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maitanii · 1 year ago

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ABOUT YOU | INUI SEISHU

an: i don’t know how to write fanfics of x reader, it’s not really my thing. but i had fun writing this. so enjoy <3 i listened a lot to the 1975 while i was writing this and i didn’t know what to put as a title. this is just me loving inui seishu.

cw: bonten timeline (this takes place in 2013) | Implicit sexual content | toxic relationship (not the main one) | alcohol consumption (both reader and Inui drink a beer)

wc: 6k

THURSDAY. SEPTEMBER 5TH. 2013.

"I'm looking for a job."

"Thanks, but no."

"I’ve seen the sign you have at the entrance and the job offer on LinkedIn."

"No."

The young man's eyes never leave the car magazine he's leafing through disinterestedly throughout the entire conversation. A pen is gracefully held behind his ear, and a grease stain adorns his pale cheek.

"Can I at least talk to your boss?" You put your hands on your hips. The man lets out a deep sigh before forcefully closing the magazine's pages. He raises his gaze to meet your eyes and forces the most insincere smile he can muster. In his green pupils, there's nothing but annoyance.

"Of course."

With heavy movements, he takes two steps with his long legs and elegantly opens the flip phone on the counter. After a few moments of awkward silence, another phone rings in the room. You search for the object producing the sound. When the phone's beep stops, a toilet flushes. The small wooden door behind the counter swings wide open, revealing a massive figure zipping up his pants.

"Seishu, damn it, you don't even let me go to the bathroom," The blonde man laughs, sarcastic, before returning to his serious expression. "Sorry, boss." He shrugs, raising his thumb and pointing at your figure, standing in front of him. "This girl here says she's looking for a job."

You look the sturdy man up and down who stands before you. You swallow hard as you examine the tattoos that decorate the side of his head.

Draken raises an eyebrow, looking at Inui, who leans on his arms at the counter, amusedly watching the scene. The tall young man with the tattooed skull returns the girl's gaze before extending his hand.

"I'm Ryuguji Ken," shaking his hand back, you pronounce your own name. "So you're here for the job offer... Do you know anything about motorcycles?"

"Not exactly. My father was a big enthusiast. But I learn quickly and make good coffee."

Inui continues to look at you with a poker face. Did you really come to apply for a job at a motorcycle shop without knowing anything about the subject? What's next, studying international relations and trying to build a bridge?

"Oh, I see," Draken says, touching his chin with two fingers, looking thoughtfully at the ceiling. "You're young, pretty, and you seem nice. You might attract some customers and be of help to us. You're hired. You start tomorrow."

"What?"

"Yes!" Your exclamation only emphasizes the vein that protrudes on the blonde man's pale forehead.

Inui looks at Draken in disbelief.

"How is she supposed to help in the workshop if she knows nothing about motorcycles, Draken?"

"I put up the sign at the entrance because I needed someone at the counter, not to have another mechanic," Seishu tightens his lips and closes his eyelids. "Besides, if she needs help, you're always here in case something comes up, Inupi. It'll do you good to have some company to improve your social skills."

The tension in the room thickens as Inui grudgingly accepts Draken's decision, though he remains skeptical about the new addition to their team. With a deep sigh, he shifts his attention back to the tools in his toolbox, muttering something under his breath.

On the other hand, you do your best to conceal your excitement and nerves. You are determined to prove your worth, despite your limited knowledge of motorcycles. In truth, you don't care much about the specifics of the job; it's all about paying the bills for your apartment. Even though your mom insists on helping, it's too much for her. Several cafes rejected your job applications due to your refusal to accept exploitation or wear specific uniforms. That's why having a job just 20 minutes away from your house, with a consistent schedule and no split work shifts, feels like a great opportunity.

You are more than ready to embrace this new chapter in your life at D&D MOTORS, at least for the next few months until you earn your degree and sort out some other aspects of your life.

The one who isn't willing to embrace the concept of working with someone else is Inui Seishu. As you stand there, happily texting your mom about the new job, you can't shake the feeling that there's more to him than meets the eye.

THURSDAY. SEPTEMBER 23TH. 2013.

Inui Seishu is the typical man who hates Twilight. You haven't asked him, but you know it. It's not like you have the opportunity to exchange more than two words with him. Every time you try to ask him something, you get a 'uh-huh' or a 'look it up on the computer' as a response. The only moments when you have more chances to talk to him are when you make a mistake in naming a part of the order or point something out. Then, Inui's sermons, as cold and abrupt as he is, echo off the walls of the shop. Later, Draken arrives to tell you it's not a big deal and gives you a pat on the back.

Even though you have only been here for two weeks, you have already gotten used to the penetrating smell of burnt oil and gasoline at D&D MOTORS. Your mother isn't exactly thrilled about you working in such an environment, especially with the rise of gangs in Tokyo, but she can't complain much if that job helps you pay the rent. Every day you look at the calendar, hoping to get to the final exams of your degree and say goodbye to Tokyo to return to your hometown.

“My co-workers are not dangerous, Mom, I promise. I have to go in. Love you,” you close your phone and open the heavy glass doors of the shop.

Draken is looking at the day's schedule, and Inui is starting to set up his toolbox next to the radio he uses to play some music during work time. The doorbell rings when you enter, catching Draken's and Inui's attention.

“Good morning. You are a bit late today. Everything okay on the way here?” Draken comments as he continues to write things in the notebook. A few days ago, you mentioned that you don't live in a good area of the city, but it's what you can afford. Inui, at his boss's words, lifts his gaze and finally greets you with a nod. His expression remains as serious as ever.

“Hello,” you reply with a smile, trying to appear as relaxed as possible. “Yes, my mother called, and I couldn’t hang up sooner. Sorry,” you make a slight bow. Draken laughs lightly.

“No worries, woman. I arrived a couple of minutes ago. Inui is always the first to arrive.”

“I just like to get up early,” the blonde says without much emotion.

Draken approaches you, leaving the counter.

“Today, we have a couple of customers waiting for us to take a look at their bikes. You know how it works. Inui inspects, and you write down what he tells you, understood? I have to handle several orders, so I'll be at the counter for today.”

“Understood,” you nod as you hang your coat on the rack. You are determined to show that you can be a valuable worker. Draken pats your shoulder before turning to Inui.

“Inui, you know the drill. Today, you're in charge of the initial inspection. I trust you'll do a good job with Eiichiro. He really likes your way of working.'” Inui nods without saying a word.

Both of them go to their respective tasks, and you prepare to assist your colleague in the inspection.

The discomfort in the air is palpable. You can't quite understand what part of your personality Inui finds displeasing. But you are at work to work, not to make friends, so you have to swallow your colleague's attitude without complaint. After all, the pay is generous, you don't have split shifts, and Ryuguji (or Draken, as he has asked you to call him on the third day) is a great guy.

When the first customer arrives, you watch carefully the meticulousness and attention to detail with which Inui works. It's evident that he has outstanding technical skills. You begin to take notes of his observations, trying to learn as much as possible.

You can't help but be acutely aware of the silence that envelops the workshop. The client goes away to run some errands while the revision is being done, and Draken is nowhere to be seen. Inui's work seems almost unnaturally quiet except for the occasional sound of 'hum' or 'pass me the screwdriver,' amplifying the awkwardness of the situation." . Every move appears as if it's part of a silent ballet. He almost looks bored, if it weren't for the light reflecting in his eyes. Eyes that look at you from time to time discreetly, as if waiting for you to make a mistake. You almost feel like a child waiting to be grounded. The absence of chatter or the usual workshop sounds adds to the discomfort, making you feel like an intruder in this world of expertise.

With a notepad in hand, you begin to take notes of your observations, the sound of the pen scratching against the paper echoing in the quiet space. You have already familiarized yourself with the brake locations and even sketched a few diagrams detailing the engine parts. But in the hushed environment, you can't shake the feeling of unease, like an outsider trying to blend into a world where silence reigns, and every movement holds a weighty significance.

Whenever you think you have identified a possible issue, your eyes meet Inui's unwavering gaze. Although he doesn't speak a word, his discreet look seems to silently pass judgment on you. After a few minutes of inspection, you cautiously venture to ask a question. "Could it be an issue with the engine's synchronization?" you ask. Inui nods slightly, but his expression remains unflinching. Soon, he redirects his attention back to the motorcycle.

You decide to delve deeper into your theory. "Perhaps it’s a blocked exhaust valve," you mention, tilting your head, hoping for a response or a sign of confirmation. Once again, Inui nods with a minimal gesture, without saying a word. He stands up while removing his gloves and shakes them against his pants. You close your eyes as you watch him smear grease on the fabric. That stain won't come off easily, not even completely.

As if he was a mind reader, Inui speaks for the first time in ten minutes. "I don't come to the workshop to stay clean. The dirtier my uniform is, the harder I've worked in a day," he says. You nod at his words, although you don't entirely agree with his statement.

"Oh, of course, it makes sense,". It doesn't make much sense, but who are you to contradict someone who seems to have no thoughts behind their gaze?

Back when you still lived with your mother and came home after a night out, you tried to make as little noise as possible to avoid disturbing her. In those moments, you felt the same way, measuring your words and avoiding causing any disruption. The lack of conversation and the absence of the usual workshop sounds only make the situation more uncomfortable.

Tearing the page where you’ve been taking notes from the notebook, you leave it on the seat of the inspected motorcycle, and then follow Inui through the workshop. Appearing submissive is something you hate; but working with someone who makes you feel like a burden with every step is even worse.

“Hey, Inui”

“Uh-uhm.”

“Am I bothering you?”

“Right now? Not much.” Inui grabs a denim jacket from the rack and drapes it over his shoulders. Draken looks at him from the counter, raising an eyebrow. ” I need to step out for a moment.” You watch how he touches the pocket of his jacket, probably making sure he has the pack of cigarettes he always carries around “I won't be out long. If Eiichiro comes back, you take care of it.” Nodding towards you, Inui proceeds to leave the premises. It has started drizzling not long ago.

You follow his figure with your gaze, observing how his hair sways gracefully with each step his military boots take.

“This guy... “ Draken's voice breaks the silence with a comment that is more for himself than for you.

“He's peculiar. “ you add.

“He's really damn weird.” Both of you laugh at his comment “But he's a very good person and a great friend. He didn't have an easy adolescence when it comes to making friends.” As he pronounces the last word, he gestures with his hands as if making quotation marks. “Give him time, you'll get along well.”

The conversation with Draken continued for a few more minutes. The rain began to intensify. Eiichiro should have arrived a while ago, and Inui hadn't arrived either.

"Inupi didn't have an umbrella, did he?" Draken asks. You shake your head. "Here, take one for him. He's probably in the alley on the other street, having a smoke, and he can't come out in this downpour. I'd go, but I'm waiting for a call. If Eiichiro comes, I'll let him know to wait for a moment."

Taking the umbrella that Draken hands you and another for yourself from the umbrella stand, you nod and start walking to the location. It must be a frequent spot for him to know where he is with such assurance.

As you approach the alley, you hear hushed whispers beneath the sound of falling raindrops. Suddenly, laughter fills the air. You clutch the umbrella you're holding tightly and press the other one close to your chest.

"Inui, I brought you an—"

The words you were about to speak are left unspoken. The scene unfolding before your eyes is hard to comprehend. Seishu's back is visible in the darkness of the alley, but the hands gripping his scalp and exploring his back under his jacket are unmistakable.

When you were taking a step back to return the way you came, both figures become aware of the sound and turn around. Seishu raises his eyebrows, and your gaze instinctively goes to his swollen lips. In an instant, you cast a glance at his companion. You couldn't see his features clearly, but slanted eyes and white hair greet you in the darkness.

"...umbrella. Return carefully."

Dropping the umbrella to the ground, you run back to the workshop. Embarrassment starts to course through your body, and your cheeks begin to burn. Suddenly, laughter begins to bubble up, and when you arrive at the workshop, you close the door and bend over your stomach, laughing.

