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[dovand]

if this resonates with you. if your hair gets weird and frizzy when you brush it. look at me. when you next wash your hair—get it nice and wet, lather it up in conditioner, and comb it through wet. you can get plastic brushes that can live in the shower, or you can use a wide-tooth comb, or you can use your fingers. it will cling to itself, it will start to curl naturally. rinse out the conditioner (it doesn't need to be 100 percent out*). if you have a hair oil (like argan oil or coconut), apply it once you're out of the shower. if you're dry-brushing your hair/shampooing it regularly/sleeping on a cotton pillowcase/wearing hats or hoods/straightening it, your hair is probably pretty dry. find an old t shirt or something similarly soft (and not terrycloth, ie normal towel material) and gently scrunch your hair to dry it. if you're able, a silk pillowcase or sleeping cap or even just a folded-up silk scarf will keep your hair from drying out too much during the night. if you have long hair, don't tie it up tightly while wet—it will curl as it dries and accrue tension and probably break. tie it loosely or not at all. if you want it out of your face, hair clips are your new best friend. there are 1 million fancy, often expensive hair products** and some of them will work but some of them will just be fancy and overpriced. you don't need a super complicated routine—just some patience, an awareness of how curly hair is different to straight, a generous amount of conditioner, and the time to comb it through in the shower. your hair is NOT difficult, it is NOT bad, it is just DIFFERENT.

*is my understanding, anyway. i'm still not an expert so, grain of salt. i try not to fully rinse it out because then my hair just gets dry again but YMMV

**re hair products: argan oil and coconut oil are common ingredients, and quite labour-intensive to manufacture, hence the price. there's a spreadsheet on r/curlygirl of products if you want, but it's mostly US-based last i checked. there are loads of stupid-fancy products with fancy-sounding marketing and lots of adjectives (nourishing! organic! rejuvenating!) but you don't necessarily need anything special. the most important thing, i find, is some nice oil—you can use normie shampoo and conditioner, do your combing through, and then oil your hair afterwards to keep it nice and hydrated. you don't need to finger-curl but you can. (if you have chronic wrist pain, finger-curling might exacerbate it)

OH ALSO—find a hairdresser who knows how to cut curly hair!!!!! if you're in the US this will probably be more achievable on account of there being more Black people—find a Black hairdresser or someone in a Black area! if you're not in the US/somewhere w a Black population it will likely be more difficult but don't be afraid to shop around a bit to find someone who understands how to cut curls. it is worth it.

somewhere out there right now is a kid with curly hair being raised by people who have wavy hair at best and those people are giving them 2-in-1 shampoo and conditioner and telling them to dry brush it. and that kid is gonna spend all of middle school and high school hating their hair and moping over the flat iron. they're being told right now that if they don't dry-brush their curl pattern into oblivion every morning it means they're unkempt and gross even though they naturally have the kind of ringlets that a thousand bridezillas would commit horrible murders for every june. it's happening right now it's an absolute epidemic and a tragedy every time

[ficsilike-reblogged]

Shelter - 2

Summary: You save Soap's life. Yours continues to go off the rails. Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley/F!Reader Warnings For This Chapter: Canon typical violence, panic attack, my continued attempt to write Soap and Ghost's accents, military inaccuracies, more canon divergence, Soft!Simon. MINORS DNI A/N: I truly cannot believe how sweet you guys were about the first chapter. Thank you so much for being so kind! I apologize for the wait. I was almost done with this chapter when I decided I hated it and scrapped all of it and started over. I also finished another draft of my novel! Busy times. This is definitely more of a slow burn romance and I'm thinking it'll be around 10 or so chapters.

Well, at least you were out of the hospital room. It wasn’t far from the hospital room, but the horrendously beige room down the hall had a television and a few chairs you could sink into and a small kitchen that always seemed to be stocked with snacks in neat boxes on the counter. Were they good snacks? Not really. But you weren’t about to complain when it was a break from the nutrient dense and flavorless food they’d been shoveling down your throat the last handful of days.

Coronation Street was playing on the television as you soaked a plain biscuit in your tea. This was probably a breakroom of some sort, cleared out of anything that you could have possibly used to communicate with the outside world and you were pretty sure the blinking light in the corner was a camera to make sure you weren’t going to do anything ridiculous. Like climb out a window.

No.

You just wanted out of that stupid room with its uncomfortable bed and terrible pillow and beeping machines.

The biscuit crumbled in half when you tried to remove it and you stared at your tea for a stretched moment as the soap opera continued to drone on. Dammit. You shoved the rest of the biscuit into your mouth and then sipped on the tea for a moment before digging out the remnants of the biscuit with your spoon. Not your proudest moment.

You were pulled from your sad cup of tea and entertainment by the door opening and Soap walking in, arm still in his matching sling.

“Why am I hearing about ye not taking yer pain killers?” He asked instead of a greeting. You found that Soap did that. He barged right into things. No slow starts for him. It would be endearing if this were any other situation.

And just like you not saying anything to Ghost about your sister and why she wouldn’t be found in any intel about you, you wouldn’t give Soap a straight answer either. You were not going to take any of those pain killers if you didn’t feel like you needed them. You knew… Well, that didn’t matter right now. “Are they telling you my medical history? I don’t think that’s legal on either side of the pond.”

He frowned. The big Scot frowned and you almost laughed with how it made him look like a puppy. “Don’t ye need it? Ye were shot.”

“I’m aware of that. Trust me.” You turned and grabbed at the sleeve of biscuits, knowing it was a blatant change of topic. “These are awful, by the way.”

Soap snatched them out of your hand and scowled at them. “These are shite. Why’d ye do that to yerself?” He then pivoted and rummaged through the cabinets you weren’t brave enough to open and then set down a pack of shortbreads in a fancy looking tin which he popped open with one hand (you tried not to be jealous about that particular skill). “That’ll be the only thing going near yer tea.”

The shortbread was delicious and you wordlessly made another cup of tea for yourself and a cup of coffee for Soap. You were prouder than you wanted to admit to hear you guessed correctly when you said he looked like he preferred coffee and prouder still when you dug some out of the cabinet and made it just the way he said he liked it as he settled on the lumpy couch beside you to watch the rest of the episode. He knew what was going on better than you and regaled you with the storylines long since finished and convoluted family ties of the characters. It was nice. Soap was…nice.

He had finished his coffee by the time the episode ended and scooped up your mug on his way toward the breakroom’s tiny kitchenette and set them both in the sink. He turned back toward you, bright blue eyes scanning your face for something. He had a casual set to his shoulders, even with the sling, but you knew the look of a smart man trying to pick his words carefully. Soap honestly reminded you, just a little bit, of a guy you went to highschool with, who looked the part of loveable idiot but eventually went to an ivy league school on a football scholarship. He was currently a doctor, knee deep in cancer research, if those annoying alumni emails had any truth to them.

“Just say what you need to say. I’m sure I can handle it.”

The corner of Soap’s mouth twitched like he was trying not to smile. “I wanted to let ye know that yer intel was good.”

You just nodded. That would explain why you hadn’t seen the other three lately. They had been sent to Kastovia. “That mean I can go home?”

Soap sighed and your heart shriveled a bit more. “No, lass. I’m sorry.”

Someone had left a calendar in the breakroom. You had tried to keep track of the days that had slipped by, but you just wanted to be sure. You counted on your fingers how many days you thought had passed, but the pain killers the first few days after the tunnel had made everything hazy. You worried your bottom lip with the blunt edge of your teeth as you flipped through the next month and dragged your finger down to the day you knew Kirby was due.

Just a few short weeks. That’s all you had. You needed to be there. You needed to be back in time. You’d promised Kirby you would be. You’d never broken a promise to your younger sister and you didn’t want to start now. Those stupid, useless tears stung at your eyes again and blurred the calendar dates. “Fuck.” You wiped at your eyes, trying to keep them from falling before anyone saw, before you felt more useless and trapped than you already did.

Another episode of Coronation Street was playing, a hum at the back of your mind, but it started to mutate and grow until it was a screech. You needed to get to Kirby. They had what they needed from you. You would sign anything they wanted, change your name, dye your hair, live off the grid. But you needed to see Kirby.

You promised.

The door opened easily and you strode out into the hallway. Did you know where you were going? Not really but you just needed to leave. You could figure out the rest later. After all, Kirby always said you landed on your feet. It was time you proved her right. You turned down another hall and yelped when a meaty hand clapped on your uninjured shoulder. You turned, tamping down the urge to throw an elbow and snarled as you realized it was only Soap and his ridiculous blue eyes.

“What’re ye doing?”

“I’m leaving. I have to go.” Your heart thudded painfully as you turned, slipping out from his grip. The edges of your vision started to blur and you hated that you knew what this meant. It had been years since you felt like this—but this situation hadn’t exactly been great for your mental health.

Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

Each beat of your heart hurt.

“Ye cannae do that, lass. Ye know that.”

“I’m leaving.” You turned again to leave and grunted when he pulled at the back of your shirt. “Let go of me.”

“Lass-”

You turned and tugged your shirt free, letting the snarl curl your mouth as your vision continued to tunnel.

Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

“I’m leaving!”

What happened next was not your finest moment but you’d also been through worse. Soap reached for you again and after you pulled out of his grip once more, he lowered his shoulder and ran at you, hauling you up and over. His arm anchored you down, a weight across your back as his shoulder dug into your stomach. You didn’t even freeze as he turned, presumably to bring you back to the breakroom. Your arm pushed out of its sling and you wrapped your hands around one of his thighs and let his next step help pull you from his grip. Heat lanced across your shoulder as you wiggled against the grip until you yanked your legs free and kicked them above his head and over your own until your heels hit the ground. And then you were throwing yourself forward and dashing down the hallway. Out. You needed to get out. You needed to leave. Every breath burned a little more and-

The tile was cool against your cheek but Soap’s arms were a heavy firebrand as they banded around your waist. “Calm down. Calm down fer me.”

You thrashed against his hold as he stood but he didn’t seem to care and it wasn’t like you were a match to those dumb, hulking muscles. But still, your memory was hazy as he dragged you back to the breakroom and shoved a shortbread into your hand.

“Now, I’ll talk to someone. But ye cannae do that. Ye understand?”

By the time Simon arrived back on home soil, they’d moved her and Soap to a different part of the base. A hall of barracks that had been recently constructed but not yet assigned to a different squadron had been a good place to hide away their injured sergeant and American informant. Laswell had informed Price of the move and then sent along a video in lieu of an explanation.

Simon wasn’t entirely sure how many times he watched her claw and wiggle her way out of Johnny’s grip but Price did eventually take the phone away from him. (But not before Simon sent himself a copy.) She was wily. Strong. Stubborn.

Even when she had tears smeared across her face.

It was easy for Simon to claim one of the rooms as his own—it had always been better for Simon to be on base anyway. His flat in Manchester never felt like home. Just an expensive place to rest his head when he was ordered to take his mandated leave. Knowing the others were down the hall was more comfortable than any sort of high priced pillow anyway.

The mission had been successful. And a shitshow. The second, and larger, cache of gas in Kastovia had been exactly where her intel had said it would be in a barren steel plant. But the handful of missiles had been an unexpected find. As had the small militia that awaited them. While they had been easily dealt with, one of them managed to set off what Simon could only describe as a failsafe to take out the entire plant and the surrounding area. The gas dissipated quickly but not before it had caused extensive damage. Makarov wanted them dead. And he wanted her dead, too, if the picture one of his men had pinned up beside a map of different caches and routes to take over borders was any indication. It was upside down and some artist had taken it upon themselves to scratch out her eyes and draw an obvious axe buried in her neck. Charming. There were a few smaller pictures beside it but he didn’t get a clear look at them.

The explosion meant they didn’t have more than the one picture Gaz took of the map and Simon’s lungs burned a bit every time he took a breath. Nik had been quick in the exfil but still cut it close. Too close. And it grated on his every nerve that Makarov hadn’t been there. Still in the wind.

Simon had been told to visit the medbay before going to bed—Laswell was supposed to be arriving tomorrow for a debrief—but he thought that was more of a suggestion than an order. He’d dropped his bag on the floor and rinsed off before lumbering into the small bed, letting the standard-issue sheets scratch at his skin. It felt like coming home. And he watched the video again, feeling a strange smile push at his mouth.

He could bother Johnny about her ability to get away from him in the morning.

The doctor whose name you couldn’t be bothered to remember told you to start physical therapy. And, just your luck, Soap had been told to do the same. If he was wary of you because of your outburst, he didn’t show it at all. He would smile at you, eyes crinkling, over his coffee whenever you opened your door at the crack of dawn. A tea would be in his other hands and ready for you. It was a nice routine as more days continued to slip by.

You’d stretch and grumble about the slowly fading pain in your shoulder and Soap would do the same. At least you didn’t need to use the sling anymore. But this was, pathetically, probably the closest you’d had to a friend. He’d talk and talk and talk. About his mom and sisters up in a small town outside Glasgow. About the dog he had as a kid—“Boots was the best dog a boy could have, lass, lemme tell ye.” About anything that seemed to pop into his head as the sun would intermittently peek out from behind the low hanging clouds to splash warmth across the dead grass beneath your sneakers. You counted it as a win that they let you outside. It was behind a fence with razor wire at the top, but a win is a win. Mostly. Maybe they were seeing if they could actually trust you outside those beige walls.

You’d swallow nails if it meant you could be at Kirby’s side when she needed you.

One of the more ridiculous exercises the doctor had you and Soap do was passing a yoga ball between one another—of course, you had to move your arms a certain way to get the right stretch or whatever, but it all felt a little silly, even with the twinge growing more pronounced with each pass. Hands on top and on bottom, twist so they’re on the side, hand to Soap. He’d repeat.

“This feels very stupid.”

“Aye. But they’re watchin’ so we’d best play nice.”

The yoga ball nearly slipped from your suddenly-slick fingers. “What do you mean?” You’d heard a bit of thudding from the empty room next to yours last night but thought it was a faulty air unit. Was there someone else here?

“They got back last night. Give ‘em a chance to settle before they say hello, aye?” Soap’s blue eyes sparked with mirth and you might have shoved the ball back at him a little harder than necessary. He just laughed at you.

You chanced a glance at the rectangular windows cut into the metal building, close to the sharp edge of the roof. He was probably just being funny, but now you couldn’t fight the feeling of someone watching you. And why did your mind conjure Ghost’s ridiculous mask?

He hadn’t said much after you had told him you weren’t going to pour your heart out to him. But he’d continued to stare until he and the others left for Kastovia without a word. One guy who’d found you “mysterious” while you were in undergrad thought that he could figure you out and stared, too. Thought that his attempt at a psychology degree would unravel all…well, all of you. He gave up after a couple of months. Ghost didn’t seem the type to give up. But that still didn’t mean that you were going to tell him anything.

You threw another glance toward the window and the yoga ball hit you in the face.

Simon stared down at the inhaler. This was stupid. The doc had hurriedly explained that being exposed to the gas during the explosion had done a number on Simon’s lungs. At least he wasn’t Price who’d hit his head on his way out and was told he’d had a concussion and also needed the inhaler. Gaz had been the only one who’d managed to get out mostly unscathed aside from needing a butterfly bandage for a cut over his eye.

His next breath burned and Simon finally shook the damn scrap of plastic and took a puff just as he heard the back door open. He stood and watched Johnny and the woman trudge out into the dead grass, carrying a few bits of equipment, including a yoga ball, craning his head just enough to see them through the high window. And well, if he stood on the small desk chair to watch, who would know?

He couldn’t hear them but he watched her throw a few glances toward the window. And then Johnny hit her in the face with the yoga ball. She promptly slingshotted one of the resistance bands at his head in retaliation.

“Heh.”

The debrief later that morning with Laswell had gone as expected: More intel was good. Makarov not being spotted was bad. They needed time to heal. Farah and Alex would investigate possible gas caches just within Urzikstan’s borders.

The picture Gaz managed to grab was helpful and did verify a majority of the intel they had already. But it did mean that Makarov’s network was larger than they had ever thought. One of Laswell’s contacts had enhanced the slightly blurry picture and Simon recognized each of the 141’s faces, pinned to the board, too. They were targets just as much as she was. Small bits of paper stemmed from Price, Soap, and Kyle’s pictures and Simon knew what they represented even without the fancy tech trying to make it clearer. They were hunting for weak spots. Family. Friends.

They needed to leave. Keep low. Hide. Simon hated it. He hated that the others had families on the line and he could do nothing but take a few puffs of his stupid inhaler and wait. These were men who’d become his brothers-in-arms and their families were at risk. He knew what it was like to lose.

Price’s hacking cough basically ended the debrief and Laswell said she needed to make some calls, disappearing to another part of the base and Price griped as Kyle urged him to go back to medical. Johnny said he was going to start packing.

Simon walked away as Price continued to grumble and walked down the small hallway toward the bunk rooms and–

BANG.

Simon paused just for a moment, straining his ears as he pushed further down the hallway. With how the mission had gone, he couldn’t rule out that someone had attempted to get onto base and finish the job the gas couldn’t. There were security gates and checkpoints, of course. The high fences. And this part of the base was underdeveloped for now. But having a traitor in the midst wasn’t something Simon could write off.

“Fuck,” came an annoyed voice.

The tension slipped from his shoulders as he pushed open the nearest door.

Sitting in a chair in front of the mirror atop the tiny dresser, she was picking at her stitches with a pair of needle nose pliers. A small pile of the twists sat atop the dresser—apparently she’d been at this for a while. Simon walked in, watching as she leaned closer to the mirror, trying to see the stitches across her shoulder better as she plucked at them. She’d jammed her tongue between her teeth and the strap of her thin top had been tugged down. A book, probably pilfered from the breakroom, was open beside her.

(Simon stared. Just for a little.)

The pliers fell from her hands and bounced off the dresser before hitting the floor. That had been the sound he’d heard.

“Need a ‘and?”

She let out what he could only describe as a squeak as she turned toward him, hurling the book at his head as the pliers slipped from her other hand. He caught it without letting loose the laugh he felt growing.

“Jesus Christ! How long have you been standing there? Don’t you knock?”

“Heard something. Thought something bad ‘appened.” Not a lie. He tossed the book onto the bed. He watched her mouth curl at the edges and Simon wasn’t sure if she was going to yell at him or laugh.

“Right.” She stared at him for a little longer before bending down to grab the pliers again. She settled in front of the mirror again and stared at the remaining stitches. At least the ones she could see. Simon had a clear view of the mess of stitches on her back. She’d never reach those.

She stared back at him in the mirror. The grip she had on the pliers was tight and grew tighter when he stepped closer. But he still easily pulled the tool from her hand and then reached down to turn her chair around to face him.

“What’re you doing?” She asked as he started to untwist the next stitch.

“Helping.”

“I didn’t ask you to do that.”

“Doin’ it anyway.”

Well, fuck.

You could do very little except stare at Ghost as he undid each of the stitches. You weren’t stupid enough to tell him to fuck off. What he was doing was nice. You couldn’t deny that but why the hell was he doing it? He was even bigger from this angle as he loomed over you. But he was being gentle with you, so gentle. And silent. Maybe it would be better if he talked to you through it all or said anything at all, but he was…quiet.

And so were you.

Until the door opened again and Gaz came in, gun drawn. You had pivoted back toward the door, only for a moment before Ghost let out a short, sharp breath from behind his mask and nudged you back into position. You still managed to see Gaz holster his weapon with a smile on his face, perfect teeth glinting in the low light. “All good here, LT?”

He grunted but didn’t turn to look at his teammate. You chanced a look up at Ghost to see him still singularly focused on your stitches. His dark eyes didn’t stray from them even though you were sure he could feel you looking at him.

