#so if that’s the thing you don’t like your hate should be directed at frank and not at her

[m4ndysk4nkovich]

it’s not a coincidence that season four, the season where debbie hits puberty, is the season where the fandom starts to gang up on her.

[garbinge]

THE ONES THAT HAUNT YOU

Mike Franks x F!Reader // Leroy Jethro Gibbs & F!Reader // Word Count: 5.6k Summary: When cases get personal, things get messy. After getting put as lead on a case that's personal to Mike, the two of you argue at work. As Gibbs walks in on the tail end of the fight, the two of you spark up a friendship. When you get home, Mike is waiting for you, tail between his legs ready to make up for the things he said and open up about the past... just in time for your past to come knocking. Warnings: All my fics are 18+ regardless of content. SMUT. Angst. Fighting. Yelling/Raising Voices. Mike being a little mean in the beginning but makes up for it later. Canon-level case violence/death/murder. Mental Illness/manic episode. A/N: This is pure Franks brain rot. I have nothing else to say. More from this universe

“You’re being an asshole.” 

You were sitting at your desk, arms resting on the edge of it because most of the surface was covered by folders and papers. There probably had to be like 3 empty coffee cups to accompany the one cold one that you would still occasionally sip from. Mike was standing on the opposite side of your desk, his hands resting on his hips as you raised your voice to argue with him. 

“Oh, I’m being an asshole?” Now one of his hands was pointing to his chest, the sarcastic smirk tugging at his mouth as he spoke. His eyes turned to the open door frame where likely some agents still were. He was thinking of his next words, if they were worth saying or if someone was in ear shot.

It was late, both of your teams were either home by now or taking a breather from their paperwork in the break room. It was just you two in the bullpen, and when he realized that, he let the words fly from his mouth after a quick head shake. “If I’m so much of an asshole, why the hell you with me, huh?” 

“Something I’m asking myself at the moment.” Your response came back quick, not needing to think of something smart to say, it already lived at the tip of your tongue. That was one thing you and Franks did well. Argue. 

“In that case you should leave.” His reply was delivered just as fast. Eyebrows raised and the pissed look on his face growing as the seconds passed, all while his hands went back resting on his hips. 

“You’re at my desk.” It was at that moment that you placed your hands palm side down over the mess. Internally you were flinching, you hated when things got like this, when they got messy. But the irony in it was you’d hate it so much it’d pretty much become a constant.

“I came over here because I had a shit fucking day and needed to blow off some steam, figured you’d like to join me, not to get shit thrown in my face.” His voice was louder now, it was unlikely someone heard what he said, but they’d probably heard him raising his voice. Lucky for you, that wasn’t cause for alarm around here. Franks was always raising his voice. 

“You forget that I have the same fucking days as you? I sit right across from you,” you pointed to the desk 6 feet in front of yours. “I get heavy caseloads, the same late nights, and I deal with all of that on top of your annoying ass attitude.” Your face twisted at that, turning to look at your work, hoping he’d take the hint and leave you alone but that was wishful thinking.

“I–“

You didn’t let him even start the sentence before you slammed your hands against the desk in an attempt to get him to stop. “And if all you’re here for is to blow off steam, join a fuckin’ gym, Franks. i’m not a fuckin’ game, I have feelings that I don’t just shove to the back of my brain the minute they pop up.” It was a direct shot at him and by the look on his face, he knew it. 

“We really doing this?” That first question felt genuine despite the slight sarcasm in his voice. It was almost pleading, a desperate attempt to stop your arguing. But when you couldn’t hide the attitude on your face, all that went out the window. “You wanna do this?” 

“Won’t be the first time I danced with the devil, Franks.” Another shot. It’s what you’d call your, well, whatever this was. Dancing with the devil. You had a think for reckless behavior. For mess. No matter how much you’d vocalize that you hated it. 

It became a joke. Everytime you’d knock on his door, you’d smile and tell him you were there to dance with the devil. 

—-

One day you literally did it. 2AM in his kitchen, you both were working the same case, both his team and yours were assigned on it, an all hands on deck situation. When you relieved your teams, both of you went back to Mike’s place and made a work station out of his dining room table. When you retreated to grab another cup of coffee from his kitchen, you felt him grab your hand and twirl you around. There was no music, just the sounds of your own laughs and footsteps on the kitchen tile. You rested your head against his shoulder, he began humming a song lightly as the two of you fell into a rhythm of swaying. 

“We aren’t going to solve it tonight.” His voice was soft as he spoke in your ear. 

“We’re close. I feel it.” You also felt the heaviness in your eyes as you fought the sleep coming over you. 

You felt the vibration of his chuckle in your body, the light peck of his lips against your head, slightly touching your forehead a bit. “You’re stubborn.” 

“I just need to find whoever did this.” You brought your arms up tighter around his back. 

He adjusted his arm around your shoulders, now hugging you instead of using your hand to guide you in a slow pace. “This case is different for you, I can tell.” 

“It’s personal. The first victim–” you closed your eyes, you were able to hear Mike’s heart thumping, “she was a friend. Jessica. My brother’s girlfriend.” 

“And Wheeler let you on the case?” Even with your eyes closed and looking in a completely different direction, you could feel the way his brows were furrowed into one another. This was new information to him, but he deserved to know, you just had to tell him at your own pace. 

“We’re short staffed, Wheeler would make me work my own murder case.” It was a joke, but it was true, this was all hands on deck because there were massive gaps in NIS right now. 

“Now you bite your tongue.” He was pulling out of your hug, his feet stopped swaying to look at you, his brows still furrowed. 

“Why would I do that when I got you to do it for me.” Your lips turned to a smirk. 

His face lightened up for just a quick second before he was leaning down and dropping a kiss to your lips, his teeth grazing your bottom lip and pulling it out just slightly before releasing it and looking down at you. 

“You’re dancin’ with the devil, you know that?” He mumbled against your mouth. 

“Havin’ a damn good time doin’ it, too.” You placed a light kiss on his mouth since it was still centimeters away from yours. 

“And if Wheeler finds out?” Now his brows lifted, real curious towards your response. 

“Didn’t see anything about dancing with the devil in the handbook.” You shrugged and brought Mike back in close to you, moving your feet to start leading the both of you in a sway again. 

“Wouldn’t know, I never read the damn thing.” He chuckled, grabbing you right back and falling back into the motion. 

The two of you comfortably fell into a silence, just rocking back and forth, now to the hum of the fridge and the light under the microwave. It was probably 30 minutes of this, before you tapped his chest and looked up at him. Both of you had dark bags under your eyes, but sleep wasn’t going to be next on the list. There was still too much to sift through.

“If Wheeler finds out it won’t matter.” Now you were turning to grab your luke warm coffee, pouring a shit ton of sugar in it and stirring it around although there wasn’t much heat left in the coffee to dissolve it as quickly. 

“And why’s that?” Mike had leaned back on the small bistro table in his kitchen, his arms crossed against his chest. 

“Because we’re understaffed, he can’t afford to fire us for misconduct.” You smirked and turned around, bringing the mug up to your mouth to take a sip. 

Mike laughed at that and shook his head. “If he does say anything, I’ll bring up that dancing with the devil isn’t in the handbook.” 

You were walking past him, back to the kitchen table. “Mm, should be in the training, though.” 

—-

“You’re emotional. You’re immature, you run into shit without thinking first.” He began listing things off. 

“Sounds like you’re talking about yourself.” You leaned back in your chair now, your arms crossed, wondering where this argument was going to go. 

“I learn from the best, baby.” Despite the smile on his face, he was being cruel. Picking at whatever he could to get under your skin. 

It was then that footsteps entered the bullpen, neither of you were looking at who just walked in, your eyes were glued on eachother, the anger and frustration practically burning holes in your faces. 

“Get the fuck out.” You spoke it at a normal tone, but your teeth were gritted and your face was tight. 

“Hey—” He was trying to backpedal now, you could see it in that last second of him staring at you, the flinch in his right eye that said everything he never would. 

“Get the fuck out.” You repeated it, this time pushing off from leaning back in your office chair. 

Franks nodded briefly, like he was taking an order from you and was out the entrance closest to your desk in seconds. 

You knew it was Gibbs who had walked into the bullpen, without bothering to even look in that direction. He spent as much time as possible here, burying himself in the work. 

“The hell was that?” He was walking towards his desk, but took the extra steps to make it closer to yours, dropping a cup of hot coffee down in one of the only clear spots left on your desk. 

“That was Franks doing what he does best.” Your eyes looked over at the coffee cup and nodded in appreciation before bringing it to the permanent spot in your hand as you stared down at the photos you had just removed from a folder once Franks left. 

“Y–“ Gibbs began to speak but you cut him off.

“Gibbs. I want you to think very carefully before you speak.” 

He nodded and moved swiftly to his desk to work. It was just you two, the main overhead lights were off since it was well past 10PM now, the only lights being the desk lamps from yours and Gibbs’s desk. You preferred it that way, it made everything around you disappear aside from the files in front of you. 

Mary Jo had said goodbye about an hour ago, dropping one more folder on your desk based on a request you had asked her earlier in the day. Lala had been in the breakroom with Strickland and had peaked in to say goodbye, too. Randy had gone home at end of day because his kid had a sports game and you had told your team to head home around 7 because you needed to take in this new case alone.. 

You wiped your hands across your face before taking the last sip of coffee. This cup, you decided to throw get up and throw out, simply because there just wasn’t any room to store it on your desk anymore. 

“i know you two are together.” Gibbs’s voice caused your eyes to move towards his, debating what you wanted to say to him, soaking in his words.

“Doesn’t surprise me.” You nodded,”We’re sneaking around investigators, would be a bit alarming if someone didn’t realize.” 

Gibbs did his best job at a knowing smile. “What he do?”

That got you to smile, his immediate instinct was to blame Franks.

“I love your faith in me probie.” You walked over to lean on the side of your desk, your arms crossing along with one leg over the other as you stared at him. 

“Doesn’t take a genius to figure that out.” He let out a small chuckle, “plus, I know what that looks like.” 

You looked up at him with sorrowful eyes, it wasn’t a secret that Gibbs had recently lost his wife.  With your hands dropping to grip the edge of your desk, you let out a large exhale.

“If I wasn’t a part of NIS, things would be different. We run things so differently, things I do for my team compared to how he runs his. We work differently. We think differently.  Sometimes I think if I had met Franks in some other life he’d actually care about me.” 

“He cares.” Gibbs answered so quickly, and while you knew that was true, you also knew that with the lives you and Franks had, caring wasn’t always enough. 

“I got put on a cold case.” The sentence wasn’t enough to explain what had caused the tension between you two, but it was something. 

“And he’s pissed about that?” Gibbs wasn’t on your team, but you were aware that he didn’t talk much, so the fact he was open to this conversation with you was intriguing to say the least. 

“He was the lead agent on it 7 years ago.” There it was, the clarity was starting to come to light.

“Ah.” Gibbs understood now. 

“They wanted a new pair of eyes. The case officially went cold the week I started at NIS–it was Mike’s first case as a Supervisory Special Agent– It’s not lost on me the weight of that. Wheeler brought us both to his office, mentioned that Strickland had found new evidence when going over old files and the case was opening back up. It honestly is such a big case I figured both our teams were going to divide and conquer but turns out Wheeler just wanted me to take a look tonight before assigning out my team on it tomorrow. Told Franks to be available to me.” 

“You asked him something and he snapped.” Gibbs put the pieces together, but he was wrong.

Shaking your head you tilted your head. “I wasn’t ready to bring him in yet and he didn't like that.” 

Gibbs nodded. 

“I needed to marinate on it, take in everything without his perspective skewing mine. It’s how I work.” You shook your head, frustration tensing on your shoulders. “Franks knows how I am. Knows I do things on my timeline. I need a fuckin’ minute to check my gut.” 

That got Gibbs attention. “He teach you that? To trust your gut?” The question was inquisitive, like he was curious to instructions on how he best could trust his. 

That got you to laugh, blowing the air out of your mouth you kicked off your desk and looked down at the papers. “He got that from me.” 

Gibbs smirked at that too, he wanted to ask more but he let it be and stood up, making his way over to yout desk to take in the files. “That what you've been doin all night?” 

You nodded, a million thoughts going through your head. 

“And?” That was the question asked where he hoped he’d learn more about trusting your gut, but unfortunately, your gut was coming up short on this one. 

“And I need to ask Franks a god damn question.” You opened your notebook to a long list of notes. “or 20.” 

“They turn the coffee machine off at 11.” Gibbs said, looking at your empties. 

“I’m gonna head out. Change of scenery will do me good.” You grabbed your desk phone and started to press 0 for an operator. “Cab, NIS to Cherry Grove.” As you waited for them to respond you were piling all your work into a pile. “Fuck you mean 35 dollars?” Dropping the papers you grabbed the phone that was originally tucked between your ear and shoulder as if getting the speaker closer to your ear would make the answer change. 

“Surge rates? It’s 1:30AM?!” You slammed the phone down, definitely more angrily than you needed it to be but you were just taking out all the pent up emotion from earlier. 

“C’mon. I’ll drive you.” Gibbs was staring at you, bag slung over his shoulder. 

“Thanks for driving me, Franks drove me in this morning.” You never minded keeping your relationship with Mike secret, but there was something freeing about being so open about it to Gibbs. 

“How do you know when to trust your gut?” The question felt out of left field. It echoed in the cabin of his truck. 

“You always trust your gut, Gunny.” You smirked over at him before pointing in the direction he needed to turn to get on your street. “Right here.” You pointed to the only house with the porch light on. 

As he pulled up against the curb, you both saw Mike sitting on your porch, his elbows leaning on his knees. 

Gibbs didn’t say it, but you knew what he was thinking. See, he cares. 

“I know he cares. He cornered Artie in the men’s bathroom when he heard him tell Roger I was a diversity promotion.” You remembered Artie coming up to you to apologize, it wasn’t sincere, but there was fear behind it. It was likely that Franks threatened him if he didn’t say something to you. 

“Make him sweat it a little bit.” The comment earned you to snap your head towards Gibbs who was trying to hide a smile. 

“Did we just become friends, Gunny?” He wasn’t on your team, so while he was technically below you in rank, there was a little more leeway in how you two could speak to eachother, share things. 

“If we did, you can call me Jethro.” 

That got you to smile back at him with a nod. “You got it, Gunny. See you tomorrow.” 

You had full intentions to make it a point not to share anything on you and Franks but after the little conversation that went on, you knew it wasn’t necessary. 

As you walked up to your house, you stepped right past Mike, not acknowledging him, just placing your key in the door. Franks didn’t look up at you, just kept his elbows resting on his knees, his head looking down at the ground. Gibbs was still parked on the curb, waiting for you to unlock your door. He was well are that with Franks presence he didn’t need to make sure you got in okay, but you’d have to pry chivalry out of Gibbs cold dead hands. 

As you pushed the door open, you spoke over your shoulder. “You comin’ in?” 

Franks was standing up and as you waved him inside, he walked past you into your home, head still down like a sad puppy. Turning to the truck, you offered a quick wave to which Gibbs lifted two fingers in a wave himself, and then you stepped inside your home. 

You kicked your shoes off next to Mike’s, then followed your daily routine of getting home. Placing your bag on the hooks, dropping your badge on the entry table, locking your gun in the safe. Pouring yourself a glass of wine. 

This time though, you cracked open a beer to give to Franks who was sitting at your kitchen table. 

“I’m going to take a shower.” Placing the beer down, you brought your glass to your lips as you retreated to the bathroom. The hot water steamed the room up, it made the condensation on your wine glass drip even more than before as it sat on the soap dish in the shower. 

“On a scale of 1-10, how much do you hate me?” His drawl didn’t scare you, you knew he’d pop in, it’s why you left the door open. 

“8.5” You said as the water trickled down your back, grabbing the wine to take a sip from it. 

“Damn.” He clearly wasn’t expecting it that high. 

“It’s been higher.” You tried to offer some solace. 

“It’s been lower.” Now the shower curtain was being pulled back slightly. His eyes met yours which were looking over at him as you drank the rest of the glass. “Refill?” He held up the bottle and you tipped your glass so he could fill it up. “You wanna dance with the devil?” Putting the cork back in the bottle, he didn’t take his eyes off you. 

“The water’s hot, the way you hate it.” With a smile, the words Gibbs had spoken to you right before you got out of the car were sitting in your head. Make him sweat it a little bit. 

“I was an asshole.”  Those words took you by surprise. Mike never apologized, but he found ways to dance around them with you. 

“Tell me something I don’t know.” You placed the glass back down on the soap dish and tilted your head back into the stream of water. 

“I shouldn’t have been an asshole.” 

With that, you sighed. “Get in.” 

It didn’t take him long to be unclothed and standing inside the tub with you, he was quick to wrap his arms around you, your bodies pressed against each other. He placed a quick kiss to your lips, it was his way of reading where you were, if you were going to pull away, if you melted into the kiss, felt distant. 

As he pulled away, he moved his hand to grip your face, wiping the streams of mascara off your face before leaning in and kissing you again, this time longer and even though he opened his mouth slightly, he didn’t slip his tongue into your mouth, he wasn’t trying to seduce you, he was just trying to make it up to you. 

He leaned to get the shampoo and started to lather the product in his hands before rubbing it on your scalp. You wished it didn’t feel as good as it did, you let out a couple moans as his fingers massaged your scalp. 

“Turn around.” His gruff voice sent a chill down your spine despite the scalding hot water that was currently trickling down it. Turning so now your front was in the water stream, you tilted your head back as he continued to massage your head, his hands then moving down to your shoulders. Each movement moving your back closer against him. You could feel him hard against you, but he did nothing to remedy it, just focused on the suds above your shoulders. “Turn and rinse.” He spoke again and you obliged, washing the shampoo out of your hair. 

The process repeated with conditioner, and then the soap along your body. By the time your shower was done, your muscles were more relaxed than they had ever been. 

“Go, dry up. I’ll be just a minute.” He was turning to let you step out of the shower, your hand in his as you stepped on the bath mat and grabbed your towel. Closing the curtain you heard the water temperature knob squeak, the noise it always made when the water turned colder. You couldn’t help but smile, you always burned your skin in the shower and Franks hated it. Instead of retreating to your bedroom, you plopped up on the sink, waiting for him to finish up. 

As the curtain opened, you let your towel start to fall down, part of your skin starting to peek through as it did. Mike caught your eye and then let his fall down to your body before looking back up at you, searching your face to make sure he wasn’t misunderstanding the context. 

You tilted your head slightly, telling him to come closer to you with no words at all. He stepped forward, his body covered in droplets still, his hair dripping wet but still twirled in those curls that your fingers would get tangled in. His arms rested on the edges of the sink, closing you in between them. Wrapping your legs around him was all the invitation he needed, his face fell immediately into the crook of your neck, sucking the sensitive area of skin there before tracing it with his tongue. While your head fell back, giving him more area to work with, you wrapped one hand around his shoulders and the other fell down to touch him. You pumped his member right against your entrance, the tip just ever so slightly touching you. That mixed with the work Mike was doing on your neck, you could feel yourself get wetter. 

You moved slightly, leaning back against the mirror and pushed your chest out, begging Mike to put your breasts in his mouth and he obliged without any confusion in your body language. 

You let out a loud moan, your hands cupping his face as he sucked on your nipple, bringing your hand into his hair and gripping at those curls tightly. 

Not wanting to wait another second, you grabbed him and began pumping again, this time you could feel he had his own wetness at the tip and you couldn’t help but use his cock to rub it against your clit before positioning it at your entrance, letting it go in just slightly. 

“More.” You spoke into his ear and he didn’t need you to say it twice. He pushed inside you and while you let your head fall back against the mirror again, his fell on your shoulder. Both of you letting out a moan. He stayed there for a few seconds before slowing moving out and pumping back in you, each movement earning a noise from you that he gladly moved to catch in his own mouth. 

He kissed you with passion, they were hard, like his thrusts as they began to speed up. 

“You feel so fuckin’ good.” The words were whispered as your eyes practically rolled back in your head. 

“Think that’s my line, sweetheart.” He chuckled, looking down as he watched himself enter in and out of you, his tongue swiping around his lip like he was hungry for more. 

Widening your legs apart, you brought them from wrapped around his waist to snug parallel against his sides, he used his hands to hold them there as he continued to pump inside you, his grunts making you more wet if that was even possible. Moving one hand to touch your clit, you practically cried out from the tender touch of your own hand. Mike was quick to readjust, dropping his hands from your legs and using one hand to lay on top of yours, his polite way of telling you he’d gladly rub your clit for you and his other hand resting on the mirror behind you for balance. 

You kept your legs where they were, your knees pressing tightly into his side just made him go faster. 

“You look fuckin’ perfect.” You thought he was looking down at you but his eyes were staring right at your face. 

You brought your hand back up to his face, cupping it tightly as his hips grinded. The hand that was resting on the mirror moved to readjust you slightly, just sliding you down ever so slightly to change the angle he was fucking you at and bless him for it because it was then that you cried out as his cock hit that spot that made you come undone with the matching pressure of his fingers swirling on your clit. 

As you reached your climax, the tightening around his cock caused him to come undone. Both of you moaning and grunting before you let your chests rise and fall to catch your breath. He pulled out of you. Your hand still on his face as he did so he brought his own up to hold it there tighter, pressing a light kiss to the inside of your wrist before helping you off the sink. Every muscle he had just massaged in the shower had just tightened up from being fucked on the bathroom sink but it was incredibly worth it, and maybe you could use it as an excuse for this to happen again. 

He bent down to pick the towel up for you, wrapping it around you and using the bottom hem to clean up his mess that was dripping down your leg. Mike grabbed a towel of his own, wrapping it around his waist while you both retreated to the bedroom. He had a drawer with some things in it, so while you were at the vanity putting on your lotion, he was grabbing a shirt for you, and something for him to cover up. The large NIS long sleeve was being handed to you along with a pair of shorts you always wore to bed, then he moved to put his own underwear on. Pulling the cigarette pack out of his jean pockets, he then dropped those belted pants and button up shirt on the ground before picking up a lighter to his cigarette. 

“So Gibbs knows?” His voice was altered as he inhaled the cigarette smoke. 

“It’s almost like he’s a special agent.” You teased as you brought the shirt over your body. 

“So what, you two like friends now or something?” He was teasing you back. 

Smirking, you came up behind him and rested your head against his back, your arms wrapping around his abdomen. “Wouldn’t you like to know.” The words were probably in poor taste, considering he wanted to know so much about your thoughts on this case. It was why he was being such a jerk earlier. After he chuckled a bit, his body language got serious, you felt his body tense up against you.

“You remember when we were workin’ that murder case. The one where your friend was the victim.” 

It should’ve surprised you, the fact that a heavy statement like that did nothing to shake you, to make your gut twist, but it did none of that. All it did was cause your heart to stop for half a second before going back to normal. 

“That case was personal to you.” He nodded, hoping you were understanding where he was going with it, but you weren’t gonna let him not say more. “This–this case. Is personal to me.” 

“I wasn’t shutting you out.” You mumbled the sentence against his back. 

“I know.” He nodded and took a deep breath. 

“Actually have tons of questions for you. I just needed to marinate.” 

“Yea, I get that.” He nodded. “You wanna ask me your questions?” 

“No.” Now it was your turn to not say more than that. 

He nodded again and let out another deep breath. 

“But I have one I need to ask you.” You pulled your head off his back and rested your chin on it instead. “How close were you to him?” 

Him. Just the word made Mike flinch, the difference in both of you, how for you, your old personal case didn’t even cause you to tremble, but for Franks, he physically felt his body react to the question. That was the difference between these personal cases. Yours was closed. The killer was 6 feet in the ground. This case had no sign of closure in sight, and that was now your weight to carry. 

“When he was alive? Not very.”

“But after?” You knew there had to be a point for him to bring up that question. 

“When he died, I’ve never felt closer to him.” The words made him choke up a bit. “I talked to him, when I was working the case, I’d talk out loud to him like he was there with me.” He let out a laugh like he found it hard to believe himself. “He still haunts me.” 

When you saw the name in the folder, you understood entirely. It was his former team member, before he was promoted to Supervisory Special Agent on a different team. 

Just as you were about to speak, there was a knock at your door, a loud one, frantic even. 

Mike was quick to stand up straight, his jeans were on his legs in seconds, his fingers quickly fastening the buckle as he made his way to the door. 

“Stay here.” His voice was firm, he knew you were just as capable as him to deal with whoever was banging at your door at 3AM, but it didn’t stop him from wanting to deal with it himself. 

As the door swung open, his gun in hand and cigarette hanging from his mouth, his face tightened to frighten whoever was there. “Who the fuck are you?”

“Uh, sorry. I was–was looking for my sister.” The stuttering made it very clear the man was stressed, likely in a panic. 

“August?” You spoke your brother’s name, your hands grabbing Mike’s bare skin to move him over, staring almost frozen at the sight of your brother. “What happened?” 

“It’s Jessica, I can’t find her.”  And just like that, the twist in your gut came back. Your eyes closed, and you squeezed Mike’s arm before moving past him and grabbing your manic brother into your arms. 

“It’s okay, Auggie. We’ll find her.” Lie. Mike was trying to rack his brain around everything. “Go lay on the couch, I’ll make you a cup of tea.” 

Your brother hadn’t been the same since losing Jessica. It’s why you put everything on the line to take the case all those years ago. It’s why you wanted to look at this case with fresh eyes-no sway, because the minute someone planted an idea of how things went down with Jessica, you spent 12 crucial hours following that thought just for it to come up as a dead end. You should’ve followed your gut. From that day forward, you always followed your gut.

As your brother moved to the couch, his hands shaking and head nodding as he repeated your words, you turned to Mike. After you told him to go put a shirt on and put on a pot of coffee for you both, you squeezed his arm with one more thing to say.

“The cases don’t have to be cold for them to continue haunting you.”

Dividers by: realitycanbewhateveridesire ♡ 🕵️ NCIS Taglist: @drabbles-mc @justreblogginfics @kmc1989 @ilovemark1951 @shamelessturtlebeliever @babebaber (let me know if you’d like to be added!)

