#yep he is a captain and she is a lieutenant

[sunflowersteves]

another day, another dollar || b.b.

pairing || bradley “rooster” bradshaw x reader

summary || Is Rooster jealous that some random aviator won't stop looking at you? Definitely not.

author’s note || i'm so glad you guys enjoyed my last rooster fic!! i have so many ideas for rooster and i hope you guys enjoy this one! <3

warnings || jealousy, misogyny (not from rooster), fem!reader, some mention of violence, smut, oral sex, blowjob, praise kink, a little sub!bradley, [18+ only]

“Getting pretty busy, huh?” 

You turned your head around to the unfamiliar voice. You almost raised an eyebrow—he looked smug. “Yep.” You replied, short and sweet. 

You gave him a strained smile in hopes to keep up some customer service facade. You whirled back around to continue to pull the tap and fill up more beers.

He decided to talk to you again. “Think you can handle all this by yourself?”

At the Hard Deck on a buzzing Friday night, you were the only one tending to the bar. Ever since dusk peaked at seven-thirty in the evening, you had been busy refilling beers and taking orders—then occasionally ringing the bell when someone couldn’t pay their tab. 

Penny asked you for a favor when Amelia came home from school with a really bad case of the flu. You knew she felt bad enough leaving you alone on the busiest night of the weekend, but you didn’t mind. Not one bit. You had wished Amelia a speedy recovery. 

You were doing pretty well from the rush of Navy officers, lieutenants, captains, and everywhere in between asking for ales and lagers.

It had actually been somewhat fun chatting up conversations with people. Out of nowhere, though, this lanky twenty-something man stationed himself right in the front of the bar.

He had been staring at you for more than five minutes, and when you paid him no mind—since you were quite frankly busy with customers—he decided to strike up a mundane conversation. It was almost nauseating. 

When you had turned your head the first time, he had his elbow resting on the bar and twirled a pint of beer in his hand. He had a fresh face and flirty twinkling eyes that almost made you gag a little. You knew exactly what he was doing, and you weren’t interested. 

You could tell he was a Naval Aviator with the whole khaki color suit and hat on his head. You could also tell that by the looks of it that he’s new.

You didn’t spin back around, though, when he asked you that question. You didn’t want to give him any attention—hopefully, he will get the goddamn hint. 

“Think you can handle all this by yourself?” Gross. 

“I’ve been doing this for a while. I think I can handle it just fine.” You then turn to Coyote with the four beers he asked for—a genuine smile on your face. He thanked you kindly before sauntering back off to your group of friends by the pool table. 

“Really? I’ve never seen you in here before.” He locked eyes with yours before trailing down your figure and admiring the curves of your hips in tight jeans—a shudder of disgust ran through your body. “I would’ve remembered someone like you.”

Yeah, he was definitely new because if he saw the six-foot-four Top Gun aviator—the top one percent of fighter pilots in the world—that was glaring daggers into him, he would have shit his pants on the spot. You were sure he would never set foot in the Hard Deck again. 

You were Bradley’s, and Bradley was yours. Everyone in the vicinity of the bar knew that. You were always perched on his lap while he spread his skilled fingers across the piano. His arms were always wrapped around your waist as you destroyed Hangman in darts. You two practically couldn’t get your hands off of each other every second of the day. 

No one in their right mind would disturb the pure, raw love between the two of you.

Not tonight, though. Tonight, you were forced under the confinements of the bar area, giving this newbie the perfect opportunity to try and stake his claim.

“Maybe you’re the forgetful one, kid. I’m here every weekend.” You fought the urge to smile in victory when he gave an annoyed expression as the word kid left your mouth.

═ ��◦❦◦∘ ═

“You gonna do something, Rooster?”

His eyes never left your cute irritated face. He watched you give the guy a one-worded answer with a mundane expression. As much as he wanted to give you the kiss of a lifetime, he stood back. “No.”

With Bradley’s answer, Jake was even more amused. “No? I’m surprised. I’d figure by now you’d be trailing over to her like some lost little puppy.”

Bradley bit his cheek to keep from snapping back. He knew that Jake was just giving him shit. He knew that he was just trying to get him all riled up.

It’s what Jake does. But he couldn’t let anything get to him, or he would trail over to you like some lost puppy. Hangman was undoubtedly and stupidly right. 

Jake’s eyebrows raise in surprise at the brooding silence. He expected some little quip and then a smack upside the head from Phoenix right next to him.

Damn, this must be really grinding Bradley’s gears. Jake almost felt guilty for his friend sulking in the corner of the Hard Deck.

“Don’t let Bagman get to you, Rooster. He’s just jealous that your girlfriend rejected him first.”

Phoenix grinned with a teasing smile, and Jake just grumbled to himself. At that, Bradley snorted and shook his head. He was still silent, but his demeanor had at least changed. All of the pilots smiled at Rooster’s shoulders relaxing just a smidge. 

Bradley hated feeling jealous—the angry green monster that sprouted in his chest and sat home in his head was relentless in its hold on him.

His heart always throbbed in his chest, and anger bubbled through his veins when some guy or girl gave you a bashing smile and feather-light touches to your shoulder.

He always stayed silent—brooding—as he watched you from afar. He never wanted you to feel like he didn’t trust you because he did. Oh, he did. He trusts you more than anyone else in the room, and he flies life or death with some of them. He would follow you to the ends of the earth if you had asked him to.

He figured it is most likely some unresolved tension from the tragedies that have struck during his thirty-five years of life, and anyone that wanted to take you away from him burned a hole in his chest.

So, to combat these ingrained feelings, he sat idly by as that guy’s hips were attached to the bar and watched you dodge every single flirtatious glance and awkward pick-up line. He knew you could handle yourself, and there was a whole gaggle of naval aviators that would stop at nothing to make sure you were doing okay. 

“Need another beer?” A peace offering. Jake was already standing up from the bar stool and about to make his way over to you.

He nodded solemnly. “Thanks, Bagman.”

═ ∘◦❦◦∘ ═

You looked bored. You looked so absolutely uninterested in this guy still speaking to you, and now, he was over-explaining how F-18 engines work and fly. You were a mechanical engineer. You knew how plane engines work. 

You tried to tell him you did, but he was quick to interrupt to continue telling you about how F-18s have more than one-hundred thousand horsepower.

If you didn’t respect Penny’s establishment and reputation, he would’ve been thrown out of the bar by now. Typical men with their typical egos. Though now that you think about it, you’re sure Penny would have encouraged it. 

Your eyes locked with Jake’s, and your eyes lit up at the familiar face. Finally, someone you actually enjoy talking to. Not that you would ever tell Jake that. 

“Need savin’ over here, hot shot?” Jake had interrupted the aviator and ignored the very irritated look that was sent his way. It was almost like the guy was insinuating that he had caught you—that you were going to be his tonight. The feeling of possession he exuded made you want to gag again. 

Jake could tell you wanted this shift to be over as soon as possible. Your eyes glanced at the random man staring at you before turning your attention back onto Hangman. “Nothing I can’t handle. How many beers?” 

“Two, please.” Jake smiled—cocky little shit. “I think you should go talk to your boyfriend over there. He’s been stewin’ for quite a while.” He paused, eyes sliding over to the stranger. “I could even help ya with the bar.”

You turn around to fill up the empty glasses that he handed to you. “Don’t I know it, Bagman.” It was like the aviator that had been hitting on you all night had disappeared—though, you wish. Just you making drinks while your friends entertained you. It was nice for a moment, actually. “I’m due for a break soon enough.” 

Jake spoke too soon, though, because Bradley was already making his way over to the bar. He couldn’t help himself when he saw the guy stare straight at your ass and bite his lip. The action made his blood seethe with vexation, so his feet started walking before his brain caught up.

“Boyfriend?” The guy looks shocked. His eyes were wide as he stared at you. “What the fuck? I’ve been trying all night, and you didn’t say a fucking thing?”

You pursed your lips. Irritated. “I did.”

“Huh?”

Rooster stood tall near the bar, watching the scene before him. He studied the menacing glare you struck at the guy and a hand resting on your hip.

“I told you multiple times when you were talking about damn plane engines that I have a boyfriend—who’s a naval aviator by the way. I’ve made it crystal clear.”

He didn’t miss a beat. The stranger’s eyebrows were furrowed in rage. He stood up from the bar in an irate stance. “You’re a fucking bitch. Do you go around eye-fucking all the guy's then?” His eyes move over to Jake’s.

“You allow your slut to do this, man?”

You, Jake, and Bradley all froze. The whole bar dulls out into silence from his loud gestures, and all eyes are on you four now. 

The audacity of this kid to insult and degrade you when all you were doing was listening to this guy talk and talk. You gave clear signs of being uninterested. Clear. Not to mention he also had the sheer audacity to make a scene in Jake and Bradley’s presence.

“The fuck did you just say?” You were almost in his face as you leaned over the bar—a hard glare set on him with your fueled anger. The grip you had on the bar counter was starting to ache, but you didn’t care. 

“Tame your fucking girl, would you?” Jake’s hands clenched by his side at the comment.

Bradley’s chest heaved up and down, and he could feel the burning emotion consume his entire body and soul. His hands were almost trembling by his side as his thoughts of tearing this asshole to shreds simmered inside his head. 

The guy scoffed. He tried to turn around to leave but was met with Bradley’s hard chest. Clearly, he had no idea what was coming.

Bradley was sweet—a kind, gentle soul. He has picked you up from your lowest and drew you back up. He has told you things about himself that not even he understands. Bradley Bradshaw was a good man—one of the best, you would even argue. 

However, he had a temper. Call it the jet fuel that was practically injected into his veins, but when that temper was pushed to the brim because someone fucked with you? Yeah, they should hope to be six feet under before Bradley could get to them. 

Bradley towered over him, almost making the guy tower down. He was seeing red—fully unsaturated rage at the disrespect toward you. The guy tried to regain some confidence, oddly enough. “Move out of my way.”

Bradley didn’t move—he didn’t even blink. His jaw clenched and unclenched. His eyes bore into the stranger to assess him. His hand twitched at his side as if it was gearing up to make a move. 

“Apologize. Now.” His voice was deep—it was gruff and hollow that immediately went straight to your chest. He didn’t look like the Bradley you knew, the Bradley that would carry you for three miles from a sprained ankle.

This Bradley looked menacing. This Bradley looked deadly. And you weren’t going to lie, it was hot as fuck. 

“Who the fuck are you?”

Bradley’s eyes flashed with something you were unfamiliar with. He has been jealous before, yes, but it has mostly been the reassuring kind. This was pure seething rage. His eyes were almost red from the amount of anger that pulsated through his body. 

“Apologize.” Bradley breathes out, but his eyes are digging into the man in front of him. “Or I will rip your fucking kneecaps off.”

Jake stood tall—back stretched out as he watched the interaction. He would spot for Bradley any day, especially to assholes like this random guy. He wanted to be ready for anything that could come Bradley’s way. 

The guy opened his mouth but quickly snapped it shut as Bradley took a step closer if it was even possible. He almost dared him too—almost wanted him to so Bradley could get in some punches that this guy deserved. 

“I-I-I’m sorry.” The guy tried to take a step back but was met with the bar counter. “I didn’t mean—”

“Not me.” Rooster pointed directly at you. “Her.”

He spins around faster toward you than you had seen a person spin in your life. “I-I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

He looks up to your boyfriend for approval, but Bradley’s eyes locked with yours. You nodded as a signal to your boyfriend that you were okay—things were okay. All you wanted was for this guy to leave and Bradley to be by your side again. It’s all you could think about.

Bradley’s eyes retreated back to the stranger, and you could have sworn that the guy almost flinched. “If I ever see you in here again, I will not hesitate. Do you understand?”

The aviator nods vigorously and tries to ignore the deadly glare from Bradley. His hands picked at his sides in nervousness. “Do you understand?” Bradley repeats.

The aviator’s eyes widened. “Y-Yes. I understand.” 

Bradley’s posture somewhat succeeds back into a relaxed form, his eyes already returning back to you in comfort and warmth. Every tipsy person located in the bar had shouted in celebration for kicking out the guy that ruined all the fun. Coyote and Fanboy unkindly escorted him out of the bar and threw him out onto the sandy beach. “Don’t fucking come here again.”

In the bar, everything and everyone had gone back to normal. People started laughing and smiling once more—shoveling more drinks into their mouths. Some even started racking the balls on the pool table and throwing darts.

For you, though, you couldn’t take your eyes off of Bradley. 

He was on you in less than a second, taking two full strides around the bar in desperation. His hands gripped your hips harshly and his lips collided against your own. Your back bumps into the bar, which causes the bottles of booze to rattle against the glass. 

His tongue is shoved into your mouth, and he groans deeply at the taste of beer. His nose harshly bumps against your cheek—messy and harsh with every swallow and molding of your mouth.

You almost whined into him. “Bradley.” Your breath fanned up against his cheeks, and his knees felt so fucking weak for you.

His body starts to sloppily drag you away from the bar and into the back corner of the Hard Deck. His lips never once left yours in a fury to feel you—to be inside of you at any and all cost. His hands make their way down the back of your thighs, and you instinctively jump. Your legs wrap around his torso as he continues to walk backward.

Jake rolled his eyes. “Yeah, sure. Go fuck like bunnies. I’ll man the bar, I guess.” But there was a hint of a small smile on his face. Finally, you two could cut the shit and fawn over each other once again. 

═ ∘◦❦◦∘ ═

Bradley pulls you into the supply closet near the break room at the back of the bar. His back hits one of the shelves, and you could hear the sound of cleaning bottles falling onto the floor. 

Neither of you could stop your fluttering hands that followed each other’s curves. Bradley’s lips trailed down your jaw and neck, which left you breathless and aching for more. Your body feels hot—and elated—from his calloused fingers digging into the flesh on your stomach.

“Bradley, please.” He thinks he knows what you are begging for. He wants to taste you on his tongue. He wants you creaming into his mouth until you’re so dumb that you don’t even remember your own name. 

To his chagrin, though, you stop the trailing hand that is trying to make its way between your thighs. “I wanna taste you, Bradley. I wanna swallow your cum.”

His eyes widened. “Fuckin’ hell—” Bradley breathes out, fast and light. He watches you sink down onto your knees and clumsily drag his shorts to pool around his ankles.

You weren’t very graceful from your pure desperation to have his cock in your mouth. Bradley didn’t mind, though. 

His cock jumped from the sight and thought of you in such a state of yearning. “Pretty baby.” He whispered, but it sounded more like a whine. 

Your lips trailed kisses around his thighs. “Do you know how hot it was to see you almost lose your shit on that guy?” Your words slurred together from the intoxication of his broad muscles and lips that were sucked in between his teeth.

You pull down his boxers and almost drool from his ruddy tip dripping in pre-cum. You lightly graze your fingers across his shaft and your mouth waters from his shaft twitching. Your eyes flickered up to see his reaction, his hooded eyes watching you pump his cock.

“You had been watchin’ me all night, Roo. I could feel it.”

He licked his lips. “He-He—” He moans your name. “F-Fuck. He-He can’t take you. I–” God, you’re so hot from your lust-filled eyes racking over his hopelessly hard cock. He withers in your grasp, and he couldn't help but say your name over again. 

“Oh, Roo, no. He can’t take me, hmm?” You hum out the last part of the sentence so your mouth can gravitate to the bulging vein on the side of his cock. “I’m fucking yours, Roo. I’m yours.”

You swirl your tongue and suck your lips around his tip. His hands latch themselves into your hair, and he tugs and tugs. How is he already so close to the edge?

You’re barely touching him, but he feels like he’s on cloud nine, and the knot in his stomach twists and pulls.

“F-Fuck, pretty baby, yeah. You’re mine. You’re mine.” He repeats the saying as his hips involuntarily hump your mouth. You gag around him and his cock shoves further deep into your throat.

You want to guide him to a sweet release for being such a good partner to you. He is yours. He is your Bradley. 

“Oh, fuck–fuck baby, please. My fuckin’ girl—yeah, yeah, yeah.”

He lowly groans out—deep, guttural, and sultry—while his cum paints the inside of your mouth. Thick ropes shoot into your mouth, and the salty taste made you salivate even more. Your eyes watch his hung-open jaw and his eyes trailing down to watch you suck around his cock. 

You swallow all that he has to offer, and you moan out his name while still stuffed with his cock. His eyes widened slightly at the action, and his heart swirled in his chest. How did he get so lucky with you?

You go to stand up and pull his pants back up, but he catches your hands.

“Oh, pretty baby, you aren’t leaving me so soon, are you?” His palm rests below the back of your neck and pulls you into him. His breath fans up against your cheeks, and he presses sweet kisses on your jaw, working his way up to your temple. 

“Roo, if you don’t fuck me right this minute—”

He chuckled. “Don’t worry, pretty baby, we’re jus’ getting started.”

[zepskies]

Smoke Eater - Part 6

Pairing: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x F. Reader 

Summary: Dean Winchester is the cocky, but well-respected Lieutenant at Firehouse 25. He leads by example, but he’s also known to break a few hearts. He’s starting to crave something he’s never had, though. Something stable. Something real. 

That’s when he meets you, on a truly terrible day, trapped in a rickety old elevator.   

🔥 Series Masterlist

Word Count: 7,000 Tags/Warnings: Fluff, jealousy, angst, hurt/comfort

Part 6: “Just Casual”

A few days after the house fire that claimed the life of Paul Richardson, father of two, Chief Bobby Singer was joined in his office by Detectives Winchester and Novak, along with his resident Squad Captain and Truck Lieutenant, Benny and Dean.

“The Richardson fire has officially been determined an arson,” Bobby revealed.

“They found a time-delay incendiary device hidden in the attic. No fingerprints. But that’s not even the odd thing,” he said. “The medical examiner found a brand mark on his wrist that was inconsistent with his other burns. Which is why you’re here, I reckon.”

Bobby directed his gaze at both John and Cas, who didn’t look surprised to hear this news.

Dean raised a brow. His gaze shifted to his father, but John only met his stare for a moment before he answered Bobby’s unspoken question.

“We’ve been investigating a series of murders in the area over the past six months,” John said. “Each victim died in their home, with the same brand somewhere on their body. Typically the wrist, or the back of the neck.”

“So we officially have a serial killer turned arsonist on our hands,” Bobby concluded. His attention shifted to Benny and Dean. “Keep this close to the vest, but keep your eyes open.”

“Arsonists are hard to catch,” Dean said, looking to the detectives. “What do you know about this guy?”

Cas glanced at John. The older man could feel his stare, but had to ignore it for now.

“Not much as of yet,” John said. “Right now he’s a coil of smoke, if you’ll pardon the phrase. Our psychologist says he’s most likely a white male, statistically speaking. College educated, or at the very least intelligent, efficient, and so far, he thinks every step through. Like he said, no prints. But the brand is a message.”

“To who, and why, is what we’ve been trying to figure out,” Cas added. “We think that’s the key to pinpointing a suspect.”

“Really,” Dean said. He raised a brow and crossed his arms. “Six months, and that’s all you’ve got?”

“Dean,” John started, but the Lieutenant shook his head.

“Come on, Dad. I know you. Who is this guy?”

“Dean, this is the best I can give you right now, but believe me, we’re working on it,” John said, that tone that boded no further argument.

Bullshit, Dean wanted to shoot back. But he held his tongue for now. He knew that John wouldn’t budge. Instinct still told Dean that his father was holding something back though.

As the men filtered out of Bobby’s office, Dean held Cas back for a moment.

“Watch the old man’s back, all right,” Dean said. “He’s got a penchant for being reckless.”

Cas gave him a wry, pointed look. “I’m doing my best. Winchesters are a stubborn lot.” 

Dean smirked and walked out with him. Meg was headed inside, having just come in from an ambulance call. She smiled when she saw her boyfriend.

“Hey, lover,” she greeted. And she smacked his ass in front of God and the entire Rescue Squad, who liked to sit outside the firehouse and play cards at their table.

Ramirez and the others smirked and called out their customary whoops and cat calls. Dean smirked at the actual blushing discomfort that tightened up Cas’s face and shoulders.

“Dinner tonight at Casablanca’s, right?” Meg asked, unfazed by the catcalling peanut gallery.

“Right,” Cas said stiffly. But he still brushed her cheek with his thumb in affection. “See you later.”

“Yep,” she nodded, though she shot Dean a wry brow. “What? I stole your boyfriend. Get over it.”

She continued on her path back inside the firehouse, leaving Dean and Cas to stare after her in annoyance and begrudging fondness, respectively.

Dean turned to his friend and clapped him on the shoulder.

“Good luck and Godspeed, my friend. That woman’s fuckin’ terrifying.” 

Cas gave him a lazy salute as he walked away. He found that John had already started up their police car. He was in the driver’s seat, as always, with a hand resting casually on the steering wheel.

Dean typically sat in much the same way. Cas thought both men were more comfortable in a car than anywhere else in life. Except, maybe, the precinct and the firehouse.

Cas slid into the passenger seat and gave his partner a knowing look.

“I still think you should tell Sam and Dean what’s really happening here,” he said.

John looked over at him with an almost unreadable expression. But they had been partners for a few years now; long enough for Cas to get a read on the older veteran.

“I understand why you want to keep them out of this, but now this guy is starting fires. Here, in Dean’s district,” Cas pointed out. “Wouldn’t it be safer for him if he had clearer eyes walking into the next one?”

If, God forbid, something should go wrong on the next call Dean responded to, John would never forgive himself. Both he and Cas knew this, but John never answered his partner’s question. He didn’t want his sons getting their noses in this just yet, even if it meant the worry he saw in Dean’s eyes.

So he put the car in “drive” and peeled away from the firehouse.

Trying to match your schedule with Dean’s was a challenge you two were trying to figure out. Though you’d fallen into a pattern of talking on the phone to fill the void when you two couldn’t meet.

Even after almost two more weeks and a third date, you were pleasantly surprised that you and Dean still had plenty to talk about. You told him more about your childhood with your grandparents, while he told you funny stories about him and Sam growing up with their dad, though he was often gone while working on cases.

It was family friend and Fire Chief, Bobby Singer who looked after them whenever John couldn’t, or his old partner Jody Mills, or even Ellen Harvelle, owner of the Roadhouse.

The more you learned about Dean, the more invested you became. And he listened to you when you went on tangents about new recipes you wanted to try out (as long as he got to be your official Taste Tester).

You two argued, playfully and fervently, about music. And you’d been creating a list of old shows the other hadn’t seen, but absolutely needed to.

Dean had suggested Dukes of Hazzard, for example, while you suggested Smallville. You each only agreed to put up with this list if you two watched it together. (Needless to say, there would be some marathon binge watching in your future.)

You particularly took notice though, when Dean invited you to join him at the Roadhouse to meet Cas, one of his best friends, and his girlfriend Meg. You’d invited Andréa to come along, and even Dean’s friend Benny, who she’d also been seeing ever since that night at the Roadhouse.

Apparently, the couple had their own plans.

You tried not to feel some type of way about her brush-off, but your friend had been increasingly distant since she met Benny Lafitte. However, you supposed you couldn’t judge. You hadn’t been calling her as much either, ever since you met Dean.

You knew that if you kept dating him, some adjustments would have to come in your life. You also promised yourself that you’d never be someone who forgot your friends for a man…even for a man like Dean Winchester.

Tonight, however, you’d come directly from work to meet him at the bar. It made more sense than to make him come pick you up from your house, so you sat with a ginger ale while you waited. He’d promised you via text that he was on the way, just stuck in traffic.

Okay, drive safe. 😘 Don’t speed, please.

You knew how he liked floor the Impala with that damn lead foot of his.

No promises. 🏎️

You wanted to roll your eyes, but you were smiling unconsciously as you read his reply.

You were soon knocked out of your thoughts when a smooth voice said your name. You looked up and to your right, and there stood a familiar face. The man greeted you with an easy smile as he sat down next to you.

“I thought that was you,” he said. He reached out his hand and re-introduced himself. “Gordon Walker. Not sure if you remember me.”

“Oh, yes! Of course I do, Gordon,” you smiled and shook his hand.

“It’s good to see you again,” he said. His dark eyes subtly took you in from head to toe in your skirt, heels, and blouse. “Though I’ve gotta admit, I’ve never seen you here before.”

“Ah, right,” you said. “Well—”

Before you could explain, Gordon held up a finger as he noticed your drink of choice.

“Oh, wait a sec. Let me get you something stronger than soda,” he said. He started to flag down Jo, but you shook your head and made a cutting motion with your hand.

“Uh, no, that’s okay,” you said. “I’m waiting for someone.”

“What?” Gordon asked.

It was getting busy in the bar, making it loud enough that you could understand why he hadn’t heard you. You leaned over towards his ear.

“I’m good for now, thanks,” you said, raising your voice a bit. Gordon leaned in even closer and chanced resting a hand above your knee.

“You sure?” he asked. He gave you a smile that was all smooth sex appeal and confidence, without being arrogant.

It was undoubtedly attractive, but you were more shocked than charmed in your blush. You instinctively leaned back when you felt his hand on your thigh. Your hand clenched on the counter.

While your brain scrambled to figure out a response that would successfully remove it (without snapping rudely like you were itching to), a hand slipped along your lower back.

You jolted a bit in your seat with a flare of unease, until you turned your head and found Dean.

“Hey, baby,” he greeted, and dropped a kiss at your hairline. He also clapped a heavy hand on Gordon’s shoulder and squeezed. The other man graciously got the hint and leaned back, withdrawing his hand from your thigh.

“Hi,” you said, finally able to breathe a bit easier. You gave Dean a smile, and he returned it.

He looked over at his friend with a sharper smile. “Hey, Gord. How’s your night goin’?”

“Good.” Gordon nodded, now with a knowing gleam in his eye. “Though I’m sure your night’s gonna go better.”