By the time he reached down to turn your chair again, letting him start on your back, you found yourself liking how quiet he was. Small talk had never been your forte and you surmised that it wasn’t high on Ghost’s list of skills either.

When his thumb pressed into your spine, covered by the harsh fabric of his gloves, you tried not to shiver as you let him move you so he could see the stitches better. And he removed those, too.

It was when his finger trailed against the new scar on your back, barely a whisper of a touch, that you couldn’t stop it. God, you really were pathetic. When he moved the strap of your shirt back up your shoulder, you managed to bite the next one back. “Thanks,” you said, the word uneven and warbled. “You going to help Soap take out his, too?” You weren’t sure if you were being sarcastic or not.

The way Ghost tilted his head made you think he wasn’t sure, either. “Cap did ‘is already. Looks like shit.”

And you laughed.

The nondescript SUV rocked slightly side to side as it tore down the road. Gaz seemed hellbent on getting wherever you were headed quickly. There had been some good-natured ribbing about not letting Ghost drive. They seemed to like each other, a good camaraderie between them that seemed as easy as breathing. But you guessed that would probably happen in their line of work. Defying death together usually did that. Price, however, did seem at least a little put out about not being the driver.

And you were stuck at the back of the SUV, listening to them talk amongst each other. To his credit, Soap and Gaz both tried to involve you in the conversation. They would ask what you had been doing in London, if you’d ever been outside the city, if your shoulder was giving you trouble. It was nice.

They were still nice.

You didn’t really understand why they were trying so hard but you weren’t about to ask. Especially not now when you had a black bag over your head. They didn’t really trust you but it had been a weird kindness when you’d felt Ghost buckle you in and place a light blanket over your lap before you’d departed. It was probably a silent order to go the fuck to sleep seeing as you hadn’t been sleeping well since you’d hastily weened yourself off the most intense pain killers. It didn’t help that you’d been shuffled outside right after midnight and told to get in the back of the vehicle without much fanfare. And you knew better than to argue.

You had a bag over your head and were heading to an unknown destination. The power dynamics didn’t exactly scream trustworthy. They kept you alive, that was true. But they didn’t trust you. Funny.

You leaned your head back against the seat and sighed, the fabric rustled against your mouth. It was a strange feeling. Weirdly comforting, like when you’d push your face into the pillow and scream when you were a child, desperate for an outlet.

“I can see why you like the mask,” you muttered.

“Whot?”

Hm. You said that out loud. Well, too late to take it back now. “I said I see why you like the mask.”

“She’s bloody insane,” Gaz whispered. But you liked to think he was smiling while he said it.

“Maybe Ghost’ll lend ye one of his? Ye two could match.”

There was an answering smack and “och, what was that for, LT?” before the blanket was adjusted over your lap.

“Go to sleep.”

You smiled beneath the bag. And, knowing you had nothing better to do…you went to sleep with Ghost’s low rumbling echoing in your ears.

Next Chapter

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! Please let me know what you think!

[charliemwrites]

Mafia!au part 5!

A bit of fluff, a bit of drama, a bit of Soap!

Content: Attempted Gaslighting, Violence

“Gooood morning, sir!” you sing as you sweep into Mr. Price’s office. “And happy birthday!”

His head shoots up from whatever he was brooding over, brows arched high in genuine shock. Surprise is a good look on him.

“How the bloody hell did you know it’s my birthday?” he demands, sitting back in his chair.

You beam, sauntering right up to his desk. His eyes flick to the round white box balanced on top of your tablet. Nothing big, a little something you baked at home after a couple dissatisfying trials.

“It’s my job to know,” you reply easily.

He blinks– a habit you flatter yourself thinking he might have picked up from you. “What else do you know about me?”

You tilt your head at him, a smug curve to your lips.

“Just the basics. Your full name and birthday,” you demure. Hold up your free hand and start rattling off on your fingers. “Height, allergies, tea preference, pastry preference, blood type, drink of choice…”

You set the box in front of him and resettle your tablet in the crook of your arm. He stares at you for a beat, expression bleached from surprise to outright shock. You spin your stylus around your fingers.

“Which is why I made you a marble cake with whiskey instead of rum.”

His eyes lock onto the unassuming white box. It’s not a big cake by any means, about six inches in diameter and only one layer. Just a small something for Price to have for himself. God knows the rest of the boys (and Farah) get enough treats from you as it is.

“You made this?” he asks, leaning a bit forward.

“Yessir,” you declare, “and I’m pretty good at it too. Perks of stress baking.”

He runs a hand down his face, as if his beard got ruffled. “Christ, you need a raise.”

“Yes. Anyway – I’ll get you a plate after I’m done,” you say, swatting at his curious hand. He huffs but sits back to give you his full attention. You smile in reward and begin reciting his schedule for the day.

He listens, only interrupting when he needs clarification on little details. You try not to be too endeared by the way his eyes occasionally flick to the covered cake. When you finish, you twitch your nose at him knowingly.

“I’ll get you a plate before I get started on that expense summary,” you say, turning on your heel.

You hum in surprise when a large, calloused hand catches your wrist. It’s not the hand of a businessman, you think, but a man used to work. A man who does the hard things for himself. Before meeting John Price, you would have scoffed at the thought of a rich man knowing labor. Price though… well, he’s been proving to be a welcome exception since the very start.

“Thank you for this, love,” he says, voice hitting that tone and pitch that makes your insides squirm. He caresses his thumb over the tender skin before releasing you. “Really.”

You can already feel the blush climbing up the back of your neck, over your ears, creeping onto your cheeks. Can’t ever catch a break with him.

“Well, don’t thank me ‘til you’ve tried it,” you try to deflect.

“Weren’t you the one saying you’re decent at baking.”

“Yeah, well… maybe I poisoned you or something – for that time you closed my skirt in the door.”

He sputters a bit. You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from giggling at the indignance on his face. Such a handsome, almost regal man. You love to rile him up.

“I apologized. Profusely.”

And offered to buy you a new skirt entirely. The way you’d shrieked that that was not an appropriate response made Soap choke with laughter as people stared.

“Yeah, well, I hold a grudge,” you reply, shrugging.

It’s true, but not about things like that. Graves and his assistant? Oh, that’s practically a blood feud at this point. A silly little accident where your boss left a crease in your fourth favorite skirt? That’s not even something to forgive him for, but you sure as hell will never forget. Especially when he still seems mildly sheepish about it.

“You wouldn’t be the first,” he grumbles. You’re not sure if he’s talking about grudges or poisoning, but the dramatics finally make you laugh.

“But I could be the last,” you call over your shoulder as you flounce out.

Not for long though, returning with a disposable fork from the breakroom. There’s something amusing to only you about a man in a thousand-pound suit using cheap plastic.

“Come to see me keel over for yourself, then?” he asks.

“Well, I can’t have you getting cake crumbs on the expense reports,” you reason.

He’s already got the lid open. No icing on the cake – you’re shit at decorating, so you chose a recipe without icing. The flavor of the whiskey and sugar should be plenty. To make up for it, you folded a tiny placard and wrote “Happy Birthday, Boss!” in your best loopy cursive.

He takes the fork, fingers brushing yours in the process. You remind yourself not to snatch your hand away like a scandalized Victorian lady. Christ, you really need to get it together.

“Tell me how you like it,” you say, making to leave again.

“Come try it yourself,” he protests.

You pause, give him an amused look. “I didn’t actually poison it, sir. You’ve not done anything that heinous. Yet.”

He snorts, carefully digging out a respectable bite from the edge. “If you see fit to toss a little rat poison in, then I’ll likely having it coming.”

You hum. “Arsenic is more my style. Classic.”

In the corner of the room, Simon makes a little noise you’ve come to recognize as repressed laughter. You shoot him a quick, amused look, before shifting your attention back as Price gestures with the fork.

“Regardless, you should get a little taste of the fruits of your labor,” he offers.

The fruits of your labor, you think with a bit of regret, will be his enjoyment of your baking. You’re not sure when his admiration became your favorite part of the day, but you’re spoiled for positive feedback from your otherwise stern boss.

“You first,” you insist, “it’s your birthday after all.”

He keeps unnerving eye contact as he brings the bite to his mouth, tongue flicking out to catch any spare crumbs. He hums, eyes closing a for a second in enjoyment, before opening and fixating on you again.

“That’s bloody brilliant, love.”

He scoops up another piece, brings it right to your mouth. You hurry to put a hand beneath in case it falls; don’t even think before parting your lips. Sugar and whiskey, chocolate and vanilla, burst across your tongue.

“Oh!” you hum, hiding your mouth while you chew. “That is pretty good.”

It only occurs to you as he takes another bite for himself, a twinkle in his eye, that you just ate after him. Used the same fork like it was nothing, like that’s an acceptable thing to do as his assistant. You’re not squeamish by any means, no. It’s just… it’s gotta be crossing some sort of professional line. You can’t imagine any of your previous bosses ever sharing with you like this.

“Let me tell you, if you did poison it,” he muses, “I wouldn’t mind it being the last thing I ate.”

You roll your eyes, swat lightly at his arm again. “I told you; it’s not poisoned.”

“I know, you just took a bite,” he answers smugly.

You click your tongue at him, playing at exasperated. “I’m going to work now.”

“Ta, love.”

--

“Oi, li’l miss?”

You glance up at Soap curiously.

(Recognize, in the back of your mind, that it’s a nickname that’s not only spread – thanks, Simon – but that you’re responding to as quickly as your own name now. You should probably feel some type of way about that. Probably righteously annoyed or something. You don’t.)

Soap is standing at your desk, shifting from foot to foot. Uneasy. But the expression on his usually friendly face isn’t nervous. It’s… something else. Something you don’t know how to decipher but makes you sit up a bit straighter, alert.

“What’s up, buttercup?” you ask, voice light.

“There’s some bloke down in the lobby, says he’s got a date with you?” he explains, frowning deeper than you’ve ever seen.

It gets deeper – and angrier – when he sees the blood drain from your face. You push your chair away from your desk to hide the tremble that’s trying to infest your hands.

Absolutely not. This is your place of work, dammit. Where you’re calm and collected, the person anyone can turn to for solutions. You’ve worked so hard to craft this sleek vessel of professional grace and you’re not about to have it sullied like this.

“He does not have a date with me,” you state, keeping your voice flat and tight. “Would you come down with me, please?”

“’Course,” he replies instantly.

You stop by Price’s office, knock twice, then poke your head in when he calls for entry.

“I’ve just got to pop out for a mo’,” you explain, “I’ll be right back!”

He nods and you duck out again before he can notice anything amiss. For a rich bastard, he’s too observant of others. (Especially you.)

“What’s he here fer, then?” Soap asks in the elevator.

You let out an annoyed puff of air. “A reality check, I assume.”

He side-eyes you but doesn’t ask any further before the doors open.

Sure enough, standing in the lobby, is the last man you want to see. Your ex, Brandon.

“There you are, bunny. You’ve been keeping me waiting for—”

“One, do not call me that. It’s inappropriate,” you interrupt, crisp and sharp. “Two, I haven’t been keeping you waiting, because there’s nothing to wait for. Three, get out.”

He rolls his eyes, that smarmy curve to his lips never leaving. You don’t think he’s even noticed Soap just behind you yet.

“Look, I know you’re still in a mood about everything,” he says, “but that’s why I’m taking you out. To smooth things over. Clear the air, and all that.”

“You’re not taking me out,” you repeat. “Get out.”

He crosses his arms, tilting his head in that condescending way you’ve always despised. It sets your teeth on edge, makes you burn with anger.

“This isn’t your building,” he goads, “you can’t kick me out.”

“Might as well be hers, mate,” Soap interjects, “she could kick out the goddamn queen.”

Brandon’s focus shifts to him. You feel a curl of vindictive satisfaction when his expression curdles a bit. Soap may not be a particularly tall man, but he can be intimidating. Built thick and strong, doesn’t bother to conceal his physique at all with his sleeves rolled up his forearms. And you’re not oblivious to his looks either. Soap is a handsome man. A walking ego bruise for a man like your ex.

“Fine,” he huffs, “then come outside so we can talk like adults.”

You click your tongue, fold your hands behind your back to conceal the way your fingers clench into fists. “We did talk like adults. You just failed to listen like one.”

And ohhhh, the petty satisfaction that bubbles through you at the way his teeth click in shock, a flush of embarrassed anger curtaining his face.

“Now, I’ll ask one more time and then my coworker is going to toss you out himself.” Soap chooses that moment to crack his knuckles. “Leave this building. You’re not welcome.”

You drop your arms and turn on your heel, ready to get back to work and compartmentalize this until you’ve got a fuck-off sized glass of wine in front of you.

“Hey, we’re not—”

Even if you did see what happened, you don’t think you could have followed. It happens so fast. One second, Soap’s eyes are on you. Burning with questions and fury on your behalf, checking that you’re okay. The next, he’s darted past you. There’s a scuffle, fancy shoes squeaking on polished floors, a thick, wet pop. Then Brandon is shouting in pain.

You jump, twist to see what the commotion is. Soap’s got a white-knuckled grip on Brandon’s extended wrist – though now it’s bent at an awful angle, you realize he must have been reaching for you. Your skin crawls.

“Away ‘n bile yer heid,” Soap growls, shoving Brandon back roughly.

He doesn’t fall on his ass but it’s a near thing. With the eyes of reception, a few employees, and you on him, he spits a curse at Soap and retreats. You stare after for a moment, lips parted in shock.

“All set, miss?” Soap asks, adjusting his sleeves.

“Um, yeah,” you say. Blink and pull yourself together. “I mean, yes. Let’s head back up before the boss misses us.”

He places a hand on the small of your back on the short walk back. It feels grounding rather than proprietary; you’re grateful for it. He lasts until the doors close before turning to you.

“The hell was that about, lass?”

You sigh, smooth your skirt down for lack of anything else to do. “That was my ex. He wants to… reconcile, I suppose. And he’s quite keen on getting his way.”

Soap mutters a few choice words under his breath. Scottish slang, you suspect. You’ll have to get him to teach you sometime.

“Anyway, thank you for your help,” you continue, eyes on the elevator doors. “I can’t believe he showed up here. I’m so embarrassed.”

“You’ve nothin’ to be embarrassed about, hen,” he protests. “He’s the creeper here.”

You sigh. “I know, I just… you don’t think less of me, do you? That I didn’t… take care of him myself.”

Soap’s expression softens. He draws you into a quick one-armed hug. “You did take care of ‘im, far as I’m concerned. I was just there to enforce. No need to mess up yer pretty nails, aye?”

You smile, small but genuine. “Thanks, again.”

“Anytime, li’l miss.”

The elevator chimes as it reaches the top floor. You turn to Soap just before the doors open.

“Oh, and please don’t tell the boss.”

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Masterlist

[stvrnioloslvt-inactive]

colored crayons and bubble baths - dilf!chris

⋆˚࿔ inspired by this prompt!

"daddy, daddy, can I have those?"

chris looked down at his daughter, her little pinky pointing to a box half hidden away on a shelf way out of her reach. she planted her weight on her tippy toes, almost climbing on top of the counter to reach the colored crayons.

chris looked at the shelf, spotting the box right away: a few weeks back he had stumbled upon a video of a mom trying out these shower crayons for her little one, satisfied both by the amount of pigment in them and the easiness to clean it off both from the tub and the tiles. so, of course, he immediately ordered them.

and now they looked back at him, ready to be put to use. "mimi, do you want to use them with me or y/n?" the four years old girl immediately chanted your name, jumping up and down in her little flip-flops, catching her princess-y beach towel before it fell from her shoulders.

right then, you appeared from the bathroom patting away the excess water from your freshly washed hair with a towel. you had changed from your bikini, having washed all the salt from your body and changed into a crop top and cotton shorts.

"why did I hear my name?" you asked, placing a kiss on chris' shoulder. your boyfriend smiled, wrapping a hand around your waist as he explained what was going on. "mimi wants you to shower her-"

"oh yeah, sure-" "but! she wants to use her new shower pastels," you shrugged, already reaching for the box on the shelf. you crouched down, picking the little girl up on your hip before heading to the bathroom.

you filled the tub with warm water while you peeled the sticky sweamsuit from mimi's skin, letting a few drops of soap into the water and waiting as more and more bubbles came to the surface.

finally, you placed mimi into the warm water, handing her her new toy, the little girl not wasting one second before drawing on the tiles. while you massaged the shampoo in her hair, you heard her singsang "this is mimi, this is daddy, and this is mama," clapping her hands satisfied once she had finished drawing it all.

you took a peek of the drawing, quickly noticing that the "mom" didn't resemble her mom at all, it actually kinda looked like...you. "uhh, hey, chris? could you come here for a second?"

the sound of pots shuffling could be heard from the kitchen where chris was preparing dinner, but everything stopped once he heard you call his name. "what's wrong?" he asked, worry and curiosity swimming in his eyes.

you pointed at the drawing, then said, "mimi, baby, will you tell daddy who this is, please?"

mimi nodded, scrunching her face in concentration as she pointed at each stick figure while explaining who it was. "this is daddy," and she pointed at chris. "this is mimi," and she pointed at the little girl between the two adults. "and this is mama," and she pointed at the drawing that supposedly represented her mom.

you turned towards chris, expecting a... reaction, at least. chris looked between you and the little girl, his eyes wide open. "baby, who's mama?" he asked, both your jaws hanging open as the little one pointed at you, yelling "mama! mama!"

chris looked at you, wide-eyed and shocked, not believing his ears. mimi's mother was still well and alive, a little out of it but definitely there. and they had weekly meetings too! which was even more confusing, cause why would the little girl call you that if you weren't her actual mom?

"oh boy."

© stvrnioloslvt

(⋆˚࿔ a.n: mimi is short for summer! i hope i didn't give you baby fever)

taglist: @shadowthesim237 @sturnioloszn @marrykisskilled @x0x0bunny @izzylovesmatt @gabrielaperez11 @ivysturnss @watercolorskyy @bluestriips @sllutty-sturniolo @mattsturniolover @emely9274 @boomshakalaka12381238 @lovergirl4gracieabrams @sturnsrecord @strnilolover @wastelandzella @skye-44 @sturnslutz @harmonysturniolo @blahbel668 @mommymomm @mattsbrowser @oopsiedaisydeer @chrislova @courta13

[s0urw00lf]

Twisted luck

Woman in white

Sam Winchester x reader ALL INCLUSIVE

Summary: when Sam and dean show up in your living room telling you that you mother and john were missing you couldn’t leave them hanging. Besides it was only one hunt, one hunt can’t hurt right?

AN: I'm actually super proud of readers addition to the story. I hope everyone likes it!!! Also if you see any mistakes please let me know, I went over this 4 times. Twisted Luck master list

Next chapter

You usually slept all through the night when your boyfriend was home, the comfort of his presence behind you gave you the constant reminder that you aren’t alone anymore usually helped you sleep better, but recently you couldn't shake the feeling of doom that settled deep in your gut.

So you sat awake with the t.v. on low hoping that the soap opera playing would lull you to sleep, but you were the furthest from it and really wanted popcorn but you knew Jason would wake up if you were gone too long.

‘I'll just be quick’ you thought to yourself before carefully removing his arm from around your waist and tiptoed out of the room, closing the door so that if you made too much noise it wouldn’t wake him.

You walked to the kitchen rummaging through the cabinets in search of the popcorn, until you saw a glimpse of it on the third shelf, “Jason you ass” you muttered to yourself, climbing onto the counter reaching for it.

Your fingertips barely brushed the box before you found yourself pausing when you heard one of the floorboards creak, immediately you tensed from instinct.