Draken is just finishing his call when he sees you walk in the door. Hearing your laughter, a smile spreads across his face. The redness doesn't leave your cheeks, just like the feeling of embarrassment that penetrates your mind.

"He..." You still haven't caught your breath enough to articulate a word properly. "He was..." Opening your mouth to laugh again, you raise your hands to start clapping your fingers together, mimicking two people kissing.

Your boss laughs again.

"Oh, so you've met Kokonoi."

Approaching the counter to pick up your water bottle and take a sip, you heard the door beginning to open.

"Now," your coworker's voice made you jump, "now you're really bothering me."

WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 9TH. 2013.

Inui Seishu's lip balm has the scent of vanilla although his mouth carries the taste of tobacco. Kokonoi loves the former, but he detests the latter. However, whenever he sees Seishu, he doesn't waste much time before capturing his lips, entwining his fingers in his long blonde hair. He is the one who gives him that lip balm; the same one that Akane carries in her school case whenever they go to the library. This brings him closer to understanding what it would be like to kiss her.

But he's sure that Inui Akane wouldn’t have hands as big and calloused. Nor such a broad back. Nor the prominent Adam's apple in his throat. That's why closing his eyes and kissing Seishu is the simplest way to live out his fantasies

"I have a business trip tomorrow. I'm going to Hong Kong for a couple of weeks."

Oh, that's great," Inui replies, his attention still on his phone. The screen congratulates him for completing another Candy Crush level when he presses the lock button. "Are you going with the Haitani brothers?"

"No." Kokonoi's coat costs more than the entire D&D MOTORS shop and the rent of all the buildings in his neighborhood. Seishu watches closely as Hajime adjusts the collar of his shirt, covering any possible marks decorating the smooth skin of his neck. Any mark that brings him thoughts of Seishu; any mark that reminds him that it doesn't belong to Akane." "I'm going alone. I'll leave you money for the taxi and for another shampoo."

"Shampoo?"

"Yes." Turning towards him, Kokonoi approaches his body lying on the bed and grabs a strand of hair.

"I don't like the scent of the one you use. It's too strong."

"Ah." Seishu moves his hand aside to sit up on the bed. He takes his white T-shirt from the end of the bed and starts to get dressed. "Lately, my hair has been falling out quite a bit. Draken told me this one would help, but it's true the scent doesn't suit me much."

"Certainly not." Checking the time once again, Hajime gives a final look to the hotel room before approaching the door. "Goodbye Inupi, take care."

The sound of the closing door echoes within the four walls. A sigh escapes Seishu's lips. The king-size bed, covered with high-quality Egyptian cotton sheets, is too big for one person. Surrounded by fluffy pillows, he sat on the mattress and watched the flat-screen TV mounted on the wall. He could take the opportunity to watch "House of Cars" and entertain himself. He had asked for the day off from Draken, so he wasn't in a hurry to go back anywhere. Although, in his day-to-day life, he never really rushed for anything. He didn't even have to go back anywhere.

He decided to lie back down and rested his forearm against his forehead. The distant sounds of the city served as a lullaby; Koko always chose hotels away from the crowd. He had time to stay in the room until six, and it was only four. He considered taking a nap but opted to check his mobile phone again. He had an unread message from Draken.

"Look at what you're missing out on," he smiled upon seeing the photo that accompanied the text. It's a blurry picture of a plate of Takoyaki and some fingers with silver rings peering in the lower corner of the photograph. You don't need to be Sherlock Holmes to know that the low-quality jewelry belonged to you. Tomorrow you would come complaining that your fingers were turning green. He would take the opportunity to call you Hulk, and you would get angry and say, "are you implying that I'm a monster?"

Seishu laughs before locking his phone and closing his eyes, sinking deeper into the tranquil cocoon of the luxurious hotel room. Outside, the city's lights began to twinkle as evening settled in.

MONDAY, NOVEMBER 4 TH, 2013.

There are good days and bad days. Today was one of the latter kind.

The guy you had been seeing had been leaving your messages on read for three days. It's not like you had grown too attached, but he provided some company outside of friendship. On the other hand, you had continuous arguments with his family for the most absurd reasons. Your roommate thought it was a good idea to finish your cereal box without asking and to constantly bring her boyfriend into the common areas of the house. To top it off, you got your period before leaving home. You felt like a matchstick being dragged across the box, destined to turn into white phosphorus at some point.

When your umbrella wouldn't close at the entrance of D & D MOTORS, and you arrived fifteen minutes late (with wet hair and socks) for your shift, the last thing you wanted to deal with was your coworker's comments.

Draken had to go on a business trip to pick up some parts in Osaka and was going to take the opportunity to see some old friends. Considering the time he spent at work, you were sure he could use some time away. However, this also meant more time with Seishu. And that didn't excite you much. He had been quite irritating lately. You had heard Draken talking about a fight with his boyfriend (or whatever their relationship was). You didn't care much about people's sex lives, except when it directly affected you. Whatever was going on with Inui, he was taking it out on you at work. So the best thing that could happen to him today was to keep quiet until the clock struck six, without sermons, sharp comments, or unnecessary sarcasm.

“Christmas is approaching, have you thought about asking Santa for a watch?”

“What?” The vein on your forehead starts to throb.

“I’m asking you if you've thought about being on time for once. Draken should start deducting hours from your contract.”

When his words meet silence, Inui places the wrench he was holding on the floor. He turns his body to face yours. His green eyes inspect you from head to toe with an indifferent look. Instinctively, you cover your stomach with your hands. Has he noticed that you look more bloated today? Without saying a word, he turns his head and goes back to his business.

“Are you going to start working now?” he asks.

You don't know if it's the stress, the piercing pain in your lower back, or the bad weather. But the tears in your eyes start to burn more and more.

“What have I done to make you treat me like crap?” The words flow from your throat before your brain can process them.”If you want, I can talk to Draken and ask him to switch my shift. But I don't deserve to be treated like this.”

“Like what? Look, I don't understand what's wrong with you today.”

“It's not today, Inui, it's every day” Tears began to roll down your cheeks. Damn it, you didn't want to cry today. At least not in front of anyone. “I don't expect us to be friends, but lately, it seems like you hate me, and I don't want that either.”

Seishu looks puzzled as you bring your hands to your eyes and try to wipe away the tears before they fall from your cheeks. How badly had he behaved? He wasn't the most careful person when speaking; his parents always nudged him when he was opening Christmas presents to make him put on a better face. Words kept coming out of your mouth, but Inui had stopped listening to you a few minutes ago, thinking about the interactions of the past week and measuring the words of what he was going to say next.

“I don't hate you. Not at all. I had a fight with someone important to me, and it affected my behavior. I'm sorry.” Bowing slightly, Inui prays that this will be enough to stop your tears.

“...and you're always so obsessed with me being a few minutes late; are you that obsessed with the time?” Your eyes remain hidden behind your hands, which continue to wipe away the salty drops endlessly pouring from your eyes.

He clicks his tongue and straightens up at the same time. With all the gentleness that his calloused hands allow, he delicately grabs your forearms to separate them from your body.

“Hey, did you hear me?” Moving away abruptly, you bring your arms to your chest protectively ”I don't hate you, okay?” He continues speaking. “To be honest, I'm just like that. I thought you knew” You raise an eyebrow at his words, sniffing the mucus generated by your tears with your nose.

“Did you think I found you that unpleasant?”

“No, I didn't mean that” He laughs lightly, putting a hand in one of his pants pockets, and handing you a tissue. His laughter is a very pleasant sound. “I'm not the most expressive person, I guess. I don't know, I'm a bit reserved. I don't usually express things the way I should. But I don't hate you, not at all. I haven't stopped to think about how I made you feel with my words, to be honest.”

Your reddened eyes meet his. For the first time, you notice that there is no boredom in his gaze. Just genuine concern. Despite your anger and frustration, something in the way he looks at you makes you lower your guard a bit.

“Well, that's a start, I guess” You murmur, feeling the tension slowly subside and bringing the tissue you had taken from Inupi to your nose. Inui nods as if he agrees with you. He seems uncomfortable, but he's willing to try to resolve the situation.

“I'll pay more attention to how I act, I promise.” You smile at his words.

“I've never heard you laugh” The poker face disappears from his face. The slightest blush decorates his cheeks. “I like your laugh, Inui.”

“Of course you like my laugh, you sound like a newborn piglet when you’re laughing” A mischievous smile appears on his face.

“Take that back!” Grabbing a cloth from the seat of a motorcycle, you start whipping his shoulder. Laughter begins to resonate in the shop as his Adams apple moves with every sound. “Good thing you have a boyfriend, because you're terrible with women.”

Taking the piece of fabric from your hands, Inui Seishu stands in front of you with an eyebrow raised. For the first time, you are aware of how tall he is. Despite his soft features, he has a very masculine jaw. Your eyes instantly shift to your hands, where you hold the other end of the cloth tightly.

“I don't think I'm bad with women in any sense. You can ask one of my ex-girlfriends if you want tho.”

FRIDAY, DECEMBER 13 TH. 2013

The rainy days are the least crowded in the store. Only half an hour left before closing time, and it didn't look like any customers were going to walk in through the door. In the fridge, there were a couple of beers that Draken had bought for the Friday night shifts.

"You're going to laugh at me." The glass of the Asahi bottle was freezing the tips of your fingers. Inui had taken the last Kirin.

“Oh, believe me, I don't need to know your favorite movie to laugh at you. You give me plenty of reasons already.”

“I know, but I know you, and you're going to annoy me day and night.”

“It's Twilight, isn't it?” Silence fills the room before a deep laugh erupts from his chest. The sound quickens the pace of your heartbeat. It’s too pleasant, too familiar. If death were to knock on your door at that moment and offer you the chance to hear something for the last time, you would choose to hear Inui's laughter.

“Yes” You answer without thinking, with a smile on your face and a blush spreading across your cheeks. Your favourite movie isn’t Twilight, you don’t even like vampires. It was probably a 2000s sitcom or some Adam Sandler comedy. But you were still enchanted by the mischievous smile Inui fixed on you.

“Kokonoi has always hated Twilight” When he spoke those words, Seishu fixed his gaze ahead. He never talks about him. And you don’t really want to know. You observe how a sad smile makes its way in Inui’s face.

“And you don't?” You ask, giving him a light nudge in the torso.

“I love it” In response, your body turned automatically, your mouth opening in surprise.

“NO WAY” Now it’s your turn to laugh. Inui's eyes fixated on the dimple that occasionally appears on the right side of your face. He likes it (the dimple and your laugh).

“Draken and I went to watch Breaking Dawn Part Two at the cinema last year. Some girls invited us for a drink after the movie. It was fun.”

“Oh well, you use it as a flirting technique” You roll your eyes. A strange knot forms in your stomach as you speak those words “That doesn't count.”

“Pf, I don't need to say I like Twilight to flirt. Just covering this up with a bit of concealer is enough” His fingers pointed to the red mark that covered a quarter of his face.

Your eyebrows furrow at his words, and a wave of questions and emotions fill your mind. Why would someone as attractive as Inui feel the need to hide a birthmark?

“Why would you do that? You have a beautiful face.”

A lopsided smile appears on Inui's lips before he took a sip from his beer bottle. You can be as blunt as him when you want. (He also likes that)

“You're very kind. Try telling me that when we're not drinking” he says while flicking your forehead with his free hand.

“Inupi, are you laughing at me?” Grabbing his cheeks between your hands, you gently squeeze his face between the sleeves of your sweater. “You have an enviable face. You don't have to be ashamed of a birthmark.”

“It's not a birthmark” Setting the beer aside, the young man grabs your wrist and rolls up the sleeve of your sweater on your forearm to let your fingers touch his forehead.

Feeling the wrinkled skin under your fingers, you shiver. It indeed wasn’t a birthmark; it was a scar. So Inui decides it’s time to tell you everything. The fire, Akane, Kokonoi, Shinichiro, his adolescence. Throughout the monologue, your hand continues to caress his head, alternating between his forehead and some strands of his hair. (He appreciates that). His voice didn't waver at any point. It almost sounded like a rehearsed speech, bordering on robotic.