You weren’t sure how to take that remark, considering the way Dean reacted with a tighter expression and pursed lips. Then, they flickered at a smile.

“Well, we’re meeting up with Meg and Cas in a minute. You should join us,” Dean said. Even though his tone wasn’t so very inviting. The two men seemed to have a wordless conversation between the lines that you couldn’t decipher.

Gordon shook his head, but raised his drink. “No worries, you guys hang. I’m leaving in a few.”

“All right. Let us know if you change your mind,” Dean said. He thumped Gordon once more on the back, more friendly this time.

Dean’s other hand slipped around your waist. He tapped you on the side.

“Come on, I’ve got us a table. It’s quieter,” he said.

You nodded and slid out of your seat. You offered Gordon a polite smile, even if you’d rather not.

“Have a good night,” you said.

The other man’s smile was less flirtatious and more polite this time as well.

“You too,” he said. 

Dean helped you onto your feet, like the gentleman he was, and he continued to lead you away from the bar with a hand on the small of your back. You instinctively pressed against his side to squeeze past the throng of patrons.

When you reached a high-top table in the corner, he pulled out your chair and held your hand as you climbed up in your skirt. You thanked him with a more genuine smile. Though once he was seated next to you, you leaned towards him and laid a hand on his arm, which rested on the table.

“I tried to tell him I was waiting for you. He took me by surprise,” you whispered.

Dean’s brows rose, but his face soon evened out with a smile. He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Don’t worry about it. He didn’t know about us,” he said. “He was shootin’ his shot…a bit aggressively. Sorry about that.”

“Oh…it’s okay. Nothing I haven’t dealt with before,” you replied. Though butterflies ran through your belly when you considered what us meant.

You noted his frown at what you’d said though, and so you aimed to change the subject.

“But Cas and Meg know, right?” you asked.

Dean nodded. His frown started to lift. “Yeah. Cas is one of my best friends. Meg is…well. She’s the little sister I wish I didn’t have.”

You shook your head in amusement. Then you let out a squeal as Dean hooked a foot around the leg of your chair and brought you closer. He stopped you from becoming too unbalanced by wrapping an arm around your waist. You clenched your hands into the open panels of his plaid shirt, and his charming smile greeted you.

“Hi,” he said.

You laughed. “Yeah, you mentioned that earlier.”

“Well, I’m doing it right this time,” he said. And he dipped down for a lingering kiss.

Across the bar was Jo Harvelle, doing her job behind the counter. She poured five shots in succession and doled them out to a party of frat bros without even looking.

Her eyes were drawn to the back corner of the bar, where you and Dean sat closely together, exchanging whispers and the occasional steamy kiss.

“Mind your business,” came Ellen’s whisper in her ear.

Jo whipped her head to glare softly at her mother, but she saw Ellen’s point. It was both obvious and pathetic of her to stare.

Despite the unease making her feel a bit sick to her stomach, Jo went over to Gordon down at the end. His sympathetic smile bothered her; she knew then she hadn’t just been caught by her mother.

“Interesting, isn’t it?” he remarked.

“What?” Jo said. She began wiping down his area of the counter. “Would it kill you to keep it in the glass?”

Gordon gave her an amused look as he sat back in his seat. His tumbler of whiskey was drained.

“Look, I’m sorry, all right?” he said.

Both of them knew he wasn’t apologizing for the spill.

Jo’s brows knitted together, mostly in annoyance. “Again, for what?”

“I know it’s gotta be hard to see him actually moving on,” he replied.

Her lips pursed, and her eyes darted to the back of the room again. She stared for a moment at the side of your face.

“Knowing him, whatever it is won’t last,” she muttered.

Gordon hissed at the "burn," with a deep chuckle. She knew her words weren’t kind, but it was how she felt.

“That may be,” he allowed. “But he’s not just chasing tail anymore. That’s what scares you.” 

Gordon dropped a nice tip for her next to his glass. He grabbed his coat off the back of his chair and left Jo with the churning in her gut.

Cas and Meg finally arrived a few minutes later.

Dean knew you’d been to the Roadhouse before, but this was different. You were meeting some of his friends, and he realized how much he wanted you to. He felt…comfortable around you. And he wanted his friends to know you, and to like you.

“As you know, Meg’s our Paramedic in Charge over at 25,” he began, gesturing at the woman as she got settled in her seat.

You admired her long brown hair, tall boots, and black leather jacket. She seemed to ooze confidence and dark charisma as she tossed you a smirk.

“Guilty,” she said.

You smiled back. Dean gestured at her boyfriend next, clad in a beige trench coat, slacks, and blazer.

“And Cas, who bravely suffers being my dad’s partner on the job.”

Cas nodded wryly at the introduction. His dark hair and blue eyes were striking, you could admit. His tie was loose and slightly rumpled. Along with the stubble coating his face, he was handsome, if a bit scruffy. It was hard for you to believe he’d earned the top scores his year in the Police Academy, but you supposed that looks could be deceiving.

“What’s that like?” you asked with a smirk. “From what I’ve heard about John Winchester, he sounds like he’s a bit of a hard-ass.”

Dean barked with a dry laugh. “An understatement.”

“He has a crab-like shell,” Cas agreed. “But he has a soft center where it counts, not unlike his sons.”

You turned to Dean with a more teasing smile. “Aww…”

He rolled his eyes, even though his arm, which had been draped across the back your chair, now dropped to curl around your waist.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever, Columbo,” he remarked at his blue-eyed friend.

Always had to get the last dig in, it seemed, but you couldn’t help but laugh a little along with Meg at Cas’s expense.

“You guys all seem really close,” you said. It was nice for you to see.

Dean shrugged like it was no big deal. Or rather, like it was commonplace.

“Well, maybe family ain’t just about blood,” he said.

Meg rolled her eyes. “Ugh. What a friggin’ sap.”

“You love it,” Dean grinned. She smiled, begrudgingly.

Family ain’t just about blood.

You liked that sentiment as well. It seemed to be true here. 

Even Ellen Harvelle treated Dean like a son when she came over to greet your table. She kissed his cheek and gave Meg and Cas’s shoulders a squeeze. Even you got a warm hand on your shoulder when she introduced herself.

“Welcome, hun. I understand it’s not your first time here, but if you got any questions on the menu, you let me know,” she said.

Dean shot you a conspiratorial smile, and it got you wondering what he was about to do.

“I mean, I don’t know why you don’t put the order in for chili fries the second you see me come through the door,” he teased. “Come on, Ellen. How long’ve I been coming here? Since before I had a license?”

Ellen narrowed her eyes and flicked the side of Dean’s head, regardless of his flinching protest.

“Don’t you go sayin’ that so damn loud,” she reproached. “You never drank underage at my bar.”

His eyes averted with a smile, in a way that told you Ellen was a damn liar. You bit your lip to try and hide your smile.

“Anyway, I’ll get your damn fries—”

“And a beer,” Dean interjected. She rolled her eyes.

“And a beer. Four?” she pointed at the rest of you, and you, Cas, and Meg nodded in agreement.

“All right, four beers. Anything else, darlin’?” She looked at you with a mother’s charm.

You looked up from the menu and unconsciously smiled.

“Um, sure. Can I get the chicken sandwich?”

She patted your shoulder. “You sure can.”

Ellen then took the rest of their orders without writing a thing down. You were impressed by her memory. At the end though, Dean didn’t let her go without a hand on her arm.

“Thanks, Ellen,” he said with a more sincere smile.

“A-huh,” she replied, with all due sarcasm. But there was a fondness in her eyes that was hard to miss when she playfully grabbed the back of his neck. “Knucklehead.”

A giggle escaped you, and Ellen tossed you a wink before she went to put in the orders and get the drinks.

Conversation flowed easier when the alcohol came. One beer became two, and even three (four, for Meg). By then, you were sure it was one beer too many for yourself, but you didn’t want to be the odd one out. You were mostly listening to the three of them bounce back and forth between reminiscing with old stories and roasting one another mercilessly.

It was hilarious and entertaining, but you were trying not to get caught in the crosshairs of the volleying. Inevitably though, Meg’s attention turned to you with a certain sly smile.

“You must be real special,” she remarked, gesturing at Dean. “He usually doesn’t bring his girls around here, where he actually likes to hang out. Guess that’d mean he’d have to see ‘em again with the lights on.”

You blinked in surprise.

“Meg,” Dean’s voice cut like a warning.

Your eyes widened as you took in the change, his deeper voice, his more serious gaze, versus Meg’s nonchalance. Even Cas gave her a chiding look.

“Not sure I want to know what that means,” you tried to joke.

But you could guess. It was fairly obvious.

You glanced over at Dean, whose lips pursed. Before either of you could say anything more, Meg chimed in.

“Oooh, is this gonna be your first fight?” she teased.

Dean’s brows furrowed with a glare. “That’s enough.”

“And that’s our cue,” Cas nodded. He’d already slipped out his wallet as soon as his girlfriend started talking. He left a generous few bills to cover their half of the night, plus tip, and got up out of his seat. He claimed his coat and then encouraged Meg off her chair.

“What? I’m not done with my beer,” she protested.

“I think you are,” Cas said.

Meg scoffed, but she allowed his manhandling as he wrapped a supportive arm around her waist.

“You’re not the boss of me, Clarence,” she snipped.

“Certainly not,” he agreed. “But you’re a lightweight. Time to go home, before you insult the entire bar.”

“You’re no fucking fair,” she groused, hitting his chest over his jacket. Cas leveled you and Dean with a long-suffering look of apology.

Dean waved him off with a “no sweat it” look and a shake of his head. Meg annoyed the shit out of him sometimes, especially when she was drunk. He turned to you with a sigh.

“Again, sorry about that. I didn’t think I’d have to apologize for my friends more than once tonight,” he said.

You shook your head. “It’s...okay. Overall, they were really fun.”

Dean scoffed. “I don’t think Cas has been called fun even once in his life.”

You smiled in amusement, but Meg’s words still swirled around in your head like heady wine.

“Dean,” you began, but your attempt to broach the issue was cut off by his cell phone ringing. He gave you an apologetic look and fished in his pocket for his phone. His brows rose when he saw the caller ID.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I gotta take this,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”

“Oh, okay—” You’d barely nodded when Dean was up and out of his chair, heading out of the bar. You could still see him through one of the faded glass doors as he held the phone up to his ear.

It was late, and quieter now. A blonde server came to take your plates, and you actually remembered her.

“Oh, hi! Jo, right?” you asked. She hesitated when you spoke, but she bobbed her head.

“That’s me,” she said. “Can I get you anything else?”

“No, I’m good. Thanks,” you said with a smile. “I met your mom. She’s really nice.”

Jo uttered a wry laugh as she stacked the plates and silverware. You helped her collect the silverware and empty beer bottles.

“Yeah, when you get her good side,” she replied. 

You smirked at that, remembering how Ellen snapped back and forth with Dean. You had no doubt that woman could be a pistol if you pissed her off.

“Well, it's nice here,” you admitted, once again taking stock of the décor. The music, the warm lighting, the good food… “It’s cozy.”

Jo’s smile quirked to one side as she paused.

“Well, it’s been in my family for three generations of Harvelles,” she said. “This was my father’s favorite place in the world.”

You caught the note of melancholy in her words, in her eyes.

“Was?” you echoed. She met your gaze and nodded.

“He was a firefighter,” she said. “He died on the job.”

You dimmed considerably. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

Jo only nodded.

“How did he…” Your curiosity got the best of you, but you soon shook your head and backtracked. “Never mind, you don’t have to explain.”

“It was a fire that wasn’t properly vented,” Jo answered your half-spoken question. Her blue eyes were heavier. “He got caught in an updraft…but he actually worked at Firehouse 25. He was their brother. That’s why this’ll always be their place.”

You processed that with a slow nod of wonder.

“It’s good that you and your mom will always have that support,” you said eventually. “Even though…it might be hard too, to always be reminded.”

Jo’s lips quirked again. “It’s more the first one, but…sometimes the second one. A lot of these guys have known me since I had braces. It’s hard to shake that perpetual little sister thing.”

You smiled at that. “Yeah, I’d imagine that gets old real quick. A bunch of over-protective older brothers.”

“Overbearing, more like,” she scoffed. You laughed.

Unconsciously, you glanced over to the front of the bar, where you saw Dean still on the phone. You remembered the second date you were meant to have, when he was late due to a five-car pileup his team responded to.

You remembered that night he called you for the first time, after a long day he didn’t want to tell you about. He’d let you distract him instead. All the while, it had you wondering what he’d seen. What he’d responded to that day.

Had it been another car accident? A fire? What made someone as upbeat and funny and smooth as Dean seem to lose all the life in his voice?

Though while you were lost in your thoughts, Jo was watching you.

Jealousy roiled inside her, unbidden. She didn’t want to hate you, because unlike the girls Dean usually messed around with, you had some self-respect. Jo heard Meg’s snide clips at you earlier, and no one could fake the surprise in your eyes. Unless you were just that good a damn actor…

But no, she didn’t get that vibe from you.

It didn’t mean she had to like you though. 

“You’re right to think twice,” Jo said, earning your attention back with a swivel of your head. “What Meg said…she wasn’t wrong. Dean’s broken a few hearts, if you catch my drift.”

Just a few well-placed words, Jo thought. She realized then that she had the power to twist the wrench here, widening the gap between you and Dean. Feed your doubts.

She didn’t have to feel bad about it if it was the truth.

And yet…she saw the way your gaze fell. The disappointment setting in, the anxious clench of your hands on the table. You glanced over at Dean again out of the corner of your eye.

Jo realized then just what she was doing, not just to Dean, but to herself.

You’re not some petty bitch, she dully reminded herself.

“But,” she found herself adding. You raised your gaze back to her. Jo let out a subtle breath.

“It’s not always his fault,” she admitted. And maybe she was speaking a bit too much from experience. “The job demands a lot from him.”

Slowly, you nodded. You looked pensive, but not like you’d made up your mind.

Fine, Jo thought, as she collected the dishes and left your table.

She didn’t know if she wanted to sway you one way or the other on taking a chance on Dean Winchester.   

While you were talking to Jo, Dean was taking his father’s unexpected call.

“Hey, Dad. What’s up?” he said.

“Hey, son. How are ya?” John’s voice was gruff and tired. Dean frowned to hear it.

“I’m good. I’m out right now, but did you need something?”

“Have you responded to any fires lately?”

“You mean like the Richardson fire?” Dean asked pointedly. “No, haven’t had one since. And no cattle prod brandings either.”

“All right, good. Just checking in.”

Good? Dean thought. John would be chomping at the bit for a new arson. If he was “just checking in,” then he was worried about something. Is he worried about me?

“What’s going on? Is there something I need to know?” Dean asked in suspicion. This was why he had taken the call. “Seriously, you can tell me. I’m not even gonna bitch at you like Sam does.”

John chuckled. But then he hesitated. Dean knew he’d hit on something.

“Dad?” he pressed.

John’s sigh was a heavy one. “Okay. What I’m about to tell you, you don’t fucking repeat. Not to anyone, you understand me? Not even your brother.”

Dean’s brows furrowed in trepidation. “Okay, fine. What the hell is it?”

“Richardson, the father of two?” John reminded. “He was a lawyer, linked to a money laundering scheme through a company called Stull Storage. It’s an old company, dates back to the seventies.”

“Okay…” 

As John continued to explain, the more confused Dean became… 

About 30 years ago, John Winchester had been a young, but promising officer in the Narcotics division. He’d married young, and by then was just barely clearing the five-year mark. Already he had the house he’d inherited from his wife’s parents, a four-year-old son, and a newborn.

Stull Storage’s units were used by a drug ring that John had been trying to infiltrate, undercover. Those units had stored cocaine, illegal weapons, and other flavors of contraband, mostly from South America (and back).

“We got close to breaking that case, once, but after the fire…I transferred out of Narcotics, as you know,” John said.

Dean knew the real story there. After his mom died, his father went into a spiral, trying to find whoever set that fire—even after the Fire Department found no evidence of arson. John had eventually been forced out of Narcotics. He requested Homicide.

As he’d told Dean once when he was extremely drunk: I seem to do better at my job when the bodies are already dead.

“Now I know that I was right about your mother’s death,” John said.

Dean released a shaky sigh. “Aw, man. Not this again, Dad. For Christ’s sake.”

“There was something wrong about that fire, Dean,” he said, raising his voice to be heard over Dean’s objections. “I just didn’t find the connection…until now.”

Dean muttered a curse under his breath. His gaze fell to the ground. Sam was usually the one who drew a hard line at hearing any more about their mom’s supposed murder, but now Dean had reached the end of his tether. It was too much.

He glanced back through the glass doors to make sure you were okay. He saw you talking to Jo, and he frowned at himself.

Here you were, waiting on him back in the bar, and his dad was calling him in the middle of the night, chasing ghosts again.

“Look…it’s been my whole damn life with this.” Dean held the phone to his ear with one hand, and rubbed at his forehead with the other. “I just can’t do this with you anymore.”    

“Dean, listen,” John urged. “You wanna know what I’m digging into, this is it. I got Mary’s file unsealed.”

Dean’s eyes widened. “What? Thought you couldn’t do that without new evidence and a court order.”

“Well, I’ve got the evidence…maybe I was a bit impatient with the court order.”

Dean rolled his eyes. His father liked to play a little fast and loose with the rules.

“At the time, the medical examiner dismissed it. She’d been burned…” John paused on a deeper breath. “But I saw it. Mary had a burn on her wrist. It was the same brand found on Richardson. On Jerry Stillwell, CPA. Amanda Waller, journalist. It’s all connected, Dean. How they’re connected to one another, I’m not sure yet. We’re still digging…but I do know this. Richardson was a message.”

Dean’s back hit the wall of the Roadhouse. His brows furrowed as he struggled to digest everything John was saying.

“A message?” he asked. “To who?”

“To me, I think. Those kids, and their mother…you got ‘em out alive, but they weren’t meant to,” John said, his voice sounding heavy. "The wife told me her husband was erratic when he got home, holding his wrist. He'd been burned before the fire. He wouldn't say what happened...then they smelled the goddamn smoke."

"Shit," Dean replied. He leaned heavily against the wall, pressing a hand to his forehead. There was an ache starting between his eyes.

“Yeah," John agreed. "The drug ring I was investigating, when I was in Narcotics. I was getting close. And I mean close. I was about to get the Big Kahuna. The kingpin of the whole operation…and then the house fire.”

Fuck. Dean wiped at his mouth anxiously as he realized what John was saying. Fuck.

“He burned me, Dean. He must have,” John said. Meaning, the drug lord he was trying to pin down somehow discovered his identity. “Your mom paid the price of that.”

“Who is this guy?” Dean asked. His hand holding the phone was starting to tremble.

“I still don’t know his real name. Workin’ on that one too,” John said. “But they called him Azazel.”

When Dean eventually hung up with his father and returned to you at the bar, he saw you brighten. But you soon dimmed with a tinge of worry. Something of his thoughts must’ve shown on his face.

Shit. He tried his best to school his features.

“Hey, sorry about that,” he said, grasping your shoulder. “I’ll take you home.”

“I met you here, remember?” you asked.

Dean paused, then shook his head. Get it together, asshole.

“Right," he said. "Well, I’ll walk you to your car. Let me just pay real quick.”

After he sorted out the bill (he didn’t know that you’d slipped in an extra $30 in Cas’s stack for your part), he led you out, saying goodbye to Ellen and Jo while you went.

You hesitated when the two of you got to the car. Something wasn’t right with him. And both Jo and Meg’s words still rolled back and forth through your head.

“Dean, are you okay? Who was it on the phone?” you asked.

“I’m fine. It was just my dad, called to have me take a look at his car. We were just arguing about our schedules…I’m sure you can relate,” he replied, trying at a smile.

You weren’t sure if you believed him. Though he was nearly convincing, he was also shifting on his feet, hands in his pockets. His gaze roamed away from yours, above your head and over your shoulder.

“Um, I might’ve had a beer too many,” you said with a half-chuckle. “Could you walk with me for a bit? Just until my head clears enough to drive.”

“I could take you home,” Dean offered.

“And leave my car here?” you asked. In a public parking lot behind a bar?

You shook your head and pointed down the road.

“Just there and back…but if you need to go, I guess I could just sit in my car for a while.”

Dean shook his head with a frown. He couldn’t tell you that a damn serial killer was on the loose.

“No, it’s okay,” he said. “It’s a relatively safe neighborhood, but not so much at night. Not by yourself.”

He laid a hand on your back to start walking with you, but his hand soon fell back to his side. You glanced at him, but he looked straight ahead, unusually quiet and reserved.

It felt like he was checking out of this night with you. Like he just wanted to usher you into the car and leave. Did he just not want to deal with what Meg said?

“You must be real special,” she remarked, gesturing at Dean. “He usually doesn’t bring his girls around here, where he actually likes to hang out. Guess that’d mean he’d have to see ‘em again with the lights on.”

Letting out a breath, you tried to see if you could broach the subject.

“It was nice to meet some more of your friends,” you said, and with a nervous laugh, “even if it did get awkward there at the end.”

Dean finally looked over at you.

“We never exactly talked about what each of us was looking for,” you said. “What we were really doing here.” 

You stood your ground, but you tried not to look censuring. Just open to whatever he might have to say. Even so, unease churned inside you.

Dean sighed and raked a hand through his hair. “Look, she wasn’t exactly wrong about me.”

You considered that with a nod, biting the inside of your lip.

“When was the last time you were in a relationship?” you asked. Dean gave a humorless huff of a laugh. This really was the last thing he wanted to get into tonight, but he had a feeling he had no choice.

“A few months ago, for about a minute,” he said. “But uh, before then…never.”

Together, you began to cross the street while the cars on either side waited at the red light. Pedestrians had the right of way for the next 30 seconds. You looked over at him and steeled yourself.

“Dean, is this is something casual for you?”

“Define casual,” he attempted to joke (or to deflect). Though the bravado fell the moment he saw that look on your face: tight and disappointed…and hurt.  

He reached for your hand, but you weren’t having it. You slipped away from him and continued walking at a more brusque clip, even in those platform heels.  

“Okay, hold on.” He quickly followed after you and tugged you back by the hand. It had you both stopping in the middle of the crosswalk.  

Dean squeezed your hand and peered into your eyes.

“Look, I’m sorry. Don’t close up on me,” he implored. “…Please.”

Despite your better judgment, and your pursed lips, you waited. Something told you this man didn’t often say please.

“The truth is, I’m trying to do something different here with you. I don’t think we would’ve made it to date #4 if we were just casual,” he said. “I’m not playing games either.”

You wanted to trust that he was serious. Once again, your mind and your heart were at odds; the former told you to be wary, while the latter told you to trust the earnestness in his eyes.

Your heart won. “Okay, Dean.”

“Yeah?” he asked, with hopeful brows raised.

“Yeah,” you nodded.

You finally smiled. And you leaned up, resting a hand against his chest, and pressed a kiss to his cheek. His stubble was coarse, but familiar against your lips.

Dean turned his head and leaned in for a proper kiss. His hands found the curve of your waist and brought you closer against his chest. You both sunk deeper into it, your lips gliding as your head tilted into the kiss…

Until a horn honked loudly, making you both jolt at the sound.

The streetlight was green, and several cars were waiting for you to cross. You snorted in amusement, leading Dean to grin down at you. He tugged you back into step with him across the street.

Again, you hesitated at your car. Dean was more himself as he’d held your hand all the way back.

He now held your car door open while you threw in your purse. But when you turned back to him, you still saw something brooding behind his eyes.

You drew near and grasped the open edges of his shirt. This man wore a lot of plaid when he was out of uniform, always with an undershirt. Tonight it was green plaid on gray, complete with some faded jeans and a pair of boots. This was the only “casual” way in which you wanted Dean.  

“Hey,” you started.

“Hmm?” he replied, holding you by your arms.

“I get that we haven’t known each other all that long. So you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to,” you said. “But did something happen when you stepped out? When you talked to your dad?”

Dean paused. His eyes, a pale green under the streetlamp, flicked to yours.

“I just want to know that you’re okay,” you said. “And if you’re not, that’s okay too.”

After a moment to blink in surprise, your earnestness got to him. His grip moved down your arms, and he took one of your hands. His dad’s warning echoed through his mind.

What I’m about to tell you, you don’t fucking repeat. Not to anyone, you understand me? Not even your brother.

Dean knew his dad didn’t make demands without a reason, even if he wasn’t typically so forthcoming with them. But Dean drew enough courage to be as honest as he could be. You deserved that much, after everything you'd put up with tonight.

“My mom died...when I was about four,” he said. “It was a house fire.”

Your eyes widened. All this time, you’d assumed his mother had passed away. You hadn’t expected that, though. You squeezed his hands.

“I’m so sorry,” you said, and you meant it. Dean just shook his head.

“It was ruled an accident. Really they just didn’t have much evidence either way,” he continued. “But uh, my dad’s been obsessed with the idea that it wasn’t. That someone started the fire on purpose… Well, today, he might’ve found his proof.”

He held your gaze for as long as he could, but in the end, he just couldn’t. His chest was tight. Saying those words out loud made them real, and he wasn’t sure of how to handle it.  

“Oh, Dean,” you said, starting and stopping, as you struggled to formulate a response that wasn’t just “I’m sorry,” or “Are you okay?” 

He clearly wasn’t. You also didn’t want to give him platitudes like, “That’s crazy,” or the ever-inspired: “Wow.” 

Or some other variation of what you’re supposed to say. You wanted to give him something honest. Something real. 

So you curled your hands around his arms, earning his gaze.

“You must be reeling right now,” you said. “Do you think he’s onto something this time?”  

“I don’t know what to think,” said Dean. “I’ve been pressing him for answers, but…honestly? I wish he hadn’t told me a damn thing.” 