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instead of jumping for joy that the boy you had been crushing on was talking to you. you shook your head and let out a sob.

will looked over your shoulder and grit his teeth. the blonde immediately pulled you in for a hug and directed you towards your group of friends.

sarah sobered up quickly and took you away from will as cutter and rutger asked the boy what happened.

"i don't even know why i'm so upset because it was all fake," you choked out.

sarah furrowed her eyebrows. "do you think maybe a part of you wanted it to be real?" she asked.

"i hated him sarah. for the past twelve years of my life, tyler duke made it his mission to bother me but this bothers me the most," you whispered.

tyler wasn't one for good timing, so when he reached his friend group it was just as will had explained what he saw. the duke boy was then met with a nice right hook from rutger.

"you're a fucking asshole." he spat.

tyler was stunned as he searched the crowd for you. one of the first things he noticed was the absence of the necklace he gave you. the next was your puffy eyes.

that party was the last time you saw tyler duke.

or so you thought.

it had been a year of successfully avoiding tyler, with the help of some of his friends.

“y/n/n, you haven’t looked at the hockey team have you?” franks new girlfriend asked.

the girlfriends on the team were well aware of what happened between you and tyler. rutger had accidentally slipped up one night and now the boys were protective of you.

the girlfriends had welcomed you with open arms.

“i have not. why what’s wrong?” you asked.

your question was answered almost immediately when you heard his voice.

“she hasn’t spoken to me since that night man. i don’t even know what i did wrong,” tyler spoke to his brother.

dylan had tried his best to get his brother far away from you but it was no use. tyler was determined to get back to the locker room, using the route you were stood in.

seamus tried blocking you from his view but it was useless as tyler had already called your name.

the florida native kept his hand around your waist, prompting tyler to think that the two were dating. tyler just bite his lips and nodded his head slowly.

“i should’ve known you’d go for one of my teammates.” tyler spat.

mark and ethan stepped in front of tyler, blocking you from his view. tyler just rolled his eyes and shook his head.

“you should go ty,” dylan advised his younger brother.

tyler scoffed at his older brother and pushed his way past you and seamus. dylan looked to you and apologised before following after his younger brother.

"you cheated on me!" you exclaimed before tyler went too far.

the boy stopped and turned to you. "you kissed that girl at the party and I saw it. damn it tyler the whole time we were together it benefited you way more than me," you ranted.

tyler was stunned, he realised that you hadn't seen him push the girl away and search for you instead. you also hadn't realised that the only person he wanted was you.

"and to think, i was really starting to like you," you whispered before walking away from the team.

the guys all glared at tyler. especially rutger and frank "you fucked up bad ty," they chastised him.

[dabiensworld]

Spare key

Kastle Exchange May 26th, "What Could Be" The first thing they say to each other in Daredevil: Born Again/AU day

@kastleexchange

Part 1 of my vision of how the pilot episode would looks like from Karen's POV. Further parts will be a direct continuation.

“Did you plan to sneak out?” She heard a voice behind her back and the sound of bare feet on her floor. Was sure she would be able to get ready before he exited the shower. Her mind didn't register the moment the water stopped running. Maybe she got used to his presence here, in her apartment and personal space. 

“I can't sneak out of my own home, Frank.” Karen opened her cosmetic bag and she pulled out a nude lipstick. She looked in the mirror and saw in the reflection bare chested Frank with his skin glowing from water droplets and a towel around his waist. The sight was unbelievable, and yet it looked so normal that Karen couldn't believe it. 

“You should have waited for me, otherwise you would have locked me in your house.” 

“You know where the spare key is.” Karen pointed to a coconut bowl next to her door, where she keeps all her little stuff, including car keys and spare keys. Frank took them multiple times and everytime she found them inside the bowl. She hoped that one day she would find the bowl empty. She continued to watch in the mirror as Frank finished drying his body and putting on his pants. He noticed that she was glancing at him because he stood behind her and placed his hands on her hips, began to place kisses just behind her ear, along her hairline. That simple gesture warmed her from toes to head, but he could feel that something was on her mind. 

“You’re not in the mood. Didn't you get enough sleep?” As if he himself wasn't the reason for her sleep deprivation. He moved his head to look at her from a distance and look into her eyes, but for some reason she avoided his gaze. 

“What’s the matter?” He asked worriedly. She sighed and handed him her smartphone. 

“New York mayoral elections. Experts predict a landslide win for Wilson Fisk.” Frank read aloud. “Is that what you are worried about?”

“This is making me angry. Fisk ruined so many lives, killed so many people. I can’t believe that he walks freely around the city as if nothing had happened and now people want him to rule the entire city when he should be rotting in prison.”

“Well, I've killed people too and I walk freely around the city.” Frank said. 

“Yes, but you're not running for mayor of New York.” She was amused by her own joke, and their laughter echoed off the walls of her apartment. Karen liked the sound of his laugh. A low, but at the same time a little boyish. She turned her back to him so he wouldn't see her cheeks flushing. 

“If people elect him as mayor, it means that New York has a short memory after all.” Frank finished dressing, putting on a shirt. Karen noticed that he wasn't wearing the clothes he wore yesterday. Instead, he put on the one that Karen had washed a few days ago and put clean on the bottom shelf of her closet.

“Speaking of short memories of New York City, people don't remember The Punisher anymore, you don't have to hide behind that beard anymore.” 

“Why? You don’t like my beard?“ He looked at her and for the first time today their eyes met. 

“I hate it.” Karen replied in a slightly flirtatious tone. Frank grew a beard again, although this time it didn't look like it did when he picked it up on the street. On the contrary, his beard and hair were well-groomed and evenly trimmed. He looked very handsome, but Karen preferred his clean face. The beard was a bit in the way when he ate her out. 

“Karen, you may have noticed that the faucet in your shower is leaking.” Frank changed the topic of conversation.

“I know, I already reported it to the building administrator two weeks ago.” she answered while putting the rest of her makeup supplies into her bag. 

“I can fix it for you, I'll bring the tools. You won't have to wait for the administration to do something about it and…”

“You are doing this again, aren't you?” She interrupted him. 

“Doing what again?” His tone sounded surprised, as if he didn't know what she meant.

“You are looking for… excuses.”

“Excuses?”

“To come here. To…hang out with me.” She hadn't considered whether that was a good synonym for having sex, but saying it out loud would outline what they really meant to each other, and they had persistently avoided the topic.

They started sleeping together 15 months ago. Although the first night they only slept. Karen was terrified that once again someone was trying to kill her and she asked Frank to stay with her because she didn't want to be alone that night. She no longer remembered who wanted to hurt her, but she remembered the feel of his arms as they wrapped around her body, the warmth of his breath that tickled her neck, and the scent of the soap he used, soothing yet chemical. For a moment she felt happy, but that moment was fleeting, when she woke up in the morning in an empty bed, her heart broke.

Frank returned to her life 6 months later, although she had the impression that he had been lurking on the outskirts of her life, waiting for the opportune moment when Karen would need him. When one of Nelson, Murdock & Page's former clients publicly threatened her with death, Frank did not hesitate for a moment and eliminated it. Although the police ruled it a suicide, Karen saw her own. But for some reason Frank was avoiding her, so she decided to use the only way she knew he wouldn't be able to resist.  

She bought white flowers. She put them in her window. She waited. He showed up the same night. 

“I thought you needed help.” he said with a disappointing tone in his voice.

“I don't need help from you, I need answers.” 

But he made her wait a long time that night. Her bottle of wine was almost empty when he came, but without it she wouldn't have had the courage to push him until his back hit the wall and kissed him. Frank didn't seem like the type to hesitate, but Karen knew that he was surprised when she placed her hands on his body. But he finally gave in and embraced her and kissed her back. He did this all night long. Neither of them thought about what would happen in the morning. And when morning came Karen just let him go. She heard him waking up and getting ready, but she pretended to sleep.  She didn't feel the pain in her heart like last time. She felt that he would come back to her. 

And he came back, a few weeks later. She had the best night of her life with him again. He touched her and kissed her the way she liked, as if he knew her body and did it every day. She wanted him to do this. But morning came and Frank disappeared. And then he came back and disappeared again. Months of separation turned into weeks, and weeks into days. Frank always came back, but he always needed an excuse to do so.

Suddenly, various appliances in her apartment needed repairs, even though they had previously worked perfectly. Whenever something bad happened in Hell's Kitchen, he would stop by to check if she was okay. He insisted that she change the door locks and he did it himself. 

Only once did he show up at her door without any excuse, even though he actually had one. He bought a Springsteen album at a pawn shop and wanted to listen to it with her. It wasn't Karen's vibe, but it was nice, listening to the music with their fingers intertwined, feeling the warmth of his body, and his foot gently rubbing against her leg. Karen closed her eyes and wanted to live like this until the end of the world. With the man she loved. She was in love with Frank Castle. Did she have the courage to say it aloud? Saying it out loud could change everything between them. Their relationship was not limited only to carnal pleasures, they also had many hours of deep conversations. About Karen's past, about Frank's past, about the present, but they never touched on the topic of the future, especially the one that could be theirs together. 

For a long time, Karen was happy with what she had, but she knew it was only temporary. Because the world started to notice that she was happy. At least Matt and Foggy noticed. And they started asking questions. And she couldn't answer it. Because no one would understand the feelings she has for Frank. She didn't fully understand it either. And she guessed he did too. They were stuck in this state of limbo, in their bubble that was limited to the walls of her apartment. They felt good there, but she felt like she needed something more. Perhaps some confirmation that Frank would be there when she got home from work and wouldn't be gone when she opened her eyes in the morning. She spent days trying to get herself together to talk to him about it, but each time she was overcome with the thought that she would lose him. She started looking for excuses for herself, leaving the house earlier, before he woke up.

And that morning, egged on by all this information about Fisk, she decided she had to break through. It's ride or die. Alone or with him by her side.

“Listen, Frank. I really like your presence here. And I want you to know that you are always welcome here.” she started.

“But…?” 

“There is no but Frank. But if you have any doubts about it. I think we should talk about it. With sincerity.” They were always honest with each other. It was the unwritten rule between them, since the day they met. But the silence and understatements  were part of dishonesty and in their relationship there's no place for it. 

Frank didn't say a word or look at her, and Karen didn't know what that meant. Sometimes she felt like she knew him inside and out and could guess his every thought, and sometimes he was still a mystery to her that she wanted to solve. 

“Can we talk about it? Tonight?” She asked with with a trembling voice. Karen wasn't afraid of difficult conversations, she was afraid of those whose consequences she couldn't predict.  

Frank shook his head  and without looking up at her, he said “Yeah, we can talk.” 

She didn't feel a huge weight lift from her heart, but his agreement made her feel better. 

“What time will you be available? I'll order us something to eat.” 

“I finish at 8, won't that be too late?” Frank has been back to work in construction for a few months now and she thought he even liked it. With something to keep his mind and body occupied, Frank wasn't buried in own miserable thoughts. He got sense of purpose. 

“No, I'm going out for a drink with Matt and Foggy after work, so I'll be home around 9. I'll order some Chinese, we'll have dinner and talk. Does it fit you?” 

“Yeah, Chinese sounds fine.” he answered. 

“Great.” Before he had a chance to say something more she grabbed her purse, her phone and key. 

“I'll see you at nine. Have a nice day.” She kissed his cheek and led to the door. Before she closed them she noticed he reached the coconut bowl. 

Karen slowly began to develop a scenario in her head of what she would say to Frank and tried to anticipate what his responses would be. She couldn't have predicted that they wouldn't be able to have this conversation that night because the life she knew would end at Josie's bar. 

[mimibwi]

My thoughts on shipping

I have previously been silently exploring BTS ships and decided to put some of my thoughts on “paper”.

Now, I have been aware of the toxicities of certain BTS shipper fandoms and how messy shipping has been for groups that pre-date BTS such as One direction and Fifth Harmony. I have personally never been much of a shipper before BTS and naturally discovering my ship’s bond and starting to appreciate it. It always baffles me how shipping seems to mean different things to different people or groups of shippers. This is heard often but shipping should be something done for fun and I won’t say I hate that logic or that I 100% agree with it because I personally think its okay if you have a slight inkling your favorite pair may be dating/more than what they say they are and you try looking at it a bit more seriously. I think it’s human nature to be inquisitive and curious. However, like everything, there needs to be a limit and I think that’s a huge problem not only in shipping culture but stan culture in general. There’s been so many times that I have seen jokes or otherwise harmless discourses become a bigger deal than they were ever meant to be.

To me shipping is and always would be about observation, (rational) speculation and possibilities. I am never going to fight with anyone to prove my ship is real in a romantic way because to be frank I genuinely do not know. None of us know and that’s okay. I like discussing the possibility of ships (mainly my ship) being real (this always irks me to say cause every ship is real but anyway) and sometimes even theorize things based on that assumption. This is getting a bit messy because I have so much I want to say but I have no structure to it, bare with me.

Basically, what I am trying to say is, I think shipping is okay within limits. Once again, its all about observations and all of us are only human and can’t help but pick up on things from time to time and who knows maybe your hunch might actually mean something. So I never see any shippers or ship dynamic as a competition. I even seek out analysis, theories and videos of other ships because I love to see the different dynamics and how differently we all think and how things can look solely based on one’s perspective. Despite how frustrating it gets, I find shipping culture in itself very interesting. The way the same things can be interpreted in so many ways, seeing how differently people think from me and in many cases how other’s thoughts challenge my perspective and opinions.

The type of shipping I don’t enjoy is the type that:

makes it a competition of who is the closest or which bond is the best.

is already CONVINCED and 100% without a doubt BELIEVES that the ship they enjoy is the “real” one because like I said before none of us know for sure. It gets even worse because this subset of people speak about their theories/analysis/opinions as if its a fact known by many and some of us just need to get with the program.

degrade other members for ships. this is an instant red flag for me and if I’m being honest, many shippers aren’t as forward with the hate they have toward the member that “threatens” their ship. I have seen many shippers say the vilest things or agree with the rudest asks about some of the boys but at the end say “but I love him though” like…do you? do you really?—

push theories and delusions into the boy’s spaces to get confirmation…side eye. This is one of the worst things to me honestly. Shipping is meant to be enjoyed within fandom spaces and no matter how real you think your ship is, there is absolutely no reason to try to bring it to the boy’s attention that you apparently know what they are. Please do not make weird, inappropriate or suggestive comments about ships on their welives, do not DM them about it, do not DM or bug their family, friends and colleagues about it. PLEASE JUST BE NORMAL!!! If a ship is in fact real, they have their reasons for not being public about it and you as a fan of the group and especially as someone who enjoys the pair should be respectful of that. Sure it’s fine to talk about the duos on weverse or tag the boys in cute edits because I’m sure they like that their friendships are appreciated but please be cautious when pushing it to them through a romantic lens.

I think this takes away a lot of the fun of shipping and these subsets of shippers along with others I may have missed out here are the reason that the fandom tries to push out shippers for the most part. I always joke about many non toxic shippers getting thrown into it when all some of us really do is cry and gush about our ship TT its such a shame. But its understandable since the toxic shippers make up a large, VERY LOUD subset of the fandom and with the track record of shipping among groups, I frankly wish a lot of you weren’t around either.

((a lot more below the cut))

My Approach

To me, showing love and appreciation for the very REAL bond that we see is always going to be essential and the basis of everything I do as a shipper. And I am not talking about any theories or analysis of what we’re shown but taking in and appreciating what the boys say and the many ways they show love to each other.

No matter who you ship this is a very easy task to accomplish because the tannies are so loving and every single pair or trio has a special bond that is intriguing to explore. I have learnt so much in the few years I’ve been an ARMY, not only from my ship but from almost every ship and just the tannies on a whole. They’ve taught me a lot about friendship and help me understand the type of relationships I should aim to have and the type of person I want to be for others. These lessons and small appreciations are what I’ve anchored myself to so that I don’t stray too much from this original plot and even if I do, it’s very easy to find my way back.

That being said, I have acknowledged that I can be very delusional. I refuse to believe any of my theories or the theories that any shipper presents to me as 100% fact, no matter how convincing they might sound. I have accepted that everything I theorize about could be 1000% wrong and very very far from what is true and I’m fine with that thought. It’s what allows me to think up far fetch little theories or blip off into these delusional mind bubbles where my ship is real. It’s also why I can get out of my head and acknowledge the fact that it’s likely that no ship in BTS are romantic [ref to My unpopular(?) shipping opinions and this ask]. All of it is because I leave room for deniability.

I’ve expressed this here before but it is very much baffling to me how so many shippers believe with 100% certainty that the pair they like are actually dating and are willing to go to war over it. Y’all are way better than me because I, personally, refuse to look like a fool on the world wide web. Don’t get me wrong, I would definitely defend the tannies from the “not friends anymore” or “fanservice” allegations but I am not going out of my way to fight with delusional people about 2 Korean men (who I don’t know personally😭) being sexually or romantically involved. Y’all can keep that!

Why I don’t believe the believers

Okay now I’ll try to move on and talk about why some shipper discourses or theories don’t hold up to me and why its quite insane and sort of foolish to believe a ship exists in a romantic light 100% based solely on them. The short answer of this is CONTEXT.

Forming opinions and arguments (I am not saying shipping should be an argument but since many shippers treat it like one, I’m addressing it as such for now) about a topic always requires a massive amount of context and a foundation of already factual information to be built from to sound even remotely plausible and valid. That’s why I mentioned before that a lot of this shipping business is speculation and opinions and frankly some of the speculation/opinions I see from shippers just don’t make sense to me. This is all because with BTS and any real person whose life we only see a fraction of, we lack a lot of context and for that reason building a solid argument from a 5 second clip of their life is difficult because we as outsiders are the ones who fill in the blanks. That’s why there usually isn’t any solid or shared opinion on what certain things said or done by the guys mean because we all have different experiences and biases that reflect in the way we see and interpret people’s actions.

Okay, I am going to go into a bit more detail about what I mean and what type of context I am referring to when I say this: (this is where it may get even messier, stay with me)

1// Situational context- This is more for the shippers that breakdown specific moments and (over)analyze them. Personally, I am a big picture person so whilst there may be particular moments that I see as a moment for or against a particular ship being more than friends, most times one clip or period of time doesn’t affect the way I view a ship. I think its drastic to constantly be changing your opinions based on every clip you see or changing it because a ship hasn’t publicly interacted in a while. Despite all of this, there are many things I keep in the back of my mind and maybe even form fun, (tbh) far-fetched theories on but for the most part it doesn’t change much for me. The reason why is because from moment to moment, clip to clip there is so much context that we don’t have about what’s happening in that one moment. Like did x have a bad morning? did he just receive bad/good news? is he looking forward to or dreading what he needs to do after this? is x going through something personally right now? did x and y have a falling out/misunderstanding? is x looking at y or is he just zoned out?

Okay this is going overboard and some of these may sound quite ridiculous but these are some of the millions of things that give context to a situation and for that reason they’re all things that need to be taken into consideration when analyzing the boys. I won’t even lie, I was thinking about Taehyung and Jungkook (to a lesser extent) for these cause if I see someone calling Tae rude or saying Jungkook is jealous one more time I might lose it. I am not saying any of the above ever happened cause once again I don’t know but all I am saying is stating any opinion of yours of a vague moment as fact without even exploring one of the above or any other possible factors is never going to let me take you seriously. I am also not saying every shipper who talks about a moment needs to be able to tell me what x had for breakfast that morning but if you express your observation/opinion as the truth I expect you to be able to give me CONTEXT. It feels like I am going in circles, I told you it was getting messy.

There are moments that hold up quite well on their own and have sufficient context. In other words, some things don’t require much explanation to be seen as truth. I guess what I am trying to say is the amount of factual information you have should remain proportionate to the assumptions and opinions you form. Too many times people use tiny moments to come to huge conclusions and connect dots that make no sense being connected. And I think its fun to be a bit far-fetch and delusional but it becomes a huge issue when nonsensical theories are posted on the internet and pushed to other people who don’t understand how irrational those theories are. Hence, I often believe in freedom of thought more so than freedom of speech; not everything you think needs to be said, you can keep things to yourself or at the very least only share it with one person or two that you trust to understand your intent.

2// Cultural context- I will try not to stick to this for too long because I am not Korean, so I can add very little cultural context to any ship moment minus those I have been told about before. There are some things that the boys do or say that would probably have a different meaning to me vs someone who is aware of Korean culture. There are many times, none that I can pinpoint at this time, that I see a comment or post explaining a clip/moment with cultural context, which changed my view on that particular moment. Like I said, I am threading lightly here cause there is not much I can add to this conversation. I am adding this here to remind you that the moment that is a big deal to you may just be normal for Koreans shrugs. This one is even more difficult than the first because cultural context isn’t something you can just make assumptions about, its something you need to be exposed to to understand. A mere Google search may not even cut it to fully understand as an outsider.

Things like honorifics and politeness levels of speech or even specific translations need to be taken with a grain of salt. The bromance and skinship aspect of K-pop/Korean culture is also a huge part of shipping that may be new to people from different cultures. In many countries in the West, skinship between men isn’t something very normalized or in many cases even socially acceptable so the amount that BTS show physical affection to each other might be startling to many international fans when it’s something that’s more socially acceptable in Korea and normalized amongst their team.

“Holding hands, linking arms, and hugging amongst friends are acceptable ways to show closeness and comfort. So, don’t assume that every two persons holding hands in public are romantically involved! Conversely, public displays of affection by romantic couples are more toned down compared to in societies like, say, the US”. 4 Distinctly Korean Habits To Know Before Going To Korea (sejong.com.sg)

None of this is to say that certain types of skinship can’t mean more to any two members or to say we can’t find the interactions cute or endearing. It once again boils down to the confidence shippers have when using these moments as proof of their ship being the real deal.

3// Differing personalities, beliefs and relationship dynamics- All of these points bleed into each other and are interconnected in some way but I think this one is basically the backbone of all of the others. Despite having situational or even cultural context, its still difficult to draw any clear conclusions because EVERYONE IS DIFFERENT and any analysis or opinion will need to treat them as such—different people with different values, morals, beliefs, likes, priorities, dislikes, experiences and the lists goes on.

No matter how well the boys get on, they have continuously expressed how different all of them are as people. And because of that, no two ship can or should ever be viewed in the same lens. I think this “mistake” is something I see a lot in shipping: X and Y did this and X and Z didn’t hence XY>XZ, I honestly don’t think its that simple. In order to fully grasp a ship and its possibility of being real, you need to have a good idea of who the people you’re shipping are and what their likes, dislikes, values, priorities etc are.

Now this, like all these other points require a lot of assumptions to be made. Firstly, it assumes you interpret everything they say and do the way they meant it to come across, it assumes that their BTS persona is a good reflection of who they are as people OR that you have a good idea who they might be as people. I don’t know how to explain this one cause there are members that we as fans know as being a bit different on vs off camera and some of those differences are known to an extent but once again we’re dealing with a lot of assumptions so its tricky. Anyway, many shipper theories assume that we know how they’d react in various circumstances.

There are a few reasons I am bringing this up and I’ll mention it here to better explain myself. Like I said, I have been searching around at ship content just cause the more you fuck around the more you find out and I have been seeing people’s takes on shipping and forming opinions on them. At some point, I started feeling hypocritical cause of how my opinion may be different for particular ships and I concluded that this point was one of the reasons why. Let me explain-

I saw some people giving % probability scores for certain ships being romantic and the thought came into my head that Yoongi ships, I think they were specifically talking about yoonmin or sope, are not probable to me if we’re seriously thinking romantically. Even as someone who thinks Yoongi may be into men/women/both/none (girl honestly idk). The reason why i think this way is looking at Yoongi and what (I assume) his priorities and goals are in life. I mention in a previous post that I question the member’s willingness to take the risk that would come with being in a relationship with a bandmate and how I think that many of them don’t come across to me as being willing to. Yoongi is the epitome of that opinion for me. I mention this in the next point but dating someone within the same group as you will definitely be a big deal, it will be a PR/HR emergency if anything goes wrong and I don’t see Yoongi as the type of person to want to play around that and sacrifice his work for love whether he felt emotions or even trained himself to the point that feelings don’t develop in the first place. [I’ve said that I never want to date someone in the same field as me and after that, i haven’t found any of my colleagues attractive or as a romantic interest, even when I tried]

I think another example that works really well for this is Jimin and the way a lot of shipper’s interpret him compared to how I do. I think any ARMY or any one who keeps up with BTS for even 5 minutes, can see that Jimin is a very private person. Of all the members, he comes across to me as someone who is very cautious and particular(?) about the way he’s perceived. He’s very careful with his words and his actions. You can watch any video he’s in and see how much he thinks before he says something to the members (especially when it’s of a serious nature) or to ARMYs. A very easy example of this is how concerned he was in the FESTA 2022 video about how we may take what they said and almost pleading for the audience to just take them by their word (something that literally almost every person who watched that video DID NOT do but we move smh…). All of this to say, I can’t subscribe to theories that believe that Jimin is pointing out things between him and his secret partner or behaving risky with them in front of cameras and giggling about it. I can get into this more but I’ll digress.

I am not sure how these examples will come across but these are just some random examples I can think of where I think varying personalities might affect the way I see a ship. This is not me claiming any particular ship is over another or saying that any of these above points are true because my opinions are based on my specific perception of the different members and I am not claiming I know them best.

All in all, there is only so much (little) that we know of them, its difficult to know for certain what any of them would be like in a romantic relationship. However, it seems like many shippers tend to remove the bits of individuality we do see of each member whenever they look into ships which further makes things even more unrealistic and delusional sounding to me.

To add to this, many times shippers interpret things based on their idea of a relationship without really putting themselves in the member’s place. This is totally understandable considering what I mentioned before about us being the ones that fill in the blanks but it’s one of the reasons why we can’t take our theories 100% seriously all the time. At the end of the day, every single relationship is different and something that might be okay for the members in a relationship may not be okay with you or the way the members choose to deal with their relationship may not be how you think it should or would be dealt with. So once again, you can’t take your interpretation of things too seriously. If a ship is real, we aren’t and would never be privy to their private conversations regarding what is okay for them in THEIR relationship. We don’t know what their limits are or how they would choose to maneuver through their relationship on camera so our view of things will always be one-sided.

