and a half…we thought you were…”

Dick gently wipes the tears from her eyes,” Can’t get rid of me that easy.’

Barbara leans down to kiss him.

Dick holds her hands and face gently like she’ll break at the next move. He looks into her eyes and she can’t possibly imagine what he will say next.

“Marry me.”

“Wh-What?”

‘Barbara Gordon, I’ve made many mistakes in my life. Many because I didn’t act fast enough and I was too scared. I’m tired of being scared. I love you and I want to spend my life with you. Are you willing to settle for a goof like me?”

Barbara chokes back a sob,” Yes. Yes, I will.”

“Dad!” Mar’i comes into the room and flies to her father’s side. Dick makes the hospital bedsit up so he can hug his daughter. “Don’t scare me like that!”

“I’m sorry, Starshine. I won’t do that ever again.” Something is different in his voice.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s time someone else too up Nightwing. I’m through with the hero life. I have three grandkids to spoil, a daughter and son-in-law to embarrass, and a wedding to plan.”

Mar’i looks at Barbara who nods happily. She gives her father that know it all look that he knows all too well,” In that case, you should definitely give up the mantel. M&M and Charlie would never forgive their Papa Dick for dying before they can be flower girls.”

The small family laughs. Dick looks at his fiancee and his daughter. What more could he need out of this life?  

[vanxcks]

we’ll be fathers, sort of

Chapter wordcount: 1729

Featuring disgruntled customers, croissants, and the beginnings of a plan.

masterpost (links to all chapters)

Read chapter 4 below the cut or on AO3 (link in notes)

Aziraphale wakes to a pounding on the door downstairs, similar to the one in his head. He groans as he sits up. He’d been woken similarly several times during the night, except by a surprisingly loud wail instead of the knocking.

It’s strange, because sleep isn’t something that Angels are supposed to need at all. In fact, for centuries he didn’t sleep at all, instead spending the nights travelling or looking at the stars. It was Crowley that slept—a whole century, at one point, if Aziraphale recalls correctly. But it’s become a habit, over the past millennium or so. Just another luxury that Aziraphale’s started to rely on, like the food and the books. It’s interesting, because it seems his body has started to rely on it too. That would explain the headache.

“Oh, goodness me,” he says, patting down his vest as he rushes downstairs. They creak as he walks, and he snaps his fingers to silence them. Customers this early? It could only be—he glances at the clock as he hurries to the front door, and does a double take—eleven o’clock. Oh, dear.

“Sorry, I’m—so sorry,” he says wretchedly upon opening the door. There’s two women there, one much older, presumably the younger woman’s mother. 

“What’s going on? Your website says you open at nine-thirty,” she says.

“I’m dreadfully sorry,” Aziraphale says, wringing his hands. “There was some—” He wants to say complications, but that opens up a whole new host of issues, and he can’t go around telling anyone that there’s a child upstairs. What if Gabriel found out. Then Aziraphale would be in real trouble. “I’m sorry,” he says again, instead. “We’re open now.” He steps aside to let them in, and flips the sign around. 

“Oh,” he adds, “and the prices have been raised on all the books. Ten pounds extra, twenty on the prophetic ones.” The ladies grumble, and Aziraphale feels a little rush of relief—he can’t go selling anything. What sort of book collector would he be then?

And then he realizes something. “I don’t have a—excuse me, ma’ams, what did you mean about my web—”

But they’ve already stormed off, probably to give him one star on yelp. He tends to have that effect on customers.

Aziraphale doesn’t have a website. “Crowley,” he calls, walking back up the stairs, because if there’s been a website set up for him, there’s only one person that could have done it.

The Arrangement has only really been in place for around a thousand years, and Aziraphale cannot say if he’s grateful for it or not. On a surface level, he’s grateful, of course. It’s a way to ease the workload, fulfill Heaven’s demands without necessarily having to do it all himself. And there’s the new friendship, even if it is with a demon.

But it’s the friendship thing that Aziraphale finds so difficult to understand or deal with. It’s Crowley. Because yes, they’re friends, and yes, they help each other out when it’s convenient. They both love the earth and all the strange little comforts they find there. But sometimes Aziraphale can’t help but feel as if Crowley is looking for something else. A smile over crepes, or a certain look in his eye when they’re lolling about in the bookshop, drunk. A brush of fingertips, or a seemingly meaningless request. “We can run off together,” or “Y’know, I hear Alpha Centauri is nice this time of year.” “We can leave all this behind, Angel.”

Aziraphale can’t deal with declarations like these. Because these aren’t convenience, they aren’t about a mutual love of Earth. They’re about something bigger, something that Aziraphale’s never seen in Heaven or in Hell, only on Earth. Something he’s never experienced before.

And it hurts. Oh, God, it hurts. Every touch, every gesture. A set of books in nineteen-forty-five London. An offer, vulnerable and quiet, in the Bentley, under the nineteen-seventies lights. Because every time Crowley says these things, it’s like they’re a question, a plea, and saying yes would betray everything Aziraphale stands for. But saying no would tear Aziraphale apart.

Aziraphale climbs up the stairs. There’s only two rooms in his flat—a living one, with a tiny little kitchen, a dining area and a sofa, but no television. And his bedroom. 

The living room’s empty. A crib, next to the sofa, with a little sleeping baby in it, but no Crowley. The sofa, too, is empty, and Crowley’s blankets are gone from it. “Oh, dear,” Aziraphale says under his breath, looking around. Softly, the baby starts to cry.