Evoking pity is disgusting. Just remembering how his family's friends acted after the fire makes him angry. The looks they gave when they discovered the mark beneath the bandage, the whispers when they left his sister's room, the loneliness of his parents. Everyone went to say goodbye to Akane, but no one stayed with the Inui family. Except Koko.

"And at what point in your story do heels come into play?" Your voice disrupts his thoughts. He notices your hand is no longer on his head. Sitting on the floor, imitating his posture, your pinky timidly caresses the back of his hand. A shy smile decorating your face, inviting him to speak more. "When did you start liking heels?"

He was never a cheerful child, but he was a child who loved to laugh. Akane always tried by all means to erase the poker face from his expression, and most of the time, she succeeded.

At some point during his speech, his pinky ends up entwined with yours.

MONDAY DECEMBER 23RD 2013

The day Inui Seishu cuts ties with Kokonoi Hajime, the workshop is swamped with tasks. Christmas is in two days and people want to be able to travel with their bikes. Draken never stops answering calls, and you attend to customers, jotting down the problems they describe and directing them on where to park their motorcycles for Inui to inspect later.

It's not traumatic, and no tears are shed. It's expected by both parties. They haven't slept together for weeks. Inui is always straightforward with his words, and that day is no exception. Koko chuckles and affectionately caresses his cheek. His white hair is tied in a braid, and a diamond adorns his right ear.

"One less Christmas gift to buy, huh?" A mischievous smile spreads across his face."Take care, Inupi. You always know where to find me."

A light drizzle falls over Tokyo. Upon entering, Inui fixes his gaze on the scene unfolding before him. The last customer has just left the shop when you place a Christmas hat on Draken's head. He's smiling as he bends down slightly. Seishu closes his umbrella and approaches the counter. Your eyes meet his, and your hand extends a piece of red fabric, shaking it slightly.

"I'm not going to wear a Santa Claus hat."

"I know you're not going to wear it yourself," you say, circling the counter and getting closer to him. "I'm going to put it on you."

"I don't have another choice, do I?" he asks, but your arms are already outstretched, and the synthetic fabric is caressing his still damp hair. Seishu's impassive face doesn't reveal any emotion, but a slight glint in his eyes indicates that he's not as annoyed as he's trying to show. When you finish placing the hat, you lightly pat his cheek.

"Look at yourself!"

"I'm not going to."

But even with the worst expression on his face and speaking with as little energy as possible, the smile struggling to break through gives him away. As you step away for a moment to go to the bathroom, Draken winks at him. Inui's middle fingers don't take long to show his boss his shiny black-painted nails.

"Nice color."

"Screw you."

"Thanks, buddy."

Seishu approaches the motorcycle he has to finish fixing. A liquid leak can be repaired in 45 minutes if he hurries.

"Inui."

"Hmm?"

"Teach me how to ride a motorcycle."

The blonde pauses in his work. You? On a motorcycle? You, who trip over your own shadow and seem always about to cry when it gets cold and you forget your jacket? (he always ends up lending you his) Well, no, he's not going to fix the bike’s problem in 45 minutes.

"Don't you think it's a bit dangerous to learn to ride a motorcycle in this weather?"

You sit down next to him on the floor and decide to watch as he resumes his work on the motorcycle.

"I can live with the risk it poses."

"All right, then. But I won't do it. Ask Draken," he says, rolling his eyes at your words. You huff. Not even a Christmas hat can motivate him.

"Draken is going to Osaka tomorrow to spend Christmas Eve with his friends."

"I know, he invited me to go with him."

"And? Are you going?"

"No, my parents want to have dinner with me" Inui lets out a sigh.

"Oh, well, that's fine," you reply. "So I guess we'll see each other on Wednesday. Don't think I'm going to stop insisting tho" you add.

Seishu smiles inwardly. He doesn't expect you to stop. (He doesn’t want you to.)

As you stand up to start tidying up the workshop, Draken says his goodbyes to both of you. He still has some packing to do, and he has to leave early in the morning, wishing you both a Merry Christmas.

"Why the sudden fixation on learning to ride a motorcycle?"

"I want to impress someone."

In all your interactions during the few months you've known each other, Inui has been the one to speak plainly. You always try to express things differently, frustrating everyone who dislikes indirectness (Him).

Seishu begins to remove his gloves. A small wrinkle forms on his forehead as he furrows his brows. Your shoes suddenly become the most interesting object in the room. So much so that you can't, and don't want to, take your eyes off them.

"Do you think you can impress someone by taking them on a motorcycle ride that could potentially end in the hospital?" Inui is the first to break the silence. His hands finish cleaning the motorcycle he has just repaired.

"He's used to my clumsiness. I don't think he'll be too impressed." The heat begins to rise in your cheeks as you speak each word.

Inui arches an eyebrow, intrigued by your words. But still, he doesn't say anything immediately. Instead, he stands up and places the gloves on the freshly repaired motorcycle. His eyes carefully examine your shoes for a moment, trying to see what's so interesting that you can't look at him.

"What if you tell him how you feel instead of trying to impress him with daring maneuvers?"

A mix of surprise and nervousness is reflected in your gaze. You know Inui always gets straight to the point, but speaking openly about your feelings is a bit more unfamiliar territory. However, you have resolved to take a step forward.

"That sounds too easy for the person I'm trying to win over. Don't you think a good dose of bravery on a motorcycle might be more effective?"

Inui smiles slightly, as if enjoying the wordplay.

"Oh, c’mon." Placing a hand on your head, he affectionately ruffles your hair. "What could be braver for you than being honest with yourself and others?" Fortunately, your brain can't throb like your heart is doing at that moment because, knowing Inui, he would drag you to the hospital in a heartbeat. "But, okay, if you think impressing him on a motorcycle is the best way to have a chance with him, then go ahead. I'll try to help you."

Your lips curve into a grateful smile.

"You're great, Inui, tha—"

"However, I have a condition. Actually, two." Placing a hand on your chin, he holds your head still to look into your eyes once and for all. Your shoes will have to stop being interesting for a few minutes. "The lesson will take place as soon as we finish the shift." As you open your mouth to reply, his finger moves to rest on your lips to prevent you from speaking. "And when we finish the lesson, invite me to watch 'Twilight' tonight and ask me out on a proper date. I'm not a fan of indirects."

"And what if I already have plans tonight?" you comment, gently withdrawing the hand that prevents you from speaking. Seishu smiles without taking his eyes off yours. His eyes reflect, for the first time in a long time, happiness. Your fingers interlace with his and his thumb caress your hand instantly.

"Then," leaning in close to your ear, you feel his breath on your ear. You love the smell of his shampoo "now you have better ones."

#tokyo revengers #inui seishu #inui x reader #inui seishu x reader #inupi seishu x reader #tokyo revengers fanfics #tokyo revengers x reader

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msilwrites · 19 days ago

Text

Size Doesn't Matter-Just Ask Johnny and Roach (Simon 'Ghost' Fic)

Gamekeeper! Reader, Groundskeeper! Reader, Ex-MI5! Reader, Stalker! Reader, Naughty! Ghost, Naughty! Simon, Stalker! Reader, Menace! Reader, Devil Woman! Reader! Possessive! Reader, Protective! Reader, Sunshine! Reader, Shy! Reader, Introvert! Reader,

Click here for Part 1 | This is Part 2

A/N: This story features the same Y/N (that’s YOU!!) from How I met your Mother, Midnight Snack Mystery, The Mystery of Who Dressed the LT Like That?, and The Mystery of Ghost's Better Half. And is the sequel to 'The Petite Mystery'. Genre: Comedy / Fluff

Summary: Johnny and Roach’s nosy curiosity lands them in hot water when they discover that their LT’s "Sweet little bird” is neither as sweet nor as little as they assumed. What starts as a simple interrogation spirals into chaos when Captain Price tries to step in, only to become another “guest” in her workshop. With everyone questioning how their LT ended up with someone so terrifyingly competent, the day quickly devolves into a mix of panic, laughs, and begrudging admiration. Chaos indeed ensues.

Warning: This is a long, funny, hostage, situation. Also, do not read when hungry

----------

Johnny and Roach woke hours later, groggy and blinking against the harsh glare of fluorescent lights. Their heads throbbed as they took in their surroundings: a workshop-like room filled with tools, jars of strange substances, and shelves that looked more suited to a mad scientist than a cozy home.

Both men were tied to metal chairs, hands bound behind their backs and legs secured to the base. Roach gave an experimental tug at his bindings, while Johnny just groaned, squinting at the faint outline of someone standing across the room.

"Well, well, well," came a voice, smooth but sharp, with an authority that made both men freeze. "Look who’s awake."

Johnny blinked hard, trying to focus on the figure. It was her—the woman they’d been tailing. She leaned casually against the workbench, arms crossed, her face partially hidden behind a mask. Her posture was relaxed, but there was something unnervingly deliberate about her presence.

"Don’t bother trying to wriggle free," she said, a hint of sarcasm in her tone. "Even if you did, you’d still be stuck in my house, and trust me—you’re not getting out until we’ve had a nice little chat."

Johnny groaned again, his accent thick as his temper flared. “Wha’s this? Who the hell are ye? An’ what—what in the bloody hell’s goin’ on?” His words were slurred, and he blinked owlishly, as though his brain was still buffering.

She raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. "Who I am isn’t really the issue here. You, on the other hand, have a lot of explaining to do."

Johnny’s mind was still catching up, but his temper—his Scottish temper—was coming through loud and clear. He clenched his jaw, frustration bubbling up as he took stock of the situation. “Aye, well, ye’ve got a real bloody charming way of treatin’ guests, lass,” he snapped, his accent cutting sharper with each word. “Ye don’t think yer messin’ with the wrong two folk, do ye? This some kind of joke? What the hell’s yer game here? 'Cause I don’t ken what ye think you’re—”

She cut him off with a low, humorless laugh, stepping closer, her movements smooth and calculated. "Game?" she echoed, her words now rolling in a thick Scottish brogue that stopped him mid-rant. She leaned in just enough to make him feel the weight of her presence, even through the mask. “Ye think this is a game, laddie? Ach, ye dinnae ken a bloody thing. Yer tied tae a chair in my house, so maybe keep yer yap shut till I’m done askin’ questions, aye?”

Johnny blinked, her shift in accent throwing him completely off guard. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. His brain was trying to piece things together, but her sudden shift was like a punch to the gut.

Her piercing gaze flicked between the two of them, unimpressed. “Now then,” she said, stepping back and crossing her arms as she studied them both. “Let’s hear it. What are ye two doin’, pokin’ yer noses where they don’t belong? Or d’ye need me tae loosen yer tongues fer ye?”

Johnny’s jaw dropped, and for a moment, he could only stare at her. Then, the words tumbled out before he could stop them: “Wait... ye’re Scottish?”

Her expression didn’t change, but her eyes narrowed slightly. "Aye,” she said flatly, her tone daring him to say more. “An’?”

Johnny blinked again, scrambling to find the right words. “Yer... Scottish?” he repeated, still trying to process.

“Aye,” she said again, her patience clearly wearing thin. “What of it, lad?”

Johnny gawked, his mind spinning. Finally, he managed, “Yer accent—it’s... ach, I dunno—ye’re just—”

“Just what?” she cut in sharply, the edge in her voice making him shrink back in his seat. “Go on, laddie. Say it. Finish yer thought.”

He clamped his mouth shut, swallowing hard as her glare bore into him. “Nothin’,” he muttered, his eyes darting nervously to Roach, who was still too dazed to bail him out.

“Good,” she said, her tone curt as she crouched to his eye level, her voice dropping lower. “Now, since ye seem tae have plenty tae say, here’s what’s gonna happen. Ye’re gonna tell me why ye’ve been sneakin’ aboot, or I’ll make ye talk. And trust me, Johnny boy,” she added, her brogue thick and sharp as a blade, “ye really dinnae want me tae make ye talk.”

Johnny swallowed again, his Adam’s apple bobbing. Roach, still bleary, muttered under his breath, “We’re so dead.”