You didn’t know what to say to that. You were surprised that he actually confided in you with this. But the only thing you could think to do was lean up on your toes and slip your arms around his neck. You hugged him, warm and tight. 

You couldn’t even imagine what he was feeling, but you just wanted him to know that someone was there for him. You were there for him. 

Dean eventually hugged you back. He held you, reassuring you as well as himself. He blew out a cathartic breath, and his hand came up to cup the back of your head. His lips tugged upwards.

“You’re a sweetheart, you know that?” he said. 

A smile spread across your face. Your fingers soothed through his hair gently. You pressed your lips into his neck.

“I aim to please,” you said against his skin.

Dean smiled more fully at that. The new warmth in his chest warred against the roiling in his stomach. Despite his best efforts, his smile faded.

His mom’s killer was still out there.

The thought was haunting his mind, and he knew it probably would for many nights to come.

So for now, he’d just hold you a bit tighter.

AN: 🥲 I honestly didn't mean it to end so angsty, but Dean finally got some much-needed hurt/comfort there! What did you think of how Jo handled her jealous side? And Gordon "shooting his shot" lol.

Coming soon in Part 7, we finally get to a huge milestone between these two lovebirds, with a side helping of baking shenanigans. 😏❤️‍🔥

Next Time:

“Ey, ey!” he raised a warning finger with his free hand. “You’re about to take this to a new level.”

You met his gaze through your lashes with a playful smile. “So?”

Dean raised a brow at you. He could admit, you had audacity. All he could do was call your bluff.

He took one of your battered fingers into his mouth. Your eyes widened at the feel of his soft tongue swirling around your finger, sucking it clean. All the while, his eyes never broke from yours.

Lord have mercy, you thought. Really, it was the only coherent one in your head.

Keep Reading: PART 7

Dean Winchester Masterlist

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[whohasthecards]

Hangman meets this Nick-Goose guy at the bar (not a joke)

Jake rested his chin on his cue stick as he stared curiously at the pair at the bar.

The famous Admiral Beau “Cyclone” Simpson and some skinny blonde guy were hanging around. He never knew that the Admiral could smile. Sure, the guy was fair and respected all around the base, but he was stoic. He shrugged and went back to his game. 

By the time he sunk the 8-ball in, he looked up and the Admiral was gone. He handed the cue stick  to the next guy about to play and went up to the bar, knocking on the counter.

“Ma’am, a cold beer, please,” He said flashing Penny a smile, she rolled his eyes and handed him his drink.

“Stop calling me, ma’am, I’m not your commanding officer, Lieutenant,” Penny grouched before smiling.

“Aye aye, Captain,” Jake said flashing a wink and Penny rolled her eyes in response.

“Damn, Pen, not checking IDs, you’re getting sloppy or soft,” The mystery man said and Jake turned to get a better look at him.

He blinked before realizing that Roo-Roo Bradshaw was somewhere in the Pacific Ocean and a good 30 years younger than the man.

“Shut up, Nick, he’s a grown aviator,” Penny sniped back, hitting the man with a towel as he batted it away.

“Damn straight,” Jake said, taking a sip of his beer.

“Ahhh, so you are getting soft, you’ve always been soft around aviators,” Nick said, giving Jake a wink.

Penny blushed and gave Nick another hit with a towel before another customer called her away.

“Piss her off enough and you’ll get thrown overboard, even if I gotta do it alone,” Hangman said, flashing Nick a sharp grin.

Nick gave a low whistle, “Damn, son, no wonder she’s soft on ya, you probably remind her of me and the boys back in the day.”

Jake frowned at that.

“Nevermind that, I’m Nick or Goose, choose what you want,” Nick, Goose, said, reaching out his hand to shake.

“Jake,” He replied, shaking his hand, looking the guy up and down, seeing the grey on his temples. “You used to be an aviator?”

“Old men, can’t be on active duty?”

“The Navy would be too busy worrying about paying for your back pain.”

Goose honked out a laugh that made his callsign make sense.

“I was a backseater, RIO, then after I left I became a civilian flight instructor,” Goose said. “Single-seater?”

“Yep,” Jake said, finally deciding to sit down beside the older man. “Lucky guess?”

It was Jake’s turn to be scrutinized as he was looked up and down, “Nah, I just know the type, do you prefer Jake or Hangman?”

Jake’s lip twitched down before he settled on a blank mask. He used to have no shame regarding his callsign, so who gives a shit if he misspelled a couple words here and there. Until.

“All you do is leave good men hanging! Goddamn executioner of your own squad!”

“Hangman! Smoke in the ai-”

“Lieutenant Jacob “Hangman” Seresin, you did everything you could, dismissed.”

He took a deep breath that was more shaky than he’ll ever admit, “Jake’s good,” he said, flashing a smirk as he took another sip of his drink.

The older man’s eyes softened and he gave Jake a small smile.

“How about you?” Jake asked, realizing it was polite to reciprocate the question.

“Eh, either is fine, they’re both the same to me,” Nick said, shrugging. 

“Doesn’t Goose remind you of the thrill of being in a jet?” Jake asked, swirling his beer bottle around. 

“Nah, reminds me more of hanging around the boys,” Nick replied. “Still see them, but it ain’t the same as it used to be. Plus, I think I’ve had enough excitement for this life,” Nick said chuckling, leaning back and both men wincing as they heard his spine crack.

“You’re showing your age, old man,” Jake muttered, looking at him worriedly, wondering if he was about to keel over. “You hangin’ in there, gramps?”

Nick chuckled, “Not that old, brat, I have a son your age. He’s 27.”

“How old do you think I am?” 

“Hmmm, 21?”

Jake squawked in offense, “You’re actin’ like this my second time drinkin’ or somethin’!”

Nick raised a brow at him, “Is it not?”

Jake glared at him and all Goose saw was the same pout on his son’s face when he withheld the cookies from him.

“ ‘M 23,” Jake muttered.

“See? Not that far off, no need to get your feathers all ruffled, birdy,” Nick said, honking out a laugh.

Jake grumbled, but Goose could see the smile behind the sip of the beer bottle.

—

“Mav, did the Navy bio-engineer you and Ice’s DNA to create a son we don’t know about?” 

Mav paused, looking at his phone to check if this was Goose he was talking to. “Not that I know off,” he said slowly. “Why?”

“Kid, tall, blond hair, green eyes, naval aviator, technical flying style with some of your style, has your social skills too,” Goose added the last part thoughtfully. 

“Is that a compliment to the kid or an insult?”

“....Anyways, you made sure you don’t have some kid we don’t know about, right? Because if you gave me a nephew and didn’t make me his godfather I will ground you, no jets for a month.”

“Let me check with Ice.”

—

“Hello my sweet-precious-baby-mini-me,” Goose crowed to the phone as his son groaned on the other line.

“Dad, I am taller and bigger than you.”

“You still get your good looks from me, honey, how’s the deployment going?”

“The other pilots are shitheads, the amount of ego here is astounding.”

“Naval aviators,” Goose said, shrugging before realizing his son can’t see that. “There’s never a shortage of ego, say these pilots are younger than you?”

“Some of them are, some of them are older,” Bradley said slowly, wondering where this conversation was going.

“Good, you’ll have enough practice then.”

“Practice!? Practice for what!? Dad?”

“All good things come to those who wait, Brad-Brad.”

—

Hey gramps, I’m being’ deployed to Top Gun, Hard Deck?

Sure, Jakey

—

Gramps flew with pops? Goose and Maverick ejected. Goose got an honorable discharge. Holy shit.

Bradshaw was Nick’s son?

Is that why he was angry?

—

Hangman was face to face with Bradshaw, anger coursing through his veins. Doesn’t he understand? If they couldn’t fly like Maverick, they would all end up dead. Dead. 

Is he angry because of hop 31? Pissed on behalf of his Dad? But, Nick wasn’t angry at Pete, right?

You can find out.

“Come on, take a walk with me, son.”

No. Nick doesn’t deserve that.

“You have a family Bradshaw,” Jake said slowly, watching as Bradshaw’s hackles raised up even higher.

“Yeah, kid is simultaneously too hesitant and reckless at the same time, and I thought my wingman is the reason I’m gray…”

“You’re almost 60 gramps, that’s the reason why you’re gray.”

“Don’t let them lose you because you can’t think straight. Feelings ain’t matter here, not if you want to live,” Jake gritted out, shoulder checking the other man as he left the room.

—

They’re alive.

He saved them.

Thank fucking god because in all the hours he spent on stand-by in his jet, he still didn’t know what the fuck to say to Nick if he came back, but his brother and son didn’t.

A selfish part of him wondered if Nick would still care if they both died.

Probably not. Thank god he wasn’t a complete fuck up.

—

The celebration died down and he was walking back from his long-ass debrief. Getting reamed for launching without orders.

He felt his phone ping with a text.

Come over for dinner when you’re onshore.

Jake gave a small smile at that as he sent back a reply.

—

“Hangman! Hangman! Lieutenant Seresin! Jake!” 

It was the inverted version of Mav calling out for Rooster during that first day in the tarmac. Except Jake was already turning around once Mav said Lieutenant.

“Jesus, Mav, calm down, I hear ya, I ain’t goin’ anywhere yet, pops,” Jake said, raising his hands up as he flicked his toothpick to the side of his mouth. “Don’t stretch your legs too far tryin’ to keep up with me,'' Jake said, smirking.

Mav rolled his eyes upwards as he put his hands on his hips, as if asking god for patience. Heh. 

“I wasn’t able to talk to you one-on-one after the mission, kid, how are you?” Mav said, eyes softening as he looked at Jake up and down.

Jake felt self-conscious, as he straightened up instinctively, which was dumb because surely Mav wouldn’t notice that he was eating less. That he felt more tired each day. That he doesn’t know what kind of man he is.

“I’m fine, Mav, just thinking,” is all Jake could say.

“Don’t think too hard, kid, you might hurt yourself,” Mav said, giving Jake a smile, but there’s a glint in his eye that told him he meant it.

Mav’s an ace.

“Do you think about it, often?” Jake blurted out.

Mav furrowed his brow, “Think about what?”

Killing people.

No, not now.

“Nothing, nothing, sorry, pops, long day, just thinkin’ about how much the big bosses lectures on and on and on,” Hangman said, cringing at the babbling he just did.

Mav frowned, looking unconvinced, but gave a grin when command’s lectures were brought up, “I just learned to tune it out and forget. After you hear the first one, it all sounds the same, anyways.”

Jake barked a laugh at that, “You’re a menace, Mav.”

Mav grinned at Jake’s laugh, shoulders relaxing as if a weight was lifted off his shoulders.

“Anyways, I’m here to ask if you’re free tonight? My family and I are having dinner together and I want you to join in,” Mav said. “Some of the other Daggers will be there.”

He felt a pang of regret when he realized he’d have to decline, and it must have shown on his face, when Mav gave an understanding smile.

“Have plans, already, huh?”

“Yeah, a,” grandpa, family, mentor, father-figure-, “friend invited me for dinner, I haven’t seen him in a while, and yeah. I wanna hang out with ya pops and the squad, cross my heart, it’s just that I already got plans, and-”

Mav cut him off with a chuckle, “I get it, kid, don’t work yourself up, there will always be next time. Just promise me I won’t have to bail you out of jail tonight and you have fun.”

Jail with Nick? What a joke.

“Aye, Aye, Captain!” Jake said, giving Mav a salute, smirking as Mav shooed him away.

“Yeah, yeah, go on, brat, don’t cause trouble, you hear me!?”

“As if you can talk.”

—

Jake took a deep breath as he turned off the ignition of his truck, grabbing the beers he brought. He ain’t gonna come to a dinner empty handed, and Nick was more of a beer guy, rather than a wine guy.

He went up to the door and knocked.

“Hangman?”

“Mav?” Jake said, blinking his eyes in shock.

“Jakey! You made it, kiddo,” Nick greeted warmly, gently pushing Mav away to envelop Jake in a tight hug. Jake closed his eyes and leaned in, burying his eyes on the older man’s shoulder, trying to reciprocate the hug despite his hands being full.

“Here, let me take that from you, buddy, and you two can catch up for a little bit,” Mav said when Jake pulled away from the hug, taking the beer from his hands.

“It’s okay, pops–”

“How come Mav gets pops, but you call me gramps?” Nick said, pouting as he slung an arm around Jake’s shoulder.

“Because,” Jake said dumbly, still a bit shock at seeing Mav.

“Ahh forgot to tell ya I invited my former wingman, Mav and of course you’ve heard of my son, Brad-Brad,” Nick said leading Jake to the kitchen. “Some other guys will be coming, later, some of them are part of Mav’s squad.”

“We’re well-acquainted Goose, heck, the kid even told me he couldn’t come to hangout with us because he had plans with a friend,” Mav said grinning at the two of them.

“Awwww, so you do see me as a friend, huh, Jakey?” Goose cooed, ruffling Jake’s hair as Jake pushed him away.

“I didn’t know you were invitin’ me to the thing I was already invited to!” Jake protested, blushing.

“Hey Dad, where’s the— holy shit, Hangman, you came?” Bradshaw Jr. said, walking into the kitchen. “Mav said you said no, did something happen?” Rooster asked, furrowing his brow.

Jake finally had a side by side view of the two Bradshaw’s. Definitely related. Should have figured that out years ago. 

“Ohhh good that you’re here Brad, here’s the baby brother I promised you years ago,” Nick said, steering Jake by the shoulders to push him towards Bradley. “You’ll love him, play nice, okay?”

“That is a pain in my ass, grown-ass man,” Bradley said, blinking slowly as if he couldn’t understand what was happening. “How the hell did you two even meet?”

“Oh, I found him in a bar acting like a mixture of Mav and Ice and I just gotta keep him,” Nick said casually.

“Baby brother-?”

“Congratulations, you’re adopted, kid,” Mav said, taking a sip of his beer. “Wait til Ice sees you.”

“Ice?”

“Iceman,” Nick said. “Tom-Tom, Tommy, Tomcat, you will probably be calling him gramps.”

“I am not calling the COMPACFLT, gramps,” Jake said, jaw-dropping.

“No, you will be calling my brother, gramps, Jakey, plus they already expect it, they have heard many stories about you.”

“You talk about me to the Iceman!?” Jake said, his pitch rising an octave.

“And me, and everyone else, I was wondering why I haven’t heard about this aviator kid Goose here was talking about, started thinking he adopted an air force kid or something,” Mav said grinning. “He only really called you Jakey.”

“Or Jake-Jake, Jay, Baby J –” Bradley started, smirking at a flushing Jake.

“THAT’s enough,” Jake said, pushing at Bradley to cut him off, but Bradley just laughed.

“Boys enough. Bradley, stop teasing your brother. Jakey, no pushing,” Goose said wagging a finger at them.

“Yeah, yeah, dad,” Bradley said, rolling his eyes.

“Also, we need to make a custody contract, Goose, I want partial custody of these two,” Mav said looking way too serious as he pulled out a pen and a piece of paper.

“We need to wait for the other boys to show up first, I have a feeling Cyclone or Iceman would be calling dibs,” Goose said grinning.

“What?” Jake said, confused.

“It means, you’re stuck with us now, Jake-Jake,” Bradley said, ruffling the blond’s hair.

—

“You named your kid, Bradley Bradshaw?”

“I wanted a little Brad-Brad.”

[miss-oranje-disco-dancer]

take your fast car and keep on driving

pairing: fem! leon kennedy (aka leah) x reader

cw: wlw, use of homophobic slurs, obscure resident evil characters (no, i did not just make all of those names up), angst, light smut, forbidden love, secret relationship.

summary: you are a rookie in the rpd, and so is leah (re2r leon but as a woman). you like her but you know you shouldn't pursue a relationship because this is 1998 and you're the cops.

a/n: this is a commission for @porcelainseashore! also, the title is a line from fast car by tracy chapman bc i like to cry to that song (and she's a (presumed to be) queer woman so it seemed to fit).

wc: 5.3k

taglist:

@rigorwhoring

@dilfprayers

@porcelainseashore

@dollita-fawn

@xoxoloveless

@admirxation

@pawrincss

Leah. You've never met anyone quite like her before.

Like you, she's new to the force, fresh out of the police academy. It's the first thing you bond over.

In the break room, she gives you a soft smile while she lingers by the kitchen counter, waiting for her instant coffee to finish brewing. The gurgling of the machine fills the brief silence between you.

"It's your first day too, right?" she says after you attempt a "hey" that comes out as nothing but a heavy exhale.

"Yep." It's all you can come up with.

"You seem nervous."

"A little. You know, don't wanna fuck anything up on my first day." Like this conversation. You keep the last part to yourself.

"Don't worry. It took me like three tries to get the buttons straight on this shirt. Jill- Officer Valentine had to help me fix it."

And somehow you're jealous. Leah seems to have no trouble making friends since she's already getting chummy with a STARS member. You'll be relegated to the losers club while she gets to sit at the cool girls table - if there is such a thing.

Most of your colleagues are men. Lieutenant Marvin Branaugh, your direct superior seems nice enough, Chief Brian Irons is a bit off-putting, though. And the STARS members: Officers Jill Valentine, Chris Redfield, Brad Vickers, Richard Aiken, Rebecca Chambers - and of course, Captain Wesker, who reminds you of a cartoon villain in the way he carries himself. Most of them are relatively nice to you. Jill has a hardened exterior but a soft heart; Chris is a typical jock and a natural leader; Brad is a bit of a knucklehead; Richard is his slightly smarter counterpart; and Rebecca, who's even younger than you, is an absolute sweetheart. Not to mention, Forest Speyer, Joseph Frost, Enrico Marini, and Barry Burton. You consider putting pictures of them on flashcards with their names on the back so you can learn them all.

Then, there's Leah who has a certain je ne sais quoi that makes her name stick firmly in your mind.

She walks gracefully, steadily in combat boots identical to yours and her blonde hair sways in time with her steps. Her pants fit perfectly, especially around the ass. But you try not to stare - you feel gross doing so when you catch the guys ogling her when she turns her back to them.

You wonder if they stare at you too when you're training in the gym. Lieutenant Branaugh puts an emphasis on staying fit in case the day comes where you need to chase down criminals or dodge gunshots during a shootout. A significant amount of your day is spent doing paperwork.

But for an hour a day, you do push ups and curl ups and pull ups (in that order) to 98.6 FM or a CD if Chris remembers to bring one down with him.

"Chris," you hear Wesker snap at him, "This music is atrocious. Go get a CD, a good one."

And with an exaggerated huff and the sound of metal weights hitting the hard floor, he does as he's told.

"He's kinda hot," Leah says from next to you while she stretches her calves.

"Who? Chris?"

"Yeah," she says, decidedly.

"You can have him. I'm not into meatheads."

"I'd like to see the head of his meat."

"That's disgusting!"

"Are you going to sit there chatting all day?" Marvin asks. "Or are you going to get in the ring?"

You both shut up and stand up.

There's nothing to fight over, but you can be competitive when you want to be. Leah seems intent on impressing Chris who's half-assing his workout both to stick it to Wesker, who is satisfied by his choosing Made In Heaven, and to watch you and Leah duke it out.

Nobody can resist a little girl-on-girl action. Leah has many things over you - her charm, her beauty, her laugh, and her body when she pins you to the mat. It's one, two, three slaps of her palm against the mat to crown you the loser, but she gets distracted, and only you can see the mask slip because you're staring into her eyes when it happens. You want to drown in her ocean blue eyes. Her pupils widen and then her eyes themselves in response, like she's shocked by her own feelings. And then she shakes herself out of it.

You blink and she's standing again, holding out her hand to help you up. And then, like she was never even there, she's gone, rushing in and out of the locker room so quickly that you don't cross paths despite your lockers being two apart. You, on the other hand, take extra time to consider the possibility that you've hallucinated her existence entirely.

But, does it even matter? 

Leah starts showing up in your dreams. She's the intermission between being completely flunking your math exam and missing your flight to Paris (the recurring stress dreams). One night, you're eating lunch in a cafeteria and she sits across from you. The next, you're at a Halloween party and she wears a sexy cop costume, which is not that far off from her real uniform. It's the third time she shows up that you kiss. It doesn't go any further than that because you wake up to your 7:45 alarm.

What the fuck was that? 

You have a book called The Secret Meanings Behind Your Dreams which was a gag gift from a friend. You flip through the pages and find explanations for dreams about falling, teeth falling out, pregnancy, but none about kissing your coworker. You decide it's better not to dwell on it.

You file the thoughts of her under the category of things that you don’t have the qualifications or the time to psychoanalyze. There’s probably some sort of bullshit Freudian explanation but you have crime to fight (aka paperwork to do).

You’re grateful for the distraction when it approaches you in the Main Hall of the RPD. It's almost the end of your shift when Richard approaches you. Out of all the RPD members, you feel like he's the closest thing to a friend you've got here.

"Do you have any plans this Friday?"

"Work, per usual."

"Well, yeah," he half-laughs, "I do too. But, uh, what about after work?"

"After work, nothing."

"Cool. Brad and I were thinking about seeing a movie and maybe getting drinks, and he also invited Leah, so I think she's coming too."

The mention of Leah makes you perk up. You could give or take the whole going out on the town after a long week of work.

Leah, speaking of Leah, you spot her across the hall, chatting and laughing with Brad and Chris.

"Cool," you say, staring right past Richard.

"So, uh, do you wanna come with?"

"Yeah, sure. Sounds good." It's less an acceptance to his invitation and more giving minimal responses.

Richard says some combination of "cool", "okay", and "see you tomorrow". Or something like that. You wouldn't know because you're barely paying attention to him.

You realize it's a double date when Richard puts his arm around you. You're enthralled with Saving Private Ryan. "It should win Best Picture," you remark later. But it doesn’t. But right now, you try to play off the fact that he startled you with an awkward laugh. The theater is too dark for you to tell if he's blushing or not, but his embarrassed "sorry" says he is. But before he moves away from you, you lean into him, and you swear you can hear him sigh in relief. He's nice. This is nice.

But more importantly, you watched Leah do the same with Brad and she's your leader just as Brad is Richard's.

No, for you, she's your muse. She's the goddess that you pray to. 

When they kiss, you follow suit. He tastes like the buttery popcorn you've both devoured, but it's not bad. It could be worse.

It’s forgettable, washed away by the beer you drink at the dive bar two doors down from the theater. 

"Do you wanna take this back to my place?" Richard asks.

"I would but I have to get up early for church" is the first excuse you can come up with.

Richard seems to believe you, which is most likely because he wants to believe this isn't rejection. "Oh! I didn't know you were religious."

"I am, yeah," you say, and hope the rubber chicken test prepared you for the difficult task of keeping a straight face in a moment like this. You think you notice Leah stifling a laugh across the table because she knows.

But her eyes only flit to yours for a second before Brad asks her the same question.

"I actually have a date to church tomorrow morning," she says, smiling at you.

Brad believes her because he's not the brightest bulb in the bunch. Before the awkwardness permeates too far, they leave together.

"So, church on a Saturday, huh?" Leah asks with a knowing smirk.

Finally, you both exhale the giggles you've been holding in together.

"God," you say, putting your head in your hands, though still laughing, "How long do you think it'll take for them to realize?"

"I dunno." She shrugs and sips her beer. "But hopefully sooner rather than later so I don't have to make up an excuse not to go on a second date."

"No second date for you guys? You seemed to be having a good time back in the movie theater."

She shakes her head. "I was until he started kissing me."

"Bad kisser?"

"Awful. Tongue down my throat and all."

"Ew."

"How about you and Richard?"

You shrug. "He's nice. And his tongue was not down my throat."

"That's good." She leans a little closer, like she's going to reveal a secret to you. "But you don't seem like you like him that much."

"I mean, I like him as a friend."

But nothing more. "Well, I should be going," you say, picking up your purse. "It's getting late, and, as you know, I have church."

"No, you don't." She rolls her eyes. "But you do have brunch."

"I do?"

"Yeah, I'll pick you up around 10:15-10:30? Depending on my hangover."

"Sounds perfect."

You and Leah each devour a plate of waffles in a diner voted Raccoon City's #1 Breakfast Destination '97 according to a poster outside.

"Mm," she ponders the taste of her coffee. "Way better than what the RPD has."

"I'm beginning to think they might just be giving us packets of dirt instead of coffee grounds."

"Where else are they going to put all the dirt they dig up outside?"

"It's so goddamn weird that they have a cemetery. It's like they're expecting us to die."

"I feel like I'm already dead. My head is killing me."

"Mine too. I don't even think I had that much to drink."

"Me neither, and thank god - I wouldn't want to end up in bed with Brad."

"You think you would've gone home with him if you were drunker?"

"Maybe. I tend to make stupid decisions when I'm drunk."

But, so do you - one of which includes playing spin the bottle with the RPD's finest.

"We used to play Kings mostly 'cause no one had a table that we could play beer pong on," Brad says when Chris asks him about high school parties back in his hometown.

"We can play Kings if I can find a deck of cards."

"No, we can't, dumbass, unless you have cans hiding in the back of your fridge," says Forest.

"What do you wanna play, Forest? Spin the bottle?" Chris asks sarcastically.

"I thought spin the bottle was a game made up for movies. I didn't know anyone actually played it," Rebecca chimes in from the corner, holding a soda rather than a beer because she 'felt bad drinking underage' even though Chris offered her one.

"You bet your ass people actually play it," Chris says. "How else would you kiss your crush when you're an awkward 15 year old?"

"Truth or dare," she says with a roll of her eyes to say it should be obvious.

"We could play truth or dare," Brad suggests.

"No, we should play spin the bottle," says Forest.

"If you wanna kiss me that bad you can just ask," Chris says.

"Why don't we play both? Then, if the bottle doesn't decide in Forest's favor, he can dare Chris to kiss him," Jill says.