Crowley hurries up the steps of the bookshop, pulling his jacket a little tighter around him. It’s a rainy London morning, and he can’t miracle himself dry, not in plain sight, so he does his best to keep himself and the two paper bags he’s carrying sheltered within the fabric.

The sign on the door says open. Aziraphale must have woken up. He pushes the door open quietly anyway, because he knows that Aziraphale can get engrossed in his studies, and he doesn’t want to surprise him. Aziraphale’s pacing across the worn rug in the back of the bookshop, wringing his hands. Crowley watches for a second, brow furrowing. “Angel?”

“Oh—” Aziraphale cries, turning suddenly, knocking the lamp off his desk and only catching it at the last second. Crowley raises his eyebrows and bites back a smile. “Crowley! What—I thought you were gone!”

“Gone?”

“I woke up, and the—the sofa was empty, and your blankets were gone. I thought you’d left me all alone.” His voice softens at the end of his sentence.

“Didn’t know you cared so much,” Crowley says, because he can’t help it.

“No—I—that’s not what I meant, and you know it,” Aziraphale stammers, and it gives Crowley some delight to see Aziraphale so ruffled. “I need help with Arthur. I had to figure out how to make him stop crying all on my own!”

“Did you succeed?” Crowley asks. The walls of the bookshop are surprisingly soundproof (almost definitely the work of a miracle) and he wouldn’t be able to hear the baby either way. He suspects he already knows the answer, though.

Aziraphale pauses. “No,” he admits. Then, “Where were you, anyway?”

“Oh, yes,” Crowley says, and snaps his fingers, clothes and hair drying in a second. “I got us,” he holds out the two paper bags, “croissants.”

“You got us croissants?” Aziraphale asks, and his smile is back, cheeks flushed. Crowley can’t help but smile back.

“Yes, Angel, croissants. Are you deaf?” Aziraphale doesn’t answer, and Crowley throws his coat over the sofa and saunters into the bookshop kitchen, then continues, “I know crepes are your favorite, but y’said there only were good ones in Paris.”

“That was three hundred years ago,” Aziraphale says, glancing this way and that, occasionally at Crowley. “There’s a new shop, a couple streets over. Sells the most scrumptious crepes you could imagine.” Of course.

“I believe,” Crowley says, leaning back on the counter, “that this is where a thank you would be appropriate.”

“Yes, um, you’re right. I’m so sorry,” Aziraphale says, and meets Crowley’s eyes, cheeks still rosy. “Thank you.”

“Very gracious of you,” Crowley says, smiling.

Aziraphale goes to reach for the plates, but Crowley’s closer, so he hands them over. 

They end up eating upstairs, off of Aziraphale’s ridiculously out of date but unexpectedly charming crockery. First, of course, Crowley feeds Arthur. Crowley whispers to him as he does it, bouncing him a little and trying to get him to smile (there’s something wonderful and so, so, un-Hellish about the baby’s little smile—he loves it, although he’d never admit it), until he glances up and sees Aziraphale watching him, a little grin on his face. “What?” Crowley snaps.

“Oh, nothing,” Aziraphale says, and then, “just seems like you’ve got a bit of kindness in you after all.”

“Shut up,” Crowley says, and finishes feeding Arthur silently, then sits down at the dining table.

“So, we’ve still got the issue of the child,” Crowley says, after a moment of poking at the croissant.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, there’s things we have to do. Injections and such.” He turns the croissant over, but it doesn’t seem to be offering anything up.

Aziraphale shudders. “I’ve never gotten an injection. Horrid things, really, needles.”

“Yeah, but see, the kid’s not an angel. We can’t have him getting sick, that’d be loads more work.” He takes a bite, experimentally, and almost spits it out. “Sweet! That’s—Good Lord—Satan—” He takes a napkin and spits it out, then throws it away. “How the Heaven do you eat that?”

“It’s chocolate,” Aziraphale says, looking a little disgruntled. “It’s delicious.”

“Your taste continues to astound me, angel,” he says, astound sounding more like disgust. 

“You just don’t know how to appreciate anything fun.”

“Fun?” 

“Yes, fun.”

“You call that...monstrosity fun?” Aziraphale looks at Crowley innocently, and Crowley sighs, sitting back down. “The point is, I had an idea.”

“Should I be afraid?”

“Oh, no, it’s—” Crowley takes a breath. “Eh, it’s an idea. Y’know, just an idea.”

“Hm.” Aziraphale reaches for Crowley’s croissant, and Crowley gives him a permissive nod. Aziraphale puts the croissant on his own plate. “Well, out with it, then.”

“I thought we should be husbands.”

Aziraphale chokes on his croissant, and Crowley leans forward, patting him on the back in mild assistance. “You think we should—” Aziraphale says, coughing, “get married?”

“What? Oh, no, of course not. Just—y’know, pretend. I mean, we’ve got this baby, and we’re two men of the same age—that’s probably what the shop lady thought.”

“She did?” Aziraphale asks, eyes wide and anxious. “Does it seem like we’re married? Do you think anyone else thinks so?”

“Ngk—I doubt it,” Crowley says, choking a little bit on the words. “Anyway, that’s my point—we could use it to our advantage—at least, I thought that was the best strategy. Otherwise we’ve got to figure out the whole single parent thing, who is the parent, first of all, and then if it’s you, what am I doing at the pediatrician—it gets much more complicated.”

Aziraphale’s eyebrows draw together. “Husbands,” he says, as if testing out the word.

“Just at the clinic. For simplicity’s sake. Not for real,” Crowley says hurriedly.

“Of course not.”

“Of course not,” Crowley says. Aziraphale nods and takes a bite of his croissant.