4// Knowing the gravity of the situation if any ship is real- This one is basically situational context but on a wider scope and might be the most serious of all of these, despite me putting it last on the list. I think a lot of people who ship members romantically do not even consider how serious a situation like that would be. For the most part, I don’t think this is a problem if we’re just having fun but I think people who seriously analyze things the boys do need to take it into consideration. We all are aware at least to some extent of the state of LGBTQ+ in South Korea. Korea is still a very conservative country and though members of the LGBTQ+ community are actively seeking change, things are not as progressive as one would hope.

Taking that into consideration, any two members of BTS— the biggest K-pop group in the world and one of South Korea’s representative brands— being aware that they have more than platonic feelings for each other would be a huge deal. There’s a lot to consider regarding the way the other member’s would approach it, the way the company would approach it and the way the two members themselves would want to deal with it: whether or not they decide to pursue it and if they do, how they go about doing that.

Any two members dating would serve a huge risk for not only those two members but the group as a whole and the other members individually. Aside from the risks of any of the members being queer, the fact that we as shippers aren’t opposed to the idea of two members dating and the fact that many ARMYs would also be open to it if it ever turned out to be the case DOES NOT take away from the fact that such a relationship may be seen as highly unprofessional and inappropriate. We know all the boys are friends who have grown up closely alongside each other and feelings developing is something that is possible but at the end of the day, they are coworkers working together as BTS and many people may not be able to look past that.

I think many shippers look at ships in a very isolated way. They remove the very real world that we live in and all the problems that would come along with a ship being real and opt to live in a world where their ship is real and everything around them is always sunshine and rainbows. And I get it, that’s way more fun but it is not realistic. I think its fine to have this outlook if you are shipping just for fun but that is a lot of the times not the case. Many of these shippers on YouTube, tumblr or X that seriously analyze these relationships tend to feed a very unrealistic, clouded world view to others that may also be very naïve thinking. This is why a lot of theories grow to become these huge nonsensical conspiracies that any rational person can deduce makes absolutely no sense in the real world. Let’s address some specifics:

Addressing some unrealistic shipperverse theories

Any “real” ship in BTS are not being careless with their relationship in front of cameras or when doing other work. All your theories about them kissing on/around cameras or going into changing rooms together during award shows and coming back dishevel will never hold up to me.

If a ship is involved romantically and the company is aware of it, there’s most likely only a small subset of people that would actually know. My guess of who would know is: some higher ups in the company, the members, a select few managers and maybe bodyguards, possibly trusted and long time members of the BTS team i.e. PDogg, Son Sungdeuk, Slow rabbit etc. and perhaps a trusted PR team to advice them on how to deal with things. Even this list feels a bit too extensive. Anyway I am making this point because I don’t get why shippers think that random hairstylists or camera directors or editors would be privy to such sensitive information. And this stands for any relationship really, it’s unlikely that ALL of their staff are even aware if any of the boys are in more “traditional” (heterosexual) relationships so why do some of you act like it’ll be an open secret if any of them are queer.

Theories about love triangles or stories saying a member left a member for another member are so crazy out of touch?? Any one pair realizing their feelings for each other and choosing to pursue it despite the risk it poses to them and to the team is unquestionably a huge deal and would need to be dealt with an immense degree of care. So its very hard to believe that the members are haphazardly messing around with each other, cheating, breaking up and just overall being messy about the whole thing.

I genuinely don’t get why you people think any pair in the group are being blatant and basically trying to out themselves to the public at this point in their career. It’s not far fetched to think that they would have or want some way to express themselves but I doubt it’s as blatant as shippers suggest. Honestly, if a couple does exist amongst the tannies I am not even confident it’s something the public may ever be made aware of…

Conclusion

All in all, I think shipping is something that can be really fun but needs to be done with a huge amount of care and respect. Making assumptions about the boys and being dead set on one particular possibility being the end game can be detrimental, not only to the boys but to you as well. Many shippers are very confident and secure about their ship being real romantically and will stop at nothing to prove their point. This is a very ridiculous approach because I would bet that a secret couple don’t want or need you to prove their realness, they also don’t need you to spread their message to the world and convert people to your side. It really should not be that serious. Shipping should be something that simmers instead of boiling over. Just enjoy what you enjoy without spreading hate and without seeking real life confirmation through the members or dispatch or their family.

With the tannies getting older, it’s important for all of us to have somewhat of an understanding that what we have imagined or want their life to be may just not be what is true. I would hate (though I have already seen it being in the future of some ships😞) to see the larry-fication of any of these ships where 10-15 years in the future, shippers are still making random connections even if the members are known to be married to other people and have 5 kids. With there being 21 unique pairings within the group, even if it turns out that one of them is “real” doesn’t that mean that the possibility of most of us being wrong is greater than us being right. And that is, if we ever find out…

This was always meant to be the first post on my blog but because of the shipper climate around the time I started writing it, I held back on posting it how I initially intended to. I decided to give it a bit of a revamp and edit it to fit with what I want my little blog here to be. I’ve been writing this for almost a year now and have enjoyed putting these thoughts together in a somewhat concise and comprehensible way. Even if you don’t agree with everything I said here, I hope the main point comes across i.e. no shipper knows better than the other, we’re all going based off our own perspective and rational and so we shouldn’t be 100% certain and we shouldn’t be fighting over or confidently pushing ideas that we are probably wrong about. I really don’t care who ships who (ship and let ship) but I certainly think shippers need to be more careful about the things they say and do in the name of ships.

Thank you for reading!💜

~~🐝

links used in the post:

Harry Styles & Louis Tomlinson 'Ships' Into a Delusional Twitter Trend (ccn.com)

Lauren Jauregui Says Those Camila Cabello Relationship Rumors Were ‘So Traumatizing’ | Glamour

https://www.sejong.com.sg/4-distinctly-korean-habits-to-know-before-going-to-korea/

Interesting reads:

Queer Identity in Korea | CIEE

Ask a Korean!: I Love You, Man

It’s all in the Touch – Skinship. (스킨십) | Elwood 5566

LGBTQ Koreans Eager for Anti-Discrimination Bill | TIME

Narrow but Significant Win for LGBT Rights in South Korea (voanews.com)

[hxlda-hxlda]

excerpt from my fic that i’m slightly too proud of !!!!!

“Evan, shut the fuck up, for Merlin’s sake it’s still so fucking early.” 

He did not open his eyes to see Evan Rosier’s overly bright morning face (that he’d always hated, the fucking morning person), however. No, Sirius came face to face with none other than Frank Longbottom. Frank was sitting on the bed across from the one Sirius had just pushed himself from, the maroon curtains and red bed sheets on which he sat were still crumpled. 

This was not Sirius’ dorm. Sirius’ dorm was not obnoxiously red, nor did it have Frank Longbottom in it. 

“Good morning,” Frank said evenly, a curl of amusement to his lips. 

“I–” 

Sirius had exactly zero thoughts. None. Zilch. Nada. Aucun, if you want to be petty or like his mother (the same thing, really) and throw French synonyms in the mix. Dim, if Remus was awake enough to say it in Welsh. 

“Sleep well?” Frank asked, picking up what appeared to be his pyjamas and folding them on his crossed legs. 

“Uh.”

He set the folded clothes back down. “You alright there, mate?” 

No. That was the simple answer, but that was probably (definitely) already clear on Sirius’ frozen face. 

“Good morning,” was how Sirius chose to respond instead, like that was any better (it wasn’t). It was an awful choice, really. He should have just said ‘no’, or thrown himself off the balcony. 

“Good morning,” Frank repeated for the second time, breaking into a full fucking grin. “Any reason you were taking a kip in Rem’s bed? Instead of, I don’t know, your own room down on the opposite end of the castle?” 

“I got lost.” 

Sirius could still make the balcony, he thought. There was almost a direct route, in fact, between the beds. Maybe this was Merlin doing him a solid; there’s your pathway you pathetic little prick. 

“I’ll say, you’re pretty lost.”

If Sirius had a response to that, which he did not, it would not have mattered. Because it was then that the sound of running water shut off. In all his confused glory, his current state of ‘whattheactualfuckisgoingonpleasefortheloveofSalazaarletthisbeanightmare’, Sirius had not registered the sound of the shower running. Until, of course, its absence. 

There were two people who could emerge from that bathroom. You can guess which of the two Sirius was hoping for. 

Frank watched Sirius watch the door to the bathroom with the same amusement he’d maintained the length of their conversation, if you could call their exchange a conversation. Frank probably knew who was going to emerge. If his face was anything to go by, Sirius should have started running for the balcony then. 

He did not. 

So when James Potter emerged, dark hair still wet and towel slung haphazardly around his waist, Sirius regretted his hesitation in that act of suicide very, very deeply. 

 “Oi, Frank, we gotta get Rem up. You know how he is without break– what the fuck?” 

The smile on the boy’s lips died as he turned toward Remus’ bed and consequently found Sirius Black, his proclaimed mortal enemy (quote: second year) standing beside it. 

“Black?!” 

“Potter,” Sirius responded primly, as though he had any hope of maintaining any semblance of dignity in this scenario. As though his hair was not ratty and dishevelled without his usual pre-bed curl routine (not that his and Remus’ acts last night had helped the state of his hair). As though he was not shirtless and did not have clear hickeys evident along his bare torso and neck. As though Sirius was not standing in the middle of James’ bedroom, the Gryffindor fucking dorm. 

James stared at Sirius with wide eyes, taking in the aforementioned sight of Sirius (see: hair, shirtless, hickeys, etc.).

When that clearly did not explain enough, he whirled his head toward Frank, whose gaze was flicking between the two of them, amused as all fuck. Longbottom was zero help, mind you, only shrugging as if to say ‘I have no idea but isn’t this great?’. Sirius was inclined to disagree with that implication. Not great. Super not great. 

“What the fuck?” Potter eventually repeated. He spun again, risking whiplash, to stare at Sirius. “What the fuck? What the fuck?!” 

It was the last one in that trilogy of ‘what the fuck’s, pitched into a shout, that woke Remus. The boy, ever the heavy sleeper, groaned.

Sirius stilled. James stilled. Frank leant forward eagerly.

There was a mumbled; “Christ, James, any louder and you’ll wake the entire fucking castle.” The sound of shifting bedsheets behind Sirius indicated he was rolling over. And then: 

“Oh shite.” 

“Morning Rem,” Frank practically sing-songed in a joyous tone.

“Frank,” Remus said from behind Sirius by way of greeting. His voice was heavy with sleep and confusion. Sirius could almost see his eyes, blinking rapidly, as they did in the early morning. “James, Sirius.” 

So it was real. That sealed it. Sirius really was standing before James Potter and Frank Longbottom after having emerged from Remus Lupin’s bed. It was not some fucked up hallucination. Lovely.

If you’d have described this situation right now to Sirius from exactly a year ago, the fifth year would have slapped you harder than Dorcas could manage.

“Remus, what the fuck is going on?” 

That was James. 

“Which part, James?” 

That was Remus. 

“The part where Sirius Black was sleeping, and definitely also doing other things in your bed?” 

That was Frank. 

“He got… lost.” Well, at least you could call them fucking consistent. So much for being a good liar, the cunt. 

Frank burst out laughing. Sirius felt his face crumple into a grimace. Would Remus kill him if he tried suicide out the balcony now? Probably. He’d find a way. That, or he’d follow him off the edge. Could be romantic, like Romeo and Juliet, if Sirius was recalling the play correctly. 

James uttered another, “What the fuck?” (if you’re counting, that was the sixth one of the last two minutes).

[completely-real-and-normal-human]

an untitled magnus archives fic

the document this fic was in was just called ‘an indulgence in these troubling times’ and like yeah. sums it up really.

this fic isn’t really part of a wider au, i just threw one of the scrunklies from my brain into tma and wrote down what happened. i think it’s set somewhere in season 2 but i cannot be sure!

basic synopsis: spiral train.

my first fanfic on tumblr so pls be nice!!

tw: mentions of transphobia, spiral-typical body horror

[CLICK]

OLLIE A tape recorder? Seriously? I mean, I knew you folks were old-fashioned, but...

ARCHIVIST (mildly irritated) We've made several attempts to record to digital software, but it seems to disagree with most of the statements. This is the next best thing.

OLLIE Y'know what? I like it. Very retro. It kind of fits with this place.

ARCHIVIST Well, quite. (pause) If you'd like to begin?

OLLIE Sure. Do I, like, introduce myself, or...

ARCHIVIST Yes, just say your name and what your statement is regarding.

OLLIE Okay, uh, my name is Ollie Maverick, and this is regarding the disappearance of my coworker Grant Lewis due to an unexplained train in my workplace.

ARCHIVIST An... unexplained train?

OLLIE Well, it wasn't supposed to be there, and I sure as hell never got any sort of explanation for it.

ARCHIVIST R-right, well... (clears throat) Statement recorded direct from subject eighth of March 2017. Statement begins.

In your own time.

OLLIE (STATEMENT) Working in security was only ever okay, to be honest. The work's all right, apart from the night shifts — those really messed up my sleep schedule. I was working the night shift at a London train station when this happened. I know that's very vague, but I don't think I can name the station here, so you'll have to bear with me on that. We didn't exactly part on the best of terms, and I'd like to avoid a lawsuit at all costs. Anyway, like I said, I worked in security, and it was one of my least favorite jobs. Not the worst, but it's up there. Top four. Mostly because of Grant Lewis.

Not to speak ill of the dead or anything, but Grant was an asshole. He drank too much, chewed spearmint gum way too loudly, and he ran one of those alpha-male podcasts in his spare time. You know the ones — white guys in their twenties spend thirty minutes a week ramming their unsolicited opinions about women who won't date them and abortion and liberal politics down the throats of their listeners. That should tell you all you need to know about him. He was a prick, and he had it in for me from day one.

I was the only queer person on the security team, and I looked it. I came in the first day with a pronoun pin and a pink mullet and... well. He latched on to me, and I couldn't get rid of him. The worst part was, since we'd started working there at the same time and he kept making these awful jokes about me, to me, everyone else assumed we were friends. No one else could stand him, so we got lumped together the whole time on shifts. I spent hours with him in the control room, patrolling the station, even on my lunch break a few times when I came across him accidentally in a café. Every time, I'd have to listen to this — endless stream of unfunny jokes about my gender identity and my sex life. And, of course, those controversial opinions he aired on that podcast. He was infuriating, and he wouldn't go away.

But however much I hated Grant, I still don’t think he deserved what happened to him. Officially he's just disappeared, but I don't think anyone believes that now. I really, really don't want to know if he's still alive.

It all happened about a month ago. I was working the night shift from 11PM to 7AM with three other people — Allison Bates, Fred Landy and, of course, Grant. (long, irritated sigh) I... wasn't in the best of moods, to be frank. I'd spent the whole day dreading this, and to begin with it was exactly the kind of awful I'd expected. It was a Sunday, so the trains kept running until 2AM. The first hour or so was in the control room with Allison and Fred, who spent most of that time loudly flirting with each other. It was... very uncomfortable to watch, so I volunteered to go help Grant keep an eye on the platforms. It would have been well past midnight by this stage, coming up to 1AM, and he was out making sure the drunks lurching off the trains from holiday parties didn't get too rowdy.

There were four platforms in that station, grouped in pairs, and he was looking after platforms one and two. So, I headed off to look after platforms three and four, because I didn't feel like dealing with his bullshit. The steady flow of commuters was starting to peter out, and those that were drunk were harmlessly so. It looked like it might be shaping up to be a fairly quiet night. But I only got around forty minutes of relative peace before my radio crackled. Grant was apparently coming to join me, as Allison was covering platforms one and two. I had an idea that she'd probably sent him, as Grant had no idea how to be around any female-presenting people without getting really creepy. I may have mentioned he was a complete asshole, so I didn't really blame her, but I wasn't happy about it.

Grant showed up and we began patrolling the platforms and the small shop and cafe area together. He talked too much and chewed gum loudly, and I tried to ignore him as best I could and focus on the job. The last train rolled in around 2AM, and once the final passengers had stumbled out into the night we went to lock up.

It was then that we heard it. As we were walking back to the control room, the tannoy system crackled into life.

'The train now approaching Platform Four is not intended for passenger use. Customers are advised not to interact with the train, or indeed acknowledge it, in the interest of health and safety. Under no circumstances attempt to board the train now approaching Platform Four.

Thank you.'

It didn't sound like the usual train announcements. Those were an automated vaguely female voice, distant and slightly robotic. This voice was a garbled, distorted mess that I could barely understand, and it cut off with a screech of static that made my head ring. Grant and I stood there in confusion as the echo of that sharp static bounced off the walls, warping into something like a faint, mocking laugh.

I've not painted a great picture of Grant here, I know, but he was at least a fairly competent security guard. While I was still reeling from the announcement, he managed to get out his radio and make contact with Fred and Allison in the control room. They'd heard it too, and they were going to head towards the room that the tannoy operated out of, to see if it had been hijacked. Grant said we'd go take a look at Platform Four, to see if there was anything we needed to deal with.

It took us about two minutes to get there, and it felt like the echo of the tannoy announcement still hadn't died away. The air seemed different — heavier, maybe, and it smelled a little bitter. It made me slightly nauseous. Grant didn't seem to notice; he just started checking around the platform for anything suspicious. I was going to join him when there was a sharp, screeching whistle, like an old steam train, and I realised that I was smelling smoke.

It filled the platform as the train chugged into view, curling around everything and shimmering with colours that I — can't describe. The cloying, bitter smell of the smoke grew stronger and I could see Grant choking on it, tears streaming down his face but I breathed it in and it was... (panicked, breathy laugh) ..intoxicating. The train itself was an old steam train, bright purple and gold, with no driver that I could see. It slowed to a stop and the door to the first carriage swung open right in front of me. Mocking. Beckoning. (another laugh) It seemed the most natural thing in the world to just... step in.

Inside was a narrow corridor, carpeted in that same rich, wine-toned purple. The doors of the seating compartments faced me, and each had gauzy purple curtains pulled across the windows. I started down the corridor, and noticed a figure sitting inside one of the compartments. I couldn't make out much through the curtains, but they had long hair that seemed to be moving of its own accord, and….. their hands were... wrong.

I don't think I was entirely... myself, at that point. (shaky breath) I reached for the handle, and suddenly Grant rammed into me from behind, sending me sprawling onto the floor. He was pinning me down, talking fast and terrified, saying we had to get out, had to get help. I could see the long-haired figure in the compartment behind him slowly rising to their feet, rising and rising far beyond the proportions of a normal human body, limbs bending oddly in ways that hurt to look at. I screamed for Grant to run, but it was too late.

The door of the compartment opened with a creak, and... it wasn't a person. I don't know what the hell that thing was, but it was not a person. The hair was blond, and twisted and curled in on itself like a nest of snakes. Its eyes were hard to look at. B-but its hands... they were long, and the fingers had too many joints and they were sharp, and it looked at Grant and he started screaming, and it started laughing. That sound, it... it made my mind sting.

He tried to run, then. Got to the door that should have led back to the platform, but it was different now, smaller. Painted yellow. He opened it to show another long corridor, this time lined with mirrors and twisting wallpaper that hurt my eyes, and the monster-thing just... pushed him in. (pause) I... really hope he's dead. I really do. The alternative is just... well.

I scrambled to my feet and backed away as the thing turned to me with this... self-satisfied grin on its impossible face. Like it had just had a good meal.

Go if you like, it said. You'll be back. You won't be able to help it.

It began to laugh again as I began to run.

I don't know how long I ran. The carriage never seemed to end, and every door I opened led either to a set of seats or to another twisting corridor. Eventually, think I just... gave up. Lay on the floor and waited to dissolve into an impossibility.

I woke up lying on Platform Four with Fred leaning over me asking panicked questions while Allison was calling the police. I couldn't focus on any of what Fred was saying. My head was spinning. I... wasn't really aware of much until the police arrived. They asked me where Grant was. I said I didn't know. I was too rattled to come up with any sort of lie, so I just... told them what happened. (quiet laugh) I'm not really sure what the official proceedings were, but they didn't want to know. One of the officers dropped me home and I just went straight to bed. Thankfully my partner Rory was out on his own night shift at the time, so I didn't have to explain anything just yet. I slept like the dead until about four o'clock the next day, and the first thing I did when I woke up was send in my resignation.

I tried to... well, not forget about it, but to... put it at the back of my mind. I had no backup plan for a job, and Rory could only cover the rent alone for so long. I had to tell him what happened, obviously. I don't know if he fully believes me, but he hasn't said anything. He knows I saw something that really scared me, and he knows that that's why I quit my job. He's sticking with me, though.

Last week, I managed to get an interview for another security job in the Foundling Museum. And when I went to catch the train to get there, well.. I'm sure you can guess what happened. The smoke, this time, it... it was so hard not to get on that train. It felt... right. It was all I could do to walk away.

That blond monster-thing is following me, too.

It doesn't look as, as wrong as it did in the train, but I know exactly what it is. I see it pretty much everywhere I go. It catches my eye and winks at me, and I just about throw up with fear. Rory thinks they're panic attacks. He's trying to get me to see a doctor, or a therapist or something. He's probably right, but I wanted to come here first. I thought you... might be able to help.

ARCHIVIST (pause; a few abortive attempts to speak) Statement, eh... statement ends. I — I think I recognise this, ah... blond monster-thing you've mentioned. Did it... have you approached it? Talked to it?

OLLIE (incredulous) No!

ARCHIVIST Good. It... it calls itself Michael. I don't know exactly what it is, or what it wants, but it enjoys. toying with people. Doesn't seem to have any real purpose other than... spreading misery and madness.

OLLIE W-well, I... (clears throat) What do I do?

ARCHIVIST I'm afraid I... don't really know. (noises of panic and indignation from Ollie) I mean, I can tell you to avoid any suspicious doors, but I... have a feeling you could have come to that conclusion yourself.

OLLIE Great. Great. I knew this would be a waste of my goddamn time. Is that seriously all you've got for me? Avoid suspicious doors?

ARCHIVIST I'm sorry, I —

OLLIE (overlapping) Don't even —

[DOOR OPENS]

ELIAS Sorry Jon, am I interrupting?

ARCHIVIST Oh, Elias! Um... no, I, I think we're just about done here. R-right?

OLLIE Sure. We're done.

ELIAS Is everything quite all right?

OLLIE Apparently, you people are perfectly happy to take my statement, but you can't actually help me with my fucking eldritch stalker.

ELIAS Ah, yes. I can see how that might be... upsetting.

OLLIE (barely controlled rage) Can you, now?

ELIAS I believe I can. (pause) I'm Elias Bouchard, head of the Magnus Institute. And you are?

OLLIE Ollie. Ollie Maverick.

ELIAS Well, Mr. —

OLLIE (overlapping) Mx.

ELIAS Oh, my apologies. Well, Mx. Maverick, while I don't really know much about your situation specifically, I've found that our Institute is quite good at deterring any, ah, supernatural harassment of our employees. For the most part. And I believe you're in the market for a new iob?

OLLIE Uh. I mean….. yes, but how did you —?

ELIAS I was waiting outside for Jon to finish up, and I couldn't help overhearing. Interested?

OLLIE I... don't know that I could do much here. I don't know anything about ghosts, or - whatever it is you do...

ARCHIVIST I — Ollie, I really wouldn't —

ELIAS (overlapping) I'm sure you'll pick it up very fast. Should we discuss this in my office?

OLLIE Um... sure. May as well.

ELIAS Lovely. Oh, and Jon?

ARCHIVIST I — yes?

ELIAS Basira’s just got back. I believe you wanted to talk to her?

ARCHIVIST Oh, uh... okay, I'll — I'll go do that, I suppose.

ELIAS Right. Follow me, Mx. Maverick.

[FOOTSTEPS; DOOR SHUTS]

ARCHIVIST (sigh) Damn.

[CLICK]

[CLICK]

ARCHIVIST Well, that was... (sigh) ...anyway. Another person trapped in the archives. Better than being trapped in a corridor hellscape or an endless train carriage, I suppose. (pause)

Though... would they have been trapped? The way they described the train, and especially that smoke... what did they call it? Intoxicating.

They're clearly very scared, and I can't say I blame them, but I have to wonder if what I'm seeing here is... the birth of a new avatar. With Michael shepherding them to their new domain.

In terms of follow-up (sigh) I have been able to confirm that a Grant Lewis was filed as missing on the third of February this year. However, I was not able to find anything else about the case or the circumstances of his disappearance. The police don't seem to have done anything, and it looks as if this Grant didn't have any friends or family to make a fuss about it. I talked it over with Basira, and she agrees with me that it probably comes under Section 31. Obviously, this makes it difficult to get any real evidence for this statement, but I'm inclined to believe it anyway.

What I don't understand is why Elias would offer Ollie a job. They've made it clear that they need it, but I hardly think it's out of the kindness of his heart. (quiet, tired laugh) He's probably got some secret, evil plan for them. Some way to cripple the Spiral, perhaps. Or maybe he just wants to inflict a new and interesting kind of trauma.

Either way, I think I'll be keeping a close eye on Ollie Maverick.

End recording.

[CLICK]

[CLICK]

[SOUNDS OF SHUFFLING PAPER AND DRAWERS — A FILING CABINET? — OPENING AND SHUTTING. A DOOR OPENS.]

TIM Oh, uh — sorry, this area of the archives isn't open to the public.

OLLIE Yeah, I — I work here.

TIM In the Archives?

OLLIE Yeah, it’s my first day. My name's Ollie Maverick.

TIM Um... Tim Stoker. (pause) Sorry, what are your pronouns?

OLLIE (pleasantly surprised) They/them. You?

TIM He/him. (pause) So... you don't exactly look like the academic type.

OLLIE Says the person wearing a Hawaiian shirt to work.

TIM (laughs) No, I meant... y'know, people in this profession don't tend to be quite so buff. We're all skinny little nerds.

OLLIE Ah yes, my perfectly chiseled physique. I can see why you'd be confused. (Tim snorts) My last job was as a security guard, so...

TIM Sounds interesting.

