#at least i can organize the warehouse exactly how i want it to be while he's gone

[erythristicbones]

usually at work all of the coffee bagging is split between two ppl, i do all the retail and the other guy does all the wholesale. but he's going home for a month on july 14th, which means for that month i will be the only one doing all the bagging

so like on one hand i feel "sweet more money/shifts, maybe i can actually afford that new phone soon" but on the other hand........yeah, it does mean that im gonna have a lot more responsibility on my shoulders alone huh

[jellifysh]

Ride With You (part six)

Or, Jungkook's Exes can Really Hold a Grudge

Ot7 x reader (jungkook x reader focus, slow burn, mafia au, the Boys are Crazy, plans r being made, the boys still don't like talking to you but don't worry namjoon kinda thinks you're cool)

Debriefing with Bangtan was a different experience than you'd expected.

For one, they liked to discuss the mission over the dinner table, talking like they were simply a family meeting for a meal and talking about their day. When you were an agent, and you'd debrief with your old organization, they used to sit you in a dimly lit room, empty except for a table and a chair you'd sit in, silently scribbling everything you reported to them on a clipboard and then sending you out. Thinking about the dark room and the blankness on their face sometimes would still make you shudder.

While your current environment wasn't exactly welcoming, at least you could sit in Jungkook's lap. The boys still looked over or past you, talking to Jungkook and pretending like you weren't there, but you were fine with that. You didn't need their attention or want it, and Jungkook's warmth was enough for you to be happy, munching on the bites of food he'd cut and feed you from the spread on the table. It seemed every meal they ate was lavishly prepared and cooked. Lobsters steamed in butter, caviar on crackers, steak and potatoes, everyone had some of the luxurious buffet as they sat around the table, smoothly passing each other utensils and trays, like they were speaking without words. Their closeness was evident, and you wondered how many years they'd all spent together to have this sort of telepathy with each other.

Eventually, the silence was broken by Namjoon, easily announcing the start of the debrief. "So, Yoongi," he started, voice nothing but business even as he casually spread butter on a roll. "What do you have to report?"

Yoongi cleared his throat, speaking in his usual calm manner, which you began to figure out, wasn't boredness, but his natural inflection. "While examining the cameras, I noticed that Warner was speaking to lot of people about his plan to raid the warehouse. However, after further inspection of their identities, he was only a talking to a very specific group of people. The people he spoke with also had connections to the organizations, and he was likely trying to recruit them to aid with his plan."

Namjoon nodded, taking in the information. You had observed through the handful of times you had interacted with him, that he was a very thoughtful man, and always considered information fully before making decision, especially when it came to their business. He didn't take anything lightly, an admirable trait in your opinion, and explained a lot of the inner machinations of the group. You had always somewhat wondered about how quickly Bangtan took over their scene, and seeing them operate up close has been answering a lot of questions. It almost made you want to giggle knowing that you know had information that your old organization would've killed for. Bangtan had become a big obstacle when you were working with them, driving your surprises crazy on the daily. You couldn't imagine how much they were losing their minds over them now.

"Good. Keep looking into them, they could be another avenue to inspect if Warner turns out to be a lost cause." Namjoon eventually decided, looking at the next person who was on the mission with you all. "Jin?"

"Nothing more than what you may have heard. He wouldn't speak much about his plan with me, since as Yoongi said, he was mostly conversing with very specific associates." Jin reported very plainly, speaking while cutting his cubes into squares. Jin, you noticed, was also very levelheaded, when he wasn't dealing with you anyways, voice always even and smooth. The only thing you could detect in his voice was that he, like all of the others, spoke to Namjoon with barely veiled respect in his voice. When he spoke, they never argued.

Namjoon hummed, looking past you again, right at Jungkook. "Hmm. Jungkook? Anything to report?"

When Jungkook spoke, they all paid attention, whether they were fully turning towards him, like Jimin who was smiling at him seemingly in encouragement, or just glancing towards him every so often like Yoongi-- which was still more visible attention than he'd been paying anyone else. You remembered that they were probably used to babying him and wondered how overbearing the attention must get after a while. It was already driving you crazy now, and it wasn't even directed at you.

"After Warner walked up to the second floor, I trailed him to an empty room. Five minutes later, Hongjoong walked in." Jungkook said detachedly, not looking from his plate as he cut up bites of food for you. However, what he said got an immediately reaction from everyone else, eyebrows raising and eyes widening.

"He's in direct contact with Hongjoong?" Hoseok sat up straight now, glancing towards Namjoon whose face was stony, then back towards Jungkook, who was still barely paying attention.

"It seems like it." He continued. "From the conversation they were having, it seems like he's backing him for the raid. He was saying a lot about how he wanted half of whatever he got and how he was giving him trucks for transport."

"That snake. Using some random third party to try and take us down." Yoongi scoffed.

Namjoon breathed out slow, then finally spoke. "Okay, then. Using the information we've gathered from the mission, our next course of action--"

"Aren't you gonna ask me?" You piped in. Namjoon's eyes cut towards yours suddenly, remembering you exist.

"Excuse me?" He asked you calm, but you could see in his eyes that he was not pleased about you seemingly wasting his time.

"Why is it talking?" You heard Taehyung whisper to Jimin, who just rolled his eyes and shrugged.

You continued on anyways, undeterred. "I was there too. I could have information."

"You were by Joon's side all night. What unique information could you have?" Jin narrowed his eyes at you, and you turned away from him, talking directly to Namjoon. If you learned anything from analyzing them, it's that while you may piss them off, Namjoon values information, and as long as he hears you out, the rest won't protest.

"When you saw me stop to fix my shoe, it was because I overheard Warner talking to someone else about how he's also meeting with an informant of one of the organizations next Tuesday, and wants to give them what he gets from raiding the Holy Grail as an offering in an attempt to climb their ranks." You explained.

Namjoon stared you down, face unchanging for several moments before raising a hand to rake through his hair, sighing. "If that's true, then the raid on the Holy Grail is definitely taking place soon. We'll have to increase security."

"What do you mean?" You asked, not understanding what this raid really had to do with them. You could feel their glares cut into you for speaking so much out of turn, but your curiosity was more pressing to you than their hostility.

"Didn't you hear the guy talking about how the warehouse was owned by a huge mafia?" Jimin raised an eyebrow, tone of voice making it clear how stupid he thought you were. You glared at him, condescending tone wholly unappreciated.

Namjoon cut in, explaining for you. "The Holy Grail is what other gangs have nicknamed one of our biggest warehouses. It's filled to the brim with some of our most expensive and hard to acquire equipment, and therefore heavily guarded."

"So why does this guy think he has a chance at looting it?" You questioned.

"Every once in a while, some overconfident idiot will make a run at it." Namjoon said. "Especially if he's not acting alone."

"I don't even think they really know how well armed it is." Jungkook added with a shrug. "The way Hongjoong was talking, they seem to think they could just walk in and walk out."

"Then, this is a good opportunity." Jin spoke.

"What do you mean?" Hoseok asked, confused. Honestly, you couldn't blame him, you were confused, too. How could having a warehouse full of precious stuff being invaded be good in any way?

"We could retaliate. While they're distracted with raiding us, we attack one of their bases." Jin suggested, a sneaky smile coming to his face.

"But we don't need their supplies." Taehyung countered.

"It's not about needing anything." Jin explained, lifting a cup of red wine to his lips. "It's about showing them that we are always one step ahead."

"We'll have to discuss more. But it's not a bad idea..." Namjoon rubbed at his lip thoughtfully, considering the pros and cons. "It could work. Hoseok could stay on site to oversee our security while Jimin and Jungkook attack after Yoongi takes down their security system."

"Ugh, I hate dealing with the foot soldiers." Hoseok groaned.

"The more time the enemy wastes on fighting our security, the more distracted they'll be." Jimin smiled. "Ready to get back to work, baby?"

Jungkook just glared, energy already drained from how long this whole interaction had been already. You leaned back into him, tummy full and content with having done your job for now. Being useful in this last mission seems to have rid Namjoon of some of his hostility towards you and as long as he wasn't angry with you, you were sure they wouldn't bother you for a while. For now you would lay low and focus on comforting Jungkook.

"And..." Namjoon added, sending a look towards you. Uh oh, you thought to yourself. You didn't like that look. "I think Y/n should go on the attack team as well."

Your eyes widened in shock. What happened to him thinking you were useless?

"You wanna put the puppy on a mission?" Hoseok scoffed incredulously.

"Is she trained well enough?" Jimin asked, shooting you a dubious glance.

"Don't talk to her like that. She's fully capable. We've kept each other safe countless times." Jungkook defended you, protectively wrapping his arms around you. You smiled up at him. While you weren't jumping for joy at being elected to go on this mission, it made you happy to know that Jungkook had so much faith in you watching his back. It did put you at ease to know that you'd be there in case something bad happened to him.

"We'll see. Jimin, train her yourself, and if she makes enough progress, I want you to take her with you." Namjoon said, wiping his hands off on a napkin.

"There's no way you expect me to train her when the mission is so soon." Jimin chuckled, but upon seeing Namjoon was serious, started whining. "Joon, please don't make me do this."

"Debrief over." Namjoon said, standing up from the table and heading towards the door. "I'll be in my office."

"Joonie!" Jimin called after him, standing up as well and turning to glare at you. "Ugh." He scoffed at you like you were a disgusting bug, storming out after Namjoon.

"If we're done here," Jungkook exhaled, finally smiling as he stood up with you to leave the room. "We'll be leaving now." He held your hand tightly as he sped down the hall towards your room, closing the door behind you and slumping against it as soon as it closed.

"You okay?" You murmured, smoothing his hair back from his face. He closed his eyes, leaning into your hands as you massaged his head like your fingers were magic.

"I'm fine, it's just so... frustrating, you know?" He huffed, walking past you to sit on the bed, holding his head in his hands as he pulled at his hair. "It's like we've been constantly under their watch since we've been here, everywhere we go they're looking at us and it's so infuriating. We don't have any privacy." He ranted.

You stayed quiet, walking over to him and running your hands through his hair again, getting him to stop gripping his hair and relax his shoulders. "It's weird being back here, isn't it?" You hummed. He nodded, looking up at you tiredly, pulling you closer by the waist.

"Being here has been so draining." He mumbled, leaning in and trailing kisses down your tummy over your shirt. "But at least I'm with you. I just want a moment of quiet to be with you, and hold you."

You smiled, moving to sit on his lap and he moved his hands down to cup your bottom. "You'll always be with me. And you're holding me now, aren't you?" You breathed, kissing him on the lips, sweet and soft. You pulled back, but he chased you, pulling you back in for another. As he reciprocated, the kiss quickly became more heated, more passionate, his frustration with not being able to hold you showing in the desperation of his lips and the way his fingers squeezed your hips tight, pulling you flush against him.

Eventually, after seconds or minutes you weren't sure, he broke away, both of you heaving in deep breaths. He moved a tender hand into your hair, cupping your head as he pressed a kiss onto your jaw before turning the both of you, now hovering over you on the bed. His strong arms framed you as he leant down to recapture your lips. But then he stopped suddenly, halfway bent towards your lips, sitting up and glaring at the door.

"Jimin, stop being a creep." He called out, annoyed. "Leave."

Jimin peeked out from behind the door that had squeaked ajar without you even noticing, smirking unapologetically. "Don't mind me," He said, as he stepped in fully. "I don't want to interrupt."

"What do you want?" Jungkook cut straight to the point.

"Me? Nothing." Jimin placed a hand on his chest, eyes cutting to you with a twisted amusement. "But Namjoon really wants to see your pet. What did it do?" He whispered the last part conspiratorially.

"She didn't do anything." Jungkook defended, body moving to block you from Jimin's sight.

"It's fine. I'll go." You said, gently pushing back on Jungkook's shoulder so you could sit up. "Where do I find him?" You asked.

"He has an office room just past the foyer, can't miss it. Large double dark oak doors." Jimin waved you out, boredly. As you walked out, he made no move to leave, standing in the doorway as Jungkook glared at him. It seems like he had something to say that he didn't want you around to hear. Part of you contemplated hiding round the corner, but not only did you think that Jungkook wouldn't appreciate you spying on what would most certainly be a private conversation, but Jimin would probably know. Something about him screamed danger, a hidden strength that would definitely be able to tell you never left.

And apparently, you thought to yourself as you arrived at the dark oak doors. Namjoon was waiting.

You walked in, not bothering to knock. He called for you, he should be ready for you. And he was, sitting at his desk with his fingers steepled as he stared down at some paperwork. "You called?" You asked, not going too far from the door.

He looked up at you, leveling the same critical look he was using to examine his paperwork on you. "You say you're skilled--"

"You know I'm skilled." You cut him off immediately. You continued talking after seeing his surprise at being cut off. "You say you looked into me but you treat me like I'm a child. You even dress me like one, what's that about?" You scoffed, gesturing to the frilly shirt and skirt you had selected from the selection "gifted" to you.

Despite his demeanor, you had the feeling you could push your luck with him and nothing would happen to you. You wanted to pretend you didn't know where this newfound feeling of invicibility came from, but a small part of you recognized it as the beginning of some form of respect.

"The clothes were Jin and Hoseok's idea." He explained with an eye roll. "But, the way you trained for your organization was different than what we do here. Our missions are more taxing. We prefer to keep our group tight knit so we avoid working with people outside of us as much as possible." He told you, tone serious. That secrecy was likely a big reason as to why no one seemed to know how Bangtan worked, you realized. Even with moles and spies sent into their lower ranks, no one ever found out information about them that was useful to take them down. And plenty have tried, you knew well.

He continued, leaning back in his chair as he made you an offer. "If you do well on this mission, you'll go on more for us. You'll constantly be in and out of the field until we complete our goal. Can you handle that?"

"Of course I can." You replied without hesitation. You could handle anything, and the more you cooperated, the quicker you'd leave, hopefully.

He cracked a slight smile, a dimple popping up on his cheek. "Can you keep from fighting with Jimin?"

You crossed your arms with a scoff. "You should ask him that! He's the one who's always glaring at me."

He chuckled, then went back to the matter at hand, schooling his expression, though he was noticeably more relaxed than before. "Listen," he started, "I'm willing to look past our current... situation... to focus on the matter at hand. We both have a common interest, so for now we are both allies. I want us to trust each other."

"Do you trust me?" You asked cautiously.

"Not yet. Do well in this mission, and I might." He answered honestly.

"What reward do I get?" You bargained.

He glanced down at the clothes you were wearing again. "I'll replace your wardrobe with some practical clothing, how about that?"

"Deal! Thanks, Joonie!" You chirped excitedly, immediately turning and heading out. If he had a reaction to you teasing him with his nickname you didn't know, walking out. As far as you were concerned there was nothing more to be discussed. Hed get what he wanted, and you'd get something out of it too.

And honestly, despite the rocky start, you weren't too upset with having to help them. Getting back into the field would be weird, you'd definitely be a rusty, but the thought of being one step closer to taking down the heads of the organizations who practically tortured you was too satisfying to turn down. And you'd be by Jungkook's side the whole time. Your heart practically sang.

Your heart cried though, when you remembered you had to train with Jimin.

"Aren't you excited, Kookie? You're back home and we can train together again!" Jimin sighed dreamily. You were following him down a dubious flight of stairs that was getting darker and darker the further down you went. Jungkook showed no fear though, so you followed him without worrying about it. "I kept your old equipment exactly the same. Taehyung's even kept them clean so they'd be ready for use whoever you came back to us."

Jungkook didn't respond, but Jimin seemed undeterred, talking even as the hallway became so dark you were essentially following him by sound rather than by sight. The floor leveled out and you walked forward to what seemed to be, as Jimin hit a button and the doors slid open, into an elevator.

You examined the sleek interior, looking high tech and futuristic despite the dingy and dark hallway leading up to it. It was so well maintained it almost looked out of place, with two buttons for floors, B1 and B2. He hit B2, and the elevator descended smoothly and swiftly deeper and deeper underground.

When the doors opened, you were met with a large room, expansive and filled with different types of equipment and training areas. There was a shooting range, there was a padded area for more direct combat, a rigorous looking obstacle course, and more, with multiple levels. "Here we are," Jimin hummed in contentment, fondly overlooking the room. "The happiest place on earth. For me at least. And my favorite part," he walked over to a wall by the gun range and hit a button, a panel turning revealing a wall full of different types of weapons, guns, knives, bo staffs, everything you could think of.

"My staff!" Jungkook exclaimed in shock, reaching out and pulling it off the wall. He smiled, twirling it expertly around his hand, the years separated from it not changing his skill. "I totally forgot about this."

"I knew you'd miss it." Jimin smirked.

Jungkook cleared his throat, wiping the smile off his face. "It's whatever." He shrugged nonchalantly, but still playing with the staff. He glanced around, sporting a punching bag next a bench. "My gloves!" He exclaimed, rushing towards excitedly them to put them on.

Jimin chuckled, following after him. "Training is going to be so fun. Aren't you excited? We're going on a mission together. Like the good old days." He stood next to Jungkook as he strapped his gloves on, lifting a hand to play with his hair. "Sparring against each other, helping each other work out. It always used to get so steamy."

Jungkook ducked away from him, standing up and starting to swing at the punching bag. "I don't what you think this is going to be, but you need to lower your standards. We're just training."

Jimin watched his back for a while then turned to you. "Did Namjoon tell you? Me and Jungkook always used to run missions together. Just me and him. We were the perfect duo." He smirked, obviously flaunting their past closeness.

"Were being the operative term." Jungkook rolled his eyes, turning around when he felt Jimin's eyes on him. "Just pretend I'm not here and make sure she's ready." He told the other man, going back to immersing himself in sparring with the punching bag.

Jimin sighed dramatically, turning towards the firing range. "So boring." He murmured, picking off a small handgun from the wall and tossing it at you. "I don't know how trained you are, and I don't care. I'm going to believe that you have basic self preservation skills, and just focus on teaching you how to shoot a gun."

"I know how to shoot a gun." You rolled your eyes, and he shook his head.

"A regular gun maybe. But not these. These are specially handmade by Taehyung to make them more effective. They're quieter, sleeker, faster, stronger, even the hand grip is different." You looked down at the gun he handed you, realizing it was different than the factory standards you were used to using. "You'll have to get used to these new ones."

You turned towards the targets on the firing range, lining up the shot and shooting.

"Pfft," Jimin snickered at the new hole in the wall past the target.

"Oh shut up! Why did Taehyung make weird weapons anyways? A regular gun works just fine." You ranted, loading the next bullet. You were a perfect shot.

"Taehyung is a weapons enthusiast. Designing and improving weapons is his favorite thing. All of the weapons we use have been specifically customized to our tastes. He modeled the designs of his guns specifically after the way I used them." Jimin explained, taking a gun off the wall and regarding it fondly. "I used to prefer hand to hand combat, but when we met, I started to share his love for weapons. He blew up a bank to impress me, you know."

"Wow, hand in psychopathic hand, huh?" You droned, lining up your shot again and actually hitting the target this time, even if it only grazed the edge.

"Oh, please." Jimin scoffed. "You may think yourself better than us, but we know your record's not as clean as you claim."

You turned towards him, narrowing your eyes. "What's that supposed to mean?"

He just smirked and walked up to you, adjusting your arm slightly, bending your elbow and angling it inwards more. "You're too stiff. Relax, the gun's not gonna fly out of your hand."

You huffed, firing and hitting a perfect bullseye.

"There you go," Jimin said. "You got it quick. Maybe you'll be more use than expected, pet."

You rolled your eyes, ignoring his attempt to rile you up. "So why blow up a bank? Just to make a point?" You asked, firing again. Slightly off center but you'd count it. You lined up your shot again.

"Oh, I guess you wouldn't know. Bangtan is very private. We don't like dealing with outsiders, and any new members must prove their skill and be scouted by one of us. Originally it was just Jin and Namjoon. Then Namjoon found Hoseok, Hoseok found Yoongi, Yoongi found me, And I found Tae."

You nodded, taking in the information. "Who found Jungkook?" You asked, firing again. Perfect hit.

"We all did. Poor little thing would've died in the street if it wasn't for us."

"I doubt it. Jungkook can handle his own pretty well."

"Who do you think taught him how to?" Jimin asked, raising a brow.

You fired one last shot, turning to him. "I think I'm good with this gun now. Which one am I moving onto next?"

"Oh no. Just because you can shoot doesn't mean you can use any gun you want. If all goes well, you won't need to lift a finger on this mission. I'm only giving you a handgun for defense if me or Jungkook can't get to you."

You protested. "I'm going on the mission to help, not to just sit in the back--"

Jimin cut you off, no hint of amusement on his face. "You're going on the mission because Namjoon thinks you'd be a cute accessory. We don't need you. Me and Jungkook have gotten through worse than this on our own, and you would only mess it up. On this mission, you will stay out of the way, and let us do the work. Got it? Good." He finished, walking off and giving you no chance to talk back.

You glared at his back, turning back to the target, and this time when you shot you pretended it was his head you were aiming at. Bullseye.

--

Taglist (Open! If you asked to be in the taglist and I missed you, remind me and I'll put you in, otherwise its open to anyone!): @justmewondering-recs @zae007live @jcrml @royalchickens @devilsbooksworld @creatorspalace @scuzmunkie @uno7 @dreamamubarak @bbgniecyy @tinyoonsblog @cosmic-waves7 @arin-swear-rose @sld88 @skyys-universe @mageprincess7 @drunkzseok @n4mina @singukieee @elraeeee @ratherbefangirling @uniquelyabnormallyoriginal @bex-tk1 @btspurplesky @shownusshoulders @iheartsvt @drissteele @kookstempo @juju-227592 @bjoriis @blancflms

[reservoirreputation]

Howdy!!!

Lately I've been thinking more and more about the res dogs AU, in which Freddy didn't kill mr Blonde and thus didn't give himself away. How do you think things would develop in such a situation? I mean, Eddie wouldn't know anything, Freddy wouldn't be suspicious, and the cops would still be outside the door. In general, it’s interesting to read your thoughts on this matter! (or get a link to a fanfic, if there is one, of course)

It's not exactly the same, but maybe similar enough, if you have an itch you wanna scratch

"Summary: The jewelry heist goes badly, and everyone ends up in jail, all except Mr. Orange, who’s MIA. A trusted hand is brought in, to see if Orange is a dope dealer on the run, or an undercover cop. Larry’s up for the challenge."

It's essentially 'what if Freddy saw Blonde was about to go on a shooting spree, shoots him first (Vic lives), everyone else meets up at the warehouse, gets arrested'. It's essentially best case scenario because Larry's not there to distract Freddy

But, since you're here:

If Freddy doesn't shoot Blonde, well, I guess Marvin would be set on fire, wouldn't he? One ending is Freddy dies of smoke inhalation while Blonde bails. That's not the end of it, of course, because the moment Larry gets wind of it, he's going after Blonde. Spur of the moment, he'll likely be stopped by the Cabots. If he waits, plays nice, he'll kill Vic when he's alone and least expecting it, months, even years later.

Another ending is that Freddy isn't awake when the fire starts, there's no way for him to know what Blonde's about to do. No protesting, no ambush. And it's not that Vic's looking out for others, he's still looking out for himself; he knows that if he lets Orange die, he'll NEVER hear the end of it. So, he scoops up a half-dead Orange, gets him out of the warehouse, and drives to a backup meetup (one that only he and Eddie used)

Branching off from ending two: Orange wakes up, is patched up, feels like he's been hit by several buses. The other guys have scattered with their cuts, except for the Cabots, Larry and Blonde. They explain how hot the area is, and that with Orange in his condition, they can't leave him alone. Joe and Eddie are skipping town, and highly recommend that Orange go with them; it's the least Joe can do, after all. This for all intents and purposes should be impossible; Holdaway, the LAPD, should be looking for Freddy, will find him in no time. Only, in this ending, Freddy never passed out. He saw everything Blonde did to Marvin. Didn't stop him, at any point. Be it from fear, shock, having half his blood on the floor, or maybe...

Freddy wanted to live more than he wanted to save Marvin.

Unsure of what the truth is, he knows one thing for certain; he can't face the cops. No matter what, he feels responsible. So, Freddy agrees to go with them, with Larry and Blonde in tow. Insert here the development of the most toxic version of Larry/Freddy/Vic possible.

I think there's another possibility, with Freddy using his most powerful tool in the film; his words. His ability to convince people of whatever he wants except going to the hospital, and-

"Summary: Part One: Left behind in the aftermath of Vega’s activities, Larry’s hauled in for questioning, and is given a unique opportunity; save lives by informing on Vic Vega, and have the pleasure of seeing him get thrown in jail. But, the LAPD won’t let him go at it, alone. They send in an undercover agent, one that Larry won’t know about until they’re both in the field.

Part Two: Day of the theft and everything seems to be going great. One unlucky shot, however, and Freddy’s world is turned upside-down. As he thinks back on what led him up to this point, Freddy must summon the strength to go as far as needed, and not lose himself in the process."

If there's another aspect of this scenario (the original ask) that you want me to expand on, let me know! This is just the stuff I could think of off the top of my head!

Anybody wants to take these ideas, put their own spin on it... tag me when you're done? I'm nosey.

[visualskirt]

You know, I've come to the realization that I probably wouldn't actually mind having a dick if it wasn't for the fact that mine ain't big.

Like, when I was growing up and still believed that I was a boy, I felt like a failure and hated myself and felt like a failure for having a below average dick!

From every single angle, I was constantly fed lines emphasizing how awful small dicks are and how to make a woman happy you need to be big! When my friends would brag, I would just feel that ball of self-hatred I was carrying around grow bigger and bigger every time the topic came up.

Then, I was introduced to the concept of dysphoria and it was a revelation! Finally a word for all of the suffering that has plagued my life for all I could remember! But what to do with that ball of hatred for my dick? Well, I guess it has to be dysphoria! Best to just slap that label on it and try to ignore it, after all that's what people online say is the best thing to do to manage dysphoria when you can't do anything else!

So I did! I researched for years about all the different things that you can have done on the operating table, fully convinced that the only way to rid myself of that ball of self-hatred was to just go all the way and have vaginoplasty because then I would at least "have something useful".

But, of course, life is never that simple. Operations cost money, even with the good health insurance I had at the time. 5,000 dollars for the out of pocket maximum, plus the cost of the therapy letters and the hair removal and the ability to survive while not having an active income stream or at least a greatly reduced one as short term disability only pays about 2/3's of your wages.

So just how in the hell am I supposed to save up five grand!?! The short answer is that I can't, have never been able to, and likely never will be able to. When I first started hormones, I worked as a cashier at a drug store. I'm currently a machine operator at a warehouse. I'm a working class, blue collar trans butch. Bottom surgery, as much as I desperately wanted it for so long, is not in the cards for me.

So where does that leave me?

After two years on hormones, my gender identity and presentation has shifted a lot. I've stopped forcing myself to try to be feminine, I've started dressing how I want, and I've stopped forcing myself to endure trying to meet a cis persons definition of what a trans person is.

Except in regards to my dick.

That I still haven't managed to shake, because of just how prevalent it is, especially within explicitly trans friendly spaces! Post after post after post of hung trans porn stars or text posts about how these dykes wanted to be stuffed full of girldick and how it'd stretch them out and fill them and all of that jazz.

Can't exactly stretch someone with a dick that's small and can't even get fully hard, now can you?

Trans women come equipped with the full range of sizes and I am begging you to please stop treating the huge girldick as a universal truth. While your intent is great and I love the effort, unless you also just give the rest of us a shout-out every once in a while, we're just going to end up forcing ourselves into debt and depression over an organ we could have easily learned to love.

TLDR: Women with small dicks need love too, damn it!

[babyboiboyega]

I can explain (Shangqi x f!reader)

Shangqi x f!reader

Prompt: “When everything’s going wrong, the mere thought of you makes it right.” + never wanting to pull away kiss

Content: a little angst, but more fluff

Word Count: 1.6k

Babyboiboyega’s Marvel Masterlist

A/N: this is my first ever time writing for Shangqi (or Shang-Chi), and I already have a lot of other ideas for this incredibly loveable character.

I hope you all enjoyed this!

A heavy sigh left Y/N’s mouth as she unceremoniously dropped onto her couch. The feeling of her limbs relaxing into the cushions almost prompted a moan of relief to follow the heavy sigh. It did, however, make her eyes flutter closed as she leaned her head back.

Y/N had been thinking of this moment the entire day. The moment when her week ended and her weekend began; a weekend of not having to deal with rude, angry-at-the-world customers who decide to yell at her because a privately owned publishing warehouse doesn’t print the book that they want. Or the customers who don’t check their emails for their tracking information and then get mad at her, for some absurd reason.

Another sigh leaves her mouth, and this time with the sigh goes her thoughts of work, entering the empty air for the weekend. 

But being off on the weekend didn’t exactly mean being absolved of texts and calls from fellow coworkers, ranting about customers, or even management. So when her phone’s ringer went off, signaling a new incoming text, she simply kept her eyes closed. She certainly had enough time to read and reply...but maybe later.

The text had already migrated to the back of her mind in the span of a few seconds...and then her phone went off again. This time, two quick “dings” sounded through her apartment. 