Her lips curled into a wry smile. "Dead?" she echoed, her voice light but carrying an unmistakable weight. “Ach, if I wanted ye dead, ye’d already be six feet under. Now then,” she straightened, her hands resting on her hips. “Are ye gonna talk, or do I need tae get creative?”

Johnny looked helplessly at Roach, then back at her. For the first time in his life, Johnny was well and truly at a loss for words.

--------- Interogation Begins

---------- Not THE MOHAWK!!

The air in the room felt tense as Johnny and Roach sat back-to-back, bound to their chairs. Y/N circled them slowly, the hum of a buzzing clipper in her hand making Johnny’s neck prickle with dread.

“Right, lads,” she began, her voice silky but sharp, her Scottish lilt thickening with every word. “Ye dinnae want tae cooperate? Fine. Let’s see how brave ye are when yer precious mohawk gets a wee trim.”

Johnny’s eyes widened. “Naw, naw, ye wouldn’t dare! The hawk’s sacred!” He tried to twist his head around but couldn’t see her. Roach craned his neck, trying to get a look too, but all he could see was Johnny’s panicked face.

The clipper buzzed louder as Y/N leaned in, her breath just behind Johnny’s ear. “Sacred, ye say? Let’s make a wee offering tae the gods, then.” She let the clipper glide gently over his head, careful not to touch, and tilted her phone discreetly to emit the buzzing sound.

Johnny froze as he heard the distinct zzzzrrrt of hair being shaved off. He squeezed his eyes shut, his voice cracking. “Please, lass! No! Anything but the hawk! It’s me identity!”

“Oh, aye,” Y/N said with mock sympathy, holding up a small clump of fur she’d smuggled in from the nature reserve earlier. With a theatrical flourish, she let it flutter past Johnny’s eyes.

Johnny let out a wail. “My hair! Roach, do somethin’!”

Roach, already sweating, stammered, his voice sharp with panic. “Mate, I… I think we’re buggered! She’s mad, proper mad!”

“Aye, I am mad,” Y/N said, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “An’ if ye think I’ll stop at the hawk, ye’ve got another thing comin’. Next, I’ll be carving little hearts into yer mate’s eyebrows.”

“No! Not the brows!” Roach yelped.

Johnny whimpered, gripping the edges of his chair. “Fine! Fine, I’ll talk! Just stop, for the love of—stop!”

Y/N tilted her head, raising an eyebrow. “Talk, then. What’s yer name?”

Johnny gulped, his pride warring with his terror. “It’s Johnny. Johnny Mac—” He hesitated.

The clipper buzzed closer to his temple, and another tuft of fur fell into view. “Mac what?” Y/N pressed, her tone as sharp as the blade she wasn’t actually using.

“Mactavish!” Johnny finally blurted out, his voice cracking. “John ‘Soap’ Mactavish! There! Ye happy now, ye devil woman?”

Y/N straightened up, letting out a low, satisfied hum as she clicked off her phone. “Soap, eh? Funny. Ye’re more like a wee bairn covered in bubbles the way ye’re greetin’.”

Roach let out a shaky laugh, but it quickly died as Y/N turned her gaze to him, her tone suddenly cool and clipped. “An’ you, laddie,” she said, her smile sly. “Feelin’ brave, or shall I see how much hair ye’ve got tae spare?”

Roach immediately tensed, eyes wide. “N-nope! I’m good! Absolutely good!”

Johnny groaned, his head sagging forward. “She’s a bloody menace,” he muttered, glaring at the clumps of what he thought was his hair on the ground.

Y/N smirked, leaning in to pat Johnny’s shoulder. “A menace? Aye. But at least I’m a thorough one.”

----------

Not THE EYEBROWS!!

Y/N shifted her attention to Roach, who sat frozen, his face pale and slick with sweat. She leaned in close, waving the buzzing clippers ominously near his face. “Yer turn, laddie ,” she said. “Tell me what I want tae know, or these pretty brows of yours are getting a wee makeover.”

Roach flinched, instinctively trying to lean back, but the bindings held him firm. “Eyebrows? You—you wouldn’t dare!” he stammered, his voice quaking. “That’s bloody barbaric!”

“Barbaric?” Y/N repeated, tilting her head with a mock pout. “Barbaric’s dragging me intae this mess in the first place, innit? So, aye, I think barbarism’s fair game.” She casually clicked the clippers on again, the hum sending a jolt straight to Roach’s nerves.

“Wait, wait!” Roach panicked, words spilling from his mouth. “Gary! Gary Sanderson! Call sign’s Roach! There, I said it! No need for funny business with my eyebrows!”

Y/N grinned, her tone light and satisfied. “Gary ‘Roach’ Sanderson, eh? Lovely name.” She stepped back, setting the clippers aside with a theatrical flourish. “See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Johnny groaned, his head still hung low. “Roach, ye coward! I held out longer!”

“Held out longer?” Roach shot back indignantly. “Mate, you folded like a lawn chair at the first buzz!”

Before their bickering could escalate, Y/N pulled a compact mirror out of her pocket, flicked it open with a little flair, and held it up in front of Johnny. His reflection stared back at him, his mohawk completely intact and untouched. She tilted the mirror just enough to angle it toward Roach as well.

Johnny blinked, his hand instinctively jerking toward his head before realizing he couldn’t move. “Wait… it’s still there? My hawk’s safe?” His voice cracked with emotion, his lip wobbling slightly.

Roach let out a long sigh of relief, his whole body relaxing. “Bloody hell, thank God.”

“Safe, aye,” Y/N said, her voice syrupy sweet. “For now.”

Johnny narrowed his eyes at her suspiciously. “Then whose hair is that on the floor, eh?”

Y/N’s smile turned cold, her tone dropping to something darker, more menacing. She held up her phone and flicked to a picture—a tuft of fur strewn over leaves, unmistakably from something once alive. “Oh, that? Just a wee bit of fur from a creature I culled meself. Needed to make space in its den.”

The room fell silent.

Johnny’s jaw dropped, his face draining of color. “A… creature?”

Roach visibly shuddered, his eyes darting toward the tufts of fur scattered on the floor. “What kind of creature?”

Y/N’s grin widened, and she leaned in just enough for her shadow to loom over them both. “The kind that doesn’t like uninvited guests sniffin’ around its territory. Ye’d best keep that in mind.”

The two men exchanged a look, both visibly rattled. Johnny swallowed hard. “Roach, mate, we’re proper buggered, aren’t we?”

“Completely,” Roach muttered, his voice barely a whisper. ---------

The Bagpipe Barrage

Y/N leaned against the wall, her phone in hand, scrolling with a thoughtful expression. “Right then, lads,” she said, her voice deceptively calm, “where ye from? Who sent ye?”

Johnny and Roach exchanged wary glances, the air thick with tension. Neither man spoke, both visibly uncomfortable under her penetrating gaze.

Without missing a beat, Y/N connected her phone to the small Bluetooth speaker on the nearby table. “Well, if yer no’ going to talk, I suppose I’ll have to make things a little more... persuasive.” She tapped a few keys on her phone, and within moments, the first few notes of an off-tune bagpipe rendition of Scotland the Brave hit the air—discordant, grating, and completely out of time. It sounded like the bagpipes were being played by someone wildly panicked, possibly being chased by a herd of cows.

Johnny recoiled, his face twisted in horror. “What the bloody hell is that?! That’s nae music—that’s pure torture!”

Y/N raised the volume slightly, her smile widening as the screeching pipes blared louder. “Oh, ye’ll come to love it, Johnny. Trust me, it’s very… authentic.”

Roach’s face drained of color as he frantically pulled at the ropes binding his wrists. “Make it stop! I’ve heard cats fighting in the alley sound better than this!”

Y/N glanced over at him with an almost fond expression. “Aye, well, if you think that’s bad, ye’re in for a real treat, lad.” She leaned in, her tone dripping with amusement. “Now, let’s try this again. Where are ye from? Who sent ye?”

Johnny clenched his jaw, refusing to budge, though his eyes betrayed the panic beginning to set in.

Roach was visibly breaking. “Y/N, please, please turn it off! I cannae take it!” His voice cracked, the sound mixing with the relentless drone of the bagpipes.

Y/N clicked the volume up again, letting the off-key melody blast through the room. “No can do, lads. Not until ye answer me. Who sent ye, and who do ye work for?”

Johnny bit his lip, eyes welling up with frustration. “I—I’m nae tellin’ ye anything! No matter what this is, I’m not breakin’!”

Roach, now teary-eyed, started to mumble under his breath. “I can’t… it’s too much… please make it stop…!"

Johnny’s face twisted with anger and defeat, but the sheer force of the bagpipes was getting to him. Finally, with a ragged breath, he snapped, “Fine! I’ll tell ye! Just turn off the bloody music!”

Y/N grinned, lowering the volume slightly, giving them a sliver of hope. “There we go, Johnny. Was that so hard?”

Johnny gritted his teeth, his resolve crumbling. “I—no, I won’t say! I won’t betray my team!”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, the volume cranking up again. “Fair enough. Let’s see how long yer will lasts, then.”

Johnny’s eyes were wild with panic now, and Roach was visibly sweating, his breathing shallow. “Bloody hell, make it stop! Please, I can’t take it anymore!”

The music looped again, each rendition of the bagpipes scraping more against their nerves than before. Johnny and Roach were shaking, eyes pleading for mercy.

Y/N waited. Silent. Watching.

When their cries became unbearable, she cut the volume down just enough to let them catch their breath. “So, who sent ye?” she asked again, her voice casual, almost bored.

Johnny looked at Roach, both of them defeated. “I… I can’t…”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, the volume edging slightly higher.

Roach let out a strangled sob. “Johnny, just bloody talk already! I can’t take it anymore! Please, lady, have mercy!”

She smirked, lowering the volume just enough for them to catch their breaths. “Mercy’s earned, Roach. Now, spill it.”

But they both clamped up again, realizing their mistake, and the bagpipes blared back to full strength.

The room descended into chaos—Johnny trying to hum over the noise, Roach muttering a string of British curses under his breath, and Y/N standing serenely, watching them squirm with the patience of a saint.

Her voice cut through the cacophony once more, calm but firm. “We’ve got all day, lads. It’s yer eardrums, not mine.”

Johnny whimpered, his voice barely audible over the screeching bagpipes. “Roach… mate… we’re not gettin’ out o’ this, are we?”

“No,” Roach croaked. “We’re bloody doomed.”

----------

The Call

The silence in the room stretched out, the bagpipes still blaring, filling the space with a relentless screech. Johnny and Roach were both trembling now, caught between fear and exhaustion. Y/N, having momentarily paused her torment, watched them with a mixture of amusement and patience. She was prepared to wait them out.

Then, a sudden sound broke through the chaos—a phone vibrating against the floor. Y/N raised an eyebrow and walked over to Johnny, who froze as she reached into his pocket and pulled out the phone. She glanced at the caller ID. “‘Coin,’ and a bag of money emoji?” Y/N chuckled darkly. “That’s how yer boss is listed? Cunning, I’ll give him that.” She tapped the screen, setting the phone to speaker mode.

Johnny’s eyes widened in horror, and Roach’s breath caught in his throat.

“Where the hell are you two?” the gruff voice on the other end demanded. “And can you pick up something for me before you head back to base?”

Johnny and Roach both screamed, their voices desperate and panicked. “Captain! HELP! They’ve got us! They’ve—”

“Hold up.” The voice on the phone cut through the room, and Y/N held up a finger, silencing the two men before they could speak more.

Y/N's smirk never wavered as she turned to face Johnny and Roach. The phone still on speaker, she made her voice as cold and threatening as possible.

"Listen here, Captain," she began, her tone casual yet lethal. "I’ve got your men in my custody. And if you're not willing to cooperate, they'll stay here, and we’ll have plenty of time to get to know each other... in ways I'm sure you won't enjoy."

There was a long pause on the other end of the line, but then Price's voice cracked through, sharp and unwavering. "Who the hell are you? What have you done to my men?"