"I'll remember to pick truth in that case."

You play spin the bottle first, which results in Forest giving Richard a peck on the lips, Richard passing it on to Brad, who goes for more than a peck with Jill, and Jill, pulling swiftly away from him, kisses Leah.

And it comes to Leah who lands on you. Of course she does. The first kiss is chaste, but when you take your turn and the bottle lands on her, it barely falls short of passionate.

The bottle is Leah's again and if it were possible to rig this game you might've believed someone had because it points in your direction.

A collective - and juvenile - "ooh" comes from the group. It's the same one you hear from a classroom of 7th graders when a teacher tells a student they need to "speak to them".

Rebecca, clueless, asks, "What?"

"They have to play 7 minutes in heaven."

"What's 7 minutes in heaven?"

"The two people have to go into a separate room for 7 minutes and they can do whatever they want."

Leah looks at you, you look at her. Hesitant, nervous, and curious.

"My bedroom's down the hall," Chris says, pointing towards it. "No snooping, no stealing, and if you break it, you replace it. Got it?"

"Yes, Officer Redfield," you say sarcastically.

Leah stands up, giving Chris an exaggerated eye roll, and you follow her down the hall. You can hear them whispering their predictions and fantasies about what you'll get up to behind closed doors.

But eventually, the games go on in your absence. You remain unaware as you sit on the edge of Chris' unmade bed next to Leah.

It’s just you and Leah Kennedy in Chris Redfield’s bedroom, the world is still and the lights are low, but you watch a decade fly before your eyes in a single moment. It’s fancy dinners and home-cooked meals, an apartment in the city and a house in the suburbs, the balcony, the backyard, the wedding, the honeymoon, the family portrait. 

"So��" you begin, expecting her to set some sort of ground rules, expecting you'll end up conversing for the duration, maybe giving each other a friendly peck on the cheek. But, she looks at you, her eyes flicker as they quickly run up and down your body, and she takes the leap.

Her lips are soft and sweet with cherry-flavored chapstick, and like Katy Perry, you liked kissing a girl. But, there are no boyfriends to mind, and despite being tipsy and technically still playing by the rules of a game, there is something real about the way she kisses you. It's heated and hungry, urgent due to time constraints. You can't stay in this room all night - not because it's Chris', but because no one can know about this. You can't tell them that when her tongue meets yours it's the first time you enjoy the taste of beer. You can't tell them about how she tucks her bangs behind her ear so they don’t obstruct her view of you when she pushes you onto your back and her hands travel from your waist to your bra and stop when Chris opens the door. Leah is quick to sit back up, to pretend, but not quick enough. He knows, but for whatever reason, he keeps his lips sealed.

When you return with your head down to hide your reddened cheeks, Brad says, "You two must've been having a lot of fun in there since you missed the timer on the microwave going off."

"We just talked," Leah says.

"Uh-huh," he says, "Talked."

"You guys were totally getting it on in there," Forest says.

"I would've paid to see that," Brad says.

"You can admit it," Richard says. "We won't judge."

"There's nothing to admit," you say.

Jill throws you a sympathetic save by announcing, "You missed Rebecca having her first kiss."

"It's not that big of a deal," Rebecca says, timidly.

"Are you saying I'm a bad kisser?" Chris asks.

"I didn't say that."

The group decides to transition to truth or dare, and you're relieved to have the attention taken off of you and Leah. The boys become distracted by the sight of Jill's tits when Brad dares her to flash everyone. You decide to leave before you end up naked.

While you wait for a cab outside, Leah turns to you. "Can you keep what happened between us a secret?"

"Yeah, of course."

"Thanks," she says. "You're a great friend."

A friend. You longed to be accepted for so long, but now the word sounds like rejection. The word taunts you while you struggle to fall asleep.

Just friends. The way you told Leah you felt about Richard after you made up an excuse to not go home with him. 

Leah avoids you at work the next week. No one seems to care except Chris, who asks you privately, "What is up with the two of you? You were going at it in my bed last weekend and now you won't get within 20 feet of each other."

"Nothing. We were just drunk on Saturday, so that whole thing happened, and we've just been busy with separate work this week."

"Uh-huh. You were just drunk? Nothing else going on between you two?"

"That's like asking if you and Rebecca have something going on. We just kissed because we were playing a kissing game."

He doesn't press further, though when he turns to walk away, you call after him, "Wait, Chris…"

"Yeah?"

"Don't tell anyone, though. I don't want them making a big deal out of it."

"I won't."

He keeps his word.

Leah used to eat her lunches with you, you'd both meet in the break room at 12:30 sharp, but now, you sit by yourself. Until Friday, 12:20, you find her sitting across from Jill, talking and laughing.

"Alright, I've gotta get back to work," you hear Jill say before she leaves the room. There's only one exit, so she inevitably crosses paths with you. She's the first person to give you a warm, genuine smile that week. It makes you feel human and real, and it gives you the confidence to talk to Leah.

When she spots you, she hurries to pack her things up and leave.

"Leah," you say. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No, of course not."

And you didn't. That's not why she avoids you.

"Then why are you avoiding me?"

"I'm not avoiding you." Her shifty eyes and wavering tone give her away - not that it wasn't already obvious.

"Yes, you are."

She looks around the empty room before lowering her voice, "Fine. If I admit it, will you let it go?"

"How can I 'let it go'? We went from making out on Saturday to-"

"I told you not to talk about it."

"You told me not to tell anyone else."

"Same thing. You're just making it worse."

"How?"

"You're reminding me of it, and I don't want to think about it."

"Why? I thought you liked it."

"I did. I like you."

"I like you too."

Her face softens for a second, going from forced agitation to poorly-hidden bashfulness, but ultimately, she looks disheartened. Because you both know this can't happen.

"I wish it were different."

"You wish I didn't like you back?"

"No, I wish this world was different. I wish Raccoon City was different."

"Me too, but why should we let it stop us?"

She sighs, purses her lips, and turns her head. Finally, after a moment of contemplation, she says, "Okay, but we have to keep it quiet. When we're at work, we're just friends." She pauses and her lips curve into a smile. "And tonight, after work, when I take you out to dinner, we can be something more than friends."

"Deal."

She glances towards the door to make sure you're alone and gives you a grin that's almost conspiratorial before kissing you on the cheek.

"That's against the rules!"

"Oops," she says with a shrug.

You sneak a kiss on her cheek to 'get even' and she walks out of the room with an extra pep in her step. You notice her trip on the laces of her combat boots, too far away to hear you stifle a laugh, but you see her shake her head, feeling embarrassed by her stupid mistake despite being alone in the hall. She's not used to being lost in thought like this, not used to liking someone in this way.

That night, you play a mixtape you and a friend made together back in high school when your only problems were silly crushes on boys. You remember her gushing over a guy you thought was mediocre at best while the sound of Kiss Me amplified her giddiness, and you remember how you comforted her when he broke her heart while Linger covered up the sounds of her crying. 

You wish you could call and gush over your date and have her calm your nerves over the phone, but you know you shouldn’t. You could say you were seeing a boy but a lie like that would violate the rules of girl talk. You decide to keep yourself company. 

You drive separately and meet at the restaurant. It's relatively crowded with the typical hustle and bustle of Friday evening downtown.

You split two dishes and Leah pays. Like you, the waiter seems allured by her.

"Before you leave," he says to Leah in a hushed voice as if you can't hear what he's saying from across the table. "I just wanted to let you know that you're very beautiful."

"Thanks," she mumbles with a half-smile. Polite, but nothing else lies behind it. No desire.

"And," he continues. "I was wondering if you wanted to go out sometime."

"No thanks, I'm unavailable."

"Oh? Where's your boyfriend on this fine Friday night?"

"No boyfriend."

He doesn't quite get it. Not until she reaches for your hand, giving it a squeeze when she takes it in hers. She smiles at you, warm, and then at him, proud.

"Oh, so that's how it is," he says, and you can almost hear the roll of his eyes. "Well, I left my number on the check, so you can call me once you're done 'experimenting'."

Her face turns sour while her eyes remain on him, softening when she meets yours. You walk out hand-in-hand now that you're beyond the point of hiding. Most people pay no mind, thoroughly absorbed in themselves and their dinners.

You take the bottle of wine to go, since you each had only a glass at dinner as neither of you planned to drive home drunk on anything but each other. You're grateful that Leah invites you to share the rest at her apartment since you didn't bother tidying yours. It's better she comes over when the floor of your bedroom is visible, and not covered in a layer of dirty clothes.

Her house is neat and minimalist to a degree that makes you think it's always this way. Her wardrobe, which mainly consists of multi-purpose basics - white t-shirts, blue jeans, and an array of leather jackets - lives on a single-rod stand-alone clothing rack. With her level of organization, she doesn't need to hide all of her things behind a closet door.

You are the only thing she hides. 

But when you enter her bedroom together, she keeps the lights on. She wants to see all of you, to know you. She wants to put your picture in a locket and let you dangle around her neck, swinging like the pendulum of a clock in time with her heartbeat.

You unravel under her touch slowly and then all at once. She kisses you from your lips to your core with meticulous reverence and savors your taste. When you struggle to catch your breath, she holds you like you're bleeding out and your dying words are sacred to her.

Leah teaches you how to return the favor by letting you practice. It is a hands-on lesson. By the time you fall asleep, your lips are wine-dark and barely tired. She holds you close to her heart like a rosary while you sleep soundly.

You roll out of bed stealthily and search her kitchen for breakfast. There isn't much. She seems regimented in most areas of her life and health-conscious. There is a disappointing lack of Lucky Charms cereal in her cupboards. There is a carton of eggs, so you scramble a few for you both. You brew coffee too.

"Something smells good." You hear Leah's voice from the hallway before she appears in the kitchen. She wraps her arms around you, hugging you from behind.

"I took the liberty of making us both breakfast. I hope you don't mind."

"No, of course not. In fact, I could get used to this."

You take a sip of your coffee before you decide, "It's better than the kind they keep in the RPD break room."

"I think anything is."

You try to kiss her and she turns her head. You fear she'll claim the night before was a drunken mistake - it would be the same lie you told to Chris. Obvious in a way that makes it more infuriating than saddening. But she doesn't.

"Mm-mm," she says, shaking her head. "When I said anything is better than the RPD coffee, I didn't mean my morning breath."

"I don't care," you say with a smile and lean in again to kiss her.

She laughs when she playfully pushes you away. "At least let me brush my teeth before you kiss me."

"Fine," you concede and settle for kissing her on the cheek the way you do when no one is looking at work. Even in locker rooms you have to be vigilant. You doubt Jill or Rebecca would say anything unless you were doing something truly salacious. But it isn't unheard of for one of the guys to take a trip through the women's locker room under the guise of "hearing something suspicious" or "accidentally walking in there", sometimes without any excuse at all if it's Irons who has done this on multiple occasions.

Your secret relationship makes you feel like teenagers sneaking around behind their parents' backs. And like teenagers, you both can't wait to grow up and break free of the rules that hold you back from being together. But, you live under the tyranny of societal norms that you can't outgrow on your own.

Not when you have Brad and Richard who find you in the previously-unoccupied hallway.

"It's only a kiss. It's not a big deal."

"Not here."

"No one's going to see us."

But they do.

"I should've known you two were a couple," Brad says.

"Yeah, a couple of dykes," Richard says.

They laugh like bullies on a playground. You thought they would have learned by now. Aren't you supposed to get wiser with age? You're too stunned to say anything for a moment, but you make a conscious effort not to look at Leah. Not yet.

"What's going on over here?" Forest says, peeking around the corner.

"We just discovered there have been two queers hiding among us," Richard says as if he's speaking about foreign spies or ghosts.

"Yeah, they were totally getting it on out here," Brad says.

"Aw, I can't believe I missed the action. Could you give us a little replay?" Forest points at you two like he's the director of a porno.

"Go take your sorry ass to the video rental across the street if you want something to watch," Leah says with unwavering confidence.

Yours wavers. You never got the thick skin they promised you. You put all your strength into holding back tears. Something else burns behind Leah's eyes, though, you can see it. Her icy blue eyes somehow hold fire. 

"Wow, a feisty bitch," Forest says, "or should I say butch?"

All her training led to this moment, but you step out of the ring in fear.

"Sorry I get more pussy than you, Forest," Leah says. She wouldn't normally engage them like this. It's personal. It's you.

"Shit. Pretty good one," says Brad.

"Ugly bitches usually have some brains, so it makes sense," says Forest.

It feels like middle school until it becomes physical. Richard pushes Leah, so she hits him in the nose hard enough to make him bleed. Forest lays his hands on her and likely knowing that she can't take all of them at once, especially when you're standing by in shock rather than fighting beside her like you should be (a thought you only have later), she pulls her gun on him.

Chris, who has won every sharpshooting contest STARS has held since he joined, hears the commotion and runs in with his own gun trained on Leah.

"Put the gun down now," he says.

And terrified, she points it at him.

They both stare each other down for long enough for you to draw yours and fire it because you know if he shoots her, he won't miss. 

You would kill for Leah. 

The bullet hits no one but the picture of Brad on a poster that hangs on various walls of the RPD. Which would be kind of funny if that's what you meant to hit.

Leah turns to you in shock which allows Chris to easily disarm her, knocking her gun out of her hand and kicking it out of her reach. His gun is aimed at you now. He can shoot you and get away with it, and he knows it. His finger hovers over the trigger but something in him holds him back.

"Put the gun on the ground or I will shoot you," he warns you instead.

You put it down and hold your arms above your head. All five of you are placed in separate rooms. There are not enough interrogation rooms to hold you all, nor are there enough cops that are not involved in the situation. Each of you is placed in handcuffs, but you are first. You never thought your handcuffs would end up around your own wrists.

You should be arrested. For once, you are grateful for the way Chris pities you.

"I wasn't going to shoot," is the first thing he says when he walks in. The second is, "you're lucky your aim sucks".

"I really thought you were going to kill her, and I was just scared. I swear, I'm not like that, usually."

"I know. And that's why you're not going to jail." He pauses before adding, "But you're handing in your gun and badge."

Everyone else gets a slap on the wrist. You wonder if it's a literal slap when you see Brad walk out of the interrogation room looking like he's on the verge of tears, but you find out from Leah that the combined interrogation of Chris and Jill will scare you straight.

"Pun intended?" you ask.

"No," she says, but a hint of a smile peeks through.

She tells you that she hates goodbyes before she hugs you. You open your driver's side door and she stops you.

"Wait," she says, and you turn to face her one last time. "Before you go, I wanted to tell you that I… I lo-"

"I know," you say, cutting her off. "Don't say it."

You climb into your car, but before closing the door, you say, "but just so you know, I would've said it back."

The sunset doesn't look as beautiful when you drive off into it alone.

[sleepyconfusedpotato]

FranticFanfic with @alypink!✍️🫨💦

So two days ago, Aly suggested to play a game of FranticFanfic with me! It's basically a fic writing game where we take turns writing the parts of the fic. We decided to go with AlyPrice and Ladybug 😂

I choose AlyPrice and the game chose 'Sugar' theme, while Aly chose LadyGaz and the game chose 'Bonding' theme. Here's what we came up with! (❁´◡`❁)

Text Version 👇 + Aly's cute chibi drawings!! 💗💗

(texts written in italic means written by Sleepy)

---

Title : "Sunday Morning" Characters : Aly, Price Writers : Aly, Sleepy, Aly Theme : 'Sugar'

Captain price was sitting down on a kitchen table when suddenly Aly’s cat dropped the sugar container on his head, he was so pissed if he started chasing him until he heard the door bell ring “who is it this early in the morning?!” He scoffed and opened the door.

The person in front of him is the last person he expected on his door. "Hello, kind Sir! I'm selling this lemonade I just made myself! Do you want some?" A girl in a yellow suit with lemon said to him. She barely reached his hip, but the way the kid looked up was so angelic.

Price pinched the bridge of his nose, forgetting that it's covered in sugar, making him squint his eyes. Nevertheless, he continued "Look, little lady. I'm sure you've spent a lot of time making that lemonade, but I've got no money. Now go along your way."

The SAS captain was about to slam the door on the kid's face, but Lily's presence made him stop abruptly, avoiding hurting his child.

"Wait!! Who are you?!" The young Price girl asked in excitement.

The little girl smiled at Lily. “hi! I’m new in the neighborhood! My name is Sarah! She said cheerfully.

Lily grinned “I’m Lily, can I go play with you?” She was thrilled to have met a girl his age as she had no friends around her neighborhood yet, Ghost and Jades kids’ which were Lily’s friends, lived not to far but not on the same neighborhood. She look at her dad “Can I dad?!” Price looks at her and sigh putting a semi stern look and when he was about to speak his wife abruptly interrupted.

“Yes honey, go on” Aly smiled at her and Lily rushed outside to play with the little girl she just met. Aly turned to John “You might as well be a little bit nicer during mornings okay? And clean this mess” she smiled and left.

Captain Price sighed and muttered to himself “might as well have gone to base this morning instead…” he then started picking up the mess he didn’t even make while the cat happily meowed at him looking as he cleaned up.

---

Title : "Shit-Ship" Characters : Gaz, Ladybug Writers : Sleepy, Aly, Sleepy Theme : 'Bonding'

On a cloudy English spring, Lady and Gaz met at a ranch. Yep, a countryside ranch -- or farm, rather -- where Price and Ghost had sent them both. Lady and Gaz had been having a little argument about how each other were so busy and had little to no time for bonding. So the Captain and Lieutenant sent them both… to work on a farm. A cow farm, that is. After they met with Gary, the owner of the farm, they were immediately tasked with, you guessed it: poop-cleaning duty.

Gaz sighed at the task as he wasn’t to happy he had to do poop-cleaning duty. Ladybug noticed and chuckled “come on, it’s not to bad! We could have fun!” She did as she patted his back quite to strong. Gaz gasped and then look at her “hey hey okay I get it… might be fun after all, so how do we start?” They started getting the tools their need and Gaz glanced at ladybug, at least he was happy he could bond with her even if it was doing this task. So they begin to work

Shit duty took quiet longer than expected, mainly because they spent 15 minutes laughing as Gaz slipped on a shit and fell on his butt. Gaz, not accepting this, lightly nudged her feet with his own feet, intending for her to fall on her butt as well. But she fell forward, and fell on Gaz's firm chest.

Both of them are used to dirty stuff. Blood, vomit, shit-- it's just a thing to them. But blushing inside a barn with 25 cows moo-ing at them while laying down in a dirty floor, surrounded by shit, is not really romantic.

He'd helped Lady stand up, and Lady sucked her lips in happiness. Turns out all they need is just a bit of skinship (or should it be shitship?) Either way, they continued with their work, and when Gary came in, all the shitpile are already cleaned and set aside for Gary to use as a fertilizer for his crops.

After the tiring day of scooping shit, milking the cow, and Lady somehow had to aid a female cow give birth, it was a very, very long day of bonding.

They've rented an inn near the ranch, and cleaned themselves up. Lady and Gaz had forgot the reason they were there, but they knew that Price and Ghost has a knack for bonding suggestions.

---

Those are the fics!! This is such a fun crazy activity hahahah 😂😂😂 We're pretty loose on the craziness here but we're aiming for angst on the next one 👁️👄👁️. Again, thank you so so so much to @alypink for drawing the chibi arts!! I was at my cousin's house and I didn't have my drawing equipment with me 😭.

Hope y'all enjoy it! 💗💗

[winterwandersland]

New Story: Paperwork

Summary:

“Who’s that?”

“‘Mare’. The Lieutenant’s Missus .”

“Why d’you call her ‘Mare’?”

“‘Cause she’s a right paperwork nightmare’”

Task Force 141 is in dire need of a linguist and on short notice. Their Lieutenant, Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley, knows who to call, and with loads of convincing, he finds the team’s linguist, his wife, Kamara ‘Mare’ Riley, her military records filled to the brim with write-ups for disciplinary action. 

Previously in a unit together that was imprisoned for months, only them two making it out, Simon has fought to rid the world of the people like the ones who imprisoned them, fighting on the lines, while Kamara has decided to stay at home with their adoptive daughter, Ellie. Leaving Ellie to her uncles, Joel and Tommy, while they are away, Kamara joins the 141 on a mission that could save or destroy the world, opening the door to a past they thought was left behind. 

Will Simon be able to choose between work and his family? Will Kamara be able to face the demons from her past? OR will a mission put the Riley family in jeopardy?

tw/cw: arguing, slight mentions of past torture but nothing detailed, mentions of death word count: 3.8k Simon knows the perfect linguist to ask to assist his team on an important assignment.

Chapter One

“I have already told you ‘no’, Simon. How many ways d’you need me to say it? Nein. non,  não, いいえ, нет, no, नहीं, He, Hapana-,”

“Alright, I get it.” It had been a grueling few days, every conversation seeming to lead to the same topic of one-sided interest, joining Simon on the Task Force, the same conversation that led to the same decision, ‘no’.

Usually, Simon respected his wife’s boundaries, but this subject was one of great importance to him. It was a matter of life or death, a few lives to save the many, but he hoped it would be one life to save the world. It was a reasonable price to pay. They kill the enemy, the world is saved and everyone, well, almost everyone, goes home. 

“But you do get why we need you, don’t ya?” She was very aware of why his team needed her and it was the very reason she knew they could find someone else if they tried hard enough. “Yep, and I get there are plenty of other linguists in the military y’all can call.”

His wife was his last hope, the only person he knew he could let on the team and trust. He trusted her with his life and therefore knew she would be the only person who he let near his precious team. “There ain’t no other linguists who can fight and translate like you do. No one else has a memory like yours.”

An eidetic memory was what he was referring to, a type of memory that allowed his wife to save her teams countless times, translating destroyed texts that she memorized beforehand, deciphering messages that seemed impossible to understand, even to the best trained and specialized linguists. “You all are the best of the best. I’m sure you can figure something out. I’m not leaving Ellie behind. It’s bad enough when you leave. What do you think two parents leaving her behind will do to her?”

Before their imprisonment, Simon and Kamara had already begun their secret affairs, Kamara sneaking into the men’s barracks, never being caught except for one time by her Captain, but because of her good behavior that week, he turned a blind eye, only giving her wry looks during their meetings. Their mission-gone-wrong had started as a joint operation to rescue a group of hostages taken by rogue scientists and military personnel that planned to release a virus that would have killed thousands. The team spent months in captivity, despondent that any inkling of help would arrive. Upon their escape, the inseparable couple had grown closer, seeking out the hostages themselves despite their injuries, Kamara more wounded than her counterpart and leaving with a permanent scar that dragged from below her eye towards her jawline, a constant reminder of the hell she endured. They spent weeks recovering and months searching for the whereabouts of the hostages, but by the time they found them, it was too late. Each hostage had already been brutally murdered, having suffered from the fatal serums they had been given. However, there were two people left, a mother and her young daughter. 

The mother was dying, pleading for the soldiers to take her child and care for her. She told them the child was special and that they couldn’t let the other soldiers or scientists take her. So, the child said her goodbyes and Simon silently put a bullet in the mother’s head, the room dark so no one, especially the child, could see, too young to fully recall the memory. Three years later, the child, Ellie, was finally comfortable and felt safe in her new home with her new parents. While the soldiers hadn’t planned on having children so soon, they knew that they had more than enough love to give her and that they were the safest people to raise her, so they did just that. 

“Listen, we won’t be gone long. She can stay with Joel and Tommy, get to know Sarah a bit more. Please, love, we need-“

The floor creaks behind the two, hinting at the presence of their child being amongst them, Kamara shuddering at the sound which didn’t go unnoticed by Simon, adding to his theory of his wife’s paranoia that someone was watching them. “Hey there, sweetheart. What’re you doin’ up so late?” Simon moved towards the young girl, squatting to her eye level before picking her up as if she were the same size as when he first met her. “I heard you and Mara talking very loudly.” Ellie never called Kamara her mother or Simon her father, and they thought it was best to never force her, letting her create her own boundaries in their household. “Sorry, baby, didn’t mean to yell and wake you up,” Kamara said, planting a kiss on Ellie’s cheek.

“You weren’t yelling, just loud.” Ellie was soft-spoken, only ever yelling when she was in great distress. The two had taught her to express herself, allowing her to communicate healthily without raising her voice too loud, something the couple was still working on. “We’re sorry, love. We’ll keep it down.” Simon was always gentle with Ellie, Kamara too, opposite of the brutish man that efficiently took down his enemies on the battlefield. 

“Actually, we were just finishing,” Kamara quipped, wanting the conversation to be over with and never reach the surface again. “We’re going to bed, aren’t we, dear?” Her brown eyes shooting Simon a look he knew all too well, accompanied by her smile that she used to cover up her annoyance in front of Ellie, but letting Simon know that if the conversation continued, their daughter would be complaining of yelling instead of loud talking. “Yeah, we are,” giving his wife his look of almost certain defeat, “You want to head to bed yourself or do you want t’be tucked back in?”

Having never had kids, Simon and Kamara didn’t know if Ellie was too old to continue to be tucked in, but it was a small act that they both wished they had in their childhoods, one they hoped Ellie would never stop asking for, but feared the day she would. “Can Mara tuck me in this time?”

“You don’t like the way I tuck you in?” Simon teased, faking his hurt emotions and eyeing Ellie, who smiled as she spoke, “I do, but Mara does it better.”

“I’ll make sure to take tips from the blanket-tuck expert, then.” Kamara reached for Ellie, who fell into her arms after Simon gave her a kiss on her forehead. Ellie was growing while Kamara was not, so holding her wasn’t frequently her first option, but the thought of leaving Ellie made her want to cling to her tighter, keeping her on her hip as everyone headed to the lowly dimmed bedroom.