Looking over to the bedroom you saw that the door was still closed so it couldn’t have been from your boyfriend.

You slowly climbed down off of the counter and bent down below the counters, opening up one of the lower cabinets you reached in feeling the top for the gun you had hidden before your boyfriend moved in, silently cursing to yourself when you realized it wasn’t there.

You looked around for another efficient weapon and your eyes landed on the rack of knives Jason insisted on buying for the kitchen. You grabbed the one that Jason had just sharpened the day before and began moving towards the sound.

It was as if the person you’d tried to bury for three years was seeping back out through the cracks. Your breath was even and your heart was beating steady. You knew whoever was in your home would regret even laying eyes on it when it was all said and done.

Your trained ears picked up the hushed whispers coming from the living room, you long ago memorized every nook and cranny of the apartment, down to which parts of the floors creaked and avoided them easily.

You peeked into the room and saw two tall figures one towering over the other immediately you knew who they were.

You placed your knife on the floor before you swiftly ran towards the shorter one wrapping your legs around his neck before twisting your body, causing his body to flip over and landing on his face. “Told ya” he groaned.

You stood up placing your hands on your hips and let a sly grin take form on your face “Hiya Dean” you said, then looked over to Sam who held an impressed expression. “I see you haven't lost your touch” he teased, moving to help Dean up.

“Over my dead body” You said, moving to flick on the lights and motioning for them to have a seat.

You sat on the couch in front of them crossing your legs out of habit from your job “so what's with the family reunion?” You asked, looking between the two of them.

Both Dean and Sam glanced at each other having a silent conversation that you completely understood. “Our parents are missing. They were on a hunting trip” Dean started. “And?” You questioned urging him to get on with the story.

“And that was about a month ago, haven’t heard from ‘em since” he continued. You eyed him “okay, well what were they hunting” you asked leaning forward.

Dean pulled out an article from his jacket pocket placing it on the coffee table “ they were checking out this two lane blacktop just outside of Jericho California. Around the time they left this guy-“ he pointed to the picture of a young guy “they found his car, but he vanished. Completely MIA”

You skimmed over the article before glancing back up at the brothers “so what was he kidnapped?” You questioned, finally Sam spoke up, “that’s what i thought too but check this out, there was one in April, another one in ‘04, ‘03, ‘98, ‘92” he said as he handed you more articles of missing men. “Ten of them over the past twenty years” Dean said. “All men, all the same five mile stretch of road”.

”i'm guessing it got worse” you said and Dean nodded “so they went to dig around, I haven’t heard from them since. Then I got this voicemail yesterday.” He says as he pulls out a tape recorder before pressing play. The audio was scratchy and breaking up but you could make out John’s voice almost perfectly.

“Dean...something big is starting to happen...I need to try and figure out what's going on. It may... Be very careful, Dean. We're all in danger.”

“You check it for EVP?” You asked, Dean gave you a grin telling you that he had “not too bad sweetheart” Dean shakes his head before “I slowed it down, ran it through a gold wave, took out the hiss and this is what i got” he said pressing play again

“…. I can never go home”

Dean sets down the cassette tape and they both look at you expectantly. You sighed rolling your eyes, knowing your answer before they even ask ‘once a hunter always a goddamn hunter’ you thought, rolling your eyes. “So what do you think?” Sam asks, eyebrows pinched together as if he was trying to read you.

You looked back towards the bedroom, surprised your boyfriend hadn’t come out in search of you even through all the ruckus ‘it’s just one hunt. Right?’ You thought. “I think… we got ourselves a hunt boys”

At that a smile slipped on both boys faces and Dean let out a loud ‘whoop' causing you to let out a laugh before pausing, “just this one. I have a… life here” you explained, and just as quickly as it came it was gone, well for Dean at least. “Wha-“ he was cut off by the bedroom door creeping open and out walked Jason, his hair was messy from sleep but he looked confused at the two men you were so comfortable sitting with in the living room.

“The hell,” Dean muttered as he stood up. Before anyone could do or say anything you stood up “uh Jason this is Dean and Sam. I grew up with them.” You explained as Jason got closer a look of realization set on his face “uh nice to meet you” he said as he stepped to give the brothers a handshake, Dean eyed him but surprisingly shook his hand, and then he moved to Sam who gave you an unreadable look as he shook Jason’s hand.

You then decided to break the silence, looking at Jason “uh i need to talk to you” you said, he looked between you and the boys confused “sure okay” he said with a slow nod.

You glanced at Sam and Dean, giving them a look that meant ‘beat it’. Sam immediately picked up on it and cleared his throat “we’ll wait in the car” he said, stepping past Dean. Dean gave your boyfriend one last look as he followed Sam.

Once the boys were gone Jason gave you an expectant look, you sighed trying to think of the best way to tell him about the situation.

You’d never talked about your life before leaving hunting, especially not to your clueless boyfriend, no matter how annoyed it made him that you knew more about him than he did you. “I'm going on a trip with them, just a… family thing.” You began.

Jason scoffed “so you just decide at what-“ he paused to check his watch “four in the morning to go on a family trip?” He asked, tilting his head.

You slowly nodded her head “yeah, just family stuff” you shrugged, Jason rolled his eyes at you “babe the most I’ve ever heard about your family were their names. You don't visit them during holidays, or birthdays. To be completely honest I thought they didn’t exist.” He said rubbing a hand through his hair.

You scoffed, taken aback by his comment, walking away from him and going to your shared room to pack. “Where are you going?” He called, following after.

“To pack my stuff, so I can go on a roadtrip with my ‘imaginary’ family” you sarcastically remarked, grabbing your old hunting bag and subtly placing the box full of your old hunting gear in it before moving to pack some clothes.

Jason sighed “look babe, I didn’t mean it like that. All i'm saying is it's a little weird they show up randomly at four in the morning and demand a road trip” he defended himself.

You threw her head back in irritation. Not at him but more so that you’d been born into such an odd, unexplainable family life, “can you at least tell me where you're going” he asked defeated.

You put your head down, clenching your eyes shut hoping that this moment would end already, “my mother is missing.” You stiffly admitted.

Jason let out a scoff, when you looked at him he looked about ready to lose his mind because you’d lost yours. “Your mother is missing and instead of calling the cops you go on a road trip?” He asked, not really being able to believe what he was hearing.

You paused “you wanted to know my family? Here’s a glance into my world.” You said, zipping up the duffel bag. Looking at Jason you could see the confused and helpless look on his face, sighing as you walked towards him and pressing a kiss to his lips, before pulling away, brushing the stubble on his chin with your thumb “i'll only be gone three days tops, ‘kay? Then when i get back you can ask me anything and i'll do my best to answer” you promised

Jason looked like he was studying your face for the last time “okay” he said, you nodded leaning in to give him one last kiss before you departed “ill see you soon, i lo-“ you cut yourself off before you could even start.

Jason nodded again, giving your hips a squeeze and pressing a long kiss to your forehead, before you backed away.

Sometime after getting in the car your body finally allowed you to sleep, maybe it was the sound of baby’s engine lulling you to sleep like it used to all those years ago, or maybe it was the sense that nothing would hurt you while you’re with Sam and Dean and that allowed the feeling in your gut to settle.

When you woke up, the sun was up and the car was no longer moving. Sam was sitting half way out of the front seat looking at the box of cassette tapes Dean inherited from john. “Where’s Dean?” You asked, catching Sam’s attention.

He gestured to the old looking gas station. You took in the surroundings and grimaced “charming” you muttered to herself as you got out of the car, to stretch your legs.

You were finally able to take a good look at Sam and suddenly a wave of nostalgia hit you like a truck.

Though he’d gotten taller and more lean since the last time you saw him, you felt like that nineteen year old girl on the road with her boyfriend and best friend, and a sense of longing filled you quickly seeping into her chest, but you shut it down before you could dwell too much on it.

You had a new life now, better, safer, and a boyfriend you couldn’t wait to get back home and see. Though you weren’t excited for the ‘ghosts, goblins, and vampires are real’ talk.

You moved towards Sam and leaned over him to peek into the box to see the same old cassette tapes he had when you left. Not one more or less.

“He seriously needs new music,” you joked, pulling out a cassette labeled ‘AC/DC’. “Tell me about it,” Sam laughed, causing you to smile. “Hey” Dean called from behind the car, catching you and Sam’s attention. He held up some snacks he bought while in the gas station. “Want breakfast?” He asked

“No thanks” Sam said, returning his attention back to the tapes. Dean then looked to you questioningly “im fine, but i will take that” you pointed to the drink in his hand. He tossed it to you and you caught it effortlessly. “So how’d you pay for that stuff? You and dad still running credit card scams?” Sam asked. You snorted “you’re surprised?”

“Yeah well hunting ain’t exactly a pro-ball career” Dean replied as he put the gas pump back where it belongs. “Besides all we do is apply, not our fault they send us the cards”. You raised your eyebrows in agreement “can't exactly argue with that” you said, getting back into the car. “Yeah, and what name did you write on the application this time?” Sam re-adjusted himself in the seat before closing the door.

Dean paused before he got in the car “uh Bert afframnian, and his son hector. Scored two cards out of the deal.” Dean smiled proudly. Sam laughed “sounds about right” he said. “I swear man, you gotta update your cassette tape collection” Sam said, causing Dean to frown “why?” He asked.

“Well for one there cassette tapes” you interjected putting your head in between theirs, Sam began to pick up singular cassettes and list the names “and two, Black Sabbath, motor head, metallica” Sam finished as Dean snatched the tape from his hand looking very offended.

“It’s the greatest hits of mullet rock, Dean there’s a whole world of music you’ve left undiscovered. You’d love Avril Lavigne” you teased causing Sam to laugh. Dean placed the cassette in the player “house rules Sammy, driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cake hole, and you stay in the back seat” he said pushing your head back so you were sitting correctly before starting the car.

Sam rolled his eyes at his brother ”Sammy is a chubby twelve year old, it's Sam” he tried to correct. You laughed “good luck trying to make that stick sammy” you said before Dean turned up the music. “Sorry I can't hear you, the music’s too loud,” Dean said before pulling off. The sound of the engine giving her another wave of nostalgia, maybe you had missed this more than you let yourself believe.

“Okay thanks” you said before closing your phone, “so there’s nobody at the morgue matching mom or john’s description, so that’s a start” you tell the boys. Sam nods at the information while Dean pulls off to the side of the road, his attention set on the bridge just ahead crossed off with yellow tape.

“Check it out” he said before opening the glove box and pulling out another box filled with fake ids, he smirked at you and Sam before getting out of the car “let's go”. You and Sam looked at each other with worry, both of your carriers were on the line if you got caught, you tilted your head “we have to” you said, before following Dean out the car, Sam not too far behind.

You, Sam and Dean walked onto the crime scene taking in every piece of information you could. “I’m guessing that’s the sheriff”, you pointed to a man looking over the bridge before moving to talk to another officer who looked to be dusting for fingerprints inside the car.

“No sign of struggle, no footprints, fingerprints spotless, it’s almost too clean” the officer said to the sheriff. The man sighed at the information “so this kid Troy, he’s dating your daughter isn’t he? How’s Amy doing?” The sheriff asked the officer.

“She’s putting up missing posters downtown” he answered. Dean walked toward them interrupting their conversation “you fellas had one like this last month didn’t you?” He spoke loudly, catching the sheriff's attention. “And who are you?” He asked, causing Dean to flash his fake badge “federal marshals” Dean answered.

The man did a once over at the three of them, none of them looking a say over 20 “you three are a little young for Marshall’s aren’t you?” You and Sam smirked at each other while Dean laughed “thanks that’s awfully kind of you” he said before moving on quickly “you did have another one just like this correct?” He asked. The sheriff nodded “yeah that’s right, about a mile down the road. There’ve been others before that.” He said.

You walked over to the car leaning down to get a closer inspection “do you mind if i uh…” you asked, gesturing to the car, the sheriff nodded “go ahead, but there’s nothing there. We swept it from top to bottom” he said. You smiled “I’m sure, I just want to get a good look myself” you said. You began to inspect the car making sure not to touch anything or leave any kind of DNA just in case.

Sam and Dean continued questioning the sheriff while you inspected the car, and so far you came up with nothing. The car’s clean, eerily so. Maybe some small part of you began to believe that whatever was here took your parents, that maybe they didn’t skip town to lead their kids on a manhunt for them, but then again they were too stubborn to die by the hands of something as little as a pissed off spirit.

Dean walked over beside you “anything?” He whispered, you shook your head “nothing, almost like he was never even here” you told him, standing up. “So what's the theory?” Sam asked, walking over to where you and Dean stood. The man shrugged “Honestly? We don’t know, serial murder, kidnapping ring” the sheriff answered.

“That is exactly the kind of crack police work I'd expect out of you guys-“ Dean was cut off by Sam stomping on his foot. Your eyes widened but you covered it with a smile “please excuse us, we're done here” you said, pushing Sam and Dean to walk past the confused man “thank you for your time” Sam said giving a quick smile.

Sam walked ahead of you and Dean and she could tell he was irritated just by the way he was walking. Dean looked back to see if any of the police were looking before he slapped the back of Sam’s head. “Ow!” Sam whispered with clenched teeth.

You rolled your eyes at their antics, not in the mood for their arguing, you walked ahead of the both of them, somehow being the only one to catch the three men walking towards the three of you.

Two of whom were real FBI agents, you paused your walking backtracking a few steps and turned to both Sam and Dean who had his back toward you, you caught Sam’s eye over Dean's shoulder and gestured to the men behind her. Sam cleared his throat trying to send the message to his brother. Dean turned just as the men reached them.

“Can I help you kids?” The local officer's demeanor was a lot more authoritative than the others. You gave the men a charming smile “oh no sir, we just wanted to know what happened, we were just leaving” you said, not dropping the innocent act.

You led the brothers away from the bridge and back to the car, shaking your head the whole way.

When they all got back in the car you spoke “i say we go talk to that Amy girl”

Downtown

You, Sam and Dean walked downtown in search of Amy for about five minutes until all of your eyes landed on a girl putting up ‘missing’ posters. “I bet you that’s her” Dean said, you and Sam agreed.

The three of you walked up to the girl “you must be Amy” Dean said, the girl nodded as she taped up a poster. You stepped in front of Dean “yeah Troy told us about you, I’m y/n, this is Dean and Sammy were his aunt and uncles”, Amy eyed you weirdly, Sam and Dean could pass but you not so much.

Dean must’ve noticed because he nudged you toward Sam’s side and you caught on pretty quickly, wrapping your arm around him.

You couldn’t see Sam’s face but you were sure it was something along the lines of shock, then a look from you to Dean then quickly covering it with a tight lipped smile as he stiffly tugged you in closer.

Amy must’ve accepted the facade as she returned to putting up the posters “he never mentioned you to me” she said before turning to walk. The three of you followed and you and Sam let Dean take the lead in talking “yeah well that’s Troy i guess, we’re not around much we’re up in Modesto” he lied.

Sam broke away from you making you frown a bit, watching him move in front of Amy bringing her walk to a halt. “So we’re looking for him too and were kind of asking around-“ Sam was cut off by another girl stopping next to Amy asking her if she was okay, you assumed she was her friend.

“Do you mind if we ask you a couple questions?” You asked to which Amy agreed.

Amy and her friend led the three of you to a cafe, it was dark inside no thanks to the lack of sunshine outside, you sat between Dean and Sam whilst the two teenage girls sat on the other side.

Amy began telling you about the last time she and Troy spoke “I was on the phone with Troy. He was driving home. He said he would call me right back, and...he never did.” She said.

Sam leaned forward, more intrigued. “He didn't say anything strange, or out of the ordinary?” He asked. Amy shook her head, a frown painted on her face “no. Nothing I can remember” she said.

You glanced down at Amy’s necklace. It was a pentagram “i like your necklace” you complemented. Amy glanced down at the necklace and smiled “thanks, Roy gave it to me. Mostly to scare my parents with all that devil stuff.” She laughed at the memory.

Sam huffed out a laugh beside you “Actually, it means just the opposite. A pentagram is protection against evil. Really powerful. I mean, if you believe in that kind of thing.”, you raised your brows not expecting Sam to go full on encyclopedia. “Okay. Thank you, Unsolved Mysteries.” Dean said earning a bitch face from Sam

Dean took his arm off the back of the seat and leaned forward. “Here's the deal, ladies. The way Troy disappeared, something's not right. So if you've heard anything” Dean trailed off noticing the look Amy and Rachel give to each other “What is it?” You ask, tilting your head slightly.

“Well, it's just... I mean, with all these guys going missing, people talk.” Rachel started “What do they talk about?” The brothers say in unison, creeping you out just a little bit “It's kind of this local legend. This one girl? She got murdered on Centennial, like decades ago.” Rachel continues to explain.

Dean gives you and Sam a look you returned with a glance while Sam continues to listen to Rachel’s story “Well, supposedly she's still out there. She hitchhikes, and whoever picks her up? Well, they disappear forever.”

Sam and Dean looked at each other. “We got a lead,” you muttered under your breath to the brothers.

You sat in a chair to the side watching as Dean typed on the computer, coming up with nothing every time he pressed enter. Sam tried to take over the computer “let me try.” He said, but Dean smacked Sam’s hand away, “I got it,” he grumbled.

Sam sighed, pushing Dean's chair out of the way and scooted his closer, “dude!” Dean says hitting Sam’s shoulder, though the younger Winchester didn’t even spare him a glance “you’re such a control freak” Deans says and he scoots closer.

You smiled at their bickering, you didn’t miss the blow out fights you all used to have but you did miss the moments like these that you found yourself thinking about often causing a comforting feeling to spread in your chest.

“So angry spirits are born out of violent death, right?” Sam asks.

“Right” you confirmed, scooting closer to get a better look at the computer. “Well maybe it’s not murder” he says replacing ‘murder’ with ‘suicide’ in the search bar then pressing enter, an article popped up titled ‘suicide on Centennial’.

“I think he's got you beat Dean-o” you sarcastically remarked, earning a glare from Dean.

Sam opened the article dated back to April 25, 1981. “This was 1981. Constance Welch, twenty-four years old, jumps off Sylvania Bridge, drowns in the river.” Sam reads, Dean leaned forward “does it say why she did it?” He asked.

“Yeah” you answered, “what?” “Says an hour before they found her, she called 911. Apparently her two little kids are in the bathtub. She leaves them alone for a minute, and when she comes back, they aren't breathing. Both die.’” You read, sympathy settled in your gut for the woman.

Sam continued reading “‘Our babies were gone, and Constance just couldn't bear it,' said husband Joseph Welch." Sam says as he scrolled, a picture of the bridge you were at before showed itself on the screen “that bridge looks familiar to you?” Dean says.

SYLVANIA BRIDGE

By nightfall you, Sam, and Dean were back walking down the bridge, you all stopped to look over the railing down into the rushing river, “so this is where Constance took the swan dive” Deans said, before continuing on walking.

You and Sam followed “so you think they would’ve been here?” Sam asks Dean, Dean looks back at the two of you “well he’s chasing the same story and we're chasing him” Deans answered.

You sighed, continuing your walk. “Okay, so now what?” You and Sam simultaneously ask. You could tell Dean was purposefully not looking back at you and Sam “Now we keep digging until we find him. Might take a while.” Dean answered slowly.

You and Sam stop, glancing at each other before looking at Dean. Sam sighs “Dean, I told you, I've gotta get back by Monday-“ Dean cuts Sam off as he turns around “Monday. Right. The interview” he says, cutting a glance at you.

You shrugged, while you didn’t have any important plans like Sam, you still had to get home to Jason “i gotta get home Dean” you said.