Y/N's grin widened, as she leaned back, enjoying every second of this power play. "I'm the one asking questions here, Captain," she said, her tone taking on a mocking edge. "So how about you start answering, or I'll just keep your lads here a little longer. Let’s see how long their loyalty lasts, shall we?"

There was a growl of frustration from the other end, and then a deep, threatening voice responded, each word laced with menace. “You have no idea who you're dealing with. Release my men now, or I’ll come for you. And when I do, you’ll regret every second of this.”

Y/N chuckled darkly, her voice dripping with taunting amusement. “Oh, I’ll be waiting for you, Captain. Don’t keep me waiting too long.”

She ended the call with a swipe of her finger and turned slowly to face Johnny and Roach. Their faces were pale, eyes wide with fear, as they sat frozen in their chairs, the tension in the room thick and suffocating.

Johnny's eyes darted from the phone to her, his voice hoarse with disbelief. “Who the bloody hell are you to threaten our Captain?”

Roach swallowed hard, his hands still bound, his breath shallow. "You're... you're playing with fire, lass." His voice trembled, and it was clear his fear was genuine.

Y/N tilted her head slightly, a cruel smile curling at the corner of her lips. "That was just a warning, lads," she said, stepping closer, her voice lowering to a cold whisper. "But trust me, it’s not over yet."

The room fell silent, both men exchanging a look that spoke volumes—resignation, fear, and the dawning realization that they were in way over their heads.

----------

Their Roommate

Y/N stood, her hands resting casually on her hips as she surveyed Johnny and Roach, still tied to their chairs, their faces pale and anxious. "While we wait for yer Captain to come find ye," she said, her voice light, "I thought I’d introduce ye to yer new roommate."

Johnny looked at her, his brow furrowed. “What the hell are ye talking about now?”

With a smirk, Y/N walked over to a nearby table, lifting a large, glass terrarium and placing it gently on the surface in front of them. Inside, a massive stag beetle crawled lazily across the rocks, its dark wings shimmering under the light.

“Meet yer new roommate,” Y/N announced, her eyes glinting with amusement. "This here is... well, I haven’t named her yet, but we’ll get to that. She’s lovely, and she’s going to be living with ye for a while. Unless ye talk, of course. Then ye might be free."

Roach’s eyes immediately widened, and he recoiled in his chair as though the beetle could leap straight out at him. “What the hell is that for?” he demanded, his voice high-pitched with panic.

Y/N tilted her head innocently, reaching into the terrarium with care and picking up the beetle by hand. She held it in front of them, her expression almost maternal. “Ye’re Roach, aye? Thought ye’d feel at home wi' yer wee cousin here.”

Roach shook his head vigorously, his eyes never leaving the beetle. “That thing’s not my cousin!”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, her smile growing wicked. “Maybe nae, but imagine this sittin' on yer knee if ye dinnae start talkin’.” She held the beetle just inches from Roach’s knee, her gaze unwavering.

With that, she turned to Johnny. “Now, Johnny, meet yer new roommate.”

Johnny's eyes followed the beetle, his face draining of color. He stared at the dark, glossy creature in Y/N’s hand, his throat tightening. “Bloody hell!” he shouted, his face twisted in pure horror.

Roach pulled his chair back, wide-eyed and pale. "What the hell is wrong with you?!"

Y/N chuckled, thoroughly enjoying their reactions. "Now, now, lads. Be polite to yer new roommate." She raised the beetle and hovered it near Johnny’s shoulder. “Wouldn’t want to be rude now, would we?”

Johnny let out a high-pitched whine, squirming in his chair. "Get that bloody thing away from me!"

Y/N smirked, lowering it just enough to brush the beetle’s legs against his arm. Johnny recoiled, eyes wide, and she saw a tear escape down his cheek.

“Oh, look at ye, Johnny. Big tough soldier, crying over a little bug,” she teased, before turning her attention to Roach. “Roach, ye sure yer nae related to this fine specimen here? Ye’re acting like ye’ve never met family before.”

Roach clenched his jaw, his face white as a sheet. “That’s not my cousin, lass. And if ye don’t take that bloody thing away from me, I’ll—”

Before he could finish, Y/N, with a calm and almost affectionate expression, placed the beetle gently on his leg. His entire body froze, and his voice caught in his throat.

"Get it off! GET IT OFF!" Roach yelled, his entire body trembling as he tried to shake it off without success.

Johnny’s cries grew more frantic as he watched. "Oh, gosh, I can’t handle this! I cannae deal with this bloody thing!"

Y/N scolded them both, but it was playful, almost like she was talking to children. "Honestly, ye two, the way ye’re carrying on, it’s like ye’ve never had a wee beetle on yer leg before. She’s just sayin’ hello. Show a bit of respect."

She lifted the beetle off Roach’s leg and placed it carefully back into the terrarium, watching as both men finally relaxed—though their faces were still riddled with fear and disgust.

“You two really need to be nicer to her,” she said, putting a hand on the terrarium lid as if it was her own child. “She’s got feelings, ye know. Can’t just treat her like that.”

As the beetle was carefully placed back into the terrarium, Johnny and Roach were both trembling, their faces a mixture of fear and embarrassment. Roach’s hands were clenched into fists at his sides, his body stiff with the lingering dread of having the beetle on his leg. Johnny, on the other hand, was trying to save face but failing miserably as a tear rolled down his cheek.

Y/N couldn’t help but let out a little chuckle at the sight of the two grown men, both reduced to blubbering wrecks over a harmless beetle.

“Well, well,” Y/N said, her voice firm, though she tried to hide her amusement. “I’ve seen tough soldiers face down enemies, endure harsh conditions, and survive bloody battles, but a tiny beetle on your leg? That’s what breaks you?” She shook her head, her eyes narrowing playfully. “And here I thought you two were men of honor.”

She crossed her arms and gave them a mock disapproving look. “Now, I’m not one to condone bullying, but that was downright cruel. Do you have any idea how it feels to be ridiculed by a couple of grown men, just because I’ve got a harmless little tenant?” She motioned to the beetle with a dramatic flourish. “You should be ashamed, both of you. Apologize to her.”

Johnny and Roach exchanged confused glances, unsure if she was serious or not.

"Bloody hell," Johnny mumbled, still shaken but now confused.

Roach hesitated, then awkwardly muttered, “Sorry… to the beetle?”

Johnny sniffed, still visibly shaken. "You’re bloody insane, lass. That thing’s not natural.”

Roach nodded, still pale. “I’m going to have nightmares about that thing crawlin’ on me forever.”

Y/N sighed dramatically, pretending to consider their plight for a moment. “Aye, well, that’s a shame. But if ye’ll behave, I’ll let ye off the hook... for now.” She glanced at the clock on the wall, her eyes widening in realization. "Speaking of hooks... it’s lunch time. I’ve got a few things to prepare for my little friend here," she gestured to the beetle with a nod.

Johnny and Roach blinked in confusion, their hunger starting to make itself known. “Lunch?” Johnny asked, his stomach growling loudly in protest.

"Aye," Y/N said, "For the beetle, obviously. She’ll need her greens." She gave the beetle a wink. “And for you two as well," she added, her voice softening just enough to let them know she wasn’t entirely without mercy. "Even captives need to eat."

Roach shot Johnny a look, his face a picture of disbelief. “She’s actually cookin’ for the beetle?”

Johnny shrugged, his stomach growling again. “I’m just really hoping there’s somethin’ in it for us too, yeah?”

Y/N smiled sweetly, a touch of mock sincerity in her voice. "Of course, lads. I’ll whip up somethin' nice for ye too. Can’t have my lovely guests starvin', can I?"

With that, she turned and headed for the door. “I’ll be back soon,” she called over her shoulder. “Don’t worry, the beetle’s a sociable creature, she’ll keep ye company.”

Johnny and Roach looked at each other, their stomachs growling in unison as they both realized just how hungry they were. “Do you think she’s actually going to feed us?” Roach asked, his voice laced with desperation.

“I dunno,” Johnny muttered, rubbing his stomach. “But I bloody hope so.”

As the door clicked shut behind her, the two men slumped in their chairs, the silence of the room only interrupted by the occasional sound of the beetle skittering around in its terrarium. The tension had eased, but their rumbling stomachs reminded them that their fate still rested in Y/N’s hands—along with their new roommate’s.

----------

Lunchbreak

When Y/N finally returned with their lunch, Johnny and Roach eyed their plates warily. The smell was pleasant enough—hearty stew with fresh bread—but their eyes flicked back to the beetle's terrarium, as if expecting some hidden, sinister ingredient.

Y/N set the plates down in front of them with a casual smile. “Eat up, lads. No beetles in the stew, I promise.”

Johnny frowned, eyeing the food like it might jump out and bite him. “Right. No beetles, but... what else is in here?”

Roach followed his gaze, clearly trying to find some hidden clue in the stew. “Aye, somethin’ smells off, don’t it?”

Y/N rolled her eyes, letting out an exasperated sigh. “Are you both really that paranoid? I’m not playin’ with your food.” She scolded them with a raised finger. “I don’t mess around with meals. If I wanted to torture you, I’d make you eat your words instead.”

Johnny and Roach exchanged uneasy glances, clearly unconvinced but too hungry to argue. Y/N stood over them, hands on her hips, watching as they hesitantly began to pick at their food.

She wasn’t about to let them off the hook so easily. With a sharp, “Aye, enough of this,” she knelt down and began untying their feet from the chair before moving to loosen the knot on their hands.

“Oi,” Roach said cautiously, shifting in his seat. “What’re ye doing now?”

Y/N shot him a stern look, her patience wearing thin. “Behave,” she warned, her tone sharp. “I’ve been kind enough to loosen the knot on your hands, but let me make one thing clear—if either of you tries anything, I’ll tie you up so tight you’ll never get out. And trust me, it won’t be pretty.”

Johnny swallowed nervously, his mouth still tingling from the spices in the food. “We’re just... just eatin’. No funny business, promise.”

With practiced efficiency, Y/N retied the rope around their feet in a more complicated knot, one that allowed just enough movement for them to sit comfortably but would take forever to undo. Then she tied their hands behind their backs in an intricate knot, loosening it just enough so they could maneuver their forks but not enough to free themselves.

She stood back, smirking at her handiwork. “There. Now you can eat properly, but don’t even think about trying to escape. If you do, I’ll make sure it’s the last time you think you can get one over on me.”

Johnny and Roach exchanged uneasy glances before turning their attention to their plates, shifting uncomfortably in their chairs. Though reluctant at first, hunger eventually won out. They dug into the food cautiously, glancing at her every so often, as if expecting some hidden trick.

Y/N, arms crossed, watched them with mild amusement. “That’s better,” she muttered.

Y/N dusted off her hands and headed for the door, muttering as she left, “Need to get that broth right... been boiling for an hour already. Can’t let it overdo itself now, can we?” She paused at the doorway, turning back to Johnny and Roach with a pointed look. “Behave. I’ll be right back. If I hear even a peep out of either of you, you’ll regret it.”

With that, she disappeared down the hallway, her faint muttering about the seafood boil trailing after her. “Onions, garlic, bay leaves... aye, needs a bit more kick. Maybe some lemon...”

Johnny and Roach stayed quiet for a moment, their gazes flicking toward the doorway to make sure she was truly gone. Finally, after a few more cautious bites of the meal in front of him, Roach glanced at Johnny and broke the silence.

“I mean... it’s actually not bad. This is... pretty good, actually,” he admitted, though his voice was low as if he feared she might still overhear.

Johnny, mid-chew, gave a reluctant nod. “Aye... not bad at all,” he mumbled, though his pride made him hesitate to sound too impressed. He swallowed and leaned back slightly, his gaze thoughtful. “I can see why the Lt. eats like a bloody king. Lucky bastard.”

Roach snorted softly, shaking his head. “No wonder he’s so smug all the time. Homemade food like this on deployment? Meanwhile, we’re stuck choking down MREs that taste like cardboard.”

Johnny smirked, raising an eyebrow. “What’s this? Jealous, are ye? Wantin’ a lady to whip up gourmet meals for ye?”