OLLIE Well, it... didn't end well. I actually came to make a statement about it yesterday, and then your boss — Elias, I think his name was — offered me a job. For some reason.

TIM What?

OLLIE I know, right? I mean, I know jack shit about academia, but I did English in college and that was apparently good enough for him. I got the feeling that you're a little pressed for job applications.

TIM Yeah, well... I just hope you know what you're getting into.

OLLIE Oh?

TIM This place is... wrong. In a lot of ways.

OLLIE (jokingly) What, you've come across a lot of ghosts and ghoulies?

TIM I'm serious. It does things to you.

OLLIE Such as?

TIM It... won't let you quit. You can try it, but — you won't be able to.

OLLIE That all?

TIM (sigh) You'll find out soon enough, I guess. You're stuck here now.

OLLIE (pause) You're not just — messing with me?

TIM No.

OLLIE Well... fuck. (resigned sigh; pause) Out of the frying pan, into the fire. Assuming this even works.

TIM Assuming what works?

OLLIE It... doesn't matter. I guess we'll see.

TIM I guess we will.

[SILENCE]

OLLIE Hey, has — has that been running this whole time?

TIM What?

OLLIE That recorder. Did you bring it in here?

TIM Oh, for fuck's sake —

[CLICK]

[bernadethhabon]

Short story

She's a killer

By: Bernadeth Habon

“I promised you I would do my best to give you what you deserve. This is Emmanuel Frank, your future public servant. Thank you.” A warm round of applause was all I heard after my father’s speech. Now speaking in front of a hundred people is Chris Anderson, my father’s rival. He’s been so eager to get the position away from my father.

An ear-splitting noise woke me from sleeping. It was my mom’s voice. I ran faster to my parents’ room. I open the door, and I see how messy the bed is. I looked around to find my parents. I heard my mom’s voice on the balcony of their room. I don’t know how to feel as I walk on the balcony. I feel like I am walking on thorns. Every step that I took hurt my heart. I am near the glass door and I can hear the sobs of my mother. I see my mother sitting on the floor, holding her face. I slowly lift my head, and I feel like my world just fell apart. Seeing my dad hanging on the floor with a thick rope hugging his neck made me want to scream out until my heart exploded and I fell on my knees. Why did he have to do that?

“Miguel, get up.” I don’t know how I managed to stand up and move to the side of the door as I watched the guys wearing white clothes take my dad. My father’s mother is crying. I look at my grandfather, who doesn’t have any reaction on his face. I can’t see any emotion in his eyes. I know they haven’t had a good relationship since my father was young, but he is always present at my father’s celebration. He started to hate my father when he entered the world of politics. He wanted my father to pursue the field of medicine, but my father followed what he wanted. I shift my gaze to the person who is beside him, Michael. He’s chewing a piece of gum like he’s just watching a nonsense scene. Michael is my father’s younger brother who also hates my father and I don’t know for what reason.

The death of my father has now spread throughout the town. As I heard, some of them also couldn’t believe he did that to himself. And some said that maybe he is depressed and he is just good at hiding it. Even I, I can’t believe he did that. I know something is wrong. Someone did that to him. Why would he do that when he knows that he’s family is just around the house? The only way for me to find out is to ask for help. Maybe I could ask my mom.

Today is my father’s funeral, and a lot of people are here. Chris Anderson is also here. I can’t find any reason why he would attend. I know how much he hates my father for beating him twice. He looked in my direction, and I didn’t like the way he looked at me. “Hey, little man, I am so sorry for your loss.” I just give him a nod. He’s not sincere. Well I don’t care, you can have the position you are aiming for years. My biggest concern now is how I will find out who did this to my father. I have a feeling that this was planned and set up.

I went to my father’s office beside their room. My dad and mom always remind me not to enter this room without their permission because this room is for adults only. I sit down in his swivel chair. Dad and I didn’t used to spend a lot of time together since he’s so passionate and devoted to serving his people. Even with Mom, they don’t spend a lot of time together since my father came home late. They also often fight about money. I often see Mom bring home a man, but I don’t want to give meaning to that, since she told me that they are just close friends. I sighed. I stood up and decided to just roam around. I was about to open the door when a brown box placed at the side of the locker caught my attention. I never used to see that there. I never tried to tamper with my father’s things, but I don’t know what pushed me to open them. My hands are shaking as I hold the lid of the box. I sighed deeply. I felt cold as I saw a pair of gloves, a cutter, and a rope. Why should my father keep these things in his office?

And why did he have these? The gloves are stained with blood. I recall my father’s body and situation that night. I tried to memorize and picture him in my mind when that night happened. Now I remember! My father has a small amount of blood on his arms. It seems like he tried to stop the person. Or did the two of them fight causing a wound to the killer? One thing is for sure, that killer was here when that day happened. What should I do now? I grabbed the box out of the room and put it in my old playhouse. I am still shaking. I still can’t believe someone did that to him.

“Mom, I think we should hire an investigator?” I asked while we were having breakfast. “Stop it, son. Your dad did it. You are making this worse.” I guess I will just go to the police on my own.

I was at school when I received the message from my mom that we would be having our dinner at my grandparents’ house, my father’s family. I go straight to the dining table. I sit on the right side of my mother, facing my grandfather, who still does not have any emotion. I don’t have the guts to open a conversation. I thought a long silence would last until this dinner ended but my grandma ended it by asking me a question about how I was doing. “Fine” that’s the only answer I can give her.

I was almost done eating when my grandfather’s arm caught my attention. He has a wound in his left arm. It is not that big but it is visible. I remember the cutter I have found out to my dad’s office, his wound looks like it was just cut last week because it is still swelling. No, he can’t do that to his child. I don’t want to accuse him but that fact that he hates my father and the wound on his arms?

I am silently watching my grandfather drinking his coffee. Should I tell this to mom? Definitely no, he believes my father did that to himself. My grandfather looked in my direction. I stiffed when he walked in my direction. “You’ve been watching me.” he noticed. I’m not fond of him since he is intimidating and we never had a long conversation, he hates my dad. “So what is it?” I looked at his arms and I know he got what I mean. “Well, I accidentally cut it.” what a lame excuse. “I see.” That’s the only thing I said before I turned my back on him.

I went to my grandmother, who was busy reading a book on the veranda. “Hey, young man.” I smiled at her. “You were there at the pool when Dad did that right?” I saw confusion on her face “Yes.” I sighed. “Where was Grandpa that time when my dad left the pool?” I asked gently. She looks at me in disbelief. I don’t care anymore. I just want justice for my father. “Are you accusing your grandpa?” “I just want to know”. She sighed. “Well, when your father went to the kitchen to get some ice, your mother and your uncle Michael accompanied him. A few seconds later, your grandpa excused himself to go to the comfort room.”. Her eyebrows met as if she realized something. She looks at me with confusion. “I don’t know what took them so long. I remember your mom came back first, but she doesn’t have anything on her hand since they said, they just get some pack of ice. Your mom was calm, but she’s occupied with something else.” I nod. “Who came next after a few minutes was Michael, who seemed lost and occupied as well.” Michael? He never loses his cool. “A few more minutes your grandpa came, he looks-” she gulps like it is so hard for her to continue what she’s about to say. “He looks pale and bothered.” I felt cold as she told me those things.

“Kid, what do you need.” Said the Cops. He’s the one who came to our house before to investigate, but we did not get any update. “I just want an update about the case of my dad.” He looked around and he leans closer. “Kid, the case of your dad is confidential.” “We can’t find any strong evidence. We can’t find any fingerprint on his body to claim that the wound in his arm was made by someone else. So go home.” I was about to turn my back when I remembered something. The gloves! “Wait I have found something in my father’s office that I think we can use as evidence?” He looks around and nods at me.

I am with Officer Mockery at our house. The moment I removed the cover, the box that I was expecting to see was now gone. No. I securely put it here. I looked around hoping that I would find it. “What is wrong, kid?” “The box I was talking about is missing”. “I don’t have time to play with your prank, kid.” “I am not. I swear, I put it here it contains a pair of gloves stained with blood, a small cutter, and a rope,” I told him sincerely. It seems like he’s convinced, unlike what he showed me a while ago. “who is your suspect, then?” he asked. “Should I trust you?” Why do you think I am helping you?” “I don’t know.” I don’t have the evidence now. “Your father and I are friends” That shocks me. I look at him with disbelief. He just shrugs his shoulder. Yeah, now I know. Every campaign my dad attended, he was there.

“Your suspect is your grandfather? How?” I told him all about why my suspect was my grandfather. I am here at my father’s family house. Mom wants me to give these flowers to my grandma. I know it is bad to eavesdrop but I have to. “Just make sure no one will know about what I did.” What? I felt cold as I heard their conversation. So he did it? He turns his back to me. He looks shocks as he sees me. “You killed my dad.” “I did not.” “I heard you. Your wounds, you get that from our house, right? You hate my dad.” He’s jaw clenched as he watches me. “You are accusing me, Miguel. I did not do it. I got my wound because I did it on purpose. What you heard is not about your dad it is about me. I am also hurt by what happened to him. I have also issues on myself to deal with, that’s why I need to cut my arm.” I saw a tear fall in his eyes. I saw longing, pain, and regret. So did my father do that? Maybe I just don’t know him well.

My mom is not here again. I went upstairs to their room. I entered the balcony. The last time I went here was when the incident happened. I sat on the floor. I don’t know how many minutes I spent here. The sun is setting. I stood up and decided to go down but as I walked, I felt something on my foot. I went to see it. It is an earring. This one is familiar. I used to see this with someone. Right! This belongs to Michael. I remember what my grandma told me when I asked her. Is he the one who did it? He owns it. I looked at it. As I remember, Michael did not stand here at this location. He only stands beside the glass door. Did he? I don’t want to accuse someone again.

The next morning, I went to the kitchen to find my mom, but she was not still there. Did she come home? Or did she leave early? Something is wrong with her. I rarely see her at home. I was about to go back to my room when I heard a knock. It’s not mom, she has her keys. I go to the door and open it. “Hey there, nephew. Mom wants me to give you this. Is your mom there?” He shows me a Tupperware filled with food. I didn’t answer his question I just stared at him. “Hey, are you listening?” “Why do you hate my dad?” instead I asked. He smiled. “Because he’s the favorite of my dad?” He said sarcastically. “May I come in?” I let him come in. I want to clear things up if he knows something and why his earring is on the balcony. “So your mom is not here.” “I rarely see her at home.” “I see.” I just stared at him. “What is your problem? If looks could kill, I am not breathing right now.” It’s a joke, I know, but instead of answering him, I show him, his earring. His smile fades. “This is yours, right?” His silence confirms that this is his. “I found it on the balcony right where my dad ended his life. It is impossible that you two have the same earring since he’s not fond of these things.” He’s just looking intently at the earring I am holding. “Did you kill my dad?” his eyes from the earing now went on my eyes. “I know you two don’t have a good relationship, but he never despises you for hating him.” He sighed. “That is mine.” What he said made me want to punch his face. “But it doesn’t mean I am the one who did that.” “Can you at least tell the truth, even just once?” He looked at me seriously. “I hated him for being nice to me.” His eyes said it all. “That earing is mine, but I am not the one who did that to him. I know he will not, and he can’t do that. I may despise him, but I will never do that” “That night, you go with him to get a pack of ice, right? Then why did you come back without him.? That question made his eyebrows meet together. “Your mom said that they can handle it. She said instead of helping them, I can just go and get some wine from the cabinet. So I did. The reason what took me so long is because of that.” Pointing his picture at the wall. It was me when I was playing soccer. I didn’t know he was there. That competition is one of the most important parts of my life. I played knowing that no one would come, but he was there.” I sighed. Maybe Dad did it. I should start accepting it now.

It is a new morning, and I don’t dare to get up. I sighed. I got up from bed and went to my window. I looked around and sadly smiled. I was about to close the door when a familiar figure caught my eye. It is my mom. Based on where she was standing, she just went to the backyard, but what caught my attention was what she was holding on to. It’s the box that I hide. Why did she have that? Did she know?

I did not waste any time. I went down. “Mom.” She turns to face me. At first, she was shocked but added after a second. “You awake.” That’s the box. “What is that?” “Oh, it is just an old toy of yours. I’m going to donate it.” “Can I see?” “No need, these toys were your least favorite.” “Let me help you then.” I did not wait for her response. I held her arm and made her jump. “What is wrong?” “nothing.” I looked at her intently. Something is wrong with her. Michael’s last word last night popped into my mind. “Months ago, I gave that earring to your mother because she asked me to.” I wasn’t able to process that last night, but it’s clear. There’s only one thing to find out. I show her the earrings. “I just want to ask, is this yours?” She looked at it. “oh, yes. I’ve been looking at that. Maybe I just misplaced it. Thank you.” I don’t know how to feel. It’s hers! No. No. She can’t. “I will go now.” I let her. My hands are shaking. Maybe, for the third time, I am wrong. Please, no, she can’t. What brought my senses back was the ring of my phone. It is Officer Mockery. Despite the nervousness I feel, I answer it. “I found out something. Maybe it’s late, but I just got the report on your dad’s case. They found a hair on his shirt. So remember when I asked you to get a hair from the comb of your mom? The result is positive. It was your mom.” I remember when Mom said she never touched Dad the moment she saw Dad hanging. I fell to my knees on the ground. So it’s confirmed. But why? She’s a killer. My mother is a killer.

[luckyy19]

Ethan and Beatrix talk

Someone fell into step beside her. It was such a shock that anyone followed her—likely against Alessandra’s orders—she almost missed how their lumbering figure cast her in darkness. Almost, but she wasn’t so distracted yet. “Can I help you, Ethan?” 

“You know something,” he said frankly. Everything he said was frank. It was a breath of fresh air in a world where no one could ever say what they meant.

“So what if I do?”

“There are rumors that Pierce Arkos was invited to fight in Ostana, but Owen went in his place.”

She smiled. “Are there?”

“You don’t know anything about it?”

“Did I say that?”

He didn’t answer, but she could tell from his small smile that he understood. It was so easy to overlook men like Ethan, but she had always liked him. She didn’t have friends anymore, not like she used to, but Ethan was as close as she had managed to get while working for Herousia. “You don’t trust the Anexdrons,” he finally said.

“I don’t trust Luther,” she corrected. “People who want like that…they’re dangerous.”

“Spoken from experience?”

“Are we feeling introspective tonight?”

“That’s not an answer.”

“No, it’s not.”

 “I don’t trust either of them,” he said without missing a beat. “Alessandra or Luther.”

Beatrix cocked her head. Was dissent so widespread? “What’s Alessandra done that Luther hasn’t? Besides leading the army.”

“She’s inconsistent. I don’t know what she wants. Alessandra doesn’tknow what she wants. It makes her a weak leader.”

“Yeah,” she agreed. “It does. But it’s what we have, I guess. Better than following Luther. He’d have burned the city to the ground within the first week.”

“Isn’t that your goal?”

She stopped, craning her neck to look him in the eye. “Is it your goal?”

He tilted his head, considering. So different from his cousin. Kade would have answered before she finished asking. Ethan was so much slower, deeper than his swift-footed, shallow relative. It was a refreshing counterbalance to her own rapidly moving mind. “No,” he finally said. “It’s not. The Moiranians didn’t kidnap Dru. Why should all of them suffer for one man’s crime?”

Beatrix forced a smile even as her heart deflated. It was the answer she wanted, but not for the reason she hoped. Still, it was something. She smacked him on the shoulder. “That’s the spirit.”

“You’re very annoying.”

She shrugged. “I’ve been called worse.”

“Where are you going?”

“To Luther’s tent. Someone has to make sure no one gets hurt tonight,” she added at his puzzled glance.

“Why should it be you?”

She winked. “Because I know something.”

The tent was within sight now, her circuit completes. The surrounding area was barren save a handful of scattered tents and even fewer trees. One brushed against the canvas of Luther’s. An odd decision for set up—any number of things could happen to that tree—but convenient for her.

“Can I stay with you?” Ethan asked, ruining all her plans in the best way. “It’s not fair that you do this alone.”

With a long-suffering sigh, Beatrix changed directions. “If you must,” she said, back pressed against the earthen wall as she slid to the ground. “I won’t object to your company.”

“You like me?”

Beatrix snorted. “No need to sound surprised. My cold, dead heart is capable of emotion sometimes.”

He sat beside her, thrusting his sword into the ground at his side. At first, he didn’t respond, looking up at the stars with something almost like reverence. The Quelsh didn’t see the stars the same way the Varians did, but she could almost see the thoughts whirring in his mind. “I don’t think you have a cold heart,” he finally said, very quiet. “You’re here because you love Drusilla’s cousin and one day, you’ll leave here because you love her, too. A person like that can’t be filled with hate.”

Beatrix swallowed, blinking back unexpected tears. “You’re the first person to ever think that of me.”

“That you’re not cold-hearted?”

“That I’m capable of love.”

Ethan clicked his tongue. “I don’t believe you.”

“Well, you’re the first to say it.”

“You’re impossible.”

“But you love me.”

He sighed heavily. “I do,” he said with all the fondness one reserved for a friend. “Against my better judgement, I really do.”

“I’ve been told I have that effect. I grow on you. Like mold.”

“Shut up.”

The wind swept away her laughter.

[highlyflammablebark]

STIR.

FRY.

Do you hate veggies because of texture or taste?Does the idea of eating an egg make you wail and scream? Do women spit on you as you drag your meagre form past them on the street? Do the women you want to spit on you not spit on you?

I was once the same as you. Emaciated. Grotesque. Wretched beyond the point of pity. Until one day, just under a year ago, I started estrogen and that helped with a lot of it but also I started doing STIR FRIES BITCH LET’S CHANGE YOUR LIFE

Get your cracker ass a WOK and I swear to FUCK if that shit has a non-stick coating I’ll use it (the wok) to beat you into an even sorrier pulp than you already are. Decent cast iron cookware is way less expensive than you might think as long as you know where to look. If you feel comfortable cooking with something used, thrift stores and antique shops aren’t a bad place to start, but even new shit isn’t that bad as long as you don’t get big name brands. I got my like 14” cast iron wok for I think 24 Canadian Smackaroos at a Real Canadian Superstore. Take the time to find the cookware that’s right for you and your situation so long as it meets my standards of GET CAST IRON or CARBON STEEL or STARVE, VERMIN.

“But Birch,” I hear you asking, “that’s an additional dish to wash. I have (insert disability) that makes housekeeping difficult.” SHUT your FUCK MOUTH YOU THINK I DON’T KNOW THAT? YOU THINK I DIDN’T ACCOUNT FOR THAT? GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY GOD DAMNED SIGHT.

Most people (in my limited life experiences consisting largely of white North American Suburbia) think you need a pot to cook noodles. Most people (IMLLECLOWNAS) are on my non-stick-hit-list and their opinions will soon be moot. Here’s the thing: stir fry, if you want it to be, can be a 1-dish meal. There is absolutely no reason I can think of that you can’t boil, season, fry, and serve your noodles in your wok, and if you followed basic fucking directions and got a cast iron one (I can’t speak for carbon steel because I refuse to do basic research) then not only do you not have to worry about microplastics, you’ll also get that iron you’re almost certainly deficient in by following these short steps:

1: buy instant ramen/udon/chow mein/whatever the fuck carb you wanna stir fry. The quality of the carb doesn’t matter too much because gonna be frying the fuck out of this so a dollar store is your best bet for cheap ingredients.

2: while you’re at the dollar store, buy AT LEAST the following:

•Bottle of soy sauce

•Bottle of sesame oil (if sesame oil isn’t your thing, you can substitute pretty much any cooking oil)

•Bottle of rice vinegar

Advisable but not strictly necessary are: lemon juice, a hot sauce (I personally prefer Franks Red Hot), and a neutral oil

3: figure out and acquire your other ingredients. Experiment to see what you like, but as a starting point I can recommend any combination of: spinach, lettuce, bean sprouts, chicken eggs, tofu, onions/shallots, shrimp, garlic, shredded carrots, sliced carrots, bell peppers, hot peppers, and meatless beef ground. When I say any combination, I mean any combination. You could probably combine all of these in a stir fry and it would kick ass. As a rule though, you generally want your stir fry to consist of three or four basic ingredients: a carb (e.g. ramen), a green (e.g. lettuce) and/or a vegetable (e.g. carrot), and a protein (e.g. shrimp). I am a complicated vegetarian, so I can’t really speak on meats, but there’s no reason they can’t be added. Just keep in mind that normal meat cooking safety rules apply, and raw meat you stir fry should be carefully checked to make sure you won’t shit yourself to death.

4: get your shit ready to cook. Dice carrots, chop onions, etc. This should take exactly as long as you feel like doing it for; if it’s a good day, spend half an hour cutting an onion into various shapes and making the carrots frot. If it’s a bad day, you don’t need any ingredients other than carb, water, and oil. If it’s a REALLY bad day, take a packet of instant ramen, smash it into pieces while still in the bag, pour the smashed ramen into a bowl and fill with water until the smashed noodles are just covered, then microwave for 2-3 minutes, add seasoning and an egg if desired, stir thoroughly, and consume. If your carb of choice does not require boiling, skip the next step.

5: fill your wok with however much water you think necessary and add a splorsh of some sort of acid, like a rice vinegar or lemon juice, and some salt, then bring to a boil. The acid helps leach iron into the water and the salt makes it taste better. Add carb. Cook carb. Drain carb and transfer it to a separate container if convenient/possible. After draining, make sure your wok is relatively dry; droplets of water are fine, but there shouldn’t be, like, a puddle at the bottom

6: at medium-low heat or whatever heat ends up working for you, add a good amount of oil, rice vinegar, and soy sauce to the wok and stir it around so it coats ~the bottom third with a fun little pool at the bottom. Add your other ingredients unless that ingredient is egg which goes in later so it doesn’t scramble or shrimp which my girlfriend handles (I think they have to go in later or they’ll get rubbery). Fry until you get bored, stirring as frequently as possible without being stressful. Add the carb, and another good splash of oil, acid, and soy sauce as well as any other seasonings. Continue to stir until bored. Crack in egg(s) if desired, stirring vigorously to ensure that a) they won’t scramble and be gross, b) they’ll coat everything evenly, and c) you won’t shit yourself to death

7: garnish with green onions. Mandatory.

8: eat directly from wok (let it cool first) or transfer to a bowl

As long as you don’t leave your cast iron cookware on a counter or in the sink or anywhere else it might get wet you can leave it till whenever you need it again. Not a bad idea to scrape any larger chunks off so they don’t get moldy.

Fuck you im not collapsing it you WILL like the colour of the fry

i mean this in the gentlest way possible: you need to eat vegetables. you need to become comfortable with doing so. i do not care if you are a picky eater because of autism (hi, i used to be this person!), you need to find at least some vegetables you can eat. find a different way to prepare them. chances are you would like a vegetable you hate if you prepared it in a stew or roasted it with seasoning or included it as an ingredient in a recipe. just. please start eating better. potatoes and corn are not sufficient vegetables for a healthy diet.

[xxfanfiction-emo-trinityxx]

Whatever Was Before... - Mikey Way x Reader

Summary: Mikey and you don’t get along, even hate each other. Having to share a room and bed one night reveals that this is not true at all. Reader: no pronouns used, can be read as any gender Warnings: getting into fights Word count: 3500 A/N: Happiest of Birthdays to the one and only @robinrunsfiction​! I got a whole bunch of writing coming your way, so you better get ready, my dear ;) Also this is the belated Birthday Fic for Mikey, I just thought I could pack both birthdays into one ;)

Mikey was laying in the dark, acutely aware of your even breaths at his side. He wished you would have left the lights on, at least a small one, but he had not wanted to make things between you even worse by asking. Somehow the darkness in hotel rooms was always so absolute and foreign, even though there was a thin beam of light from a street lantern shining through the closed curtains. If asked, he could not have explained it, how the absence of light here differed from the one at home. But it felt suffocating; just as it felt suffocating lying next to you.

His stomach twisted at the thought of you only inches away from him. He was not sure if it was in a good kind of way or a bad one. He knew it shouldn’t be in a good kind of way. In fact, he was supposed to hate you, just as you hated him. The constant fighting between you drove him up the walls, while the other band members laughed it off. But you made his blood boil. Mikey did not even remember how it had started. It just had always been this way. Sometimes you were screaming at each other from across the room, sometimes it were hissed comments or death glares, but every interaction he had ever had with you had been filled with the same hateful tension.

There were moments where he began doubting if it really was only hate between you, like when he had to wake you at three a.m. and you blinked up at him sleepily. Then his heart beat faster in his chest with something that could not be waved off as hate. It was affection. And Mikey hated himself for it just as much as he hated you for making him feel that way. And perhaps even worse: not noticing that there were more emotions involved for him than hate.

Now, laying in the dark, he felt his heart beating in his throat, still mad at you from the fight you had had earlier, and at the same time nervous about how close you were. The fight had been about nothing basically. It had been about you being you, you always finding a way to make the band members’ less glorious qualities still seem admirable and human. Like when people made fun of Frank and called him chaotic and a menace, you defended him, saying he was passionate, no matter how many times he had fallen into your drum kit already. Or when people called Ray anti-social (which really was not true) for not hanging out with others as much as the rest of the band, you said he was the quiet genius, whose mind was working relentlessly to create new music. And the same way you had found ways to turn criticism at Mikey’s bandmates into compliments, you had done the same for him at a talk-show earlier tonight.

Mikey knew the host would go into this direction, when he begun describing everyone’s style on stage, Frank’s energy, Ray’s head banging, your passion, Gerard’s prancing. And Mikey’s passivity.

“You’re just not moving that much, are you Mikey? Scared of falling over cables,” the host teased.

Mikey just shrugged, the awkward silence that begun building in the studio drowned out by the ringing in his ears as he was avoiding eye contact with anyone. At his side he felt Gerard take a breath to say something, but you were faster.

“’s just, not everyone needs to move around to have a great stage presence, you know,” you chirped cheerfully.

Mikey’s eyes snapped to you, boring into your side as you smiled innocently at the host. You had done what you always did: make the band look good. And never let on to the public that there was any kind of tension between you and him.