“You're really serious about this, aren't you? You think you're just going to become a Lawyer? Marry your girl?” Dean asks, and something struck your heart, the thought of your first love marrying someone else, you pushed it away. “Maybe, why not?” Sam answered.

Dean looked at you “you gonna marry that guy hmm? Knowing he can't protect you? Being normal while knowing the truth about the things that come out at night?” He asked, stepping towards you.

You shrugged, getting irritated. “If that's what happens, yeah Dean, why is that so bad?” You questioned, you thought when you left Dean was happy for you, supportive at least but you could see now it was a facade.

“Do they even know the truth, i mean do they know about the things you’ve done?” Dean asks. Sam steps forward “ no and she’s not ever going to know” “that’s not gonna happen” both you and Sam said at the same time.

Dean paused, raising his eyebrows “Well, that's healthy. You can pretend all you want. But sooner or later you're going to have to face up to who you really are.” Dean said as he turned and kept walking.

You sighed, knowing that Dean was just upset. He wanted things to go back to how they were with you, your mom, Sam, John and him. He wanted his family back and you couldn’t fault him for it.

But the way he was going about it wasn’t the right way. Sam however feeds into it “and who’s that?” He asks. “You're one of us.” Dean answers, making Sam rush to get in front of Dean.

“No. I'm not like you. This is not going to be my life.” Sam finalized, Dean rolled his eyes “You have a responsibility to-“ Sam cut Dean off “To our parents? And their crusade? If it weren't for pictures I wouldn't even know what Mom looks like.” He said before pointing to you, “she’s been on the receiving end of y/m/n’s anger about y/f/n’s death her whole life” he continued, your chest tightened a little at his words, you’d never admitted it to anyone other than Sam when you were barley thirteen.

“And what difference would it make? Even if we do find the thing that killed her, they’re gone. And they aren’t coming back.”he finished. Dean grabbed Sam by his collar and shoved him up against the railing of the bridge, making you step forward “hey! Calm down” you shouted, Dean ignored you.

“Don’t ever talk about her like that”Dean warned before releasing Sam from his grip and continuing on his walk. Sam looked at you seeing your expression “y/n i-“ you cut him off “don’t, just don’t.”

You walked past him, it wasn’t what he said about your father that upset you, you’d accepted it a long time ago, but him telling Dean something you admitted to him after he found you crying, hit a nerve.

When you looked ahead your heart skipped a beat, not far ahead of you was Dean, but what caught your eye was the woman in the white dress standing on the ledge of the bridge.

“Sam.” Dean called, not taking his eyes off the woman, Sam moved to stand next to Dean and the tree of you watched the woman look at you before stepping off the ledge, you immediately sprint towards where she was, but when you got there she was gone “where’d she go?” Sam asked, “I don't know,” you said looking down at the river for the second time that night.

The sound of the impala starting immediately caught you and the brother’s attention, the headlights shined bright and the engine revved loudly. “Shit” you muttered. “Who’s driving your car?” Sam asks. Dean pulled the keys out of his pocket and you glance at them and roll your eyes “great”.

As soon as the words slipped past your lips the car began speeding towards the three of you, you didn’t waste any time taking off in a sprint, Sam and Dean weren’t far behind you and you could hear one of them yelling “go go run”.

They caught up to you fairly quickly thanks to their long legs, Sam grabbed your wrist pulling you with him as he jumped over the railing after Dean. Luckily he hadn’t let go because your foot slipped off of the side leaving you dangling over the river, holding on to nothing but Sam.

“Don’t let me go!” You shouted over the loud rushing of water below you. “It’s okay i got you” Sam said, pulling you back up, and this time you were careful with your footing.

You let out a breath “thanks” you huffed, Sam smiled “no problem”. His smile warms your heart and you fight the blush threatening to show on your cheeks. You looked back over the railing to see baby parked as if nothing happened.

Looking around you couldn’t spot Dean anywhere “where’s Dean?” You asked Sam. The both of you looked over the ledge, shouting Dean's name. After two calls you saw something crawl out of the water covered in mud “what!” It shouted.

It was Dean, “are you okay?” You shouted, Dean put up an OK sign with his hand “I’m super” he said. You and Sam smiled glancing at each other before climbing back over the railing.

Not long after Dean closed the hood of the impala “car alright?” Sam asked. “Yeah whatever she did to it, seems alright now. That Constance chick, what a bitch!” Dean shouted into the distance.

You came up beside him “well she doesn’t want us digging around that’s for sure” Sam said, and you hummed in agreement “So where's the job go from here, genius?” You asked Dean who just flicked the mud off of his hands in response.

Just then the wind blew and your nose caught the smell wafting from Dean making you cringe. You saw Sam making the same face before looking at Dean “you smell like a toilet” he said, you smiled, holding your laughter at the look on Dean's face.

“One room please” Dean said, dropping the card on the guest registry list, the old man at the front desk picked up the card eyeing Dean's muddy attire, before looking at you then Sam.

“You guys having a reunion or something?” The clerk asked, your brows furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean?” Sam asked, speaking your mind. I had another guy, Burt Aframian came in with his wife. He came and bought out a room for the whole month.” The man said. Dean turned and gave you and Sam a look.

You stood beside Dean completely blocking the view of anyone looking while Sam picked the lock to the room your mother and John stayed in. The door creaked open and you followed Sammy into the room.

You looked around in shock and Sam yanked Dean into the room and closed the door. “Woah” was all Sam could muster up. The room was a mess as if they just vanished, a suitcase thrown over the bed, food wrappers were still on the nightstand.

And papers were still thumb tacked to the wall. You stepped over the ring of salt and further into the room not paying any attention to Dean sniffing the day's old burger. You moved to pick through the discarded suitcase that was unmistakably your mothers, not listening to the conversation Sam and Dean were having.

Your heart sped up feeling as if you were about to commit a crime when you opened the suitcase, you would’ve never heard the end of it if your mother ever caught you going through her personal belongings.

Her clothes were inside neatly stored in rows of shirts, pants and whatever else, however nothing could’ve prepared you when you pulled a knife out of the bottom. The blade was covered by a white sheath.

You pulled the knife out of the sheath to take a look at the blade. It was long about the size of a ruler, and the brand new white leather on the handle made your breath hitch.

It looked exactly the same as your mothers, the one your father had gifted her the day of your birth, you turned the knife to look at the bottom and your initials and a date was engraved in a small font. “Hey Sam?” You called, catching him and Dean's attention. “Yeah?” He said moving towards you.

“What’s today’s date?” You asked. Sam’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion but still pulled his phone out to check “it’s November second, why?”. You turned to face the brothers showing them the knife.

Dean opened his mouth to speak “is that-“ “no, it looks like hers but it has my initials and today’s date. What does that mean?” You asked. Sam and Dean looked at each other unsure themselves.

You excused yourself from the motel so you could call Jason and update him a bit, the phone rang a few times before Jason’s cheery voice greeted you ‘Hey Jason here, I couldn’t come to the phone. Leave a message and I’ll get back to you when I can’. Voicemail.

You started to feel that feeling settle in your stomach again. So you called again, and again voicemail. Every time. “Son of a bitch” you said tilting your head back. After a few more tries and still no luck you re-entered the room again.

Sam looked up at you from one of the two beds in the room. He turned off his phone, he must’ve been calling Jessica and had just about the same amount of luck as you.

You plopped down on the other bed letting out a breath, you and Sam sat in a comfortable silence until you broke it. “How’s college life treating you?” You asked, looking at him. Sam looked back at you from his seated position and smiled, “it’s great, yeah. Normal” he said.

You smiled, “I bet, can't imagine Sam Winchester at a college party” you laughed at the thought, Sam laughed along with you shaking his head “yeah no it’s not really my scene” he said. You smiled, “so, what have you been up to since you left hunting?” Sam asked you. You paused, huffing out a laugh i uh- I’ve been looking to join the FBI. Behavioral analyses specifically.” You admitted.

Sam’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, “The FBI? Y/n that’s great! I mean what-“ Sam cut himself off with a scoff.

You smiled “yeah i know i uh got into Yale, not long after i left and majored in criminal justice and psychology. Got through it pretty fast, thanks to hunting I mean it was pretty easy to grasp.” You shrugged.

“Y/n this is big! Does anybody know-“ Sam was cut off by Dean swinging the bathroom door open “know what?” He asked, grabbing his jacket off of the coat rack. “Uh nothing” you said before Sam could say anything.

Sam picked up on your hesitance and sent Dean a tight lipped smile. He looked between the two of you weirdly before shrugging it off. “Anyway, I'm starving. I'm gonna go grab something to eat at that diner down the street” Dean said “want anything?” He asked.

“No thanks” “no” you and Sam said. “You sure? Aframian’s buying” he said, both you and Sam declined again. Dean shrugged and stepped out of the door.

When the door closed you turned back to Sam “I haven’t told anyone. Just you.” you said, Sam looked at you with understanding. “Well maybe we’ll work together on a case,” he said with a smile. “You bet law boy”.

After the conversation ended, Sam began to fill you in on the woman in white legends that you missed earlier, but he wasn’t able to get very far in because your phone began to ring.

You picked it up hoping it’d be Jason, it wasn’t it was Dean. You sighed, answering “yeah?” You answered.

“Dude, five-oh take off.” You whipped your head to Sam “what about you” you asked standing up “they kinda spotted me. Go find our parents” he says then he hangs up.

“We gotta go, cops. They’ve got Dean already” you said. Sam moves to look out of the window but quickly backs away when he sees the cop start towards the room.

After you and Sam escaped you both split up, Sam went to speak to Constance’s husband and you went to figure out a way to get Dean out of the hole. Which wasn’t too hard, all you had to do was shoot a few rounds and then call it in, waiting for the cops to leave and let Dean do his part.

While you were waiting Sam called you “got anything?” You asked, “so the husband was unfaithful. We are dealing with a woman in white. And she's buried behind her old house.” He said.

You looked at your surroundings, you weren’t far from the old Welch house “okay, how bout i meet you there?” You suggested, eyeing the small blue car you were passing. “Wait, what about Dean?” He asked

you smirked “Deans fine, trust me”. Sam nodded, though you couldn’t see “and uh, how do you plan to get there?” He asked, and just as he finished his question he heard a car alarm go off, he scoffed with a smile “you're stealing a car?” He said.

You shrugged “what can i say Sammy, old habits die hard”. Sam rolled his eyes “okay meet you there”

While you were driving your phone rang again, the id wasn’t one you knew but you answered none the less. “Hello?” You said.

“Sam’s in trouble” Dean's voice rang out. Your eyebrows furrowed “what how?” You asked, speeding the car up a little. “No time to explain, just get to the Welch house” he said before hanging up. “Damn it Sam” you said driving way past speeding limits.

When you arrived you started to hear gunshots, telling you that either of them beat you there. You stopped the car seeing Dean holding his shotgun, shooting at Constance’s spirit with a… salt round?

You shook off your confusion before getting out of the car and running towards him. But before you reached them the impala took off and crashed into the side of the house. Suddenly the voice rang through your head ‘I can never go home’ you almost laughed to yourself. He took her home.

Hurriedly you ran towards the passenger side beside Dean. “Sam! Sam, you okay?” Dean asked, Sam groaned, causing relief to spread through you “I think..” Sam said.

“Can you move?” You asked. Sam nodded his head “yeah, can you help me” he asked, and Dean helped Sam out of the car.

When Sam was out of the car you noticed Constance holding a frame, most likely of her family, until she looked up at the tree of you and dropped the frame, stepping out of the way and pushing you guys against the car with the dresser.

You groaned when the dresser hit your hips and it was for sure to leave a bruise, even with you and the boys combined strength you couldn’t move the dresser.

Constance stepped towards you with malice in her eyes, but stopped when the lights started flickering. You looked around in confusion at her confusion.

Then water began flowing down the stairs and you saw shadows of two small children at the top. ‘You’ve come home to us mommy’ the children said, sending goosebumps down your spine.

Suddenly the children were behind Constance, she turned and looked at the children who embraced her in a hug causing her to scream, soon enough all three spirits were reduced to a puddle on the floor.

The hold on the dresser disappeared and you guys were able to push the dresser off of you. You walked over to the puddle with Sam and Dean in tow “ So this is where she drowned her kids.” Dean said.

You and Sam nodded “that’s why she could never go home, she was too scared to face them” Sam replied.

You frowned “it’s tragic what heartbreak can do to someone” you said. There was a silence before Dean slapped Sam’s chest “you found her weak spot. Nice work Sammy” Dean complemented proudly. Sam winced at the impact but shrugged it off with a laugh.

“Yeah, I wish I could say the Same to you. What were you thinking shooting Casper in the face, you freak?” Sam joked “Hey. Saved your ass.” Dean replied, moving to look at the car. “I'll tell you another thing. If you screwed up my car?” Dean turned around to look at Sam. “I'll kill you.” He pointed. You and Sam looked at each other with huge grins

And just like that you were back on the road headed home. Sam in the passenger seat held a flashlight so he could see the map “okay, here’s where they went. It’s called black Water Ridge, Colorado” Sam said.

You leaned forward looking over his shoulder “how far?” You asked. Sam glanced back at you before looking at the map “about six hundred miles” he answered. You hummed, sitting back in your seat.

Dean nodded along to the music “Hey, if we shag ass we could make it by morning.” He said. You and Sam paused glancing at each other. “Dean-“ you started but was cut off by Dean “you’re not coming” he said nodding. “The interview's in like, ten hours. I gotta be there.” Sam says, Dean looks back at you through the rear view mirror.

“I have a job Dean… and Jason’s expecting me-“ Dean cut you off “yeah whatever, I’ll take you home” he said, you could hear the disappointment in his tone. You sighed

laying your head against the headrest.

When you got to Sam's apartment you waited for him and Dean to say their goodbyes before you got out of the car calling his name. 

He turned around and you wrapped your arms around him. He hugged you back with a laugh, “it was good seeing you sammy” you said, pulling away. He nodded “yeah, you too… see you at work?” he asked. 

You smiled, nodding “see you at work” you confirmed. Before getting back in the car, the front seat this time. Before pulling off, Dean looked at you with a smirk causing you to roll your eyes. “Knock it off Winchester,” you joked.

 Dean laughed before pulling off. You weren't able to get very far before your stomach began burning like molten hot lava in your organs. 

You whimpered, holding your stomach in pain. The sound caught the older Winchester's attention as he began shaking you and saying something you couldn't make out. 

But what you could make out were the flashing images in your head. Blood and fire. It was everywhere like a massacre. 

When the images went away the pain faded slightly and you were finally able to say “Dean, go back, we have to go back.” the look in your eyes must've scared him because he didn't waste any time swerving the car around.

When you got back to sams apartment it was already on fire and before the vehicle was stopped you were out ant running towards it

Dean wasn’t far behind you and it didn’t take any time for you to reach his apartment, Dean kicked down the door and you both ran in. Sam was on his bed staring up at the ceiling in shock shouting Jess's name.

As much as you wished you could save the girl she was already gone so you and Dean dragged Sam out of the apartment, it wasn’t an easy fight given Sam’s height and strength but you did it nonetheless.

However getting Sam out didn’t stop the burning feeling in your stomach, the ambulance arrived on the scene officially announcing Jessica dead, and you saw the emotion drain from Sam’s face, it was as if a switch flipped inside of him, he walked off leaving you with Dean.

You looked at the older Winchester with teary eyes “Dean you have to take me home. Please.” You begged. Dean looked at you with sorrow as if he already knew. You both knew what it meant but you wouldn’t believe it. No you wouldn’t accept it. He saw the inner turmoil in your eyes and nodded “okay, let’s go.” He said, wrapping an arm around your shoulder.

He led you back to the car where Sam had been putting a shotgun together with tears in his eyes. He looked at you then Dean, before shaking his head, throwing the gun back into the trunk. “We got work to do”

On the drive Dean quietly filled Sam in on what happened with you, though you weren’t too sure he was listening. You weren’t listening either, you were busy calling Jason’s phone over and over and over.

Every time the call went to voicemail the burning sensation got worse. When Dean parked outside of your apartment building you wasted no time getting out.

You heard both of their doors open as well and Dean called your name. You turned around to look at him, eye’s nothing but teary. “You want us to come with?” He asked. You looked between him and Sam, who looked like he couldn’t handle much more tonight.

You shook your head not trusting your voice enough to speak. Dean nodded “we’ll be right here if you need us” he said. You nodded, before turning around and continuing your walk.

The whole way to your apartment you held your new knife in your hand, when you reached your door you paused, not sure if you really wanted to enter, however you pushed the feeling down and opened the door.

Immediately the smell of blood hit you, the metallic smell seemed so strong it almost gave you a headache. Tears began to freely fall down your face when you saw the puddle of blood leaking from the other side of the kitchen counter.

Carefully you stepped over the pool of blood and walked further in, that’s when you saw him. He was on the floor, his face bruised and neck slashed.

Your heart shattered, and you began to hyperventilate as you dropped to your knees, not caring anymore about his blood staining your clothes.

You placed a soft hand on his face, it was still warm and your tears dripped onto his cheeks “please, Jason please im sorry. I’m sorry I shouldn’t have left. I could've protected you. I'm so sorry” you sobbed.

The longer you looked at him the more it hurt. You began to shiver from the feeling of your clothes soaked with his blood and the heartbreak that was crushing your chest.

But you didn’t care “no, no, no, this wasn’t supposed to happen to you.” You laid your head against his chest, hoping to hear a heartbeat.

But it was silent. Your sobs filled the air around you, until you heard footsteps enter the apartment.

You picked up the previously discarded knife with shaky unstable hands ready to fight whoever, but it was just Sam and Dean.

You saw Dean first, he stopped in shock and Sam wasn’t far behind. They took in the scene, your bruised bleeding boyfriend, and your completely broken state.

You seemed to be covered in his blood which made it worse. Neither of the brothers knew what to say or do and Sam looked on the verge of crying again too.

Dean moved to pick you up out of the bloody mess until he saw bloody writing on the wall ‘you were too late’.

Sam saw what his brother was looking at,and you turned to see. The bloody letters dripped down the wall as if it was still fresh.

Dean shook his head, picking you up from the ground. You hardly made any effort to fight him off and Dean thanked God for it because even though you were now a grown woman, he still saw you as that little girl he always protected. And you need that now more than ever.

[mi-i-zori]

141 x Squirrel Hybrid!Reader

CoD - Hybrid!AU - GN!Reader

SYNOPSIS : It’s hard to imagine a squirrel hybrid surviving the ruthlessness of the army. But the members 141 found themselves surprised by how well they can fit in this universe. Saying they appreciate it is an understatement.

WARNING : Slight mention of bullying from other soldiers. Otherwise, it’s pure fluff.

Author’s Note : Watched a documentary about squirrels and well… Here’s another idea I had for an Hybrid/Shifter AU. Might end up doing both, since they’re kind of different in my head. Again, kinda headcanon-ish.

I do not allow anyone to translate, re-use or re-publish my works, be it here or on any other platform, including AI.

CoD AUs - Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Little thing who is extremely agile, smart and skittish.

They hide snacks everywhere, especially in autumn, but end up forgetting about a lot of them. Price often finds a little bag of nuts under his hat when he puts it down even for a moment, which always makes him chuckle. The team completely lost it when the Captain was once taking a sound nap, and Reader hid a snack under his hat while it was still on his head.

They instinctively try to hide, or at least dampen their scent in their multiple nests (that they use depending on the seasons) by stealing the guys’ clothes and stuffing their bed with them. They don’t mind. Johnny even finds it pretty funny, as it reminds him of the way he and his siblings used to do the same (and still do, sometimes). He willingly leaves his shirts or hoodies in easily accessible places so they can get their fill, which already left him struggling to find something to wear a few times. The others will never let him live it down.