Roach shrugged with a lopsided grin. “Can you blame me? Food like this... I wouldn’t say no.”

Johnny chuckled and leaned in slightly, his grin turning mischievous. “Aye, careful what you wish for, mate. You sure you’d want a woman like her? She’s got our Lt. whipped, guaranteed.”

Roach blinked, his grin faltering as he considered that. “Whipped? You serious?”

Before Johnny could respond, a shadow fell over the doorway. They both froze mid-bite as Y/N reappeared, her expression unreadable and her hands occupied with a bright red crawfish, dangling by its tail.

“Whose whipped?” she asked, her tone deceptively sweet as her sharp eyes flicked between the two of them.

Johnny and Roach immediately stiffened, their forks hovering mid-air. They exchanged a panicked glance, but neither dared to speak.

Y/N cocked an eyebrow and let the crawfish dangle ominously close to Johnny’s face. “Well? Cat got your tongue?”

Johnny gulped audibly. “Er... no one’s whipped. N-not a soul. Isn’t that right, Roach?”

“Uh, aye!” Roach blurted, nodding far too enthusiastically. “Not a word about anyone being whipped. Just... uh... appreciating your... culinary expertise.”

Y/N hummed in mock agreement, lowering the crawfish. “Good. Because if the idea of being ‘whipped’ scares you so much, maybe it’s time you learned how to cook for yourselves.” She shot them a pointed look before walking over to a nearby drawer, opening it with a sharp clink.

The sound of her pulling out a large Serbian chef knife drew their eyes immediately. The blade was thick, gleaming under the light with a menacing edge that seemed sharp enough to cleave through anything in its path.

She inspected the blade casually, her back turned to them, as if she hadn’t just sent a shiver down their spines. “Now, if you’ll excuse me,” she said, her voice light but her movements deliberate, “I’ve got some prep work to finish.”

Johnny and Roach sat frozen, exchanging wide-eyed glances as she walked out, the knife in one hand and the crawfish in the other. The door swung shut behind her, leaving them in tense silence.

After a long pause, Johnny let out a slow breath, leaning back in his chair. “We’re still alive, aye?” he muttered, as if needing confirmation.

Roach nodded hesitantly, swallowing hard. “Aye... but I think I’d rather face the Lt. in a mood than her in the kitchen.”

Johnny chuckled weakly, glancing toward the doorway. “Same here, mate. Same here.”

----------

Next on the menu?

Y/N returned, this time wearing gloves smeared with faint traces of whatever she’d been chopping. Her steps were calm and unhurried, but there was something unnerving about the way her gloved fingers curled around the edge of the plates. Without a word, she collected their dishes, her movements efficient and eerily precise. A stray crawfish claw dangled from the edge of one plate, the hard shell glinting like some sort of ominous trophy.

Johnny and Roach stared at it, swallowing hard.

“I’ll be back in a bit,” she said casually, her tone at odds with the unsettling imagery. She turned on her heel, heading for the door. “The stock needs attention. It won’t cook itself.”

The door creaked shut behind her, leaving the two men in an uneasy silence once more.

Roach broke the quiet first, his voice hushed but edged with genuine concern. “Why does it feel like she’s cooking us next?”

Johnny shifted uncomfortably in his chair, rubbing the back of his neck. “Mate, don’t even joke about that.” He gestured toward the doorway with a flick of his head. “You saw how she handled that crawfish. Do you really want to find out what she could do to us? Just... don’t mention anything that’ll get her attention. Please. I like bein’ out of the pot, aye?”

Roach nodded quickly, his eyes darting to the doorway, half-expecting her to reappear. “Right. Good point.”

They both sat stiffly in their chairs, trying not to make a sound, hearts pounding with the irrational but persistent thought that they were dangerously close to becoming part of the menu. The lingering smell of the food reminded them just how grateful they were that it hadn’t been them in the pot—or at least, not yet. Hopefully, never!

----------

Captain Price to the Rescue?

After lunch, Y/N strode back into the ‘interrogation’ room, her movements calm but purposeful, and sat down across from Johnny and Roach, resuming where she’d left off.

Her voice cut through the tension like a blade. “Why the hell were you even following me?”

Johnny and Roach exchanged nervous glances, their faces pale. They couldn’t admit the truth—not that they were their Lt.’s men, her partner’s men, and had just been nosy and curious. It was too embarrassing. So, they said nothing.

Y/N narrowed her eyes, clearly unimpressed by their silence. Before she could press them again, there was a sudden, deafening crash.

The front door of the cottage exploded inward, splinters flying in every direction.

Y/N’s eyes snapped to the sound, just in time to hear an enraged bellow.

“JOHNNY! ROACH! WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU?!”

Johnny and Roach jerked in their seats like startled rabbits.

“Oh, bloody hell!” Johnny screeched, his eyes wide with panic. “IT’S HIM!”

Roach was no better, his voice climbing an octave. “HELP! CAPTAIN! CAPTAIN PRICE, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, HELP!”

Y/N leaned back in her chair, smirking. “Oh, look at that. Your boss actually came looking for you. I’m touched.”

From the front of the house, Price’s voice boomed again, shaking the walls. “Where are you two? I’ll bloody find you!”

The sound of heavy boots hitting the floorboards echoed ominously as Price stormed through the house.

Johnny and Roach, already panicked, began shouting in unison.

“CAPTAIN, HELP! IT’S A TRAP! BE CAREFUL! SHE’S LOST IT!”

Price’s voice rumbled closer. “What the bloody hell are you two on about?!”

Roach whimpered. “She’s gonna cook us next!”

Johnny, still screaming, added, “WE’RE TIED UP LIKE BLOODY PUDDINGS!”

Price’s footsteps grew louder, and his grumbling was now accompanied by muttered curses. “Bloody pudding? What’s wrong with you two? Can hear you from the front door!”

Finally, Price kicked open the door to the room, his sharp blue eyes taking in the bizarre sight before him: Johnny and Roach tied to chairs, squirming like worms, and Y/N sitting in the corner, arms crossed, an infuriating smirk plastered on her face.

Price blinked, his voice flat with disbelief. “What in the actual hell is this?” He gestured vaguely at the scene. “You two... let her do this to you?”

Before they could explain, Johnny and Roach screamed again.

“DON’T COME ANY CLOSER! SHE’S GOT SPRAY!”

Price frowned, confused. “Spray?”

“THE SAME BLOODY SPRAY SHE USED TO KNOCK US OUT!” Roach added, his voice cracking.

Price paused, staring at Y/N, who raised an eyebrow and leaned forward slightly, clearly enjoying herself.

Price crossed his arms. “You two seriously think I’m gonna fall for that?”

Y/N’s smirk widened. “Oh, I figured you wouldn’t. That’s why I’ve got something better.”

She reached behind her chair, her movements swift and deliberate, and grabbed a rifle dart gun. Before Price could react, she fired.

The dart hit his knee with a thunk.

“Bloody—” Price growled, yanking the dart out and glaring at her.

She fired again, this time hitting his neck.

“OH, BLOODY HELL!” Johnny and Roach screamed in unison, wriggling in their chairs as if they could escape whatever fate awaited their captain.

Price ripped the second dart out, snarling. “Woman, what the hell are you—”

He stopped mid-sentence, swaying unsteadily. The room tilted, his balance suddenly off. Gritting his teeth, Price dropped to one knee, staring up at her with fire in his eyes.

“What did you do to me, woman?!” he growled, his voice thick with anger and something else—drowsiness.

Y/N walked toward him slowly, the dart gun still in her hand, her expression eerily calm. “Oh, don’t worry, Captain,” she said, her voice light and almost cheerful. “It’s just a tranquilizer. I use it on wild boars.”

Her smile turned sinister as Price’s vision blurred. That was the last thing he saw before the darkness swallowed him whole.

----------

A New Hostage!

Y/N grunted as she dragged Captain Price’s unconscious form across the room, muttering to herself. “Bloody hell, you’re heavy! What do they feed you soldiers? Bricks?!” She propped him up on a chair with a huff, shaking her head. “This is ridiculous. I should be done prepping food by now!”

Johnny and Roach sat stiffly in their chairs, wide-eyed and helpless as they watched her wrestle the Captain’s limp form like a sack of potatoes.

Roach leaned toward Johnny and whispered, his voice trembling, “Who the hell is this woman?”

Johnny didn’t take his eyes off her. “I don’t know, mate, but she’s mental. Proper mental.”

Roach gulped. “How did we end up here? She’s got Price, for goodness’s sake. Price!”

Johnny shook his head slowly. “Simon’s birdie, huh? I thought she’d be a sweet lass. You know, one of those quiet types. Maybe she bakes.”

Roach’s eyes darted nervously to the dart gun still slung over her shoulder. “Bakes?! Johnny, she tranquilized the Captain. With wild boar darts! Bakes?! Are you daft?”

Johnny shrugged, his voice quiet. “I don’t know what I thought. But it sure as hell wasn’t this.”

They both fell silent as Y/N crouched in front of Price, adjusting the ropes with practiced ease. She tied a firm knot, tugged on it to test its strength, and then stood back to admire her work.

“Alright,” she said cheerfully, dusting off her hands. “That’ll hold him until he wakes up.” She turned to Johnny and Roach, her tone casual, as if she hadn’t just restrained their Captain like a Christmas ham. “I need to get back to my food prep. I’ll check on you lot later.”

Johnny’s panic finally broke through. “What the hell did you do to our Captain?!”

Y/N waved a dismissive hand, already halfway to the door. “Oh, nothing. He’s fine! He’ll be awake in an hour. Or so. Probably.”

“Probably?!” Roach squeaked, his voice rising in pitch.

Y/N turned to them with an exasperated sigh. “I said he’s fine. It’s just a tranquilizer, not poison. Relax, will you?”

With that, she exited the room, leaving the two soldiers to stew in their rising panic.

Johnny leaned his head back, staring at the ceiling. “Mate,” he said, his voice hollow. “We’ve messed with the wrong woman.”

Roach nodded slowly, his eyes still fixed on the door she’d just walked through. “Yeah. And now we’re in her house. Tied to chairs. Watching her hold the Captain hostage. What the hell do we do now?”

Johnny let out a shaky breath. “Pray, mate. Just pray.”

---------- The Morrigan

Captain Price groaned, blinking groggily as he came to his senses. His head throbbed, and his arms were firmly tied to the chair, rendering him utterly immobile. The familiar smell of seafood chowder and garlic bread wafted through the room, and his stomach gave a loud, rumbling protest.

Johnny and Roach were sitting across from him, completely unfazed, digging into their bowls with gusto as though they weren’t in the middle of being held hostage.

Price scowled at them. “How the hell are you two still eating like that? All three of us are bloody hostages, and you’re sitting there like it’s a bloody picnic!”

Johnny, not missing a beat, took another bite of his chowder. “She gets offended if we don’t eat, Cap.”

Roach nodded, chewing thoughtfully. “Yeah, mate. She insists on it. Said it’s bad manners not to finish what’s on your plate.”

Price stared at them in disbelief, then rolled his eyes. “You two are unbelievable. Getting bribed with food. Bloody greedy gluttons.”

Johnny shot him a look, eyebrows raised. “Oh, come on, Cap. You’re the same! Remember when you demanded a fruit from the fruit baskets that Ghost and Gaz brought home after that last deployment? Oh, and the chocolate. Don’t forget the chocolate.”

Price’s face reddened, and he opened his mouth to retort, but before he could get a word out, the door swung open. Y/N walked in, holding a steaming bowl of seafood chowder and a freshly baked garlic bread loaf in one hand, her smile as unsettling as ever.

“Dinner time, Captain,” she chirped, her smile practically stretching ear to ear. “Hope you’re hungry!”

She put the bowl down next to Johnny and Roach and then stopped in front of Price. She stared at him for an uncomfortably long moment, her eyes gleaming with something not quite right.

Price, feeling the heat of her gaze, grunted. “What?”

“Well,” she began slowly, “I don’t trust you, Captain. I’m not sure I should let you eat.”