Mikey knew he should not be as upset about it as he was, but his blood had been running hot in his veins, and as soon as the five of you had been backstage, he had blown up in your face, asked how you thought it was okay to always interfere and what not. He could not even remember what he had said to you. You had not react much, only asked him to not shout as loudly, which had made it even worse. The others had ignored him entirely, Frank only snickering about weird flirting techniques. So he had swallowed down the acid that was scratching his throat, desperate to get some kind, any kind of reaction from you. But you had not relented, had not given him the satisfaction to react to his jabs during the way to the hotel at all.

Neither of you had been happy about having been assigned to the same room, but you both knew better than to protest and argue with the manager. And both of you knew better than to argue if one of you should sleep on the floor. You both remembered the days in which seats in vans and narrow beds, that needed to be shared, had been the greatest luxury, so a big, soft bed was something neither of you would be willing to give up on, and somehow you both had silently agreed to argue over anything but the bed.

That had not stopped Mikey from sending one poke after the next your way, until eventually, much later than he had expected, even you had run out of patience, and got loud as well. Somehow it felt good to have you shout at him, rather than take his insults silently. It started with him saying you were always interfering, continued with you calling him ungrateful, went over him randomly insulting your music, to you screaming in his face that you hated him, and ended with the bathroom door slammed into his face.

He had not protested, and instead used the small sink next to the bathroom door to refresh himself, and brush his teeth, even though he had been so enraged that he felt like running ten miles. You had stayed locked in the bathroom for a whole while, the water of the shower still running as Mikey eventually decided to go to bed.

He had left on the ceiling lights, pulled the blanket over himself, and listened to you eventually turning off the shower. After that you had taken another half an hour in the bath. Mikey had tried to fall asleep, but been too distracted by the cluttering in the bathroom. Were you brushing your teeth right now? Applying lotion to your face, or doing whatever night routine you had?

A few times he had heard something that almost sounded like a sniffle, as if you were crying, and each time it had taken all his self-restraint to not jump out of the bed, bang against the door, and beg you to let him in so he could take care of you. But each time his pride had won, and he had stayed in bed. When you eventually had stepped out of the bath, he had pretended to be asleep. The scent of your body wash had streamed in waves from the bathroom. It was the same scent that always clung to your hair and clothes, the same scent that made Mikey’s heart beat a little faster, that threatened to drive a blush into his cheeks. All the reason to hate you even more, for making him feel like a lovesick teenager. But the way you had quietly been moving around the room, assuming he was asleep, and trying not to wake him made it hard. Not even an hour ago you had screamed at him about how much you hated him, and now you had been trying not to disturb his sleep. After every little noise you had made, you had paused, listening whether you had woken him, before eventually crawling into bed next to him.

He had felt the mattress dip with your weight, and heard the ruffling of the blanket. Then you had turned off the light. At that he almost would have spoken up, would have asked you to keep it turned on, or at least turn on the lamp above the bed, but he would rather lie awake in the dark than let you know he had not yet fallen asleep.

It had been a few hours since then. Your breath had evened out quickly, signalling him that you had fallen asleep, and for hours he lay awake, listening to your breathing and the rustling of the bedsheets when you moved in your sleep. Again and again he tried to close his eyes, but each time he did, he had to think of you, screaming about how you hated him before slamming the bathroom door closed, shutting him out. Maybe that was what he actually feared most: that one day you just shut him out.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sudden change in your breathing. Before it had been even, rhythmic, but now it was hasty, erratic, panicked. He had heard similar changes often enough when he had slept in Gerard’s room, and his brother had had a nightmare. And as if to confirm Mikey’s suspicion, you began twitching and shaking your head, mumbling unintelligible words. His heart twisted painfully, wishing he could somehow help you, but if he woke you up, who knew how you were to react. And it really was not his problem if you had nightmares, right? You were an adult; you could deal with that yourself. Normally he would not even notice because he was asleep himself.

That mind-set lasted for a whole of three seconds, before he reached out his hand, brushing it carefully against yours, and whispered your name. Like a reflex your fingers clamped shut around his, and almost immediately you calmed down. Your breathing was still fast, but you stopped moving as much.

“Mikey,” you whispered into the darkness, making his heart almost stop. He was sure you were still asleep, and yet he nodded.

“I’m here,” he whispered back, hoping that no matter how much you hated him, you might still find comfort in his voice. “I’m right here.”

You groaned quietly, still holding onto him, and began moving around in the bed. And before Mikey really had comprehended what you were doing, you had crawled to his side, snuggled against his chest, and thrown an arm around his middle, your legs entangling with his. Mikey felt himself going stiff, while simultaneously euphoria and panic were washing through him. Euphoria because this was the closest you had ever been, panic at how you were to react should you ever find out about this. Most likely you would try to lynch him or something.

He tried to relax, and forget about any possible future scenarios, instead focusing on the moment, on your soft cheek on his chest, the weight of your arm around his middle, the warmth that was bleeding though your pyjamas and his into his skin. A part of him wanted to stay awake, wanted to watch you sleep. Now you were calm again, clinging to him. How long would it last? Mikey was not foolish enough to hope a situation like this would ever arise again, so he wanted to savour every second of it. But it was like your presence was the best lullaby, and before he knew it, he had fallen asleep as well.

~*~

You woke up from being too warm. Sleepily you kicked the heavy blanket away, which had pooled around your waist, only to realise that there was something else that kept you warm, even though this warmth was gentle and soothing, not as heavy and intense as the blanket.

It was then that you heard the even breaths of the person you were sharing the bed with, the calm heartbeat of the man whose chest you had rested your head on. It hit you like a brick, that you were cuddled against Mikey. For a moment your heart threatened to jump out of your chest, but then you felt his arm around your shoulders, and his hand around yours, and relaxed. How had you ended up like this? You could not remember, could not remember if you had rolled over to him or the other way around. But either way, at least subconsciously he did not seem to mind.

Tilting your head back, you tried getting a glance at his face. He looked peaceful, calm, quiet, almost happy. There was still barely any light in the room, making it hard to make out more than his face, but you kept staring at him anyway. He was beautiful like this, you realised, beautiful and calm and almost otherworldly. It was nice being this close to him, feeling how warm he was, how alive, having his strong arm wrapped protectively around you.

You had dreamt of sleeping like this for so long, but a sense of dread settled in your stomach at the thought of what he would do when he woke up. For a moment you toyed with the idea of moving away from him, but in the end you could not bring yourself to do it. Lying like this was too peaceful, and no matter how angry he would be when he woke up, it would be worth just one more second of this.

You were between waking and sleeping, still looking at him through sleep heavy eyes, when he eventually stirred, long before your alarm clock was due to ring. He took a deep breath, and squeezed his eyes closed before slowly blinking them open. You knew you should move, should get away from him, sit up, scoot back to your side of the bed, but you were too entranced watching him to do anything of the sort. You just watched as he slowly woke up.

It did not take him long to notice you at his side, and when his eyes met yours, they widened a fraction before softening. God, you would give about anything to have him look at you like that more often.

He blinked at you, a soft smile on his lips, and you expected him to say something, anything really. Make a comment about how you were clinging to him, make fun of how your hair looked after the night, or just say at least good morning, but instead he stayed quiet, and just watched you.

“Am I dreaming,” he eventually whispered, his voice causing a deep vibration in his chest.

You wanted to answer, but were at a loss for words, so you just shook your head carefully.

“Then I want to stay like this forever.”

His words were so gently spoken that they tore at your heart, and almost drove tears to your eyes.

This time you just nodded in response, and both of you kept looking at each other until the first beams of sunlight flickered into the room.

“I don’t actually hate you,” you suddenly whispered, not quite certain where the words came from. Mikey’s smile faded as you reminded him of the last words you had said to him the previous night. “Sometimes I think it’s pretty much the opposite. It’s just easier to say I do. Then I don’t have to admit that I actually…” You trailed off at the end.

For a long moment he just stared at you, his eyes almost sad as he tried reading your expression as you were still resting your head on his chest.

And then, without warning, he lent down, and pressed his lips to yours, surprising you with a soft kiss. Although less a kiss than a brush of his lips against yours. The action took you by surprise, but like a reflex you lent up into him, pushing closer as your heart was beating hard, anxiously, while your stomach began filling with butterflies.

How often had you dreamt of him holding you this close, of feeling his soft lips against yours? It had been daydreams, which you could not even admit to yourself, after which you had been even more irritable around him than usual; and dreams at night, which left you out of control and at total mercy of your infatuated heart.

Now, kissing him for real, feeling his hands settle against your body, and melting into your skin, was better than anything you could ever have dreamt of. His kisses left you breathless, but it felt like the only way to sooth the need for air was to kiss him more, to taste the mint of his toothpaste from last night, the sweetness that stuck to his lips, and made you dizzy. How had you gone without this, without him, for so long? How had you been able to ever shout at him, be mad at him, be irritated about him? None of it mattered anymore, the thoughts flowing away like leaves on a river, as he kept kissing you, kept making your heart jump, and your breath hitch. Perhaps it would have embarrassed you, to have such a reaction, but he reacted the same, shivering when you ran your fingertips down his neck, and gasping slightly when you kissed him harder.

It was only the ringing of his alarm clock, that suddenly tore you out of your bubble of happiness. Trying not to break the kiss Mikey fumbled for his obnoxiously loud blaring phone, eventually managing to turn off the alarm, but the harmony was interrupted, and you both had been reminded of the world around you. You were still in a hotel room, in the middle of tour. You would need to pack your things, maybe go for breakfast and then head for the bus in time.

Suddenly all these things felt overwhelming, and you wanted nothing but to hide away into Mikey’s side, and hope that your responsibilities just went away. But that was not how the world worked, so, against every instinct, you sat up in bed, looking down on Mikey, who looked back up to you. His lips were red, pulled into a gentle smile, and his eyes were soft, with blown wide pupils, as he watched you.

“We need to get ready,” you whispered, your voice hoarse as you talked.

Mikey nodded and watched as you turned to slip out of bed, but just in the last moment he caught your wrist, making you turn back to him.

“Whatever was before- I don’t care why it was like that.” His voice was rough, emotional, you realised, and wasn’t something you got to hear every day, not like this anyway. You got angry, furious, outraged Mikey, but never soft, overwhelmed, insecure, hopeful Mikey. Not like you did now. “But no matter what, I don’t wanna go back to that.”

You reached a hand out, the one that was not caught in his, and brushed your fingers over his forehead, along his temple, over his cheek, and eventually bent down to peck his lips again.

“Neither do I,” you whispered.

You knew the words exchanged were both apology as well as a confession and promise. An apology for past behaviour, failed communication. A confession of love. A promise to do better, to talk to each other.

Mikey looked at you for a moment, how you were hovering over him, who was still resting in the pillows, and then he leant up again, pressing his lips to yours once more, more heated this time, and pulled you back down to bed.

Eventually, in a few hours, someone would knock on your door to remind you of bus call since you would not have turned up to breakfast. And Mikey and you would laugh at their supposed joke that the two of you should stop making out, because outside they did not know how true it was. Walking together on the bus, hand in hand, Frank would comment on a change in flirting-tactics, and Gerard and Ray would bicker along, earning nothing but an eye roll and perhaps a middle finger from Mikey and you. And then, escaping yet another discussion about lemon slices in coke, Mikey would pull you back to the bunk area and into his bed, because hell, it had only been ten minutes but he already missed your lips against his. The bed would be narrow, less comfortable than the huge hotel bed, but it would feel safer, more like home, as close to anything that was not home could feel like home. And eventually, after you would have fallen asleep, Mikey would stay up, just to watch you lying in his arms.

But none of that was of any importance right now. It was in the future, and all that really mattered was the moment, were Mikey’s lips against yours, his arms pulling you closer against him, and your hearts beating hard in a rhythm only the two of you could hear.

Taglist:

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[anawrites3]

"Honestly, Bruce, what were you thinking?"

Clark sighed exasperatedly as he dodged a porcelain vase flying his way - a third of which shattered pieces were already adorning the wooden floor of King's study chamber - trying to bring himself to be just a little bit more empathetic towards his fellow monarch. He couldn't even recall now how many times has he heard the words "outrageous" and "shameless" this night. If he had to be completely frank with himself although, it was hard. It's not like he didn't feel bad for Bruce when his dear friend found himself in a situation like this, with a choice that was leaving him with no good options. It was only normal that he also felt mad at him since it put his dear nephew in an even worse position.

As a bargaining chip.

"You could've accepted any courtship from so many young and virtuous men!" And Clark remembered many of them and their families taking interest in the young prince as soon as his 16th birthday came; sir Wallace with the brightest smile he's ever seen, lord Queen's charge, prince Roy, even foreign knights like mysterious sir Lucas or sir Raptor seemed bewitched by young prince's charm. Clark found Bruce's overprotectiveness amusing back then, now though..."You should've let them try at least when they asked for Richard's hand, then he wouldn't--"

"I thought" Bruce growled through gritted "I'm giving him a chance. To fall in love, to choose by himself. I thought I'm giving a chance to my son, not to some..." Bruce waved his hand in the direction of his desk where the offending letter lay. "Some old, deprived bastard to ask for him like a war trophy!"

Clark didn't have to look at the letter again, he remembered perfectly the words that horrified him more than his friend's grieving face. Lord Wilson - The Terminator as they called him - whose own kingdom was in a state of war with Gotham for years now, years that took thousands of lives, proposed conflict resolution, a pact that would unite the kingdoms in peace against stronger opponents like Nanda Parbat.

Slade Wison wanted young prince Richard as his spouse - such a small price, a bastard son for peace. A beloved child for the misery of father.

Anon, I love you so much!!! It’s so good ahhh I love royalty aus! I already said it earlier but I’ll say it again - I’m having love/hate relationship with you rn because ITS SO FREAKING GOOD but because of it I almost wrote a whole fic in this reply! I hope you don’t mind me adding to your idea, I really couldn’t stop myself! You guys seriously need to tell me if you’re okay with me writing about your ideas when you send me asks haha

Slade is a sly fucker for using a war like this, damn. And I love how Dick is a bastard son. Or maybeee people just think about him as a bastard son because Bruce took him in and he’s not a royalty by blood. UGH I LOVE IT!! Oh and I really like that Clark is here as well!

Thank you so much for sharing with me! I had to write something for you and I tried to keep it short but... well, see for yourself I guess

/ / / / / / /

"You should have let those men interested in Richard get closer to him." Clark spat out. He knew that there was nothing they could do about it now, knew that Bruce hated the situation even more than he did but he needed to let those words out. "You should have let them at least get to know each other so then Dick would be able to decide for himself. But no, you were just scaring them away instead and now-"

Another vase crashed against the wall where Clark was standing just a moment ago. Bruce grabbed another thing close to him - a potted plant, as there were no more vases left - but before he could throw it at Clark as well, another voice spoke up.

"You're making a mess." Dick said quietly from the doorstep. He had his arms wrapped around himself and looked smaller than a prince ever should. "Other people will have to clean it up for you."

"Dick..."

"I've thought this through." Dick began in a mostly steady voice, not looking at any of them. He wet his lips nervously. "Well, there wasn't really much thinking to do but still... I'm- I'm going to accept Lord Wilson's offer."

The pot slipped out of Bruce's hand and hit the floor loudly, spilling the dirt all around the king's feet.

"No." he said firmly, when he finally found his voice back.

"Bruce-" Clark tried gently but the man ignored him.

"No, Dick. I'm not letting you-"

"Then what do you want to do?" Dick demanded. He looked up at his father at last, his eyes red and rimmed, expression taut as if he was in pain. "What else can you do? Do nothing and just let even more people die in this damn war? Wait a few more years so Wilson'll ask for Jason instead when he gets old enough?"

Bruce stumbled as if he was punched. Clark didn't blame him, feeling himself like he was about to collapse.

"Dick-"

"We don't have a choice, Bruce. And I know you know it." Dick straightened with a shaky breath. "As a crown prince, it's my responsibility to take care of my people. I'm not letting them die for a war that has no purpose. If it takes just one to save hundreds- thousands... then I'm ready to do it."

- - - - -

Dick looked out of the carriage's window, trying to get his hands to stop shaking.

Bruce demanded a meeting before giving Wilson their answer and the king of a neighboring country agreed without any further demands. All warfare was suspended now that the peace treaty was being arranged but their warriors still waited with a held breath - none of them could know whether an agreement would be reached.

Dick knew. There was no way he would ever allow more people to die for nothing, not if he had a way to stop the war. Agreeing to Slade's terms was his decision, it was for the better of both countries. Still, thinking about it like that didn't help with stopping the trembling of his hands.

He met Slade Wilson only a few times in his life but he knew how powerful that man was. There was something about him, something that screamed danger. He had this aura around him that made others fear him, made them want to run away even with being aware that turning your back to him might be fatal. But with that fear came respect. Wilson was a good king, people were saying, he was rigorous but fair.

Maybe he would be a good husband as well.

"We're almost here." Clark announced softly and Dick lifted his head to stare at the castle looming in the distance.

"Oh." he breathed out quietly. He sent his uncle a small smile. "Thank you."

"Of course." Clark replied with a smile of his own, though a bit more forced. He wasn't happy about the deal either. No one was. Even Jason grabbed at his sleeve this morning and tried to stop him from leaving.

Bruce didn't look up. He was staring at his knees with a frown since the moment their journey started and it was clear he was thinking about something hard. Dick placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed.

"It's the best solution." he said when he met his father's eyes.

Bruce placed his hand on top of his and closed his eyes with a tired sigh. He looked so old, so fragile. Not like the proud king he should be.

"Maybe..." Bruce began slowly in a raspy voice. "Maybe if we offered him something else. We still can-"

"He won't agree. You know he won't."

"Maybe it won't be that bad..." Clark offered weakly but Bruce just glared at him.

"I'll be alright." Dick assured them.

He really tried to believe those words himself as the carriage stopped in front of the castle’s entrance.

- - - - -

Slade was already waiting for them in the throne hall when they arrived. He was talking with one of his generals but quickly turned their way when they stepped inside the room. His single eye immediately found Dick and the young prince hid his trembling hands behind his back.

He felt as if his heart was beating loud enough for Slade to hear it even across the giant hall.

"King Wayne. Lord Kent." Slade greeted them with a nod, standing up from his throne. The smile on his lips was a little bit too predatory for Dick's liking. "Prince Richard. Welcome. I’m honored to host you in my country.”

Dick bowed his head. "Your Majesty."

"We appreciate your hospitality, Your Majesty." Clark said, ever the diplomat. “We are aware it was all pretty sudden.”

Not even a week passed since they received Slade’s letter. No one could blame Dick for wanting to stop the war as fast as possible - there was no point in delaying what they all knew would happen anyway.

"Not at all." Slade replied easily, his eye never leaving Dick. No one said a word about the grim expression on Bruce's face. "It's recommended for me and Prince Richard to get to know each other better after all."

"Don't get ahead of yourself. You still didn't get your answer." Bruce hissed through his teeth.

That at least made Slade look away. Dick could breathe a little bit easier without that heavy pressure on him.

"Of course not." Slade hummed. He glanced at Dick again. "You're free to stay here as long as you want before answering to my offer. We all know that reaching an agreement, especially in war times, takes a lot of time and thought."

Bruce pursed his lips into a thin line but before he could answer, Clark placed heavy hand on his shoulder and spoke for him,

"We're grateful for your generosity, Your Majesty, but I’m afraid we won't be able to stay for long."

"I wasn't talking to you. My offer concerns Prince Richard, does it not?" Slade's fingers wrapped gently around Dick's hand and guided it to the king's lips to place a kiss there. "By all means, my prince, make yourself at home."

Part 2 Part 3

[roscgcld]

ZEN’IN NAOYA || husband’s duty

request: omg if it is okay can i ask for a part 2 of sweet little things 🥲

note: you definitely can, love! honestly this definitely cracked my head a little since we didn’t get to explore naoya too much as a character, underneath all that complexity that makes him up as the man we saw in the manga. But I am not gonna sit here and say I do not simp for him AHAHAHA - that would be a huge lie. But we shall see, no? I feel like I made him too soft though, but I live for soft!Naoya - so do not touch me T^T 

part one

warning: suggestive scene throughout, but nothing happens really. just naoya being an ass lol

pronouns: she/her

A content sigh left Naoya’s lips as he leans back into the warm water of the bath, his eyes slowly sliding shut at the warmth that surrounds him. Today has been a long day on the office - with back to back meetings and piles of paperwork on his desk, he was just ready to land into his bed face first and sleep the evening away. 

“What do you want for your onigiri filling tomorrow? The farmers that produce that special rice you like sent a bag of rice to us earlier today.”

Your soft and sweet voice was what broke him out of his tranquil trance, yet he doesn’t find himself getting angry. Instead he hummed as he leans towards the direction of your voice, seeming to melt further in the steaming water when your soft hands immediately rest themselves against his broad shoulders. Fingers immediately getting to work on the knots that had started to build up since the afternoon. “Hmm...unagi filling sounds good.”

“I’ll make some for your bento tomorrow then,” You reassured him with a warm smile as you started to work through the knots on his shoulders, making sure to not accidentally dig your short but well kept nails into his skin. Whilst Naoya enjoys leaving marks of ownership all over your person, he does not appreciate having any scars left on his skin. And although he does not voice his disapproval, you know your husband well enough to know that unless he is in the mood, you should be careful about things like your nails scratching his skin. 

The idea of you making one of his favourite dishes for him, knowing that he has to deal with more paperwork and calls tomorrow has him smiling softly in response. He would not voice out how your little actions causes his usually cold heart to skip a beat; instead he just leans back a little when he heard you collecting some water from the tub with the wooden shower pale. Relishing in the feeling of the water being poured over his two-toned hair, along with your soft fingers gently running through the strands. 

Many people feel bad for you, since everyone knows what kind of man Naoya is. Everyone knows that he is nothing more but a skirt chaser, a man who views women as nothing an accessory to hang off his arm. Whose purpose is to provide strong heirs, and nothing more. You knew of the man even before you met him the first time on your family estate - listening to your older sister rant about how much of a myogenetic, rude, and disgusting excuse of a man Zen’In Naoya is. You’ve heard of the whispers from the other women whenever you would join a jujutsu event where the Zen’Ins would be in attendance. You knew that the moment both your fathers shook hands after Naoya shows great interest in you, your future was sealed to be with a man who seems to be every woman’s living nightmare.

And yet, for the last 4 months of marriage life, things have been...pleasant.

Naoya knew from the moment that he spoke to you that he needed to act ‘softer’ in order to gain your trust. That he cannot be his full self around you for at least the first month of your marriage in order to make him trust you; or until his patience runs thin from acting. 

However, even though he has promised himself that he will drop the act after the first month; here he is, 4 months into your new marriage. Still finding it almost natural for him to act softer and more...kinder around you. Maybe it is because he finds your personality just so soft and welcoming that it just...felt right to treat you differently. Maybe he is just trying to reason to himself that as his wife, you should be treated differently from the common folk outside of your private home; after all, as long as he keeps you happy, he can get away with pretty much anything. 

And yet...he has yet to find it in him to actually act like his usual self around you. Almost as if he was afraid of scaring you, or fearing that you’re scared of him. It’s laughable - how a man who was so self centered and only cared about himself and no one else, seemed to be so worried about what his wife thinks about him. He had reasoned to him that this is normal; that any husband would want their wife to fear them. 

But just...it was odd to him. How he chooses to act differently around you, and not feel like he is forced in any way.

His opened his eyes to take a peak at you when his thoughts start to wonder, scanning over your concentrated features as you carefully worked the shampoo through his hair. Somehow just seeing you so focused on making sure that he was enjoying his bath had his heart skipping a beat; something that would have scared him if it were to happen with anyone else. 

Yet, instead he found himself letting a small but genuine smile tug against the corners of his lips, one that immediately catches your attention as you carefully wash the studs from his hair. “What got you so happy, my love?,” You asked him curiously as you carefully ran your fingers through his hair, making sure that all the studs were gone. Instead of answering he just reached his hand up to grab your wrist in his gently, pressing a soft kiss against the inside of your wrist. 

Naoya isn’t a man to convey his emotions often. He doesn’t necessarily view emotions as weak; he just sees no reason to show others around him how he feels unless it brings him some form of advantage. Other then that, he just puts up an arrogant and unbothered front for the most part. But with you...well, you were different. You are his wife, and in order to be a good husband, he needs to show you that he is willing to show you what is underneath his mask. Or so, he thinks that is what he needs to do. 

The feeling of Naoya’s lips against your skin send a set of shivers down your spine, your eyes shyly glancing away from his handsome face as you felt the tips of your ears warm up. Just seeing how bashful you were about something as small as showing you emotion had him smirking against your wrist, immediately wanting to see just how far he can push his luck. 

And he knows exactly what to do. “Get in the bath with me.”

You immediately snapped your shocked eyes back at your husband in shock, immediately feeling your cheeks warm at how he was staring at you expectantly. Although you’ve seen each other naked before, with him being so obsessed of having an heir of his own - it would be a surprise if you haven’t see him naked in all his glory. It wasn’t like he was bad to look at either - from all the training puts himself through to perfect his Technique, you would be lying to say that you’ve never stared at his strong back or broad shoulders whenever you two are alone. 

It was just...so sudden. And you immediately knew what his intensions were, yet you just pouted softly as you quietly pulled yourself up from the steps you were seated on. Just seeing the soft pout tugging against the corner of your lips had Naoya biting back a smile as he watches you strip from your kimono, carefully folding the expensive fabrics to the side. 

Soon you carefully made your way up the wooden steps of the traditional bathtub, thanking your husband quietly as he held a hand out to help you into the tub. You awkwardly knelt down between Naoya’s knees, still a little nervous to touch him even though he was the one who invited you into the bath with him. Naoya found your fear quite amusing, and without missing a beat he grabbed your hand in his before he pulls you close; chuckling at the squeak you let out when you landed against his bare chest. 

“Don’t need to be so scared, my wife,” Naoya mumbles with a smirk, hands trailing down your soft back to relish the goosebumps that appear on your skin; his eyes glancing away from your shocked face to your fists resting against his chest.  “After all...if there is one person worthy enough to be by my side, it will be you,” He mumbles, hands that seem even warmer than the water surrounding you two resting on the small of your back.