Her eyes opened before she slowly sat up, her phone coming into view. Before she could spare another though about her phone and it’s notifications, her hand quickly reached for the remote and pressed the power button.

She managed to flip through a few channels before her phone rang once more, and this time it was accompanied by a few knocks on her door.

Completely disregarding the fact that it was almost 11 at night and she hadn’t been expecting anyone, and being fueled by her now very obvious annoyance, it only took her a few strides to reach her door. In all honesty, she’d had no idea what she was going to say to whoever was on the other side of her door; but whatever had been ready to leave her lips died as soon as she opened the door.

“Shaun?”

She hadn’t been able to control the volume and surprise in her voice, and she saw his grimace in response. She couldn’t find it in herself to care if he didn’t like the volume in her voice; the very next emotions she felt surge through her body was...well, it was a cross between worry and anger. 

“Y/N...hey.” He had a sheepish smile on his face; one that showed off his dimple. One that she had to restrain from returning. But then she remembered the last time she had seen that same smile and the last time she had even heard from him. Her eyebrows raised incredulously.

“‘Hey?’ ‘Hey’?? That’s all...that’s all you have to say to me after being gone for...a month? And some weeks?” 

She could hear the hurt in her own voice, and it made her want to cringe at herself.

‘He could have been doing more important things than worrying about you’ is all that went through her mind.

Her arms crossed self-consciously in front of her.

“Please, let me explain. It’s… it’s actually crazier than you think.”

The hesitance on her part came from her nagging thoughts that flipped between “he was genuinely busy” and “he’s about to make up some absurd excuse for why he hasn’t spoken to you while also letting you down gently”.

“May I come in?” His eyebrows were raised as he gently asked for her permission. Y/N quickly nodded and stepped to the side before her thoughts could scare her too much.

His eyes stayed on her as he stepped past her, entering her apartment. She took a second to take a deep breath before closing the door behind him. 

She briefly wondered how her face looked as she turned to face him. Did she look as hurt and worried as she felt? Could he see her feelings on her face?

“I’m sorry for disappearing for...as long as I did. And I’m sorry for not reaching out at all during that time. But I can explain why.”

His eyes followed her figure as she walked slowly around her kitchen counter. He made no effort to hide the pleading look in his eyes, and he only began talking when Y/N raised her eyebrows from across the counter. 

“Okay. Just...bare with me.” Y/N’s eyes narrowed and more questions filled her mind as she watched him take a breath as if he were bracing himself. 

Y/N hadn’t known what to expect when he had started talking, but she definitely wasn’t expecting a story filled with martial arts, trained assassins, ancient organizations, soul-sucking demons, and dragons. 

Even after he had explained everything, his eyes watching and waiting for her reaction, she still couldn’t find the words to express herself.

Her body was frozen in its same position, and her eyes were wide and staring right at him. As the silence stretched between them, he couldn’t help grimacing slightly once again.

“Also, my name isn’t really Shaun. It’s Shangqi.”

That last piece of information seemed to finally shake Y/N out of her stupor, as she blinked quickly and let out a quick breath. 

“I...I don’t know what to say.” In all honesty, all of this was kind of making her head spin, and it was evident in the way her breathing picked in just the slightest. 

“W-What exactly do you say to someone who’s just saved the world? ‘Thank you’? ‘I owe you my life’- because, I guess, technically, I do owe you my life. Because of you, I still have my life- or my soul.”

At her rambling, Shangqi’s expression shifted from one of wariness to relief to a little worried. It had only just crossed his mind that he was worried that she wouldn’t believe him, and not worried about how she would receive the information.

She believed every word that had just come from his mouth, simply because she knew that he wouldn’t lie about something like this. She knew that he wouldn’t lie to her… at least she hoped he wouldn’t.

“You don’t have to say anything. I...I just needed you to know why I was gone. The thought of letting you go one more second thinking I just...left you was driving me crazy.”

A humorless laugh forced its way through Y/N’s lips. 

“Yeah, thinking I had driven you away was driving me crazy too.”

Before she could even regret her words, her eyes were drawn to Shangqi, whose head was shaking quickly. In a few steps, he had walked around the counter, coming to a stop a few feet from her. 

“That was never the case, I swear. You could never drive me away, not even if you tried.”

At the minuscule smile that appeared on her face, he risked taking another step forward. 

From where he stood, he could smell faint traces of her favorite perfume that had slowly worn off during her day. Her favorite perfume had quickly become his favorite scent, simply because it reminded him of her. 

From where she stood, she could easily see the faint signs of exhaustion on his face. No doubt from the strains of the last month and a half. It made her want to reach out to him. 

“Every second, from the moment we left, all I could think about was coming back to you. Even while staring into the face of a-”

“A mega soul-sucking demon?”

The quiet laugh that left his mouth seemed to weigh on her body, but not with pressure. Instead, all she felt was warmth, and it coursed through her veins with the power of 11 suns.

“Yes,” there was laughter in his voice as he responded, “even while staring into the face of a mega soul-sucking demon.”

As he spoke, he had gradually moved forward until taking a deep breath would easily have their chests brushing against each other.

Y/N couldn’t keep the tremor out of her voice as she spoke, her eyes flickering between Shangqi’s.

“You...you really thought of me when you were saving the world?”

Her eyes fluttered closed as his hand raised and gently cupped her cheek. Soon after, she felt pressure from his forehead connecting with hers. Without hesitation, her own hands lifted, coming to grasp at his sides, desperate to pull him closer.

His breath fanned across her face as he spoke, and it made her hands tighten.

“When everything’s going wrong, the mere thought of you always makes it right.”

His words were quickly swallowed by Y/N’s lips pressing against his with fervor. The hand that was on her cheek gently titled her head back as he kissed her back with just as much passion, while his other hand wound around her waist. They both pulled at the other, as if they couldn’t get close enough. 

The warmth that had been coursing through her veins quickly turned into leg-numbing electricity the longer their lips were connected. Her eyes were closed, and so were his, but they could both see the other’s face behind their lids, surrounded by the stars their presence created. 

The only thing that could pull them apart was the need for air, and even then, as their foreheads connected and their lips stayed hovering over each other’s, they breathed the same air.

Shangqi’s words were shaky as he spoke, his thumb rubbing circles into her skin.

“You make everything right.”

**********

Once again, I hope you all enjoyed this! I would take requests for this character, but I still have a ton of requests for LOK....

But maybe sometime in the near future!

In the meantime, I would appreciate it if y’all would interact in any way with this! Comments, criticism, questions, etc would be amazing, as would reblogs, but even just liking this helps!

Stay safe, y’all!

[riotwritesthings]

I'll cave in (whenever you see fit)

A BIG BIG HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!!! to @warmachinesocks​

thanks for being you that’s big sexie of you. Here’s a thing.

Winteriron, M, 5k - Vampire!Bucky, human!Tony, an abduction, a rescue, and some dry humping