They sleep among tons of clothes, pillows and blankets, and curl their long, bushy tail around their body and clutch it like a plushie. The boys created a secret group on WhatsApp where they send each other pictures of Reader sleeping in uncommon places, or just being their little squirrel selves.

They climb everything they see, and sometimes perch on the guys’ shoulders to observe their surroundings and get away from « predators ». They really seem to favor Simon’s shoulders for this, and he can be quite the smug bastard about it whenever he is in a teasing mood. But he usually enjoys it in silence, sneaking them a treat or gently patting their back to calm them down.

They got the guys to keep snacks on them all the time, keeping in mind that they really like hazelnuts and other similar fruits. Since Gaz found out that squirrels also eat mushrooms, they try get them a box or two of those too whenever they can.

When they all go out for a drink, the team usually orders a few bowls of those little appetizers with nuts and similar fruits in them. Reader has a field day with those, and the guys eat what they don’t. There was a time where Simon caught them stuffing some of those appetizers in their pockets for later. Johnny and Kyle started laughing like crazy at their lieutenant’s and teammate faces, one flabbergasted and the other looking like a deer caught in headlights. Price only let out an exasperated chuckle, shaking his head while noting to bring a little plastic bag with him should this happen again.

Reader curls up against the guys whenever they need to take a nap but can’t reach their nest. Again, it soothes their instinct to conceal their scent a little, and, in winter, it allows them to keep warm easily too. They also take advantage of the snacks the guys have on them to gather their strength when they wake up a little weaker after their naps.

Despite still being skittish, they chase the guys around when they try to court them, something the team takes a while to realize. They all find it pretty endearing, and Soap always ends up turning these little chases into playtimes.

They take on the little challenges said team creates to keep them entertained, placing treats in places that are harder to reach. Kyle has a lot of fun preparing a whole bunch of obstacle courses in the base’s gym for them, instructing them to get all the goodies in a limited amount of time or something of the like. He’s got multiple videos in his phone of Squirrel!Reader jumping around the gym, hopping on or above the machines (and sometimes other people).

Price came up with the idea of hiding stuff on themselves, or around other people, for Reader to retrieve without being noticed or caught. A few times, when the team was around a body of water, he placed himself in a way that would force them to swim despite not being too fond of it ; it always amazes him to see how sneaky they can be even in such an uncomfortable environment. The guys were also pleasantly surprised to see how resourceful they can be, using strategies they didn’t really think of themselves (or thought would be to risky to try) to avoid swimming. Although they admit, they find it pretty funny whenever their little squirrel barely holds back a grumble when they realise getting wet isn’t an option, and get into the water with a grimace on their face. They make it up to them by drying and feeding them with lots of treats afterwards, erasing the pout lingering on their features.

The team tries not to tease them too much about it, but they find the angry swishing of Reader’s tail, whenever they’re frustrated about something, to be pretty cute.

The guys are really protective of their little squirrel. There are idiots everywhere, and they’ve lost count of the times someone made a rude comment, or tried to bully Reader to trigger « funny » reactions. Ghost never hesitates to unleash hell on such people, leaving an usually overwhelmed or frustrated Reader in his teammates’ care.

Of all the teams they’ve worked with, the 141 is probably the one that makes Reader feel the safest. It takes them a moment to admit it, but the guys are really proud of themselves for this. You can tell whenever they think about it because they suddenly start glowing with pride.

[dollyzdaydreamz]

supernatural x little sister! reader fluff

its my car, jackass!

description: with the flu plaguing you and the impala broken down, dean is left no choice but to set his masculinity aside to drive your fur lined and bedazzled car to the next motel. along the way, sam recalls the time you almost drove off a cliff when dean attempted to give you a driving lesson in the impala.

warnings: none, just fluff and dean being bullied.

word count: 2.5k

spn masterlist

The crunch of tires on the snow blanketed pavement was soft, and the silence inside the car was comforting.

You were in the backseat, curled up under one of Sam’s huge winter coats. The scent of his hypoallergenic laundry soap, the one that you and Dean usually gave him shit for, wrapped around you in a cocoon.

It was nice given all that had happened in the past week.

You’d been fighting off a nasty flu, so the boys had to go on the most recent hunt without you. Then the impala broke down, so now Dean was using yours to drive to the next motel.

No one ever drove this car besides you, but it was still used to store extra equipment since it was so unsuspecting, especially since you were so keen on decorating every square inch of it with rhinestones and fur.

You leaned against the side door with a tissue box tucked under one arm and your flaming forehead pressed to the cool fogged window.

Even with medication, between the fever and the congestion, you dangled on the edge of delirium, unable to sit upright long enough to drive the car yourself.

So when Dean climbed into the car, adjusting the seat back so his legs could fit, he took one look at the interior and sighed.

He fumbled with your lanyard, searching through all your little keychains with furrowed brows to find the key to start the ignition.

“Christ,” He mumbled. Just as he was about to peel the fur steering wheel cover off, you leaned forward,

“No! Keep it on,” You rasped from the backseat.

“Hey, easy,” Sam placed a hand on you to keep you from lurching at him.

“Seriously?” Dean deadpanned, motioning to the wheel, “You're gonna make me drive with this thing?”

“It’s my car, jackass!” you coughed, “Not yours.”

On any other day, you’d watch your tone, but you supposed the haze of the fever had you making bolder choices.

Dean opened his mouth to protest, but Sam shot him a hard look.

“Fine.”

From your place in the backseat, you smirked as you caught a glimpse of Dean’s death grip on the wheel, the pale fur cover squished between his fingers.

“You sure you don’t wanna drive?” he asked, glancing at Sam.

Sam didn’t even bother looking up from the map in his lap. “You’re already driving.”

The dangling white Hello Kitty air freshener swung mockingly at him from the rearview mirror, ticking back and forth with every bump in the road.

“You know, maybe it’s a good thing Baby’s broken down,” Your voice rang out, scratchy, but cheeky nonetheless. “My car suits you better anyway.”

Dean shot you a side-eye in the mirror. “Shut up and sleep.”

“I don’t wanna sleep,” you mumbled, grabbing another tissue.

Sam shook his head, before glancing back at you. “You okay?”

You shifted slightly, “I feel dizzy.”

“You wanna sit up front? Might help.”

You nodded and sat up slowly, the movement making your vision wobble. As you reached for the seatbelt, Sam reached over from the passenger side to help. “Wait, I’ll help”

You groaned. “You don’t have to.”

“I know,” he said simply, already climbing out as Dean pulled over on the shoulder.

After helping you unbuckle, he reached out and rested a hand against your forehead. You froze for a second, waiting for the verdict.

“Still burning up,” he murmured, brows drawing slightly together.

Well crap.

“Here,” He brought a water bottle to your lips. “Drink some more water.”

“I’m not a baby,” You shrugged away, grimacing a little. “I can drink it myself.”

Sam rolled his eyes before handing it to you.

He held your elbow to steady you as you hopped out and slid into the front seat, shivering a little as you buckled in. Dean side-eyed you again, a little less grumpily this time.

“Better?” He asked as he merged back onto the road.

“Yup,” You sighed, settling in.

A few minutes later, you reached for the radio and turned it on.

Dean visibly twitched.

Sam raised a brow from the backseat, clearly enjoying Dean's irritation along with you.

“You like my playlist Dean?” You snicker, “It’s comprised of the finest pop icons. Katy Perry, Lady Gaga, Kesha…”

“I’m gonna crash this thing on purpose.”

“Oh please,” you sniffled, “I bet deep down, you like it.”

Dean didn’t answer. But he didn’t turn the radio off either.

As the car rolled to a stop at a red light, Dean's eyes tracked someone on the sidewalk. A woman in her mid-twenties, walking her dog, denim jacket, nice hair.

You clocked his line of sight,

“She’s pretty,” you grinned.

Then you turned up the music just loud enough to drown out the subtle purr of the engine and rolled your window all the way down.

“Heyy!” you called out.

She blinked and looked over.

Dean shot you a glare that said, don’t you dare.

“You’re beautiful!” you grinned, giving her a thumbs up.

The girl giggled, clearly flattered. “Thanks!”

He untensed a little, but not for long.

“And my BROTHER here?” You gestured to him, “He thinks you’re HOT—”

You were cut off as the car lurched forward like it had been electrocuted. You and Sam erupted into laughter as Dean scowled at the road,

“If you weren’t so sick I’d kill you.”

“Oh sure,” you chuckled. It trailed off into a coughing fit, a harsh, dry sound that had Dean glancing over instinctively.

Though his face was still a mask of irritation, a deft hand shot out to zip your jacket up higher, then fumble around a little to roughly tug the hood over your head.

You pulled the hood back in annoyance and slouched. As much as you needed to keep warm, you hated the stuffy feel of being trapped in your winter coat.

You were hot, but if you took your coat off, you’d be freezing.

If you didn’t blow your nose, you couldn’t breathe. If you did, your sinuses would ache from the exertion.

You hated the flu.

A few moments of silence later, you heard Sam in the backseat chuckling a little,

Your brows furrowed in confusion.

“What’s so funny?” You asked.

He shook his head, shoulders shaking as he hunched over to clutch his stomach.

“What’s wrong with you?” You turned in your seat, unable to help the little chuckle escaping you at his hysterics.

“Probably the cheap cupcake fumes getting to his head,” Dean huffed. His eyes scrunched at the dangling Hello Kitty air freshener, before he knocked it out of the way.

Sam caught his breath and leaned forward, “Dean, you remember the first time you let Y/N drive? She was what—like 15?”

Dean snorted. “You mean that time she almost killed us all?”

You gasped, sitting up straighter, “Hey! That was your fault!”

“My fault?” Dean scoffed, “Last I remember it wasn’t my hands on the steering wheel, Sweetheart.”

“Yeah, cause they were practically at my throat,” Sam shot back.

“Exactly,” you huffed, “I needed help but you were too busy arguing with him.”

“He was trying to provoke me!”

“Provoke you?”

As you tuned out their voices, the memory came back to you.

You were furious that your Dad was out on a hunting trip the day he promised to give you driving lessons.

Dean had been leaning against the doorway, waiting to take you and Sam to school.

He pushed off the frame and grinned, trying to meet your downcast gaze as he watched you walk past him toward the front steps.

He shrugged, worth a try.

It wasn’t a secret Dean had a soft spot for both you and Sam, but something about seeing his baby sister get turned away gnawed at something deep inside him. So when Dad said no to something, he was the one who got it for you anyway.

Sometimes with charm, sometimes with a crowbar.

He’d never forget the time he had to chat up a pretty cashier while he stuffed a for-display Barbie doll into his jacket that one Christmas.

Or the time Dad was out on a hunting trip and forgot to leave spare change. You padded over to him as you rubbed your stomach through your shirt, so he snagged a few snacks from the motel corner store and let you and Sam have at it.

Dad came back that same night and needless to say, he had a hard time explaining why you and Sam were buzzing around and jumping from one piece of furniture to the other with chocolate all over your mouths.

So when school let out a few days later and he turned down the usual route, Sam immediately narrowed his eyes from the backseat,

“Dean, you missed the turn.”

Dean didn’t answer until he pulled the Impala into an old, cracked parking lot behind an abandoned mall.

He threw the gear shift into park and turned to you with that familiar, lopsided smirk.

“C’mon, switch seats.”

You blinked, “Why?”

“You’re driving.”

Your eyes widened. “Wait—seriously?”

“Does it look like I’m kidding?” he drawled, though he sort of did, green eyes twinkling and brows raised.

You beamed, “So you’re actually gonna teach me?”

“Why not?” Dean shrugged.

You never thought this day would come. Hell, Dean didn’t even let you look at the impala for too long.

Sam sighed in the back. “She doesn’t even know how to start the car, Dean.”

“Shut up, Sam.” You bristled. The last thing you wanted was that nerd planting seeds of doubt into his mind.

Luckily for you, Dean ignored him, sliding out of the car and gesturing for you to take the wheel. You practically bounced over the center console and plopped into the driver’s seat.

Dean stood outside a second longer than necessary, looking at the Impala like he was about to hand over his child to a toddler.

Then, sighing dramatically, he climbed into the passenger seat.

Sam, already pale in the backseat, yanked the belt across his chest like it was a lifeline. “You know this thing’s a manual, right?”

You shrugged, “Yeah. And that means...?”

“Are you serious–”

“Doesn’t matter what it means, I’ll teach her,” Dean cut in.

Sam sputtered, “Doesn’t matter?”

Dean shot him a glare before he leaned closer, pointing at the pedals. “Left foot on the clutch, right on the brake.”

“Okay…”

“Good, now ease into first gear. Don’t pop it. Smooth, like flirting.”

“I don’t think anyone flirts with their feet,” you mumbled, following his instructions anyway.

Dean chuckled, “You’d be surprised–”

The car jolted forward and stalled.

Sam visibly flinched.

“Okay, not terrible…” Dean said, gripping the doorframe. “Give it another go.”

You tried again. And again.

You groan,

“Dean, I don’t think I can drive this piece of shi–”

“Yes, you can. Just take your time.” Dean said.

You sighed, “Alright then.”

Then, miraculously, the Impala rumbled forward.

“Yes!” you grinned, “I got it!”

Dean jolted forward, eyes wide and slightly panicked, he wasn’t expecting you to actually get anywhere,

“Alright–okay, you’re moving. Now ease on the gas.”

You did not ease. You zoomed.

“She’s going forty-five!” Sam yelped, grabbing the back of Dean’s seat.

“Fifty,” Dean chuckled through clenched teeth, “In a twenty-five…Kid’s got guts.”

“We’re so gonna get pulled over,” Sam groaned.

You grinned wildly, watching the trees whir past, “I’m not going any faster than Dean does.”

“Since when has Dean been a good example?” Sam scoffed.

Dean raised a brow, “Excuse me?”

“Don’t act surprised.”

Dean turned back, offended. “I happen to be an excellent driver.”

“You jumped a median to avoid a school zone.”

“That was tactical maneuvering!”

“God, where does this road even lead to?” You murmur as you begin to see less and less road signs and a hell of a lot more forest.

“Your bitching about my driving meanwhile I’m the one who has to drive your ass around everywhere–”

“I would drive if you would at least let me touch the steering wheel!”

As they bickered, you squinted ahead.

“It’s my car, jackass! I decide who drives it and who doesn’t.”

It seemed like you guys were on some sort of elevated terrain, but you weren’t sure yet if the road continued or if it was just messing with your depth perception.

“Guys?”

No response.

“Dean?”

“I don’t need your clammy hands on the steer–”

“Guys!”

Their shouting match came to an abrupt stop as they whipped their heads to you,

“WHAT?!”

You yelped as the Impala screeched to a halt, tires screaming as you stopped mere feet from a jagged drop-off.

Only the soft tick of the cooling engine, the window rustle of dry leaves from outside, and laboured breaths filled the cabin. Your heart was lurching out of your chest and your ears rang from the adrenaline.

Dean slowly turned to look at you.

You slowly turned to look at him.

The car may not have dropped, but his stomach sure as hell did at your expression.

It screamed ‘this was your fault’ along with a few other profanities he didn’t want to put a name to.

He gave you a sheepish smile. “Look, in my defense—”

You glared at him.

“...Okay. No defense.”

After a few seconds of pin drop silence and him glancing nervously at you from the corner of his eye, he spoke again.

“Y’know what? You don’t gotta to learn how to drive anyway.”

You raised a brow.

“I’ll always be here to drive you around, you know?...” He rambled.

“I’ll be like you’re…what’s the word I’m thinking of?”

Sam raised a brow, “—Chauffeur?”

“Yeah, your chauffeur.” He grinned, “Your knight in shining Chevy armor?”

You and Sam stared at him in silence, both equally as exasperated as you were confused.

He sighed, “Don’t tell Dad.”

You chuckled at the memory. Thank God your car was automatic.

You slowly leaned against the window, eyelids feeling heavier and heavier before they fluttered shut, the car’s movement lulling you to sleep.

In your haze of sleep, you were vaguely aware of arms lifting you out of the passenger seat.

“Don’t wake her,” Sam whispered.

“I know,” Dean replied under his breath, carefully shutting the door.

You felt the shift in temperature as the motel room door creaked open and warm air met your scarlet face.

You stirred just a little.

“Shh, I gotcha’,” Dean murmured.

You weren’t fully awake, but his tone echoed in your mind. It was familiar and comforting.

It was that tone he used when you were a kid. After nightmares, when you were sick and couldn’t sleep, or when you asked if Dad was coming back tonight and the answer was yet again, no.

He laid you on one of the beds and pulled the blankets over your shoulders.

Dean plopped the keys on the nightstand, “Sure she’s gonna be okay?”

“Yeah,” Sam nodded, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Just needs rest.”

Dean ran a hand down his face. “Good. I’m never driving that thing again. Felt like I was losing testosterone by the mile.”

Sam stood, clapping him on the back as he started toward the bathroom, “Guess it’s payback for making her drive manual.”

what do we think y’all?

the flu freaking sucks yo. I remember I got covid that AND that shit within the same year (T_T)

thank you to @spideys-nse for the request !!

[piplupfluffwritingstuff2]

Happy Spouse, Happy House- Part 1

This is a thank-you series for the wonderful @laffy-taffy-creations, who did the arduous task of fixing my entire masterlist for me! Everyone say, "thank you, Laffy!". This is going to be a series, I'm not sure how many parts yet, but I hope you like it, Laffy!

Series Masterlist

Hero climbed in through the window. They had stopped using the front door while in their suit ever since the old lady across the street called the police because, “Hero has gone rogue and is breaking into my neighbor’s house!” Yeah… that wasn’t a fun conversation.

Hero threw their mask off on the bed and shed their gloves. They sat down to pull their boots off when they caught a whiff of something… cooking? The mask and gloves immediately went back on, and Hero rushed down the stairs to confront the intruder.

They had a snarky quip ready for the poor idiot who broke in, but it died on their tongue as said ‘idiot’ turned around.

“S-Supervillain!?” Hero squeaked.

Supervillain was humming a tune to themselves, watching over a meat roast resting in Hero’s rarely-used slow cooker. Chopped potatoes bubbled in a bot, waiting to be mashed.

“Ah, there you are, darling,” Supervillain greeted, “I was wondering when you’d get home~”

Hero stood there, their body instinctively dropping into a defensive position. It took a minute for them to find their voice.

“Wh-what are you doing here?” Hero asked.

“Making dinner,” Supervillain said, “you’ve been working so hard, my dearest, you haven’t had an actual meal in over a week.”

Hero glanced over at the trash can, where countless microwave dinner boxes had piled up. Well… they were supposed to be piled up. The trash can was empty. Hero’s eyes bounced from Supervillain to the empty can over and over again.

“What did you do with my trash?” Hero blurted quietly.

“Threw it away, of course,” Supervillain chuckled, removing the lid on the slow cooker, “isn’t that what you do with trash? Don’t tell me you’ve turned into a raccoon, Hero. Then again… those circles under your eyes suggest you might have…”

Hero’s hand went up to the bags under their eyes. How did Supervillain notice? They had a mask on! As the lid came off of the slow cooker, the heavenly scent of roast beef tickled their nose, inviting them closer. Hero blinked as they realized their mouth was watering.

Supervillain took out a handheld blender and began to pulverize the potatoes. They went back to their humming, taking no notice in Hero’s frightened bewilderment. Neither spoke for a long time.

“Dinner’s ready,” Supervillain announced, “wash up, won’t you?”

Hero didn’t move. Their thoughts were running a mile a minute. Why was Supervillain in their house? Why did they know their way around Hero’s kitchen? Why were they going through such effort to poison them? That’s why they were here, right? To poison them?