A combination from his soft touches, to his overly sweet but frank words had your face burning up once more as you whine and bury your face into his neck, your actions causing Naoya to let out a soft but genuine peel of laughter come from his chest. “Did I startle you?,” Naoya asks in amusement, already knowing the answer to that question. Yet he wanted for you to answer the question yourself, since he lives for seeing you getting embarrassed over the smallest of interactions with him.

You fluttered your eyes close to try and calm you rapid heartbeat, yet you nodded your head gently to answer his question. “A-A little..,” You mumble back quietly against his skin, heart skipping a beat a little at Naoya’s soft chuckle that he breathed against the shell of your ear. Naoya did not want to admit it, but he finds this subconsciously clingy side of you quite endearing. Whilst he hates it when others touch him, even if they grazed him by accident; he does not mind it when it’s you.

Maybe he has gone a little insane after marriage. 

After you’ve managed to gather your wits, you quietly pulled away from him before you reached back to grab the wash towel you had grabbed from earlier, Naoya curiously opened one of hi eyes when you shifted against his chest. Just having you pressed up against his chest, along with the warm water surrounding him had lulled him into a tranquil and sleepy state. But he didn’t stop you as you wet the wash towel before you carefully lathered his body wash into the fabric. 

Quietly you started to wash his body like you would usually every night, yet this time it was a little different since now you were in the bath with him. Something that he has never really allowed before, since he views his bath time as his personal time. You would usually help him bathe before you leave the bathroom to prepare for bed and whatever wifely duties you need to fulfil for the night. 

But if you were being honest, as you carefully washed your husband clean, you did not mind a change to your routine. Yet you did not voice your inner thoughts as you continue gliding your hands over Naoya’s arms, making sure to keep quiet to give him the silence he enjoys whenever he’s in the bath. However, Naoya was in the mood to talk today. 

Whilst you were carefully washing his chest, Naoya’s hands started to wander along your body once more once more. “So, what did you get up today whilst your husband was out at work?”

You blinked up at your husband curiously, to which he just raised an eyebrow in response at the look you threw his way. “Can a husband not know what his wife gets up to when he slaves away at his desk?,” Naoya asks with a soft raise of his brow, his words causing you to widen your eyes as you shake your head immediately. Not wanting him to think that you’re questioning his authority. “O-Of course not! I-I just...thought...you’d like some quiet in your alone time..”

A soft sigh was your only response, to which you awkwardly looked away from your husband’s eyes to stare at his hard chest; worried that you’ve angered the man. “You know...I want to hear about your day too,” Naoya mumbles after a few tensed seconds of silence, a finger gently crocking under your chin to coax your eyes to look up at him. He did not have a smile on his serious face, yet there was a soft look shining in his usually hard eyes. “I get curious sometimes when I have time to breath...what does my beautiful wife do at home when I am away? Does she miss me? Does she take the free time she gets to pretend that she is not my wife? What could you be possibly be doing when I am away from home..?”

When you heard his words, you tilted your head softly as you scanned his face, trying to understand the meaning behind his message. He wasn’t dumb - he was more than aware of the whispers of the maids that thought he was not around, how people feel bad for you that you are married to a man like him. He honestly doesn’t care what others have to say about him - he never cared about what others have to say about him. Because he knows that when they need power or need something to get done, they will always turn to him with fake smiles and praise dripping from their tongues.

However, he was genuinely worried about you - he was worried that the whispers of his past will start to scare you away. Make you think that you are an idiot for marrying a man like him, and slowly but surely take you away from him. For once he was worried that you are going to leave him, because for once in his life, he finally understand what it truly means to be home. The very thought of you leaving him shakes him down to his very core, and he will do everything in his power to prevent that from becoming his reality.

“I don’t...think like that, you know.”

Your soft voice snapped his train of thought as he glances back into your eyes, blinking when your soft hands rest against his cheeks gently with a soft smile gracing your features. “I knew the type of man you were before you came to my family estate that day, and I have heard of all the rumours of your attitude even whilst you were courting me. But that didn’t change my decision because I genuinely enjoyed having you around.”

Your words had Naoya widening his eyes as his mind went blank at your confession. And seeing your usually stoic and arrogant husband looking stunned had you giggling as your thumbs started to stroke at his high cheekbones. “Yes, you may be a little colder and stricter then I am used to, but you are still a good man. You’ve been nothing but a good husband to me, and far from the rumours paint you to be. So don’t worry too much about my thoughts on our marriage, because I am nothing but happy to be your wife.”

Quietly you gently tugged his face close, resting his forehead against yours with a smile. “I know that you grew up in a different world from I did, and that you were brought up with different morals from mine. But I also know you’re trying for me, and that is more than enough for me at the end of the day.” You mumble softly, revealing to him that you were more observant than you let on. Yet you faked ignorance for his sake because you genuinely cared for him as a person. “Because at the end of the day, a wife is knows all of her husband’s sides the best.”

For once Naoya was completely stunned into silence, having never expected for you to be so candid about your feelings. Your response to his stunned silence was a quiet giggle as you lean forward to press a soft kiss against the tip of his nose. The feeling of your warm and soft lips snapped him back into reality, and upon realising how close you were, his pale cheeks flushed up from embarrassment. Immediately one of his hands pulled itself away from where they were resting against your bare hips to cover his cheeks with the back of his hand, eyes darting away as he leans away from you immediately.

“I-I want to get out of the bath now...”

You let out a giggle at the sight of your husband so out of character, yet you made no other comment as you nodded with a smile. “Lets get ready for bed then, my love,” You hummed out as you carefully got out to grab the towels for the both of you, biting back your smile at how cute you find him to be as you dried yourself before you did the same for him. 

It was only later into the night, long after you’ve fallen asleep when Naoya really calmed down. You had long fallen asleep, face tucked away underneath his chin whilst your arms wrapped around him loosely. He knows he needed to sleep in order to function properly tomorrow, but his mind has been racing the moment you two got out of the bath to prepare for bed together.

He still cannot wrap his head around the idea that you willingly stay, even knowing that there is a chance you might see a less ideal version of himself. You choose to stay knowing all of the rumours about him and his, admittedly, horrendous behaviour and morals. And whilst he does not know what was it that he did that had you landing in his life, he is 100% sure he will never let you go.

Quietly he presses a soft kiss against the top of your head, a soft but content sigh leaving his lips as he closes his eyes to try and get some sleep before his alarm would go off later. Signaling to a start of another long and boring day away from you once more. 

“You’re the best thing that has happened to me,” He mumbles softly into the quiet bedroom, a soft admission to you whilst you’re far away in dreamland, dreaming of things unknown to him. But the least he can pray for is that he wouldn’t become the enemy in your nightmares.

Because at the end of the day, it’s a husband’s duty to protect the happiness of their wife from the evils of the world. Even if the biggest evil in their lives is themselves. As long as he is your husband, you will have nothing to fear.

He will make sure of it.

© roscgcld — all rights reserved to me, rose, the author and creator of these works. do not repost/translate/claim my work as yours on any platform.

[milkacchan]

Request for anon: Hi!!!! i love our writing and i just knew you could do this! Could you do one with a father Aizawa and a gender nuetral chil reader, who is jealous of Midoriya. Because when Midoriya harnesses his quirk Aizawa be happy dadzawa but when the reader was like 6 or 7 and harnessed theirs he said like " Work harder." Or the world won't want a weak hero and stuff and thats why they hate Midoriya and stuff? IT IS SOO FINE OF YOU CANT!! THANKS <3

•Midoriya is nice.

• He's /so/ fucking nice

• He has a nice smile

• His freckles are nice

• His attitude is great

• He goes out of his way to make sure people are okay

• Which makes it worse and pisses you off more.

• You've been jealous of him for awhile- please he's the center of attention for everyone

• But that isn't your problem

• He's the center of attention for your own dad.

• At least it seemed that way.

• Shota Aizawa, your father, was a teacher at U.A.

• He was bound to get attached to students, that's what teachers are supposed to do

• But..it felt like you were on the back burner and not enough

• when you develop your quirk, you dad gives you a speech

• You're first sucess with your quirk, your father tells you to work harder

• And that's all it ever is

• "work harder"

• "you should be farther along by now,"

• "this isn't a joke, why are you treating it that way?"

• there wasn't a good job or a congrats or praise

• But there was with midoryia

• who got all of it.

• he got good jobs and impresseds

• He got way to go kid and that was smart

• At the beginning of the year you liked him

• He was friendly and funny and he seemed like a cool dude

• He was a cool dude and you hated him- yourself even more for that

• You couldn't ever hate him, not truly.

• Not even when your father praised him, took him under his wing, focused on him

• Even shinsou- you didn't hate him. You were great friends with him.

• But Midoriya irked you, even if you couldn't find it in you to talk behind his back or fuck him over

• Your jealousy for the boy only grew as your fathers praise to him grew and his words to you grew distanced.

• And yet you still thrived for the man's approval

• You wanted to be recognized

• You wanted validation

• You wanted praise and approval.

• You wanted love.

• You stopped speaking to Midoriya, completely. The poor boy didn't deserve a blow up from you, it wasn't his fault.

• Contact to him stopped. His conversation muted unless it was to the class Group Chat

• Your seat? Unfortunately still near him, was no longer an issue if you just ignored his presence

• If your group was hanging put with him that day, you'd skip with some dumb homework excuse.

• No one said anything

• Aside from shinsou that is.

• The smart-ass always had something to say

• "You can't just ignore your problems forever."

"I'm not, till talking to you."

"Funny. But seriously. He's going to question it if he hasn't already. Word gets around.."

• In all seriousness, shinsous worried. He's really worried.

• He's watching you distance yourself from people, from midoryia- hell the only reason the two of you still talk on a daily basis is because he forces it.

• You don't mind, of course, he know that. You did the same to him when his mental health had declined.

• But he sees you're doing it for validation

• Amd he knows Aizawas words aren't malicious. You're his kid, he's worried and wants you to survive over anyone else.

• Doesn't mean how he's going about it is right.

• and it isn't long before you start taking physical training to the max too.

• After class you train for hours until dinner.

• Sometines you miss it; sometimes you don't get home until much later.

• One day in particular though, you start training on a Saturday morning

• He tells you to be smart, keep hydrated and take breaks before he leaves for the day

• Only to come back at dusk to you still training

• "Quirks are currency shinsou,"

"That doesnt-"

"I have to get stronger, no one's going to want a weak hero"

"Y/N please- you've been out here all day. It's hot and muggy and you've barley eaten anything. You need breaks. You can't be a strong pro hero if you die of heat exhaustion." He takes your arm and pulled it down from the punching bag. "You're worrying me."

"I'm not strong enough," you mumble. "Dads right,"

• Eventually Midoriya starts to question why you're ignoring him

• He doesn't think he's done anything wrong

• Maybe he said the wrong thing? But what even is the wrong thing? What could he have said?

• After one particularly rough morning, you're struggling with something

• You're already pissed and ready for the day to be over.

• And it's only 10 in the fucking morning

• And Midoriya, desperate to heal what he once had with a friend (you), walks over to help

"Hey," he starts. "You look like you need some help?"

You pause, glancing in his direction for only a moment. "Go sit down," You mutter.

"I just want to help-"

"I don't need your fucking help. You are the LAST thing I need," you snap. "Who the fuck would /ever/ need you?" You grab your bag and shove him back, leaving the classroom.

The class quiets.

• Midoriya didn't deserve it, no. You knew that.

• You also knew that you weren't in the place to go back to school, so you didn't.

• You took the day off, wandering the streets of your prefecture

• Shinsous blowing up your phone

• Katsuki is too.

• Katsukis upset, you would be too if someone spoke to your friend that way

• Everyone else is too on edge to text you, they're worried though.

• Of course, they go to Aizawa.

• They tell him what happened and how you've been acting

• And he nods quietly and says he'll take care of it.

• Shinsou finally finds you at the Cafe you frequent and he quietly sits across from you

• "you should be in school," you mumble

"So should you."

It's quiet for a few moments before you speak again. "I think I'm going to leave U.A. Mom lives in Miyagi, they've got some nice highschools there. I talked to her over the phone last night."

"What? What no, you can't?"

"Why not, Hitoshi?"

"Because you're a hero-"

"I'm not. I'm not a fucking hero. I haven't made any successes while I've been here, I haven't developed anything, Dad was right."

"You dad was wrong. He's wrong. He's- He's worried one day you're not going to come home. Or when you do you won't be in one piece, so he's pushing you and pushing you," he took your hand gently. "You're strong. You're going to be a great hero. You've already accomplished more than you know."

"I blew up at Midoriya today," you slide him your drink and he takes a sip.

"I know." He nods. "But that's okay, we can deal with it later." He squeezed your hand.

"Yeah, later,"

• It's very much later by the time you reach your dorm.

• The day Shinsou moved to the 1A dorms was the day you'd rejoice

• Your bag is tossed to the side and you make your way to the kitchen and freeze.

• Aizawa is sitting at the table, facing you.

"Your friends are worried about you,"

Yous scoff. "Yeah I'm sure they are."

"Midoryias worried about you."

"I really don't care."

"You shouldn't have snapped at him." Aizawa sighs.

"Thats-" you take a deep breath. Of course he only cared about Midoriya. "Typical." You move to the fridge to get something to drink.

"I..apologize," he begins. "'It's come to my attention that I haven't exactly been the best father to you since your mother left,"

"You think?" You muttered.

"I'm worried. I'm scared."

You look up at him.

"The world is cruel. And I've lost so many students to hero work in the years I've taught, I wouldn't be able to handle it if I lost you to. But it seems I'm already down the path." He stood up and walked over to you. "You're my kid, I love you more than the moon and the stars, I want you to stay safe. Above everyone else, above all else, I want you to come home." He kisses your forehead.

"It'd be nice to get a good job every once in awhile. Everyone else does." You mutter, looking down.

"You are doing great, you know. I don't say it nearly enough but you impress me everyday."

• It's...a little awkward after that, neither of you know how to process emotion so after two days you just pretend like it never happened

• You quietly apologize to Midoriya and wall away before he can respond before pretending like that didn't happen either

• You're not expecting him to want to be your friend

• But he's very adamant on texting you, inviting you out, walking with you you to class

• 1A becomes whole again

• But Shota does ease up, you get the good jobs, the praise, the validation

• And you eat it up to be frank, you fucking love it.

[clairecrive]

Billy idea that I have no time to write myself loool: reader and Billy are friends with benefits. Reader is happy with the arrangement and knows Billy is sleeping with other women but she doesn't care. It's not serious with them. Billy however hadn't really thought about Reader sleeping with other people and he finds out. Maybe from friends (Frank, Curtis and Karen because hello AU) or maybe all of them are out at a bar and he sees her go home with someone else? But he gets suuuuper jealous about it and realises he wants more. I'll leave it up to you if Reader wants more too. Angsty jealous Billy though, am I right? Lmaooo (this is faulty-coding btw, hello 🖤)

"Commitment"

A/N: omg hi! I love your work so much I feel incredibly honoured that you chose me for this request! I hope you like it x This is also for this anon, I've combined the two requests since they were similar.

Warnings: angst, jealousy, slut-shaming, hurt-comfort, smut at the end

Word count: 3K +

Tags:@blackst0nes7077, @thefictionalgemini, @tarkanelima-blog

@pansysgirlfriend, @acciorudolphx @supernaturalcat7, @crazyclownchick (I don't know why it won't let me tag you)

To add yourself to my taglist, fill in this form.

NAVIGATION PAGE

"Hey, stranger." A familiar voice and then his familiar touch on your back before he sat in front of you.

"Hi, Billy."

"it's been a while," he mentioned casually while his eyes took you in.

It had been more than a while, actually. Last time you saw Billy had been over a week ago. Well, you hadn't really seen him, that was the problem.

Ever since you had started your "agreement" you'd drop by his office from time to time to surprise him. He had told you that he deeply enjoyed office sex while you had never had it. Needless to say, it soon became one of your favourite things.

And that was why that day, you were at Anvil. You hadn't told Billy that you were coming. It wouldn't have been a surprise then, would it? However, when you stepped in front of his door, just one touch away from opening it, you heard it.

Well, heard her actually.

It was Billy that ended up surprising you that day. You usually loved surprises but that one you would have gladly skipped.

Although it had taken you most of a week to come to this realisation, you realized that it was actually a good thing to happen. The thing you had with Billy wasn't labelled. It was fun but it wasn't serious. Despite the fact that you were friends and hang out with the same group, you had never committed to each other.

And you were honestly fine with it. You enjoyed your time with Billy, outside and under the sheets.

It had been months though and you hadn't wanted to acknowledge it but it wasn't enough anymore. Billy's role in your life was ambiguous. He was your friend sure, but one you'd have sex with. He wasn't your boyfriend but he was the one you'd spend the most of your time with, the one with whom you were intimate.

You wanted more, you realized. Enough with these half measures.

Billy will understand, you told yourself. He inwardly made it clear where he stands. Time to broaden your horizons.

And, as matter of fact, you had. It was true that the ocean is full of fish but you hadn't had a lot of luck with them before. Sure, Jake was nice. He was polite and nice. An overall good guy.

He was just lacking a... je ne sais quoi that made you unsure about it. But you were willing to give him a chance and so you kept going on dates with him.

Needless to say, you hadn't spoken to Billy since that impromptu visit to his office.

"Been busy," you offered him taking a sip of your beer. It was a lame excuse but you couldn't care less. Karen offered you some appetizers. You stared at them for a bit before shaking your head refusing them. Ignoring Karen's questioning look, you took another sip.

"Yeah, she's been busy alright." Frank's low chuckle came from the other end of the table.

"Meaning?" Billy asked, now curious about the implication seeing how your cheeks had suddenly turned red.

"She met someone," Karen chirped in, winking in your direction.

Mentally facepalming you, you swore them off. It wasn't the way you wanted Billy to find out. Not that you cared what he thought since he couldn't be bothered to be as transparent with you, but still. You hated being put on the spot.

"Has she now?" Billy's eyebrow arched and he gave you an amused look. But his jaw clenched and that gave him away.

"Not that it's any of your business. But yes, I have. His name's Jake, he's a nice guy." You explained briefly, ignoring the intensity of his stare.

"So you're that kind of person then." Leaning over the table, his voice took an edge he had never directed at you. "Ditching her friends as soon as she meets a guy?"

"You know that's not true." Narrowing your eyes at him you were almost offended by his institution if it wasn't for the fact that you knew that it was his bruised ego speaking.

"Tell that to my many unanswered calls on your phone."

"That's not on Jake," you scoffed taking a sip. His eyebrow arched while his hands gestured to you as if to say "do tell".

"Let's just say that I saw firsthand just how busy you keep yourself when I'm not around." You tried to keep the bitterness out of your voice, you really did. But without success.

Billy's lips pursed in thought. You had no doubt that he had an inkling about what you meant but he couldn't figure out to what exactly you were referring to.

"So is this what it is? You being petty because I've been with someone else?"

"That's me wanting more for myself and taking it."

"If you were that insatiable, y/n, you should have just told me."

"Stop making me sound like a slut, Billy. That is not what this is about."

"Isn't it? Because that's exactly what this looks like to me."

Pursing your lips, you refused to show him just how much he had hurt you. Nodding your head you decided that you'd had enough. You did not have to sit here and take his bullshit.

"You know, Billy. Slut-shaming isn't a good look on you." Waving to your friends, you quickly told them that you had to go. An emergency you said. But they knew better, their eyes fixed on Billy as he watched you walk out of the bar. Hands tightening around the bottle of beer he had ordered, he stood up once you disappeared amongst the crowd.

Without bothering to explain himself to the group, he simply followed you outside.

"Y/n." He called your name once he saw that you were already a bit far from the bar. In a couple of quick strides, Billy had gotten to you since you had slowed down.

"Go away, Billy." you didn't bother to look at him.

"Wait, wait," he said gently taking hold of your arm to get you to stop. And you did but stared at his hand on you until he dropped it and took a step back. "Look I'm sorry, I was an asshole." he apologised.

You only nodded to show him that you understood him but didn't offer any words to assure him that you forgave him.

"And I'm sorry you had to find out about Madani that way." He added hoping to make things right between you.

"Don't worry, it was actually an awakening for me." You added briefly looking at him. Tone harsh and unapologetic. You were still too mad at him to care about being considerate of your voice.

"Really?"

"Yeah, it made me realize that this," you gestured between the two of you, "was not working out for me."

"Oh really?" now the word had lost every tint of disbelief it had before. It was more like he was challenging you. Like he didn't quite believe you.

"Yes." you stood your ground pushing your shoulders back, "I figured out that I want more. And I know that I'm not going to get that from you."

"It was good while it lasted though," you called over your shoulders as you turned, ready to get the hell away from him. But the words he said though, made you halt on your feet.

"Who said you're not going to get that with me?"

"That would require feeling something for me other than lust, Billy." you snicked not fully turning around to face him, just your head.

"Who says I don't?"

"Madani, maybe?"

"She doesn't mean anything, y/n." He scoffed rolling his eyes.

"Of course you'd say something like this, Billy. Doesn't help though." As if him admitting to having meaningless sex with other women could help his case. Men. Fully done with this conversation you gave him one last look before turning away again.

"I know why you didn't eat those appetizers before." Again, after a few steps, his voice made you stop. This time, the implication of what he meant, sat heavily on your shoulders making you tense. Still, you didn't turn around.

That didn't deter him though.

"I know that you love them but they remind you of your grandfather. He used to make sure there would always be some of those at home whenever you went to visit him. And I know you haven't eaten them since-"

He stopped when your head whipping to him, eyes glaring.

He was right. You knew it, he knew it. But him strumentalising your beloved grandfather's death to get through to you? That was low, even for Billy.

Not only it called for you to acknowledge out loud that your grandfather wasn't there anymore but it also surprised you because you didn't think anyone would notice something so small.

"What are you saying, Billy?" Eyes glossy, like everything someone mentioned him, you tried your best to not let your voice waver.

"What I'm saying is that I care about you, y/n. I care enough to notice things. The tiniest details that you don't even know are there. Like that every time you're reading and something bad happens, you press your hand on your chest over your heart, as if you wanted to stop the pain from coming or something. Or that you always cook whenever you miss your family even if you never say it out loud. Or-"

"I get it Billy." you raised a hand to stop him. "You're observant. I knew that. That's basically what you do for a living. Not counting that you're a fucking sniper."

"Maybe," he conceded slowly taking a step in your direction, "I notice things, that's true. That doesn't mean that I store them in my mind, though."

"I care about you, y/n. A great deal. Enough to notice all the little things that make you you and enough to memorize them."

"I don't know if I can believe you, Billy. If you cared you wouldn't be going around sleeping with other women. And I know-" you added when you saw his mouth open to protest- " I know that technically we weren't together but still Billy. A technicality is not going to earn you my trust." Shrugging your shoulders you opted for being honest with him. You had never lied to him and you certainly weren't going to start now. Billy had never lied to you either, not that you were aware. And even if this thought should have reassured you, you were still hesitant about believing him.

"Then give me a chance to do so. Let me prove to you just how much I care about you and how little I care about everything else." He insisted, taking another step and then another until he was in front of you. Hands on your jaw, he delicately craned your neck so that your eyes could meet.

The height difference had always been a reason for jokes among you. It was no secret that Billy had a slight size kink, at least not to you, and so more often than not he'd use that.

Thumb slowly caressing your jaw, his eyes flickered between yours. They were full of hope, of promises but there was also a lot of vulnerability. Billy was not the type to be so forthcoming about his feelings. The fact that he had been with you, on a side street nonetheless, was a demonstration on its own.

Sighing, you knew you needed to decide. Yes, hearing Billy having sex with another woman had hurt you but you were not together. While that didn't make it hurt any less, it made the situation slightly less grave. He hadn't cheated on you, not really. You hadn't told him you wanted more. Hell, before that you didn't even know that you wanted more.

And now that you knew, now that he knew as well, here he was promising it to you. He wanted to give you exactly what you wanted. So could you really say no to him?

Of course not.

"Alright."

"Yeah?" a big smile grew on his face, his eyes twinkling in joy.

"Yeah, I'm going to give you a chance. Only one, Billy. So you better not mess this up." Poking his chest with a finger you warned him that this time around, things were going to be different.

"You're not going to regret that, babe." His eyes held a solemn promise. Just briefly though because soon, they were back to their usual mischief. Billy leaned to you, his lips meeting yours in a small kiss.

At first.

He kissed you soundly, his mouth perfectly on yours, building his tempo slowly. Then, you felt his tongue on your lower lip and you knew that things were about to escalate quickly.

Not that you minded of course, but it was not appropriate to do what you had in mind in the middle of the street.

"Billy," you moaned slightly leaning back to warn him that you couldn't get too carried away.

"Call that Jim guy," his mouth peppered small kisses along your jaw, "tell him that it's over. That he never stood a chance," he moved down on your neck.

"Yes."

"Let's go home so that I can show you how much more I can give you."His mouth had trailed back up and stopped so that it was hovering over your ear. His voice was low and breathy and husky and fuck it sent a wave of pleasure right in between your legs.

------

No sooner had you stepped over your threshold than Billy's hands were on you. The door barely closed, he pushed you against it. His hands cradled your face, effectively keeping you holding you in place while his mouth ravished you.

You gladly let him do as he pleased. Mouth opening to welcome his tongue while your hands gripped his jacket to keep you steady.

"Billy," you whimpered his name as his lips left yours. You tried to follow them by getting on your tiptoes but he didn't let you. Chuckling, he gave you another small kiss.

"Yes. Remember that it's me that it's making you feel this good. Me. Not Jim or whatever his name is, not anyone else. Me." He growled on your lips while one of his hands gripped the hair at the nape of your neck making you gasp.

Staring at his glowing dark pits you couldn't do anything other than nodding feverishly. You were at his mercy. Completely. And Billy knew that and it did nothing but please him to no end.

You'd always enjoyed whenever Billy was rough with you but him being jealous and kinda possessive too? Game changer.