Bucky knows better than to get involved with a mortal, and he pays the price when Hydra kidnaps his boyfriend. Tony is human, he's questionably in distress, and he is Handling It. (minor violence, surprisingly soft all things considered.)

~~~

Bucky should have known this would happen. Fuck, he should have known.

An immortal should never get involved with a human, that’s rule fucking one because it never ends well for anyone.

Especially not for the human.

But he’s selfish, so fucking selfish, and the first time Tony smiled up at him, open and happy, Bucky knew he was doomed.

He knows something is wrong the second pushes the door open to find the basement apartment completely dark. The only light is the weak streetlight pouring in through the one tiny window, near the ceiling in the kitchen.

Even in the dark, Bucky can easily tell that the place has been trashed, though it is only a subtle difference from the organized chaos Tony usually keeps his workspace in.

The apartment is too quiet, too still, and he knows instantly.

Bucky fucked up. Badly.

Because it had been entirely too easy to get used to the warmth of Tony’s smile, of his skin, the way he so easily made a space for Bucky in his life.

It had been so easy to let himself get comfortable in Tony’s weird basement apartment that’s half home and half machine shop, perfectly Tony. The way the apartment is brightly lit with industrial lights at all hours of the day and night so Tony can see whatever brilliant new invention he’s working on next.

Bucky never had a chance at not getting attached, because in all his years he’s never met anyone like Tony.

Tony is perfect, and brilliant, left with nothing after his father's company was stolen out from under him and Tony just built himself a new life, tries to help wherever he can. He keeps erratic hours and never minds that Bucky comes and goes at all hours of the night, that Bucky can't go out in the daylight.

Bucky hasn’t been in the sun in nearly a thousand years, but with Tony in his arms, so warm and bright and alive, he could almost remember what it felt like.

And now Tony has been taken.

Bucky knew who was responsible even before he found the symbol burned into the wall. It’s Hydra. Of course it is, and those bastards won’t care that he’s human, that he never should have been involved in any of this, all they’ll care about is hurting Bucky as much as they can.

And they picked exactly the right target.

Hydra has been after him for nearly as long as Bucky has been not-alive, determined to wipe out all vampires at any cost. Even once the war was over, even after all the other hunter’s guilds signed the peace treaty, Hydra refused to give up their mission and for some reason they’ve taken a personal vendetta against Bucky. Probably because he’s evaded them so many times.

And now they have Tony.

The thing is that Bucky hasn't really known Tony that long, not even by human standards, but he is completely, irretrievably in love. He’s ready to burn the whole world down to get Tony back, even if Tony never forgives him for it.

But he’s not going to be able to find where Tony is being held, not on his own. Not in time.

The downside to immortal friends though, is that Bucky hasn’t actually seen any of them in years, because what’s a couple decades between centuries old beings? Steve is back in Europe for a while, working on his painting, and Bucky hasn’t seen Natalia in nearly fifty years now, which means she probably won’t turn back up for another fifty.

There is one more option, Bucky is just less than thrilled about it.

It’s no secret that the other hunter’s guilds don’t approve of Hydra’s methods, the amount of collateral damage they leave in their wake. The lengths they’re willing to go to.

Like kidnapping innocent humans.

It’s definitely still a stretch to hope they’ll be willing to help someone like Bucky find Hydra, but he has to try.

And he does have one idea of where to start.

Bucky and Sam don’t like each other very much, and that’s been the standing opinion for the last decade. Which for a hunter and vampire, is basically a lifelong friendship.

It’s at least enough that Bucky can show up at Sam’s door without immediately getting himself staked.

The door flies open and Bucky blinks, because it never fails to surprise him how old Sam has gotten. Every time, Bucky is a little bit expecting Sam-as-he-met-him, still a kid, on his first hunt and clearly terrified but so determined to save the world, so idealistic. And now he’s so jaded, older and tired and it’s just one more reminder of just how badly Bucky has fucked up.

Tony is going to go cold and tired and it will be all Bucky’s fault.

“You’re here about Hydra,” Sam says flatly, no preamble, and at least that answers Bucky’s question about whether or not Sam even knows that Hydra is setting up camp in his territory.

"Tell me where they are," Bucky demands, resisting the urge to flash his fangs just yet because he's not here to threaten answers out of anyone. Not unless he has to.

Although he doesn't find it encouraging that Sam doesn't answer, just clenches his jaw and swings the door open a little wider, letting Bucky see that the extra heartbeat he hears belongs to Clint. Standing in the hallway with a crossbow in hand.

Bucky lets his lip curl up a little, because apparently this is going to be that kind of conversation.

“What do they have against you, anyways?" Clint asks conversationally, like he's not holding a loaded weapon with an expression that says he'd really like to use it. "Seems very personal at this point."

“What, you want the entire list?” Bucky snaps and finds that he is more than willing to give the whole sordid story if that's what it takes.

But he doesn't have the time for that, Tony doesn't have the time.

Instead he grits his teeth and demands “Tell me where they would take a human hostage."

It has the desired effect, both of the hunters tense and Clint’s eyes go wide, and maybe now they’ll realize that this isn’t about him.

The only thing that matters is Tony, and Bucky doesn’t even care that he’s not just admitting to that weakness, he’s basically screaming it from the rooftops by telling them. Doesn’t care that Sam’s eyes narrow in painful understanding.

“We can’t tell you that,” Sam says and he really does sound regretful, but Bucky snarls because that is not what he wants to hear. “Even if we don’t agree with what they’ve done, they’re still—“

“If you don’t tell me, I will kill you,” Bucky interrupts, his voice low and harsh and it’s gratifying to hear the spike in heart rates, it means he still has a chance of convincing them, whether by threat or force.

“Barnes—“ Sam tries to interrupt, but Bucky doesn’t have time for this.

“And then I’ll find out where he is anyways,” Bucky promises, “the only thing you’ll accomplish is slowing me down.”

“You wouldn’t,” Clint says, but he doesn’t sound sure and his grip on the crossbow is white-knuckled, “you’ll start a war you can never come back from.”

“Try me,” Bucky hisses, flashes his teeth and lets his eyes flare. He wants them to know how deadly serious he is.

Clint raises his crossbow, but Sam sighs.

“In the old warehouse district,” Sam says, shoulders tight with anger and fear, “on the far west edge of the city.”

“You’ll regret this,” Clint calls after him as he stalks away, but Bucky knows that he won’t.

Not if he can just get to Tony in time. Nothing matters beyond making sure his selfishness doesn’t get Tony killed. He doesn’t care what it costs, Bucky is more than willing to leave everything and go on the run again, all he cares about is making sure Tony is alive to hate him.

Sam’s information is good, so at least Bucky won’t have to go back when he’s done here.

He’s been dealing with Hydra for centuries now, and Bucky can easily identify the abandoned factory as a Hydra base. It’s the new bars over the windows, the reinforced doors, the impression of movement just below the surface of the dilapidated building.

He only has a couple hours before the sun comes up, and then he’ll be trapped in the building with who knows how many Hydra hunters. He has to find Tony and get out as quickly as possible.

He has to make sure that at least gets Tony out.

Hydra are still setting up their bases more or less the same way they always have, the same holes in security, and getting into the building is easy. Finding the makeshift holding cells is even easier, on the south-most side of the building, but the problem is that all of the cells are empty.

The entire wing of the factory seems to be empty and there’s fresh blood splattered across the walls and the floor, still wet and shining in the fluorescent lights.

The building is too filled with the smell of mold and decay for him to tell whose blood it is, for him to have a hope of picking out the familiar sweet tang that means Tony.

He can hear the sounds of commotion in the distance, what sounds like screams and gunshots further into the factory. It’s the same direction the trail of spilled blood is leading, and Bucky grits his teeth as he follows it.

The base is nearly deserted. Bucky only sees a couple hunters as he follows the sounds of the fight. Everyone he runs into is scrambling for weapons or the exits, and they don’t seem to be expecting him at all. They seem like they’re afraid of something else entirely, like they’re trying to escape.

Bucky doesn’t let them.

They took Tony, and he doesn’t even want to let himself imagine what they’ve done to him. On the slim chance he manages to get Tony out of here, Bucky can’t have any of them going after him again.

He has to make sure they never even think about going after Tony again.

The sounds of screams get louder as he moves into the heart of the warehouse, up the stairs to the offices. The blood is thicker here, splattered across the walls and the floors with evidence of a struggle. Smeared like someone has been dragged down the long hallway kicking and fighting.

With every empty room and bloody handprint he passes his rage grows, and by the time Bucky reaches the last door all he can see is red.

He slams in the door so hard that it splinters apart, chunks of cheap plywood flying everywhere. There’s a smell in the air like acrid smoke, like melting electronics and fire and blood, nearly overwhelming.

Bodies litter the room, dead and dying, but all he sees is Tony.

Bucky has spent the last four hours trying not to let himself imagine all sorts of horrible things. Tony hurt, Tony dead, bleeding, tortured, screaming. Rightfully cursing Bucky for getting him into this mess, rightfully wishing they'd never met.

He’s not prepared for what he actually finds.

Tony is alive, bloodied and bruised but so vibrantly alive, a knife in his hand and a vicious smile on his face as he plunges it into the chest of a Hydra hunter.

Bucky freezes uselessly in the doorway, watching in awe as Tony rips the knife free again, paying no mind to the spray of blood as he spins on his heel. Buries his blade in the gut of someone trying to creep up behind him.

And all at once it’s over.

The room goes still as the last hunter falls with Tony’s knife in his neck, Tony’s knees against his chest baring him down to the ground.

Bucky doesn’t even need to breathe, but still he finds himself choking on air as he watches Tony slowly right himself again, looking over all the destruction he’s caused.

Then Tony looks up, catches sight of him, and the expression on his face shifts from cold and vicious to warm and happy in an instant. Bucky’s cold dead heart lurches in his chest.

“Hey sweetheart, about time you got here,” Tony says, tossing him a jaunty wave with the knife still in hand.

Bucky crosses the room almost in a daze, headless of the blood that slicks the floor and the bodies he has to step over. All he can see is Tony and as soon as he’s close enough he traces his fingers reverently along the line of Tony’s jaw, ghosting over the dark bruise starting to form.

“Are you okay?” Tony asks, nonsensically, leaning into Bucky’s hands on him like Bucky isn’t the most dangerous thing in the room.

And hell maybe he’s not, Bucky certainly doesn’t feel dangerous. Not faced with Tony’s bright eyes and warm skin.

He feels weak, feels completely undone.

Bucky laughs, soft and strangled, and he hasn’t been cold in centuries but his hands are shaking as he cups Tony’s face in his palms.

“No,” he chokes out around another laugh, because he’s not okay, not anywhere close. “I thought- I didn’t know if you were- Tony--”

“Hey, hey,” Tony cuts him off, pulling him in closer and tucking Bucky’s face down into the curve of his neck. Where Bucky can hear the rapid thump of his heart, smell the adrenaline and the sweat that clings to his skin beneath all the blood.

And oh god there’s so much blood, covering Tony’s skin and his clothes and the room around them. Bucky can barely smell Tony through it and he tucks his face a little harder into the hollow of Tony’s throat.

“I’m okay,” Tony promises, fingers of one hand pressing into Bucky’s hair, his other hand resting on Bucky’s side and still wrapped tightly around the knife. Still prepared, and Bucky has never loved him more.

He drags his tongue up the line of Tony’s neck, through smears and splatters of blood. It’s almost a disappointment, definitely a thrill, that none of it is Tony’s.

“What did you- how did you even-“ Bucky keeps interrupting himself, can’t get a full thought out. He’s too concerned with lifting his head and pressing his lips to every inch of Tony’s perfect, unharmed face.

“I keep telling you, I’m a bad bitch,” Tony says, that beautiful smug grin on his face and Bucky just has to taste it.

Tony melts into it so easily when Bucky kisses him, his hands demanding but so gentle, like the room around them isn’t full of carnage. Like Tony isn’t the one who put it there, like he doesn’t have a care in the world except letting Bucky lick into his mouth, taste the adrenaline and determination and life straight from his lips.

Bucky has never tasted anything like it, has never met anyone like Tony, and he could have lost this.

He has to get closer, closer. He doesn’t even realize he’s backing Tony across the room until the back of Tony’s thighs hit a metal table, and Bucky just keeps pushing. Until the table clangs against the wall, until Tony is bent backwards over the surface.

Bucky follows him down, breathing him in, pressing between Tony’s thighs and still trying to get closer.

The table clatters, covered in knives and crossbows and stakes and Bucky doesn’t give a fuck about any of that. It doesn’t matter how much noise he makes now, Tony is the only living person in the warehouse, the only heartbeat on this rundown block. The only thing Bucky needs to worry about.

He certainly doesn’t give a fuck about the bodies that still litter the floor except that none of them are Tony, thatTony put them there.

Bucky doesn’t care about the bridges he’s burned, has never cared less about the impending sunrise. All that matters is Tony.

And Tony isn’t pushing him away, isn’t complaining. He just hooks one leg over Bucky’s hip and arches up against him, finally dropping his knife to drag both palms up Bucky’s back, pulling him in closer.

Tony is so warm beneath him, wrapped around him, always pulling Bucky in when he should be pushing him away.

“Fuck,” Tony sighs against his lips, one hand in Bucky’s hair again. Tony’s legs tighten around his waist, entire body rolling against Bucky’s, his voice shaking slightly as he says “I was so worried about you.”

Bucky wants to laugh again, because that’s soTony, worrying about Bucky while abducted and fighting for his life. Caring about Bucky in the first place when he should have run, should still be running, should leave Bucky far behind and never think about him again.

Nevermind that the idea has pain lancing through Bucky’s chest like he didn’t even think was possible anymore. He’d take the pain of losing Tony happily if he knew it meant Tony would be safe.

He will walk away, once they get out of here, that’s what Bucky tells himself. He just has to breathe Tony in this one last time and then he’ll walk away.

If Tony will let him. Which doesn’t seem likely, so far Tony has seemed determined to stay by Bucky’s side no matter what, and Bucky can never deny him anything.

The warehouse might be empty now but there’s no telling how long it’ll be before more hunters show up, and they should be getting out of here, Bucky knows that. But he can’t tear himself away from Tony’s warmth, from Tony’s hands moving over him.

Bucky can’t stop thinking that he could have lost this. That if he hadn’t found Tony alive and well Bucky would have made an even bigger mess. There would be no end to the carnage.

When he pulls away from the kiss Tony is panting raggedly and if Bucky had the spare brain power he’d feel bad about that but oh, he really doesn’t right now. Doesn’t care about anything but pressing his lips to Tony’s blood-splattered cheek swearing “I never would have stopped looking for you, never.”

“I know,” Tony promises, still trying to pull Bucky back into another kiss despite the way his words come out weak and breathy, his chest heaving against Bucky’s and his heart thundering.

So alive, alive, alive.

“I’d have done anything to get you back,” Bucky growls, dragging one hand down Tony’s side to his hip, digging his fingers in and shifting them until he can feel the hot brand of Tony’s cock against his hip.

“Fuck!” Tony gasps and the scent of his adrenaline spikes higher, turns sweet and warm as his fingers tighten in Bucky’s hair. “I know, I know, c’mon honey--”

And Bucky can’t say no to that, can never deny Tony anything.

Still, even as he lets Tony haul his face up again Bucky can’t stop the words from spilling out, his voice an awful snarl as he says “and if they’d hurt you--”

It’s probably for the best that Tony slams their lips together again and cuts him off, he doesn’t need to know all the monstrous things Bucky would do in his name. Much better to just let Tony kiss him, let Tony flick his warm tongue over Bucky’s blood smeared lips and the tips of his fangs, like he doesn’t have a fear in the world.

Tony’s heart rate kicks up harder, his next inhale weak and ragged against Bucky’s lips and Bucky forces himself to pull away. He lets Tony catch his breath and moves on to biting his way along Tony’s jaw, not enough to break the skin, just enough to get the taste of his skin on Bucky’s lips.

He tastes like sweat and arousal and need, so much love pouring off of him that Bucky can practically taste it. He’ll never get enough of it, doesn’t ever think he’ll stop being caught off guard by it.

“I told you,” Tony pants out when he finally gets his breath back and for a second Bucky doesn’t even know what he’s talking about, too distracted with the wet drag of Tony’s lips over his cheek. “You don’t have to worry about me,” Tony says, one of his hands landing on Bucky’s ass to pull him in closer, harder, arching up into the demanding roll of Bucky’s hips as he moans out “‘m not gonna let anything happen to you either.”

Bucky laughs raggedly, grits his teeth, presses his face into the curve of Tony’s throat and the craziest part is that Bucky believes him. As crazy as it is he has no problem believing that Tony is equally ready to burn the world down. That the bloodbath around them is only the start of what Tony would have done.

The heat building between them is so intense that even Bucky feels warm, feels like he’s burning. Like he’s absorbing all that wonderful warmth and still Tony has so much to give, never runs out of it, never pushes him away.

Bucky growls, lifts his head to make it easier to resist the urge to sink his teeth in and instead rolls his hips against Tony’s, swallows Tony’s shaking moan with another fierce kiss. “You’re so- fuck, gorgeous, the way you looked tearing thorugh them--” Bucky can’t even find the words to describe it but Tony’s scent spikes, proud and smug and fond.

So damn addictive.

He can feel the needy throb of Tony’s cock against his hip, against his own when Bucky shifts a little more, and he grinds himself down against Tony. Chasing the shocks of heat and pleasure that shoot through his system everytime Tony jerks beneath him, everytime Tony cires out and drags in a ragged breath and then clings to Bucky harder, pulling him in and rocking up against him, so alive. Tony’s heels digging into the back of his thighs, hands moving restlessly over Bucky’s skin, sliding up under the back of Bucky’s shirt and leaving burning trails in his wake.

Tony feels so amazing wrapped around him, so alive, warm and demanding as his fingers dig into Bucky’s skin, his breath escaping in gasps and moans. The impossible heat between them continues to grow, until Bucky is sure it’s going to burn him away entirely, he can’t possibly survive something like this.

He can’t possibly keep it, not something like him.

“Bucky,” Tony whines and he’s shaking now, blood roaring through his veins. So close to Bucky’s fangs as he drags his lips up Tony’s throat.

“C’mon baby,” Bucky growls, clenching his teeth against the urge to bite, “lemme feel you sweet thing, wanna hear you.”

“I’m-” Tony gasps and then cuts off with a keening moan as Bucky pins him down more firmly, grinds against him harder. Tony tries to wiggle a hand between their bodies but Bucky grabs his wrist, presses Tony’s hand to the table beside his head.

“Just like this,” Bucky pleads, his own cock throbbing as he slows the rock of his hips, dragging his cock firmly along Tony’s until he shakes. “Just like this baby, wanna watch you make an even bigger mess of yourself, wanna fuckin’ lick you clean when we get home.”

It’s a nice thought, even if Bucky doesn’t know if he’ll actually get a chance, has no idea what’s going to happen next. At least the idea of it has Tony moaning louder, arching up against Bucky’s grip on his hip and on his wrist, always trying to get closer.

“Bucky, Bucky-” Tony wails beneath him, nails digging into Bucky’s skin, thighs tightening around Bucky’s hips, and Bucky can feel the way Tony’s breath catches in his chest. The way his heart pounds as he drags in one more breath and then breaks.

And this, this is Bucky’s favorite sound, the way Tony’s voice cracks on a loud moan as he falls apart, the stuttering jump-skip of his heartbeat. Hundreds of years wandering the earth and he’s never heard anything like it, could happily listen to all the sounds Tony makes for the rest of his endless life.

“Bucky,” Tony sighs, dazed and slurred, fingers still tight in Bucky’s hair even as his entire body shakes. “Fuck, c’mon honey, I’m right here, let me have it, let me feel you.”

He can hear Tony’s thundering heartbeat like it’s his own, can practically taste it on his tongue, and a feral sound rumbles out of Bucky’s chest as he tips over the edge, snarling against the all too delicate skin of Tony’s throat and clutching at him tighter, tighter.

“I love you,” Bucky confesses in a voice that’s so broken it’s practically a whisper, like his greatest secret. The worst thing he’s ever done.

They need to leave, need to get the hell out of here. Bucky should probably leave the city entirely, go back on the move, leave Tony far behind where he won’t get hurt.

That’s the plan.

He knows all that, but Bucky can’t seem to bring himself to let go, can’t stop kissing Tony over and over and over, feeling the warmth of Tony’s skin beneath his hands. Like it’s the last time he’ll ever feel it.

“Come on,” Tony breathes against his lips, “we gotta get out of here before the sun comes up.”

Bucky groans, but he knows Tony is right. He can feel the approaching dawn in his bones and the last thing he wants is to be trapped in a Hydra base full of corpses all day. Or to still be here when more hunters show up, to have to leave through the sewers.

So he reluctantly pushes himself upright, mourning the way Tony’s lingering warmth starts to fade as soon as they’re not pressed together anymore. Tony’s hand is so much steadier than his own as Bucky helps him to his feet, so warm and alive and unafraid.

Bucky wants to pull him into another kiss. Wants to drop to his knees and press his face to the wet patch slowly spreading across the front of Tony’s jeans, taste him, lick him clean just like Bucky had promised. Doesn’t want to face the real world just yet because that means facing the fact that he has to leave.

That he doesn’t get to keep this.

Tony’s hand is still steady in his, his smile small and fond and he leads Bucky out of the warehouse, through the room of bodies and the bloodsplattered halls. Bucky pulls them to a stop just outside the heavy door he’d ripped his way through, paying no mind to the lightening color of the sky.

Burning to dust would hurt less than this.

“I need to leave,” Bucky says, the words tearing their way out of his throat, “I may have... made some threats. In order to find you. And Hydra isn’t going to stop as long as I’m here.”

He hasn’t even told Tony why Hydra is so determined to ruin his afterlife, not entirely, and now he doesn’t have time. Tony has been dragged into Bucky’s mess and he’ll never know why, and the only upside is Hydra will blame the bloody mess inside on Bucky. They’ll hunt for him more furiously than ever, and the best thing Bucky can do is lead them far, far away.

This is why not getting involved with humans is rule fucking one but Bucky doesn’t regret it, knows he never will. And as much as it kills him he can’t ask Tony to come with him.

Tony nods, like he expected it, and then asks “where are we going, and how long do I have to pack whatever’s left of my apartment?”

Bucky gapes at him.

It hadn’t occurred to him that he wouldn’t need to ask, and Bucky knows he should be relieved but all he feels is guilt. He loves Tony, but at what cost? He would do anything for Tony, and Bucky is ruining his life.

“You- your home,” Bucky tries to protest, his entire body going cold, colder than anything he’s ever felt before. “Your workshop--”

“You saying I can’t rebuild?” Tony interrupts, “I’m insulted, honestly. How dare you doubt me.” His smile is wide, and cajoling, like he’s trying to cheer Bucky up. Like he’s trying to convince Bucky.

“You’ll have to leave everything,” Bucky insists and maybe he does need convincing. It feels a little like he’s lost his mind, like he’s dreaming. He had a plan. “Your entire life, to hide with me, I can’t- I can’t promise the next time you’ll even see the sun.”

Bucky doesn’t need to breathe but he’s wheezing for breath now, his empty chest aching it’s so full of confusion and guilt and hope. He can’t let Tony do this, he can’t ask for this, he can’t--

Tony grabs Bucky’s face in his warm hands, palms calloused and still tacky with blood, as steady as they are when he’s building the future. As steady as they were around the knife, as when he was leading Bucky out of the bloodbath.

“Bucky,” Tony says simply, dark eyes so impossibly bright even in the sickly fluorescent light that spills out of the warehouse. “Bucky,” he repeats, low and sweet and amused, his voice wavering slightly as says “You are my sunshine.”

Bucky laughs again, can’t believe how much he’s laughed on a night that started out with his absolute worst nightmare. Even if it is a little hysterical.

He had a plan, but he also knew better than to get involved with a human, knew better than to stay in one place this long in the first place. Tony has been wrecking all of his plans without even knowing it for months now anyways.

What’s one more.

“You’re stealin’ all my lines,” Bucky accuses but he doesn’t mind, oh he doesn’t mind at all. He gets to keep this, keep Tony, the brightest thing he’s ever seen.

“I love you,” Tony says, so matter-of-fact, and it almost knocks Bucky’s legs out from under him. Every single time.

“That’s my line,” Bucky says, and he smiles, and his hand is steady as he wraps it around Tony’s wrist. “I love you,” he says anyways and tangles their fingers together, doesn’t plan on letting go anytime soon. “Let’s go.”

[blackwidow-bby]

Never Be The Same- Mafia!Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Prompt: Mafia Boss au but y/n kidnaps the mafia boss

Warnings: Cursing, violence, gun mention and gun use, kidnapping

AN: I saw this prompt from a tiktok where someone asked "your favorite trope but reverse" so I did it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It wasn't often that you got anonymous letters sent to you by someone looking for your "services". You had left the spy life years ago with a little help from the Witness Protection Program in order to pursue a much quieter life doing...well currently you were just working as a florist. Before that you cleaned headstones at the towns local graveyard, which was scarily a lot bigger than the town you were in. You had quit that job when you got the first anonymous letter on the steps of the shed where you kept your tools. The thought of someone knowing where you worked, hell, who you were, especially when they shouldn't spooked you more than working in the graveyard around sunset.

The request wasn't for anything serious. A simple adult-napping job of some woman. The stranger who left the note definitely specified that they wanted the target alive. It would have been an easy job with some extra cash to put in your pocket, but instead you jumped ship and quit that day and moved to another apartment complex. You even went so far as to get a P.O. Box instead of using the complex's mail. The threat wasn't that big to get the government involved in relocating you again.

You almost you wish you could go back in time to the early morning before you received the letter by some covered stranger. Your skin turned white when you saw the simple little envelope with your old agent code name; Viper.

Sneaky and deadly, you always knew the perfect moment to strike. Whoever this person was had to have also been an old agent from the same organization you worked for. That was the only way you could explain away the anxiety that boiled in the pit of your stomach. Once was an instance, but twice is a hobby, you decide you'll at least think about taking the job. Opening the envelope, your heart started to pound quickly inside its cage. You can't believe you were about to put yourself in this position after leaving it for so long.

The letter read:

Dear Viper;

It has been many years since the last time I've seen your face, the first time I thought you were a ghost. Certainly after seeing your face again, I knew for sure my mind wasn't fooling me. It is with a heavy heart that I ask for your help. Unfortunately a family member of mine had found themselves in trouble with a mafia member. Unable to keep their end of whatever bargain, the mob killed him. I need you to find the person who did this to my brother and bring them to me completely unharmed. I want them conscious, I want my face to be the last ting they see before I get revenge for a member of my family ceasing to live among those that loved them.

The target's name is Natasha Romanoff. At the bottom I've left a burner number and an address if you do decide to take my offer this time, the payment will be handsomely.

Much Thanks;

Otter

Natasha Romanoff? Sounds mafia enough to you. Gods, what a messed up situation to get into. Would it really be enough to possibly have to change your identity again? What if this person was important to this group and they decided to come after you? You sat in silence thinking for a long time if any of this was really worth it. There was a tiny voice that peeped up in the back of your mind. You had been kinda bored lately, this could be the spice you need to add back an old pep in your step.

It was decided. You'll get to work searching for this person in the morning. Wow, that took so much persuasion.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You got started early the next day. Definitely not due to not being able to sleep in the first place. Oh no. Thanks to the nerves building up over putting yourself in a shitty position. Luckily for you though, this Natasha woman wasn't hard to find at all. The mafia she was affiliated with, operated in the city near the town you lived in. They also apparently seemed to operate most of their business out of a simple pet shop. This has to be the inner workings of a screen writer, you thought to yourself.

Your nerves began to get the best of you on your walk back home. It seemed like everyone's eyes were suddenly on you, like they knew exactly what you were up to. You picked up your speed and released a breath you didn't realize you were holding when you saw the steps to your apartment complex. You quickly ran inside up to your floor and slammed the door behind you. Gosh your nerves were starting to annoy you. How did you ever make it as a top agent is beyond you thinking of the position you were currently in. All feelings aside, you pressured n to pack for the trip you'll soon be taking to the city. It was going to be another long night.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Your trip to the city was surprisingly smooth. Light traffic. Sun was out. If not for this little mission, if you could call it that, the day would have been perfect to do some sight seeing. You found the "pet shop" just as easy as well. You set up camp on the side of the street in front of the building to see if your target would possibly show up today. You were really hoping this didn't turn into a multi-day stake out. just wanting to get all of this over as quickly as possible so you can go back into hiding again.

It took about 7 hours, well into the late afternoon, before you spotted her walk in. Surprisingly, she was alone. Perfect, time to move in. You got out of your car and casually walked around the side of the business to see if there happened to be a door. The alleyway of the building was dark enough that anyone on the street wouldn't be able to see in. The sound of a creaky metal door could be heard just around the corner. You guess the back will have to do. As you got closer to the sound, you saw the woman in the back of the building talking with a man. You couldn't make out a single word they were saying. Their conversation wasn't important though, only getting her to Otter was.

Your heart began to race as the moment to make your move came closer. This is what you had trained for your whole life. The stealth and ability to make a move without anyone around you knowing until it was too late. Your eyes trained on the red-head in the back of the building. You gave a silent prayer to whoever was listening that the person she was with, would leave her alone for just one second. That's all you needed; one second.

Suddenly, it was as if all of the puzzle pieces fell into place. He left to go back inside. Time slowed down in an instant. You immediately released a breath through your mouth and moved in. You could see every single moment, all of the steps you took right up to behind her. Watching her turn around carefully but never hearing you step up behind her. At the very last second when she had finally caught sight, one hand reached but to grab her arm and pin it behind her back while the other reached around her head with a chloroform rag to incapacitate her.

The hard part was done. The red-haired woman fell limp in your arms, so you maneuvered her into a bridal position to easily carry her to your car. Time was of the essence. Someone would be coming to look for her soon. Swiftly and quietly, you walked back through the alley and reached your car. Knowing you had some time before she woke up, you could stop later to tie her hands and legs once you were farther away from the city. You placed her down in the back seat before getting in the front and driving away. You let out the most dramatic exhale and looked for the letter Otter had given you of his number and location.

One ring

Two rings

So you did take my offer?

Yes, I'm headed to the location now.

Excellent, thank you for your work.

Yeah, whatever.

Click

You drove on for another half an hour before you reached the location. It was an old abandoned warehouse settled 20 minutes in the opposite direction from the city. The sun was completely settled at this point making the surroundings very dark. The sky had an almost purple glow from the towns nearby lights. Getting out, you circled the car to the back passenger door to remove the woman and bring her inside. She was still passed out from the chloroform only stirring slightly as you picked her up.

Maybe it was the exhaustion catching up to you, but you don't remember her being this heavy. Trudging the knocked out woman inside, you found a small chair and placed her down. Your timing was sort of off and thought better to tie down her hands and legs now before checking her pockets for any weapons or forms of identification. The woman's head lulled from left to right while you searched. You found a knife on her belt holster, a small revolver tucked in the back of her pants, a wallet, and a set of keys but not car keys. Her eyes started to flutter while you fingered through the wallet. Nothing important, a drivers license, a couple of business cards from the "pet store", and a what looked like a family photo. The people in the photo looked familiar to you, very familiar.

"What are you doing with that?" The woman mumbled in your direction. You looked her in the eye not saying anything. The woman was gorgeous with the single light shining down on her causing an angelic glow upon the crown of her head. Her red tresses seemed to almost burn in your presence. You looked away from her and continued to inspect the photo she kept in her wallet.

"Who are these people with you?"

Her head lulled once more, "Why do you want to know?"

"Answering a question with a question won't help you. What is your affiliation with the mafia?"

"I'm their fucking boss."

In that instance your eyes widened. Of course, that's why the men in the photo looked familiar to you. She was the fucking heir to one of the top mafia rings in the country. This idiot, Otter, wanted you to bring in the living heir and current head hancho for what she did to a simple family member that got caught up in the wrong group. The sweat was beginning to pour now that you realized you were absolutely fucked.

Before you could say anything else, Otter, the man of the hour, busted trough the doors.

"Viper! I knew I could count on you!"

"What the fuck man?! You really had me capture the fucking mafia BOSS?! We're both going to be fucked if you don't explain everything right now, Otter." You were sweating rivers at this point. Utterly frustrated and hot in the warehouse. The red-head was slowly coming to 100% but her eyes still couldn't fully focus.

"Calm down Viper. Your work is done with me. I'll cover everything up and you can go back to your quiet life."

"Over?! If you don't give me a very good reason to leave her here in your possession, I'm taking her with me." you were shouting at this point. The red-head was now staring at the both of you dumbfounded at the whole situation everyone was in.

"She killed my brother!" You swore you could see steam coming off of his head. "She killed him and left him to rot!"