Supervillain grabbed Hero’s wrist and pulled them over to the sink. They turned on the tap and pumped a dollop of foaming soap into Hero’s hands. Hero washed up, eyes wide and hands trembling.

“Tsk, you’re shaking, love,” Supervillain said, “whatever is the matter?”

They handed Hero a towel, which they used to dry their hands. Supervillain escorted them over to the table, which had already been set for two. They dished out portions of roast beef and mashed potatoes. Supervillain had even made fresh rolls and had gone through the trouble of buttering each one in advance.

They pulled Hero’s seat out for them and gently manhandled them into it. Supervillain then sat in their own chair.

Hero stared down at their plate. What kind of poison would it be? Strychnine powder? Aconite? Hemlock? Some other kind of poison that showed up in those old Agatha Christie novels?

“Hero, you’re starving, please eat. It isn’t poisoned you know, I would think my cooking isn’t that bad.”

Hero stared at Supervillain. Supervillain sighed, then took a bite of Hero’s roast beef, then their mashed potatoes. They even sipped Hero’s water.

“Better?” they asked.

Hero nodded without really thinking. They were pretty hungry, and the food did look good… They took a bite. It was better than anything they had had in months, maybe years.

Hero finished their meal rather quickly. Supervillain stood, kissing Hero on the forehead and taking up the dishes.

They set everything in the dishwasher- Hero didn’t own a dishwasher- and threw in a soap pod.

Hero tried to steady their breathing. It wasn’t working very well. Supervillain crossed the room, helping Hero up and escorting them to the bathroom, where a bath had been drawn for them and all kinds of amenities had been set out- amenities that Hero had never seen before in their home.

“Have a good night, darling,” they said, “please try to sleep properly tonight. You need the rest.”

Supervillain closed the bathroom door. Hero stood there awkwardly for a couple moments, then threw it open. There was no sign of Supervillain. Hero ran throughout the entire house, looking for the master criminal. Each room they checked was unusually spotless but contained no Supervillain. They were gone without a trace.

Hero found themselves walking back to the bathroom, where the warm, bubbly water waited for them.

Hero pulled the plug, letting the water run to the bottom. No way was Supervillain going to poison them without any clothes on. If they were going to die, it was going to be with dignity darn it! They did not need police finding them in their bathtub, killed by poisoned bubbles or whatever.

They rinsed out the tub and took a quick shower. They threw their pajamas on and cocooned themselves in bed. Maybe this had all been a bad dream. Yeah… they’d wake up tomorrow and their house would be messy and safe and undiscovered by the most dangerous criminal in the country. Yeah…

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Master Tags: @mythixmagic @infinityshadows @fishtale88 @thelazywitchphotographer @the-beasts-have-arrived @princessofonwardsworld @surplus-of-sarcasm@memepsychowhowantsuperpower-blog @electrons2006 @just-a-space-rabbit @telltaletoad @bacillusinfection @noseyowes @whump-till-ya-jump @writinglittlepains @m4iloblu3

Series Tags: @laffy-taffy-creations

[islakaliko]

— Chapter 23: The best kind of mornings

disclaimer: a/b/o universe, alpha john price, male omega reader, very self indulged

< previous | next >

It started early.

Way too early.

Like still-dark-outside early.

(y/n) felt it first—a small weight climbing into bed and curling up beside him. William. Then came Benjamin, wriggling under the blanket and whispering, “Is it time yet?” with breath that smelled like chocolate from the cookies he definitely sneaked last night.

(y/n) cracked one eye open to find John still asleep, one arm slung over him, completely unaware of the children beginning to multiply like mischievous Christmas elves.

Then came the sound.

Thundering feet. Whispered giggles. A crash in the hallway.

“Daaaaad!”

John groaned into the pillow. “No.”

“It’s Christmas!!”

(y/n) was already laughing as he gently shook him. “You heard them. It’s time.”

“Five more minutes,” John mumbled, though he was already reaching for his shirt and rolling out of bed. “Or five less kids.”

————————————

By the time they made it to the living room, it was already transformed into a war zone of wrapping paper, ribbon, and pure joy.

The tree lights blinked softly in the early morning haze. Stockings were half-emptied, tissue paper covered the rug, and Isabella was halfway through explaining to Soap how obviously Santa had been here because “he left glitter footprints on the porch.”

Gaz sat on the couch, nursing a coffee and blinking sleepily. “Didn’t he also drink half a juice box and leave behind a receipt?”

“Santa’s modern,” James said, unbothered.

Luna and Mia were in matching red footie pajamas with tiny white bows on their heads, sitting in the middle of the chaos with wide eyes. Emma was gently shaking a rattle in front of them, saying “Do you like it? Huh? Do you?” like it was the most important question in the world.

Oliver was doing his best to keep things organized. Every time a gift got opened, he made sure the tag was saved, the piece of wrapping put aside, the gift appreciated before they moved on. He’d taken on the “eldest sibling” role like a pro.

“Ben, you opened mine by accident!”

“It had my name on it!”

“That says Isabella, not Benjamin!”

“Close enough!”

Ghost stood in the corner, sipping his tea, nodding along to the holiday music Soap had insisted on playing through a speaker in the tree. No one was sure how he managed to look intimidating while holding a gift bag covered in glitter and snowmen.

“Where’s the camera?” (y/n) asked, brushing a hand through his hair.

John passed it to him with a smirk. “You’re not in enough pictures. Let me.”

And for once, (y/n) let him.

John took shot after shot—(y/n) on the floor with the babies in his lap, their small hands grasping at ribbon; Emma spinning with her new art set; the twins holding up matching soccer jerseys from Gaz; William falling asleep halfway through unwrapping his last gift, curled up in Ghost’s hoodie (somehow stolen during the commotion); and (y/n) laughing in the middle of it all, radiant and glowing with soft morning light.

At some point, John set the camera down.

(y/n) noticed.

“Did you get the good ones?”

John just sat behind him, wrapping both arms around his omega and the babies cradled in his lap. “Got the best one right here.”

(y/n) tilted his head back to look up at him, cheeks pink. “Sappy.”

“You love it.”

“Yeah,” (y/n) whispered, leaning back into him. “I really do.”

————————————

Eventually, the room quieted. Cocoa was poured. Bellies were full. New toys were already forgotten as kids curled up on couches and laps, drifting off in warm piles of blankets and love.

And in the quiet aftermath, with twinkling lights and baby giggles, John and (y/n) sat in the middle of it all—surrounded by everything they’d built.

A home. A family. A forever kind of love

[lethalchiralium]

High Water | Happiness Series

a/n: okay guys, I have ONE MONTH left of school for the semester, THEN I WILL HAVE TIME FOR THIS I PROMISE. a lot has happened since I last updated, this was all written over a six month period and of course finished three weeks after my major breakup w my bestie of 7 years LOL ENJOY

a/n 2: and thank you always to @as-is-above-so-below for not killing me over taking forever to update and for letting me fall down her stairs and (separate incident) get a splinter from her floor LOL

warnings: military talk. TW: TORTURE

summary: Price has to make a difficult decision.

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Night vision, gloved finger tensed on the trigger of his rifle. The back alley was secured, Soap kept two feet behind him at all times as Price unlocked the side door of the “abandoned” factory warehouse. 

Four pairs of boots were muted against the cracked concrete, rifles pointed upwards and watching for any hostiles in their way. The mission was to collect intel and neutralize any threats - hopefully this would deliver them to the target. A man who was a ghost just like Simon Riley, but just… tied up in debts that span decades. Expendable men were set in the center of the warehouse, a table set up with chairs, chips and cards strewn about the wooden surface. Silence was a friend to the Russian men’s killers, but not to them. A small radio lowly played some sot of music, it was melancholy and heavy on the sax. Blues, Simon reflected, fitting.

One Russian - wearing a white shirt and black pants, a deep purple bruise on his fair face - pulled a chair from the table, setting down a laptop on a handful of worn cards.

“Boss has two targets with him, they’re to be sold by the end of the week.”

The man with a green jacket shrugged, as he sat down too; kicking his feet onto the table. “Not sure if there’s a big enough market for screaming babies, друг.”

“We’ll be getting a big payout if we get them to auction before their family finds out.” 

Simon’s stomach clenched, he almost shot them both right there if it wasn’t for Gaz grabbing his arm and squeezing it. He couldn’t imagine it being you and the girls, it wouldn’t be anyway. Calm down. He focused on slinging his rifle silently over his shoulder, taking hold of the corner of sturdy boxes, wrapped up in plastic film. He hauled himself up, keeping his balance and grip focused on climbing up since the crate was the height of his shoulders. He placed his right foot on the top, pushing himself up before repeating the action with the next and final crate. It was routine the way he retrieved his rifle from his back, laying prone on the hefty crate with his finger parallel to the trigger and his eye in the scope. He was swift, it was second nature; his breath didn’t falter when Gaz settled on his torso beside him with his tact scope in his grasp.

“Bravo 0-7, do you have sight on the target?”

Ghost’s eye closed, the other focusing through the scope of his rifle. 

“Affirmative.”

There was a loud screech of the door Gaz was watching, Ghost’s chest clenched with anticipation as he watched the intel walk in - wearing joggers and a long sleeve shirt, talking loudly on his phone in Russian. 

“Soap, detain the target as soon as he is within range. Gaz, Ghost, drop ‘em as soon as Soap is clear.”

There wasn’t a beat of silence after that, as everyone launched into action. Johnny was quick to tackle the man, the other two dropped dead within milliseconds. His gloved hand seemed to cover the man’s whole jaw, fingertips pressed uncomfortably into the man’s skin. Ghost had dropped from his position in seconds and across the room in a few strides.

“Where is yer boss?”

Gaz slid a chair behind the man, Soap shoved him into it. Struggling hands were strapped to it, the man with dark blond hair and joggers spat out vicious words towards the skull balaclava. He barely caught Price snatching the open laptop from the table before he looked back to Soap and the hostage, the Sergeant dug his nails into the Russian’s face. The Lieutenant pulled a rag from his vest, watching them intently. The 141 was a well oiled machine, oiled with the saccharine taste of blood. 

“Where the fuck is yer boss?”

“You’ll never find him-“ Ghost shoved the cloth into the man’s mouth before in a flash, his knife found its new home in the hostage’s knee. The screams muffled, he leaned closer. The words spoken were low, but enough to elicit a snarl from the hostage before another scream.

Price only gazed at Ghost for a moment before looking back at the laptop, checking through folders for measly information. Gaz was stood by the door, watching for any  intruders - hand on his rifle, ignoring the muffled screams of the last threat alive in the room. But he wouldn’t be alive much longer with Ghost’s knives sticking out of his body like decorations. Don’t ask for mercy, my hounds won’t give you any, he remarked.

He looked down at the dashboard, seeing a browser left open. He clicked on it, seeing an encrypted chat log with the target and his right hand man - the man screaming for his life in the chair. 

Don’t be late

The damn baby is losing it

If I have to hear another word from this girl I’m going to kill her

Price is a stoic man, one hardened by war - barely scared of anything; yet, Price wasn’t prepared when he scrolled up. His heart shot straight into his throat, eyes widened by a fraction, his hand gripping the table could’ve broken it in half. He blindly grabbed his phone, taking a picture of the screen before slamming the laptop closed. It was secured between his arm and chest in three seconds, tapping a number on the screen of his phone before he walked past Gaz and out of the room. The building was secured, he knew that - yet, he felt the fear that he may be watched. The secure line droned on for only a moment before there was an answer.

“John?”

“Laswell. What the fuck happened?”

There’s crying in the background, he could recognize Winnie’s voice anywhere. They’ve been gone for three days. Nothing was supposed to get to Simon’s second chance, John thought he was sure of it. No, he was sure of it. He cased the house himself, did all the work to make sure one of their strongest and toughest allies would stay and protect them. What the fuck happened?

There’s a breath. “König’s been shot. Someone took Mellie and Y/N.”

“And the other one?” 

John’s stomach settled like concrete, weighing him down and making him sick. 

“She’s okay. She’s with us at the hospital. We took her to the park like her mother asked and when we came back, the door was kicked in, König was unconscious and bleeding out, and Mellie and Y/N weren’t there.” There was a pause. “There was a fight down here. König killed seven of them before going down.”

Okay. At least they could ID the bodies, link them to the mob - or at least, former associates of the mob. Any lead he could get.

If he could run his hand through his beard, he would’ve. It was a comfort, especially now that he has never felt this stressed in his life. Simon cannot know. Simon will destroy everything we’ve worked for to save them. 

“It has to do with the target.” 

John’s eyebrows furrowed. “Their intel is here. I am holding their intel.”

“John, these men are Russian. They are escaped convicts in the mob, known associates of the target.” There’s a pause, a short yell from Winnie, and Laswell sighing. “König left one unconscious. Roach is interrogating him now on base.”

“How long ago were they attacked?”

“Yesterday.” Another pause, soft words from Laswell to who he assumed was Winnie. “Listen, I’m working on this, but I need you. We need Ghost to run the rest of the operation, and we can’t do that if you tell him about this.”

There’s shouting behind the door, screaming from the victim that Ghost was torturing. John looked down the empty corridor, knowing he has to go to keep his friend safe. 

“Because if they came after the girls, that means they’re coming after him. And they need him alive.”

His hand could have snapped that laptop in half. “He needs them alive.”

“I know, John.” 

There’s more shouting in Russian, a loud thud and more incessant screaming. 

“Keep this on the down low. I only need you. Make sure Ghost knows how to proceed.”

“With caution and safety off.” John murmured, muscles clenching in his chest. This is not going to end well. 

“Get back to Manchester immediately. I’ll call if we’ve found something.” The line goes dead, Captain Price slipped the phone into his pocket before taking a deep breath. 

He opened the door back to the room, being submersed in the victim’s screaming as Ghost’s black blade dragged into the muscles of his leg. Price shut the door, standing tall with worry on his mind. Gaz nodded to him, hands out for the laptop - John shook his head. 

“Lieutenant.” 

The skull mask didn’t look away from his target, the one screaming Russian that he didn’t know anything, stop, you’re hurting me, go to fucking Hell- Soap took the man by his throat, forcing his head back before spitting some choice words at his face. Eyebrows furrowed, Price tried again.

“Mactavish, take over for the Lieutenant.” 

The Scot nodded, hand ripping Ghost’s knife out of the man’s thigh - all that filled the room were screams. Ghost finally looked to Price, an enraged look in his eye as he stood and walked towards him. 

“What the fuck-”

“I’ve been reassigned.” The Captain spoke with an even tone. Nothing is wrong. Believe me, Simon, believe me. “You will be running this operation until I get this assignment under control.”

It seemed that anger swelled throughout the Lieutenant like a poison, invading every space of the menacing man. “What the fuck did you get reassigned for?”

“Diplomat’s wife and daughter have been kidnapped.” The lie slid off of the tongue like butter, smooth as easy to go down for some people. For others… it’s unsettling. Price was a good liar, it came easy, but his lieutenant was always able to tell. Not always immediately, but he will know sooner or later. “I have to run this. Are you okay doing this assignment-“

Ghost patted his Captain’s shoulder. “Got it under control.”

Price smiled, strained. “Knew I could count on you.” He glanced to the man in the chair; blood poured down his face. He then looked back to his Lieutenant, his right hand man with as straight of face he could muster. “We need to hurry this up. Only 10 minutes remaining.”

“Rog.”

•••

The front door was covered in a tarp, the front porch light on and curtains drawn. John Price felt the cold sickle of Death slide down his spine as he could see blood splatter on a home he once considered sacred. Simon’s home, your home, was under red tape, unknown to anyone the military who wasn’t close to Ghost. Simon created a home from nothing for his child, then opened it for you, then his new little one - God, was John proud of him. Creating a life more than worth living, in a quaint house that should have never been found - even when it was hidden in plain sight. Even the most holy grounds have had blood shed upon them. 

Kate knew he was walking up the steps, she always knew, so she opened the door enough for him to slip through. Instantly, he’s met with the remnants of the carnage of your entrance way. Bullet holes and stains of blood decorated the walls and floors, even when they had been mopped and wiped clean. Dents in the walls, the floor - John imagined the beast that was König wrestling some of those fucks to the ground, snapping their necks with the twitch of his wrist. He couldn’t imagine your screams, couldn’t think of little Mellie wailing in terror. 

Did you scream? Did they drug you? Hurt you? Did they dare to touch the baby? God, Simon is going to burn the world.

He looked to Kate, there’s a hardened glint in her eye. He handed her the laptop, which hadn’t been scanned yet - it would take too much time, they both knew that. She took it without a word, turning back into the front room. John strode forwards, stepping over the baby gate that was recently put there. He assumed it was to keep Winnie out of the carnage that was the front entrance, he continued on to the living room where he could see Alex sitting on the couch. A little head peered over the side of the couch and as soon as her eyes saw John, she stood at full height with tears instantly pouring down her face. 

“Unc’John!” 

His heart felt bruised then, the beat of it aching with every stride he took to her. He instantly plucked her from the couch, holding her to his chest as she loudly cried. “Winnie, sweetheart, it’s alright.”

“Where-Where’s Mummy and Mellie?”

John could only bear to mutter a soft, “We’re finding them, sweetheart.” He couldn’t bring himself to say that the bad guys got them, that her daddy couldn’t be the hero she knows she wants him to be because of John’s decision. He was quick to bring her to the kitchen - which seemed untouched compared to the adjacent entryway - and settled her on the countertop, right beside the sink. He grabbed a glass from the cabinet to the right, filling it with water before handing it to Winnie. The five year old took greedy sips, breathing through her nose as tears raced down her face. “Put the water down, love, you need to take some deep breaths.”

He took the glass back, only for her to reach for his hand - he took it, giving it a small squeeze. God, he can’t even remember the last time he had seen his niece cry, let alone sob. Had it been that long since she had gone without you? 

“Are you hungry? Tired?” He set the glass on the counter, seeing her hiccup as she tried to catch her breath. He squeezed her hand again, all Winnie could do was let more tears fall down her face. 

“Where’s Mummy?” She begged, John’s tongue felt dry. He hated lying to her, he hated not knowing anything, he hated seeing her bawl her eyes out. She didn’t witness anything, thank God, but going without you after not having to for years is terrifying to a little girl. “N’Daddy? Why-Why isn’t Daddy home?” Her hand squeezed back, much harder than she did before. “M’scared.”

“I know, Winnie.” His throat began to itch, he wanted to desperately tell her that everything would be alright - that today was just a bad dream she’ll wake up from tomorrow, that her parents will be here in the morning with her baby sister. He also wanted to scream at God and tell him that it was fucked forcing him into sacrificing Simon’s family for a stupid fucking lead, even if it did lead back to you and Mellie. He didn’t want to have the possibility of telling his niece that neither of her parents were coming home, instead of the off chance of one; he hated delivering condolences, but he wasn’t sure he could do it to a five year old girl who he has watched grow up. “I think we need to go sit down again.” A little nod and she was scooped up into his arms again, held tight as he walked back into the couch; Alex nowhere to be seen, which was fine with John. He took his normal seat at the end of the couch, resting little Winnie on his chest and pulling the blanket from the back of the couch to lay on her. He tucked it in around her stomach, making sure to cover her socked feet before gently petting her hair. 

His eyes wandered to the TV, to the stupid blue dog show that she seemed to love - yet she held no interest right now. His eyes darted across the floor, seeing little firetrucks and airplanes and dolls scattered across the floor; then to the little mesh play pen that sat underneath the window, the blinds pulled up enough to where Mellie couldn’t reach, the strings tied up even higher. Soft toys and colorful blocks scattered inside of it, not to mention a few blankets and a pillow or two. Winnie’s been sleeping down here. She’s petrified. 