Smirking at your reaction, his hands moved lower on your body until they hatched behind your knees pulling you up. Biting your lower lip, he swallowed your whimper for the friction once you wrapped your legs around his waist.

Billy didn't waste any more time, in quick long strides he was in your bedroom and threw you on the bed. You'd almost giggled when you bounced on it if it wasn't for the savage look in Billy's eyes.

Fuck, he looked so sexy. A sin.

For a moment, he just stared at you laid there waiting for him. A hand quickly wiped his face before he unbuckled his pants. Now it was your turn to stare at him. More like ogle but you knew he didn't mind.

Shedding his pants, he crawled over you until his face levelled yours.

"I'm going to give you exactly what you want. And then some more." He promised, nipping your earlobe. "You're never going to feel the need to look for other guys."

"There's no one else I'd rather be with, Billy."

Your hands trailed over his still clothed back before tangling his always perfectly styled hair. "Only you." You whispered in his ear.

If it wasn't for your hand on his back, you would have missed him tensing. "Say it again," he demanded, his head still in the crook of your neck.

"You're the only one I want, Billy." You repeated knowing fully well how he struggled with accepting love and affection. This meant to him just as much as it did to you. He was giving you the promise of commitment but so were you. And despite the fact that you had already been loyal to him, you knew how important it was for him to hear the words.

"There's no one else for me either, y/n. Never was, never will be." He raised his head to say this. It was a confirmation, yes, but it also felt so much more coming from him.

He had been telling you how much he cared about you since you left the bar but somehow, him saying it again now held more meaning.

"You promise?"

You felt childish and it was probably pathetic of you to ask him again. But this was you being vulnerable, letting him know that you needed him. And you trusted Billy.

"You're mine." He said instead. One of his hands coming to cradle the back of your head while the other closed around your right breast.

"And I'm yours."

And here it was, the promise, the reassurance you needed. His lips met yours in a bruising kiss. It was wet and more teeth and tongue than anything but it was passionate. You were claiming each other.

Not separating your lips, he used his hands to get rid of your clothes. While he unbuckled your pants, you took his shirt off. Him doing the same with yours while you pushed his brief down on his legs.

Once you were completely naked, Billy crawled back over you. His hands resting at the sides of your head. He was everywhere. You could feel him between your legs, your arms wrapped around his back, your vision field occupied by his beautiful face.

He was everywhere, he was everything.

"And now, I'm going to leave no room for doubt in your mind anymore." He whispered on your lips, his cock rubbing over your slit teasing you about what was to come.

You had asked him for a commitment and fuck if he didn't commit to it. All night long.

[la-fille-en-aiguilles]

Dog Tags

Billy Russo x Female!Reader

Request by @nebulastarr​ : Hey! Whenever requests open up again, could you do a Billy Russo x Reader where the reader liked Billy but doesn’t want to tell him because she thinks he won’t feel the same way

A/N: I was going to wait and get down to writing this once I was finished with my series... But this one has simply hit a little too close to home. I couldn’t stop thinking about it when I saw it and I ended up putting a lot of personal stuff in it so I’m sorry if it feels chaotic at times. Thank you for requesting, love, I hope it lives up to your expectations.    The Only Living Thing series will be back with its third part next week.  The song: Isak Danielson - Power

All you heard was an excited scream, that raised above all of the New York’s past-6-pm commotion, as a slender tall body smashed into you, locking you in a bone-crushing hug. You laughed happily, albeit feeling a little bit uncomfortable in Karen’s strong hold. You knew it didn’t seem that way, but Karen packed a wicked punch in those elegant arms of hers. Those self-defense sessions with Frankie boy that she’s been gushing about over the phone must have been finally paying off.

“Once I am done hugging you, I am so kicking your ass,” she breathed out into your hair as she squeezed you harder, as if reading your thoughts. “You’ve been ghosting me for what, a month now?”

You sighed guiltily as Karen pushed you slightly away, keeping her hands on your shoulders. You watched her as she studied your face, a creeping smile stinging at the corners of her mouth.

Grabbing one of her elbows, you groaned dramatically, pulling her towards the busy road. With your hands locked, you finally admitted:

“I did suck at communicating these past couple of weeks. Work’s been…. hectic”, the lie tasted bitter on your tongue, but this was the best explanation you’ve been able to come up with so far. “Please don’t kill me”.

Trying to keep up with your power walk, Karen let a bubbling laughter leave her lips.

“You’re not the one who should be worried then,” she gave you one of those bright trademark smiles of hers. “Next time I’m going to interview Russo, I’ll…”

You stuttered at her tirade as you walked, and of course it didn’t go by unnoticed. Karen was the best journalist you have ever met during your prominent career. She just sensed that sort of thing.

“I’m getting this ‘I-meant-to-tell-you-Karen-but-I-didn’t-and-now-you’ll-need-to-fight-it-out-of-me’ vibe”, she gave you a scrutinising look. “Want to maybe share whatever it is you’ve been not telling me before I go full interrogation mode on your plump backside?”

You rolled your eyes as you led her to a terrace-ringed Upper East Side high-rise, waving to the doorman through the glass doors. Jackson, a thirty-five year old ex-military with three kids and a labrador, gave you a brilliant smile as he hurried to open them for you.

“Good evening, Mrs Y/L/N!” He bowed his head in a stiff, very army-like manner. “A package arrived this afternoon for you, should I bring it up?”

From the corner of your eye, you caught Karen looking around, confusion written all over her face. You had a lot to catch up on.

“Don’t worry about it, Jax, just give it to me,” you didn’t mean to urge him, but you couldn’t wait to change out of your corporate attire into some comfortable old pyjamas and crack open a bottle of whiskey - that’s right, some habits did die hard. And to think you were a bubbles-kind of girl a year ago when you met him.

You could feel Karen’s blue eyes drill a hole in the back of your head as you took a small, envelope-sized package from Jackson’s hands.

It wasn’t until you both stepped into the elevator that Karen cleared her throat.

“When you said you’d rather have a girls’ night in, I asked Frank to pick me up from Queens, not from…here,” she spoke, her eyes skimming expensive red wood and mirrors. “Did you finally sleep with Russo and moved in with him?”

Whatever it was that Karen expected you to say to that, it definitely didn’t include you spitting out a roaring laugh, as you nearly dropped the package on the floor.

“Quite the opposite, actually,” you informed her after you finally restored your breath. “I left Anvil. And, well, Russo. At the end of last month”.

—

A half-bottle of whiskey for you and a bottle of white wine for Karen later, both of you were sprawled out on the lambskins thrown over the hardwood floor in your living room. Jazz music was seeping out of the speakers by the TV, a couple of Diptyque candles emitting a soft yellow glow.

You stared at the ceiling of your new living quarters, your mind a blur. As you folded your hands on your stomach, you felt Karen twitch as she bent her elbow and leaned her blond head on the palm of her hand, facing you.

“So let me get this straight,” she paused, narrowing her eyes. “After becoming the Forbes’ hottest CSO, concluding what can easily be described as deals of the century - especially the one with Anthony Stark aka Iron Man and his magnificent goatee…”

Involuntary, you giggled at this. This talk brought out some very dear memories that you wouldn’t trade for the world - the way Billy’s dark eyes shimmered in the dim lights of the opera house as he gave you a look that said you did it, ever the perfect team… Or the way he threw his arms around your frame, his long fingers sliding down your back… You knew you looked good in that dress, but the moment Billy saw you wearing it… You felt like the only girl in the world, the way his jaw dropped a tad, his lips opening up in awe…

Oookay, Y/N, can’t go there, your mind screamed at you as you wiped that dreamy smile off your face. Sitting down, you took your whiskey glass, and washed those memories away with a gulp of amber liquid.

Meanwhile, Karen ranted on.

“…you just quit?!”

She jumped to her feet all of the sudden, brushing her blond hair away from her face as she watched you excitedly.

“Jesus Christ, did Billy make a move?! He made a move on you, didn’t he?”

The urge to facepalm was fierce, almost overpowering, but you managed to resist. Slamming your empty glass against the floor harder than you intended, you gave her a bored look.

“No, Karen, why… Why in the world would you think that?” You sounded just a little short of desperate, so you cleared your throat. “I was his second-in-command, that wouldn’t have been appropriate…”

When you were done studying the flame, dancing within the glass walls of one of the nearby candles, you raised your eyes to meet Karen’s. She wore quite possibly the most blatant look of ‘you are shitting me’ on her face.  

“So you just quit?” she stared at you in disbelief, unblinking. “No explanations provided?”

“This wasn’t how it happened,” you said, hating the fact that you felt like you had to justify yourself. You brought your knees closer, hugging them tightly. “I…”

—

“…I’m here to see William Russo”. 


With a nonchalant gesture, you unbuttoned your Burberry coat, looking at a red-head secretary behind a desk that screamed power and status with every inch of its epic proportions.

Anvil was certainly new money. With all of those hedge funds injecting their cash into emerging companies, there was no shortage of these - entrepreneurial endeavours that didn’t last long.

You didn’t know that at the time, but you were going to make sure this one would.

“My name is Y/N Y/N/L,” you added, perching your sunglasses on top of your head. “He’s expecting me.”

The red-head gave you a polite smile before checking something on her Mac.

“Welcome, Miss Y/N/L,” she almost seemed shy, as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear before standing up. “Mr Russo is indeed waiting for you. If you would like to follow me, please”.

As the redhead led you through the training grounds, packed with fit men and women that looked like they walked straight outta Gym Shark ad, you did notice a couple of vagrant stares in your direction. You couldn’t blame them. You looked slightly out of place; more Vogue than the setting allowed for.

You quit your job as the COO of a global FinTech company just weeks ago, looking for a new challenge. It was an adventure of a lifetime, and while your ex-executive board had literally begged you to stay, once you’d decided something, no promise of a generous promotion could make you change your mind. While you absolutely loved your job, working for one of the most prominent online payment giants in the world, it felt like it was time for you to step down. Due to all the processes and wise investments you’d initiated, the company could make millions of profits without their CEO having so much as to lift a finger.

And you, well, you lived for the hustle. And that’s exactly what you were here for.

You still had your doubts about Anvil’s owner and acting CEO, though. William “Billy” Russo had already become a household name in the financial circles, albeit the company he was spearheading had little to do with the FinTech space. Some said he had the potential to succeed; others badmouthed him for being ruthless and balancing on the very edge of legal limits.

In short, the man had you intrigued. So the very moment he called and invited you to drop by Anvil to talk strategy, you knew you had to meet him.

See the beast for yourself, so to speak.

The first thing you noticed about William Russo as you walked into his office, spacious and entirely transparent, with its glass walls overlooking the training grounds, was experience, for the lack of a better word. It was etched into his every handsome feature, especially into his scruff strong-willed jaw. As he raised his gaze to meet yours upon the red-head’s announcement, his black eyes swallowing you whole, you realized no light reflected on their surface. There was a certain confidence to him as he raised from his chair, his white shirt straining some over his chest, long dark strands of hair falling onto his long eyelashes. This man meant business, as those black impenetrable eyes zeroed in on yours. He almost seemed too flawless - to spotless to be an ex-marine, stained with blood and murder.

All that Hallmark handsomeness was nothing but a cover.

Before William Russo had even got a chance to open his mouth, you were determined to find out what was lurking underneath.

“Mrs Y/L/N”, the hot-shot gave you a polite smile. “Thank you for coming”.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Russo”, you didn’t move an inch. He may have invited you for interview, but he wasn’t the only one with a long set of demands.

You briefly wondered if he knew that.

Before your thoughts could take you further, William Russo made his way to you, composed and calculated. He stopped by your side, albeit for a moment; rolling the sleeves of his shirt further up, he shot the red-head a charming smile (nothing like the one he gave you).

“Olivia, would you please bring a fresh pot of coffee to the conference room? Mrs Y/L/N and I have a lot to discuss”.

When he turned back to face you, you noted unconsciously that he was taller than you expected, the top of your head barely reaching his shoulders. The cool and composed look was back on his face as he motioned towards the doors.

“Would you like to follow me, Mrs…”

“Y/N”, you cut in with a slight raise of your chin. “I’d also prefer to call you William while I tear Anvil’s strategy down”.

His reaction didn’t disappoint. Some tension left his arms, his stung-up body relaxing just enough for a spark of mischief and curiosity flicker its way to his eyes’ surface.

A twinkle of a smile danced across his lips as he bit on the inside of his cheek, nodding ever so slightly in approval.

“It’s Billy”, he said, amusement echoing in his every word. "I don’t expect any leniency, Y/N”.

“Good”, you replied instantly, looking him straight into his eyes. “That’s not what I came here for”.

He nodded again.

And this time, there was liveliness in the quirk of his brow and a touch of insecurity in the corners of his mouth.

Now that was the man you could potentially work with.

—

Working with William Russo was anything but predictable. There were, however, certain patterns to his way of handling things. Whatever the trouble was, Billy was good at seeing the bigger picture - he was usually able to put things into perspective, but there were occasions when he refused to. You dare say that sometimes, you felt like he thought that money didn’t matter - like Anvil’s financial prosperity didn’t matter - as long as his team got not to risk their lives one extra time. You watched him turn down several lucrative deals that you’d busted your ass to put on his table, because it involved sending his men a little too far from home, in a place where he had no strings to pull whatsoever should anything go south. A part of you (the part that wasn’t frustrated as hell) admired him for that - it didn’t, however, stop you from disagreeing with him, time and again.

You may have never been to Iraq, and may have never known the horrors of sleeping with the bombs exploding a mere kilometer away, but you knew a game-changer when you saw it. There were risks involved, there was no arguing about that, but those were calculated, and those kind of deals could make Anvil jump straight to the top of the private military sector overnight.

William and you disagreed.

When William and you disagreed, no voice was raised, no blood was spilt, but Billy usually became distant, cold and just short of snappy when those conversations took place.


He only crossed the line once. 



You were three months into your job as Anvil’s Chief Strategy Officer when Mayhew happened.

The clock on your desk showed midnight as you paced in your office, on the phone with Rex Mayhew, the U.S. Ambassador in Cairo. A cat-and-mouse game between the Egyptian Armed Forces and the nefarious arms dealer group had become common knowledge since a week or so; the U.S. special forces got involved in the conflict when it’d been discovered that the arms were being transported onto American soil. Rex, an old friend from your Yale days, had let you in on the fact that General Richard Ravelin, in charge of the operation, was looking to reinforce his rangs with private military before “neutralising the threat”. This was a one-in-a-lifetime opportunity, with a potential governmental recognition in play… and Billy wanted to hear nothing of it.

You were exhausted and barely hanging in there; Billy was categorical and stubborn.

You’ve dropped the phone on your table promising Rex you were going to give him an answer in two hours, tops. Taking a deep breath, you walked out of your office, your bare feet thudding on the parquet floors of the corridor. When you reached Billy’s hideout, you found the man leaning against his desk with a glass of whiskey in his unnerved hand.

“Billy…” you spoke firmly, barely stepping through the doorway. “Rex…”

“Can go fuck himself”.

Oh, okay. No sugarcoating this. Alright.

You saw his lips barely touch the amber liquid as he slammed the glass against the surface of his desk.

“I said no, Y/N,” he wasn’t facing you anymore, leaning on his desk with his hands digging into the wood, his back tense. “Please just go home. Have a good night sleep. We will talk about this tomorrow.”

You could have sworn you felt your head starting to fume. This was the third time Billy Russo was shutting you down. For the third time he was making you feel like an incompetent fool when you were trying to do your goddamn job.

Why in hell would he hire you if whatever vision you had for Anvil didn’t match with his own?!

“You could at least say this to my face, Billy,” you spoke a bit harshly before you could stop yourself. “You know, to my tired and disappointed face, with a mouth that you have been shutting up every time it offers you a deal of the century”.

This sounded so much better in your head.  

“Why did you hire me?” you asked almost immediately, trying to soften the impact of the words that had already escaped. “If this isn’t the direction in which you want to take your company, maybe I should just…”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Y/N, just fucking leave already!” Billy snapped like a branch that’s been holding too much weight, the sound of it dry and final.

…maybe I should just rethink the entire plan.  

There was no point in finishing that sentence now, was there?

“I was there long before you came along, so I’d think I know a shitstorm in the making when I see one!” Billy was looking at you alright, brushing his hair back, his eyes black and void.

You had wished It would have been new to you - looking in William Russo’s eyes and not seeing him there. But it wasn’t. He was back to his Hallmark version of a man, but instead of playing a hero, he was now putting on his villain guise.

“Let’s get something straight here,” he leaned back on his desk, crossing his arms on his chest, his black eyes narrowed. “While you were making your way to the top of a rich-ass cookie-cutter FinTech company, I was crawling in the dirt in Iraq under a downpour of the Trident D5LE missiles. While the closest thing you’ve come to havin’ your hands dirty was bribing an investor or two, I was fucking beheadin’ people under the direction of the CIA,” his words were cold, measured and rhythmic, like a round of bullets being fired on a range. “You know nothing of what’s it like to be in the middle of that kind of shit show, princess, so when I fucking say no, you listen. Is that clear?”

Bark. Sit. Roll over.

“Crystal. Sir.”, you finally broke the heavy silence hanging in the air, just barely resisting the urge to salute him. “I’ll see myself out.”

Biting the inside of your cheek like your life depended on it, once you turned your back on him, your first thought was don’t you dare cry on his account, bitch and then almost right away wait at least until you’re home.

You could have sworn you heard William call your name in a stranded voice, but you made sure to slam the door somewhat hard as you left his office so you could pretend you didn’t hear him.

If you were to face him now, with all that power and toughness he exuded… You would never admit it, even to yourself, but you’d just end up on the floor, huddled into a shivering little ball.

—

You were grateful that the next day after the shit went down with Mayhew fell on a Friday. When you stumbled into your apartment in Queens at almost one in the morning, you immediately shot an email to the HR department asking for a day off. Once that’d been done, you dialled Rex to decline his offer to introduce Anvil to general Ravelin, washed the makeup off your face and crawled into bed, hugging the second pillow close to your chest.

You didn’t cry, if that’s what you’re wondering.

As you rolled out of bed in the morning at around 8 am, you took a shower and grabbed a coffee from the kitchen before settling behind your home office desk with a heavy head. When you opened up the Keynote presentation with your strategy outlined for the H1, you couldn’t help but steal a glance at the iPhone you left on your couch last night.

You weren’t going to check if you had any missing calls.

There was nothing you had left to say to each other.

…with your chest hollow, you powered up the screen. There were no missed calls and no new messages.

It all looked like you had another strategy to build now. If Billy Russo thought that calling you a rich-ass princess that knew nothing of the world, all butterflies and rainbows, was going to make you resign, then man, was he in for a surprise.

You once heard one of his men compare you to a military convoy, when the guy thought you weren’t listening.

He had no idea.

You spent the morning refilling you coffee cup and rebuilding your H1 plan from scratch. After about eleven calls with the people you knew could get you a foot in the door of the offices of some government officials, billionaires and generals, after typing, deleting and typing again for 5 hours straight, by 2pm you had a solid game plan. You were pretty sure it would still need some tweaking from Castle, who essentially held the role of the Chief Operating Officer, dispatching men and women on missions and planning operations, and, well, from Billy Russo.

The Badass-ex-Sniper-turned-CEO himself.    

You kept the email short and to-the-point, sending the document over to Russo with Castle on copy, saying you’d be in the office to debrief on Monday. 

Refusing to check whether your email’d been opened, you slammed your MacBook shut.

The rest of the day rolled on uneventfully. You grabbed a coffee with the People Culture Officer from your previous company, who also happened to be one of your dearest friends; then you picked up your dry cleaners and did some shopping, cracking for a pair of new shoes in Saks Fifth Avenue.

Shoes were, indeed, your weakness.

By the time you got home, the tired sun was yawning, stretching its rays in one last effort before rolling into bed. Humming a Dua Lipa song under your breath, you were putting your new Jimmy Choo’s away when you suddenly heard your phone ring.

You didn’t even have to look at it to know who it was. 

You checked the time, however, noticing is was two minutes after the official end of the working day.

“Hi, Y/N”, Billy spoke, clearing his throat. “Are you… Um… Any chance you’re available to meet tonight? I would really appreciate it if you could give me fifteen minutes of your time. Please.”

It sounded like the real Billy Russo was back around. Insecure. Rugged. Imperfect.

“Can you pick me up?” you asked softly, “I’ll text you my address. There’s a pizza place just around the corner, I could use a free slice”, you circled the cold coffee cup you left on the counter with your finger. “Free as in you’re paying, Russo”.

A laugh that came somewhere from within caressed your ear.

“Uh, yes, I’m actually… Yeah, thanks. I’m leaving the office now,” even if he tried to hide it, a shocked surprise still seeped through the cracks in between the vowels.

You chuckled silently at his reaction.

“Just one more thing,” you ventured, placing the cup in the sink and making your way to the balcony - your small piece of heaven with a wooden chair, pillows and lavender. As you stepped outside, you put oyour free hand on the railing, just to feel the coolness of it, the evening air and the gentle flower smell stroking your skin. “What kind of car should I be on the lookout for?”

Billy hesitated, biting his bottom lip, running his nervous fingers through the thick strands of dark hair. The setting sun was hitting him just from the right angle, making his sculpted cheeks look like they were made of marble.

“A Rolls Royce Wraith”, he squirmed, rubbing his forehead, probably realising how lame and pretentious it sounded. “I’ll call you once I’m downstairs”.

“Uh-huh”, you smirked, leaning on the railing with your forearms.

You saw Russo pinch the bridge of his nose, sinking his teeth into his bottom lip again. 

Your small balcony provided quite a view, when you really thought about it.

“Don’t take too long”, you couldn’t help it, it really was stronger than you. “I’m starving”.

With a wide grin, you dropped the call and went back into your apartment.

You were planning to make him wait for ten extra minutes when he would finally “arrive”.

Just for the hell of it.

—

“That’s a lot of hot sauce for one pizza”, Billy commented, watching you spray your truffles and cheese generously with the piquant olive oil.

You gave him a mischievous smile.

“What can I say,” you shrugged, leaning back in your chair and licking the tip of your finger after you swept a drop of it from the top of the bottle. “I like them hot”.

That startled a laugh out of Billy as he eyed you with something in his irises looking a lot like awe.

Just when he was about to speak, a servant brought a glass of red wine for him and bottle of sparkling water for you.

You thanked the guy with a sweet smile, while Billy eyed him a bit coldly, obviously waiting for him to leave.

When the waiter had finally made himself scarce, Billy softly called your name.

You raised your eyes to meet him, struggling as hell to keep your stare vacant. (Which was hard to do with some foreign tightness in your throat).

“Before we dig in and I hope spend a nice evening as two friends, getting together on a Friday night”, he didn’t even blink? Was he blinking? You couldn’t tell, his black eyes swallowing you whole, again. “I want to apologise. I was completely out of line… It was unacceptable. You don’t need my validation, of course, but I still want you to know that you are doing a terrific job at Anvil, taking us to the heights I never even thought existed. It’s just… It’s hard for me sometimes to be a good CEO and someone who promised to take care of my men at the same time… Everything is happening so fast, I’m afraid to lose my footing.”

You reached out for his hand across the table before you could stop yourself. You didn’t take it, but your fingers brushed his ever so slightly before you realized what you were just about to do. Your eyes widened as you looked at him, searching for a reaction. 

Billy remained perfectly still, not taking his eyes off you.

You grabbed a napkin next to his wrist, pretending this was what you had meant to do all along. 

“We’ll get there, Billy”, you said, a small encouraging smile blooming on your lips. “We just need some tweaking”.

You weren’t sure if you were talking about strategy at this point anymore.

—

You had a great time at dinner.

(And a whole-hearted laugh as Billy finished your remainders of the truffle pizza, downing a litre of water to numb down the burning sensation in his throat afterwards).  

You talked about your respective lives, your ex-colleagues, your hopes for the future… You dared think this who the real Billy Russo was.

And he was incredible.

After the two of you were done with dinner, you offered him to come upstairs to your place and go through the new strategy together. He didn’t hesitate, although you could swear you’d seen something ambiguous flash in the depths of his dark eyes before he nodded.

(You must have imagined it.)

The two of you ended up sprawled out on your soft faux fur carpet talking game plan, bouncing ideas off each other. You watched Billy frown, as he rubbed his mouth with his long fingers, smile in excitement and shake his head in awe when you voiced your ideas - you felt proud and appreciated, and you wouldn’t trade the sensation for anything in the world.

A couple of hours later the two of you had finally decided that it was enough brainstorming for one night, and you rose to your feet to go and make Billy a coffee before he got behind the wheel. As you pushed the start button on your coffee machine, you heard him speak over the noise.

“You know I’ve done four tours - three in Iraq and one in Afghanistan”, you popped your head up, only to see him play absentmindedly with something on his chest. “And every time I’m considering a mission for Anvil, I find myself back in there again… A part of a death squad.”

You carefully picked up his cup of coffee and made your way back to him. You didn’t say a word as you leaned lower to hand it over to him, encouraging him to go on. 

Billy thanked you in a whisper before clearing his throat.

“Every time I have to send them somewhere, especially overseas, I force myself to stop and think… Is this really worth it? Is a fat check really worth putting the lives of my men and women in danger? And most importantly - you may think it’s stupid…” he avoided your gaze, staring into his coffee cup, a miserable smile on his lips. “I think, will it make a difference? If one of them dies on a mission, I have to at least know they made a difference… it’s selfish and it’s more about the peace of my own mind, but it is what it is, you know?”

When he looked up at you, his eyes were full, full to the brim. There was so much emotion in them, hatred, misery, hope, adoration, all whipped in a wild mix that was Billy Russo’s dark, velvet eyes.

“I carry these at all times,” the fingers of his free hand dropped to his chest, as he got a hold of something hanging around his neck. A necklace? “When in doubt, I just look at them - they help me remember where I’ve been and what I’ve done - and I just know if it’s worth it or not. The answer is usually no, by the way”.

He smiled again, the curve of his lips looking less haunted this time, as he sipped on his coffee.

Dog tags. Those were Russo’s dog tags.