"Your brother was nothing but scum who tried to steal weapons from me to sell for himself." She had responded this time. Otter quickly pulled out a gun from his pocket and aimed it at the woman.

"He would never have done anything to harm his family or himself!"

She didn't falter her glare one single bit, even with a weapon pointed at her head. "He'd be living a healthy fulfilling life had he not crossed me."

He cocked the gun this time. "Shut up you stupid bitch!"

A smirk played on her lips, she was enjoying getting a rise out of him. Like she knew something the both of you didn't know. Like she knew no matter her outcome someone would always be out there searching for both of you for the rest of your lives until you got caught, or god forbid, kill yourselves to keep from being caught. Your nerves were spiking again, you couldn't let Otter kill Natasha Romanoff.

You sucked a quick gasp. Otter didn't notice but Natasha did. You had her gun.

Natasha's eyes darted back and forth between you and Otter. He was getting upset at the fact that her attention wasn't solely on him. The arm that was holding the gun stopped its falter and held up straight to Natasha's face. "Look at me! I want my face to be the last thing you see when I kill you, you stu-"

BANG

Natasha jumped. She had seen the whole thing take place but didn't really expect you to do it. She could see the tremble in in your hands as they stayed in the same spot. Your eyes were wide, lip quivering, you couldn't believe what you had done and now you had a new problem to cover up. Natasha had a look of empathy in her eyes. You didn't want to be in this position from the get go and it had only gotten worse for you.

"Hey, look at me..." Natasha spoke up softly to break your trance. She had leaned her body towards you in a manner to reach out. "You can put the gun down, its going to be okay now." Your eyes darted down to the gun and back up to Natasha's green eyes. Still shaking you slowly lowered the gun to the ground before you walked over to her cautiously. Tears were falling down your face, the weight of the situation was hitting you. If you had never agreed to Otter's request, you would be cozied up in your bed, awaiting another new day.

Your fingers found Natasha's bound wrists. her skin was surprisingly cool to the touch. She stared at your face the whole time you unwrapped her from the chair. The fresh tears leaving clear trails down your slightly dirtied cheeks. The slight glow of your e/c eyes under the florescent lights of the warehouse. You knelt down in front of her to then remove the binding on her ankles. Something within her compelled her to reach out to you. Without even realizing it, the red-heads palm was already resting on your head. She reveled in the silky smooth feel of your h/c locks. The slight dampness from the sweat that had overcome your skin. She could feel the softness of your fingers slowly circling around her last ankle when your sad eyes looked up to hers.

"How did you manage to capture me without anyone seeing you?" Her hand slipped down to your cheek. "In all of my years, I have not once not heard someone creep up behind me the way you did."

The steady stream of tears grew heavier, your quiet life was about to be destroyed by your own need for a change. She would certainly have your feet for getting a one up on her.

"It was my job. I was known for being so light on my toes, no one could hear me coming." your voice wavered, but the words got out.

"Well I could use someone like you by my side." Natasha held out her hand to you as she got up on her feet. Not really having her ground, she nearly fell when you caught her by the waist. The two of you held your breath as you both stared deeply into each others eyes. You could swear if you inhaled, her scent would be enough to drive you mad. "My guys will cover all of this up for you."

You sat and thought about everything she said. The would would probably prove more exciting than working at a flower shop and probably be more fruitful. You smiled at her. You could feel her warm breath near your lips.

"When do I start?"

[spices-and-cherries]

Rampage (Chapter 3)

JAMES BOND X READER

Chapter 3 is finally out! Is it rough? Yes. Is it months late? Yes. Do I care? No. Why? Because I’m having fun writing it! This chapter does feel a little rushed even though I tried to draw it out. I dunno. Is he too ooc?

I did not reference race, gender, sexuality, or physical appearance. If I missed something, please let me know so I can change it!

Warnings: violence, death, car chase, car accident, alcohol, angst

Masterlist:

Chapter 3: Parcel

James had been too preoccupied to bother following the movements of the remaining men, but he had heard whispers a year ago about a club being formed with some very similar faces affiliated with it. 

What if Keery's husband hadn't died afterall? And this was some sort of sick and twisted revenge plan? 

For the first time in a long while, James had genuinely no idea what to do.

"Hey." A hand waved in front of his face. "Hey!" He blinked as his eyes focused on the woman in front of him. "Are you okay?" He runs a hand through his hair. 

"That paper could be the key to save someone's life. Just... Let me look at it and I'll give it back. I promise."

After a long pause, she holds the paper out in front of her. Taking it, he quickly reads it. Like he thought, it was a receipt involving some sort of business deal with The End Club. Arms trading?

"How did this get into the hands of Slane?"

"That's what I want to figure out too." The woman snatches the paper back. 

"What's your connection to them?"

"...Why should I tell you?"

"Depending on what's going on here, I can help you."

"It's a secret." She turned and started for the door.

"Judging by the fact that you have a gun and sneaking about a place like this, you're out for blood, but the thing is, you don't really know how to shoot, do you?"

"...I don't see how it's any of your business!" She stopped, her back turned to him and her fists clenched. 

"Well, if we were to run into each other, which we undoubtedly will, I don't exactly want to be shot on accident in the crosshairs." He walked towards her. "You help me by telling me everything I need to know and I'll make sure your bullet hits the mark."

"How do I know you're not lying?"

"Because I have a strong feeling we're looking for the same people."

-----

"I know a place where we can get a booth." The girl - Violet - pulled out of her parking spot, apparently dead-set on getting a drink. He, for once, could very much do without. Drinking vodka martini's were just the distraction he very much did not need at the moment. But he needed information and was now working on someone else's time. Maybe the drinks will chase the worry away.

Had they hurt you? Did you get fed? Had they taken advantage of you? Were you injured? 

A finger snapped in front of his face. 

"Wake up! We're here!" When he got out of the car, the cold air hit him right in the face. It brought him out of his little spell - or at least enough to make him think coherently. 

"...Vodka martini. Don't care how."

"And a chocolate martini, please."

"A what, miss?"

"Make that two vodka martini's." He butt in, ordering for her. 

"What the hell?"

"I should be asking you that."

"What? Chocolate martinis are good."

"And for children."

"...So what will it be?" Asked the waiter, looking confused.

"Just get me a martini." Violet sighed, glaring at James before going back to the menu. "Could you please add mozzarella sticks to that?" The waiter nodded and rushed away. She clasped her hands and looked him straight in the eye. "So. What do you want to know?"

"Everything."

"...My father used to work for a meat company." She leaned back in her seat and put her hands in her lap. "At one point, when I was really little, the company was taken over by a new owner and they renamed the place to End Club Meats & Co. My father - being one of the engineers or whatever - was one of the people they kept around. I guess his type are hard to come around. As the years went by, he seemed to be home less and less until one day, some men knocked on our door and informed us that he had died in a work accident." She paused when the drinks were set on the table. "A few years ago, I was contacted by one of his coworkers who claimed that there was more to it than that. Apparently, he'd been called to the head office and never came out. I've been trying to find out who did it and why ever since."

"And Slane?"

"I found his name somewhere and thought he was connected somehow. I was trying to find out how when you found me."

"What are you going to do now?

"Uh, trace the receipts back to who was involved and kill them. Of course, that's easier said than done considering I have no idea what I'm doing." James briefly wondered how she hadn't been killed in her sleep already.  

"Are you familiar with the name Stone? He's a henchman of sorts."

"...No? I don't believe so. Now, can you please tell me what any of this has to do with you? I'd like to know my protector a little more." There was an edge of sarcasm in her voice that he simply didn't feel like humoring. 

"I work for her Majesty as an agent, meaning-"

"You're a copper. Got it. Move on." He really didn't like her tone.

"Meaning, that I go after people in the underground who are like Slane and worse. A few years ago, I had to track down this man named Keery. His drug trafficking organization had a headquarters in France, disguised as a very large butcher warehouse." A look of realization dawned on Violet's face. "Keery died with many of his subordinates, but I seemed to have overlooked one."

"So the missing person you were talking about is the one you... forgot?"

"No, not exactly." He took a sip of his drink. The burn cleared his mind a little. "My life expectancy is, statistically speaking, low and..." James paused, realizing that he was talking more about himself than he normally would. It felt wrong.

"And...?"

"And it's the same for those close to me." It felt wrong, but he found it liberating at the same time. 

"So something happened?" Violet's voice became soft.

"Yes." James rubbed his face with his hands, suddenly feeling a wave of exhaustion. 

"So let me guess, the End Club is run by someone who wants to take revenge on you by taking this... person away? And now you need to find them?"

"Yes." 

"...Normally I wouldn't do this, I still can't tell if you're lying or not, but let me take you back to my place. We can come up with a plan and get some rest..." James looked up at her incredulously. "What? I got this far - you're not getting rid of me until all this is over. Besides, I have my own bone to pick..."

-----

"- And that's the couch where you'll be sleeping. I'll be right back - I need to get you something to sleep in..." She disappeared into her room. After several minutes of muffled cussing and the sounds of things falling over, she came out. "I hope this is okay. It's all I got." She tossed a bundle of clothes at him. It was a pair of basketball shorts and a t-shirt. 

"Thanks." 

"No prob-" She was interrupted by a beeping noise at the door. 

"Ms. Dunby, there's a parcel for you downstairs."

"Shit. Okay, I'll be back. I forgot that I had something coming." She hurried to put some shoes on and rushed out the door. At first, James thought nothing of it, but when he checked the time, realization dawned on him. It's almost two in the morning. Who would be getting a parcel at this time of the night?

Grabbing his gun, he ran out into the hallway and hopped three stairs at a time in the stairwell. Violet wasn't in the lobby. He hears a car door slam out on the street. He caught a glimpse of Violet's face pressed against the window of an expensive black car just as it drove away.

Without a second thought, he ran out into the street and, seeing Violet’s old camry, he punched the window to let himself in. After making quick work of hotwiring the vehicle, it came to life. 

Tires screeching, he chased the black car through tight alleyways and around sharp turns, when suddenly they were on a main road with surprisingly little traffic. 

He stepped on the gas. 

In seconds he was within feet of the vehicle. The driver tried to swerve in an effort to out maneuver him, but James didn't have the energy for playing the race game. 

In a burst of speed, he ran his car into the back of the black car - hard - and pushed it so it scrapped against the guardrails along the side of the road, sparks flying. They came to a bumpy stop when they plowed into a lamppost. 

He clambered out as soon as he could, stumbling over a scrap of junk, and made his way - gun out - to the wrecked car. The driver seemed to be dead, but he couldn't-

"RAGHH!" A big figure slammed open the car door and leapt on him. He flew to the ground with what felt like a ton right on top of him. His gun spun away, leaving him defenseless. A fist slammed into his face. Not having a lot of room to move, James jabbed the man's neck as hard as he could. It gave him a few moments to get the man off of him and identify his attacker.

It, with some stroke of luck, was Stone. The very man he was looking for.

Stone got up, spat, and then threw himself into his stomach - forcing him back down to the ground. The two of them rolled around on the asphalt. One second his face was being ground into the road and another he'd be holding Stone in a choke hold. 

"Where did you take them?" James growls, kneeing Stone in the gut. 

"Who the fuck are you talking about?" Stone's big hand slammed James's face into the ground. His ears were ringing.

"(Y/N)!"

"Huh. You must be James Bond." Stone smiled, but it was wiped away with James's elbow. James managed to roll away and get back up.

"In the flesh." 

"Well, I'm afraid to say that I won't tell you shit." Stone barreled into him again, but this time James was ready and managed to keep his feet grounded. He kneed Stone again and again - slowly letting his frustration loose. 

"Then I'm afraid I'll have to make you." Stone's grip on him tightened as he knocked James's feet out. 

"Not like this, you won't." After a couple hard punches, Stone gripped his neck. His hands scrambled, trying to get Stone off of him. He was beginning to see double. "I'm starting to feel sorry for ya." Stone laughed. "Don't worry - your partner is just fine. They're getting fed - but that was as of yesterday."

A shot rings out, the grip on his neck leaves, and Stone's shoulder is bleeding. But James doesn't notice.

All he can see is red.

What a big man. A scary looking man. He was the big scary looking man that took you. Where are you? Why won't Stone tell him where you are?

His fists are burning.

And then suddenly Stone is under him, saying something. He watches as his nose slowly crumples, as his teeth were turning red, as his eyes became glossy, as -

"James!" Hands are on his shoulder, nails digging in. He growls as his fist seamlessly gets ready to strike. A clammy hand wraps around his wrist. "JAMES!" Violet is looking at him with frantic eyes. "He's already dead, so stop it!" He looks back down. Stone's face was almost unrecognizable.

Had he done that?

-----

Whoops. Angsty Bond feels... Anyway, this is the first series I’ve written in a long while and the first I’ve ever written for Bond, so feel free to give me some feedback! Just be nice about it - I’m sensitive. Also! I'm in the middle of reading Layercake. When I’m done I’ll watch the movie - so look out for some headcanons on our nameless protagonist in the near future! If y’all have any ideas, feel free to send them my way!

- Simpy

[refinedbuffoonery]

Looking Through A Window (3)

macriley married undercover au

masterlist.

Fun fact: the final scene of this chapter is part of my original brainstorm for this fic. The rest of the scenes I initially dreamt up won’t come until much later, so I’m thrilled to have at least one of them come early on in the story. 

To Carrie and Anna, the lights of my life: I named the neighbor after you two. She’s annoying as shit and nothing like either of you, but I needed a name and decided if anyone deserves to have their name as an Easter egg, it’s the two of you. 

*****

Despite the storm, Matty has the shipment of borrowed guns delivered to the Port of Houston in the middle of the night. While they eat breakfast, Mac and Riley study Matty’s excruciatingly detailed directions for navigating the port and finding their shipping crate. She certainly didn’t make it easy on them. 

Riley leans back in her chair, looking around until her eyes land on Harley. “Time for you to earn your keep,” she says between mouthfuls of toast. 

Supposedly, this is what Harley specializes in—sniffing out weapons. The dog should be able to confirm which shipping container the guns are stashed in without Mac or Riley having to check themselves. Theoretically. 

Mac finishes his own plate of eggs and toast in a few ravenous bites. “Thanks for making breakfast.” He gets up to clear the plates and start rinsing dishes. After living with her for more than a year, Riley making breakfast is routine, but Mac still thanks her for it every day. 

Living in the apartment together, they fall right back into their old habits. Mac wakes up early and goes for a run. By the time he returns, Riley is awake and making breakfast. After they eat, Mac showers while Riley goes on her own run. And so on and so forth. 

While Mac was out this morning, he wove through the whole neighborhood, making sure it’s safe for Riley to go out alone. She can handle herself, but Mac has no delusions about the overall quality of men on the streets, and even though he can’t fix that, at least he can help minimize her chances of encountering creepy dudes. 

Before they leave for the Port, Mac and Riley scour their car for a bug or any other surveillance equipment the organization might’ve hidden while they were inside the warehouse talking to Conrad yesterday. They find none. Thankfully. 

Once again, they’re going in armed, and the weight of Mac’s gun feels just as foreign and unwelcome as it did yesterday. He tries not to fidget with it while Riley drives, but she notices his discomfort anyway. “You’ve got to relax,” she says. “All your squirming is stressing me out.” 

“Sorry.” Mac stills, even though his whole body screams to put the gun somewhere else. 

Anywhere else. 

Once they arrive at the Port, Mac guides Riley through the maze of cranes and crates and warehouses until they find the one Matty had the guns stashed in—dark green and otherwise nondescript. 

Unfortunately, there are multiple shipping containers that fit that description at the location Matty provided. As they get out of the SUV, Riley glances between the boxes nervously. “Uhh, which one is it?” 

Mac doesn’t have a clue. “I guess that’s for Harley to tell us.” He looks down at the dog standing obediently beside him. “Find it.” 

He releases the leash as Harley takes off like a rocket, sniffing each container and the surrounding area. She inspects more than half of them before sitting and looking back at Mac. He waits for her to bark, but she doesn’t. Whoever trained her clearly did so with stealth in mind. 

“Do we open it to double check?” Riley asks. 

Mac opens his mouth to say yes, but he doesn’t get a chance to answer before a muddy, dark-blue diesel truck parks beside their SUV. Conrad jumps out of the driver’s seat, accompanied by two younger men, wearing matching scowls and Carhartt jackets. He walks with that same entitled swagger, and a cheap smile spreads across his face. 

“Mr. Turner!” Conrad exclaims, shaking Mac’s hand. His grip is too firm to be friendly. Stepping back, he sneers at Riley, acknowledging her just long enough to impatiently say, “Genevieve.” Mac doesn’t miss the way Conrad’s eyes drop to Riley’s chest, nor the way Riley bristles beside him, wrapping her jacket more tightly around her and crossing her arms to hold it in place. Mac clears his throat. “Sorry,” Conrad says, not sounding sorry at all, “but your wife is very attractive.” 

Riley rolls her eyes so hard they nearly fall out of her head. 

“Your order is this way,” Mac says, cutting off Conrad before he could make another gross statement, “Follow me.” Mac puts a hand on Conrad’s shoulder, squeezing hard as he steers the man toward the shipping container. Harley is still sitting beside it, waiting patiently, and Mac scratches her head with his free hand. 

Riley whistles, a single sharp note that sends Harley running back to her side. Mac buries his relief that she’s not alone, although he’d still much rather the hulking bodyguards were closer to him than Riley. 

Focus, Mac reminds himself. Riley can hold her own. Just get this over with. 

Mac opens the container, revealing two nondescript wooden crates. Still sneering—at this point, Mac’s starting to think that’s the only expression Conrad is capable of—Conrad waves over his bodyguards, gesturing for them to open the crates. 

For just a second, Conrad’s sneer edges toward a smile. Inside the crates lie exactly what he ordered: military-grade, semi-automatic rifles and enough ammo to kickstart the apocalypse. Mac’s gut churns. He hates this. He hates everything about this. He hates that he’s arming terrorists. He hates how these men look at Riley like dogs drooling over a steak. He hates that he can’t do anything about any of it, that he has no choice but to play along. 

Mac wishes he could bury his feelings the way Riley does, locking them behind a carefully controlled mask. Instead, his linger just beneath the surface, waiting to make themselves known at the first available opportunity. 

Counting backward from five, he steels himself to finish the game. Just as Conrad brushes a reverent finger down the barrel of a rifle, Mac chides, “We followed through on our end of the bargain. Did you?” 

“Of course.” 

One of the bodyguards pulls out his phone. In a deeper voice than Mac expects, he says, “We can wire the payment to your bank account right now.” 

“Good. My wife will help you set that up.” Mac gestures to Riley, and the bodyguard walks over to her. 

Conrad extends his hand, and Mac takes it, trying not to wince when his arm brushes his concealed gun. “Pleasure doing business with you, James,” Conrad says. 

“I hope this is the beginning of a long and prosperous partnership.” Long and prosper? Who was he, Spock? 

“Indeed. Welcome to the Patriots.” Conrad gestures for his men to start loading the guns into their truck. “Expect another order within the week.” 

Mac doesn’t know how to respond to that. Thankfully he doesn’t have to, because Riley waves him over, apparently having finished her conversation with Conrad’s lackey. “I’ll leave you to it,” Mac says, then turns his back on the terrorists and rejoins Riley. On instinct, he reaches for her arm as he murmurs, “Are you okay?” 

Riley tenses under his touch, but doesn’t pull away. “Yeah, I’m fine.” 

“Good.” He said the same thing to Conrad just a minute ago. Good. But the word is light years different from before—soft and caring, not curt and vaguely challenging. Bozer pointed it out to him once, how he talks to Riley differently than he does anyone else. 

Mac shakes off the thought. He can’t get distracted, no matter how much his mind only wants to think about Riley. Releasing her arm, he says, “Let’s get out of here.”

*****

Back at the apartment, Riley settles in on the couch to dig into the Patriots' bank records. By wire-transferring the money instead of paying them in cash, Conrad practically offered up the organization's entire digital footprint on a silver platter, at least to someone like Riley. She doesn't speak as she works, so Mac listens to the melody of keyboard clicks while he makes them each a grilled cheese. 

Contrary to popular belief, he's not completely incompetent, although Bozer has nearly everyone convinced otherwise. Mac will never be able to cook something fancy, but he does make a mean sandwich. 

He even spreads mayo on the bread, the way Bozer does, because Riley prefers it that way. 

The sizzle of the sandwiches hitting the hot pan joins the keyboard clicks right as Riley announces, "I hacked into their bank records." 

"What've you got?" 

"From the look of it, the shell corp they used to pay us has only been around for four months. Before that, they must've either paid in cash or used personal accounts." 

"That makes sense though, since the Patriots haven't been around all that long." 

"That's what I thought at first, but come look." Mac does, leaning over the back of the couch so his head is right beside hers. Riley points at the screen. "The first three transactions were all big deposits, each one two weeks apart." 

Frowning, Mac squints at the tiny numbers on the screen. "One hundred thousand dollars?" 

"Times three deposits," Riley adds. 

"Where the hell did they get that kind of money?"

"I don't know. The deposits were cash." 

“Damn. Did you at least figure out who their previous arms dealer was?” 

“Yeah.” Riley shifts, causing her hair to tickle Mac’s nose, and he brushes her hair to the opposite side of her neck without another thought. “Turns out their previous dealer has Mexican cartel connections, which explains why the Patriots only paid them twice. I’m guessing they found out about the cartel part and broke it off before they made a long-term deal.” 

“At least they’re not complete idiots,” Mac mumbles. Tired of squinting, he leans closer to better see the screen. 

Except now they’re cheek to cheek, and Mac suddenly can’t focus on the screen at all. 

Riley twists to look at him, and it takes every ounce of Mac’s willpower not to glance at her lips. "Are you burning my grilled cheese?" 

"No." He straightens, simultaneously disappointed and relieved by the space now between them. Mac shakes off the thought. He can’t keep getting distracted like this. 

"Uh huh. Sure." 

Retreating to the kitchen, Mac calls, "That was one time!"

*****

As expected, they don’t hear anything from Conrad or the Patriots the following day. Mac doesn’t know what to do with all the downtime on this op. There are plenty of books in the apartment, but he’s too restless to sit and read. He opens the fridge, more out of boredom than actual hunger. 

They’re on day five of the undercover op, and it’s starting to feel an awful lot like quarantine. With nothing to do but hurry up and wait, hanging out in the apartment and doing nothing is starting to make Mac go a little stir crazy. 

When Riley emerges from the bedroom wearing workout clothes, it’s clear she feels the same way. “I’m going for a run,” she announces. 

“Want company?” He hopes she says yes. Anything to get out of the apartment for a while. 

Riley unplugs her phone from the charger and slides it into her pocket. “No offense, but no.” 

Dammit. Mac shoves down his disappointment. “None taken.” He closes the fridge. Nothing in there looks good. 

“Tell you what,” she says. “After I get back we can go to the space museum, okay?” 

His heart skips a beat at her offer. “Is it that obvious I’m bored?” 

“Yes.” Riley gives him a pitying smile. “So do you want to go?” 

Mac smiles. It feels like she just asked him out on a date. It’s not, but it feels like one anyway. Be cool. “What kind of question is that? Of course I do.” 

“Okay then.” Popping in her earbuds, she walks out the door. 

“Enjoy your run, muffin!” Mac calls, stealing Bozer’s go-to pet name for when he’s undercover with Riley. She reaches back inside to flip him off before slamming the door shut, and Mac chuckles. Riley really hates that nickname.

Now it’s just him, Harley, and this tiny apartment. 

Resuming his search for food he’s not even hungry for, Mac opens the pantry, and Harley comes running into the kitchen. She must’ve learned the sound of the door opening since they keep the dog food in there. Harley looks up at Mac expectantly. 

“Don’t look at me like that.” She whines, and her pleading expression reminds Mac of the wide-eyed look Bozer mastered as a kid while begging his parents for something. Neither are very effective. “You just had breakfast an hour ago,” he insists.  

Harley glances at the open pantry, then back at him. 

Mac doesn’t give in, but he does kneel to pet her instead, scratching Harley’s neck and ending up with a handful of hair. Frowning, Mac digs through every drawer in the kitchen in search of a dog brush. No luck. He checks the bedroom and bathroom, coming up empty once again. Who even organized this house? It makes no sense. His gaze lands on the laundry room door. 

Ah. 

Sure enough, there’s a dog brush on the shelf above the washing machine. 

Leash and brush in-hand, Mac calls out, “Alright, girl. Let’s go de-floof you.” 

Harley takes one look at the brush and sprints in the other direction. 

Well this is going to be harder than Mac anticipated. 

He ends up chasing Harley throughout the apartment, zig-zagging from one room to the next. Every time Mac gets close, Harley slips by, just out of reach. After the fourth time she sends Mac stumbling into the furniture after lunging for her and missing, he realizes what she’s doing. 

Harley is playing him. This is a game to her. And, so far, she’s winning. 

Mac stares the dog down, and she seems to narrow her eyes in response. “Challenge accepted,” he tells her. 

This time, he knows exactly where to find what he’s looking for—peanut butter. He smears an unnecessarily large glob into Harley’s dog bowl, making sure she sees exactly what he’s doing. Harley’s stubborn, and does a good job of appearing not to care, but Mac has a hard time believing any dog would turn down peanut butter. 

Harley, it turns out, is no exception. 

She follows him to the door, and Mac rewards her with a few licks of peanut butter while he clips on the leash, careful not to let her eat so much that there’s not enough to last while brushing her. Despite Harley’s obvious enjoyment of the peanut butter, Mac is no fool. She let him win this round, no doubt about it. 

He leads Harley down the stairs to the small lawn in front of the apartment building, where it wouldn’t matter if he left dog hair everywhere. The brush pulls away thick chunks of her undercoat with each pass, and it doesn’t take long for the lawn to look like something died there. 

The peanut butter, unfortunately, doesn’t last nearly as long as Mac hopes. 

Mac figures out pretty quickly that Harley does not like her tail being brushed; she turns away and tucks her tail and generally makes it impossible for Mac to reach it. He sits back on his heels, formulating a new strategy. “If I don’t brush your tail,” he says, “you’re going to look like a squirrel, and neither of us wants that.” 

Harley’s ears prick at the word squirrel. 

Mac tries again, and this time Harley lets him…sort of. It’s not perfect, but at least she won’t be leaving hair all over the apartment anymore—hair that he needs to vacuum, because Riley asked him to last night and he’d completely forgotten until now. Tucking the brush into his back pocket, Mac scratches Harley’s ears the way he learned she likes, and when she leans into his touch, Mac’s heart swells. 

“Good girl.” He kisses her head, and Harley licks his chin in return. “See? We’re not so bad.” Mac sighs. “I know we’re not who you wanted, but we’re going to take good care of you.” 

Riley made the same promise in the war room. Even if she doesn’t stay with them after the op, Mac will make sure Harley ends up with people who will love her for the rest of her life. 

“I promise,” he murmurs into her fur, kissing her head again.

Mac startles when a feminine voice calls, “You could make a whole other dog from all that hair.” A middle-aged woman stands in the walkway, oversized blue purse on her shoulder and car keys in hand. She smiles at Mac. “I haven’t seen you before. Did you just move in?” 

“Yeah,” Mac says, standing up. “My wife and I moved in this week.” 

“Well, welcome. My name is Carrie Ann, and my husband and I live in apartment 317. Feel free to stop by anytime. I think you’ll like living here, though I must warn you that it gets pretty loud during football season.” 

Mac nods. “Nice to meet you. I’m James.” He expects Carrie Ann to keep walking—presumably to her car—but she doesn’t, and Mac suddenly gets the feeling this conversation is about to be much longer than he wants. 

“And who is this cutie?” she asks, directing her attention to the dog. 

“This is Harley.” 

Carrie Ann sounds like a squeaker toy, greeting Harley in a voice so high-pitched it’s almost inhuman and petting her without bothering to ask for permission. Harley eyes the woman warily but surprisingly sits still. “I love dogs,” she says at a mercifully normal decibel. “Sadly my husband is allergic.” 

“That is unfortunate.” Mac shifts from foot to foot, eager to escape the small talk. He’s never really had the patience for it. 

Carrie Ann, it seems, is completely oblivious to his discomfort. She prattles on, asking asinine questions about what he does for work, if he’s been to the coffee place down the street, and when she can meet his wife. 

Mac doesn’t know if it’s a blessing or a curse when Riley appears in his peripheral vision, as if on cue. “Actually,” he says to Carrie Ann, “you can meet her right now.” Mac flashes Riley a wide, bright smile that she returns half-heartedly, chest still heaving after her run. Sweat glistens on her body, and a few wispy curls that escaped her ponytail are now plastered to her face. “This is my wife, Genevieve.” 

Giving Harley a quick scratch, Riley stands beside him, close enough that Mac can feel the heat radiating off her body. Instinctively, he starts to put a hand on her back, but he quickly pulls away. She’s not wearing a shirt—only a sports bra and those stupidly tight leggings—and the intimacy of putting his hand on her bare skin is too much to handle. “Hi,” she says, completely oblivious to Mac’s internal panic. 

Carrie Ann introduces herself again, and Mac is only half-listening while she and Riley chat. Riley’s so much better at small talk anyway. 

He’s much too focused on how Riley grabs his shoulder to use him for balance while she stretches. She’s so casual about it, like she’s done it a million times before. His skin burns under her touch. 

Mac wants to feel more of her, wants his whole body to feel like that. 

Stop it, he chastises himself. Stop thinking about her like that. 

He can’t. 

Even after Riley lets go, the feeling lingers, and Mac can’t stop thinking about that too. She’s standing slightly in front of him now, almost as if she’s protecting him from their nosey neighbor.

“When are you having kids?” Carrie Ann coos. “An attractive couple such as yourselves would make such beautiful children.” 

Shit. He and Riley never talked about that. 

Before Mac can come up with an answer, Riley pulls his arms around her, a smile blooming on her face. She guides his hands to rest low on her abdomen. “We’re actually trying right now.” 

Mac’s brain short-circuits. 

He blushes, both at the casual intimacy of Riley wrapping herself in him and at the implications of what she just said. Pressing her body fully into Mac’s, Riley looks up at him, smiling like he’s her whole world, and Mac’s heart stops. He’s not breathing. 

His whole body burns, and the feeling is so much more intense than he imagined just seconds ago. 

Alight with mischief, Riley’s dark brown eyes draw him in, and suddenly Mac is picturing Riley with that exact same expression while wearing far less clothing. 

Mac thinks he might die from spontaneous combustion. 

You are so beautiful, he barely stops himself from saying. His blush deepens as he’s snared in the mental image of him and Riley doing said “trying.” 

Their neighbor has the audacity to laugh. “Well, I’ll let you get back to it, Genevieve. Your husband looks like he’s ready for another round.” 

That makes it worse. So much worse. If he doesn’t spontaneously combust, then he’ll definitely die of embarrassment. It’s not how he wants to die, but it’s better than explaining his reaction to Riley. Because she’s going to ask him about it. Mac knows this—knows this like he knows grass is green and gravity is what keeps his feet on the ground.

As soon as Carrie Ann leaves, Riley does exactly that. She extricates herself from his grasp, putting her hands on her hips and furrowing her brow the way she always does when she knows something’s up. “Are you okay?” she asks. 

Mac’s voice is strained as he replies, “Yeah. I’m good.” 

He is not good. He is definitely not good. 

And Riley knows it. 

This op feels like all Mac’s worst nightmares coming to fruition. Simultaneously. 

Riley can’t know. Her knowing would ruin everything—their friendship, their work, their trust. Mac can hardly look her in the eye. How is Riley supposed to trust him when he’s secretly thinking about her like that? He’s her friend; he’s supposed to protect her from guys who want her like that, not become one of them. 

But god does Mac want to be one of them. Not one of them, he corrects himself. The only one. 

He’s screwed.

.

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[chuuyasnumber1simp]

Toxic- Dazai x GN! Reader

warnings: mentions of suicide, aftermath of attempted suicide, depictions of violence and torture, kidnapping, brief mentions of self harm, Dazai being toxic and borderline emotionally abusive but he has a reason, he’s a little emotionally stunted, general angst, a good ending but you have to work for it

word count: 4213

Dazai hated this time of year.

Summer was a season he oh so despised, sick of the uncomfortably hot weather that prompted people to ask why he was wearing so many layers in July.

He was sick of the pitied glances and confused faces as he strolled around Yokohama, adorning his usual trench coat and bandages.

But the one thing that made this season more bearable, was watching your face as you enjoyed all the summer activities. He couldn’t quite pin point when he started falling for you, but he did know it was around the same time he started pretending not to hate summer.

Dazai was a man of mystery, and preferred to stay that way (though deep down he wanted someone he could bare his soul with, but alas they always scurried away when he revealed the shattered pieces of his heart) yet you persisted in trying to crack him open, trying to see the real person behind the acting.

Yes, much to Dazai’s surprise, you figured out his profound talent for acting just weeks into your job at the ADA, and since attempted to see his real personality. Unfortunately, Dazai was always acting, even when he was not. Most of his life he has devoted to perfecting that act, his role, and not one single person has seen through all of the acting, all of the masks he wears. Everyday he wakes up, he climbs his tired and battered body upon that stage, and begins his act again. He has done this as long as he’s known, and he has no reason or desire to stop.

  That is, until he met you.

Despite you only being able to see through his outermost mask, you’ve always understood him better than most people. Maybe that’s what drew him to you in the first place, the way you seemed at ease in his presence, seemingly ignoring his past and even present actions. He was enamored by your personality, and soon he too felt happier when you were around. He took this into account when you approached him after work, nervously ringing your hands together, refusing to meet his eyes.