Price’s jaw dropped. “Oi! Woman! Why do Johnny and Roach get to eat then?”

Y/N shrugged, her creepy smile not faltering. “Well, I’m afraid the moment I loosen your binds, you’ll try to fight me. And, I’m just a small, poor, ‘harmless’ woman. I can’t risk that.”

At the word “harmless,” Price, Johnny, and Roach all rolled their eyes in unison. Price opened his mouth to protest.

“Harmless? After what you did? You call yourself that?!” Price barked, incredulous.

Y/N chuckled darkly. She reached into the pocket of her apron and pulled out a syringe with a sinister smile plastered on her face. “Well, Captain, since I don’t trust you, I thought about cutting the veins in your ankles to stop you from walking. But I don’t like making a mess, so I figured I’d just inject you with this. Numbs your legs for a couple of hours. Maybe.”

At the sight of the syringe, Johnny and Roach went pale, their eyes darting nervously between Y/N and each other.

Before anyone could say another word, the front door swung open, and Simon's deep, raspy voice called out from the living room. “Birdie!! I got the salmon you wanted! And the veggies!!”

Simon entered the kitchen, slipping off his boots and replacing them with his indoor slippers. He carried a wrapped salmon and vegetables, exactly as Y/N had instructed.

“Oh!! And I ran into Kyle!! Since you're making seafood boil, I figured the whole pot is a lot, so I invited him to join!” Simon added casually, with Kyle nervously trailing behind, holding a case of beer.

“Birdie? Where are you, love?” Simon called out, clearly not expecting the scene unfolding before him.

“GHOST!!! HELP!!!! SHE'S MENTAL!!! MENTAL, I TELL YOU!!!” Roach screamed, his voice pitched higher than usual.

Johnny joined in, his voice almost breaking. “LT!!! HEEELLLPPP!!!”

Simon’s brows furrowed at the chaos, and he looked at Kyle, who was now standing awkwardly by the door, trying to understand what was happening. Simon sighed deeply.

Kyle, for his part, was unsure whether to be concerned or amused. He took a step into the kitchen, then another, eyeing the situation with mounting confusion. “Uh... I brought beer?” he offered weakly, looking between the trio of tied-up soldiers and Simon, who seemed less concerned than he should be.

Simon looked at the scene for a few beats, then glanced at Y/N. “Birdie? What the hell is going on here?”

Y/N just smiled, her hands on her hips. “Oh, you know, just a little dinner prep. They were helping me out. Tied up, of course.”

“Helping?!” Johnny gasped, his face turning pale. “You’ve lost it, woman!”

“Oh, don’t be dramatic,” Y/N said sweetly, “You’re just getting a bit of ‘quiet time.’”

Simon’s eyes darted between his tied-up squad and his ‘birdie,’ clearly confused by the bizarre situation. After a few moments of stunned silence, he rubbed his temples. “Right. What exactly is going on here?”

Johnny, Roach, and Price all looked at each other, then in unison, shouted, “She’s mental!”

Simon grinned widely, his eyes glinting with a mischievous spark. “Well, that’s one of her attractive traits, mate!” he said, pointing a thumb at Y/N.

The three tied-up soldiers groaned in unison, rolling their eyes. Price, trying to avoid a full-blown headache, muttered under his breath, “Simon, you’re in too deep, mate.”

Simon chuckled heartily, unaffected by the collective groans of his squad. “Nah, mate. You just wait until you get to know her better. She’s bloody great fun!” He turned back to Y/N, clearly ready for an explanation. “But seriously, birdie, what happened here?”

Y/N flashed a sweet smile, completely unfazed by the chaos. “Well,” she began, clearly enjoying herself, “it all started when Johnny and Roach followed me around the market, sneaking around like suspicious men. I thought they were enemies trying to spy on me, they followed me into my vehicle!! I was going to interrogate them about who sent them and what they were after.”

She pointed at Price, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “And then, I caught their boss. The big guy. This Captain Price!”

Simon blinked, his face turning a little confused. “Wait, what? You think my squad was spying on you?”

Y/N nodded, her expression serious. “I had to make sure they weren’t after me. You can never be too careful, right?”

Johnny, Roach, and Price all exchanged weary looks. Johnny shrugged. “She’s got a point. We did follow her into the car...”

Roach groaned. “Yeah, we were just out looking for a pint and lunch, and then we saw Simon’s birdie. Next thing we know, we’re being accused of being bloody spies!" He sighed dramatically. "Alright, fine, we were being nosy!!” he admits begrudgingly

Simon raised an eyebrow, gesturing toward the tied-up trio. “Right, so these are my teammates. Johnny and Roach, they’re just nosy as hell, always sticking their noses where they shouldn’t be. And Captain Price here? Well, he just got caught up in all this mess. He’s innocent.”

Y/N wasn’t having it. She crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Are you sure about that? They could be spies or double agents! You never know.”

Simon snorted. “Spies? Double agents? Goodness, birdie, they’re just bloody nosy!”

Y/N pouted, pointing her finger at Price. “But he’s the boss! He could be involved in something shady! You never know, Simon. Just look at what happened with your previous team before.” She lowered her voice dramatically, adding, “You can’t be too careful.”

Kyle, who had been standing in the doorway this whole time, chimed in with a grin. “Captain Price is a good man. As for Johnny and Roach, they’re... well, they’re okay. Just a bit nosy, that’s all.”

Y/N blinked, her face going from suspicion to shock as she processed what Kyle had said. She slowly turned to Johnny and Roach, her eyes widening with realization. “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry! I had no idea!”

Johnny and Roach stared back, their faces as deadpan as ever. “You’re sorry now?” Roach muttered dryly.

Johnny crossed his arms. “Well, thanks for the hospitality.”

Y/N, now flustered and horrified by her own actions, started to apologize profusely. “I didn’t mean to—oh gosh, I’m so sorry! I’m not usually like this! I swear! I thought you were bad guys!”

Price, still tied up, finally cracked a grin. “Well, now you know, love. We’re just a bunch of idiots who can’t even follow a simple market trip.”

Y/N started babbling, her face turning a deep shade of red. “I promise, I’m not like this! I just... I wanted to protect myself! I didn’t want to end up like—” She froze, catching herself awkwardly.

“Like what?” Simon asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Like... like... them...” she trailed off, her eyes shifting nervously. The awkwardness hung in the air like a fog, and the tension was palpable. Y/N let out a small, frustrated sigh before continuing, her voice a little quieter. “And... I wanted to protect you, Simon. I thought... after interrogating them, I’d eliminate them, and then... their boss.” She gave an awkward, forced laugh, trying to shake off the gravity of her words.

Captain Price, still tied up and listening intently, interrupted with a deadpan expression. “Oi, I’m just right here, woman!”

Everyone paused, staring at him. Y/N blinked, her face turning an even deeper shade of red as she fumbled for words.

“I—uh, I didn’t mean you, Captain! You’re... you're fine!” she stammered, trying to backtrack.

Simon sighed, his expression softening slightly. Captain Price and Kyle exchanged looks, both of them quickly catching on to what Y/N was implying.

The squad, in unison, all said, “Ohhhh...” in realization.

Y/N’s face flushed with embarrassment as she quickly tried to change the subject. “Anyway, I’m sure we’ve had enough of my crazy ideas for one day!” she said, her hands flailing around in panic.

Captain Price, still tied to the chair, growled from his seat. “Oi, what about me, then? Johnny and Roach get food, but I’m stuck here like some bloody hostage? Where’s my dinner?” Price just sighs and muttered, “Bloody hell, I’m was about to get murdered by a mental woman and I haven’t even had dinner yet...”

Y/N facepalmed, her apology now morphing into full-blown panic. “I swear, this never happens to me! I’m usually really good at this... well, not this, but you know—being careful and suspicious!” She started to untie Price, clearly flustered.

Captain Price was not having it, though. “And I want that syringe you were planning on stabbing me with, and your bloody hunting rifle!” he demanded, his voice loud with mock indignation.

Y/N, clearly rattled, nervously dug around in her apron pocket and handed over the syringe, though she nearly jabbed him with it in the process. “It’s just... a little something to numb your legs, I swear it’s safe!” she said quickly, voice wavering.

Price's eyes widened, and he flinched as the syringe came dangerously close to his face. “Bloody hell, that thing almost stabbed me! And give me the rifle!”

Y/N froze, looking incredibly guilty. “I... I can’t give you the rifle,” she said, voice dropping to a whisper. “It’s, uh... property of my workplace.”

Captain Price narrowed his eyes. “You’ve got to be kidding me. You, a small, "harmless woman", did all this? With that rifle and... and this?” He gestured to the entire situation, still trying to process how he ended up tied up in a chair with a syringe so close to his throat.

Y/N blinked, tears welling up in her eyes as her guilty face contorted into an apologetic expression. “I’m so sorry!” She sniffled, throwing herself into Simon’s arms, clearly distressed. “I didn’t mean for it to go this far, I swear!”

Simon, unbothered as always, playfully scolded Price. “Oi, Captain! You’re being harsh on my birdie,” he said, ruffling Y/N’s hair affectionately, who clung to him like a lifeline.

Kyle, who’d been quietly observing the whole mess, smiled and sighed. “Captain Price, be nice.”

“What?! I have the right to know what kind of mental person I’m dealing with here!” Price fired back, eyebrows raised in disbelief.

“Well, the only thing I can tell you, Captain, is that she was my previous Case Officer,” Kyle said, leaning against the doorframe with a smirk. “And I think you’ve heard of the The Morrigan of MI5, right?”

Price’s eyes narrowed. “Yes, I’ve heard of them. All I know is that they retired. No longer in active duty.”

Kyle gave a short nod in Y/N's direction. “Well, Captain, meet 'The Morrigan'.”

Captain Price’s eyes widened, and his jaw dropped in complete realization. “No bloody way.”

Y/N gave him an awkward, apologetic look, her face turning crimson. “Uhhmmm… hello…” she offered with a nervous little wave.

Price just sat there, utterly dumbfounded, blinking as he processed the bombshell revelation. The room went silent for a beat—until Simon burst into laughter.

“See? Told you my birdie’s got a bit of bite!” Simon teased, squeezing Y/N’s shoulder with a proud grin, while she covered her face with her hands, groaning in embarrassment.

Kyle looked at Price, his grin barely hidden. “Guess you didn’t expect that, did you, Cap?”

Price leaned back in the chair, running a hand through his hair, horrified. “Bloody hell,” he muttered, staring at Y/N like she was a wild animal that had somehow escaped its cage. “I’ve had a run-in with The Morrigan of MI5... and I was about to get murdered by her if you two hadn’t shown up on time.” He paused, shaking his head. “Fuuuucckkk.”

Johnny and Roach, standing to the side and clearly confused, looked at each other before turning to Price.

“What happened now, Captain?” Johnny asked.

Price glanced at them, his face pale. “You ate the meal she made, didn’t you?” His voice was dripping with dread. “I think I need to send you both to the hospital.”

Johnny frowned, confused. “Hospital? Why?”

“Oh no, Captain,” Roach chimed in. “She doesn’t mess with food.”

“Aye, she’s been feeding us since lunch!” Johnny added. “We’re still alive, nothing’s happened to us!"

Y/N threw her hands up, clearly exasperated. “Exactly! I don’t mess with food! If I wanted to harm you, I’d have done it directly—like I said, I’d inject you with syringes or something.”

Price groaned, rubbing his temples. “Lads, you don’t get it. This is The Morrigan of MI5. Right in front of you. She’s a bloody poisoner!” His voice rose slightly with every word, his face showing equal parts horror and disbelief.

Johnny and Roach froze, their eyes darting toward Y/N.

“Ohhh...” they said in unison, realization dawning on their faces as everything clicked into place—the spray, the syringe, the fact they’d both been knocked out cold earlier.

“Yeah,” Roach muttered, his face pale. “Makes sense now. She did knock us out with that spray.”

Johnny nodded slowly. “Aye, and the syringe...” He shuddered slightly, giving Y/N a wary glance.