His gaze moved to the ceiling, hand gently patting her head with a calm rhythm. He’d lay here all night, way past when his back would get sore, way past when his legs would cramp, just to give Winnie some sort of stability. He refused to think about the possibility that he may have to follow through with his promise of being her godfather - he just never imagined that it might possibly be just Winnie, not Winnie and Mellie. The thought stirred nausea in his stomach, more than any whiplash, concussion, or shitty helicopter ride could give him. He had already made the silent promise to find you and Mellie, but just for tonight, his whole goal was to make sure Winnie isn’t more scared out of her mind than she already is. 

“Unc’John.”

He hummed at that, looking back down her. “Yes, sweetheart.”

Her little chin swiveled to rest on his chest to look up at him, her sweet brown eyes full of tears as she whispered, “I don’t wanna visit my Mummy at-at the cemetery like Mum G-Grace.”

I don’t want to visit my Mummy at the cemetery like Mum Grace.

I don’t want to visit my Mummy at the cemetery like Mum Grace. 

The words that leave his mouth are soft, spoken like a twisted prayer. “This isn’t like your Mum Grace.” His eyebrows furrowed, petting her hair back with a gentle touch. “I swear it.”

The five year old’s lip quivered, “Promise?”

John doesn’t promise anything, he never makes a promise he wouldn’t be able to keep. He never dared enter the realm of uncertainty, knowing he could fail and hurt someone he cared about. Hell, he rarely makes promises on equipment orders for his men. He doesn’t even promise his mother anything, not since he promised he wouldn’t go into the military and did it anyway. But as he watched his friend’s daughter, his niece and goddaughter, sob quietly on his chest, he felt he had no choice but to nod. “Promise.”

At that, Winnie’s head finally fell to rest on John’s chest, he watched her eyes close as it was evident she had only held out to hear his promise. She had stayed awake to see and hear someone she trusted and knew well, she waited to close her eyes until she knew he would find you, even if she didn’t directly ask him to. 

John felt obligated to keep Simon’s family alive since he knew just how much the deaths of his mother, brother, sister-in-law, and nephew nearly killed him, how the death of Grace and embracing fatherhood almost drowned him, and just how much his daughters and wife saved him from saying “Fuck it.” and stepping into enemy fire. Not only that, he felt obligated to you - to find you and Mellie, bring you home, keep Winnie safe too. You had many years left with Simon, John could see it. You couldn’t possibly leave Simon now, not when he needs you the most. 

John’s eyes blinked slowly, looking down to the dozing Winnie on his chest and holding her closer, reminiscent of when she was a small toddler sleeping on his chest when he babysat. Fatigue was catching up to him, the hours in the early morning were spent combing through data for the prisoner the 141 now in had in possession, and now - your kidnapping. Simon is a dear friend, John knew him too well to say otherwise. And he also knew that you, Winnie, and Mellie were his whole world - the monster Simon was, the one John had nurtured and cared for to create a weapon, was sitting dormant in the man’s ribcage because of the unconditional love he had received. John could never argue that Simon had “gone soft” because of it, Simon had weeping and infected wounds healed by the soft touch of his wife. The Captain’s previously abused and petrified weapon was now perfect, he was the epitome of the perfect soldier. But with the knowledge of his wife and child’s safety at risk, John knew what the military didn’t. 

“Captain.” 

There’s a reason your husband wasn’t alerted of your abduction. John Price knew the second he said that you and Melody were missing, Simon would rip his ribcage from his chest with the force of a thousand men to expose the monster underneath. The one you only hear about in movies, the one that is passed down through tongues to generations, the one you fear will come from the shadows to eat you alive. Simon Riley is what the Captain likes to call, the Monster Under Your Bed. 

“Captain.”

He grunted a little, looking over his shoulder to a stoic Alex Keller. “She’s almost asleep, Alex-“

“We might have a location.”

taglist: @idkwtftitbh  @blingblong55  @local-spidey  @sanfransolomitatm  @frazie99  @Awilan @cosmoscoffeee @khadeejarh  @babygirl-riley  @emi-flaces  @marini03  @jeannieboys  @koshehehe  @tutuwuworld @froggy-anon @cxltblood @egdeverauxx @freyjasfenrir @lexi-zsy09 @Hosshihusshi @Isopaine @eatingtheworldsoffanfiction @domaniquessidehoe2 @iaur @starsinyoureyes @graciereads @urfavoritepookie @ghost-with-a-teacup @moris666 @ghostwifeyy @ziggy0stardust @live-love-be-unique @magoopi @coririley @lunyyx @sterlizx

[starsexplodeatnight]

John PricexFamily

John was deploying again. John knew it, you knew it, your kids knew it. It was apart of life right now until John’s retirement process started.

You and John have 3 kids now, he’s not risking his ass just to come home in a box to the life he’s been dreaming of for so long. It took him this long to get one, to get a family. But, as it stands? He’s got a few more deployments.

You two have 2 boys, and a little girl. Oldest is 8, middle is 6, youngest just turned 2.

You’re shipping him off, holding your daughter on your hip. Your sons stand next to you, obedient as hell. They’re good boys, like their father- kind of.

Your oldest boy has admires John and has been stoic since he’s been given the news his dad is shippin’ off. Your middle boy thinks John’s job is cool, he’s excited for John to come back with souvenirs and stories! Your youngest, is oblivious. She just know’s the base as where she gets to see uncle Soap, Gaz and Simon.

Too soon John kisses you all goodbye. Your eldest’s forehead, the top of your middles’ head, your babygirl’s cheek, your lips. Then he turns and climbs in the truck that’ll transport him to the airfield tarmac.

You know? You think you’re getting better at this! You used to sniffle and cry every time, your sons aren’t either! Your daughter though?

As soon as he climbs into the truck and it starts up, baby girl starts crying. Eyes scrunched, face red, mouth open wailing!

Then, your middles' excitement morphs into a pout. The pout turns into tears and tears to wailing.

You oldest, poor baby. He tried so hard, he did. Stiff upper lip until tears began rolling down his face.

Craaaaap.

Yeah, you begin to bawl with them... Just standing there- surrounded by wailing kids. Captain John Price's wife.

The truck that had been pulling away with your husband then, stops?

Your John hops out, misty eyed and runny nosed. A rarity. He jogs over, huddling you all close and calming you all down. After a moment of consolation, John has to go.

You all watch with wet eyes as he leaves.

By the time he calls you for an update. He'll tell you this: You and your kids made everyone on that truck cry.

Soap was tearing up, ruddy nose and talking deep breaths. Gaz had a grimace on this face, watching the mirror. Ghost had been the one to stop the truck.

"Get out." Ghosts eyes are misty under his balaclava.

"What?-"

"Get out and comfort them!" Gaz snaps.

"Please-" Soap pleads.

So, John got out. Thats why the truck stopped.

.

So, this is based off of true events!

When my grandma visited up from michigan. She was getting on her bus to go home, I was just a wee snot.

My mom was doing good until I started crying. Then my sister started crying. Then my mom. The entire bus load of people began to cry and the driver made my grandma get off and hug us one more time.

[firedrakegirl]

Requiem for a Ghost

Here's the Ghost reverse isekai thing! There will be more coming as I write them!

I hated going to the grocery store alone. Sure, I did enjoy bopping along to my music, but the bright lights and number of people was quickly overstimulating. I turned my music up a little bit more, pushed the earbud in more firmly, then glanced between my list and the shelves. I looked up and groaned. The box of crackers I was looking for was on the very top shelf and pushed back a little bit, just enough to be a problem for a short chick. I grumbled to myself and climbed the shelf. I had the box of crackers in hand when I climbed down. I put them in the cart and immediately stumbled over my own two feet.

Then there were hands on my waist. “Careful luv. We don’t need another hospital trip.”

I smiled up at him, eyes the only part of his face that was visible behind the skull balaclava. “Si, sweetheart, the only reason we went to the hospital was that you overreacted. It was a sprained ankle, which happens all the time.” I caught his look and shrugged. “It happens all the time to me. We both know I have a messed up ankle.” I leaned up to kiss his cheek through the mask.

“Feelin a bit overstimulated?” He asked, tapping the earbud I had in gently.

“Mmhm. You know how I feel about shopping... alone...” I paused, looking up at him. “I came to the store alone.”

“I was on a mission with Johnny...” He said, almost immediately. His hand went to his throat, to the mystery scar across it. We’d never known where it came from. “Some asshole turned my knife against me.”

“But I remember getting ready with you and coming here.”

“We met when you tripped into me when I was still with the military.” Simon agreed. “But also, I am sure we never met before today.”

“Yeah. I agree.” I frowned, looking up at him. “You are... were.. a character in a video game.”

“But I’ve also got memories of playing that game.” He grunted. “With that Phantom wanker who sounds like me.”

“I have two sets of memories. Do you?” I asked very softly, looking up at him with confusion and concern.

“Yeah.” He grunted.

“One set of us meeting and falling in love while we talked online, the other of you being a game character and me being a fan.”

“I remember being in the game. I was on a mission with Johnny and we walked into a trap.” His hands were starting to shake slightly.

I looked up at him. He looked back at me. I could see the confusion and fear and panic in his eyes. I stepped back, but took his hands. “Simon. I still love you. This doesn’t change anything between us. The fact that you weren’t real here before now is irrelevant to the fact that you are. You’re here. I love you.”

“I need…”

“Space? Let’s go home. I’ll finish shopping another time.”

“But you...”

“Shush. You’re more important. I’m just gonna take these up to the customer service desk instead of abandoning it in the aisle.” I started pushing the cart. We were quiet as I dropped it off and we headed out to the car. I slid into the driver’s seat and he folded into the passenger’s seat of my car. Only then did I speak again. “I love you, Simon. Whether you’re Ghost or Simon, or even ‘that Phantom wanker’. Video game character or real person. My feelings are unchanged. I love you.”

There was a long pause before he put his hand on my thigh. “...Love you too, firebird.”

Soap version here

[artistic-aristocrat]

Meadowlark headcanons 3!~

The long awaited third part of my HC series let's gooooo!

- The Lark can't have ANY scented soaps in their house because no matter how many times they explain to Kingsley that soap shouldn't be consumed they end up eating it anyway and getting violently sick all because " it smelled good and looked yummy, if not edible why delicious smelling!? "

- Peregrine is viciously afraid of heights, mainly because the fear of falling makes it VERY anxious, they could absolutely climb a tree so long as they keep looking up but then they'd look down for ONE SECOND and it would be clinging to that branch for dear life on the brink of tears like a helpless kitten stuck in a tree

- whenever Cole goes Non-verbal they communicate their feelings to the lark the way rabbits do. feelings anxious? Nervous foot tapping/leg bouncing that usually accompanies it, feeling angry? Aggressive stomping, happy? Jovial thumping of boot against the ground

- Clémente had one of those little diaries with a lock and key that they got from Enaïs for their birthday, this diary was their only outlet to express their true feelings as to avoid conflict with their mother.

• they put quite a few of their utmost private secrets in that diary and hid the key amongst their music box that was a gift from the Barron before he died.

- Peregrine had a childhood pet that was a big large brown Newfoundland they named 'Moose' because she was a "moose of a creature" even as a puppy.

• Peregrine's parents initially got Moose as puppy with the intention of having a guard dog around the time Perrine was 5yo and of course they eventually just gave the responsibility of caring for her solely to Perrine because they couldn't be bothered.

• Moose was fiercely protective over them, growling and barking at their parents while posted at the foot of Peregrine's crib/bed whenever they sensing them as a threat, unfortunately that would result in the parents just tying her up in the doghouse outside

• Perrine would try to sneak out just to see Moose and Sometimes literally just fall asleep outside snuggling her

•Moose was like Perrine's lifeline growing up, whenever it would have panic attacks she would just come padding over to them and lay on it's lap, acting like a large weighted blanket until It calmed down.

• Moose would sadly pass of old age (Newfoundlands usually live 8-10 years) shortly before Perrine went away to start their new life and meet the Lark, but they were deeply distraught that they couldn't bring her with it and that she had to live out the rest of her old dog days in that wretched house.

[hoe4sports]

The receipt

Alexia Putellas ft Mapi Leon x Reader

A/N: I’m discovering a new found obsession with Alexia.

Triggers: nothing, google translate Spanish.

You were casually placing up the newest curtains that you had got in earlier that morning. It was so peaceful to work in an interior design store especially during the morning shifts. You got to spend time walking around touching soft materials, looking at new bedsheet covers and blankets. You got to talk to so many new kind people within one day. It was the perfect job for you.It was Monday morning, and the awaited new items had come in a bit late. You were struggling with the big boxes being everywhere in the litte shop, but regardless you loved seeing what things were in trend and what had just arrived.

A hand suddenly tapped your shoulder leaving you terrified as you were busy daydreaming about what my future appartment was gonna look like. You turned around and it was the sweetest old man. “Good morning, is there anything I could do to assist you today?” You said as you smiled while climbing down from the little latter you had been using to hang the curtains.

“Good morning Miss, actually yes, my wife is celebrating her 90th birthday this week and I want to get her something special.” The old man replied as he smiled. You nodded and looked around you for inspiration. “Is there anything you had in mind or do you want some help?” You said as you smiled knowing exactly what you wanted to recommend to him. “I could really use some help, she has so many things!” He exclaimed as he zipped his jacket down. The store was always very hot, so you definitely understood him. “I have the perfect idea! What about a robe? We have multiple kinds. We have thicker materials, silk, cotton or even have linen.” You said as you walked towards the bathroom department of the store where we had the robes. I pulled out the rack of robes and showed him the colors. “Wow” he said as he touched them. “She likes pink and she is a cold person” he said as he furrowed his brows into a thinking position. “Perhaps this pink one thats double layered, then” you said as you pulled it out of the rack. “That will do!” He said as he smiled widely clearly satisfied with himself. “Does she like good smells, soaps, towels?” You asked as the man nodded rapidly. “I suggest this pink soap bottle with a rosy smell, this complementing room spray and this matching towel” you said as you put them together to portray what they would look like. The old man nodded as he smiled widely. “Ring me up Miss!” he insisted as you made you way to the desk. You rang him up, he paid and you wrapped the gift in a cute giftbox adding a variety of ribbons and a tag. You did your very best to make the gift look special and the older man was visibly pleased. “Here, for your wife sir!” You said as you handed him the beautifully wrapped box. The man thanked you multiple times and told me how he was always happy to shop with you because of your very thoughtful customer service. You thanked him and waved him goodbye as he walked out.

This was the part of your job that you loved. You loved seeing customers get just what they want, have their visions come to life and be pleased to find something they have looked for. You walked over to the pile of boxes and pulled out some candle holders in crystal. They were something that every rich hausfrau would need. You kept unpacking the latest news and got to the bedding section. There were tons of new styles coming in synch with the season changing from winter to spring. You grabbed the higher latter from the back and climbed up to place the bedding. The bedding was heavy and you were juggling them back and forth between places to find the perfect spot for the new arrival.

“Hola, Do you work here yes?” A voice said behind you as it tapped my hip. You turned around and there was a woman standing next to the latter looking up at me. She was quite attractive, and you felt slightly embarrassed by the fact that your ass was in the same height of as head since you were up on the latter. You jumped down, and smiled. “Good morning mrs, is there anything I can do to help you this morning?” You said as a put down the items I had tried to place before getting interrupted. Her friend came around the isle and she had funny a look on her face. “Si bonita, yo necesito una..” she was stopped by a smack in the back of her head. “Tonto! Tienes que hablar Inglés!” the other woman exclaimed. “Dios mío! Cállate por favor!” the attractive woman said back. You smiled knowing that you could speak perfectly Spanish as your step father was Spanish. He had been brought into your life as a toddler and he insisted in spaking Spanish with you claiming that it would help your learning abilities. “Sorry, yes, I need some clothes for the bed.” She said in a clearly Spanish accent. You giggled “Clothes for the bed?Sheets? You need sheets?” You said as she blushed.

“Dios mío! Estupido de mierda. Nos estás avergonzando a los dos delante de la cura.” the woman said as she shook her head. You giggled again as you started walking. “Follow me please”. You came to the baskets with sheets and you looked at the pair. The blonde woman was still red and the brown haired woman looked like she was gonna piss herself laughing. “Cotton or satin, what do you prefer?” You asked as you touched the sheets in front of you. The blonde woman’s eyes widened. You smiled and explained.

“Cotton is cheaper. It stretches but I also gets wrinkly. Satin is more expensive, more silky but it dosent pill and it dosent wrinkle. Both have the fitted sheet look.” You said as a reached out for one of each for her to touch. She touched the sheets and looked confused. “What is your preference?” She asked. “Oh, I use the satin ones! They feeling cooling on the skin and they are way more durable than the cotton ones.” You said as she nodded. “I’ll take the satin then” she said as she winked. Did she just flirt with me? You shook the thought of quickly. “Now, what color do you prefer? We have navy, black, grey, white and cream” you said as you pointed to the different types. “Dios mio! Realmente necesito encontrar una novia.” the brunette said as she playfully slapped the blonde’s toned bicep.

“The navy and black sheets dosent work well with blonde hair or fur. The white or cream sheets dosent work if you have a partner with black hair or black pet fur.” You said as you smiled while you were silently hoping that there was no partner. “I’ll go with crème then, no partner.” she said as she smiled shyly and looked at your blonde hair. You were doing everything you could to not blush.

You beeped the sheet and looked at her. “It’s 49 punds. Are you a member?” You asked as you were focusing on the screen in front of me. She shook her head. “Do you wanna be a member? I would just need your phone number.” You said as you smiled hoping you could sign her up as a member because it would mean that you got extra bonuses. “Si, dale tu numero!” the brunette whispered and nudged her. “Yes, +34 914 36 38 40, you can write my name as Alexia Putellas.” she said and you happily obliged. “Quieres una bolsa para ello o lo tomas como estás?” You smirked as the blonde blushed and the brunette bend down hysterically laughing. “Ella puede entender español, mierda estúpida” she wheezed out. “I’ll take a bag.” The blonde muttered while looking down at the bank terminal. She paid for it and you handed her the sheet in a bag with the recite. “Thank you, and goodbye!” You said as the pair started walking out. You got back into working on bedding placement when after a while, a hand tapped my knee. Jesus, you thought to yourself, not one moment to finish the wall. “Good morning, how ca-“ you stopped as you saw the blonde woman again handing you a reciet. “You dropped it.” She said as she disappeared out of the store. You opened the receipt to see who had lost it so you could keep it if they came back. The recite had pen marks on it and when you looked closer it was a message.

“If you ever want coffee, +34 914 36 38 40.

-Alexia “

[mschievousx]

now and then | b.b.

pairing: benedict bridgerton x ofc, anthony bridgerton x ofc (platonic)

summary: loraine silva always knew she was not normal. she loves unusual things. she love her father's guns, horses, boxing, climbing a tree, falling from a tree, engineering, astronomy... oh, and a man eleven years older.

series masterlist

iii. three: you could die

viscountess silva is insane for the many things she love. this includes music. she once spent a whole month without leaving their home to finish two piano sonatas of her own when she was ten. lance had to trick his sister that benedict has mentioned missing her dearly for her to run out from the four corners of her room.

which brings us to the current view of two debutantes by the piano at the bridgerton's house. raine has provided a piano arrangement to francesca, which shall act as an accompaniment to her violin. francesca is a great musician all on her own, so the only thing left to do for the young silva is specify particular things in the flow, such as the heaviness of a chord or the softness of the adagio.

both turned when footsteps from two people graced the room.