Taking a deep breath, you slightly stuttered the words he didn’t realize he wanted to hear so badly.

“Will y-you go out with me? I know you don’t really do dates, with the whole double suicide thing, and if you don’t feel the same about me that’s fine, I just really like being around you and your hot so I was just wondering—“

He silenced you by planting a soft kiss against your lips, hoping it conveyed what he hoped.

“Does that answer your question?”

The months after that were happy, a white spot on his relatively bleak life. You brightened his day when you entered the room, and he loved the way your eyes crinkled when you laughed.

Yet, he still could not find a reason to stop the attempts to end his own life.

He loved you, god he was sure of it by this point, but when he stripped of his bandages and held a razor to his wrist, your face did not flash in his mind.

When he leaned over the edge of a bridge, your smile did not make him hesitate, though he wished it did.

He was angry, angry at himself for not loving you enough, and angry at you, in some twisted way, for not being enough.

Dazai was confused, confused about why he was angry at you, and confused about why you weren’t enough of a reason to stop himself every time he tried to commit suicide.

For once, Dazai Osamu had a problem.

and he had absolutely no idea how to fix it.

...............................................................................................

This was really annoying situation.

This was your third hostage situation in a month, and honestly you were getting sick of it. You really didn’t know how you kept getting in these situations, although it wasn’t all that surprising considering your line of work.

Your coworkers -yourself included- often found themselves in situations not unlike this one, though theirs, especially poor Atsushi’s, were usually more severe.

Another day, another migraine.

This time, you were slightly afraid, just because the men here this time were more serious. The way they conducted this situation was less like a robbery plus hostages, and more like a search.

Like they were looking for someone.

This part concerned you, because who exactly could they be looking for? This was just a simple grocery store, and you doubted they received enough money to warrant the type of people these men were. Petty thieves? sure. Gang members that possessed impressive weapons? It was unusual to say the least.

Currently, they had you all lined up against the wall of the vegetable section, hands zip tied behind your back. Your unusual ability -dream manipulation- would not help you here. In fact, it usually help you at all, but you weren’t concerned about that right now.

You were concerned about why these men were asking every persons name, and what they would do once they got to you.

One of the men, tall and imposing, sporting all black and a ski mask, plus military grade boots stopped in front of you.

“Name,”

You swallowed thickly. “Why do you need that?”

No sooner had the words life your mouth did you feel the boot connect with your abdomen- and not in a nice way. You coughed harshly, a little blood dribbling out of the corner of your mouth.

“Name,”

You spit the blood onto his boot, Dazai’s defiant personality must have rubbed off on you a bit.

“I’m not giving it until you tell me why,”

You weren’t stupid- you worked at the Armed Detective Agency, and people like this don’t ask for names unless their lookin for someone, usually someone who’s ‘wronged’ them. Being in the ADA had given you a lot of friends, but also a lot of enemy’s. Being the s/o of a former mafia executive didn’t really help either.

This time, the boot met your face, throwing you directly backwards into the carrots. The feeling of cold metal on your forehead and a clicking sound net your ears, and you looked up.

“I’m going to ask one more time before I’ll have to get a little messy. What. Is. Your. Name,”

“Elvis Presley,”

You regretted your choice instantly, as the gun went off directly into your thigh. You screamed, bullet wounds were always more painful then other wounds you got on the job.

where was the police? where was Dazai?

pain made it difficult to think straight, but you surmised that giving your name would be your best bet in this situation. You were most likely whoever they were looking for, and you didn’t want to endanger the innocent hostages.

“Y/N L/N. That’s my name,”

The man roughly grabbed your arm and hauled you to your feet, dragging you away from the other hostages.

“Yeah, we got the right person. Come on, let’s get out of here before the good ol boyfriend comes along,”

A bag was placed over your head, and you were thrown into the back of what you assumed was a van. Your injury’s weren’t that severe, yet the pain was unrelenting. It seemed to increase the longer you had them, though you didn’t know why.

“I bet your wondering why your in more pain then you were a bit ago,”

a man who’s voice you didn’t recognize spoke once the van came to halt, and it set you on edge.

“That would be the handy work of my ability, which i must say, comes in handy in my line of work. I can make one injury, one tiny little paper cut hurt like a thousand knives are stabbing you,”

As he explained his ability, the pain increasingly got worse, until you were writhing on the van floor, tears streaking down your face. Eventually, it stopped, and you sagged in momentary relief, only to be dragged out of the van.

You were about to slip into a pain filled unconsciousness when the sting of a taser brought you back. You jerked and screamed, just wishing it to all be over.

“Ah ah ah,” the man with the pain ability spoke again. “We’re gonna need you conscious for all of this. It’ll be more fun for me, and more painful for you!”

“Why,” you said, voice already hoarse from the events of today. “What did I do,”

“It’s not really what you did, but more like what Dazai did,”

..........................................................................

Dazai stood outside a warehouse, guilt and fear consuming him. His breaths were short and fast, and he could feel himself spiraling.

This wasn’t supposed to happen, you didn’t do anything, it’s my fault, god i am so STUPID—

“Dazai,”

Kunikida’s voice brought him away from his darkening thoughts, and Dazai tried to calm himself. Having a panic attack would not help the situation.

“Y/N is not helpless. I’m sure whatever this people have done, they’ll be fine,”

While Dazai wanted to believe his partner, he knew this specific group was known for their intense torture methods, because of their leaders ability. Dazai knew that the Port Mafia took down the majority of their organization, and he’d been tasked with breaking their leader, Takahashi Watanabe, and he did it through torturing and then murdering his fiancé. Dazai grimaced internally, the things he did in the Port Mafia usually did come back to bite him. He just wished they would leave you out of it.

This wasn’t the first time you had been dragged into grudges between Dazai and his old victims, and the guilt he felt about it had been building for some time now.

After deciding on a plan, Kunikida would take out the guards while trying to make as little noise as possible, and Dazai would enter, take down whoever was inside, and get you out. Kunikida would join him once he was done with the guards.

Kunikida’s ability came in handy at times like these, and although he did not show it, Dazai appreciated the strict man.

While Kunikida made quick work of the guards, Dazai slipped into a no longer protected entrance, and quietly surveyed the area.

Dazai had seen many things, he’d done many things, but absolutely nothing could have prepared him for your beaten and bleeding body, chained up against a wall, the ring leader standing in front of you.

Every time Takahashi flicked his wrist, you would start writhing in pain screaming out to whoever would hear you.

Dazai couldn’t stomach any more of his lover being tortured right in front of him, so he rushed out from his hiding place and punched him in the back of his head, feeling his own fingers fracture and pop at the force.

“That’s enough of that now,”

Takahashi was stupid, and left all of his men to guard the entrances, leaving no one actually inside the building but himself and you. Dazai undid the chains, and you wrapped your arms around his neck, sobbing loudly into his chest.

“I thought I was going to die, it was so painful—“

“I know,” Dazai ran his non injured hand through your hair, rubbing circles in your back with the other. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here fast enough,”

“It’s okay,”

Although you told him it was okay, Dazai could not ignore the pit of guilt gnawing away at his insides. Every time this happened the guilt got stronger, taking over his mind, the thoughts of you being better off without him filled his mouth and head, choking him with all the softness of ash. He’d debated breaking up with you for months, not because he no longer loved you, but because the less you were attached to him, the less likely you were to be dragged into these situations.

Takahashi was the final straw, so while Kunikida drove the car that held you and Dazai back to the agency, Dazai silently made up his mind that it would be easier for you to break up with him if you hated him. Though it pained him to think of no more soft mornings with you by his side, or quiet nights where he wakes up heaving and your there to comfort him, he knows that you’ll be better, happier without him.

..........................................................................

Yosano healed you quickly, as Dazai waited nervously outside the door, swollen and purple fingers throbbing. You came out looking good as new, though Dazai doubted you had mentally and emotionally recovered at all.

He walked you back to the apartment, assuring you that Kunikida would let the both of you off easy this once, considering the day you’ve had.

And for once, Dazai was quiet.

The walk was quiet, and not in a good way. You were inside your own head, reeling from the events of today, and Dazai was mentally preparing himself for the conversation he was about to have with you upon arriving at your apartment.

“Ugh,” You collapsed on the couch, not even changing out of your bloody and filthy clothes before wrapping yourself in a blanket.

Dazai felt his heart twist as you looked up at him with your big e/c eyes, and knew what he was going to do would hurt you. And for that, he internally apologized.

“Dazai? Is something wrong? you’ve been quiet ever since we left the agency. You didn’t even joke when Atsushi fell asleep in a cupboard again,”

“I’m breaking up with you,”

You scoffed. “Yeah right. Come on, what’s really bothering you?”

“No I’m serious,” He willed his eyes to remain cold, and hoped his face showed no sign of emotion. “I don’t love you, and to be honest I’m not sure I ever did. It was a nice thought, our relationship, but really, I just wanted to see how long I could take this with you,”

Your eyes were filled with confusion and hurt, and he saw tears prick the corners of your eyes.

“W-What?”

“Ah, did poor little Y/N think I really loved them? Or were you just projecting your emotions onto me, like you always do,”

The hurt in your eyes turned to anger. ���You know what? Go to hell. If you think you can just play with my emotions and lead me on for five months, then I never want to see you again,”

“That’s the spirit!” Dazai snapped his fingers.

Stop.

“Were you lying then? This whole time, was it all a lie?”

The bandage covered brunette rolled his eyes. “Duh,”

Your hurting them. Stop it.

You wiped the tears from your eyes, then stood up and met him with a cold stare.

“I hope your next suicide is a success you monster,”

You walked out of the apartment with your head held high, though he knew you, so he knew you would probably head to Yosano’s place, and breakdown there. Maybe even Atsushi’s, if you really felt sad.

When he watched you slam the door, it all hit him, that you were gone, and he’d done it on purpose.

He’d ruined the only good thing he had in life, so now, once more, Dazai Osamu was alone.

..........................................................................

If Dazai hadn’t hated himself before, he definitely did now.

When he walked into work the next day, Atsushi slapped him. Hard.

Atsushi, of all people, had slapped Dazai.

The entire agency stopped, save for Ranpo, as Dazai lifted a hand to the growing red mark on his cheek.

“How dare you,” Atsushi started, eyes wild, tiger fur starting to grow from his arms. “Be an absolute dick to Y/N. You lead them on for five months Dazai, and then had the audacity to break it off after they got tortured? Because of how disgusting of a person you were? No, let me correct myself, how much of a disgusting person you are. If it were up to me, I’d fire you from the agency, and ship you back to the Port Mafia, since your so keen on being a monster!”

Dazai could feel his façade crumbling, and he felt the shocked and outright disgusted looks of his coworkers.

“If I were you,” Yosano spoke very quietly. “I would leave while you still have your life. You being immune to my ability will not stop me from slicing your entire body into pieces if you don’t leave and go back to whatever sewer you crawled out of,”

Dazai took his cue and left, letting his façade break when he hears you sniffle next to Kenji. Eyes downcast, Dazai whispers something so quiet not even Atsushi’s enhanced hearing could detect it.

“I’m sorry,”

..........................................................................

Dazai didn’t get out of bed for three days.

He couldn’t even sleep, dreams of you being tortured was all he saw whenever he closed his eyes. The memory of your face as he ripped apart your heart forever ingrained in his mind, a testimony to his treachery.

He wept bitterly, aware that all of your suffering he was the cause of. He was no doubt fired from his job, Fukuzawa was a kind and patient man, but he would not allow this kind of plain heartlessness. He’d known what kind of man Dazai was when he applied for a job at the ADA, but Dazai knew no amount of kindness could forgive what he’d done to you.

He dragged himself into the living room, turning on the tv, hoping to distract himself from his thoughts.

He flicked through the channels, then almost dropped the remote when he saw the report.

“The Armed Detective Agency building is currently on fire, Detectives Kunikida, Ranpo, and their coworkers have all exited the building safely, but Detective L/N is still inside. Due to their injury’s, the remaining detectives have not been permitted to re-enter the building to save Detective L/N, leaving all of us to pray they make it out alive. Their healer, Yosano, is out on a business trip, so all we can do is put our faith in modern medicine,”

Dazai ran out the door before the news reporter had even finished speaking, throwing on shoes and sprinting the the office. Luckily, he lived close enough to get there in ten minutes, and he spared no time ducking under the police tape.

“Dazai! Stop!” Kunikida yelled at him from beside a fire truck, and several firemen and policemen tried to stop him. He flashed his ADA badge -thank god he brought it with him- and dashed inside the burning building.

He choked on the heavy smoke, coughing heavily.

“Y/N! Where are you!”

He climbed the stairs, ignoring the burns of the flames that licked his arms and legs.

He burst into the office, fire consuming the room. He jumped over some fire that had spread across the floor, looking under each desk. Finally, under Ranpo’s desk, you were curled up clutching a stack of files.

“D-Dazai?” Soot covered your face, and he could hear your lungs heaving.

“I know I’m the last person you want to see right now, but your going to die if you stay in here,”

Carrying you bridal style, he ran out of the room, but stopped because the stairs down to the last level had completely caved in. It wasn’t too far to jump, by the only thing that greeted the both of you were bright orange flames.

He looked out the window beside you two, wasting no time to punch the glass, not caring about the shards stuck in his knuckles, before looking down at your form. You couldn’t longer see the rise and fall of your chest, and almost screamed.

“This might hurt,”

He leapt out the window, clutching you close to him, tucking and rolling so he took the brunt of the damage. With a sickening crunch, his shoulder popped out of its socket, but he didn’t care, he laid your lifeless form on the pavement, and began CPR.

“Someone get me an ambulance!” He yelled, never stopping chest compressions. His arms ached, his dislocated shoulder screaming at him to stop.

“Come on Y/N, wake up!” He screamed, tears making streak marks on his grime covered his face. He was vaguely aware of a medic running over to him, he could barley see past the blur of his own tears.

The medic gently took you away from him, and he held his face in his hands, sobbing. Atsushi crouched down besides him, but Dazai didn’t care. He didn’t care that anyone watching could see him cracking and breaking, he just wanted to know if you were okay.

“Why are you upset? I thought you didn’t love her?”

Dazai stood up. “I lied. I was stupid, and I lied, because don’t you see,” he turned to Atsushi, aware of the manic look he must have in his eyes. “She’s better off without me. She keeps getting injured because of my disgusting past. You said it yourself, I’m a monster,”

“Dazai—“ Atsushi started.

“Y/N is gone, and all of this is my fault,”

No one knew what to do, they’d never seen Dazai show this much emotion, they’d never seen his faces break, never seen him this broken.

Kenji was the only to move, the only to step towards the form of the crumbling man before them.

“Do you love them?”

“Yes. I really do. Now I’m scared I’ll never get to tell them again,”

Kenji motioned to Kunikida, and Dazai’s partner stepped toward him.

“Your truly an idiot Dazai. Don’t you think Y/N knew what they were getting into when they started dating you?”

“Well I don’t know, but I didn’t want them to get hurt anymore so I—“

“And therein lies your issue. You made a decision for them, without even asking their thoughts. Now you’ve caused pain for the both of you, and you may never get to apologize. Although I’m positive Y/N will make it out of this, i think you should go to the hospital to be there when they wake up,”

Dazai simply nodded once, taking in Kunikida’s words, then walked in the direction of the hospital. Kunikida was right. He is stupid. But hopefully, not too stupid for you.

He must’ve looked so dumb, walking into your hospital room, nervously ringing his hands together, not unlike you did when you asked him out.

“Dazai? What are you doing here?”

“Um, I kind of wanted to apologize. For being a monster,” his voice hitched on the last word, and he hoped you didn’t notice.

“Well? I’m waiting. Just because you saved my life doesn’t mean i don’t resent you for what you said,”

“I know I just...” Dazai took a deep breath before continuing.

“I’ve hated myself for a long time, that’s no mystery. But when we were together, it made all the pain go away. Even if it was just for a moment, it felt good. But, I lied to you. I’m stupid and I lied to you. I thought if you hated me, it’d be easier for you to get over me. I was wrong, but please understand,” he took your hand in his. “I didn’t break up with you because I didn’t love you. It’s the opposite. I love you, a lot, but you keep getting dragged into messes and horrible situations because of how much of a horrible person I was. How much of a horrible person I am,” Dazai hated the way his voice had started to wobble, but he kept going. “Y/N, I’m so sorry I told you all those things. I’m so sorry I broke up with you, and I’m sorry for how much my past has put you through. If you still never want to see me again, I understand, and I’ll leave now,” At this point, tears were quietly slipping down his cheeks, splattering on your hand that was held by Dazai’s. “Sorry,”

You locked Dazai with a hard gaze. “I haven’t fully forgiven you just yet. Breaking up with me over something that could have been discussed was stupid of you,”

Dazai nodded, turning to leave the room.

“But,”

But?

You continued softly. “Someone who doesn’t love me wouldn’t jump out of a burning building and perform CPR that saved my life. I don’t think your a monster, and I don’t think your a horribly person. A little dumb yeah, and definitely not perfect, but you know,”

He turned back to face you, hope rising in his chest.

“I think that’s why I fell in love with you. Because of the person you are underneath, the person you are underneath all that acting,”

Despite you still being injured, you wobbled over to his shaking form.

“So, Dazai Osamu, I’m willing to give you a second chance. Provided you vow to try to stop committing suicide, because it hurt when you did it. It hurt to know that I wasn’t enough to keep you here. And next time, let’s talk about stuff okay?”

He nodded mutely, and you opened your arms.

“Come here,”

He wasted no time hugging you tight, shamelessly crying. Tears of sadness, tears of joy whatever they were, Dazai didn’t care.

Because Dazai had finally found his reason for living.

Hi this is self indulgent nd i wrote it on my phone. Its a vent sorta, i kinda want one of my comfort characters to hug me rn :))))) messed up family life amiright guys

[jjk-anime-horray]

A Call in the Night

Dazai Osamu x reader x Oda Sakunosuke

Series Summary: While Dazai finally gets over the death of his friend and moves on with his life, he has to watch him unnaturally return into the world, and now he has to watch him turn twisted and into everything he hated in a way.

Chapter Summary: The Armed Detective Agency gets a call about an warehouse incident that happened in the middle of the night, and send two detectives to respond to it.

Notice: This fic series is going to have some dark themes in it so be warned, and in this AU Dazai and the reader are members of the armed detective agency, and this is a spiritual successor to “Late Night Tickets, and Meeting Him.” So I recommend reading that first even though you don’t need to. This is going to be a series!

Trigger Warnings: Blood, mentions of extreme violence, and description of illegal activities.

Getting a call about a mandatory and emergency investigation in the middle of the night, to be specific 2:32am, was something no one at the Armed Detective Agency wanted to do. So what's the most logical solution? Draw straws and the two people who draw the shortest are forced to go.

Unfortunately for you, you were one of the two unfortunate souls that drew a short straw. At least the other person who drew the short straw was Dazai Osamu, your coworker but most importantly the first friend you made in this city, so maybe you would be able to get a kick out of the bad situation at hand.

But when the two of you emerged from an alley to meet the crime scene at hand, that would by no means be the case because by the sight of the horror that layed out infront of you two it was enough for the both of you want to hurl.

Crime scene would describe the atrocity in front of as much as the phrases bloodbath and massacre would. No wonder this was an emergency for the ADA there were probably more than 30 people dead killed in various atypical ways.

First walking into the warehouse the most out of the ordinary sight would be a round wooden table with a duffle bag on it, but once someone took a closer look the rest of the ware house was completely empty other than the congealing crimson liquid that was pooling everywhere.

The five chairs around rickety table were matched with four bodies of executives of some sort laid face down on the table or dangling of the chairs.

But the most appalling sight was what was inside the duffle-bag, you were wishing it would be something tame like left behind money, however, much to your displeasure, they where severed off human heads. That by the looks of it were cut off with some sort of serrated knife my the edge markings.

"What are you thinking (Y/N)?" Were the words that Dazai spoke to snap you out of your spiraling train of thought. "I sure as hell am thinking this isn't the way I would have wanted to go."

"I'll have to agree with you on that one, this shit is something right out of a cheesy crime or horror movie.The only thing I can think of is the heads were a message of some kind to the people who were sitting at the table, and either the person at the empty seat with accomplices who killed everyone or are the only survivor, but it could be either. Were you able to identify anyone bodies or do you recognize anyone?"

"I don't recognize anyone, and most of the bodies are too mangled to be identified, but everyone at the table is wearing a customized Rolex, so I suspect that they were all executives of a organization of some kind, probably an illegal on based on all the gun men that were probably guarding the meeting before they got taken out."

"The only lead we have is the Rolex I guess, so Daz, will you take one for reference, we can visit all of the watch makers in the city to try to find out who was the person who commissioned these watches to be made, and then maybe through that we kind find out who the soul survivor was."

"Agreed."

Honestly the two of you would have been a little more playful and chatty if the events that took place tonight weren't so gruesome. The two of you were used to having to see and do brutal things, but Dazai had this gut feeling that this wasn't the typical violent act, and things weren't as the seemed.

The brown eyed detective just wanted to go take a nap after this, which was something you also wanted to do after see all the blood. Deciding to leave the true start to your investigation for a decent time the two of you swiftly communicated with the responders about the potential situation at hand. Then left to go deal with is mess the next day.

Timeskip........

After a horrible night's sleep and about three cups of coffee you were finally able to be semi-functional, so then you decided to grab your partner Dazai after dressing to impress and make for the horrible mood you currently were in from multiple factors. Dazai was even in a worse state than you where, you found him at the trying to convince Kunikida to go on the investigation for him, which was ultimately denied by the blonde haired man. Also leaving you to drag the genius yet idiotic maniac out of the office.

Walking down the streets in-between visiting different watchmakers and jewelers, you noticed some was off each time your boots hit the ridged pavement. In particular something about Dazai, his face was contorted into a being in deep thought, not to be disturbed for any reason. It was so out of character you were going to ask what he was thinking about, but then opted out.

"I know you were going to ask what I was thinking, I am a detective you know." He said his face morphing into one not of deep thought but of cockiness with a smirk. Damn, sometimes you really loved and hated that smirk, but right now you didn't know what to think of it. "I was just thinking of how now I know exactly who made the watches, and where is is for your information."

"Really who would that be? For my information."

"His name is Opāru Shokunin, he's done a lot of custom jewelry for Elise-chan and the port mafia in the past, but recently he's been doing a lot of foreign commissions for gangs and syndicates outside of Japan my word of mouth. When I first saw the watches I was initially reminded of how it looked like his handy work, but since the first three places we've visited were a bust, i'm confident it's him."

"Alright Mr. Mic-cocky, lead the way by all means." You scoughed lightly.

Unfortunately for the two of you, your desired destination was all the way across yokohama, so you had to hail a taxi which you knew you were going to be the one paying or it. The icing on the shitty cake was that you got stuck in rush hour traffic, so, the total time until arrival was three time longer than it should have been. At least you got dibs on the radio choice.

When the two of you arrived at your desired destination you now witnessed a normal looking office building, unfortunately, there was no elevator so the two of you had to work your legs up three flights of stairs to make it to Opāru's workshop.

Before you went in however you whispered to Dazai "how do we know he's even gonna be willing to talk to us?"

"He's going to be willing...."

"Why?"

"Simple you're gonna pay him."

"Um no you're going to pay him because I payed for the cab!"

"Um no."

"Yes!"

"No."

"Yes!"

"You realize I can hear you two bickering right?" was the raspy voice of the man you were looking for that ended your whisper argument. He was actually younger than you expected, about 38, but he looked older than his body by his eyes, the eyes of someone very worn out. Which would explain the smoking. "He's right i'll talk if you pay me, just come in before ya give everyone else a headache."

The two of you swiftly made your way into the working man's shop room. The room was a lot nicer than you thought it would be, and a lot lighter too. The man possessed a very nice view from his wall because his wall was almost completely filled with by windows. Dazai did mention something about the craftsmen liking natural light in the cab on the way here, so it wasn't too surprising and really lightened the room up.

You followed Dazai to the two chairs across from the white tufted sofa that Opāru was already occupying. Then Dazai placed the watch and a thick wad of cash on the coffee table separating the two parties of people.

"Oh, so you're here to ask who paid me to customize this for them? No surprise there they were particularly nasty."

"How where they particularly nasty?"

"I'm pretty sure that they were doing things even nastier than the port mafia, like taking kids of the streets and shipping them off."

"So, supposedly by word of mouth were human traffickers."

" Yeah, supposedly, but I didn't ask when the guy approached me."

"The guy?" You reconfirmed.

"Yeah, the guy, he had this weird tattoo on his wrist. The guy's name was Zinnnnnng, THUMP.

The two of you didn't even have time to blink or create when the bullet zipped through the head of the craftsman from. The crimson liquid from his head pooling on the couch were he was just alive a few seconds ago. The blood seeping into the fabric like the disparity of situation into Dazai and yourself.

Glimpsing out middle window now tainted with a hole you see the silhouette of the person responsible for this.

Dashing up without a second thought you sprint to pursue the culprit of the murder that just took place infront of you. Eyeing your target through the broken window.

Ahhhhhhh! Okay I’m literally really proud of how this came out! I’m really hope people like it. I’m really new to writing full fanics so if any experienced writer is reading this will you please give some pointers, that would be very helpful!

-Ellie

[be11atrixthestrange]

Waking Up In Vegas Chapter 15

After a night of debauchery, Ron and Hermione wake up in Vegas... married.

Muggle!AU. Romcom!Romione. Slow burning, smutty, angst-fest.

Rated M.

Ao3 | FFN

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*Six Weeks Later*

[Ron]

The flat is small but well-arranged. Bookshelves line the walls from floor to ceiling, maximizing the vertical space that only one of its residents can fully use. The kitchen is sparkling clean, save for two empty red wine-stained glasses in the sink. Usually, the dishes would be washed and stacked away before the clock strikes bedtime, but last night other, more fun activities got in the way.

The apartment's decor is simple — it has to balance the strikingly orange accent wall behind the television. The only other thing commanding attention is the large painting of a cityscape hanging on the wall across from the entry. It's an artistic rendering of a well-known skyline, characterized by neon lights, a replica of the Eiffel Tower, and a series of flashy hotels. Although the portrait might be recognizable to many, it's meaningful to only a few.

As the morning light peeks through the windows, the bedroom's blinds give up on filtering it out. The sun casts a ray across the pillows, illuminating the two sleeping figures entangled together in bed. Gentle and mild, the light is easier to ignore than an intense desert beam, and it takes a few moments for the tall, red-haired man to open his eyes.

When he does, he turns onto his side to bury his face into his pillow. The bed is warm and comfortable — the satin sheets were a worthwhile investment. Same for the pillow, which somehow maintains the perfect combination of cold and cozy. Ever since they bought a new, albeit expensive mattress, his back problems have become a thing of the past.

He smiles at the mountain of fluffy blankets beside him, topped with spirals of bushy brown locks. There's so much goddamn hair. It looks like a plush volcano of cushions is erupting with curly brown hair. He can't decide what he loves more: the explosion of brunette, the bright orange Chudley Cannons t-shirt, the black mens' boxers that have a little too much fabric for a woman, or the person it all belongs to.

Well, technically, the Cannons t-shirt and boxers are his, or at least, were his. But marriage is about sharing.

"Morning, wifey."

Hermione groans and covers her face with a pillow. "Too early."

Ron slips an arm around his wife, encouraging her to turn toward him. She obliges and snuggles up into the crook of his arm, where she fits perfectly. He presses a kiss to her forehead and nuzzles his head into her hair.

It would be easy to stay like this forever, ignoring real-life responsibilities. In a way, their bed has become an escape from reality, an oasis built upon the lessons they learned in Las Vegas. Defined by frequent 'I love you's, reprieves from work, and late-night explorations fueled by a glass of wine and the need to destress, it's the place that keeps them anchored to the magic. Who wouldn't want to stay forever?

But alas, they can't, as they have Maid of Honor and Best Man duties to attend to. Today is Harry and Ginny's wedding, and within a few hours, they need to transition from the carefree vacationers they became in Vegas to the highly organized planners helping to orchestrate the festivities.

Ron groans. Although their friends know they're together — they put on quite a show back in Las Vegas, after all — they haven't revealed the extent of their relationship, and the worst part about being in public together is pretending that Hermione's just his girlfriend.

"We should just tell everyone," murmurs Ron into Hermione's hair.

She chuckles and snuggles closer. "After the wedding. Let's not steal their thunder."

Steal their thunder. To be honest, Ron has frequently fantasized about stealing Harry and Ginny's thunder. A small part of him is jealous of their hen and stag weekend in Las Vegas and their elaborate wedding. Ron wants everyone to celebrate him and Hermione, and as time passes, he grows more desperate for them all to know.

"I want to steal their thunder."

"I know." Hermione gently pushes him over on his back and slides on top of him. The movement is swift and natural, and as always, she fits like a glove.

"Hmmm, hi," he says right before their lips meet. The kiss lingers; Hermione's teeth lightly latch to his bottom lip, driving him wild. Without breaking their kiss, Hermione shifts some of her weight onto her hips. She knows exactly what she's doing, and if Ron doesn't stop this train, they'll be late.

"Er-my-nee," he groans, pulling away. She pouts at him with her wide chocolate brown eyes, and it's all he can do to resist tangling himself back up in her arms. "Can I ask you a question?"

"What?"

"Do you wish we had more thunder?"

Hermione brushes a tuft of hair from Ron's forehead. "Sometimes. But I still wouldn't change a thing."

Ron smiles as she leans down for another kiss. Her fingers thread into her wild curls, prompting him to flip her over and land on top. He groans when she wraps her legs around his waist.

"You know we don't have time for this," he says between kisses. "We should get rea—"

"Shhhhh." She pulls him into her embrace and tightens her leg lock around his hips. "There's always time."

"Hey!" he teases, then leaning down toward her ear to whisper, "I take offense to that."

Ron doesn't give her time to respond before connecting his mouth to hers for another kiss. He can smell his cologne from the night before on her skin, yet it still tastes like Hermione when his lips travel from her mouth to the nape of her neck. A soft moan escapes her lips and sends him into a tizzy that leaves nothing else to do but get lost in her.

Six weeks in, and he's still convinced he'll never get sick of snogging Hermione Granger.

Plus, she's right — there's always time.

x

Harry and Ginny's wedding is just as elaborate as their weekend of partying in Las Vegas, but of course, classy. The venue is a converted warehouse, which initially horrified Molly, Ron and Ginny's mum, but it's unrecognizable after a few hours of decorating. They tie the knot underneath a trellis of climbing vines and twinkling lights illuminating the exposed brick wall behind them. Cafe lights drape from the ceiling beams, filtering the room's color just enough that everyone appears to glow. Each row of seats is marked by a simple bouquet and a periwinkle ribbon that matches the color of the bridesmaids' dresses, and the aisle appears to have been assaulted by flower petals, courtesy of Victoire, Ron and Ginny's niece, who recently discovered the true strength of her throwing arm.

Ginny has insisted that she and Harry walk down the aisle together as equals. Although originally disgruntled at the pushback on tradition, their father, Arthur, chokes up when he watches the pair approach the altar. Ginny's eyes sparkle with rare tears, and Harry can't keep his gaze off her radiant smile.

They're a couple in love, and there's not a doubt in the room.

Ginny's dress is simple — Hermione had said something about satin, but Ron doesn't remember the details. It's one of those dresses that doesn't dare pull focus from the woman wearing it, not that any dress could. Ron's always resented the Weasleys' fiery red hair and the way it sticks out like a sore thumb, but Ginny makes him think that maybe it isn't so bad after all.

While everyone watches the couple, Ron chances a glance at Hermione across the altar. He can hardly stand seeing her in her periwinkle bridesmaid dress, and he hopes to heaven his gawking isn't too noticeable. When he shifts his eyes in her direction, she turns her head back toward the bride and groom.

She was checking him out, too.

He doesn't have to keep his eyes on her for his imagination to run wild. That periwinkle dress turns white, and suddenly it's Hermione walking down the aisle. Her hair is tucked up into a spiral on top of her head, a few wisps escaping to frame her face.