There were lights that hung over the curtain hangings that loosely draped over Ellie’s bed, keeping her room dark enough to sleep but light enough to keep her from seeing her dying mother in the corner of her room. Kamara lightly placed Ellie in her bed, performing the same ritual she had done since the first time she had put Ellie to sleep, waving her blanket the same number of years old Ellie was, the last wave always falling perfectly over the child’s body, each limb protected from the bad men that come to take her when she sleeps at night. “Goodnight, boo,” Kamara gently said, placing a clinging kiss to her daughter’s forehead and pushing the loose straight strands of hair out of the child’s face as she laid in bed. “G’night, kid,” Simon said from the doorframe of the room, waiting patiently for his turn to give the child a kiss goodnight. “Goodnight, Mara,” Kamara heard behind her back as she exited the room, avoiding eye contact as she walked past Simon with her arms crossed, heading to their shared bedroom. He headed to Ellie, kneeling beside her to bring himself eye to eye with the tired child. “Are you both going to leave me?” she asked her father quietly, making sure that Kamara could not hear her. 

He choked on the words he couldn’t muster up, his brain racing to find the right ones. Kamara was right, if she joined the team, they would both be leaving Ellie. If she stayed, his team was in jeopardy, along with an entire country. “You know we could never truly leave you, right?”

“But you leave all the time.” The words felt like a punch to his gut followed along with a hand squeezing on his heart. “When I leave, I make sure I do everything I can to come back ‘cause I can’t leave you two forever, especially you. I’ve got a proper important job-,”

“Mara says you get rid of bad people, like the ones who killed my mommy.” Simon could feel a tear make its way to the front of his eye, and while he worked hard to teach his daughter that it is okay to be emotionally vulnerable, it was easier said than done, for him at least. “Yes. And that takes time, so I’ve gotta go away sometimes, but I always come back. I have to.”

“Why do you want Mara to leave with you? Does she get rid of bad people, too?”

“Kamara, your mother,” he emphasized, something he made sure to do whenever he remembered, not to erase Ellie’s memory of her biological mother, but to remind her that Kamara was her mother, too. “She’s got skills, ones that me team needs, but she dun’t wanna come ‘cause she dun’t want to leave you.”

“If Mara leaves, will I be here by myself?”

“No chance, love. We’d never leave you on your own. You’ll stay with Uncle Joel and Uncle Tommy. You can have a play with Sarah.” The conversation felt wrong, like he was using their daughter against his wife, something he only did when they plotted to playfully ‘scare’ their mother as she came into the house. “Will she help you get rid of the bad people?”

“If she wants to, yeah, but she doesn’t fancy it, and that’s fine. Just like we say to you, you don’t have to do summat if you don’t want to. ‘No’ means ‘no’.” He felt like a hypocrite, knowing that he had tried to convince his headstrong wife to join him for the past few days despite the number of times she told him ‘no’. 

“But if she doesn’t help, then the bad people will be free.”

“There’s plenty of other folk who can help me at work. They might not be as good as Kamara, but they’ll get the job done.” He didn’t want to worry the young child, already traumatized by the death of her biological mother. But something told him that his wife was his team’s only hope, and he felt like Ellie may have known that, too. Before Ellie could speak again, Simon broke the conversation off, “Get some rest, love.”, he said as he placed a firm kiss on her forehead.

When he made his way toward the master bedroom, he both hoped that his wife was asleep, but also had a sliver of hope that she stayed awake to continue their conversation. The bedroom was quiet when he walked in, the only sound being a spray bottle the Kamara was using to wet her long coarse coils, a routine she did before wrapping her hair in a scarf and heading to bed. 

Simon was always good at being quiet, defying physics given his size, a trait that Kamara both loved on the field but hated in their shared humble abode. She stared at Simon for a slight second before she headed to their bed, keeping the silence between them. “Love?” 

“Simon,” a name she only ever fully pronounced when she was pissed with him which seldomly happened, but the name also slipped past her lips when she thought they would die, scared it would be the last time she ever heard it, however in this instance, she was nearly infuriated, only keeping calm and collected to stop herself from waking up Ellie with her yells.

His eyes were pleading with her, but her eyes already told him her decision, every plea her husband had worn her ability to stay firm on her decision. “You can’t go to bed.”

“Well, why the hell not?” 

“‘Cause you’re angry.” It was a rule they had. Never go to bed mad at or upset with each other. However, that rule was out the window today, “Watch me.” 

She untucked the tightly made bed, unwrinkled because of the pair’s military training. Before she could get in, there was a tug on her arm and a familiar arm on her waist that spun her around and pulled her away from the bed that was so dear to her. “No,” Simon said, keeping his body in between Kamara and the bed. “Simon, move.” She tried to get around the large man, but it was no use because of her smaller stature, though she was sure with enough anger and determination, she would win the game that her husband was trying to play. 

“Can we have a chat first? Then you can lay your lovely little head on the pillow.” Somehow, he always knew his praises would find their way through Kamara’s stubborn barrier, the one she put up when she shut down, or in this case, wanted to cease the topic of conversation. “You’re not gonna give up, are you?” 

Simon shook his head, the first time he had ever pushed past Kamara’s final decisions. Whenever she said ‘no’, she meant it and he always respected that, but this time was different. Knowing Simon for as long as she had, she knew whatever mission he needed her for was of great importance to him, though most of his missions seemed that way, but this one was different.

“Fine. Run me the details of the operation in a timely manner. I would like to rest my lovely little head on my pillow,” she said with a forced smile going across her face. She stood with her arms crossed while she peered up at her husband who had a slightly sunken look in his eyes. The deep breath he took before he spoke was all Kamara needed to know that the mission sat heavy on his heart, her smile instantly fading, “The person we’re after plans to start a World War, one that could wreck loads of countries.” 

“Okay. How does this person differ from anyone else you’ve gone up against?” Every enemy wanted a war. It wasn’t uncommon. People want power and would do anything to get it, including starting a war if it meant their name would be on the paper. “‘Cause no one else knows this person better than you do. We need you, Mara.”

“Spit it out then. Who the hell is it?” Simon could feel a lump in his throat forming, not wanting to set off the beloved woman in front of him who was just calming down. “Zakhaev. Vi-,”

“Viktor Zakhaev. Yeah. No need to finish. I got it.” She averted eye contact with Simon, her gaze now staring at the floor, her head filling with memories of the man, well, indirect memories. She had never met the man, only subjected to torture by his men years before. The only information she knew about him was what she studied in his files, information decrypted from flash drives, and analyzed behaviors. 

“I hoped they would have caught him by now…”

“Every time anyone thought they had him, he slipped through their fingers. We reckon he’s got a partner helping him get away.”

“I wouldn’t shoot the idea down.” She was still grappling with the information she was just told. Only twenty-five years old and tortured twice, both times she blamed herself for whether or not she was assured it wasn’t her fault. Three times if you count the duration in her childhood. The last three years she had been in a bliss, away from violence and the only torment she faced was when she went to sleep at night praying to an unknown god that her husband would make it back home. The compensation and benefits she received from the federal government was more than enough for her and Ellie to live off of, and when Simon was home, it was just right. Enough to eat, keep a roof over their head, proper clothing for the winter, and the ability to take a few vacation trips during the year. It wasn’t enough to hold the wedding Kamara had always dreamed of, but none of that mattered. She had her husband and her kid. They were worth more than any wedding she could have had. 

“So what do you need a linguist for?”

“There’s a set of documents that we can’t make out. Just in case it’s got confidential info-,”

“You need someone you can trust.”

“That’s right. You’re the only person I trust and that Price can trust.” It was almost unbelievable, how could anyone trust her knowing her history? “How? How could you trust me with anything of that caliber?”

“Kamara,” his voice pitying his love, the person who blamed herself more than anyone else, “it weren’t your fault.”

“I’d believe you if it were the first time. After the second time, there’s a pattern. I almost got my team at the bureau killed. Our unit is dead because of me.” Before the military, Kamara was an informant for the FBI, gathering any information on her former agency that she was so determined to demolish. Being too close to the case got her removed, but she was the youngest to join and the most stubborn, all thoughts of the consequences if she continued with the case on her own nowhere to be found, ending with her team having to be put into witness protection for an extended duration of time. 

“Neither of those were your fault, love. Nowt was ever your fault.”

“If that’s what keeps you in bed next to me at night, sure.” No matter how many times someone told her it wasn’t her fault, she couldn’t find it in herself to believe them. Simon had been trying for years, but to her, all the evidence pointed to every reason her team’s death was her fault. Everything wrong was her fault. That is what she believed.

Simon reached his hands to cradle both sides of the woman’s face, forcing her to look at him, revealing the guilt she carried hidden in her stare and the forced smile she tried to give him, though her lip quivered. “Listen to me. What Zakhaev did to you weren’t your fault. The bureau weren’t your fault. The Red Room weren’t your fault.” 

A tear escaped from her eyes, something she tried so hard to fight off, but if anyone could make her cry, it was Simon, even if he didn’t mean to. He never had any malicious intent, but he seemed to be the one person that found access to the emotions she fought so hard to hide. She hadn’t heard anything about the Red Room in years, something she was grateful for, hoping that the agency would one day collapse, ending the suffering of the next class of Widows. 

She hadn’t mentioned feeling guilty for her actions at the Red Room, but leave it to Simon to know that Kamara’s one wave of guilt turns into a spiral down memory lane. The two had both struggled with mental health, but they did their best to manage it without medications, only taking them when needed. Sometimes, Kamara felt like Simon was always ten steps ahead of her when it came to regulating their mental stability, but little did she know the turmoil that he constantly went through, using the military to blow off his steam. 

They were similar in such a way that they both turned their emotions inward, only seldomly lashing out at others. Since she’d known him, Simon was able to keep his calm demeanor, having to learn to manage his anger issues when he returned to the military after a tragedy. He learned to turn his anger toward his enemies rather than his friends, though the friends who knew his anger were now dead. 

Simon pulled Kamara into his chest, holding her tight as she cried so very gently to ensure her tears were only heard between the two of them. The flow of tears felt nonstop, staining Simon’s shirt and leaving their salty taste on her lips, and the air becoming less able to go through her nose. In Simon’s embrace, all of her worries went away and the safety she was never guaranteed formed, allowing her vulnerability to be completely displayed. “I’ll do it,” she cracked through her tears, inaudible to Simon. “What?”

“I’ll do it. I’ll help you.”

“No, no. Kamara, I didn’t say that just for you-,”

“I know. Just…I’ll do it…just bring the files here.” Just when he thought that the weight was lifted from his chest, it drops once again, him letting out a deep sigh. “I wish we could,” Simon started, knowing that the next words that came out of his mouth may end the first physical moment in months they were having, “but nowt can leave base. Price dun’t want nowt to happen to the files if they were to leave.”

He was telling the truth. The files couldn’t leave base and it would be a breach of confidentiality if they did. “M’sorry,” he whispered in advance. Kamara pulled herself away from her husband, him wiping her tears once she peered up at him. “It’s alright,” she said, sniffing up the invisible snot that blocked her nasal passages, another reason she hated crying, “Base is only an hour away from Joel and Tommy. We can drop Ellie off and each night I’ll spend the night with them, so it’s not like both of us are leaving her.”

He embraced Kamara again, taking advantage of the rare time that his wife actually let him touch her after three years. It hurt his heart to hear those words, implying that only one was leaving their daughter, knowing that it was him she was referring to. He left every time, putting his job above his family, but to him it was for a good cause. He put into his head that completing the mission would bring his family back together, and more importantly, bring his wife back.

Next Chapter

[amywritesthings]

silver underground. / chapter six.

Pairing: Levi Ackerman x F!Reader (Attack on Titan / Shingeki no Kyojin)

Word Count: 3.9K

Summary: Day 121 - Also known as the day you officially leave the cadets and join the Scouts.

Warnings: Slow Burn, Hurt/Comfort, Memory Loss, Eventual Romance, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Flashbacks, Friends to Enemies to Lovers, Nonbinary Hange Zoe, Touch Starved Idiots

( Read on AO3 )

Previous Chapter. / Next Chapter. | Masterlist.

CHAPTER SIX.

“Are you ready to head out?”

A perky voice breaks you from your fixated attempt at dragging the remaining pesky leather straps up your left thigh. You’d been rearranging your uniform for what feels like hours — taking it off, putting it back on, staring at your wavering reflection in a bucket of fresh water in the barracks to see if maybe you look out of place.

You certainly feel like you are, as the cadet that joined for three-something weeks only to disappear, plucked up by the Scouts at a moment's notice. An anomaly.

What you're wearing isn’t your old uniform, not exactly — that one’s cut up, bloodied and destroyed in a pile of ashes with all the other discarded jackets and trousers — so you’ll have to get used to the one they’ve given you.

At least the Wings of Freedom reside once more between your shoulder blades.

(A gift from Commander Erwin, who could not attend this momentous departure from the training camps to the real deal.)

“Hey, Petra,” you call back to her, dropping a boot onto the wooden floor. She watches you with budding excitement. “Are we leaving now?”

“Just about!” she exclaims. “Eld is finalizing supplies, but we’re ready when you are.”

“Great.” You hold both arms out as you walk to the doorway. “So?”

It takes her a minute, but her eyes finally connect with the white and blue emblem. “Oh, finally, you got your jacket back!”

“Erwin apparently sent a new one over with Hange,” you tell her as you follow her leisurely pace towards the front of the cadet training camp.

“Are you feeling good about this?”

“About coming back to the Scouts?” you ask. She nods in confirmation. “I’m a little nervous but yeah, I feel good.”

“Don’t be nervous. We’re like a little family.” Petra pauses, making a face at the sight in the near distance: a man with dark hair waves his hand beside worn wooden wagon, where several people and horses wait their departure. “...a bit of a weird family but a family nonetheless.”

“Oi! Is that her?” the man shouts across the way, standing on his toes to wave harder — like Petra doesn’t see him.

“Yep!” Petra calls, murmuring low to add, “That’s Gunther Schultz. You always kicked his ass in spars. He's never not been bitter about it.” She chirps again to him in her sweet, peppy voice. “It’s her!”

“A-ha! Alright, awesome!” Gunther replies, dropping his hands to his hips.

From here you can see the silhouette of a tall person with a high ponytail sitting at a spot at the head of the wagon, body facing you — Hange. On their left sits a man on a horse with a mop of dirty blond hair — probably Moblit — holding two additional reigns. A smaller, black-haired person sits to the right edge of the wagon with his arms stretched along the back, his one leg folded over the other. You immediately recognize that it's Captain Levi.

At the mouth of the wagon, two other people await your arrival. Petra gives you the quiet catch-up as you walk together: the man with long blonde hair is Eld Jinn, the squad’s second-in-command (she’s quick to divulge that you pull rank, in technicality) and last is the disinterested looking individual with curly hair and an undercut — Oluo Bozado, a skilled asset to the squad who won’t hesitate to brag about his high titan kill count at any chance he gets.

So this was it.

These were the people you spent your life with.

“She doesn’t look injured,” greets Oluo as he crosses his arms over his chest.

“Memory loss doesn’t look like anything, Oluo,” Gunther hisses, before perking up at your arrival. “Hey, Lieutenant. How’s it going?”

“Fine, I think,” you greet pleasantly enough, reaching to shake his outstretched hand. “Thanks for letting me come back.”

“The decision was unanimous,” Eld tells you, hopping into the wagon. He spins on a heel to help Petra up first, and she takes her spot across from Captain Levi. Then he holds his hand out to you, smile vacant but there for comradery’s sake.

You accept his help, pulling up to the wagon to sit beside Petra. Gunther rounds the cart to take the right-hand side horse. From your peripheral, you can feel Levi and Hange watching your interactions with the remainder of the team.

“That’s good to hear," you reply. "Petra went through the roll call, but if you wanna introduce yourselves…”

“We heard you remembered Moblit on sight,” Oluo interrupts gruffly, hopping into the wagon once Eld is settled at the head of the group with his hands on the reins. He plops beside Levi, taking up a corner seat.

“Ha, she totally did,” Hange beams with a grin, and you can see Moblit sigh under his breath. “It was kind of crazy to witness in person. She remembered some things with me, too.”

"She did?" Petra asks, awed.

Eld whistles sharply, and the wagon jerks.

You’re leaving.

Sharply you turn to watch the camp grow smaller, its gates closing shut once the Scouts are out of range.

(You’re actually doing this.)

You blink away from it to look ahead. Immediately your eyes connect with Levi's as he stares directly at you.

Your face grows hot at the unspoken energy settling at your boots.

Hange continues, addressing the group. “Our hypothesis will really come into play once we reach the old headquarters. Our objective is to regroup, train with James so she can refamiliarize herself with Commander Erwin’s strategy before the next expedition. Once we're certain she's caught up, then we'll plan to make our way towards the northeast quadrant of Wall Maria. We've yet to explore that part of the walls, and we're certain we can capture new titans for experiments."

"Capturing more?" Petra asks with the smallest of squeaks. "The last two weren't enough?"

"Yes, but that's only part two of the overall plan. Right now, we're focused on rehabilitation James.” They fix their glasses between a pinched thumb and index finger. “The more we spend time with her, the better her memory will get. The better her memory gets, the easier our expeditions will become.”

“As if I want her to remember all the damn dirt she used to have on me,” sours Gunther, laced with a hint of amusement as he rides alongside the cart.

You look over at him, running your tongue against the seam of your lips. “What? Like when I used to kick your ass all the time?”

Gunther gasps, causing Oluo to break out into a surprised laugh.

“Petra told you about that!” Gunther protests.

You shrug a casual shoulder. “Did she?”

You blink back to Levi, who has his head bowed.

(You swear you see the corner of his lip lifted.)

“Oh — c’mon, you didn’t give her any shit about the rest of them? Petra!”

“What?! It felt like pertinent information,” Petra argues back with a giggle. “She just spent a couple of weeks fighting all of the new hopefuls.”

“And how’d that go?” Oluo asks, shifting his weight in his seat to mirror Levi’s casual body language in the cart — he reaches back, draping his arms over the edge of the wagon.

“Yeah, how did you do with combat training, James?” Eld Jinn asks from the front perch.

You shrug. “Well enough, why?”

The blonde snorts, turning his chin over his shoulder. “Because I’d kill to see if you can still go toe-to-toe with the Captain like you used to.”

“Eld,” Petra warns under her breath.

“What?” he squawks.

One by one, you see the remaining pairs of eyes in the cart turn to the conversation to focus on what may come next. Petra’s ginger hair bobs when she leans forward to chastise him.

“That’s inappropriate to request,” Petra argues.

“How’s it inappropriate?” Eld retorts, raising an elbow as he makes the horses turn out onto a main dirt road. “That’s all they did back in the day was fight. It’s been months!” 

“We’re not about to haze her.” 

“Why not?”

“I could.”

Hange’s eyebrows fly up their forehead, transparent in surprise at the sound of Levi finally speaking up since the wagon’s departure from camp.

You turn your chin to look his way. The captain’s brow raises a tick as his eyes connect with yours.

The wagon goes silent. The only sounds surrounding the Special Ops squad are grunts of horses and the light dips of the wheels against rogue pebbles in the dirt road.

Unable to look away from Levi, a slow smile creeps up your lips. “Is that something we used to do?”

“All the time,” Gunther confirms to the side of the cart while Petra shushes him.

“He’s right,” Levi agrees. “We did.”

Warm spreads through your chest and makes your heart soar. Levi not shutting down Eld’s idea is… good. Great, even. It’s a step in the right direction — right?

Levi said he wouldn’t spell things out for you, but he didn’t discourage others doing it for him. A loophole. You can’t help but widen your smile.

“I’ve spent so much time fighting kids who don’t even know how to hold a proper fist,” you tell him, dropping your hands into your lap to squeeze them together. “Captain: would you be interested, then, to spar when we reach the castle? Be my first real fight.”

A first, even when it’s anything but.

Levi keeps a neutral expression in front of your anticipated comrades.

All eyes shift in tandem from your face to the captain.

“Couldn’t hurt to welcome you properly,” he replies, legs still crossed and arms draped, chest straps on display under his stretched jacket.

“Oh, hell yeah,” Gunther breathes under his breath with a grin. “The Special Ops are back.”

.

.

.

.

The trek to the castle takes a few hours, but you spend it occupied enough. Between Gunther and Oluo’s constant questions (What was the next group of cadets like? How does memory loss feel? Do you remember when we—?) and Petra’s combative defensiveness to keep you protected from overexertion, the wagon ride back is promising.

Exciting.

Your blood is buzzing with the very real possibility of fighting Levi Ackerman once the group is settled at headquarters.

Anxiety should be hitting you once you reach the familiar sight of the run-down castle, but all you can feel is exhilaration. Anticipation. Like you finally have a worthy opponent who may give little mercy despite your situation.

Hopping off the wagon without the help of Oluo’s hand, you shrug off your Scout jacket and hand it to him to hold instead. He makes a disappointed noise in the back of his throat, tossing the item of clothing over his shoulder.

Levi hops out without help, light on his feet and graceful as he steps around the wagon to walk with you.

“We doing this right now?” he asks, tone bored, offering a sidelong glance to you.

“Absolutely.”

“Are you sure about sparring so soon?” he asks, lower this time.

(If you didn’t know any better, then you would believe his question hits a note of concerned.)

“What, are you afraid I’m going to beat your ass in front of the squad?”

“No,” he answers, matter of fact. “The opposite.”

Eld whistles low when you turn on a heel, walking backwards to grin at Levi. Levi doesn’t return the same excitement nor does he remove his jacket or cravat, but he doesn’t let you out of his sight.

He stalks you to a clearing right in front of the castle, a lopsided circle patch of dirt and weeds.

“Don’t cream your pants,” Levi crudely quips about your growing smile, his fists rising to rest in a defensive stance at his face. “I don't plan to go easy on you.”

“Oh fuck off,” you reply with equal-parts unprofessionalism, prepping your own fists to your face as your right boot shifting, forming the start of a semi-circle in the dirt. “If you did, I’d be mad at you.”

"Hmm."

Your other boot follows, stalking to find your opening.

Where you can strike.

“You got this, James!” Petra chirps from the sidelines where the Special Operations squad awaits, breath baited and muscles tense.

You do.

You’ll take him and show everyone you’re only just a couple steps behind.

You send a sharp right punch to see where it can land, but Levi juts his chin back at a supernatural speed to avoid it.

He could take a counterstrike, but he holds back.

(He’s lying. He’s going easy on you.)

Petra gasps from the sidelines when you throw a combination of a jab and left hook, but Levi ducks and recovers fast. He throws a fist at your gut, but you manage to slide away before his fist can land. There is a gleam of acknowledgement in his eye as you glide past one another. He throws another, but you lean back and avoid the blow.

It’s a dance choreographed and rehearsed so many times that your brain must have lost count, but your body holds its memory in a vice grip.

In truth, you know — know exactly where he’s going to step next, or the exact direction he favors to dip, and the knowledge delights you. Excites you, even, that this feels so…

Natural.

Like you’ve dissected Levi Ackerman until his movements are your own, mirrored and fluid.

Except you get so caught up in the revelation that he manages to land a sharp jab to your arm. You abruptly dip from the painful hit, teeth grit, but you’re light on your feet and quickly avoid additional attacks. You both strike, arms entangling and locking, to the point where you're mere centimeters from the other's face.

“C’mon, James,” he growls under his breath, and you can’t help but smile.

"Banking on an easy win?" you quip, pushing him away with force and ducking a counterattack.

"This isn't a challenge," he assures, stepping around the invisible circle for a reset.

"You sure?" you ask, catching your breath. Your hands flex before curling back into fists. "Pretty sure I see sweat."

"Little shit." He huffs. “If you say so.”

He strikes, but you counter with precision and manage an uppercut straight to his jaw. Levi’s head snaps back, boots faltering on the ground for a brief second.

You feel it: the whites of your eyes alight with pride.

The hit landed.

You can keep up with Captain Levi.

“I do say so,” you coo belatedly, and Levi rubs his jaw.

“Huh,” he hums. “Lucky shot.”

“Are you giving up that ea— shit!”

If he was holding back earlier, then he isn’t doing so now. Levi comes at you with a flurry of limbs, forcing you to expend all your energy to block his advancements. He is lightning fast, focused on you and you alone, and punches with the intent to land.

To win.

Less cocky than before, you dodge his incoming punches and duck at his swings, holding him back but not enough to land hits of your own.

Shit.

He’s going to win.

If you just keep his arms at bay and—

Wait.

From the corner of your eye, you see it: the smirk on his face when he knows he has you wide open at the legs, and when your mouth opens to gasp, he switches technique and sweeps your legs out from under you.

Suddenly you lose balance and become airborne.

“Do you think we’ll ever get to go up there?”

Right in front of your eyes, the sun turns black. 

Your back connects with the ground, and it’s as though you’re transported to another world: one that’s dark, devoid of the warmth of the sun.

Overhead you see Levi smirking down at you, but his Scout uniform is nowhere to be found. He greets you with a billowing white shirt cinched at his torso in a burnt orange vest, hair just as floppy but eyes less vacant.

They’re… warm. Amused.

The lines of his war-worn face are all but gone. His eyes still have dark circles, but they’re less prominent. If you didn’t know any better, then you’d call it a near-youthful glow.

(As much as one can get from being a child of the Underground.)

“Gonna stay down there forever?” he asks you, his translucent hand leaving his side to hold a lifeline for you to take.

All it takes is for your hands to connect for the world to shift, transform, and everything echoes.

“Do you think we’ll ever get to go up there?”

“Up there?” It’s Levi’s voice. 

He sits in the dirt beside you, dropping unceremoniously to your side with a grunt of discomfort. You're lying in the dirt, wearing an unassuming maroon long-sleeved shirt and dark trousers. You sit up to meet him, stretching your legs out to cross them at the ankles. Without a rhythm, your boots sway. 