"welcome back," raine greeted, "how was the promenade? it must have been great seeing as you spent the whole morning."

"you weren't there?" eloise asked as she plopped down on their couch, picking up the book she left under the table.

"i would have been if i knew ben was present." she replied, listening to francesca's playing at the same time. with the mention, an idea came to her and she immediately went to their hall.

she peered back at the drawing room for a warning before continuing to the hall, "oh, and i suggest do not go into anthony's study."

seeing the man upstairs, she called with excitement, "ben, let's spend the day together!"

"i am attending an art exhibit." he answered in a muffled sound as he pick a new coat from a room.

"great! we are attending an art exhibit." she declared with glee and the man immediately peered at her from above, leaning on their balustrade.

"you do not like art."

"i am a passionate enjoyer of music, literature, and sculptures."

he raised a brow with a smirk as if to challenge, "it's a painting exhibit."

"i—"

"you once told me my painting is rubbish and full of messy lines." benedict insisted, descending the stairs as he fix his cuffs.

raine groaned at him seemingly holding a grudge, "i was a child."

he narrowed his eyes at her as he reach the floor, and his next words made the young girl close her eyes with a hand on her forehead, "you are a child."

"for heaven's sake, do not say that again. i have been asking to marry you. it sounds weird.

benedict laughed at her realisation, "it is."

"just say no as you normally do instead of whatever... mortification this is." she said the last part with utter disgust.

"you can come," he stated, nearing her as he offered his arm for her to take, "but promise to keep your mouth shut."

"you know i can never keep—"

with the bridgerton boy looking pointedly at her, the young silva stopped her words right away, putting a cheeky smile on her features and slinging her arm on his.

━━━ ✦ ❘ ☽ 【❖】 ☾ ❘ ✦ ━━━

"geniuses," raine whispered in awe, looking at the painting intricately, "i do not understand it at all, like where to put the shadow or the color grading as a whole."

"you have not tried your hand at it."

she turned to him, feigning offense, "ben, do i look like i don't try to do random activities? you have seen me fail miserably in soap carving."

he chuckled at that as they continue to walk and gaze on the other painting, arms still linked, "you were so bad at that."

they stopped in front when benedict recognized a familiar painting, "this one is by a mentor from the academy."

she scrunched her nose and squinted her eyes in an attempt to understand the importance of the painting, "it's just a naked woman."

"it's just a—" he turned to her with an irk, "it presents the divinity of women's bodies!"

she nodded with nonchalance, "if you say so."

"i'm starting to regret bringing you with me." he stated monotonously, as if a sudden realisation.

raine laughed at that, slapping his arm lightly, "i'm just annoying you."

"oh, it's working very well." he replied with jest as they continue onwards.

the viscountess might not have been a great follower of paintings, but she does appreciate all artworks. it is beautiful enough to know that a person created something, despite being created himself. and so, she was naturally curious to see all works in the exhibit, looking around as they walk.

"you know, they say paintings make people feel something."

the man beside her nodded at that, "joy, grief, shock, sadness, empathy..."

"these don't make me feel anything." she revealed with a pout on her voice.

benedict rolled his eyes at that, "you hate paintings."

"i do not hate it," she defended, followed by a curious tone, "why is yours not here? you made a wonderful one when you were at the academy."

"these painters are experts and have been painting for more than my life. my art fails in comparison with these, raine."

they stopped in front of a painting that features a lady in the forest. benedict was taken by it, while the girl in his arm was taken by him.

"i like yours."

he warmly smiled at that, keeping his sight on the painting across them, "because you like me."

"i do," she admitted with no diffidence, "and maybe it's because of that, but does it really matter?"

she stated with normalcy, as if it was expected, completely clueless of what her words are doing to him.

"i like yours anyway, artsy."

"bridgerton," a man called out, making the pair turn to him.

"lord granville," benedict began in recognition, turning to the silva to introduce them.

"this is lady silva. raine, lord granville. he—"

"owns an art studio, right?" she interjected with a chuckle, "we've met."

"under very awkward circumstances, might i add." henry said in a suggestive, yet secretive tone.

the said awkward circumstance is most certainly not when the young silva took it upon herself to disguise and go about the city, dressed as a poor lady and a cloak hiding her features. she accidentally ran to a man. they talked for a really small bit before he proposed she join him in his art studio as a model because her proportions are perfect according to the tiniest snippet of her shape he could manage.

seeing as they seem to be friends, she took a step back with a reassuring smile to allow them their privacy, "excuse me, gentlemen. i shall take a turn around the exhibit."

putting her attention back to the paintings, she walked considerably slower now. just as she loves sciences, her curiosity for arts is of quite near the same level. it still annoys her to no end that she cannot paint, even with a gun pointed to her head. out of all the arts, it really has to be painting she fails—the art that the man she's interested with excels so much.

so, she would like to take this time to study the works of others. even if she cannot do it herself, at the very least she can resonate with it more.

hence, she walked, and walked, and walked, staring at each painting and not simply shrugging them in passing. each one has a person who was keen on feeling with it.

reaching deep inside the exhibit, raine somehow happened to be in front of quite a huge framed painting with no one admiring it.

the death of general wolfe

benjamin west, 1770

it was a painting of a battle. a victorious one, yet it did not carry an air of success. it was grieving. she knew she must have seen this in passing before. she recognized the man illustrated. if not, then this must be déjà vu.

as the artwork draw her in and in, she did not fail to acknowledge the presence beside her, now looking at the same frame in front.

"i feel something," she started with a small voice, "i'm scared."

benedict slinged an arm on her shoulder with a gentle rub—an attempt to offer comfort, "don't be."

he pulled her to him, a gesture that suggested for raine to lean her head on his shoulder, and she did.

wanting to ease the girl from any of her worries that he could guess by the paintaing, he jested, "no discredit to general wolfe, but your father is a lot better and skilled than him."

it was a very risky shot. he could have consoled and cheered her up by those words, or he could have just ruined a very intimate and emotional moment for her, appearing arrogant. good thing it's the former.

"you are slandering a celeberated general." she muttered as she blinked away her tears, standing straight again as benedict exhaled a breath in relief.

"look, it's so sad! it was the exact moment of their victory when he died."

he chuckled at her, "who was it that said she doesn't feel anything in these paintings?"

she slapped his arm as she turned away and proceeded to walk to another artwork with the last one still in her mind, the bridgerton following her in tow. they stopped for more paintings, laughing and arguing as they always do.

noticing that the sun is now coming down, they have agreed to call it a day, both entirely exhausted, yet satisfied of how the day went.

arriving in front of the silva's home, benedict walked with her to the door.

"do not go to your father with that gloomy face."

she rolled her eyes at him, pointing out the absurdity of his comment, "am i supposed to be happy after seeing such painting?"

he deadpanned at her, "that was already more than two hours ago."

"well, it stuck with me." she replied, feigning annoyance in her tone.

"lord silva will have my head, thinking i am the source of your grief." he joked to make her feel lighter.

"stop being so afraid of my father." she said mockingly as she turned to get in her home, it serving as a farewell cue.

she, however, stopped in the middle of their stoop when benedict inhaled before speaking once again, "anyways, i think gratitude is in order."

"what do you mean?" she turned to him with a confused brow.

"you—uhm... you were being supportive of my art—by insulting other paintings but we can ignore that part."

raine laughed at that. the man rarely thanked her for things. he must be dying as he said those words.

the young silva then smirked, "you owe me then."

"you are the worst person to owe to." benedict grumbled with a groan at the mention of owings. on the other hand, the girl was already busy in thinking of things to ask from him.

"i would ask you to marry me but the answer is quite apparent." the bridgerton nodded, still saying a reply of his own, "no, thank you."

suddenly, raine clapped her hands at once, fully turning to him again with the widest mischievous grin that's making him scared.

"surprise me. how about a kiss?"

he stared at her dumbfounded. su—surely not, right? now, for a good twenty seconds of utter silence, loraine's grin never faded. benedict racked his mind on what to do, his lips forming a thin line. he clicked his tongue at the thought that entered his mind. and so, when his feet walked forward without his conscious control...

...he did not know what he was doing.

and, he'll continue to say the same thing again and again, even when he's now only a step below her, raine conveniently just above his chin... as he placed his palm on the back of her head, prompting it forwards, pressing his tender lips on her forehead for a good number of seconds.

a forehead kiss.

and, he pulled away, immediately turning around to make his way back to the carriage, leaving the girl in an utter state of malfunction.

regaining herself back, she descended the stoop as quickly as she could, "ben, that was cheating!"

benedict laughed as he turned around before getting in the carriage, "go in, your father is waiting."

she was not able to say another word as he left, internally screaming now as she turned back to their home in a dance. her steps now has a lively bounce on it as she entered, certainly unmissable.

"why are you smiling widely like a fool? get dressed quickly. we're going to be late for the ball." armand directed, noting the jubilance of his daughter.

"i don't want to go to the ball." she stated in a singsong voice, hopping to her father and burying her face on him, "i want to spend time with you tonight."

he rubbed her back lovingly, "well, you could have informed me much earlier before i have spent time to look this good."

she pulled away from him, fingers still interlocked around her father's figure, "if i win in chess, i'll have your silver flintlock pepperbox."

"deal."

━━━ ✦ ❘ ☽ 【❖】 ☾ ❘ ✦ ━━━

at the arrival of another day, she did not spend any time staring at the ceiling at all. she jumped off her bed quickly. after all the morning rituals were done, which includes informing lord silva she'll spend the day at the bridgertons, the latter now find themselves in the presence of the young girl in their drawing room—herself spilling with exuberance.

"good day, my beloved bridgertons!"

raine greeted, eloise turning to her mother as she spoke, "she's read it, hasn't she?"

"look at the state of her." lady bridgerton added with a smile on her face.

"match of the season!" she exclaimed, moving to sit with the mother and daughter.

eloise put her book down as she deadpanned at the younger lady, "she also said you have been chasing benedict for years. chasing. raine, we do not chase men."

the newest lady whistledown issue has mentioned catching a sight of the pair enjoying the day at the art exhibit quite intimately.

violet shushed her daughter as the other completely ignored them both, "oh, i couldn't care less. i'll gladly do so if it's ben."

lady bridgerton was really happy at the sight of the young silva. beyond that, she feels so relieved that someone loves her son as purely as raine.

"men moving first are overrated anyways." raine added with a childish smile.

"they're at the garden, dear." violet informed, causing the girl to leave them with thanks.

nearing the table where four bridgertons busied themselves with a round of cards, she leaned on little hyacinth's chair.

"hello, darlings." she greeted for the two kids, "i hope you have the upper-hand against these two."

"of course!" the younger girl cheered at the appearance of the woman.

benedict looked at her strangely, "are you the one teaching hyacinth?"

raine grabbed a chair in between greg and colin, "don't be a sore loser. she's just that good."

"you lost to me." the second-eldest reminded.

"i did." she replied after she's settled on her seat, clasping her hands on top of the table and propping her head on it lovingly.

colin laughed at the total look of besottedness that the young lady is sending his brother, "i see, no one can ruin your mood now. i wonder why?"

"is it lady whistledown?" gregory frankly asked, eyes still on his set of cards.

she smiled and tapped his nose, "a point for you, young man."

benedict groaned as he put his own set down and looked at the girl across him, "oh, please stop your grinning in front of me. i can feel it."

"what? i'm just happy."

"you are always ecstatic."

"she called us the match of the season!" she exclaimed for the second time around—the ninth, actually, if we include the ones in her own home.

the man on her right interjected as he put a card down, "your ability to selectively read is astonishing."

"thank you, colin." she replied with a smile, completely not caring on their words.

"she said we could be the match of the season if i ever finally accept your incessant proposals."

"you are going to, right?" hyacinth asked, turning to her brother as she placed a winning card down, ending the round with her as the victor again.

"i—"

"excuse me, i must attend to something."

colin stood up, seeing a footman across the garden and knowing what it meant. on raine's other side, gregory grumbled as he put his cards on the table.

"hyacinth's cheating."

"i'm not!"

"show your hand." the young boy challenged. the youngest could do nothing but run with her cards on her hand. gregory followed right after.

"don't chase your sis—" benedict gave up as both kids are now far from earshot, "why does no one let me finish what i'm saying today?" he whined, taking a sip of water from his glass.

"we look like a family."

he sat up straight at once as he choked on his drink, leaving a bit of his garments lightly wet from the water.

raine turned to him, uncaring of what happened due to her words, "i'm asking this in genuine curiosity. how many children would you have?"

he let out a vexed chuckle as he wipe the droplets from himself, "that is not relevant."

she continued nonetheless, watching the two youngest bridgertons tumble and toss on the grass, "i would love five."

he closed his eyes, allowing himself to inhale and exhale, before turning to her with a sarcastic tone, "good to know."

he continued to dry himself, wiping here and there. he arranged the cards back on the deck and separated those that got wet as well. wondering with the sudden silence, he looked back up as he finish, only to find her staring at him with a poker face—quite fitting, with the cards and all.

he sighed, leaning back in surrender, "fine. three, i guess."

upon hearing that, raine beamed him an eager smile, "i can work with that."

benedict squinted his eyes at her, voice dripping with mockery, "i'm not having them with you."

she incredulously replied, "why ever not?!"

and so, the attempts of both children to snitch one another to the adults fell on deaf ears.

"why are we even calling for them?" hyacinth grumbled, looking at them as she and gregory stopped their tossing.

"he look so in love he doesn't even realise it." the boy sighed as he added. she turned to him with his quip.

"and how would you know what love looks like?"

gregory turned to his sister before gesturing to the pair far from them, "because raine looks like that at him, and she's in love with him."

"they look at each other the same way."

taglist: @aadu2173 @imgondeletedis

[cactusisconfused]

Hi, I wrote a fic :)

Summary: Ghost spirals and gets stuck in his head, Soap helps him out.

-Eternal Ages of Then Now and Again -

-

He said that he would join his life four hours ago. To lay down and give his body rest. Worried was his life for him. “You’ve worked yourself too hard again.” The Scottish voice had said. “When was the last time you took a break?” The voice had asked.

“Ages.” Death would respond.

Ages ago before he was young and before he was old.

Ages ago before he understood the concept of mourning and rage. 

Ages ago when death thought he could bring life.

It was ages ago when he learned otherwise.

Ages ago his father had beaten him.

Ages ago his family dies.

Ages ago Roba finds him.

He’s trapped in that cell for ages.

Touched for ages.

Locked in a box for ages.

Walked the same desert for ages.

Felt like he was falling for ages.

Then it starts again. Always. Forever. Repeating for ages.

His father berates him, beats him, kills all innocence.

His family dies, their bodies drenching the bright pine tree in a least festive red.

Simon runs away.

Ghost takes his place.

Roba finds him.

Roba uses him.

Roba buries him.

Simon stays in the coffin.

Ghost climbs out.

His legs give out once he reaches the Texan border.

Again his mind plagues him. 

Ages has it been since his mind rested. Because for now and every blink, every idle thought does the ages of death fill his restless dreams. Ages do they fill his tired bones and squeeze and push into the corners of his muscles and make a home in his pupils, finding the next life to meet death.

It doesn’t stop. It never stops. It’s been happening for ages. It’s been happening again. And again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and

again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and

again and again and 

again and again and

again and again and

again and again and-

“Simon?” A voice from the bed a few feet, a few miles, a few inches away, speaks from the bed. The voice is Scottish, one deepened and raspy from sleep. A voice that throws a punch to his shoulder, a confident grin under a flirty tone. One that death will find and will swallow his life up whole. There’s a quiet, knowing sigh.

Ghost doesn’t respond to Johnny calling his name, admittedly he’s not even sure if Johnny’s voice was even real. It’s just another voice again. Again one to follow him, again one to torment him again and again and again and again and again and again an-

Careful arms wrap around his shoulders from behind him, rough stubble meeting his neck. “It’s a nice night out, no clouds, nice and cool.” Life says with a small smile, his warm hand guiding Ghost’s face gently to look out of the window. The moon is bright, watching diligently and elegantly over this sleeping part of the world.

“I used to sneak out with my sister when I was younger to see the sunset, soon then afterwards, would we gaze at the stars. She was 17, just got her first car. I was 13, she’d offered me to tag along, get out of the house.” Says the warm body around him, eyes glancing at the stars.

“We’d stop by a small bakery that a friend of hers worked at, grab a bite or two, then head out in her car. Beaten up was the poor machine, but it was hers and she treated it as though it were made of the finest gold and porcelain.” Ghost isn’t sure when time stopped moving in circles, when he stopped seeing the images of the lives he’s taken that took to hanging and dancing around in his sickened mind. Quietly MacTavish spoke, the words a vine of brilliant strength for death's parasitic arms and failing arms to cling to.

“We found a good hill away from Glasgow, near the ocean. Sometimes we’d talk about our troubles, our fears and doubts.” Life’s voice trailed off, the sound mixing and stilling with the darkness surrounding them, turning it into an embrace; no longer was it the tight void it once was. 

Johnny’s eyes move to look at ghost from the side of his eyes. Bright and lively powder blue meets dark whiskey brown.

“She would say that under the stars, whispers of the daring, of the lost and of the damned would guide amongst its cooler winds, drifting into a whistling tune that no human could make out but in some way, always understand. Sorrows and joy to merge together for no one creature but all to know.” A warm, tired smile forms on the Scot’s face before his head moves to lean on Simon’s own.

Simon isn’t sure how long they stayed like that, Simon in Johnny’s arms as they gaze out the window, the sound of quiet wind outside blowing against the glass window. How long Johnny talked about this or that.

Ages has it been since Simon found himself relaxed. 

Now, he finds his eyelids falling on themselves as his buzzing nerves fade. Simon knows that death does not belong in life’s arms, but for this moment, as never once before, he’ll allow himself a moment of respite.

“Couldn’t stop thinking?” The scot asks after a silence fell between themselves and the world for a long moment. Simon could only nod. This wasn’t the first time he had ever spiraled, nor would it be the last. But instead of the whirlpool they became on his own, ones with mountain tall waves and drawing currents, they became loose streams lapping at his feet, the sea foam bubbling then receding back to the powder blue. Johnny nods back in understanding.

They find their way to bed together, Simon on his back and Johnny laying at his side, his tanned hand resting over his heart. Ghost’s mask is discarded somewhere on the floor.

“I…” Simon starts his voice giving out, unsure of how to start. “I’m sorry I didn’t come to bed sooner. Didn’t mean to leave you in the dust.” His chest rumbles with the grit of his voice, his eyes staring only at the ceiling. “Jus’...started thinking, then started hearing and seeing and…I thought I’d gotten better at stopping it. Still sneaks up on me..” Johnny kisses Simon’s pale cheek softly. “You have nothing to apologize for, Si. You know I’ve fallen into my own head time and time again, and always, you were there to fish me out. It’s only fair that I do the same, what with trying to be a good boyfriend and all.” A pause. “We’re both a bit fucked but that is what makes us fun, no?” There’s a smile in Johnny’s voice that Simon can’t resist, his own scarred mouth stretching slightly in a small content thing as his eyes glance down to look at his lover’s face.

 “Plus I'm MacTavish,” The Scot says, shifting to lay more against the brit. “We take care of the things we love like the finest gold and porcelain.”  Something about the way Johnny’s eyes look up at Simon is filled with such an adoration that Simon almost has to look away. Yet, his eyes linger on the man next to him. 

Never once had death thought he deserved to be looked at this way, to be looked after this way. To be loved and cherished for now and ages to come.

But then again, what is death without life and life without death. Intertwined should they be, for all the ages that pass eternally by.

-

If you would like to leave kudos at all or just want it, here’s the Ao3 link:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/62062321