Since it's his sister's wedding, Ron forces the image out of his mind, but he can't stop a wistful smile from forming on his lips and staying there throughout the ceremony.

When Harry and Ginny arrive at the altar, the music slows to a stop, and the officiant steps out from behind a curtain.

"Well, hello, folks!" says the blonde-haired man in a thick, mumbling American accent.

The wedding guests stare in silence at the man, who's dressed in white from head to toe, a greasy black wig barely covering his blonde locks.

Harry and Ginny burst into laughter, which breaks the seal for everyone else to follow suit.

"Yes! You got an Elvis impersonator!" shouts Fred, Ron and Ginny's brother, from the front row. "Someone check Mum's pulse."

With that, Ron snaps his head toward his mum, whose face has collapsed into her hands. Her body is heaving with what can only be sobs, or…

Laughter. Ron grins when he realizes that his mother's laughing hysterically.

At Molly's outburst, the tension and stuffiness of a formal event dissipate, and the ceremony continues flawlessly, having now been marked by Harry and Ginny's personalities. Elvis speaks to their bond, and even though he doesn't know the couple, he manages to capture how they approach life, always wearing their hearts on their sleeves and marching to their own beat. They've written heartfelt but humorous vows, expertly eliciting laughs and tears from their guests while they read them with shaky hands. They share their first kiss as a married couple to a round of applause and a standing ovation. Emboldened by the support, Harry picks up Ginny and drapes her over his shoulder as he skips back down the aisle to a chorus of cheers and whistles.

The wedding party follows the happy couple back down the aisle, starting with Ron and Hermione. They link arms and lock eyes, sharing a small, knowing smile. Ron wonders if she's also imagining the roles reversed, everyone clapping and celebrating for them as they traipse down the aisle after tying the knot.

What would the pseudo-Elvis have said about them if this were their ceremony, not Harry and Ginny's? Would he have spoken to how they disliked each other when they first met, and the utter disbelief they felt when they woke up next to one another in bed? Maybe he'd have talked about their strong determination to get a divorce and straighten everything out, followed by the looming 'what ifs' that kept knocking. What if they gave it a chance? What if they opened their hearts and it worked out? What if it was meant to be?

Maybe Elvis would have told a white lie at their request, saving their families the heartache of learning that they missed the original wedding, even though Ron and Hermione kind of missed it too.

That would be best wouldn't it? They could hire an Elvis to spin a new love story for their family, so they could keep the real one to themselves—not due to shame, but the simple fact that it's theirs.

Ron can't help but wonder.

Rather than a formal sit-down dinner, the ceremony transitions straight into a party. The delicate set-up of chairs and flowers clears into a dance floor. The doors to the warehouse open to an outdoor deck complete with a buffet and a dessert table, and a crowd forms at the bar.

Tugged away by Ginny, Hermione disappears into the crowd, and Ron becomes absorbed by friends and relatives. He'd rather stick with Hermione, but before he can locate her again, he's trapped in a conversation with long-lost family members. Old cousin Barny, Auntie Muriel and her flavor of the week — a scruffy looking man who introduces himself as Argus, and a neighbor who used to babysit when he was a toddler — he smiles through it all.

"Anyone special in your life, Ron?"

"I noticed the way you were looking at the brunette."

"Is it serious?"

"Should we be marking our calendars for another wedding?"

He deflects the expected questions — the ones that could draw attention away from the happy couple — with suggestive 'maybes' and 'we'll sees' although the truth, or at least a version of the truth, is evident on his face.

Yes, there is someone special. Yes, he was probably gawking at the beautiful brunette. Yes, it's serious enough that they live together.

"You're living together before you're married?" Auntie Muriel chimes in her most dismissive, judgemental tone.

Ron gives her a guilty look, a 'we're already married, you just don't know,' but to her, it's an admission of living together in sin.

"Well, I hope for your sake, she's the one."

"She definitely is," he says, nodding in a way he hopes ends the conversation.

Ron eventually negotiates an escape from small talk and heads to the bar for a slight reprieve. He slides into a seat and accepts a generous glass of champagne from the bartender. One sip reveals just how thirsty he is, and he lets out a satisfied sigh of relief before indulging in the rest of his glass.

"Another?" asks the bartender once he finishes.

"Erm, sure. Thanks."

While the bartender refills his glass, Ron takes a quick scan of the room. He's looking for Hermione, but she's nowhere to be found. His search doesn't last long as a certain someone slides into the barstool next to him and interrupts.

"Thank you for being here," says the dark-haired man beside him. "It means a lot."

"Ugh, not you," groans Ron, but his tone is laden with a touch of sarcasm only his best friend can decipher. "Should I say congratulations?"

"Yes, please," grins Harry. "Even though you've said it a million times."

"Well, you should soak it up because tomorrow, I'm done congratulating you," he says. "So needy."

"Cheers to you too," says Harry, clanking his champagne glass against Ron's.

"I've been meaning to ask you," says Ron, remembering Harry and Ginny's elaborate ceremony. "Why Elvis?"

Harry laughs. "Oh, Ludo? We met him at one of the casinos in Vegas."

"And you just asked him to officiate your wedding?"

"Well, he offered, and we didn't have anyone else," shrugged Harry. "To be honest, we were kind of drunk when we agreed, but Ginny wanted to bring some of Las Vegas into the wedding, so it worked out."

"Well, I liked him. I thought it was brilliant."

"I agree," grinned Harry. "So, will I get to congratulate you anytime soon?"

"Congratulate me for what?"

Harry rolls his eyes, aware that Ron is playing dumb. "Do you think you and Hermione will ever get married?"

"What makes you ask that?" Ron looks over at his best friend, and his expression that's full of excitement. Part of Ron loves that he and Hermione are the only people who know about their marriage. Another part of Ron just wishes he could share it all with his best friend. It doesn't feel right keeping him in the dark.

"You live together and seem pretty happy," continues Harry, oblivious to Ron's internal debate. "I'll admit, at first, I thought you two were moving fast, but you seem well suited for each other."

"After Hermione, you'll be the second person to know," says Ron, grinning at his friend.

"I'll take it!" says Harry. "Can I give you one piece of advice?"

"Sure, mate." Ron can't help but smirk — Harry's been married for barely two hours and is already touting marriage advice. Typical.

"If you know she's the one, don't overthink it. You'll just waste time."

Ron laughs softly. "I don't think that will be an issue for me."

"Good. I'm going to find my wife," says Harry, emphasizing the word like he's trying it on for size. "And you should go dance with your girlfriend. She looks like she could use a hand."

Harry motions across the room to where Hermione and Luna are alone at a cocktail table. There she is. Hermione's stiff body language is a stark contrast to Luna's eccentric gestures, and it appears that Hermione has become an unwilling audience for one of Luna's wild conspiracy theories.

"Happily," mutters Ron as Harry saunters off to find Ginny.

Ron meanders across the room to rescue Hermione from Luna's verbal clutches. Since she doesn't see him approach, he decides to surprise her by sneaking up behind her and looping his arms around her waist.

"Hi, girlfriend," he whispers into her ear.

"Hmmm." She seems to melt into his touch ."Hi, boyfriend."

"Sorry, Luna," says Ron, as he slides a hand down Hermione's arm and interlaces his fingers with hers. "I'm going to steal Hermione away for a dance."

"Of course! Have fun, you two," Luna says before turning around toward the crowd and skipping away, presumably in search of another unsuspecting guest to engage with.

"She's a lot, isn't she?" asks Ron.

"She's not too bad, once you get to know her. She's just talkative, that's all."

Ron tugs Hermione toward the dance floor where a smattering of couples intertwine, swaying to one of the rare slow songs in the D.J.'s repertoire. She wraps her arms around his neck, and he tightens his embrace, resting his chin on the top of her head.

"It's a little weird to call you my girlfriend."

"It sounds wrong," she says, her voice muffled by his dress shirt. "I was never your girlfriend. It's probably how people feel when they first start saying 'wife' or 'husband.'"

"I reckon you're right."

Ron reflects on the first time he called Hermione "wifey." It didn't feel weird at all, probably because it was a joke. Eventually, the joke just turned real.

"Hubby suits you better, anyway," says Hermione. She always seems to know what he's thinking, but he doesn't mind one bit.

"I agree, love." Even now, Hermione can still make his cheeks tinge red with a simple statement. "Are you enjoying the wedding?"

He can feel her nodding against his chest. "Yeah," she mumbles. "Although, it was a lot of work. Are you?"

Ron shrugs. "Ours was better, I think."

Hermione laughs. "I'm sure it was. Too bad we can't remember it."

Out of the corner of his eye, Ron can see Harry and Ginny embracing on the dance floor, surrounded by his grinning family. A spotlight shines on them, and at the sound of clinking glasses, they lock eyes and share a kiss. When they make contact, the bystanders whoop and whistle. "Maybe they should have gotten hitched in Vegas like us. This is a lot of commotion."

"Well, you know Harry and Ginny," says Hermione as she loosens her embrace to glance over at the couple. "They like their parties."

"They do," he says, tugging Hermione back into his arms. "What would you have done if this was your wedding?"

Ron expects Hermione to take some time for her answer, but surprisingly, she has one at the ready. "It would have been smaller. Maybe a live band instead of a D.J. And red velvet cake."

Ron smiles into her hair as she continues.

"I probably wouldn't have had a huge wedding party. Probably just a maid of honor. Intimate rooftop ceremony. I'd write my own vows. I even have photos of my dream dress."

Ron chuckles. "You have it all planned out."

"I never really planned it, I just knew." She's smiling when she pulls away and meets his eye, but her smile fades into a frown. "But seriously, I wouldn't change a thing."

She must have interpreted his pensive look as disappointment. "Hermione?"

"Yes?"

"Let's plan it."

"Plan what?"

"Our rooftop wedding," he says as the color pink creeps up his neck.

"Ron, we're already married." Despite her deadpan tone, there's a twinkle in her eye and a soft smirk hiding behind her lips.

"Then let's get married again."

She narrows her eyes at him, and Ron can almost see the gears turning inside her head. "You don't think that would be a waste of time and money?"

"No. Not at all. Plus, I couldn't stop picturing you walking down the aisle today, and I'd love to see you in your dream dress."

She leans back and stares at him for a few moments, clearly running questions through her mind. When she finally speaks, her eyes are glassy with held-back tears, and a smile lifts her words. "You're serious?"

"Hermione Granger," he states in his most serious tone. "Will you marry me again?"

Their feet stop moving, and she bores her gaze into his. Her answer is swimming in her eyes, but he waits for her to verbalize it. "Of course I will. I'd marry you every day."

Ron barely has time to smile before she's pressing her lips against his. He responds so enthusiastically that it could very well be their first or thousandth kiss, lifting her gently off her feet. They're probably drawing attention to themselves, but Ron doesn't mind. It's like she's the only person in the room.

That seems to happen a lot.

Ron sets her back down and slides his hands down her arms, landing at her unadorned fingers. He rubs a thumb across her left hand, desperately wishing he had brought the ring. He didn't think to bring it to the wedding.

The ring — a modest emerald-cut solitaire in yellow gold, is still safely stashed in his bedside drawer, hidden by a few football magazines. He had a whole plan that didn't include a quiet proposal at someone else's wedding, but sometimes the best things in life are accidents.

"I have a ring, you know."

"You do?" she asks, her eyebrows raised. "You planned this?"

Ron laughs. "Well, sort of. But I wasn't planning on asking you tonight. Didn't want to steal anyone's thunder."

"When were you going to ask?"

He had it all planned out. A surprise candlelight dinner at their flat. A homemade cocktail — his best attempt at Liquid Luck. Slow-dancing in a dimly lit living room, furniture pushed against the wall to make room. Dropping to one knee in the middle of a dance. Strawberries and whipped cream. It would have been perfect.

But this is perfect too.

"I was going to propose six months in. Since that's when you can finally divorce me if you want to—"

"Right. Divorce," she scoffs. "When did you buy the ring?"

Ron averts his gaze when he answers. He hasn't planned on telling her this part. "In Las Vegas."

"That early?" she asks, her tone suspicious.

He nods.

"You knew you wanted to stay with me?"

"Of course, I did. Didn't you know, too?"

She smiles and answers him with another kiss. This time it's slow and loving, taking its time. Their bodies seem to melt together into one.

"That would have been so sweet," she says when they eventually break free.

"We can stick to the original plan if you'd prefer that—"

"No!" Her eyes widen as if she's afraid he'll take it back. "When have we ever followed plans?"

Ron grins. There it is — that spontaneous Hermione that only he gets to see. "And you were worried 'Vegas Hermione' would disappear completely," he says, tucking a hair behind her ear.

"I guess she's here to stay," says Hermione as she nestles her head into the crook of Ron's neck where it fits so perfectly. "I love you so much, Ron."

"I love you more, fiance."

Ron can't help but wince at her new title. 'Fiance' sounds just as odd as 'girlfriend,' and it'll only be true for a small fraction of their lives together — not enough time to get used to it.

"I still like 'wifey' better," she says as though reading his mind.

He does too. "Then I guess we have another wedding to plan."

"I guess we do," she says. "And what about our real wedding? Do you want to tell people?"

"Should we?"

"No," she says before securing her arms around his neck. "That wedding can stay ours."

Ron smiles as his lips meet hers. The desire for everyone to know is still there, but less so. They'll get to celebrate a 'real' wedding together, their guests blissfully ignorant of Ron and Hermione's little secret. It's a perfect plan, really.

Someday they might reveal the truth. They might let it slip in conversation, or accidentally admit it to Harry and Ginny after a few cocktails, or decide to tell their future children.

But until then, their original wedding can just be theirs.

*THE END*

[squidlyskeet]

Joy Ride -.006

Pairing: StreetRacer!Bakugou x Fem!reader

Genre: TokyoDrift!au, Noquirks!au

Status: Ongoing

TW: Violence, Blood, firearms, eventual nsfw, 18+, mentions of anxiety and OCD disorders, grand theft auto, gang activity, eventual soft yandere Bakugou.

Summary:

It started with a simple question. “What do you say Y/n? You coming?”

After the sudden death of her mother, Y/n is sent to live with her estranged aunt who made a home in Tokyo, Japan. Weary of what this new adventure might mean for her future, Y/n lets loose for her first night there, but how was Y/n supposed to know it would lead to a car chase? A car chase in the passenger seat of a very angry, very hot, street racer’s super car.

A/n: Bold Italics means the words are spoken in Japanese. -Squidlyskeet ✌🏻✌🏻

💥Bakugou’s POV💥

     I parked the car on the road in front of Noels house. I’d been there a few times over the years to meet with Mirio about different jobs and organizing patrols. I was happy that I could finally just get this part of the night done and over with, but sighed heavily as I remembered what the next part of my night would consist of.

  I’d probably have to walk on eggshells to avoid a bullet to the head where Mirio and I were going.

  I looked over to where Y/N was curled up in my passenger seat. I didn’t want to wake her up, after all she did mention that she just got off a plane this morning. She must be exhausted with jet lag and the events of today. I was also hesitant to try and remove her from the seat and attempt to carry her inside. I was already frustrated with myself for allowing her sweet nature to somehow affect me the way it did, and I didn’t want to make it worse by literally touching her.

  And god forbid she wakes up and catches me trying to carry her. Or Mirio. I’d never live it down, and that’s unacceptable. I couldn’t have people thinking I was going soft, or worse that I was going soft for some dumb girl.

Maybe I should just open the door and kick her out.

Nah, that’s douch-

  “What the fuck are you doing man?” Mirio’s voice was directly outside my window and I jumped, whipping my head to the side and preparing to throw my body in front of Y/n’s.

   I could feel my blood pressure rise when I realized it was just the overgrown oaf, and my face flushed with anger at the intrusion while I was trying to focus.

  I was pissed he caught me overthinking about carrying Y/n inside too.

 “Nothing you baboon idiot.” I whisper screamed back, trying to keep the peacefully sleeping Y/n undisturbed.

   She seemed to be full of curious questions, and the last thing I needed was her asking where I was headed in some kind of dumb attempt to feign worry about me. I also just didn’t want to have to lie to her, she seemed so..free and pure. Free of the darkness that wrapped around and tainted my life with an endless string of one complication after the next. One death after the next. One lonely night after the next.

  I felt like if I lied to her about something, even after only knowing her for this short period of time, I’d sully her innocence. Darken that lightness that she let shine so brightly for me tonight. That’s why I couldn’t see her in anything but passing again after this, I couldn’t risk letting myself dwell on the stir she created in my stomach. I had to leave at least one thing in my life untainted.

  I growled at my own thoughts, not understanding why I couldn’t just let this sappy shit go. It wasn’t like she was some kind of friend to me, hell I’d only known her for one night.

  That didn’t change the fact that she had gotten a reaction out of me anyways, even being the irrelevant extra she is.

  “Alright then, let me grab Y/n and go give Noel a kiss goodbye and I’ll be back out so we can go.” Mirio replied, unphased by my obvious disrespect to him.

 It never irritated him, and it got under my skin. Usually this kind of shit would progress when we were together, and it would get to the point where Mirio and I would spar into the late hours of the night. Each of us trying to prove something to the other.

  He that I couldn’t push people around whenever I wanted to get what I want, and I that even if it was still fifty fifty between us, that I could still wipe the floor with his oversized ass. Even if it was only half the time.

 “Tch. Whatever.” I replied, watching from the corner of my eye as he rounded the car and quietly opened Y/n’s door.

 He gently picked her up, one arm behind her back and the other under her knees. I had to suppress a growl, words that I knew would only cause problems threatening to spew out my mouth like word vomit.

 I was mad at myself, had I known she was such a heavy damn sleeper I would have just done it myself when I first got here.

  My eyes laser focused when he stood straight and Y/n’s limp sleeping body -my hoodie still draped over her- almost slipped from his hand around her back and I jumped. I knew logically that I was still in the driver's seat and could do nothing if he actually did drop her. That didn’t stop the irritation at myself for not just doing it myself, where I could make sure she made it safely inside.

  He quickly adjusted his hold, and frowned.

 “What’s the matter with you dumbass, be careful with her.” The words slipped out before I could stop them, and he raised his brows at me.

 “I was, she is just sleeping like a rock. I wasn’t expecting her to flop around like a noodle. Man she must have been tired,” He started laughing quietly, shaking his head as he turned and started walking inside. He paused, turning his head to the side to say something else, voice suddenly serious. “Start my car for me.”

  More code terms.

 I sent him an okay sign, and forced thoughts of Y/n out of my mind. Trying to get into the headspace I needed, I got to work.

  I waited until the door shut behind Mirio to exit the car. I knew she was sleeping but I wanted to make absolutely certain Y/n didn’t see anything.

  I swung my door open and rounded the car to the trunk, I looked around before opening it, and then opening the false bottom.

 When someone from the Side Riders said ‘start my car’ they didn’t really mean for you to start their car. In fact it was considered disrespectful to get in the driver's seat of someone else’s ride, let alone start it. What it really meant was to make sure you're locked and loaded, ready to defend yourself and your territory.

  It was meant as a way to let your squad know that you didn’t know what you were rolling into, coded to make sure no one caught on that whoever was riding with you was strapped to the teeth with weapons.

 I sighed as I looked down at the cubby beneath the false bottom, debating on what gun I’d use in case things went south. I knew I should pick something small, but before I could even try to convince myself, my hand was reaching for the heavy fire power of the automatic rifle.

  I held the box of ammo when I heard the door open again. I quickly held the gun out of sight when I looked up, sighing in relief to find it was only Mirio. I could tell he was switching his mindset to work mode, the usual warmth of his features melting into a dark, unforgiving grimace. The cold emotionless depths of his eyes was an expression I was familiar with. I stared at it everyday in the mirror.

  “You strapped?” The wording reminded me of when he asked if Y/n was strapped correctly into my passenger seat. She was, I checked. Eight times.

 My chest warmed, thinking of her struggling to get the damn things unbuckled.

*a/n: it’s safe to say everything from this point on will be spoken in Japanese without bold italics*

 I sighed at the memory, because, this time he was talking about weapons.

“Yeah. Let’s go.” I replied, as I finished loading the rifle and closed the trunk.

 His only acknowledgement was a flick of his wrist as he started toward his car. I made my way back to my own, opening the door and placing the gun barrel down on my passenger seat floor.

 I hadn’t noticed before when I was in the car, but after getting out and then back in it hit me full force. It smelled like her. I tried not to think about how the smell of vanilla and lavender tea left a haze clouding my mind. I also refused to acknowledge the deep breaths I was taking while I pushed in the clutch and pressed the start button on the dash.

  We started our engines at the same time, usually the sound did nothing but bring me peace and excitement. This time though, I cringed. The force of the cars starting shook the ground with a deep rumble, and I glanced at the house making sure no lights flicked on.

  When I was sure she was still passed out, I fiddled with the screen on my dash, putting on some music and waiting for Mirio to pull off the road ahead of me.

  I had a thought then and allowed self indulge, even for just a moment.

How did that song she put on go?

I hummed it to myself, as I tried to remember the English words.

 Oh, yeah.

I typed it into the search bar and pressed play.

  The deep soothing beats pumped from my speakers as Mirio finally pulled away from the curb.

 I followed him, unsure of what exactly we were getting ourselves into but ready for anything.

————————————————————————-

   Thirty minutes later, after Monoma joined us somewhere along the way, we pulled into an open parking lot surrounded by abandoned warehouses on all sides. My guard immediately went up as I followed Mirio to the already parked cars sitting in the middle.

 All of them blacked out and all of them with a red rose emblem on the side.

Except one.

 The gaudy car in the middle seemed so out of place with all the rides built for racing surrounding it. While ours were expensive, they were built for racing. This one was built for the rich, made to sit in the lap of luxury and look good doing it.

  It was a show, put on to try and intimidate us but I refused. The fact that they would even try had rage building under my skin, and it was almost unbearable to contain when I noticed the men of the Yakuza leaning against their hoods, all with a weapon of some sort.

  I pulled up and parked next to Mirio, Monoma following me and doing the same. I looked through our windows asking Mirio a silent question, he shook his no. I was mad, but I trusted his judgement and quietly accepted as I released my grip on the stock of the rifle.

  I opened my door and got out, I made a show of a leisure walk. Hands behind my head and a smirk on my face, I knew without looking that both Mirio and Monoma flanked my left and right sides. No matter the smallest of differences or rivalry’s, brothers never step to their enemies alone.

 “Well? Where is he?” I asked, my tone coming out a lot more relaxed than I felt.

 One of the men nodded his head at whoever was in the passenger seat. I tried to see if it was him, but I couldn’t see past the tinted windows.

  A man stepped out of the drivers, rounding the car to the back seat facing us. The boss’s bodyguard. Shoji Mezo. A towering man, muscles stacked on each other like a brick wall.

 Man, I hope he said something stupid. I’d love to take a crack at him.

  He pulled open the door, and to my surprise, a heeled foot stepped out onto the pavement first. My mood instantly darkened when I realized who it was. Why was this bitch everywhere tonight?

 “Hello Katsu.” Her greeting was a soft purr as she addressed me with the nickname she gave me all those years ago. I felt my face twist into a sneer before I forced myself to relax as she stepped out of the car fully.

  She had changed out her red ensemble from earlier tonight into some gaudy sparkly evening dress, if you could call it that, that is. The fabric hugged her curves tightly, and asymmetrical cut outs flaunted most of her tanned unblemished skin.

 I was happy to find I didn’t have a reaction to it anymore.

 This was just another one of his dramatics, a way for the boss to try and exert some kind of nonexistent dominance of me. I couldn’t let it get to me.

“It’s been a long time hasn’t it Katsu? You’re looking extra delicious tonight..” Her sickly sweet voice dripped with sarcasm.

  It disgusted me that for two long years, I let that same condescending tone lead me around like a lost puppy. Now that I had been out of the relationship for a year, I could see where I went wrong. I let her soft words and her curves distract me from her actions.

 “Camie.” I greeted back with a slight bow of my head, keeping my voice cold and detached.

 “Camie darling, what have I told you about playing with the help.” A deep voice called from behind her.

 “Oh Tenny baby, it’s nothing to worry about, I was just having some fun.” She replied, as she worked her acting skills on the Boss getting out of the car.

 “Bakugou, Togata, Monoma. How are my favorite squad leaders tonight?” He asked, a false pretense at friendship.

 Tenya Iida.

 Leader and boss of the Tokyo Yakuza, and squad leader of the South Side Riders.

  He wore a three piece pinstripe suit, and expensive loafers. His face was tense and his strong jawline was clenched, which proved my point further at his false friendliness.

 “Boss.” The three of us said in unison. A deeper bow given by all of us.

  I hated saying the word out loud or admitting that he was above me in any way. To not show respect though, would result in an immediate death execution style. While I was more than willing to put Iida in his place, I couldn’t do much with my only defense still sitting on my passenger seat floor.

 “Does anyone want to tell me why you are here tonight?” He spoke up again, not acknowledging our greeting.

I guess we were getting right into it.

None of us answered.

All of us knew better than to assume.

 It really lit a fire under my ass that I had to stand here and act like the man standing before me was some kind of royalty. He was my age for christ’s sake.

“No one has anything? Let me break it down for you then,” He started toward us, clearing the space between the gap in a few strides before stopping in front of Mirio. “Tonight while you trash we’re out in your little race cars, having a pissing match on who is the fastest one of my warehouses was raided.” He said, his expression one of complete calm.

We still didn’t speak up.

  While I knew I couldn’t say anything, I never let my gaze leave his face. Silently challenging his authority with my uninterrupted glare.

“No one has anything to say then?” His arms raised in amusement as he turned back around to address his men. “Did you hear that guys? No one has anything to say.” He was laughing as he said it.

  Before he whipped his body around, his arm flying through the air with his fist clenched. It landed on Mirio’s face with a sickening crack. He didn’t knock the man over, no I don’t think Iida could even if he wanted to. While it was a hard hit, his form was sloppy and wasn’t well placed. Mirio’s probably taken more painful hits from Noel, if I’m being honest.

  I did my best to hide my snicker that escaped at the thought.

 “I’m sorry? Was there something you wanted to say Bakugou?” He addressed me then, blank features finally cracking into a sneer.

  “Well I-.” I was cut off abruptly when another one of Iida’s fists came flying at my face.

  I saw it coming from a mile away, but had to stand there and take it as I didn’t want an entire team of trained henchmen actively trying to murder me.

  I was right when I said it was a hard hit. His fist made contact with my right eye socket, and it sent my head flying backwards. Pain instantly throbbed through my skull, but I’d die before I ever let it show to this dumpster fire.

 Mirio had the same idea as he didn’t even hold his nose that was currently gushing blood.

“What about you Monoma? Care to explain?” He asked the third member of our group, who, like an obedient dog, lowered his eyes and kept silent.

 I wanted to scoff but the thought of being on the receiving end of another hit right to the eye kept the sound inside my throat. Iida nodded his head and backed up a few paces, talking to all of us at once.

 “If I find out that you little street rats had something to do with this, especially if your little dick measuring contest was being shut down as some kind of distraction,” He cracked his knuckles before rubbing them, letting me know that the punches probably hurt him just as bad as us. “I’ll kill you and every single member of your families.”

 He paused before looking back up at me.

 “I also want that car painted Bakugou, you were on the news tonight. Making headlines in that god awful orange machine you call a car. I want it parked back at the shop and it better not fucking move again until it’s a different color. I can’t have the police after us every fucking time an orange sports car was spotting going 200mph plus.” I gritted my teeth at his words.

 Who in the fuck did this extra think he was. The orange was practically a fucking trademark, I was about to let loose on him when he smirked.

He could tell I was struggling to keep my mouth shut. Just like him though, he had to add the gasoline to my already burning hot inferno.

 “Also..Bakugou?,” He stopped walking back to his car to turn to me one more time. “Who was that adorable little thing in the Nav seat you had with you?”

Don’t react. Don’t react. Don’t fucking react Katsuki.

 “Just some Nav Hoe who wanted a good time.” I replied, trying to sound nonchalant. My heart thundered in my chest.

 He knew he had me, but all he did was smirk and grab Camie by the waist while getting into his car.

  Iida popped back around the door, his features cold and distant, expecting full attention.

 “I forgot to mention I have a job for you in a few days, if one of my patrons doesn’t fork up twenty thousand by then.” He flicked his wrist in dismissal.

  Shoji slammed the door shut behind them, and got into the driver's seat. The rest of the men followed suit, a chorus of doors slamming and motors starting.

  I held my breath until the last of the cars rumbled away from us. Not one of us moved until the opulent parade was out of sight.

“FUCKK.” I screamed, pulling at my hair and finally releasing the breath I held inside.

“Shit man. Shit shit shit. Noel is gonna kill me. Like literally slaughter me. That was her only stipulation. That Y/n was to go unnoticed.” Mirio’s own hands were carding through his blonde tresses as he started pacing back and forth.

 “That’s really what you guys are worried about?” Monoma finally spoke up, his usual taunting features pinched tight in concern.

  “He’s onto us. He fucking saw straight through that little plan you put together Mirio.” Monoma added.

 “He’s only suspicious, so just calm the hell down you psycho. If he would have known for sure, we would be dead right now.” I shot back at him.

“We stick to the plan. We’ll keep taking down his warehouses. We just have to figure out a way to do it without looking so obvious next time. We’ll try something else other than staging a race. There Has to be other ways” Mirio was arguing with himself more than us, but it pissed me off nonetheless.

 “Why’d you even fucking bring Y/n to that stupid race, Mirio. You knew it would get shut down in the first place. You were the one who called the damn race chasers.” I yelled at him, needing to take some frustrations and place the blame before it exploded inside me.

 “Her mom just died. She literally just hopped off a plane from across the country this morning. Noel and I just wanted to cheer her up a little. How the hell were we supposed to know it would turn into this,” He stopped pacing and turned to face me, fists clenched. He was obviously pissed too. “And if you wanna start throwing around accusations, why the hell did you fucking agree to let her be your Navigator?” Mirio’s teeth were clenched while he pointed a finger at me.

 “Hey guys-“ Monoma tried to cut in before I shoved his skinny frame to the side, pointing back into Mirio’s face.

“Shouldn’t she be mourning or something then rather than be at an illegal race? I tried not allowing her into the car, but Kaminari threatened to call Tenya if I didn't,” My anger was reaching a peak, but I tried to keep it under wraps. “I couldn’t exactly explain to him why that would have been a bad idea, seeing as we literally had plans for the police to shut down the race. Why didn’t you just make her get out of the car? You were standing right there. You could’ve just taken over and forced her to stay. YOU KNEW I WAS GOING TO BE CHASED DOWN BY A HELICOPTER, AND YOU LET HER COME ANYWAYS YOU DUMB FUCK.” I screamed, I was trying to keep my cool but panic was gripping my throat.

   I knew I needed to calm down before it got out of hand, but the thought of Tenya Iida taking an interest in Y/n had me entirely on edge.

  “Well I couldn’t exactly throw tradition to the wind in front of an entire outfit of Riders Bakugou, the south side was watching. If I had given her the exception it would have caused Iida to notice her,” He stepped closer to me, face to face. “Which fucking reminds me.”

 “WHAT A FAT FUCKING LOAD OF GOOD THAT DI-,” My sentence was cut off by a flying fist to the face.

   Unlike Tenya Iida’s, Mirio’s perfectly formed uppercut had my entire body flying backwards. This hit hurt a lot more than the sissy punishment Iida tried to dole out.

  “Son of a bitch-that hurt.” I groaned, holding my nose that thankfully still felt unbroken. The blood gushing from it was an entirely different story, as it flooded my nostrils and dripped onto my shirt.

  “That’s for putting Y/n’s life at risk. You probably scared the little chick half to death.” Mirio explained.

   I almost smirked, thinking back to the thousand watt smile stretched across her beautiful face as I pushed my car a little harder than I felt like I ever had. Experimenting to see if her smile would grow if I went faster. It did.

  I huffed as I just sat my ass right on the ground. Mirio and Monoma followed suit shortly afterward, I could feel the tension leave my body as exhaustion creeped in. I could fall asleep right here on the ground if they would let me. I knew they wouldn’t though. If for no other reason than because I had orders to paint my car.

   I turned to look back at it, she needed body work after tonight’s escapades. So at least I could fix those. It caused a pang of hurt to flow through me. I painted it orange for a reason, my mom loved the color. It was her favorite and while she hated that I followed in her footsteps, especially when she found out I’d be a squad leader, she loved my car. Sometimes I’d go to the home she was in and take her out on a Sunday stroll.

  How would anyone recognize me? How would Y/n recognize me? I’ve already come to terms with the fact that I couldn’t see her personally again but how would she know it was me, passing her on the street, or watching me race.

   I growled. I wouldn’t give up the orange entirely, but I’d still follow orders.

 “So what do we do now?” Monoma spoke up again, trying to find a solution for our very real, very big problem.

 “Well, obviously throwing the race did no good to try and prove that we had nothing to do with the warehouse raids. I figured that if he saw we were at a race, and that it was shut down and covered by the news he would see that we were too busy to be leaking information to the police. Or that he’d come to his own conclusion, and he was still suspicious, as he very well should be, but he doesn’t need to know that.” Mirio said, rubbing his chin in thought.