“So they’re your reminder that, even being a badass CEO of a private military company”, you couldn’t help but feel some kind of zero gravity settling in your lower stomach as you saw him chuckle at your words. “…you still have a heart”.  

“How poetic”, Billy teased you without missing a beat, putting the empty cup on the floor next to him. “But yeah. Sort of, I guess”.

As you fell asleep that night, you dreamed about explosions, piquant olive oil and holding Billy Russo’s dog tags in your hand.

—

The time flew by after that. In 8-month time (after some tweaking) Billy Russo and you became a team. It sometimes felt like nothing could stop you, as long as you were together.

It should not have come as a surprise that the two of you earned yourselves a catchy nickname - at first, it was spoken solely behind your backs, but soon enough it became some kind of a title, more powerful than that of the CEO or the CSO.

Anvil’s men and women (and especially Frank - the fact that he invented the nickname secretly tickled him pink) - were now calling you Bonnie and Clyde. The ultimate partners in crime, against all odds, doing the impossible.

The two of you also settled in an almost homely kind of routine. Ever since that Mayhew fiasco and the day that followed, Friday had become the non-spoken partners in crime day. What it meant in practice was exchanging Friday jokes on Anvil’s internal communications suite…

(Billy once attacked you with a “would you look at this, just found the actual footage of your interview @ Anvil”. Before you even got a chance to answer, he forwarded you a cheesy meme with two old women speaking to each other, one of them saying “We need someone who can do the job of two men”, and the other responding “oh, so it’s only a part-time job then”. When you shot him back a message asking whether he really considered himself an arthritic old woman, that seemed to have shut him up).

…grabbing a beer in a bar nearby…

(you sometimes invited your colleagues to join you, plus it was an unspoken rule that Frank and Karen were to be there as well)  

…you making fun of Billy Russo’s eating habits…

(It was honestly a nuisance to have a lunch with him. The list of things he refused to eat went on and on: no asian food, no food chain restaurants (even high-rated), no soups, no cheesecakes… He sure was settling well in that peaceful life he earned after spending all those tours living off canned food).

…and just overall enjoying each other’s company.

By the time the ninth month of your being Anvil’s CSO had rolled in, you couldn’t imagine not seeing Billy Russo every day. Not noticing him rolling his eyes at a smart-ass comment you or Frank made, or his orbs lighting up every time you told him the deal with that or this decision maker had gone through. You simply could not understand how you managed to live day in and day out, and think you were genuinely happy, before you actually met Billy. Everything before him just faded away somehow, your memories lost their colour and spike in comparison to the life you were living now. You kicked ass at your job, your career thrived, but most importantly, you were feeling like this was exactly where you were meant to be, braving the obstacles by Billy Russo’s side, knowing he would catch you should you fall.

He would, wouldn’t he?

It was your usual Friday night outing, the seven of you - Billy, Frank, Karen, Curtis, James from legal, Ashley from mine clearance and yourself - occupying your usual table at Whimsy, the bar that must have made 90% or their revenus off of Anvil’s folk. It was just around the corner from the headquarters, after all.  

The overall mood of the evening was rather nostalgic. It’d been four weeks since you’d lost a team member in a crossfire in Falluja, Iraq. After everything was said and done, his loss still hung heavy in the air, and it felt right to get one more drink in Jasper’s honour. The conversation flowed easily, even though the topics you’d spoken about were anything but.

“I remember how I felt when I lost Andy”, Ashley nursed her beer as she stared into the distance. “I just literally had the weight of the entire world on my shoulders, pinning me to the ground, I just couldn’t move on”, she finished her bottle in one go and motioned for the bartender to bring her another one. “Sometimes, I just ask myself, what would have I done if I’d known he was going to die the next day? Would I have stopped him from going? I think I would,” she thanked the bartender as he put the beer in front of her, her eyes a bit foggy. “Yeah, I definitely would have.”

Frank grasped Ashley’s shoulder and squeezed it hard in a comforting gesture; Karen gave her a tender look.

You didn’t know why your mind had gone there, but all of the sudden a memory of Billy sitting in his office chair, laughing his ass off at some offhand comment you’d made flashed before your eyes; it quickly got replaced by the recollection of his hand brushing against yours during the Zoom meeting you’ve had with general Warren Singer; then you remembered him putting his hand on the small of your back, staring daggers at some army brat wanting to join Anvil, eyeing you like a piece of meat (you learned later that day that the man’d been thrown out before having a chance to introduce himself); until finally, your brain stopped dead at the picture of Billy running his nervous fingers through his hair as he called you from his car, telling you he was only leaving the office.

What would you do if you knew he was going to die tomorrow?  

Your heart sunk at the thought as you gulped hard, ducking your head and staring at your hands folded in your lap.

A soft touch enveloping your elbow had you facing the man of the hour, his black eyes shimmering with concern.

“Are you okay?” he half-whispered, half-mouthed, not letting go of your hand.

No.

Nothing is okay, Billy.

I’m so happy that I met you, but you’re scaring the hell out of me.

I never wanted any form of eternity until now, I never saw the point…

So stay. Please, stay forever, and feel something for me, too.

“Yes. I’m fine,” you whispered back, staring into his eyes, hypnotised and helpless. You watched him turn away from you as if in slow motion, the warmth of his hand leaving nothing behind but emptiness in your bones.

“Here is to always telling the things that matter to the people who matter”, Billy spoke firmly, raising his beer. “Here’s to never missing a chance to open up to the people we love”.

Well, if this was his way of crossing the t's and putting the dots to the i’s regarding his feelings for you, he couldn’t have been clearer. 


As far as confessions of love went, this one was non-existent.

—

You tried, time and again, to convince yourself you had to go. You learned the hard way that your unrequited feelings were feeding on a sort of inadvertent parasitic relationship where every moment of your day depended on the level of Billy’s unintentional emotional indifference. Your days were spent questioning his every move - every look and every touch; until, the grown-ass woman that you were, you’d commanded yourself to stop second-guessing everything - stop feeling - and decided your best course of action would be… to work yourself into the ground.

If Billy ever noticed anything, he didn’t show it - your were still you, after all, working hard, laughing when he said something funny, calling him out on his bullshit when needed. He didn’t notice slight change in your eyes, when their icy surface cracked at every other compliment he threw in your direction (and there was no shortage of those). He didn’t realize the smile you gave him was different from those tightlipped signs of appreciation you gave to Anvil’s potential clients, he didn’t think twice about the reason for which you glowed around him, your every move softening, your every gesture emanating warmth.

Because Billy hadn’t really known you until you started to have feelings for him.

You knew this couldn’t go on forever. This entire situation was bound to result in some explosion of nuclear proportions, and then all hell would break loose. You needed to get yourself out of this situations, but you just… couldn’t. You couldn’t imagine your life without Billy Russo. You couldn’t leave him.

Even if being friends with him meant tearing yourself apart and suffering in silence. 



Long story short, you waited with fear in your bones for someone to walk into your life and to get you out. You’ve had no fight left in you to do it yourself.

Your salvation came in the form of a phone call on a Friday evening, when Billy was on a recruiting mission in California.

You were typing back a response to his cheeky message when the call cut in half-sentence.

Billy Russo: Please remind me to take you with me instead of Frank next time? He’s driving me insane trying to set me up with the ladies from the Organising Committee. Any ideas on how I can calm him the fuck down?

You: Sorry, Billy, but recruiting is out of my mission scope. As for the calm down part, try bondage maybe? :)

Billy Russo: I’m going to pretend you did not just suggest I engage in sexual practices with Frankie. Karen will have my balls.  

Billy Russo: But perhaps you’re right. Taking you with me is probably not a good idea. Wouldn’t want my new recruits’ brains to turn into mush because of how beautiful you are.

You: The flattery will….

“Hello? Y/N speaking”, you brought your phone close to your ear, your cheeks still a lovely shade of pink. If you were going to feel miserable when Billy came back, acting like nothing happened, you were sure going to make the best of that fuzzy feeling in your chest right now.

“Miss Y/N/L”, a smooth deep voice greeted you, and you could have sworn you’d heard it many times before. “I hope I’m not interrupting?”

Frowning in an attempt to remember, you urged:

“No, not at all. How can I help you?” you stared into the screen of your Mac, wheels turning in your head as you silently catalogued all the men you were in discussions with regarding a deal. “I didn’t catch your name…”

“Oh, how rude of me”, the man chuckled but there was no mockery in his voice, more like self-depreciation. “Tony Stark, from Stark Industries”.

Your mind went blank. Did you hear his last words correctly?

“Uh… Mr. Stark”, you quickly got a hold of yourself - well, as quickly as you could. “I appreciate you reaching out to me directly. What can Anvil do for you?”

You did a pretty bang-up job trying to mask your amazement with polite cheerfulness, and Stark had caught on that.

Tony Stark just called your cellphone number. What in the world?…

“We don’t really do alien invasions”.

Ohyourgod, did you just say it out loud?!

His uproarious laughter took you by surprise, reverberating through your entire body. It took every ounce of your self-control not to giggle in response.

“That’s a good one, I love it”, Stark finally said, restoring his breath. “And the better question would be, Y/N - can I call you Y/N? - what you can do for me”.

Before your brain could take you into some naughty direction, freaking Iron Man cleared his throat.

“Okay, this came out wrong,” he admitted with a sense of self-irony. “I um… I’m looking for the Co-Chief Executive Officer for Stark Industries. Well, Virginia Potts is actually looking for a Co-CEO, I’m just her errand boy. And my missions apparently include recruiting…. Anyway,” it was a bit of a challenge to follow Anthony Stark’s train of thought, but you were also still shocked, so that could explain it. “…I think you are the perfect fit for the job”.

You just stared into the screen front of you, your breathing barely audible.

“Mrs Potts and I would love it if you could swing by the A-Tower, let’s say, on Thursday? You’ll be surprised, but I can also whip up a mean cup of coffee…”

Say something.

Fucking hell.

Say something!…

“Thursday sounds great,” you blurted out without thinking. “Let me just shuffle my schedule around… I could stop by after lunch?”

 Your hands were slightly shaking as you clicked on your mouse, opening your schedule window.

“Whatever works for you, Y/N”, you could hear Stark smile. “Not to sound like a creep, but I’ve been following your career for quite a while now, and I think that the work you've done in such a short span of time for Anvil is outstanding, even though you still don’t offer protection from alien invasions”.

That made you chuckle, pushing you halfway out of your stupor.

“I’ll put that on the list of things for us to consider”, you promised.

"Tell Mr. Russo I sent my best,” Stark added, and you felt your heart drop to your stomach. “I actually might have some ideas for how we could collaborate. Let's discuss this on Thursday, too, shall we?”

After you said your goodbyes, you fell back in your chair, dropping your iPhone on the table.

You: The flattery will….

...get you nowhere.

You never finished that message, leaving Russo on Read.

—

Starting with that evening, things were moving fast - too fast for you to keep track.

After a three-hour long coffee and the tour of the A-Tower, Virginia Potts, the acting CEO of the Stark Industries, had offered you the job - just like that - and asked you to come back to her executive assistant should you wish to take the job, with your salary expectations and the information about your notice period. You thanked her for her time and promised to get back to her as soon as you made your decision.

Virginia Potts was a brilliant woman; but running a company like Stark Industries while being equipped with a vagina was certainly no walk in the park. Sexism was still very much present within the Boards of the Tech Businesses. You understood perfectly well why she wanted a woman in her corner - it would have been a massive slap in the Board’s face, but it was also about having someone to lean on, who just understood.

In any other circumstances you would have peed your pants in excitement. It was an opportunity to work for Stark Industries - no, scratch that - it was an opportunity to step in as a Stark Industries co-CEO. The idea of it still made you dizzy.

…but as you looked at Virginia’s email sent to your personal address thanking you for stopping by, your eyes were swimming with tears.

You weren’t ready to leave Billy. 
You just couldn’t. 
You couldn’t leave him. 

There was no epic finale to your story. There was no big revelation, no closure, no moment of relief, no acceptance, nothing. Only a fat-ass what if.

And you didn’t know how to let go of a what if with Billy Russo.

And that was exactly why you had to do it.

You heard Billy come in the next Monday earlier than usual. He was positively humming Usher’s Yeah! quietly as he made his way past your office’s doors straight into his own.

You took a deep breath, closing your eyes. You’ve been psyching yourself up during the entire weekend, telling yourself it wasn’t a big deal, we wouldn’t even flinch when you were going to tell him.

You had to tell him.

As you stood up from your chair, straightening you skirt with the palms of your hands, you suddenly heard the footsteps coming back in your direction. You froze in place like a deer in headlights when Billy swung open the door to your office, a box of Pierre Hermé macarons in his hands.

Your goddamn favorite Pierre Hermé macarons.

“You’re here!” Billy’s warm smile illuminated the room. “So much for a surprise, huh?”

He shook the box carefully in the air. You stared at it, dumbfounded, every single thought leaving you.

You couldn’t breathe.

In the hazy morning light seeping through the windows of your office, Billy looked beautiful and dissolute, shirt open at the collar, longer strands of dark hair falling into his eyes.

He was going to be the death of you. It really wasn’t fair.

“Billy, I have to tell you something.”

Was it you who spoke those words? They seemed distant and cold, so uncharacteristically detached.

Blood roared in your ears.

“What’s wrong?”

Billy’s reaction was instant. In three decisive steps he closed the distance that separated you, leaving the macarons on your desk. He stood still just mere inches away, and just like during your very first meeting, you had a fleeting thought cross your mind: you really were tiny next to him, the top of your head barely reaching his shoulders.

You bit the inside of your bottom lip, trying to keep your composure. He stared at you unblinking. He wasn’t touching you, but it felt like his eyes were looking straight into your soul, undressing you, blowing that wall you built around yourself into dust. They were taking you down, piece by piece, determined to see what you’d been keeping from him. 

Because, of course, he knew. He should have known something was going on. Hence the surprise this morning.

He had no idea what it was though.

“Maybe you should sit,” you said, making a physical effort to tear your eyes away from him, feigning sudden interest in the buttons of his shirt.



That chest…



…was going to be just fine. He didn’t feel the same way you did. He would just find someone else to fill your position. With brilliant women stalking him - in cooperative packs - that would not be a problem.

“You’re leaving, aren’t you”.

You squeezed your eyes shut as soon as his words reached your ears.

Fucking hell, you should have done that by phone. Or with other people around. You should have…

“You’re leaving”, you heard Billy repeat as his voice broke a little. He stepped away, burying his face in his hands as he dragged them down his jaw and neck, staring into the ceiling.

“Billy, listen, I…”

You were the one to close the space between the two of you this time, and before you could think too much into it… You threw your hands around his shoulders, burying your face in his neck.

The sensation struck you like a bolt of lightening when you felt his hands cross behind you back and pull you closer.

He smelled heavenly. Like a forest fire, a hint of smoke with oud and pine. You inhaled deep, deeper still, losing yourself in his comforting touch.

In his arms, just for a second there, you felt home.

“You… The company doesn’t need me anymore”, you nearly choked on words, screaming internally at yourself to keep the waterworks at bay. “It’s thriving, there’s not much else I can give you. My job here is done.”

I need to leave because your indifference is destroying me, and when I think I’m ready to let go, all it takes is one look from you, and I’m back to wanting you, to settling for anything you give me, like a goddamn fool.

“What the hell are you talking about, Y/N?!” Billy exclaimed, his hands grasping your shoulders as he distanced your bodies just enough for him to look into your eyes. “I nee- The company needs you! I was… You know, I was planning to make you the CEO of Anvil in a couple months time,” his smile, as earnest as it was, did not reach his eyes. “Yeah”, noticing your eyes go wide in shock,  he let his hands slide down your sides. “You’re so much better at it than I ever was. I was going to join Frank and just manage operations… under you”.

You just stared at him, dumbfounded, not feeling a stray tear escape your eye and rolling down your cheekbone.

“These are the tears of happiness, I hope”, Billy added, and you barely registered his touch as his thumb wiped the salty drop off. “Well, I guess Anvil will have to settle for the little old me. With my best girl going places."

You gave him a strained smile before you carefully wiped your cheeks, just taking a moment to look at him. To try and read him.

Billy Russo was a goddamn ceiling. Plain white, cool and unattainable. In all of your time working for him, you have never seen this Hallmark version of him before. Which one was it? 


Oh wait, you guessed you knew. The happy-for-you friend.

“So where are you going?” Billy asked, his eyes empty. “Who snatched you away from m- Anvil?”

The stutter was so subtle you barely noticed. You were finally tired of reading into shit.

“Stark Industries. I’ll be their co-CEO”.

—

Before you left Anvil you promised yourself you’d get the deal with Stark Industries up and running. There was no one in the world you trusted more in terms of security than Billy.

(The fact that you couldn’t keep your heart safe from him didn’t really count, did it?)

As a matter of fact, Billy and you were going to shake hands with Anthony Stark on the deal on your last night of being Anvil’s CSO. It was happening in The Metropolitan Opera and required both Billy and yourself to dress for the occasion. 

He promised to come pick you up at 6pm sharp; you were putting on the Jimmy Choo’s you’d bought a coulee months ago in Saks Fifth Avenue when you heard a low knock on your door.

Straightening up, you threw a quick glance at your reflection in the mirror. You decided to go with a long Marchesa black velvet gown with a rather deep V-line, a pair of long diamond earrings and an elegant half-up half-down hairdo, soft curls in the front framing your face.

“I’m coming”, you yelled out, picking up your leather jacket (because why the hell not) and your purse from the kitchen counter. Sharply opening the entrance door, you realized moments later that you didn’t even take time to prepare yourself for seeing William Russo in a tux.

If you weren’t already half in love with him, the sight before your eyes would have sealed the deal.

God-fucking-damn, like he needed any help being unforgettable.

With a black jacket thrown on a crisp white shirt with a couple of buttons undone and the tie hanging loosely around his neck, Billy was here to make a statement, to leave a mark. His hair was coiffed back in his usual style; honest to God, he looked like he just stepped out of the Man of the Year special GQ edition…

Just when your thoughts were about to switch to the way you must have looked next to him, ridiculous in your simplicity, like you refused to make an effort…

…Your eyes met his.

And the way he looked at you was so intense, his big black eyes with galaxies in them probing into yours, his strong jaw slack. There was beauty and tragedy reflecting in those orbs, but only just for a second - just for a second, he looked at you the way he probably looked at the sky he could never reach. Just for a second, he looked at you the way that made your heart beat twice as fast, like the world could crumble all around him and he still would not have blinked.

Would not have taken his eyes off you.

“Wow, Y/N, you look… You look beautiful”, he finally said. “I just can't spot a part of you that beats the other.”

Something in your chest exploded silently.

“Thank you, Billy,” you smiled at him - a genuine and happy smile, because you felt on top of the world with his adoring eyes on you. “You’re quite a catch yourself”.

Before you could scold yourself for your choice of words, you stepped out of your apartment and locked the door behind you.

“Shall we?” Billy offered his hand to you, without hesitation it seemed.

“We shall”, you replied instantly, slowly sliding your hand into the crook of his elbow.

And, just like always, you were going to enjoy it while it lasted.

—

The crowd in the opera was so posh, the looks all the women had been throwing you first made you question your choice of outfit. It’s after overhearing their conversations that you realized, the reason they stared daggers at you was the man that kept by your side no matter where you went.

Virginia and Anthony welcomed you at the buffet with sun-stained sincere smiles. After a short small talk, Anthony Stark informed you both that he had signed the contract earlier today, thus officially giving Anvil an exclusive security deal with Stark Industries. As of now, Anvil was the only company allowed on the Stark Industries’ premises in the quality of guards and protection officers.

The look Billy and you exchanged spoke volumes; while your eyes were sparkling with excitement though, screaming “we did it!!”, his bottomless black eyes were whispering “thanks to you”.

The four of you then shook hands and went through rounds of gratitude and appreciation; when a pleasant woman’s voice announced the imminent start of Onegin, inviting the guests to go to their seats. Virginia immediately took you hand, leading you straight into the Opera house, saying something about leaving men to finish their drinks. You threw Billy a laughing look over your shoulder, mouthing “come join me” before disappearing out of his sight.

“So on the scale of one to ten, how pissed at me are you, Mr. Russo?”

Billy turned his head sharply to a side, leaning on the high table, and spotted Anthony Stark himself, nursing a glass of whiskey. “For taking your queen away from you? Excuse the chess metaphor, but that woman”, Stark took a sip of his whiskey and savoured it before swallowing it down. “Is a goddamn queen.”

Billy chuckled, straightening up, digging his hands into the pockets of his trousers.

“That, she is,” he whispered, his eyes still piercing the spot in the crowd where your smiling face was mere minutes ago.

—

When the opera ended, both Billy and you couldn’t be more relieved - because both of you hated it with passion.

Exchanging meaningful glances in the dark during the singers’ performances now and then, you had to bite your tongue in order to not just ask Billy if you could maybe sneak out. Russo proved to be more stoic than you, carefully covering your hand with his in what was meant to be a comforting gesture.

You didn’t look at him once after that, afraid to say or do something that would make him remove his hand.

How much more pathetic could you get?  

When the performance was over, Billy led you out of the opera house without saying a word, his hand hugging carefully the small of your back.

His silence was unnerving. You didn’t know what to make of it. Should you have shaken his hand off back in the darkness of the concert hall? Or should you have caressed it with your thumb?

Your mind was spinning in circles by the time he opened the door for you and you slid into the front passenger seat of his Rolls goddamn Royce.

When he got in the car and gripped his steering wheel, you reached out and placed your hand on his whitening knuckles.

“Billy,” you spoke softly, barely audibly. “Is everything alright?”

“Yes,” he whispered back, turning his head to a side to face you. His black eyes stared into yours, looking hypnotised and helpless. “Everything is fine.”

It didn’t take a degree in Psychology to see that he was lying. You could feel his gaze on you as you turned away from him, taking your hand away at the same time.

Billy started the car. The revving engine filled the silence, loaded with the unsaid words.

—

“…he then walked me to my door, we exchanged our goodbyes. And that was it,” you finished lightly, looking back at Karen.

Her eyes were red as she stared at you, unblinking.

“Unbelievable…” she whispered. “So you never told him?…” her lips barely moved.

You sighed.

“Have you ever felt like you’re potentially in love with someone? Like, you don’t actually love him, you know you don’t, but one day you realise that you could? You realise just how easy it would be for you to fall in love with him? With all the teasing and the banter, the play hitting each other, calling each other names, just…. You start to pick up on little things - like if you listen closely, in every shut up, there’s a barely-there ring of I could love you.”

You shifted on the floor a little, and Karen watched your memories transport you somewhere else again. While physically your were here, in your apartment - with your fluttering eye-lashes, uneven breathing and loaded expression - mentally, you were somewhere else.

“….You probably don’t notice it at first, but your body is drawn to him. Every accidental or absentminded touch…” you continued quietly. “And there’s that twinkle in his eyes when he looks at you and it messes you up, because - what’s going on with you? What the hell does it even mean? Are you imagining shit? You’re trying to make sense.”



Karen didn’t interrupt, still staring at you as if she were seeing you for the first time

“I mean, he didn’t ask for any of it, you know?” you finally raised your foggy stare at Karen, as if searching for confirmation. “Maybe he just did something dumb one day, smiled at you or said something that seemed important and then all of the sudden you’re full on Looney Tunes, seeing stuff that isn’t there?”

Your words barely audible, you swallowed hard, before continuing.

“…I just kept looking at him with what ifs, and could haves, seeing all that goddamn potential. It’s so fucking twisted. Over-analyzing everything? Waiting for a sign?…” you chuckled bitterly all of the sudden. “…I was so fucking scared of reading too much into it, of crossing that line, because… It would be so easy!… Falling in love with him would have been so easy.”

Oh sweetheart, Karen’s eyes glowed with comfort as she reached out for your hand and squeezed it softly. But you already are in love with him. 



A loaded silence ripped through the air in your living room. The sound of an engine revving somewhere close squeezed its way through the slit of an opened window, and it seemed to break the trance.

Both Karen and you shuddered, and as you took in the realisation Karen’s eyes just bestowed upon you, you pinched the bridge of your nose.

“It’s pretty late,” Karen spoke up, reading you like an open book. She knew it was her cue to leave the stage. You needed time to process. “Frank is in a bar nearby with Curtis, let me just give him a call, okay, sweetheart?” she gave your hand one last reassuring squeeze. “You know where to find me when you need me”.

“Yes”, you responded, blinking tiredly. “Thank you so much for coming, Karen. I didn’t mean to unload on you like that…”

“Shut the hell up,” the blonde advised, raising her eyebrows. “But honestly, Y/N, please call me once you… come to terms with things, okay?”

You nodded.

When Karen left, leaving the sweet and pleasant smell of her perfume behind, you closed the door behind her and turned around, leaning on the cold wood and metal with your eyes closed.  

It’s been a month. This was supposed to pass by now. Billy was supposed to stop inviting himself into your dreams. You were supposed to heal.

You may have just realized you were in love with the man instead.

Letting out half a moan, half a groan, you peeled yourself from the door slowly, and brushed your hair back, wanting nothing more than to fall face-first into bed.

After you at least cleaned up a bit and put out the Dyptique candles, that is.

As your eyes scanned your living room in an attempt to asses the size of the job at hand, you stopped mid-way, zeroing in on the box Jax gave you earlier in the evening. It rested silently on the kitchen table.

Tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, you made your way to the kitchen area. Grabbing the package, you turned it around, looking for any indication of the sender.

The package wasn’t even stamped.

Curiosity getting the best of you, you took a moment to grab a knife from one of the drawers, and carefully swished it between the two cardboard sheets.

Flipping over the envelop, you heard something fall out of it before you could actually see it. A small sheet of paper floated in the air before falling on the surface, partially covering whatever fell out of the package.

Your heart squeezed the second your brain identified the object, attached to a worn silver chain.

With trembling fingers, you slid two metal pieces from under the paper, covering your mouth.

Finding their home in the palm of your hand, Billy’s dog tags shimmered in the dim candlelight.

Squeezing them in between your fingers, you grabbed the paper with your free hand, your eyes staring at one single sentence scribbled on its surface.

“You took my heart with you”.