“You’re worried about going up there?” Levi adds.

“Who isn’t?” you ask him, dropping your chin to your shoulder as you regard him from the side. Scents of damp Earth and leaking cobblestone invade your nostrils. “You can’t really want to spend the rest of your life down here, right?”

"It's a pipe dream, James."

"So? Dream with me for a second."

"You're starting to sound like Isa."

"Is that such a bad thing?" you inquiry. "She wants a chance on the surface as much as the rest of us. Hell, she's been to the staircase. That's further than I've ever gotten."

“They’ll call us freaks,” he bluntly tells you, hooking his skinny wrist between the loop of his thumb and index finger when he drags his knees to his chest. “I’m not exactly keen on going.”

“But we’d eat a lot of amazing food and get a lot of sun — maybe even a tan.” You gasp childishly, leaning in to bump his shoulder with yours. Levi stays put, immobilized by your words. “Imagine us with sunburn? How crazy would that be?”

“So your dream... is to become a tomato?” he flatly asks.

You grin, holding off on a laugh until you can’t stand it. It starts breathy and low so as not to alert the chatter in the cobblestone house behind you, but it bubbles and breaks the seal to a full-blown giggle.

Levi shakes his head, the floppy hair in his face following a delayed second.

“Fucking ridiculous.”

You grin towards him. “What?”

“You. You’re fucking ridiculous,” he interrupts, but something miraculous happens:

His eyes crinkle. His lips curve to a smile.

Suddenly the dream of the sun doesn’t feel as beautiful when you’re looking at him.

“James.”

Levi Ackerman dissolves at your side, and you feel weightless all over again.

Darkness; you want to reach towards the sunlight, but a billowing cloud rushes towards you and knocks you back to the dirt once again.

You cough at the dust clouds around your head, disoriented and confused, until a nonchalant boot digs into your side.

“Get up.”

“But I was just up,” you mumble in protest.

“No, you weren’t.”

When you blink up, you’re met again with the sight of Levi hovering over you. He still wears the same loose white shirt and vest, legs covered in dark trousers and boots, but he looks… even younger than before.

Whereas he could pass as a young adult in his early twenties just a short few minutes ago, he now looks as youthful as a teenager.

You grit your teeth, counting down the seconds. “Actually, I kinda dig it down here.”

“Seriously—?”

You get an idea. A bad one, but an idea nonetheless.

The question that trails in disbelief earns you enough time to reset your approach to fighting him, your hand quick to wrap around his ankle. Pulling as hard as you possibly can, you use your core and sweep his leg so that Ackerman goes airborne. 

When his body hits the ground in a nasty thud, you hurry to scramble over him. The bone of your forearm presses into the boy’s neck, causing Levi to grunt with discomfort.

You grin above him as he grimaces.

“Dirty trick,” he spits, but he doesn’t fight it.

In fact, he doesn’t try to escape at all.

You shrug a shoulder, pressing harder onto his windpipe. He sputters, but his face remains just as neutral as ever. 

“What’s got you so pissy today?”

“What?” Levi asks from beneath you. His hands curl around your elbow and fist, but he doesn’t push your forearm away just yet.

“You’re moody.” The correction has you laughing gently under your breath, and the sight beneath you? It’s one to behold. 

His dark hair frames his face messily, splayed across dirt and gravel. His teeth continue to grind, growl bubbling in his chest, but when he decides to push against your arm, all you do is push harder into his throat. He coughs with a curse.

“I’m — fuck — not.”

“Are too.”

He narrows his eyes. “And I’m letting you win.”

“Are not.”

“Wanna bet?”

Easing up on his windpipe, you crawl off of him and extend a hand to help pull him up to a seated position. Levi begrudgingly takes it, hoisting himself up on the flat of his palm. He angles closer to you, voice low with a feigned warning.

“Thought we didn’t do draws,” he states.

Your forehead drops to his shoulder, lost in a belly laugh when all you want to say is—

“James!”

When you come back to the world, the sun is blocked by a face. Levi barks your name with an intensity that frightens you out of your dreams of the Underground and into the reality of the old headquarters.

Hange hovers over his shoulder. Their glasses are pushed into their hairline where concern etches over every line of their curious face. The uncertain murmurs of the rest of the squad are somewhere behind your head where they observe from a distance.

"Are you alright?" Levi asks with less fervor.

“I’m fine,” you breathe, rolling your neck to look up at Hange.

“Are you? Because you disappeared on us for a second, kid,” Hange tells you, but something squeezes your arm to the point of hurting.

You blink down to the source — Levi white-knuckles a hand around your forearm, holding it steady to the ground. When you meet his eyes once more, he lets go like your body is the temperature of a steaming titan.

"We're not doing that again," he decides for the both of you.

"Wait."

Sitting up on your forearms, the warmth of the sun brings unbridled joy back into your stomach.

"We have to."

"Excuse me?" Levi snaps, eyes narrowing for a split second until it hits — his expression releases built-up tension. "...did you...?"

At first you can only grin, delirious and overjoyed. "...dream of becoming a tomato, one day?"

His face slacks with dumbfounded surprise.

"Is that an inside joke?" Hange whispers in a hiss over his head. "Is tomato code for something?"

"In a way," you reply, but your attention isn't on Hange. You're too busy beaming over at a crouching Levi, who looks at you in way you've never seen before.

He's warworn and childlike, an oxymoron of your own muddled mind, but he knows.

You know he knows, too.

Because you might have finally figured out a plan to — quite literally — knock some sense into you.

Author's Note: Gosh, your theories have been so fun to read! And we only get brief moments with the Scouts, so I sort of took some liberties with their personalities. Your likes, comments, & reblogs have been wonderful! My inbox is open anytime xo

tag list: @lazylizzy3

[recurring-polynya]

Hello! Long time lurker. I've really enjoyed reading your work and especially love Heart is a Muscle and the way you characterise all the different relationships in it! My ask is how do you think Byakuya finds out about RenRuki. I feel like it would be one of those moments where subconsciously he'd see it coming but at the same time still be caught of guard and manage to be very Byakuya about it.

This was one of those where I wasn't quite sure if it was an ask or a fic request, but the fact is I have an old chunk of story sitting around that addresses this very question. I guess I intended to someday throw this into some post-Heart is a Muscle story, and maybe I still will, but who knows if I'm ever going to get there, so you can have it now. Takes place after everyone gets home from the Blood War (where Rukia and Renji had to confess to each other in the middle of bankai training because I thought it would be cool it was weighing on their hearts)

(I wrote this in 2019 and gave it only light edits)

| read on ao3 | request guidelines |

⚔️ 🕶️ 💕

The sun was starting to go down when Kuchiki Byakuya arrived at Practice Field #3. On a normal day, work hours would be long over, although one might find an industrious officer out in this part of the division grounds, training on their own, or a few of the younger ones playing a game of pick-up football. Tonight, it was quiet.

It had been nine days since Kurosaki Ichigo had defeated Yhwach.

A young human girl was perched on the fence surrounding the field, chatting animatedly with Byakuya's ridiculous adjutant, who snapped to attention when he sensed the approach of his commanding officer.

"Good evening, sir!" Abarai Renji barked. "Thank you for agreeing to this! I hope you don't mind, but I asked Inoue Orihime to come."

The girl hopped off the fence and bowed deeply. "Hello, again, Captain Kuchiki, sir!"

"Worried that I won't hold back?" Byakuya asked with a coolly raised eyebrow.

"Oh, I know you won't," Renji replied. "She's here so that I don't hold back."

Byakuya guffawed, and one side of his mouth quirked up. "Congratulations, Lieutenant. You've finally managed to say something humorous."

"You feeling good today, sir?" Renji asked, just a tinge of concern in his voice. "You feeling up for this?"

"I am fully recovered, thank you," Byakuya sniffed. "Yourself?"

"Feelin' good, sir."

"Then let us begin."

"Oh, one last thing, Captain. Would you mind leaving your scarf with Orihime, here? I wouldn't wanna get my blood all over another one."

"Truly, Lieutenant, you are on a roll today," Byakuya noted, unwinding the scarf from his neck and draping it around Orihime's.

"Oooh, it's so light!" Orihime cooed. "It's like nothing!"

"I'll tell Kurosaki to get you one for your birthday," Renji teased.

"Are you ready now?" Byakuya demanded.

"Yep, enough stallin'. Let's do this."

Orihime hopped back up on the fence and called up a shield in front of herself. "Good luck, Renji!" she called.

Abarai shot her a wink and took up his position on the field.

Byakuya placed his hand on the hilt of his sword, but did not draw it.

Abarai drew his and silently released into shikai. He bounced lightly on the balls of his feet. "Might wanna release, sir."

"I shall be the judge of that."

Renji gave a little nod. "As y'like. BANKAI!"

It was common knowledge that Abarai had unlocked a second level to his bankai in the Royal Realm. Byakuya was looking forward to seeing it actually, but he wasn't particularly concerned about it.

Byakuya knew quite a bit about zanpakutou and their releases. It did happen occasionally that a sword would reveal itself in stages, but it tended to retain its essential character.

Hihiou Zabimaru was an excellent bankai, powerful and versatile. It required immense spiritual pressure, iron concentration and significant amount of mental bookkeeping, Byakuya was given to understand. It had served Abarai well in his ill-advised hijinks up until now, but the fact was, it would not be truly formidable until Abarai himself had another half-century or so under his belt. It was too bulky, too finicky, too fragile. There was no other way to master bankai like that, only experience. Byakuya knew a quite bit about bankai like that, himself.

Abarai launched himself at his captain, blade swinging.

Byakuya went to shikai as he drew his zanpakutou, petals pouring forth from his sheath and forming a shield in front of him.

Abarai's blade sliced right through it.

Byakuya flash-stepped away, sweeping Senbonzakura's blades into a more solid foundation, only to find them knocked out of the way by a giant skeletal hand. Another flash step, another regrouping, and Abarai was there again.

Suddenly, it dawned on him. Hihio Zabimaru had been a joke. A prank. A giant, heavy, impossible-to-use freight train that Abarai had taken in stride, as he did every other misfortune that fate heaped upon him. It was a shadow, an echo of Abarai's real bankai.

So-oh Zabimaru also took immense spiritual pressure to summon, that much was still true. But the bulk, the unwieldy mass was gone. It was as if though Abarai's new spiritual armor was plugged directly into his spinal column. It moved with him weightlessly, astonishingly fast.

Something else had changed, too. Something about Abarai's spiritual pressure. It was more unified, more focused, more together. For the first time out of the many, many times Byakuya had fought his lieutenant, he did not feel like he was being attacked by an angry, flailing youth, but that he was facing a worthy adversary.

Byakuya was being pressed harder and harder to defend against Abarai's assault.

And the fact was, he was not fine.

The injuries inflicted on him by As Nodt were grievous. He was lucky to be alive, and if it weren't for Kirinji's healing springs, he probably wouldn't even be able to summon his zanpakutou. His soul was damaged, and although he had made a miraculous recovery, he was not completely made whole. His speed was close to what it once was, and his bond with Senbonzakura was as strong as ever, but his power and endurance were greatly compromised. He could go to bankai if needed, but it was extremely taxing, and Shuukei Hakuteiken was, at the moment, out of his reach.

He thought it wouldn't matter.

Abarai had never even come close to beating him.

Abarai wouldn't notice such a weakness and furthermore, was too sentimental to exploit such a--

He had brought Inoue.

Abarai knew exactly what he was doing.

“BANKAI!” Byakuya called out.

Abarai smirked. “You shouldna let me get that head start, Captain.”

---

"Renji, he's waking up!"

The world swam into view, tinted orange.

"Hey, Captain!" Abarai's grating bark rang out. "How you feel?"

"I feel fine," Byakuya snapped, starting to sit up.

"Lie down please, I'm almost done, but not quite," Orihime said firmly.

Byakuya put his head back down on the ground, and replayed the last few moments of the fight in his head.

Abarai had come out aggressively, going to bankai immediately. He had never allowed Byakuya to gain a solid footing, and pulled out his strongest attack, which Byakuya had never seen, as soon as he possibly could. Byakuya hadn’t even been able to get a good look at it, he only had the impression of fangs before becoming completely overwhelmed. Abarai, who knew his attack patterns, who knew that it took him a minute or two to work up a full head of steam, had bet everything he had on defeating Byakuya immediately and it had worked.

It had been a rout, an utter humiliation.

Byakuya could still beat his adjutant, surely, but he could no longer plow him over with superior strength, and certainly not in his degraded condition. He was going to need to think up counterstrategies. And some of them were not going to work.

He looked down at his chest and realized that his shihakushou had been sliced from shoulder to hip, and was soaked, absolutely drenched with blood.

"You didn't cut me in half, did you?" he sneered.

"No, you were definitely all still, um, attached," Renji clarified.

"Not by much, though," Orihime mumbled.

Renji nudged her firmly in the shoulder.

Orihime waved her hands, and the healing bubble collapsed into nothingness. "All done!"

Abarai held out a hand. With a twinge of reluctance, Byakuya took it, and let the younger man haul him to his feet.

Orihime scrambled up, pulling the scarf over her head, and offered it back. "Thanks for letting me watch! That was a really fun fight! You're both so, so strong and it's so much nicer when no one actually wants to kill each other."

"Hey, we don't wanna keep everyone waiting, right, 'Hime?" Renji said, glancing sideways at his captain. "We got dinner plans, everyone's leavin' tomorrow."

"Yes, Rukia mentioned it," Byakuya replied dryly.

"You okay to--"

"Stop checking on me, you fool. I have said I am well and I dislike repeating myself."

Renji nodded quickly. "Thanks for the fight, sir. I'll see you in the morning."

Three hours later, Byakuya sat in his office.

He was thinking.

He was thinking about the current state of the Gotei 13, the captain-less squads, the loss of highly seated officers. He was thinking about his Third Seat, who had never exactly been lieutenant material and was currently on medical leave after having his sword-arm completely reconstructed.

Byakuya looked up at the sound of the door opening.

"Uh, hi, Captain," Abarai said, clearly surprised to see him. "What are you doing here so late?"

"This is my office, is it not?" Byakuya snapped.

"Well, sure," Abarai replied, walking over to his own desk. "I left my sunglasses here," he explained, sticking them on top of his head.

"It's dark out," Byakuya pointed out.

"I'll need 'em in the morning," Renji shrugged. He frowned thoughtfully, then pulled open his filing cabinet and withdrew a folder. "Speaking of which, I was gonna give you this tomorrow, but as long as we're both here..."

He crossed the room and extended it.

Gingerly, Byakuya took it, then squinted at the notation on the tab. "Strongly Worded Letters to the Management of Squad 11?"

Abarai's eyes widened. "Oh, no, that was just to keep people from poking around. It's actually...well, it's pretty obvious what it is," he finished lamely.

"You aren't ready,"' Byakuya snarled.

"I'm...what?"

"Yes, your new bankai is very powerful, it is true. But just because you have run roughshod over a few enemies with it hardly means you're ready to strike out on your own. You need more training, more control. A bankai like that can land you in hot water as well as it can save you. Furthermore, there's a shortage of competent lieutenants, it would be foolhardy indeed for you to set forth without experienced backup, and don't tell me you're even thinking of the Seventh. I have heard how you and Lieutenant Iba are when you two are unsupervised."

Abarai's face was twisted in utter befuddlement. "Sir, what are you talking about?"

Byakuya flipped the folder open and stared at the neat stack of papers within. "This isn't an Intent to Test for the Captains' Exam," he said, taken aback.

Renji made a choking noise. "No, sir! Cripes, sir, I just got a new bankai, why would I leave? I need you to help me learn to use it. An' I wouldn't leave you, anyway, not while you're still, you know. From the As Nodt thing. Also, who the hell wants to be captain of anywhere but the Sixth?" His voice rose steadily in both volume and pitch as he babbled.

"There is no need to shout, Lieutenant," Byakuya frowned, looking down again at the stack of papers.

It was a copy of form RHCA-48-006-C, an application to become a Family-Approved Suitor.

Stupidly, Byakuya's eyes drifted over the names written into the form's blank spaces. "With the submission of this form, Abarai Renji, Assistant Captain of the Sixth Division of the Gotei 13," (did he really need to write all that out? It barely fit in the space) "requests the approval of the Kuchiki family to court Lady Kuchiki Rukia, Assistant Captain of the Thirteenth and First Daughter of the Kuchiki."

Oh.

Oh.

---

Byakuya sat in the garden, on the bench near the koi pond. His brain was chasing about in aimless circles, much like the fish in the pond.

"Brother?"

He looked up from the water. His sister was still dressed, despite the late hour. Byakuya recalled that she had been out earlier with Abarai and their human friends. Her hair and makeup was different from the way she wore it for formal events, sharper, wilder. It seemed surreal that parts of the city had been reduced to dust, while others had come through virtually untouched. That despite it all, life continued on.

"Are you alright?" Rukia asked, her brow creased with worry.

Byakuya smiled at her gently, affectionately. He thought about the great lengths he had once gone to protect her from the world, and now she, a woman with one of the most beautiful and deadly bankai he had ever seen, was fussing over him.

"I am fine, Rukia," he reassured her. "Will you sit with me?"

He had expected her to perch at the other end of the bench, a nervous bird, always ready to take flight. Instead, she sat close to him, and with an egregious disregard for propriety, took one of his hands between her own, holding it in her lap. "Renji's sorry, you know. He thought he should have waited another week or two, but I said--"

"He should not be,” Byakuya said stiffly. “Another week or two would have made no difference. I do not wish to speak of it further."

"Did you have something to eat--"

"Did you know that my lieutenant is in love with you?"

It was dark, so he couldn't see if Rukia's cheeks turned pink, but he did catch the shy smile that crossed her lips before she turned her face away self-consciously. Long ago, he had caused her normally unflappable sister to make that face once, maybe twice. It was possibly his greatest achievement.

"He, ah, mentioned something to that effect the other day,"

Byakuya was fairly certain that Abarai wouldn't have proceeded without Rukia's buy-in, but he felt it prudent to double-check. "I take it you... reciprocate?"

She made a pleased little hum. "He only happened to mention it at all because I had just told him that I was in love with him."

Byakuya often enjoyed whimsically deriding his ridiculously hardworking and absurdly devoted adjutant, even more so in the presence of his sister, whose affection for the man had long been obvious, if not the degree of it. But he couldn't bring himself to make jokes, not right now.

"You do not need my permission to take up with him romantically," he pointed out. "You and I have had a long-standing agreement, that as long as you were discreet about it--"

"Renji and I don't want that," Rukia interrupted. "I mean, we do. We do want to take up romantically." She made an odd face at having to say the phrase out loud. "But you're very important to both of us. We wanted you to know. We… wanted you to approve."

Byakuya glanced over at the young woman who he had adopted so many years ago, and yet, had only recently become his sister. She was, in so many ways, much like himself in his youth. Brash. Stubborn. Willful. Too brilliant by half. Byakuya adjusted his hand in hers, and gave it a gentle squeeze.

"You know I am a sentimental fool," he began, and Rukia turned to look at him again with an expression he couldn't quite parse. "I think it is embarrassingly obvious how fond I am of both of you."

Emotion broke over Rukia's face. "It is not, Brother," she tried to scold him, though her voice cracked at the end.

"He hardly deserves you," Byakuya went on.

Rukia rolled her eyes. "The two of you are so--"

"But at least he acknowledges that, and seeks to remedy it," Byakuya ignored her. "I shall be watching closely to make sure he does not become complacent, but if he continues on his current trajectory, he may eventually become worth your affection."

"So, are you going to approve his stupid form?" Rukia asked.

"That," replied Byakuya, "is a different matter."

"Oh," Rukia said softly.

"Becoming a Family-Approved Suitor has nothing to do with whether or not I like him. It is an opening of negotiations, a proof of suitability for marriage. Surely, you two don't…" He trailed off when he saw Rukia looking away again.

"We've only just started figuring this out," she admitted. "But it's not...out of the question."

"Oh," Byakuya replied. He'd always had the distinct impression that his sister had little interest in matrimony, although he knew as well as anyone the difference the "who" of the equation could make.

"That presents...a difficulty," he admitted. "The Family would not take it well. They already think I have been too selfish in these matters.”

“That’s so short-sighted,” Rukia muttered. “So he doesn’t have much money or a name that goes six generations back. He’s got bankai. He’s incredibly strong. The family hasn’t even produced anyone who can pass the vice-captain’s exam in the last hundred years.”

"You misunderstand me, Sister," he clarified. "Bringing Abarai into the family would be a tremendous benefit to me, personally. I lack for neither money nor familial pedigree. The only thing I lack is a family line. A young man of immense spiritual pressure, with no family ties of his own, and an inexplicably fierce loyalty to myself would be of great benefit to our line and perhaps to our family as a whole. It would not be very advantageous to those who are jostling to prove themselves the best among a number of poor choices. The family has not been to war in a long time, and many forget how important it is to maintain our strength. I have not forgotten.”

Rukia’s eyes widened. “You wouldn’t name him…”

Byakuya made a horrified face. “Of course not.” He frowned. “Not for the family. But the Captain of the Sixth need not also be the head of the family. I told the Head Captain a year ago he was the only one I trusted to replace me in that regard, although I doubted my posthumous opinion would be respected. I suppose I should tell Kyouraku the same. This would make things a bit smoother, I suppose.” He was quiet for a moment. “I will need to think on this. I might.... I might need to talk to Grandfather. I… will do what I can.”

Rukia eased her hand from his, and slid her arms around his waist and leaned into his side. “Thank you, Brother. I love you.”

Byakuya closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He hardly deserved her, either. He pulled one arm out of her hug and rested it gently around her shoulder. “Thank you, Rukia,” he said softly. Another deep breath. “I love you, too.”

Her only response was to hug him just the teeniest bit harder.

[navigator-vahnya]

I’ve been listening to the Thrawn 2017 audiobook with my husband on our way to and from work. We just finished the Dromedar incident and got to the part where Captain Rossi gets all pissed off at Thrawn for saving the Dromedar’s crew instead of the Tibana gas. She suspends him, but then Thrawn razzle-dazzles her with some reverse psychology, getting her to kick Eli off the Blood Crow along with him. For those that don’t remember, the convo goes something like this:

Rossi: “One word out of you, Ensign, and your ass is staying behind on Ansion too.”

Eli: *seethes silently*

Thrawn: “i’M sUrE EnSigN VanTo WiLL bE Of gReAt VaLuE tO yOu On tHe ReMAiNDeR oF yOuR PaTroL.”

Rossi: “On SECOND thought, I can hardly deprive my extra special lieutenant of his aide. Congrats on the extended shore leave, Vanto. Peace, bitches.”

Eli: *surprised pikachu face*

At this point, shaking his head in disbelief, Ricky paused the audiobook. This was the conversation that followed:

Me: “What’s wrong?”

Ricky, exasperated: “Why is Thrawn OBSESSED with Eli?”

My brain, who’s an unapologetic Thranto shipper: «Where do I even BEGIN? Let me launch into a detailed monologue on how Thrawn and Eli are actually soulmates, only at this point in the story, Eli doesn’t know it yet.»

But in reality, I don’t want to sway his opinion, and I’m really curious about his unadulterated take on the Thrawn trilogy, so all I said was this:

Me: “Why do you think Thrawn is obsessed with him?”

Ricky: “I dunno, because he keeps manipulating his life? First he asked Palpatine to put Eli with him. Then he pulled that shit to get Eli assigned to the Blood Crow instead of the job he wanted. Now he’s getting Eli kicked off the Blood Crow too. Wherever Thrawn goes, he’s making sure Eli comes with him. Seems pretty obsessive to me.”

Me: “Hmm…”

Ricky, thoughfully: “…Is Thrawn in love with Eli or something?”

My brain: «Yes. Definitely.»

Ricky, not waiting for an answer: “Well, my man Eli better watch his back. Thrawn seems like the kind of dude who’s got people chained up in his basement.”

My brain: «Yep. I’ve definitely read that fic before.»

Me: “Lucky for Eli they don’t have basements in space.”

Ricky: “Are they still roommates? He might not actually need a basement…”

My brain: «And they were ROOMMATES!»

So I really enjoyed my husband’s take for several reasons. Firstly, he picked up right away on the fact that Thrawn’s early relationship with Eli was super manipulative. When I first read the book, I think I was wearing Thranto-colored glasses. I only saw the things I wanted to see. Like how Thrawn saw potential in Eli and wanted to cultivate it. Or maybe it was the bonding experience of Thrawn and Eli both being outcasts together, “the Wild Space yokel and the Unknown Regions alien”; they could succeed when all those core-worlders wanted to see them fail. But in reality, even if he did indeed see potential in Eli, Thrawn screwing around with his whole life and career was hella manipulative. Of course I know now that Thrawn wanted to keep him close because there was concern of Eli being a spy or even a Grysk plant. Even though he did indeed come to appreciate Eli’s unique talents over time, that’s not why he kept him close at first. But I was impressed that Ricky immediately called Thrawn’s behavior out as “obsessive,” because…well, it does come off that way.

Secondly, the Thranto shipper in me found it really interesting that Ricky asked me, “Is Thrawn in love with Eli or something?” Even though the love in question is of the manipulative and obsessive variety, I found it interesting that that word crossed his mind. It goes to show that even people who aren’t looking for it, and who aren’t reading between the lines, can pick up on some sort of Thranto vibe while reading (or in our case, listening to) this book. I really can’t wait to hear what he thinks once Eli’s loyalty to Thrawn begins to grow.