 “We’ll regroup and come up with a better plan when we are all not dead on our feet. We all just need to shower and get some sleep, we’ll figure out a new plan afterwards,” I stated, effectively shutting down the conversation with no reluctance from the peanut gallery. “What are we going to do about Y/n? He’s obviously noticed her, and he’ll try something. If not for anything else but to get under my- our skin. He doesn’t know why, but he knows she’s important.” I continued, this was one topic that we had to make a plan for as soon as possible.

   “Well you know I have close eyes on Noel all the time, I have her with me almost constantly, and when I don’t I have my men follow her. She doesn’t know the last part so don’t say anything, but we’ll need something like that with her. I’d do it myself, but I already have my hands full with Noel. There aren’t many other people I trust with something like this.” Mirio’s example was perfect, we’ll assign her an escort.

  Another term used by the Riders. Essentially a bodyguard that protects, with just a few more duties than what that job usually consists of. Making sure they know where the person is at all times, being their own personal driver, running errands if they need it, and in worst case scenarios, slaughtering potential threats.

   Usually you could tell which of the Riders were escorts and which ones weren’t. The Riders who had names on the passenger seat headrests were the ones to look out for. It was a way to let others know they had someone they’d kill for, and wouldn’t hesitate to do so if the need for it arose.

  The job was usually only taken up officially by the Riders who had significant others, being their escort and doing so willingly and happily. It was a tiring job, one that demanded constant vigilance and a lot of times undivided attention. I’d know, I did it for Camie for two years, before I caught her on her knees with a mouth full of Tenya Iida that is.

      The sudden hurt I felt as the memory flashed in my head surprised me. I hated the feeling and anger flashed in my heart just as it did back then when I walked in on it. It wasn’t Camie per se that caused my hurt, it was more the fact that I’d put aside my hostility for someone. I’d practically dedicated my life to someone, spending all my time, my money, and my sanity trying to please another person, only for them to turn around and pull some shady bullshit like that?

  The spending money part wasn’t necessarily a rule you had to follow, but Riders made obscene amounts of money racing, and doing jobs for the Yakuza. Riders had a tendency to spend a lot of money, unafraid to blow thousands on their rides, why wouldn’t they do so on the person important enough to them that they would be their escort.

 “I do the same with Kendo, so I can’t offer up my services with her either.” Monoma’s words brought me back to reality, and away from thoughts of remembering the hell that was being Camies escort.

 “What about Amajiki?” Mirio said.

  I immediately felt my temper flare again, thinking back to when Y/n asked me if I thought Amajiki would let her be his Navigator. My mind shut it down almost as quickly as I shut her down.

 “You’re gonna entrust her care with that shaking leaf of a man? Not to mention that he’s rolled two cars in the last year?” I questioned the burly man sitting next to me.

 “You’re right, he wouldn’t know what to do. How about anyone on your squad?” He inquired, still deep in thought.

  My brain picked out all the people I would even consider letting Y/n be protected by. Only three came to mind.

 Kirishima, Deku, and Sero, maybe if you squinted Shoto.

  Kirishima was immediately out, as he was waiting to escort someone else. A tiny little foreign girl who worked at a bakery or something.

 Deku was the same, he had Ochako.

 Sero, once I thought it over, was out too. He was a playboy, and while I trusted him on my squad I had no intention of letting him near Y/n.

  Shoto was a no too, only because the thought of seeing her in his passenger seat made me want to skin that half and half bastard to an unrecognizable degree.

 I shook my head in denial at his question, and my mouth moved before I could stop the words from coming out

 “I’ll do it.”

   Mirio choked on his spit and whipped his head to me, his shell shocked expression giving away his surprise.

 “What?”

 “Did I stutter? I said I’ll do it. I’ll be Y/n’s escort.” I said, holding in my accusations that he was trying to imply that I wasn’t capable.

 “Are you sure? I mean after Camie and all-” Mirio started.

 “Y/n isn’t Camie. And we aren’t together. So it makes no fucking difference,” I heaved myself off the ground, walking back to my car with my hands in my pockets. “It’s settled then. I’ll have Kaminari and Shinsou fill in temporarily until I get this fucking car painted and get some sleep.” I said over my shoulder, noticing that both men were on their way back to their own.

“You better take care of her Bakugou, I’ll kill you if you don’t.” I heard Mirio yell to me as he paused before getting into his car.

 I nodded my head in acknowledgment sliding into my own drivers seat.

  I didn’t say anything out loud, but I silently agreed that if I didn’t I’d let him kill me.

  I started my car and looked over to the empty headrest of the passenger seat.

This was such a bad idea.

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Taglist: @thatonegeekchick @nightlygiggless @garnet-redtailedhero

-Squidlyskeet 👀🙃❤️✨👑

[lazyevaluationranch]

I was wondering if you would be willing to share the titles of your resilience-inspiring lesbian farm books? My google search led me to a book titled “Attack of the Lesbian Farmers” which, while certainly inspiring, is not exactly what I was looking for.

Here are two very different books in the Farm Lesbians Write Honestly About What Went Wrong And How They Got Through It genre. Hopefully at least one is to your taste.

It's nearly fifty years old now, and can be hard to find, but Country Women: A Handbook for the New Farmer is deeply important to me. Country Women was a black and white xeroxed magazine written by a collective of woman-run farms in California in the 1960s. (There are some issues scanned at the Lesbian Poetry Archive). Each issue was half articles about feminism and half articles about small-scale farming. In the 1970s, the how-to articles on farming were expanded and organized to make the book, along with some scattered journal entries, lovely hippie-style line drawings and poetry about wood splitting, bees, and gazing at one's beloved while fixing the tractor on a summer day. The contributors have names like Jean and Ruth Mountaingrove, Ellen Chanterelle, and Sam♀ Thomas. 

It's written in an informal and pragmatic style, mostly organic hippie farming, but using pesticides or conventional medications when necessary.

This afternoon the Anderson brothers began teaching me how to graft fruit trees - the careful joining of life with life. Even more than I loved gaining a new skill, I loved learning from two old men who have so very much to teach me. I admire the audacity of eighty-three-year-old men setting grafts that will not bear fruit for years: the total involvement in a process they love. Those trees will stand and live; I doubt whether Jake or Fred even stop to wonder if they'll pick the fruit. I want to live my life with that kind of harmony and purpose. I want to be planting seeds the day I die.

The first lamb was born today. Premature and dead. Olivia, the mother, seems to be all right though. I had a dream a few weeks ago that the lambs were born tiny (like mice) and pink. And that I struggled to save them, but they were too small to feed. The lamb today was small and pink, its fleece plastered against its body, thin and sparse. For a moment it was nightmareishly like my dream... This is my first animal death. The beginning of a long cycle. It seems even harder to have death come before life, than to have an old one die giving birth. Hopes for the future stillborn.

Driving home today, I suddenly realized that this really is going to be a sheep ranch, that I have done, and am doing, and will do it. That I'm making my livelihood from the land. The canyon is fenced now. There are  sheep out there on pastures that were open hillsides two years ago. 

The very act of building this place, the simple actions of tamping dirt, stretching wire, dumping hay in feeders, has profoundly changed my sense of self. I'm doing things I never dreamed I could do, and I'm doing them easily without even considering whether I really can. Last night I was talking with Susan about fencing the front meadow for feeder calves, and I realized that I could say that realistically, no fantasizing, no bragging: I can fence the front meadow as soon as I get done with the hay barn and get a little more money.

Like almost every other farmer in America today, I'm in debt and hoping for a good season. I'm only at the beginning now, and I know there are many struggles to come and overcome and come again: Someday I too, like my neighbours, will be counting carcasses killed by a marauding dog or watching the spring oats be wash away in an "unheard of" late storm. No matter how prepared I am, there us always that vulnerability - to the weather, other animals, disease - that seems to strike when things are finally going smoothly. But inside me there is also this incredible joy: This life is real and good, and it has made me strong and real and good too. 

I gotta stop or I'll type the whole book into this post. One more: 

My father is here this week ... working on the truck whose engine has been alien to me. I am learning now what I could have learned at 7, 11, 15. Beneath my truck, side by side, lie his seven-year-old son and his twenty-five-year-old daughter, both of us learning for the first time how bearings fit together, how to remove pistons. And here beneath this truck the patriarchy stops: he has passed his knowledge to his daughter, and from me  it will pass to sisters, from sister to sister to sister. 

That's this book. The things women weren't supposed to know in the sixties. They found people to teach them; they taught each other; they learned through bitter loss. The book says: we have gone before you and you are not alone. Here is what we have learned, and here is how we have learned it. We have failed, and we have wept, and we have gotten up and gone on, and it was alright. Here is the fire, passed from hand to hand to hand. Here is the light that will never be put out. 

The week after we first got goats, we received a package in the mail from my coolest relative, a veterinarian who was the first woman to graduate with a specialization in large animal medicine at her school. People thought that women just weren't physically capable of handling large animals. (Hint: the bull weights 1100 kilograms. It doesn't much matter if the veterinarian weighs 50 kilograms or 150 kilograms.) I remember staying with her a child, in summer, laying on the stainless steel operating table in the barn; it always felt cool when the heat was unbearable.

The package, of course, contained Country Women. An old well-loved copy, with notes on long-ago calving dates penciled in the margins, and random scraps of paper with sketches of possible gardens and goat sheds as bookmarks.  A light passed from hand to hand, a light that will not go out. It was like receiving a video game quest artifact.

Country Women is rooted in second wave feminism, which is not everyone's cup of tea. For something more modern and story-focussed, consider Hit By A Farm or Sheepish by Catherine Friend. These are collections of short, funny autobiographical essays about farming and relationships. Their tone is honest and wry, self-deprecating. You can see Catherine Friend's blog here and decide if you like her writing style. She wanted to call Hit By A Farm "Sheep Sex and Other Disasters" but her editor didn't think it would sell. 

In Hit By A Farm, Catherine - a professional writer - goes along with her partner Melissa's lifelong desire to ranch sheep, and describes the results from the perspective of the slightly reluctant farmer's wife as they start a farm in Minnesota.  Sheepish is written fifteen years later, when they're thinking about quitting the farm, after all the shiny newness of farming and the relationship has worn off. There are different mistakes then, different sorrows, and new joys. 

From Sheepish: 

We rarely pay attention to middles. Perhaps we ignore them because they're problematic. The middles of our beds often sag. The middles of our bodies sag. The middle of a long story told by your brother-in-law is likely to sag, and so you'll need another beer to stay focused. Everyone needs a reason to keep going when they're in the middle. 

And:

Don't expect a farm to fix your life, for once the romance dims, you must still muck out the barn and stack hay bales and give that sick goat an enema...Although there are tons of stories about starting something new, there just aren't that many about how to keep doing something, about how to slog through the middle when the going gets tough.

The quotes are all from Sheepish; I can't find our copy of Hit By A Farm:

My spinning wheel continues to torture and confound me. I realize I'm not interested enough in the craft to really commit to learning it. After a few more tries, I tuck the wheel into a corner of our living room and turn it into what Melissa likes to call a Dust Accumulation Research Project. Clearly our wool market will continue to be the wildly unlucrative wholesale warehouse.

The patron saint of spinners is, interestingly enough, Saint Catherine. She was a Christian martyr in Alexandria. In 307 AD, she was condemned to be torn apart by the spokes of the wheel.

Well. No wonder.

Spoiler: things get pretty rough, there’s illness and hard winters and financial issues, but they do not, in fact, give up the farm or each other. 

The book says: We made it. You will too.

[suwya]

Till the Stars Had Run Away - Chapter 7

Summary: Killian Jones was a voyager. Actually, he was many things, or at least he had been - a lieutenant, a brother, a loving boyfriend - until everything had turned upside down and his life had hit an all time low. So, he gave up. Aboard his spaceship he abandoned Arcadia, his planet, navigating the stars and other solar systems in search of... well, he still didn't know what he was searching for, but his rule was "never remain in the same place longer than necessary."

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Rating: M

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Prologue; Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6

AO3

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A/N: Thank you @thisonesatellite for being the best beta reader I could ever ask for. And thank to all of you who are reading this.

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Chapter 7

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Everything exists,

everything is true

and the earth is just

a bit of dust beneath our feet.

(W. B. Yeats)

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“Help yourself.” David had accompanied Killian to some sort of warehouse with various spare parts of spaceships piled up here and there on shelves. “Sorry, I don't understand much about mechanics.” He apologized.

Killian looked around him, some pieces appeared to be useful, others looked like half-broken remains from which perhaps a couple of bolts could be extracted but nothing more. “It seems more boneyard than storage.”

“Yeah, well, not everybody who landed here was lucky enough to tell the tale..” David sighed.

A look of understanding passed between them. Killian nodded and started to rummage through the pieces. They had just checked the Jolly Roger to assess the damages, passing through a hidden corridor that led directly to the hangar without having to go out into the open. If I had known this passage existed, I would have probably been spared my hospital stay, Killian had thought.

“What is like to grow up on this planet?” He asked nonchalantly, still trying to decipher the man next to him.

“Nobody is from Vernal-Den.”

Killian looked at him suspiciously “Then, how did you land here?”

“Probably, same as you did. We had entered the gravitational field without even realizing it. Sadly, we were less fortunate than you, our spaceship was destroyed. It’s a miracle we survived. And in no time we were trapped here.”

“And you built an underground city.” There was astonishment in his voice.

“It’s not that big, and the tunnels were already part of this planet, we just repurposed them for our convenience.”

“How many of you live here?”

David appeared lost in a faraway thought. “There were more than twenty of us in the original group. Some had already gone away, joining a fleeing ship. Some… well, let’s just say they had tried an escape route that did not turn out to be the best choice. There’s just a few of us left now.”

“Why didn’t you leave?” Killian was curious to know what kept the other man tied to this lost land.

“I contemplated the possibility a couple of times. But at the beginning it was chaos, people needed a leader. Someone who took responsibility for organizing things down here.”

“You?”

“I was their leader on our home planet.” David answered, and Killian studied the man in front of him, his stance, the way he always looked straight into the eyes of his interlocutor. He exuded confidence and Killian had no trouble imagining him as a charismatic manager or even a king. But when he was about to ask, the other man went on. “When things started to run by themselves, I considered going somewhere else, but well, you can imagine, we don’t receive many visitors.”

“So if the opportunity arises to leave now, you will take it on the fly?”

“I don't know,” David shook his head, “but I would certainly think about it.”

Killian spent some time choosing pieces from the shelves. When he felt satisfied with his choices, he said “I think I have everything I need.”

David nodded and they made their way back to the ship. Killian was eager to get started on the repairs, the other man said he had some tasks to do and would be back to pick him up in a few hours, so Killian found himself alone in the hangar. But that was no problem, he loved devoting sweat and tears to his ship, and fixing it was for him like healing the wounds of a close friend.

Time flew by when he was with his lady, and when David returned, Killian was covered in grease and oil stains. “I’ve just talked to Mary Margaret”, the blonde man stated, “dinner should be ready soon, we better go home.”

A few corridors and passages down, David stopped in front of a double door. He seemed to ponder something, but in the end, he said “Let me show you something.”

Behind that door there was one of the most amazing things Killian had ever seen. A greenhouse. The man remembered when Henry mentioned it. Now he understood why the boy was so enthusiastic about it.

The place was enormous. Plants and trees of all kinds and species grew in full bloom under an artificial source of bright light and the temperature in the room was slightly wet but pleasant. Scents of different flowers filled the air and Killian recognized some fruits that he had only seen in pictures. He was staring with awe. “Well, this is…”

“Outstanding? Extraordinary?” David finished his sentence. “Yeah. Exactly my thoughts when I found it.”

“What do you mean, found it? Was it already here when you arrived?”

David nodded.

“But how could it be? You said that nobody was living here when you landed. Who is in charge of this place?”

“The place runs all by itself.” Under the astonished look of the other man, David added “Many things are strange on this planet, and I don’t have all the answers.” He shook his head. “I wish I had.”

~·~·~·~

Back home Killian took a quick shower to get rid of all the grease of the engine and when he was redressing with clean clothes, Emma approached him and started to help him with the ointment and fresh bandages for his bruises. They were alone in the upper part of the loft. She was chewing her bottom lip, maybe because she was concentrating on the task, or so he thought, and that’s why he was surprised when she abruptly said “We need to talk.”

He arched a brow. “I’ve found that when a woman says that, I'm rarely in for a pleasant conversation.”

She rolled her eyes. “I want you to know what Sidney Glass told me about New-Tolemac.”

Emma had just finished fixing the last of the gauze, and Killian put a hand on hers stopping her movements. She lifted her gaze, staring into his eyes perplexedly. He nodded, trying to silently tell her that she could trust him with whatever she wanted to reveal.

But the closeness, her hand on his chest, the way she was looking at him, it was too much to bear for Killian. Intense and maybe inappropriate thoughts were forming in his head, and he needed to pay attention to what she was about to say. He took a step back and started to put on a shirt.

Emma sat down at the end of the bed. She was fidgeting, clearly uncomfortable and worried. “The King and Queen of New-Tolemac have joined forces with the Industry.” She blurted.

“Well, that’s a powerful partnership, indeed.” Killian conceded.

“But why? For years they have built and perfected a plan to defeat the Industry, they have been preparing for war. Now they want to be their ally. I don’t understand.” Emma shook her head.

“People often change sides according to their benefits.”

“Yeah. Mr. Glass said they have a common goal. But he didn’t know what that was. Or he didn’t want to reveal it to me.” Emma had been staring at her feet so far. But she frowned and raised her gaze to find his. “I don’t know what to think.”

Killian sat down next to her and covered her hand with his. “What is exactly troubling you?”

“If New-Tolemac doesn’t fear a possible attack of the Industry, maybe they won’t be needing Henry as their heir anymore. So I should be relieved. But if they still need Henry for their future business, they are more powerful now, and finding my son wouldn’t be much of a problem for them.” She shivered. “I’m terrified.” She admitted.

Killian looked sympathetically at her, then he opened his arms and she leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder. “We will protect Henry. Nothing bad will happen to the boy.” He tried to reassure her, and she mentally thanked him for his choice to use the word we.

~·~·~·~

When Emma and Killian went downstairs Henry was immersed in a story. Mary Margaret was putting some things in place on her shelves, which in Killian’s opinion was not at all necessary, as they already seemed in order; he noticed that the boy glanced confused towards the brunette woman but didn't give it too much weight.

David was in the kitchen, browning some vegetables. "You absolutely have to try these," he told his audience, "they don't have all the intense flavor they had on our planet, but, given that they are from a greenhouse, they are not bad at all."

“What was your home planet?” Killian inquired.

“One of the NTH-Confederates.” It was Mary Margaret who answered.

“No way!” Henry had stopped giving attention to his tablet.

“Yes, why? Do you know them?” Was David’s question, while his wife simultaneously asked: "Have you been there?"

“Everybody in the multiverse knows them.” Killian stated. “I traveled a lot, but I never went that far away. Those planets are surrounded by legends and myths.”

“Well, it’s a very tangible and existing myth.” The brunette said with a nostalgic look in her eyes.

“It’s so cool! It has to be a wondrous place.” Henry was as enthusiastic as usual.

“Yeah. Well… I’d like it to be as cool as it used to be.” There was a hint of sadness in David’s voice. Then he shook his head as if he didn't want to indulge in melancholic thoughts. “But, they still have the best fillglow team of the multiverse!”

“What are you talking about?” Killian rhetorically asked.

“Why, The Buttercups, of course!”

“No, no, no.” Killian accentuated it by swinging one finger. “I mean, they are some fine fellows, I won’t argue with that. But The Black Clippers? That’s a team as it ought to be!”

“Oh, come on! The Buttercups have won four major leagues. What did your team win?”

“It’s easy to have the most requested players on the market when you are loaded. My boys, they cut their teeth on the field, they fought to reach where they are. They were not a guaranteed winning team, and look at them now, top end of the MFC table this year. Plus, they play fair.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” David was staring back at the other man, chin raised, one hand on his hip. He might even have looked threatening, were it not for the fact that in his other hand he was brandishing a wooden spoon and wearing an apron that read "the most charming chef in the world".

“Easy guys.” His wife tried to make peace. “Dinner is almost ready, would you like to help set the table?”

They all ate quietly, the boys still talking about sports, but with Mary Margaret's gentle interjection now and then, and some glances at her husband, they didn’t argue much. Emma, instead, was delighted, looking at Killian talking about his favorite team as if he was defending his honor.

When they finished eating, the brunette stood up and said to her husband “David, you should go and do your patrol, while I check at the hospital if they need anything.” Something that Killian had already listened to the previous day, as well just after dinner.

Henry looked at the woman frowning. “Why do you always repeat the same actions, day after day?” He was perplexed.

Killian hummed as if he had the clues to the boy’s puzzle “This is a stuck-track planet, my lad.” he explained to a confused Henry. “I’ve been on some of them when I was young.”

“You say it as if you were an old fellow.” Emma snorted. “What are you, a million years old?”

“It’s more like two hundred.” Was his reply.

And to her surprise, she didn’t detect any hint of a lie. “Are you kidding me?”

Killian was about to reply, but Henry interrupted their banter “What’s a stuck-track planet?”

“It means that time runs differently here.” The man explained. “The days or even weeks we spend on this planet are probably just a couple of minutes back home.”

The boy seemed fascinated by the idea. “Wow! Now I understand why my watch gives almost the same hour, it's not broken, it just moves really slow!”

“Exactly. And it affects people, too.” Killian went on. “They don’t age, or at least not in the way you do on Althea-Seals.” Then he drew near Emma, whispering so that only she could hear him “Stuck-track planets may have given me experience, but as you can see I’ve retained my youthful glow.” He winked at her, who just rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress a smile.

“This is why the days all look the same here.” Henry deduced, who was giving further thought to the subject.

“This is why we follow routines so strictly.” Mary Margaret chimed in. “It helps count the passing of time.”

“Does that mean that you and David aren’t the age you appear, either?” Emma questioned.

The other woman thought about it. “Add twenty years, give or take. But it’s hard to say exactly.”

The married couple excused themselves while heading out of the loft to carry out their duties. Killian and Emma started to put away the remains of the dinner. Henry was probably still eager to know as much as possible about this strange planet and its slow time, but when he stood up with his dirt plate in his hands he couldn’t suppress a yawn. His mother insisted on him going to bed.

~·~·~·~

“Where do those flying rocks around the planet come from?” Killian asked David after he had come back from his patrol.

Henry was already sleeping upstairs, and the three of them were sitting around the table.

“Ahm, it’s not so easy to explain.” The blond man answered.

“Give it a try.” Killian wanted to understand how Vernal-Den worked.

David shook his head. “It’s not that I don’t want to tell you, more than I don’t actually know about it.” He made a pause trying to find better words to explain his point of view. “I would say it’s remotely directed.”

“From where?” Emma asked curiously.

“We don’t know.” This time was Mary Margaret’s turn to answer, who had just entered the loft, back from the hospital, and joined the other adults at the table.

“But I assure you, there’s none else on this planet, apart from the people we know about. And I trust all of them.” David had the urge to defend his friends.

“A couple of people we knew had tried to go outside to search for other forms of life, enemies, whatever... to understand who or what supervises this planet’s activities.” Mary Margaret sighed. “Let’s just say it didn’t end well.”

“But there should be someone else on this planet, defending it.” Killian didn’t comprehend.

“There’s nobody else living here, apart from the people we already know.”

“How can you be so sure?” Emma asked.

“Nobody else uses the greenhouse and its products.” David explained. “Nobody else wastes the energy generated by the planet. It’s just us.”

“But it’s clear that someone really wants to protect this planet from intruders, therefore the rocks. For what purpose?” Killian’s attempt to solve this puzzle only created more questions and doubts.

“Well, the greenhouse could supply oxygen and food for an entire population. I think that someone is interested in keeping this planet as a possible lifeline.”

“A lifeline.” The dark man wondered about it. “Who’s behind this?”

“My theory is just as good as yours.” The blond man shook his head again.

“But you do have a theory.”

“Who’s playing with planets as pawns for his own benefits?” David grimaced.

“You think the Industry is behind this?” Emma almost whispered, as if she was worried that the Industry itself could hear her. She shivered, and Killian put his hand on hers resting on her knee under the table. He was willing to tell her that everything was going to be ok, but he didn’t want to generate indiscreet questions from his hosts.

David shrugged. “Any other ideas?”

“I don’t know. We haven't lived here for a long time. You tell me.” Killian teased.

David looked straight at his guests. “We did some research, with the limited resources we have here, but I assure you it’s nothing we had seen before. What generates all the power needed to maintain the greenhouse and the system that propels the rocks outside the atmosphere … it’s not material, if you understand what I mean.”

Killian passed his bionic hand over his stubble thoughtfully. “Not material.” He repeated. “Antiparticles? But that’s preposterous! A fantasy! You can’t create energy from nothing.”

“Yeah. You would say so. But there’s no other explanation. It’s a power so strong that can create an entirely new world…” David made a pause, and then: “or destroy one.”

“Antiparticles,” Killian repeated, while all his theories were starting to fit in. “So that’s how that vile crocodile annihilates the planets he doesn't need anymore.”

The blond man nodded. “After looting everything the planet has to offer, the Industry injects some of those antiparticles underground. And they disintegrate every last molecular bond and electric impulse until the planet itself implodes.”

“Is that what happened to your planet?” Emma asked Killian even if she didn’t need an actual answer, and then she turned to the couple “Yours as well?”

“We’re not sure about that,” David answered. “From the sources we have, it appears that the NTH-Confederates planets are still alive and kicking, all of them. I think Mr. Gold has other intentions, some obscure interest in them. But I don’t know what it is.”

“Do you miss it? Your home.” Emma inquired. She didn’t miss hers. Life on New-Tolemac when she was a child had not been that bad, she couldn’t complain. But the lack of freedom and the memories of the last events there had left a sour taste and no desire of going back ever.

“Yes. We do.” There was sadness in David’s voice. “Most of the time. But we know that returning there doesn’t necessarily mean that we could go back to our lives. Many things have changed. And I’m not sure I’d like to see how our planet has become.”

“We had to make some difficult decisions before leaving our home. But it was for the best of all.” Mary Margaret sobbed. “It was a long time ago, but it still hurts like the first day.” David put his hand on hers, smiling faintly, trying to give her courage.

“What happened? If it’s not too much to ask.” Killian softly asked.

“We were under attack,” David explained. “We tried to defend ourselves, but the Industry’s power is difficult to overcome. We realized that the only way for us to survive was to abandon our land…”

Mary Margaret stepped in, “We believed that it was the end, that we wouldn’t be able to escape alive.” She sighed loudly “I had just had a baby, and we knew that taking her with us was too risky, it would have been her death sentence.”

“So we contacted a woman who promised us that our daughter would be taken care of, she knew that the King and Queen of a faraway planet were searching for an heir.” David went on telling the story, but his voice wasn’t as steady as he tried to make it. He was still affected by the sad memory as well as his wife. “We wrapped her in a white blanket with a purple ribbon and we gave her the best chance to be the princess she could have never been with us.”

“So you decided to sell her!” Emma shouted.

“What?” - “No!” David and Mary Margaret reacted simultaneously, shaking their heads in bewilderment.

“We never said anything about money.” David pointed out.

“We could have never done anything like that to our child.” Mary Margaret seemed shocked by her guest’s assumption and even a bit outraged.

Emma looked at them with an open mouth, but no sound came out. Then she abruptly stood up and rushed out of the house.

The married couple exchanged a questioning look. “Did I say something wrong?” Mary Margaret asked worriedly.

Killian shook his head. “I should apologize for her behavior. This is a sensitive matter for her. If you would excuse me.” He said standing up and heading to the door.

~·~·~·~

“Are you alright, love?” Killian found Emma sitting on the corridor floor, with her arms around her legs and her face buried in her knees.

He waited for a reply, but it didn’t come. So he sat down next to her. She was crying, her back shuddering.

“Swan…” he tried, but then... “Emma, talk to me.”

She raised her face to look straight at him. Tears rolling down her cheeks. “I have a white blanket with a purple ribbon from when I was a baby! I always had it!” And there was pain in her eyes, but also anger.

It was his time to keep silent. He didn’t know how to react to this new piece of information.

“It’s them!” She exclaimed between sobs. “Those people inside the house are my parents! How am I supposed to look at their faces?”

An immeasurable feeling of protection spread within Killian, but he had to swallow his urge to hug her as if their lives depended on it, because it wasn’t the right time. She was struggling against enough demons, he could not burden her with further emotional matters. “Well, love, if it were me finally finding my parents, I would be very pleased to spend as much time as possible with them, to get the chance to know them and understand who they really are.”

“They sold me! They didn’t want me!” Emma looked at him as if he were an alien. How he could not understand her point of view was beyond her comprehension.

But Killian did understand her, given that he had been sold as a child as well, he knew the feeling, he just didn’t think this was the same case he had lived through. “That’s not what they said in there. They were trying to protect their baby, to give her her best chance to live a life they couldn’t afford for her. And they didn’t seem happy about that decision. I saw regret and what-ifs in their eyes.”

He knew she too noticed the pain in David and Mary Margaret's strangled voices, but he also knew she wasn't ready to admit it. “They are lying.” She hissed.

“Are you sure about that? Henry once told me you have this superpower, that you can detect a lie when you hear it. I had the impression they were being honest while telling their story.”

“But I saw the contract!” She was grasping at straws.

Killian had to take her to a more practical level, something tangible that she could hold on to if she wanted to. “Aye, you saw it. And who exactly signed it?”

“I…” Emma tried to recall a ten-year-old memory, but it wasn’t easy. After all, she had been in shock when she had discovered she wasn't the real daughter of the King and Queen of New-Tolemac. “I don’t know… I mean, I’m pretty sure there were my adoptive parents’ names in the paper, but…”

And that was when Killian realized that he had bought her some time, at least. “So you are not completely sure that they are your parents.”

He saw how her shoulders hunched as she was looking at him with watering pleading eyes and he understood that part of her was yelling to run away from pain and old scars, but another part was whispering that maybe she could finally find that love that only parents can give and that she had never felt in her life.

“You know what? We’re going to go back, and we’re going to spend a few more days with those people. We could even ask them if they would like to come with us on our journey back.”

“But..” She started.

Killian stopped her with the raise of one finger. “If it turns out that they really are your parents, well, you’ll have more time to understand why they decided to abandon you when you were just a baby. And only after that, we’ll choose if we hate them or not. Sounds fair?”

She didn’t move for a few minutes, dwelling on his words, but then she put a hand on his bionic one, and even if she knew he couldn’t feel it, she squeezed it with gratitude. Thank you for bearing this weight with me. She would have liked to say the words, but they didn’t come. She didn’t have the strength to analyze why he was doing this for her. Too many feelings for one night, to face new and unfamiliar ones. “Okay.” was what she finally said.

[quickspinner]

Guard My Heart - Ch 2 Bright as Ever

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Read on AO3

“It looks so great, Marinette!” Tikki squealed and Marinette sat back on her heels and looked up, smiling as she rubbed a forearm across her forehead. 

“It really does,” Marinette agreed, her voice slightly muffled by the mask she was wearing to filter out some of the paint fumes. She laid her paintbrush carefully aside and looked up. “How’s it going up there?” she asked, and dodged a glob of black paint just in time. “Careful,” she scolded, scrubbing at the spot with a rag even though she had a drop cloth on the floor for just this reason.

“My apologies,” Wayzz said above her, moving so that his paintbrush was hovering over the paint can and not Marinette’s head. “You startled me. I am almost done.” 

“Good,” Marinette smiled, and resisted the urge to tell him to hurry up. Wayzz was careful, which was why she had selected him to help her with this final stage, filling in the last of the narrow curlicues and flowers she had roughed in days ago. His care came at the price of speed, though, and sometimes his slowness made Marinette want to scream.