Y/N sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration. “For the last time, I don’t mess with food!”

Simon, thoroughly amused, chuckled as he leaned back against the counter. “Don’t worry, lads. If my birdie wanted to kill you, you’d already be six feet under. Trust me, she doesn’t miss.”

“Not helping, Simon!” Y/N snapped, glaring at him as Johnny and Roach edged slightly farther away from her, their paranoia clearly growing.

Price slumped in his chair, muttering under his breath. “I just wanted dinner, not a bloody heart attack...”

----------

A Hearty Meal

To Kyle’s absolute amusement, dinner was in full swing. Simon and Y/N worked in tandem, pouring the contents of the enormous seafood boil pot directly onto the middle of the table. The colorful mountain of food spilled out like a culinary treasure chest: large, bright red crawfish, plump prawns, glistening salmon chunks, tender clams, juicy slices of chopped sausage, perfectly cooked potatoes, and sweet, caramelized carrots—all steaming and coated in a fragrant garlic butter sauce that filled the air.

“Bloody hell,” Johnny muttered, his eyes wide as he ogled the spread like it was some rare artifact. “That’s a feast fit for a King... or a hungry Scotsman.”

Price, seated at the head of the table like some weary monarch after battle, raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “More like a last meal, knowing what I just found out,” he grumbled, casting a wary glance at Y/N.

“Oi!” Y/N snapped, brandishing the garlic butter brush like a weapon. “For the last time, I don’t mess with food! You lot are exhausting!”

“Sure, lass,” Johnny chimed in with a mischievous grin. “But just in case, I’ll have Roach take the first bite.” He shoved a spoon into Roach’s hand, earning an indignant glare from his teammate.

“Oh, for goodness sake,” Kyle muttered, rolling his eyes. He leaned forward, grabbed a crawfish, and expertly cracked it open, popping the meat into his mouth. “See? Perfectly fine. Bloody delicious, actually.”

Johnny and Roach exchanged a look, then immediately started piling their plates with prawns, crawfish, and sausage, following Kyle’s lead.

Meanwhile, Captain Price sat frozen, still staring at Y/N in disbelief.

“You all right there, Cap?” Kyle asked, grinning as he grabbed a prawn. “You’re looking a bit peaky.”

Price blinked, snapping out of his daze. “Just... processing, that’s all,” he muttered.

Kyle laughed, shaking his head. “You’ve got nothing to process, sir. You’re overthinking it. You know, this reminds me of my station in the Middle East. Remember that big leak at MI5 and MI6? The one that almost cost us a dozen agents and operatives?”

Price frowned, his fork hovering midair. “Yeah, I remember. That was chaos. Took weeks to get everything back under control.”

Kyle nodded, cracking another crawfish shell with practiced ease. “Well, she’s the reason it didn’t get worse. The Morrigan of MI5? She personally coordinated the operation that saved everyone—and even prevented it from leaking to the media. Could’ve been an international disaster if she hadn’t stepped in.” He popped a piece of sausage into his mouth and gestured toward Y/N.

Price’s eyes widened, his fork frozen mid-air. “I still can’t believe it,” he muttered, shaking his head in disbelief. “This unassuming woman—you—is The Morrigan. And MacMillan trusted you enough to follow your lead? My mentor, the man who doesn’t trust anyone?”

Y/N arched an eyebrow at him, narrowing her eyes as she spread butter on the next batch of garlic bread. “Sorry I don’t look like James Bond material, Captain,” she said dryly, sliding the tray into the oven. “But we all know operations aren’t glamorous like those bloody James Bond films. No fancy tuxedos, no martinis shaken or stirred—just sweat, dirt, and a lot of paperwork afterward.”

Simon let out a low chuckle, leaning back in his chair. “She’s got a point, Cap. Can’t exactly look dashing in a firefight, can you?”

Price sighed, rubbing his temple as the corner of his mouth twitched. “Still doesn’t change the fact that MacMillan trusted her. I just... can’t wrap my head around it. I mean, look at her—she’s so unassuming. Petite, even. And then there’s us lot—giants by comparison.” He gestured vaguely at himself, Simon, and the rest of the team.

Y/N snorted, setting a pitcher of iced tea on the counter with a cheeky grin. “Aye, I might be small, Captain, but let’s not forget—you, Johnny, and Roach still ended up as my hostages.”

Simon and Kyle burst out laughing, the sound echoing through the room. Kyle nearly choked on his drink, and Simon grinned, ruffling Y/N’s hair fondly. “That’s my birdie,” he said with a chuckle.

Y/N shot a playful look at Captain Price. “Captain, instead of still trying to figure out who I am, why don’t you just eat? You were complaining to me earlier about why I didn’t feed you, but only fed Johnny and Roach.”

Price huffed, clearly still trying to process everything. “Just having trouble wrapping my head around the fact that the woman who nearly gave me a heart attack earlier is the same one MacMillan trusted with his operations.” He sighed dramatically. “Fine, I’ll eat! I’ll just eat,” he muttered, digging into the seafood boil with surprising enthusiasm, the flavors catching him off guard. Before long, he was enjoying it more than he thought he would.

“Cap,” Johnny said through a mouthful of crawfish, “if she wanted us dead, she wouldn’t bother with poison. She’d just snap her fingers and make it happen. Or, y’know, spray us again.”

Roach laughed, reaching for another piece of bread. “Aye, and this garlic bread’s worth trusting her, if you ask me.”

Kyle grinned as he cracked another crawfish shell. “And Cap, if she really wanted to get rid of us, Simon’d be out cold already—he’s been sneaking bites of her cooking since we sat down.”

Simon smiled, clearly unbothered as he continued eating with satisfaction.

Price groaned, leaning his head back against the chair. “Bloody hell. I need a drink.”

----------

The Takeaways

Y/N felt a pang of guilt as she packed takeaway boxes, filling them with the leftovers: seafood chowder, shortbread she’d baked earlier, slices of pie, and more of the seafood boil. She tucked in an extra serving for Kyle as well, her own small way of making up for the earlier mess. Once everything was packed and the food was neatly stacked into bags, she carried them outside, walking with the group to the vehicle.

Captain Price, Johnny, and Roach were ready to leave, their heads still spinning from the earlier revelations. Price had driven himself here, and now, as he climbed into the driver’s seat of his truck, Y/N felt a sudden rush of guilt again. She paused, a strange look crossing her face, before she moved towards him.

With a gentle but firm hand, she pulled Captain Price out of the driver’s seat, despite her small frame. He shot her a puzzled glance, but before he could say anything, she reached up to the dashboard and yanked the liquid air freshener attached to the aircon.

“Sorry, Captain,” she said sheepishly, “it’s actually poison. I placed this earlier when I thought you were still my enemy. After I planned to let you go, this would’ve done its job.”

Johnny and Roach froze, their eyes wide, sweat trickling down their foreheads as they suddenly realized what had almost happened. Captain Price’s mouth hung agape, his face frozen in a mixture of shock and fear.

Kyle let out a hearty laugh. “Do you still doubt that she’s The Morrigan, Captain?!”

Simon burst into uncontrollable laughter, unable to stop himself, clutching his stomach in amusement.

Price sighed deeply, rubbing his forehead. “Unbelievable…” His voice was a mix of disbelief and exhaustion, still processing the fact that this small, unassuming woman—who had just made them all dinner—was none other than The Morrigan. A woman feared and respected across MI5, MI6, and Special Ops—the entire intelligence and special operations community. He could hardly wrap his head around it, his mind still struggling to connect the dots. There was little known about her beyond her callsign, and most of what was, had been redacted. All he knew was that she was a ghost, a shadow in the field, and now, she was standing right in front of him.

Y/N, a little embarrassed by the whole situation, scratched the back of her neck. “Don’t worry, Captain! The food I packed for you isn’t poisoned! I hope you enjoy it!!”

Simon continued laughing in the background, shaking his head at the absurdity of it all.

As Price shook his head in disbelief, his 4x4 rumbled to life, and Gaz, Johnny and Roach climbed inside, still processing everything. The vehicle pulled out of Simon’s cottage compound, disappearing down the road.

----------

His Goddess

As Captain Price drove them back to the base, his hands gripping the steering wheel tightly, Kyle couldn't help but notice the still-shocked expression on the Captain's face. The earlier revelation had clearly rattled him.

"Alright, Cap?" Kyle said, glancing over with a smirk.

Captain Price navigated the winding road back to the base, Kyle couldn’t help but notice that the Captain was still in a state of shock. Price’s mind clearly hadn’t settled on everything that had just happened. After a few moments of silence, the Captain spoke, his voice still tinged with disbelief.

“Alright, Kyle… how did you know who 'The Morrigan' was? Her face, for Christ’s sake. That was blacked out—redacted from every file.”

Kyle leaned back in his seat, taking a deep breath as he glanced out the window, the dimming light casting shadows across his face. “It was when she came to rescue us. We were in a tight spot, surrounded. The cover story she came up with? One of the most ridiculous plans I’d ever heard, but effective as hell. It worked, especially given the circumstances. She radioed in to confirm the extraction, and that’s when she said her name—'This is The Morrigan.' That’s when it all clicked.” He paused, reflecting. “She’s known for planning ops like nobody else—strategic, methodical. A real grandmaster at it.” Kyle gave a small smirk. “Not many know her face.”

Price nodded, absorbing the information. He gripped the wheel a little tighter, still processing. “I see,” he muttered, his eyes on the road. “I just didn’t expect her to look like that. Petite... like she couldn’t harm a fly.” His voice was almost incredulous.

Johnny, from the backseat, couldn’t resist. “Well, Captain, guess we’ve learned today that size and looks don’t mean a damn thing when it comes to being dangerous.”

Roach snickered, adding, “Aye, she might be small, but she’s got a bite that’ll make you wish you were never born.”

Kyle raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. “Don’t you think they’re a good match?”

Price chuckled, his eyes glinting with a knowing look. “Aye, I can see it now. Quite fitting, actually. I get why Simon loves her. It makes sense.”

Kyle’s grin deepened, his voice taking on a more thoughtful, almost poetic quality.

“Yeah, if Ghost is the Grim Reaper, then she’s The Morrigan—his Goddess.”

Price glanced at him, a slight smirk tugging at his lips. “Hell, you’re not wrong. They make one hell of a pair.”

Johnny leaned forward from the backseat, nodding in agreement. “Aye, Death and His Goddess, now that’s a match made in... well, whatever’s beyond.”

Roach chuckled, adding his own twist. “Couldn’t put it better. The Goddess of Death and Death her Reaper. Perfect balance of chaos and control.”

Price let out a low laugh, shaking his head. “Bloody hell... they really do.”

----------- An Investigation

By the time Captain Price reached the base, the drive had given him plenty of time to process everything. He was still reeling from what he'd learned, but that wasn’t going to stop him from getting answers. His mind still on the tiny, dangerous woman he’d just encountered.

After everyone got out of the 4x4 and decided to retreat to their own quarters, there was a collective yawn from Johnny, Roach, and Gaz, as they all called it a night. It had been a long, exhausting, and somewhat terrifying day. Captain Price waved them off, his own mind still turning over the events.

Once inside his quarters, he glanced at the clock, realizing it was still a little early in Washington, D.C. A quick thought crossed his mind—if anyone knew anything about "The Morrigan," it would be Laswell.

He grabbed his comms and dialed in. It rang once, twice, before the line clicked on.

“Hi, good evening, Laswell,” Price said, his voice a little more cautious than usual. “Do you know anything about ‘The Morrigan’?”

A/N: About YOU!! (Y/N) being Ghost’s Goddess, sounds nice, doesn’t it? You’re the Goddess “The Morrigan,” and Simon—Death, the Reaper. Such a perfect match!!! I hope you all enjoyed the chaos and comedy in this one! Apologies for the late update—I had to do a bit of research and juggle some work,Thanks for your patience and for reading! 💀✨

P.S. I might write another one, who knows? A little short continuity here and there once I get the right idea, but for now, nothing planned. I’ll post if I do though!

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