[deeptrashwitch]

Drama and rage

*Jackson is arguing with a another medic that just arrived to the base, because the visitor disagreed with how he was organizing his desk*

Luke: That's a record, just because of the desk and he's already arguing *leaning against a ceiling beam*

Alicia: We knew he was like this *sit on the same beam as Luke* he's the short-tempered of the team

Luke: Tell me about it, does he even like someone? Y'know, someone who he doesn't gets scolded for nothing

Alicia: Hmmm, Dr. Kalani maybe? They seemed to get along last time we visited Captain Toa (@islandtarochips OC's) *raising an eyebrow* also he tolerates First Lieutenant van Rijn more than he tolerates you

Luke: Maya? (@justasmolbard OC) I mean, she easy to like, but I still surprised that Jackson ended up considering them friends with all his things

Alicia: Maybe he got fed up with y'all and wanted to met people that doesn't do stupid crap all the time. But friends...I'm not so sure about that, maybe just acquaintances whom he tolerates

Luke: He's fed up with you as well, you are the mother of the stupid shit we do

*Jackson and the visitor start to shout at each other, making the Captain and Lieutenant look at them, wondering if they would kill each other soon. Then Luke noticed Elijah and Noah hid on the other side of the room, whispering while they watched the arguing*

Luke: There are those two, huh?

Alicia: Yep, and over there are Alexander and Marcus *pointing to another beam*

Luke: Huh, we had the same idea then *waving towards them when they lock stares*

Alicia: Mhmm, and even Wraith is watching this

Luke: Is she now?

Alicia: Dominique, who is with you now? *opening the radio channel*

Wraith: Fowlett, Jackson, Stevens and Scott *with the sound of popcorn in the background* holy shit, Blackwell is gonna fight this one

Alicia: Yeah he will, but apart of the desk thing, why are they arguing? I never expected Jackson would fight someone over his messy desk

Wraith: Oh no, it isn't because of the desk

Marcus: It isn't? *confused*

Wraith: No, from what I've heard, this other medic is someone known for being pushy as hell and take control of medic bays that aren't his! And apparently he was trying to tell Jackson how he should leave things under his command and just shut up and obey him!

Noah: Ohhh, that bitch *offended* that explains a lot

Wraith: Agree, so the desk thing was the last string

Luke: Now I want Jackson to kick his ass

Alicia: Me too, but maybe we should step in

Elijah: Why exactly, Captain?

Alicia: Because I'm not loosing one of my boys thanks to a moron, he doesn't need a fight on his record

Luke: Aww *teases before getting smacked* ouch

Alicia: Shush, look at that

*Jackson has a tic on the eyebrow, clenching his fists at the side, but he's barely able to control himself. Meanwhile Elijah walked around in silence, leaving some ropes for the ones over the beams, the went back with Noah*

Jackson: LISTEN HERE, YOU FUCKER! *pointing at the other medic* THIS IS MY FUCKING BASE, NOT YOURS! YOU HAVE NOTHING TO DO WITH THIS! GET THE FUCK OUT OF THIS GODDAMNED PLACE!

Luke: The base is...

Alicia: Let him, I want to see how this goes *whispering with a frown*

Jackson: DON'T YOU FUCKING DARE TRY TO GIVE ME ORDERS OR I SWEAR I'LL BREAK YOUR HEAD WITH MY BARE HANDS!

*The visitor was frowning, furious and frustrated that nothing was going as he wanted, and in a second of impulsivity he slapped him to the point that Jackson's face went to the side. Just for a moment everything stayed silent, but over the beam Alicia's and Luke's blood was boiling before they tried to go down back to the floor. But Noah's signs stopped them*

Alicia: Why are you stopping us? *with her face filled of anger*

Noah: Just give Jackson a second, Cap *pointing at the blonde* please

*Before anyone did anything, Jackson slapped back the other medic with his face contorted in rage, but with his hands trembling with a mix of fear and anger. And in a moment Alicia went back down, frowning as she walked towards those two, with the visitor smiling with malice and Jackson getting tense as he looked away*

X: Captain Ma-

Alicia: Get the fuck out of my base *putting herself as a barrier and glaring at the visitor*

X: Excuse me?

Alicia: Don't make me repeat myself, get out

X: But your Sergeant-!

Alicia: Shut up, Sergeant! *squaring up with a deeper frown* you also are one, and you decided to not only try to take over one of my men work, but you slapped him inside MY BASE!

X: H-he also-!

Luke: Self defense *sat over the beam, looking down* it is catalogued as self defense since it was you the one who attacked him first

X: Ugh...

Alicia: We have proof to report you with your superior, and if you decide not to go and try to attack our medic again, then *grabs him by the collar and lifts him up, looking him in the eye* a slap is the least you would get

X: I-it's...

Wraith: *from the speakers* I wouldn't do that, young man, you don't want everyone here as an enemy

*Then Alicia let him go, then the man walked away as they all stared at him, then the woman sighed*

Alicia: You good? *turning around to look at Jackson, then gasped* Christ, kid, your cheek is getting inflamated!

Jackson: Wha-? Aren't you pissed?

Alicia: Why would I be? Yo, can someone bring an ice patch?!

Jackson: I...thought you would be furious thay I slapped that man

Alicia: He started it, and you defended yourself, I'm cool with it

Edward: *walking inside, throwing it to Alicia* You should've smacked that bastard in the face, Captain

Alicia: I had the intention, but you know, laws *accomodating the ice patch over Jackson's cheek* there we go

Marcus: That was something I didn't expected *going down with Alexander* I hate that one

Elijah: Agree *walking away from their hidding place* but hey, for the first time the fact that we were watching the fight worked for us

Jackson: Were you watching? Seriously? Why?

Luke: It's not our fault that your life is the soap opera of the base *mocking him*

Jackson: Screw you *glaring at him*

Alicia: Leave it you two, enough drama for today. Jackson go to rest, Luke leave him alone *then looking at the security cameras* Nicholas, do you mind statting a reunion with that man's superior? Wraith and I have...things to discuss with them

Nicholas: Right away, Captain!

Alicia: Thank you, I'm on my way *walks away while ruffling Jackson's hair lovingly* Wraith leave the fucking blackmail archive alone, we don't need it yet

[gamergirlbonestaskforce141riot]

It's the little things (5)

Previous / Next

Queuing with the food tray in their hands, Gaz was talking Ghost's ear off, telling him all about the ... he didn't even fucking know, but from time to time he grunted or nodded. The fucking queue was slow as hell that day.

Gaz knew Ghost was barely listening, but he still kept talking. Long ago he had adopted as one of his goals making the Lieutenant feel more human, by being around him and interacting with him, even if it had been one-sided at first.

When Sgt. Garrick was recruited by Captain Price, he could barely exchange greetings with Ghost. Most days he didn't even hear his voice. Of course he didn't know the details, but for the tiny, sparce clues mentioned while chatting with Price, and seeing Simon's face in Las Almas, Kyle knew something bad had to have happened to make Ghost... Ghost.

Given Ghost's gear choice, one would think he'd be a cold-hearted bastard. And he was, but also... kinda not. Gaz had seen him carry another wounded soldier on his back without a single grunt for hours until they got to exfil. If Ghost noticed the sentry was tired, he'd send them to bed and take over the watch. He was always there, silent, stoic, reliable.

So the first time Ghost sat down with him at the mess hall, unprompted, after seeking him out, Gaz felt fucking good. And when it kept happening, he felt even better.

The queue advanced slowly, and Gaz laughed when he heard the grunt coming from behind the balaclava. They could see from there that Price and Soap were already at their usual table, and Riot was standing near them, chatting with a couple of privates.

"Man, I wish my girlfriend had those tits" A Corporal queuing in front of them commented to his fellow officer.

"Whose tits?"

"Vega's. Saw her the other morning in the swimming pool"

Oh man.

Gaz tried as hard as he could to not burst into laughter, seeing Ghost silently glaring at the back of the Corporals' heads.

"It's a shame about her face though"

"Yeah, but you really don't have to look at her face"

Oh boy. Gaz kept looking at Ghost, whose eyes were narrowed to barely two slits. He could almost imagine the following day's news. Murder at the mess hall. At least that would get the queue moving.

"She trains every morning with a group of the privates. Today they were doing squats"

"Bet that's why her ass is that big"

Yep, there was about to be murder. Gaz giggled when Ghost leaned in, his head looming over the Corporals.

"We could find out"

The two Corporals yelped and looked up, turning pale at seeing the towering Lieutenant behind them, clearly pissed.

"Sir... sorry, sir..."

"We were just..."

"Meet me in the gym in one hour and we'll see if it's true. You're going to do squats until your arse grows bigger or you pass out" Ghost growled, his accent thicker than ever. "Don't make me hunt you down"

The rest of the time in the queue was awkward, with the Corporals shuffling their feet and the Lieutenant right at their backs, murdering them with his eyes alone. Gaz enjoyed it greatly.

And to top it off, by the time they got to the food, they had run out of custard. Fucking hell.

Gaz and Ghost made their way to the table where the rest of the team was waiting, Price and Soap engrossed in something about explosives, and sat down, the Sergeant was beaming, the Lieutenant moody.

Sitting next to him, Riot moved her custard to Ghost's tray, and he looked at her, confused. She shrugged.

"Saw there were just a few left and saved you mine"

Gaz smiled knowingly when Ghost's whole demeanor softened. He wondered how much longer would it take. Maybe he should make a bet with Soap, given how invested he was.

[sarahsmi13s]

Lieutenant Rogers - pt 4

Earn It

pairings: romantic!neil ‘omaha’ vikander x rogers!reader, platonic!dagger squad x rogers!reader, plantonic!sam wilson x rogers!reader, platonic!bucky barnes x rogers!reader

characters: y/n rogers, neil vikander, the entire dagger squad (admirals and captain included), sam wilson, bucky barnes, john walker, lemar hoskins, misc. characters from both universes

series warnings: language, blood, fighting, sexual inuendoes, john walker, cannon dangers, cannon deaths, suggestive themes, the flag smashers, super soldiers, if i miss any please let me know

word count: ~4.1k

a/n: if you couldn’t already tell, i’m OBSESSED with crossovers. reader is the daughter of steve rogers, and has the super soldier serum as well

sources: Top Gun: Maverick (2022) , The Falcon and the Winter Soldier (2021)  

series summary: 13 pilots were called back to Top Gun in 2023. at the same time, Lieutenant Rogers learns that her father’s shield was passed down to John Walker.

chaper summary: sam and bucky finally meet john in person. so does star. neither interactions were in john’s favor.

pt 1  pt 2  pt 3  pt 5  pt 6

************

“We need to tell Y/N,” Bucky said as he walked alongside Sam. “Hell no,” Sam said immediately. “Why not? She needs to know!” “No, she does not. She is training, and this is not her problem.” “She’s a super soldier, just like them.” “Well, technically she’s a super pilot, not a soldier.” Bucky rolled his eyes.

“Sorry about Redwing,” Bucky said after a few minutes of silence. “No you’re not,” Sam said. He looked over at Bucky, “What’s going on in the big cyborg brain of yours?” 

“It’s computing,” Buck replied flatly, making Sam chuckled. “You know what? I can actually see it. I can see the gears turning. Ope, they’re malfunctioning, shuttin’ down. Yep, they’re on fire.” 

Bucky ignored his teasing, “We gotta figure out where the serum’s coming from.” “Yeah. And how in the hell after 80 years are there 8 super soldiers runnin’ loose?”

A truck pulled up beside them, honking.

“So that didn’t go as planned, huh?” John said from the back. 

Sam and Bucky barely glanced as they kept walking. 

“Okay. Let’s keep going.” The car rolled forward, staying in front of the two.

“Look, at least we know what we’re up against now, huh? And we’re pretty sure it’s one of the big three, so..” John continued. “Aliens, androids, or wizards?” “Pretty sure.” 

Bucky shook his head and scoffed, “There’s no such thing as wizards.” John nodded, “Alright, then it’s aliens, or androids.” Sam finally turned his head, “Or super soldiers.” 

“Shit, super soldiers. For real?” The other guy in the truck said. “Yeah.” “Wow. Alright. Then we work together.” “That’s not happening,” Bucky said bluntly.

John sighed, “I think we stand a much better chance if we all just-” Bucky cut him off, “Just 'cause you carry that shield, it doesn't mean you're Captain America.” He was fuming on the inside, but just mildly annoyed on the outside. “Look, I've done the work, okay?” John was becoming impatient. “You ever jump on top of a grenade?” Bucky challenged.

Walker didn’t miss the chance to brag, “Yeah. Actually, I have. Four times. It's a thing I do with my helmet. It's a reinforced helmet. It's a long story, but, any… Look, it's 20 miles to the airport. You guys need a ride. Guys. Gary, stop. Get in.” 

Okay, you gotta give the man credit for trying to be friendly but he was doing it for the wrong reasons.

Bucky and Sam shared a look before begrudgingly climbing into the truck.

And the talking started immediately. “Okay, so we've got eight Super Soldiers on a bulk supply run. Why?” Sam sighed, knowing there was no way around trying to work with him, “They say their mission is to get things back to the way it was during The Blip. Maybe they're just trying to help.” “They had a funny way of showing it,” Bucky voiced.

“That serum doesn't exactly have a great track record. No offense.” John was already approaching their last nerve, that stepped right on it. But they continued to be cordial.

Well, Sam did, Bucky was just staring.

“We need to figure out where they're going. How'd you track 'em here? The Flag Smashers?” Sam asked, looking between the two. “Uh, no, we didn't track them, we tracked you, uh, through Redwing,” the guy next to John said, scratching his neck. 

“You hacked my tech?”

John chuckled, seemingly amused by Sam’s frustration, “Sorry. It's not exactly hacking. It's government property. Kind of the government.” Bucky just stared at him, pondering how someone had that much audacity dare carry the shield. 

“Does he always just stare like that?” Sam glanced at Bucky before looking back at Walker, “You get used to it.”

“Okay, look,” John cleared his throat, “you know, things have gotten kind of, uh…” “Chaotic.” “Yeah. The GRC, they're doing the best they can to get things up and running smoothly, post Blip.” “Reactivating citizenship, social security, healthcare. Basically just managing resources for the refugees who were displaced by the return.” Sam nodded, “The Global Repatriation Council does all that. I get that. So why exactly are you two here?”

The man next to John continued to explain, “Well, they provide the resources and we keep things stable.” John chimed in, “Yeah, violent revolutionaries aren't usually good for anyone's cause.” “Usually said by the people with the resources.” John nodded, “We got a lot of resources. If you guys, if you joined up with us, we could-”

“No,” Bucky bluntly cut Walker off, firm in his decision. 

“I got mad respect for both of y'all. But you were getting your asses kicked till we showed up.” Bucky looked at him, “Who are you?” “Lemar Hoskins.” Sam scoffed, “Look, I see a guy hanging out of a helicopter in tactical gear, I need a lot more than Lemar Hoskins.” “I’m ‘Battlestar’. John’s partner.” Bucky really couldn’t believe what he was hearing, “‘Battlestar’?” Bucky nodded, turning to the front, “Stop the car!”

The driver, Gary, stopped at a rest point. 

“Look, I-I get it, okay? I get the attitude, I do. You didn't think that the shield was gonna end up here. I get it, Bucky,” John called out, but Bucky ignored him. He sighed and turned to Sam, “And I'm-I'm not trying to be Steve. I'm not trying to replace Steve. I'm just trying to be the best Captain America I can be. That's it.” 

He hoped to get Sam on board, “It'd be a whole lot easier if I had Cap's wingmen on my side.”

Scoffing, Sam moved to get out, “It’s always that last line.” 

He shut the door, not thinking about the next words that came out of his mouth, “If you really want support, you need it from more than just Cap’s ‘wingmen’.” Sam shook his head and followed after Bucky.

*********

“Good morning. The uranium enrichment plant that is your target will be operational earlier than expected. Raw uranium will be delivered to the plant in ten days’ time. As a result, your mission has been moved up one week-” Everyone tensed in their seats. “-in order to avoid contaminating the target valley with radiation.”

“Sir,” Coyote spoke up from behind where you were seated beside Hangman. “No one here has successfully flown a low-level course.” You nodded a little as you moved your eyes from Coyote to Warlock. “Nevertheless, you have been ordered to move on. Captain.”

Maverick walked up, “We have one week left to focus on phase two. It’s the most difficult stage of the mission. It’s a pop-strike with a steep dive, requiring nothing less than two consecutive miracles.” You shifted in your seat and flexed your hand. “Two pairs of F-18’s will fly in a welded wing formation. Teamwork. Precise coordination of these aircrafts is essential to both the mission’s success and your survival.”

You glanced up at Hangman to find him clicking his pen as he listened. 

“As you know, the plant rests between two mountains. On final approach, you’ll invert directly into a steep dive. This allows you to maintain the lowest possible altitude, and the only possible attack angle. Your target is an impact point less than 3 meters wide. The two seat aircraft will paint the target with a laser bull’s-eye. The first pair will breach the reactor by dropping a laser guided bomb on an exposed ventilation hatch. They will create an opening for the second pair. That’s miracle number one.”

You glanced over and shared a look with Bob, exhaling your nerves as you turned back to Mav. “The second team will deliver the kill shot and destroy the target. That’s miracle number two. If either team misses the target the mission is a failure.” You sucked in a breath as you popped your knuckles. “Egress is a steep high-G climb out to avoid hitting this mountain.”

Jake spoke up next to you, having seemingly done the math in his head, “A steep climb out at that speed, you’re pulling at least eight G’s.” You shook your head, sitting up, “You’re pulling nine, maybe even ten G’s.” Maverick nodded. 

“The stress limit of the F-18’s airframes is 7.5.” Mav nodded again, looking at Rooster, “That’s the accepted limit. To survive this mission, you’ll pull beyond that, even if it means bending your airframe.”

He took a breath, turning back to the screen, “You’ll be pulling so hard, you’ll weigh close to 2,000 pounds, your skull crushing your spine, your lungs imploding like an elephant’s sitting on your chest, fighting with everything you can just to keep from blacking out. And this is where you’ll be the most vulnerable. This is Coffin Corner.”

Fanboy spoke up, “The only person that could maybe withstand that much force is Star.” Both you and Mav shook your heads. “It may not affect me as much as it would anyone else, but I’m not invincible. The serum boosts my metabolism, it doesn't create miracles.” Mav swallowed, nodding at you before continuing.

“Assuming you avoid crashing into this mountain, you’ll climb straight up into enemy radar while losing all of your airspeed. Within seconds you’ll be fired upon by enemy SAMs. You’ve all faced sustained G’s before, but this-this is gonna take you and your aircraft to your breaking point.” 

Phoenix spoke up, shaking her head slightly, “Sir, is this even achievable?” “The answer to that question will come down to the pilot in the box.”

*******

You just exited the locker room, sore, showered, and ready for some drinks after a long day of failing.

“Lieutenant Rogers,” Admiral Simpson poked his head out of his office. “I need a word, please.” You turned immediately and walked in, “Sir, did I-” “This has nothing to do with the mission, Star,” Warlock assured you.

“I don’t know if you were aware but Captain Walker stopped by wanting to have a word with you,” Cyclone said, crossing his arms and he leaned against his desk. You shook your head, “No, sir, I was not aware the Captain would be stopping by.” Cyclone nodded, “Understood. I sent him away as soon as I could.”

His scoff resembled an unamused chuckle, “He tried to use the ‘I’m Captain America’ card. I had to remind him that this was in fact the Navy and that it didn’t work here.” “Also, we’re Admirals, we out rank him anyway.” 

“We aren’t sure of how he found you. But we wanted you to be aware.” You nodded curtly, “Thank you, sirs. Am I dismissed?” They nodded and you went to the door.

“Star?” You turned, humming in acknowledgement. “We stand with you. We don’t appreciate how your wishes were disrespected, if there’s anything we can do. Let us know.” You smiled a little, nodding, “Thank you.”

Once you closed the door, you were fast walking out of the building going to your bike.

********

You laughed as you stood up straight, “Ha! Told you it’d go in!” “That’s what she said,” Fanboy mumbled behind his glass. You dropped your jaw, “Jar, Garcia, I heard that.” He groaned, “Damn your super hearing.” He placed a dollar in the jar.

As you leaned over to take your next shot, the bar became silent and the pilots around you stood stock still. 

You glanced up to see the anger on their faces. “Okay? What made you guys so sour all of a sudden?”

“Y/N Rogers?”

You froze. You’d recognize that voice anywhere. “You gotta be shittin’ me,” you grumbled to yourself.

Hangman, Omaha, and Harvard looked at you, silently asking if they needed to handle this. You shook your head and stood.

Being extra cautious of how you gripped the pool cue, you turned to face John Walker.

“That would be me.” The blond had a proud smile on his face and looked at Lemar who was next to him, “Told you she’d be here.” 

He cleared his throat and adjusted his suit. “John Walker. Captain America,” he stuck his hand out for you to shake.

The quiet scoffs from behind you went unnoticed by the man in blue. “I know who you are, John.” You jerked your head toward Lemar, “Who’s your friend?” “Lemar Hoskins, or ‘Battlestar’,” he said, nodding politely to you. “Nice to meet you, Lemar.”

John clears his throat, obviously not liking that you seemed to just overlook him. You look at him, giving him a once over, not missing the gun on his belt. “How can I help you boys?” You smirked a little at the way John’s jaw clenched.

“We’re trying to work with Sam and Bucky on a mission, they just don’t seem to respect or support us-“ “And you’re here to ask me to talk to them?” “Would you?” 

A laugh escaped your lips before you could catch it.

Walker furrowed his brow, “What’s so funny?” You took a deep breath to calm yourself, “It’s just, you think that I have any influence over two grown men. Like what I say to them might make them want to work with you. John, you might want to rethink your methods.” “Look, Y/N, all I’m asking for is just a little respect and support. It’d mean a lot if I could get it from you.” You nodded, passing your cue to Hangman before stepping forward.

As you opened your mouth, he spoke, “I understand that this isn’t what you expected, or even wanted. But I’m trying to do the best I can, and having you by my side would really help. What do you say?” 

He gave you a smile, one that he definitely thought could get him what he wanted.

“No,” you said, holding your head high, reveling in the way his smile dropped. “No?”

You crossed your arms, looking down at your boots before looking up at John. “Respect is not simply given, John. You have to earn it.” “I’m Captain America, everyone respects me.” 

Rooster laughed from behind you, causing you to smirk when Walker nearly gave himself whiplash to look at him. 

“Dude, if you didn’t notice, which I’m sure you did, nobody batted an eye when you walked in.”

Hangman looked around, “Yeah, and everyone is just kinda ignoring you. It’s a little embarrassing.” John's fingers twitched, but he made no move, knowing he was severely out matched and out numbered.

“Look, Walker, just because you carry that shield doesn’t mean you get respect from everyone at the drop of a hat. My father earned the respect he got. I’ll admit that you’ve done some good things, but that doesn’t make you a good person. It doesn’t mean you deserve the shield.” John nodded, “Oh, I see. I think I know what this is about.”

You opened your arms, inviting him to continue, “Please, do enlighten me.” 

“You wanted the shield and you’re mad they didn’t choose you.” You scoffed, “Oh, really? That’s why I’m upset? Listen, if I wanted the shield, I would have it. This is all about your attitude, and the fact you think you’re above everyone. My dad never thought that way. He was a nobody that was given a chance. He had a heart of pure fucking gold that was too big for his own good. He stood up to bullies, that’s why he was Captain America. You were chosen because of your achievements, not your heart.”

John opened his mouth to say something, but you cut him off. “You want my respect, go out there and fucking earn it. You want Sam and Bucky’s respect, you earn it. Have the day you deserve, John.” The look in your eyes had Walker biting his tongue and walking out, Lemar looking at you.

You shifted your gaze to him, “I understand he’s your friend, but he needed to be taken down a peg or two. Take care, Lemar.” “You too, Lieutenant.” You gave him a small smile as he walked out, wondering if was only here because John was his friend.

Turning back to your fellow aviators, you exhaled, shaking your head. 

“What a dick,” Halo piped up. You all chuckled, nodding in agreement. You held your hand out, Hangman placing the cue in your hand. “That was pretty badass, Star.”

“You’re lucky you had that handled, Penny was about to make him buy a round for the whole bar for that comment,” Phoenix informed you. “Yeah, her hands were itching to ring that bell,” Payback said, nodding towards the bar. “My hands were itching to knock his damn teeth in,” Coyote said, sipping his beer.

You smiled at the group, watching them move back to their previous activities. You were grateful to have them at your back just now.

Bob came up to you and rubbed your arm, Omaha coming up with him to place a hand on the small of your back. “Are you okay?” You nodded, “Yeah.” 

Your hands gripped the cue a little tighter as you twisted your hands around it. “I think I just need a drink, you can take over for me,” you passed the cue to Bob. They nodded and watched you make your way to the bar, turning back around when you made it there safely.

You stood at the bar, rubbing your temples. Penny noticed your presence and made a note to go over to you when she finished cashing out this patron’s tab.

Glancing over, you made sure none of the squad was paying attention and snuck out the back.

Except someone saw you. 

Maverick watched you push off the bar and make a bee-line to the beach. He watched Penny come back and notice that you had left. “Where’d she go?” Mav gestured to the door, “Outside. Put a drink for her on my tab, I’ll go talk to her.” Penny nodded and got the drink.

****

You sat in the sand, cross-legged and staring at the water. “I’m sorry, Dad…” You mumbled, moving your gaze to look at your hands, Steve’s dog tags tangled in your fingers.

Someone sat down beside you, not saying anything as they held out the bottle. “Thanks.” “No problem.” It was silent for a moment while you both took sips of your respective drinks.

“Hangman would have been a better fit,” you tried to make light of the situation and Mav chuckled. “Don’t let him hear you say that.” You huffed a laugh and took a gulp of your drink.