It was still more efficient to have Wayzz filling in the upper portion than for Marinette to get up on a ladder to do it, and the kwami was so happy to be helping that she didn’t have the heart to rush him, so she throttled down her impatience and walked out to the middle of the room to spin a slow circle and take it all in. She’d had most of the kwamis in here helping at one time or another, because this would be their home as well and she wanted them to feel some ownership and investment in it. The walls that surrounded her were now a soft pink, with her signature flowers in darker pink and black at all the corners and coordinating scrollwork anywhere that seemed too empty. Framed photographs from her portfolio were stacked in a corner and covered with a cloth. She’d hang those tomorrow, once the paint was dry. The back wall that they were finishing up now had her flower design on a much larger scale, framing the little sales counter. Fixtures and clothing racks were all shoved to the center of the room at the moment, but now that the painting was done, she could start getting that arranged. She wasn’t ahead of her plan by any means, but she was on track.

She noticed a shadow against the paper covering the shop’s front door just before there was a rap on the glass. Marinette waited for Wayzz and Tikki to zip out of sight, and then went to answer it. She was pretty sure she recognized the silhouette, and sure enough, Luka’s friendly grin greeted her as she opened the door. 

“Hi,” he said, a little sheepishly. “I’m trying to move a table and I could use a hand. Would you mind coming over when you have a second?” 

Marinette smiled. “I have a second now,” she said, stepping out and checking her pocket for her key before she let the door close behind her.

Luka chuckled and tapped the mask Marinette was still wearing, and she blushed beneath it. “Oh. Right.” She took it off, embarrassed as she rubbed at the lines she was sure it had left on her face. She opened the door again and dropped the mask back inside, knowing that one of the kwamis would retrieve it for her.

“You could just prop the doors open,” Luka suggested as they walked over to his space. 

Marinette huffed. “I don’t like being watched while I work,” she replied, which was only half a lie. It was true she didn’t especially want people looking in on her while she was contorted around, potentially with her ass in the air, trying to find a good position to do what she needed without leaning into wet paint. Mostly, though, she didn’t want the kwamis on display for any passers-by. 

She smiled a little as Luka held the door of his own shop open and motioned her inside. It had a more industrial warehouse feel, with exposed beams in the walls and ceiling, and low voltage lighting strung over the crowded space. Marinette wouldn’t have been at all surprised to find out the multicolor slat wood flooring had come from the Liberty (it hadn’t, Luka had laughingly assured her when she asked, but he had picked it because it reminded him of home). Really, the whole place felt like the Liberty, and Marinette loved it, right down to the friendly, grinning cement turtle statue sitting by the door. The thing was knee high to Luka and while one couldn’t exactly call him pretty, his shell twinkled with embedded pieces of mosaic tile in many colors, and there was an air of mischievousness in his grinning face that made Marinette smile back every time she saw him. He looked exactly like the kind of thing Anarka would go wild for, regardless of the fact that he was incredibly, impractically heavy. She couldn’t imagine what shipping him had originally cost, and Luka’s story of actually getting it to its place by the door had left Marinette giggling uncontrollably. She was positive from the look on Luka’s face while he told the tale that it was never moving from that spot unless someone both bought it, and was willing to carry it away. 

The whole shop was full of fun, eclectic things like that, as well as some more valuable antiques. Marinette loved it, and could picture in her mind the type of customer Luka was likely to bring in. She hadn’t told him that she’d already started a few sketches for his branding, based around a stylized boat. It had taken her a few days to get over the fact that he’d named his shop Second Chance Antiques and Curiosities . She had nearly laughed in his face when he told her, and that would have been really hard to explain. She’d managed to hold it in until she was alone, and then she and Sass had had a good laugh over it. 

“Sorry I have to keep asking for your help,” Luka grunted, as they both took an end of the table he needed moved and shifted it. “I thought I had a plan, but there’s just so much stuff, I keep having to rearrange.”

“It’ll be easier when you get some customers in here and get some of this stuff—oof—out of your hair.” Marinette sighed as they set the table down in the area Luka had cleared out for it. “Maybe if you used the bigger pieces as sort of...display cases for some of the smaller stuff?” she suggested, stretching her back slightly as she looked around. 

“Yeah, maybe,” Luka sighed, giving her a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m sure I’ll figure it out eventually.” 

Marinette put her hand on his arm and rubbed it gently. “You will. We’ve both got a lot of lessons to learn, but we’re both adaptable. We’ll make it happen.” 

Luka made an affirmative noise, but sighed again.  

“Luka,” Marinette said gently, and he looked at her with that same not-quite-there smile. 

“I’m okay. Freaking out a little, but I’ll manage. I’ll be fine once the shop opens and things start happening, it’s just...the waiting is getting to me, I guess. It’s not like I don’t have a thousand things left to do to get ready, but...I don’t know, I’m not explaining myself well.” He looked away from her, and ran his fingers through his hair. It was hanging loose today, and the blue looked bright and fresh. He must have done a touch up for opening week, she thought absently, reaching up to tuck a lock behind his ear. His eyes darted to her with something like surprise and she drew her hand back quickly, self-conscious.

“You won’t know what the right choices are until you can get people in and see their reactions,” Marinette suggested, and the smile he gave her was real this time, real and grateful, and she smiled back. “You’re better at reading people in the moment rather than predicting people you don’t know—o-or at least you used to be—so I can see how you’d be frustrated trying to do this without any way to get feedback.”

“You’re not like that,” he muttered, smile falling as he looked back at the shop and sighed. “You’ve probably had a vision and a plan since before you signed the contract.”

Marinette bumped her shoulder against his. “You’re not me, though. It’s okay to do things your way, and not mine. Opening week is important, but it isn’t everything.” 

Luka grinned at her, and Marinette felt her shoulders curl under his knowing look. “It caused you physical pain to say that, didn’t it,” he chuckled.

Marinette scoffed and folded her arms, and then muttered, “Maybe.” 

Luka laughed and put his arm around her shoulders, giving her a little squeeze before letting his arm drop. “Thanks for the pep talk, Marinette.” 

He was smiling now for real, and it didn’t fade, and Marinette felt unreasonably proud about it. She opened her mouth to say something, though she had no idea what, when Luka’s phone beeped a familiar tone. He frowned and pulled it out of his pocket, checking the akuma alert. Marinette leaned over without thinking to look as well, dread curling in her gut even as her heart pumped faster.

“It’s not nearby,” Luka assured her, and Marinette sighed, and then her eyes widened and she jerked back a bit as she suddenly realized how she was crowding him. 

“Well, that’s a relief,” she said, quickly, backing up. “I should—”

“Watch out!” Luka was lunging forward before she even registered her calf hitting something hard, and he grabbed her arms just as she pitched backwards with a yelp. “I got you,” he said breathlessly, as he braced his feet and pulled her upright. “Sorry, that scared me,” he said, letting go of her quickly, his hands moving to tug the tail of his shirt nervously and nodding at the glass-top coffee table she had almost fallen into. “You could have really gotten hurt. Please be careful.” He grinned sheepishly. “At least until I get this place a little more organized.” 

“Luka.” Marinette stepped forward and hugged him, and though his arms wrapped immediately back around her, she felt herself blushing, the feel of a man’s body against her instead of a half-grown boy’s suddenly forcibly reminding her that they weren’t teenagers anymore. “Couffaines don’t do organized,” she teased, keeping her head down so he couldn’t see her embarrassment. “Stop trying to make it look like you think it’s supposed to, and do it your way. It’ll be fine, and you can adjust from there.” She let go quickly and straightened without looking at him. 

“I have to, um, go finish my painting before it all dries out or...something,” she said quickly, making sure she watched where she was going this time as she walked away from him, face burning. Stupid, why had she done that? Sure, they were friendly, and yeah, they’d fallen fairly easily into something like their old friendship. Luka had clearly meant what he said, about the way friendships come and go, and he seemed perfectly ready to let her take back her place in his life, and it was so easy to just go with it... 

Not exactly her old place, she reminded herself firmly. That was hardly to be expected. He’d always been touch-oriented though, and had been touching her shoulder or her arm or her back just as casually as he ever had, so maybe the hug wasn’t a big deal to him. He probably hugged his friends all the time, and it’s not like he knew that she didn’t. Besides, she used to, and she probably would, if she still had friends—real friends. And Luka was a real friend, so there was nothing wrong with hugging him, especially when he was clearly so worried about whether he could pull off this new business venture. She was freaking out over nothing, surely. She could comfort him; he’d do the same for her—he had done the same for her, so it was her turn , after all, especially being the more experienced when it came to business and marketing, so... 

Marinette rushed through the door of her shop and locked it quickly, and then put her hands over her face and shrieked into them. 

“Marinette,” Tikki said sympathetically, flying up from her purse to pat her shoulder. 

“I know,” Marinette mumbled. “Okay, um...I don’t think I can leave in spots just now without being seen so...let’s go out the back and try that alley a couple blocks over.” 

Transformed and with her mind focused on the goal, she followed the general direction of the alert, and then the screaming, to a fancy restaurant on the roof of a high-rise. Chat was already there, crouched in the remains of the outdoor dining, clearly regrouping. 

“What’s up?” she asked, landing next to him.

“This restaurant’s nearly impossible to get a table at,” Chat said grimly, with none of the joking humor he would have used once. “Big snob energy. Guess they snubbed the wrong person today. Best guess is the akuma’s target is the maitre’d or the manager, unless there was some random civilian that was especially rude. Looks like your standard entitled rich lady to me, though, so I’m betting on a beef with the restaurant.” He glanced at her. “You got here pretty quick today.” 

“I’ve made some changes in my personal life,” she said carefully. “I’m hoping it’ll give me a little more freedom and you won’t have to wait for me so often.”

“Not like I have anything better to do, but I’m not complaining,” Chat grunted. “Give me the plan and let’s go.” 

Ladybug sighed to herself. She had always wished he would take this job more seriously, but something had changed in Chat when they took Hawkmoth down, and while he had improved somewhat since then, clearly he’d been having one of the bad days before the akuma struck. Grim and cynical wasn’t an especially good look on him, and it worried her. 

No time to worry about that now though. “Distract and evacuate,” she said. “We need to get the civilians out of there. Hopefully in the process we can figure out which one it’s specifically targeting.” 

“Works for me.” Chat launched himself forward, ready to go as always, and Ladybug moved only an instant later. 

The akuma was obnoxious and destructive, with heeled shoes that could shatter concrete and a banshee-like scream that left Ladybug’s ears ringing even after the cure. Ladybug winced as she looked back at the trail of destruction. Chat just flopped on his back on the  rooftop. 

“Could’ve used some backup for that one,” he muttered.

“I’m sorry, there was no opening,” Ladybug panted, putting her hands on her knees. “I was afraid to leave.” 

“Not blaming you,” he said, with a hint of his old humor in the half smile he managed as he turned his head to look at her. “Just saying. We could really use a hand more often.” 

Ladybug made a neutral noise. She didn’t disagree with him, but…

But, but, but. There was always a but. But the rules . But identities . But it was her responsibility.

“Ladybug,” Chat said, the smile falling away as he watched her expression. “I really didn’t mean it that way.” 

“I know,” she said, her voice coming out a tad too high. “It’s fine.” She held out her fist to him and he rolled over on his side to bump his against it. “I gotta get back.”

“I’m just gonna lay here for a while,” he muttered, and Ladybug sighed, reaching down to ruffle his hair affectionately.

“Don’t stay out too long, Kitty.”

“Yeah, yeah, beep beep. I got it.” He waved his ringed hand at her and then flopped back down to the roof. “Don’t worry, I don’t plan on getting stuck on top of this building.”

Ladybug huffed a laugh, and tossed her yoyo.

She transformed a couple of streets away, and glancing at the time, she went up to the apartment instead of back into the shop. Several pairs of large eyes in small faces peeped out as soon as they were sure it was her, and came to circle around her.

“I finished the pieces you asked me to,” Wayzz told her

“We cleaned up the paint and sealed the cans that were left,” Pollen piped up. 

“That’s great,” Marinette said with a tired smile, giving them each a cuddle. “Thanks so much. I don’t know what I would do without you.” 

“It is the leassst we can do,” Sass observed mildly, bringing a damp cloth to her. Marinette took it gratefully. 

“Where?” she asked, and wiped at the spot Sass patted. The cloth came away smeared with flecks of half-dry pink paint. Ugh, did she have that on her face the whole time she was talking to Luka? How embarrassing. She handed the cloth back when Sass nodded that she was clean. 

“I should go finish,” Marinette sighed, but instead she sat down on the couch. 

“You should eat first, Guardian,” Pollen told her, hovering. “And rest. There isn’t much left to be done. You can finish it tomorrow.”

“She’s right, Marinette,” Tikki piped up, perching on Marinette’s shoulder. “You can finish the paint in the morning, and it’s on the other side from the dressing area, so it won’t keep you from getting the curtains up over there or any of the other things you had planned.” 

“It’ll just delay everything by a couple of hours,” Marinette sighed, slumping on the arm of the couch. “I’ll see how I feel after dinner. I’d rather finish it tonight if I can.” 

“Then you’d better go make dinner before you fall asleep on the couch,” Tikki giggled, and Pollen agreed, tugging at Marinette’s fingers. 

“It won’t do for you to be skipping meals!” Pollen scolded. 

“All right, all right,” Marinette giggled, getting up. “I’ll make dinner.” 

The kitchen in her apartment was separated from the living room by a small but usable breakfast bar, so Marinette hadn’t bothered to get a separate table. Instead, she lined up the kwami’s plates on the inside edge and pulled up a stool on the other side of the counter to sit at her own plate. 

She was just finishing up, her thoughts already running on the next things she had to do, when she was distracted by the muffled sound of...a guitar. The kwamis paused in their chatter, and Marinette sat with her fork halfway to her mouth, listening. After a moment she smiled. “It’s Luka,” she murmured. “His apartment probably mirrors ours, so his kitchen and living room must be on the other side of this wall.” Her eyes widened slightly in alarm. “If we can hear him, he can probably hear us if we get too loud. I can pass some noise off as the tv or the radio, but we’ll have to be careful.” The kwamis nodded, but Marinette shot pointed looks at Xuppu, Orikki, and Ziggy in particular. They all made faces at her, but nodded along with the others. 

Everyone was quiet as she finished her meal, smiling as she listened to the wandering guitar. “It’s nice,” she observed to no one in particular. “It’s been a long time since I heard Luka play.” 

It was funny, the effect it had on her. She could feel her shoulders sliding down, and a pleasant calm seeping into her. Had he really made such an impression all those years ago, that she responded so easily to the sound of his guitar even now? She took her dishes to the sink and stood a moment, laying a hand over her heart, and for a moment she heard a different song, 

When she took a breath, though, instead of the scent of metal and river wind, the scent of lemon dish soap filled her nose and brought her back to the present. She smiled at the kwamis, who had busily stacked their little plates next to the sink and were filling it with water and soapsuds. 

Right . All of that was a long time ago, and they were different people now. Still, maybe sometime soon she could come to one of his gigs and hear him play for real, and not through a wall. Though...it was kind of nice, knowing she was the only one who was hearing him right now. She wondered if he knew she could hear him. 

The tune changed, took on a little more purpose, and Marinette smothered a giggle. No, she doubted he realized she could hear, because he probably wouldn’t be caught dead playing Love Me Like You Do with an audience, even if he did give it a bit of a metal makeover. 

She’d have to let him know. Eventually. When she could think of a way to tell him that wouldn’t make him think he had to stop. 

She hummed quietly along as she and the kwami finished washing the dishes.

“Are you going to go back downstairs?” Tikki asked, tilting her head. 

“Mmm...no,” Marinette decided. “There’s still plenty to unpack and put away up here, and you’re right. I can finish the shop in the morning.” 

The next few days were a blur of hard work as opening day got closer and closer. The shop was coming together, and Marinette took comfort in, for once, being able to get everything just right, without anybody telling her it should be different, or complaining that she was too fussy. 

It was exhausting, though, and led to some pretty silly late night giggling with the kwamis as they tried to get her to rest before she made herself totally delirious. 

The day before opening, she walked into Second Chance with a box in her hands, trying not to giggle openly.  

“Hey, Marinette," Luka greeted, looking up from where he was loading up some display shelves near the counter.

“Wow, Luka, it looks great in here,” Marinette said, looking around.

“You were right. When I stopped trying to be strategic and just put things in where they felt like home, it all came together. I’m still not sure it’s the best arrangement, at least it feels comfortable. ” He looked much more relaxed, and his smile was easy and true. 

“I think that will work the best for you in the end,” Marinette smiled. “The right customers will like it, and the ones who don’t, well.” She patted the big cement turtle on the head. “Probably aren’t looking for the kinds of things you’re selling anyway.”

Luka chuckled. “Fair enough. What can I do for you, Marinette?” He slid the case closed and stood, turning to face her. 

Marinette bit her lip, and then held up the small box in her hands. “Well, I...maybe stayed up a little late last night, and I got kind of loopy, and then instead of going to bed like a smart person, I...did something silly. And if you hate it you can say so and I’ll walk right back out and we don’t ever have to speak of this again.”

Luka raised his eyebrows. “That sounds a little dramatic. What, did you make me a lace nightie with matching slippers?”

Marinette burst out laughing. “Okay, you’re right, that would be sillier,” she giggled, setting the box down carefully on a nearby table. “No, it’s not for you actually.” 

“Not for me?” Luka put his hand to his chest. “I’m hurt.” 

Marinette giggled again, pulling some things out of the box and turning away from him. “You might not be when you see it.” Impulsively she added, “Turn around.” Luka did, and Marinette hurriedly went to work.

“Okay, you can look now.” She was barely holding back laughter, and when Luka turned around his mouth dropped open.

“You’re kidding me,” he said, covering his mouth with one hand as he approached, trying to smother his laughter. “Marinette. Oh my God.” 

The cement turtle now sported a pair of Eiffel tower sunglasses the exact match to the ones Marinette had made for Jagged years ago. He had a choker of studded leather around his long neck and another cuff around one ankle, and Marinette had hung a guitar made of cardboard and purple glitter on him as well. 

“Tada!” she said, throwing out her hands. “He’s a rock turtle, Luka. Because he’s, you know, rock, I mean I know he’s concrete but it still counts. So now he’s a rock turtle for real.” 

“I think those paint fumes are getting to you,” Luka laughed, and then threw one arm around her neck and kissed her forehead before letting her go. “I love it, thank you. It’s amazing.” 

“He can be your mascot,” Marinette giggled, unreasonably pleased and trying to resist the urge to touch her forehead. He’d done that the way he used to do it to Juleka, after all, and how touch-starved was she, that she kept dwelling on every little gesture of affection he made? It was Luka, after all, and he was just like that. 

But he was smiling, wider than he had in days, and it gave Marinette a sense of accomplishment that more than made up for her tiredness. 

“Ready for the big day?” Luka asked as he crouched to examine the turtle’s new guitar. 

“I think so. Yeah, I am.” Marinette brought her hands up and rubbed her arms. “It feels like I’m going to jinx it, saying that. Like one of those dreams I’m always having where I walk into a class or a client meeting and realize suddenly that I forgot to cover half of what they asked for in my presentation, and I forgot my bra on top of it.” 

Luka laughed, rocking back on his heels to look up at her. “Seriously?”

Marinette rolled her eyes. “All the time. Even my subconscious won’t cut me any slack.” 

Luka shook his head. “Marinette, if that ever happened to you in real life, by the end of it you’d have them convinced that they didn’t need all that stuff anyway and wearing bras would immediately go out of style.” 

“What,” said a dry voice, “the hell did I just walk in to?”

Marinette’s head whipped around to look at the door, and her mouth dropped open at the sight of the tall, slender woman standing there with her arms loosely crossed and an amused smirk on her face. 

“Hey, Jules,” Luka said, getting up and turning towards her with his arms out. “You made it.” 

“Of course I did, idiot,” Juleka mumbled, but Marinette saw her hide her smile in Luka’s shoulder as she hugged him back. Then, to her mild surprise, Juleka peeked over his shoulder. “Hi, Marinette.” 

“It’s really good to see you, Juleka,” Marinette said warmly. “You look fantastic,” she added, as Juleka came to take her hands and exchange a bise.  

“I have good stylists,” Juleka shrugged. Her hair was still long, but the purple was gone and it was pulled back into a shining French braid, leaving both her amber eyes bare to stare at Marinette. Her makeup was perfect and Marinette remembered that Juleka was a cosmetics model now. Of course she always had to look her best in public. “Luka told me you were opening your own place. I can’t make the opening, but maybe...maybe I could make an appointment to come take a look?” There was something in the old Juleka in the way she asked that question, a slight curl of her shoulders and drop of her head, and the way she pinched one thumb and forefinger tightly together at her side. 

Impulsively Marinette said, “Why don’t you just come over now? Everything’s set up and you can get first pick if there’s anything you like. Not that you should feel like you need to buy anything,” Marinette added hurriedly. “Just, if anything catches your eye or—okay I’m shutting up now, you probably don’t even have time, it doesn’t have to be now—just, whenever is good! If you want.” She closed her mouth abruptly before she could trip into another line of babble.

Juleka smiled, her head tilting slightly as if she were still peeking through that curtain of bangs. “I’d love to come over now, if that’s okay.” 

“Really?” Marinette brightened, embarrassment forgotten. “Awesome! I’d love to have your opinion on—well, everything, to be honest.” 

“I can’t wait to see it.” 

“Oh sure,” Luka mocked, and Marinette jumped a little, looking at him. “You said you were coming to see me, but really you just wanted a sneak peek at Marinette’s clothes. I see where I rate.”

“As long as we’re clear,” Juleka huffed, and walked out of the door. Marinette stood gaping like a fish for a moment, and then followed her, shooting Luka an apologetic look over her shoulder.

“I’m sure it won’t take long,” she said, but Luka, smiling, just rolled his eyes and waved her on. 

Juleka didn’t exactly gush; she was too collected for that, but her quiet smile and nod of approval as she looked around was more encouraging than a flood of compliments. “It has good energy,” she murmured. “Very you. Gives a sense of your brand from the beginning. I like it.” 

“Thank you,” Marinette smiled, sincerely grateful.

“It looks like a lot of work.” 

“It was,” Marinette sighed, “But it’s so worth it to see it come together. It’s scary to be doing this all my own, but at least I can make things exactly the way I want them.” She pointed out the curtained dressing rooms, and the pedestal in front of the (very expensive, even second hand) full-length three-way mirror. “I’m planning to do alterations and fittings as well,” Marinette explained, “On anything, not just my clothes. In a limited capacity, of course, so that I still have time to keep the shop stocked. I’m actually hoping to bring in lines from a couple of other independent designers—people I met in school that have an aesthetic that will fit in with mine, just to broaden the range of what I can offer, but...well, I kind of wanted to open with my own things first.” She smiled ruefully and wrinkled her nose. “I don’t want to drag anybody down with me if I go under in the first month.” 

Juleka laughed, and Marinette smiled at the sound of it. “I’m sure that won’t happen,” Juleka assured her, still smiling. “These pieces are gorgeous,” she added, motioning to the photographs on the wall. 

“It’s nice to see you happy,” Marinette said without thinking, and then bit her lip. 

Juleka seemed to freeze for a long moment, and then she took a long breath that reminded Marinette of Luka. “It’s been a long time since we’ve seen each other, hasn’t it,” Juleka said quietly, that slight curl in her shoulders again. “I—I’m...sorry, that we gave you such a hard time back when we were kids. I...understand better now. This is a tough industry and you have to be dedicated and motivated to succeed. I’m sorry that we...well, I don’t think any of us meant to be holding you back, but I understand how it might have felt that way to you.” 

“Oh…” Marinette said lamely, looking away and moving to fiddle with the nearest garment rack. “I didn’t—I mean, I felt bad that I had to bail on you guys so much, but I didn’t feel that way. I just thought, you know, you guys were right and if I wasn’t being the kind of friend you needed...it was okay. You’d have every right to be just as mad at me for choosing my career over you even at such a young age. I was ditching you a lot, and...I could have done things differently. Handled it better.”

“You had a life beyond school and beyond us,” Juleka insisted, folding her arms uncomfortably. “It was wrong of us to try and take that from you. I don’t know, maybe we felt guilty that we weren’t working as hard, or something, but...we could have made it work. We always made exceptions for Adrien because he was working a career outside of school. We should have at least extended the same courtesy to you. Especially when it was obvious even then how talented and driven you were. You’ve got what it takes to really make it, and it was wrong of us to get in the way of that when we should have been cheering you on.”

Marinette’s hands stilled for a moment, and it was her turn to take a slow breath. She felt a twinge of guilt, because Juleka of course didn’t know the whole story. It hadn’t been wholly for the sake of her future career that she’d bailed on her friends so often, and it hadn’t been determination to drive forward at all costs that had caused her to stop trying so hard to meet her friends halfway. Her reasons had neither been selfish nor noble. She just hadn’t had the energy to keep up the front any longer.

But she couldn’t explain it now any more than she could then, so all she could say was a quiet, “Thank you, Juleka.” She took another breath and lifted her head, trying to smile. “You really don’t need to apologize, though. I never held anything against you guys. Besides, we were kids.” Juleka relaxed a little, though she still held herself a bit stiffly. 

Time to change the mood. Marinette rallied her spirits and put the most genuine grin on her face that she could muster as she faced Juleka. “Come on,” she said brightly, moving over to one of the other racks and gesturing enthusiastically for Juleka to follow her. “I have some things that I bet will look great on you.” 

They already had several outfits laid aside for Juleka to purchase when Luka knocked and came in the door, the little bell Marinette had hung over it chiming cheerfully. 

“Hi Luka,” Marinette smiled, looking up from where she was laying another dress across the sales counter. “Sorry, I guess we took up more time than I realized. Did you get bored?”

“Just wondering if my sister is still going to buy me dinner,” Luka grinned. “I’m starving here.” 

“Then hurry up and die so we don’t have to listen to you,” Juleka called from the dressing room. 

“I’m wasting away slowly ,” he called back. “I’ll continue to exist on spite until you feed me.” 

“Do you need any help, Juleka?” Marinette asked, trying to keep her giggles out of her voice.

“No, I think I’ve—there. Oh, I like this one, Marinette!” Juleka pushed the curtain aside and stepped out. 

“Hm, needs a little tailoring, but only a little,” Marinette said, eyes fastened on the garment, as Juleka made a slow turn. “Let me just—” She stepped over with a couple of clips in her hand and took the slack out of the dress in a couple of key places, clipping it in place. “There. And of course I can adjust the hem if you need it, but I think this length is pretty good on you actually. What do you think, Luka?” She turned and blinked at the look on his face as he stared at his sister. He looked...happy, but his face was crinkling up in a weird way that she didn’t understand. 

“You look beautiful, Juleka,” Luka said, and had to clear his throat. 

“Don’t you dare,” Juleka warned, tilting her head and narrowing her eyes. “Don’t you dare get mushy on me again.”

“Better,” Luka continued, as if she hadn’t spoken. “You’re poised and confident and...I’m just so proud of you. Five years ago that dress would have overpowered you and now look at you.” 

“You’re not going to cry again, are you?” Juleka asked, rolling her eyes.

“I might,” Luka said, and his voice did sound a little thick. “There’s nothing wrong with that.” 

“I swear he’s cried at every single one of the photo shoots I was dumb enough to bring him to,” Juleka grumbled, giving Marinette a look of longsuffering. 

Marinette giggled as she stepped close again and adjusted a clip. “He loves you.” 

“He’s a sap,” Juleka groaned. 

“There’s nothing wrong with that,” Luka and Marinette said in unison, and Juleka snorted. 

“You two are made for each other,” she muttered, and then looked back with concern when Marinette somehow got the web of her thumb pinched in the clip and yelped.

“Fine, I’m fine,” she said hurriedly, fixing the clip. “There. Take a look.”

She helped Juleka up onto the pedestal in front of the three-way mirror, and Juleka sighed. “I love it,” she said, glancing at the two dresses and the suit that were already on the counter. “I better not try on anything else though. It’d be a pain dragging Luka’s corpse out of the shop, and I’m going to go broke if you pull out any more perfect outfits. Can you check me out for these, and we can make an appointment for the tailoring later?” 

“Sure! Give me just a second.” Marinette gave her a sheepish smile. “The POS system is new and it might take me a minute to figure it out. Actually you’re doing me an extra favor by letting me try this thing out before I put it through its paces tomorrow.”

“Hey, can I take a look?” Luka asked, moving around the counter at her gesture. “I still haven’t settled on one yet. I’ve got some ancient thing a buddy loaned me, but I’m hoping I can upgrade in a few months.” He leaned on the counter next to her and grinned. “I’m not above profiting from the months of research I’m sure you did before settling on one.”

Marinette giggled, shoving him with her elbow. “Off the counter,” she ordered. “You have no idea how many practice runs I had to do with the resin to get good enough to do a project this size.”

“I can tell,” Luka said, straightening. ”It looks really cool.” 

“You’ve really made the shop yours in such a short time,” Juleka said, looking at the countertop. “Everything about it just screams Marinette.” 

Marinette blushed, and picked up the tablet, tried to focus on walking Luka through the steps of the POS system, explaining the features that had made her go with this system as he leaned close to watch. He smelled different than he used to, she thought absently. Not so much sunscreen and fresh air and teenage boy. He wore cologne now, pleasantly subtle, and only noticeable when he was close like this. It was a more mature scent but it suited him. 

“And then Juleka can put her card in here,” Marinette said, pointing to the slot in a stand on the counter. Juleka did so, and after a moment the machine beeped. “And...there we go.” She showed Luka the screen. 

“Huh. Do you use it for inventory management much?” Luka asked, leaning one hand on the counter next to her as he watched her navigate the menus. She jumped a little when her shoulder brushed his chest, but he didn’t seem to notice. 

Marinette cleared her throat. “W-well like you, I don’t really have standard inventory, everything is unique, so it’s a bit more work to keep the system updated, but—uh—” He was looking at her and not the screen, attentive, and Marinette’s thoughts began to scatter.   

“Shameless,” Juleka sighed, shaking her head, and they both looked up at her. She smirked at Luka, and Marinette felt her face redden though she couldn’t have said why. 

“Me?” Luka said innocently, straightening away from Marinette and putting his hand on his chest. Marinette was surprised to see his ears were red, and it only made her feel more flustered.

Juleka snorted. “I can’t believe you’re taking advantage of Marinette like this, you lazy jerk. I bet you cheated on your tests at school too.”

“I sat next to Dingo ,” Luka reminded her, rolling his eyes. “Believe me, I wasn’t the one cheating.” 

“Whatever,” Juleka rolled her eyes. “So can we go now? I thought you were so—” Her lips curled in a smirk. “Hungry. Or was it thirsty?”

“I’m ready when you are,” Luka said quickly, coming back around the counter. “Thanks, Marinette.” 

Marinette moved quickly to get a garment bag and package up Juleka’s purchases. It was Luka, though who took them from her with a warm smile. “Congrats on your first sale,” he told her with a wink, and Marinette felt that blush again. 

“It’s hardly her first sale,” Juleka pointed out, picking up a small stack of Marinette’s business cards from the holder on the counter and slipping them into her pocket. “She’s been selling since collége.” 

Luka rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. “First sale from your first shop—first brick and mortar shop,” he hastily corrected, when Juleka opened her mouth again. “Juleka, you’re such a pain.” 

“I’m just saying, if you’re going to compliment a girl, you need to be accurate,” Juleka smirked, as Luka began shoving her toward the door. “Good luck with your grand opening, Marinette,” she called back. “I’ll pass your info around the next time I’m in the studio!”

“That would be great. Thanks for coming by, Juleka!” Marinette called, waving. 

“Why do you have to make everything weird?” she heard Luka mutter as he pushed the door open for his sister and nearly shoved her out of it.

“It’s not my fault you just are weird,” Juleka retorted, and gave Marinette one more wave before the door closed behind them. “Especially around—” The door cut her off, and Marinette turned and buried her face in her hands, not at all relaxed by the giggling that began in several hidden corners of the shop.

“Traitors,” she mumbled, and took a deep breath. 

“It’s okay, Marinette,” Pollen said kindly, coming to light on her arm. “You should be proud!”

“Yes!” Tikki agreed, popping out of Marinette’s purse and coming to sit next to Pollen.  “That was your first client consult for your brand new shop! And it went amazing! Four outfits!”

“And you impressed Luka,” Mullo pointed out, emerging from one of the garment racks. “He seemed to think you were very knowledgeable. ” The kwami giggled and poked Marinette’s blushing cheek. Marinette swatted at him, pouting, but he just phased through her hand with a toothy grin.

“Luka just needed some information,” Marinette countered, ignoring the snorting giggles that came from all three kwamis. “And Juleka was just being nice. “Though...I suppose she could have been nice without spending quite so much money,” she conceded. “It’ll be great for business if she wears the clothes, too...she works in exactly the kind of circles where word of mouth will be really valuable.” Marinette picked up her tablet and smiled as she punched up her sales history, and looked at the transaction there. “Well...I guess this does make us official, doesn’t it.” She held out her fist and Tikki, Pollen, and Mullo bumped it all in turn. “Come on, let’s get back to work and see how much we can finish up. I want to try and take it easy tonight. I can’t show up at the big opening looking like death.”

Fiction Master Post | LBSC 2021 Exchange Collection