“You wanna talk about it?” Mav asked, not taking his eyes off the water. You chuckled dryly, “I think I voiced my opinion fairly well.” “Star…” You sighed, “I just- I want- I don’t know…”

You sniffled and rubbed your nose, “I wish I could let it go…” “But you can’t.” You shook your head, “No, I can’t.” “That’s okay. Some things you just can’t let go of,” Mav said, flexing his hand and moving his eyes away from the ocean. You knew he was referring to Goose and Rooster.

You brought your knees up, settling your bottle in the sand. “I feel like I let him down, you know,” you confessed, running your fingers over the raised metal of the tags. “That I should have fought Sam harder. Somehow proven to him that he was ready for it. That he was the Captain America this country needs, not the one it wants. Tell him that he had the ability to really make a difference.” 

Mav hesitantly rubbed your back, “I’m sure Sam had his reasons.” You nodded, “He did. And I respected his decision, I’m in no place to tell him how he should feel or what he should do.”

It was silent for a moment and you didn’t want to talk about it anymore.

You gestured back to the Hard Deck, “I appreciate you checkin’ on me, Mav. But go enjoy the rest of your night. We got a long day tomorrow.” He nodded, “It’s not a problem. If you need anything, don’t hesitate.” You gave him a small smile and watched him retreat to the bar.

As you turned back to the water you sighed and ran a hand down your face, bringing the bottle to your lips to finish it.

As you sat there, your phone rang. “Sam, hey.” “Hey, are you busy?” You shook your head, standing up and dusting the sand off, “Not at the moment, no. Heard you got to meet Walker. Would’ve been nice to have a heads up though.” “Heads up?” “Yeah, he showed up at the Hard Deck. If I don’t see him for another 70 years it’ll be too soon.” 

Sam covers his mouth on the other end, “Shit, he went to North Island?” “Actually he tried to talk to me at work. But the Admirals shooed him away. Then I gave him a piece of my mind about 20 minutes ago.” “I’m sorry, Y/N. I had no idea.” You sighed, “It’s fine. But I know you didn’t call about that, what’s going on?”

“Bucky got arrested.” “What?! Why?!” “He missed his court mandated therapy,” Sam explained. You pinched the bridge of your nose, “Why? He knows how important that is.” “He was with me in Germany. We were there on a lead. He wasn’t even supposed to be there.” You groaned and rubbed your face. “Is there anything I can do?” “No, I think his therapist is on her way.” 

You nodded, hand on your hip now, “Okay. Look, our mission got moved up a week, so I’m gonna be training a lot. So just keep an eye on him.” “Of course. I’ll keep you updated.” “Thanks. And Sam?” He hummed. “Be safe. Watch your six.” “You got it. Give ‘em hell, Star.” You both hung up and you went back to the bar.

********

Sam and Bucky walked outside of the police station. “Well, I feel better.” “I feel awful.”

A siren whooping and lights flashing caught their attention. They looked over to see John and Lamar leaning on a squad car. “Gentlemen.”

They glanced at each other before walking over.

“Good to see you again,” John greeted. He was awfully chipper for someone you just got his ass chewed out by his predecessor's daughter.

Neither spoke and just looked at him. “Look, if we divide ourselves, we don’t stand a chance, you guys know that.” John tried to reason, and he honestly thought getting Bucky out of jail would at least garner a little respect.

Sam spoke, crossing his arms, “So, what you got?” “Well, the leader’s name is Karli Morgenthau. We’ve been targeting civilians who’ve been helping Karli move from place to place,” John started. “They geotagged a location, then scrambled the signal. But our satellites have found their symbol popping up in various displacement communities all across Central and Eastern Europe,” Lamar continued.

“Mhm. We think she’s taking the medicine she just stole to one of these camps.” “Well, there are hundreds of those all over the planet since The Blip. So I guess you’ll have to look real hard,” Bucky smarted off. “Good thing I have 20/20 vision, huh?”

Bucky wasn’t having it, “Where is she now, Walker? Do you know?” “No, we don’t know, Bucky,” John said, frustration making his volume rise. “But, it’s only a matter of time before we find out.” “Things are really intense for you, aren’t they, Walker? Doesn’t help that you didn’t get your special approval from Y/N,” Bucky continued to antagonize.

Sam decided to step in, “Take it easy. Look, Walker’s right. It is imperative that we find them and stop them.” John stood up straight, thinking he finally got them on his side. Sam turned to him, “But you guys have rules of engagement and all kind of authorizations you have to get. Us, we’re free agents. We’re more flexible. So it wouldn’t make sense for us to work with you.” Sam and Bucky walked away.

“A word of advice, then,” John said, fed up with it all. They both turned back to him expectantly. “Stay the hell out of my way.” It was John and Lamar’s turn to walk away.

Bucky and Sam walked down the alley, “You really had to rub that in didn’t you?” Bucky just shrugged, “Well, he wasn’t really following her advice anyway.”

****************

okay... okay i know what you guys were thinking- why not just punch the bastard?

to be honest, i want to i REALLY wanted to - but i think a blow to a man’s ego is much more lethal than getting punched

plus, we don’t need to get in trouble for fighting ‘captain america’ and lose our chance at flying this mission

but regardless i hope you enjoyed!

tags <3: @milesdickpic @luckyladycreator2 @hotch-meeeeeuppppp​

comment if you would like to be tagged <3 

[goat-and-a-pig]

Chapter 16

“Mabel?!?” His mouth hung open. The compass slipped from her hand. Mabel stared in shock.

“Dipper,” she whispered. “Dipper!” She screamed. She ran towards him and they collided into the biggest hug ever. They were both crying.

“I thought I would never see you again-”

“I tried so hard- so, so hard- to find you-”

“And I thought nobody would understand-”

“So I kept it all to myself.”

“And I would have never stopped until I found you,” they said in unison. They laughed, then remembered about Stan and Icarus. They looked at them.

Icarus stared in shock. Mabel felt a wave of guilt for never telling him. She should’ve, no matter what Bill said. Stan looked like he could cry. Poor Stan, she thought. This is what he wished for every night for forty years.

She turned back to Dipper. “Why’d you join the Gravity Falls Royal Guard, of all the jobs?” He snorted at her incredulous tone. “Because roughly the same thing happened thirty years ago with their king, remember? I found one of the journals, but this scoundrel stole it.” He scowled at Stan. Stan scowled right back. “My plan was to work up to access the other two, find out where their portal was, then come find you. Why are you with an amnesiac and a criminal?” Before Mabel could answer, Stan spoke up.

“You never would’ve been able to.” Dipper glared at him. “Excuse me?” Stan repeated himself. “You never would’ve been able to. For one thing, Journal 2 was stolen before you joined, about eight years ago as a birthday present for that brat Gideon. When he was two. What does a two-year-old need royal property for anyway?” Stan pulled a face and so did Mabel. Ugh. He’s still the worst. “Secondly, even if it hadn’t been, you never would have had that high of a rank unless you replaced the captain, and he’s a long way from dying. Plus it would’ve taken years. Wouldn’t it just have been easier to use your “prince pass” since you’re royal?” Dipper shook his head. “The king wouldn’t let us. He said it was too dangerous. I can see where he’s coming from but can’t he see where I’m coming from?” Dipper took some shallow breaths. Mabel quickly changed the subject.

“I’ve been living with Icarus ever since he took me. Stan got us out of there. Don’t lock him up- I wouldn’t be back without him.” She looked at Dipper hopefully. He sighed and grinned. “I don’t need to anymore- I can quit now that you’re back. I never have to hear Lieutenant Powers say he’s not going to treat me differently because I’m a  prince anymore! Or call me a useless dud. T-take that, Powers!” He mumbled in her ear. “You say he’s been living with you in another dimension. Do you think he’s-”

“I have my suspicions,” she answered quietly. She motioned for him to follow her deeper into the forest so that they could talk more freely. “Do you see how similar he looks to Stan? But I can’t say anything to him about it or he will find out. I couldn’t tell him anything about my life, my ex-lovers, my favorite candy, you… Because if I did he would’ve found out and made sure I’d never see you again.” She shuddered. Dipper patted her shoulder in acknowledgement.

“Wait- Did you say Stan?” She could see the well oiled gears in his head moving. “Stan looks similar-” He cut himself off as he realized.

“Are you saying that con man is the Banished Prince- also known as our great uncle?” His jaw dropped in surprise. “Yep,” she replied. “But you can’t tell Icarus- it’s not our secret to share. Will you help us help Icarus? Please?” She gave him puppy dog eyes. “C’mon, did you really think I wasn’t going to help you? Let’s get this over quickly so we can get you back to Mom and Dad, okay?” He glanced around. “And we should probably get back so they don’t suspect anything.”

“And so that we can explain what’s going on,” Mabel added happily. She hugged him.

“I’m so glad you’re back,” Dipper whispered.

“Me too,” Mabel whispered back.

[thetruearchmagos]

Time, Sweet Time...

Has consistently been one of the most annoying things I've had to deal with when it comes to my WIPs.

Keeping track of dates and such is hard enough, but the tricky bit comes with the fact that I really enjoy carrying various characters across and between different WIPs. While it's relatively easy to pick an age and rank - which is important, considering the military focus of most of my works - for someone to have within the confines of a single conflict, making it internally consistent across several has caused me a lot of trouble.

This being a bit of a 'continuity' related error, it's no surprise that it's struck hardest in my most closely connected string of WIPs. Swift Seas And Whirlwinds is the 'earliest' in that group, taking place in 154 A.S. in the Commonwealth calendar, while the three stories I've collected together in my mind as the 'Gustav Trilogy' - comprising The Commonwealth Calls, Terror Immortal, and The Snake In The Sandbox - take place from 162 to 184 A.S.

Thirty years in all, twenty of which covered by the three 'Great Wars'. And that's where the trouble comes.

Most militaries, you see, have such things as 'minimum times in rank/service', and 'mandatory retirement ages', and usually for good reasons. But, in effect, for me this has meant that:

My characters theoretically need be of a 'minimum' age by the time they've reached a certain rank. And:

For those holding the most senior positions, there should be a firm limit on how long they can stay there.

Take, for example, Vice Admiral Olivia D. Oxley, a leading character in SSAW in her role as Flag Officer Commanding, Task Group MYSTIQUE. My plans for her in the past, as they are now, is that her victories in the Islander War would buoy her career in the future, and end with her as Chief of the Admiralty - the professional head of the United Commonwealth Navy - by the start of TCC at the latest, and to continue in that office throughout the Great Wars.

While climbing two ranks to Admiral of the Fleet in a decade or so is, I'd say, reasonable, it's a little harder for a certainly quite senior officer to remain in their highest office for two decades straight, give or take. Or at least, it feels that way sometimes. Sure, I've come up with excuses here and there, and toyed with Olivia's precise age in SSAW to gel the whole thing, but there's been this nagging feeling in my mind that someone might 'call me out' on this whole affair.

She, though, isn't the worst 'offender'. No, that crown goes to dearest Gustav.

You see, by his debut TCC I've pegged his age at about nineteen or so, and holding the rank of Second Lieutenant in the 3rd Internationals. Promoted to full Lieutenant by the war's end, that, and his ascendance to Captain within a year or so post-War, is 'sane' enough. Things, however, get a little stretchy once TI comes around.

Terror Immortal takes place over around five years, and in that time Gustav goes from Captain / junior Major, to Brigadier, marking his progression of four ranks in fewer years. Suffice to say, that is not common in 'modern' militaries!

Now, the fact that the UC's currently waging an inter-World War entailing the expansion of its military forces by the millions, to meet and exceed losses in the tens of thousands, should, my view, give me some leeway, combined with the good old 'he's just that bloody good' juice. Still, the fact he keeps his very senior rank despite being surrounded by far older - in sheer age, that is - peers even after hostilities... well, for some reason it hasn't rested that easily with me. I've pegged his age by the end of TI at about his early 30s. In comparison, with 'conventional' time in rank and promotion schedules, at around that age an officer would be expected to have reached the rank of...

Major.

Yep.

Suffice to stay, this is the sorta stuff that keeps me up at night.

For the novelty of it, I'll Tag @athenswrites @theprissythumbelina @hessdalen-globe @caxycreations

[thisisalwaysmorethanoneknows]

It is Often that the Unexpected Happens

Chapter 11

Word Count: 1693

Summary: Ash the BeetleWing has died to what would later be called the Othermind. Unfortunately, by means outside his understanding, he has been brought back in 7426 as, far from his time, and far from the extinction of his tribe. He doesn't belong in this time, he misses his friends, and he knows that the friends he left behind aren't safe. With the help of Darner and Poseidra, Ash goes on a quest to return home.

Warnings: Violence, death

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The flight was entirely silent, barely a single word muttered, and if something was said, it was just a complaint. Ash let Ray and Darner lead as he was sure they knew what they were doing, after all, they had all of that time to collect information on the islands. He wasn’t really paying too much attention, though. He barely even cared when he landed, he just sort of turned it out. 

He snapped his head up when he felt someone's talons on his shoulder. He looked to see Darner. The HiveWing looked concerned.

“Ash we have the last item,” Darner said, “but I need to know, are you really ok? I won’t tell anyone if something is wrong.”

“It’s nothing, Darner,” Ash assured, he didn’t want to talk about it.

“It’s not nothing Ash,” Darner said, he took his talons off Ash’s shoulder “but I won’t push you. I just hope you talk to someone soon.”

“Come on everyone, after all this time, we have everything. It’s time to send Ash home,” Ray said, “not Rainstorm what does the book say?”

“It says-” Rainstorm was interrupted by a very familiar metallic sound.

“Oh dammit not now,” Ray said.

“Ahoy, fuckers!” came Captain Kamchatka’s voice.

“Urg when will we get a break from this shit?” Darner said.

The Captain flew dragons with their fleet behind them, likely to follow through with their threat. They spoke with what was probably a fake smile, “‘f it isn’t meh favorite dragons! ‘Nd it seems t’ey found friends.”

“Uh Ash, who is this?” Rainstorm asked.

“Oh, did ‘e not tell ya about meh?” Captain Kamchatka asked, “how rude of ‘em. I am Pirate Captain, Kamchatka! I rule t’ese seas wit’ an iron grip!”

“And we pissed them off like a week ago,” Poseidra said.

“Yep! Also might I add, I like what ya did wit’ yer face!” the Captain said, “very… melty.”

“Look Captain, I don’t know what you want, but could it wait a few minutes? We’re busy.” Dewdrop said.

“Oh yeah RainWing? ‘Nd why should I?” Captain Kamchatka asked, “are ya goin’ to melt meh face? Change colors really fast? Ha!”

“No, but I have close connections to Queen Camellia, and she happens to be VERY close to Queen Gharile. And I KNOW about your deal with Gharile” Dewdrop said, “now, imagine if I tell Queen Camellia about this? What do you think Gharile will do? Sure, it’s rumored that your fleet can take on one kingdom, but what about two? Three?”

“Damn Dew, I didn’t know you had those kind of connections,” Poseidra said.

“Wait, Dew? Dewdrop? Ya look… younger t’an I thought…” Captain Kamchatka said, “what are ya doin’ wit’ t’ese dragons?”

“That is not your business, now leave, Captain,” Dewdrop said.

“Nah, I t’ink ‘m more interested in t’is group t’an ever before,” Captain Kamchatka, “besides, I only want two of t’ose dragons dead.”

“How about no?” Dewdrop said.

“Look RainWing, ya may have all of t’ese connections, but if no one knows how ya died, t’en I can’t get in trouble,” Captain Kamchatka said, “now, everyone, grab t’em, but leave t’e HiveWing ‘nd Be’leWing, t’ose are me and t’e Lieutenant's kill.”

“Oh no,” Ash said, he immediately ran, remembering his training. He wasn’t going to die today. He hoped.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Darner, being threatened by the Lieutenant, he was afraid and likely hadn’t had a proper fight before. Ash darted over to Darner ready to keep him alive. Darner nodded when he saw Ash get behind him.

As the fight dragged on, and felt himself tiring, he wanted so badly to just end this but he couldn’t. He was so tired from everything. Everyone had had some sort of break and so had he, but, it wasn’t enough. At some point he faltered and either the Captain or the Lieutenant killed him, Ash wasn’t sure, he just knew he felt a blade through his body. Just like that one SeaWing from a week ago.

·

··

·

Ash opened his eyes in a place similar to Meishu’s realm. This time, while in this realm, nothing felt out of place. On top of that, he didn’t feel any pain or exhaustion. In front of him was a heavily feathered dragon, with four wings and two tails.

“So Ash, it seems you have died again,” the dragon said. “Where am I?” Ash asked.

“Of course, to put it in a way you understand, you have left the mortal plane,” they said.

“So, you’re dead too?” Ash asked.

“Ha ha, no,” they said, “I can’t die, that would break a lot. I simply control the cycle of rebirth.”

“Who are you?” Ash asked.

“It doesn’t matter, I doubt you will remember this conversation once I send you back,” they said.

“Send me back?” Ash asked.

“Yes, see your story isn’t over,” they said, “you still have to fight off some pirates. You have to find a lover (or don’t, doesn’t affect me), become someone’s ‘cool uncle’. You are still young.”

“So, if you control rebirth, did you send me to this time?” Ash asked, when they nodded their head, Ash continued, “why?”

“Entertainment value. See, as an immortal, I get bored easily. Just the same old mortals, nothing of interest, sometimes another god will do something cool, but I never get much fun,” they said, “so when you died, I figured, hey, why shouldn’t I do something cool like these other gods? So I decided to hold onto you for a few thousand years before I had you return. And let me say, it was worth it.”

“So all of this, everything I went through, was for your entertainment?” Ash asked.

“Indeed. Although I do get you, mortals hate stuff like that,” they said, “but you are only on a mortal’s level of thinking, so your judgment is invalid.”

“Alright, so why are we having this conversation?” Ash asked.

“Ah, finally. See, I figure after what I did to me, you deserve to keep going,” they said, “though I’d suggest you don’t go back, as Time will, as you mortals say, ‘have my ass’.”

“Time?” Ash asked.

“Another immortal, doesn't like a lot of us gods, we mess with them too much,” they said.

“Alright then, so I know why I’m here,” Ash said, “can I go back?”

“Of course, I have no reason to keep you much longer,” they said.

·

··

·

Ash sat up, head feeling fuzzy. He looked around. The pirates must have left, his friends were there, looking fine. He was confused.

“Guys? What happened?” Ash asked.

“Shit you’re alive!” Darner said, running up to Ash and hugging him.

“Let’s just say, venom and political power can scare a pirate fleet away,” Dewdrop said, probably leaving shit out but whatever.

“Thanks Dewdrop,” Ash said.

“Whatever, let’s just get you back,” Dewdrop said, taking their talons, placing it on his head, and shaking it. 

“Yep,” Ash said.

And so, the group did as the book said. While he would never understand how it would work, that didn’t matter then, he just wanted to get home. He turned to everyone.

“Welp. I guess this is it. I guess I should say my goodbyes,” Ash said, “Rainstorm, it was nice to know you, you helped so much, you even taught me to read. Dewdrop, I don't know you that well, but you motivate me when I really needed it, and you saved our asses. Ray, I didn’t know you as well as I should have, but you were a great friend. Poseidra, you made all of this possible, you were a great friend, and just know, I really am sorry about your face.”

Ash turned to Darner who opened his arms for a hug, which Ash reciprocated, “Darner you were my closest friend, you were here with me since the beginning. I really wish you could come with me.”

“I wish I could go with you too,” Darner said, pausing with a dry sob, “but I think it’s best we part ways as friends.”

“Yeah,” Ash said, stepping away from the hug, his face felt wet. He’d only known these dragons for like a week but he felt so close to all of them. For a moment, in the back of his mind, he remembered someone’s suggestion to stay, but he dismissed it. He was doing this.

He stepped up to the circle, “welp, bye guys, maybe I’ll leave y’all something in stone.”

And so Ash stepped through the portal, and went back home. Leaving the dragons he had grown to care for.

·

··

·

Ash stood up on the same cliffside he had landed on over six thousand years ago. He walked towards where he knew the camp should be. The first dragon to spot him was some Leafwing who looked reasonably surprised.

“Holy shit, is that Ash?! I thought you died man!” they ran up to him, “Click and Orchid will be so happy to see you!”

And they ran off. Ash followed after them. As he followed he saw all of the changes he hadn’t been here for. Some dragons noticed him, and those who recognized him were surprised. The LeafWing stopped him at a small hut without a door and they went it. Shortly after, a LeafWing and a BeetleWing came out. 

“Hey Click, hey Orchid, I’m back,” Ash said.

Click ran up to him and hugged him, “you’ve been gone for a full moon, idiot, where were you?”

“Heh, that’s a really long story,” Ash said, “but more importantly, where is Stag?”

“I’ll take you to his hut,” Click said, and off he walked to a hut with a very familiar BeetleWing in front of it looking down at his talons.

“Hey Stag, miss me?” Ash asked

The BeetleWing looked up in surprise and flung himself at Ash (Ash was getting a lot of hugs recently), “gods damn, where were you Ash?”

“Once again, long story,” Ash said, “I don’t want to get into it just yet.”

“That’s fine, we have plenty of time,” Stag said “Yep…” Ash said.

____________________

[takeeachdayonebookatatime]

Why did you elbow me? 159

Achilles Castle part 61

Lemonade and lies Part 4

Fin: pov we all tell a bunch of stories while we eat, some of them are just strange. you know how they say through thick and thin. Well that's me and Liv, we have seen the best and worst of the job. I was there when Harris happened when she was poisoned with the mushrooms, Gitano almost getting blown up with the pizza, I was around for her when her brother died, her finally becoming a mother, I was there after Lewis, the townhouse, little dodds dying, everyone leaving her. All of her promotions. Liv becoming a police Sergeant, Lieutenant, Captain, We've been through it all together for 23 years.

Jet: pov did you say almost blown up by a pizza. Fin answers with yep she handed the box to my partner at the time Chester lake so she avoided disaster.

Liv: pov i say i was there when Fin got shot, he tells people he never got shot so i guess he doesn't remember it but I do it was in a Bodega. His ex wife's child committing a crime, him becoming Sergeant and a grandpa. I've seen it all there is no person I would rather have watching my back then my backside then Fin. We recently had a case where a woman was assaulted and then was found dead. I thought her boss's 31 year old son was to blame and when I went to the house to arrest him. He was with his mother in bed and she was breastfeeding him. Esposito spits out his drink and says come again what did you just say. Fin says breastfeeding the mother was breastfeeding her 31 year old child. Do. I have to say it any louder or do you need me to spell it out. Ayanna looks grossed out. I also tell Ayanna that she was also slowly poisoning her son because she was jealous.

Ayanna: pov I can tell what Liv said bothered Elliot, he always says he is her partner. I'm still grossed out by the other thing.

Lanie: pov After eating everyone goes back to work on the case. By the murder board I notice Kate starts to sway a little, I quickly have her sit down. I ask her how she is feeling because she doesn't look okay. Kate says she doesn't feel that good, she woke up feeling bad yesterday. I'm so angry at her for not telling me. I recommend for her to drink a lot of water and try to take it easy because I know you won't and you will want to finish this case.

Elliot: pov turns out the dead guy is Ned long. I get a call from one of the 2 undercover officers saying he has a lead. This person has info that could help our case. He gives me the time and place to meet the guy. I tell Liv how this could break our case open. She and Kate agree, Liv says if our dead guy was really a pedophile or in organized crime a woman might work better.

Kate: pov what are we waiting for let's go, this guy might be the key to solve this case. Liv do you have the directions to the place, ugh I can feel a cough coming on.

Liv: pov yes i do, me and Kate are going to talk to the guy named svelte. The drive to the location is short. The guy is really sweaty looking, we ask if his boss needs more girls because we got some that we can spare. He tells us since Ned died Boris has taken over. He also likes girls, he says at 8am tomorrow Boris is getting a shipment and will be at the warehouse he usually isn't there in case of a raid. All the big players usually come out for the shipments. He calls his boss and says it's a deal he will take the girls.

Ryan: pov the girls are back at the station updating us on what Svelte said. Kate is starting to cough, Elliot mentions they have been trying to close this case for months. He says just use Muncy and Ayanna as two of the girls. He says it's our chance to get all the major players. Liv says something doesn't feel right about this.

Ayanna: pov jet managed to get surveillance camera footage of the property my 2 undercover officers installed the cameras when no one was looking. Liv and Kate are watching it in their office. I'm invited to join them. The boys are talking about guy stuff.

Fin: pov Ryan mentions his wife Jenny is pregnant with their second child, a son. Wow, me and Elliot are grandpa's. You know Liv has a young son, Esposito says he heard Lanie talking on the phone to Kate and it doesn't look like Kate can have kids so he and Ryan have never brought up the subject with her. Elliot finds it interesting that Esposito is dating Lanie.

Elliot: pov isn't there, a rule about dating coworkers, Esposito mentions he is a cop and Lanie is a medical examiner so it doesn't count. Wow, Fin let's slip that Liv dated Brain 3 times, I say 3 times no way I thought it was twice. Fin says it was twice. I don't know why I said that. Maybe because she was taking care of him and he took care of her. I thought it was the 3rd time. She hasn't said anything to me. Great so Fin has no idea on her love life.

Fin: pov I can't believe I almost let it slip that Liv is dating Brian again, she hasn't told me but I know she is.

Kate: pov so far we have nothing but a bunch of possible criminals complaining like small children. This one guy who is like 6ft is yelling at the little guy who is about 5 ft for smoking his joint/weed. The dirty guy in the overalls is mad because the other guy with the bandanna took his job. Maybe I don't want to know what it is.

Liv: pov the long haired guy is mad because someone killed his boss Ned, it's starting to get interesting watching these people argue. Come on, say something incriminating. Hold on there is suddenly a lot of action on the camera. A few guys are jumping up and down screaming about something. To be continued. …….