#out of order though ray wasn't for a bit

[k0kichiimagines]

[look at her. i would die for her, i would kill for her. either way... what bliss.]

ray

Oh, he'd promised to visit you in the afternoon. Early enough for the day to still hold hours left of sunlight, but late enough that by the ending of your time together he could walk you back to your room in the evening sunset, let you be covered with the orange and red hues of the sky itself. But he couldn't resist, not when he had time spare - and you'd told him it was fine for him to visit any time, hadn't you? So... you would find this okay, right?

He watches your sleeping frame, the steady rise and fall of your chest under the soft silk pijamas he'd picked out specially for you, the lace suited you perfectly in his eyes. He leaned down to pull the floral bed sheets higher up on you, tucking you comfortably under them to ensure your warmth. He paused there, his hand slowly making it's way up to your cheek and brushing against your soft skin. For a second he regretted wearing gloves, his heart aching to feel your skin more clearly under his fingers. His head lowered to a breath away from your face.

"I would do anything for you, my prince/ss." And he would- truly anything. He'd never made such a declaration from his own choice, even he had to admit the Saviour had enforced his loyalty. But you didn't. You never did. You only treated him with soft kindness, never expecting a word in reply, loving him for the sake of loving him - and what sweet bliss it was to be so treasured by the one you treasure the most. And how dangerous it was, the idea that you held almost total control over him, a word from you and he'd obey without question - yet he never feared your innocent requests the way he did Ri- the saviours.

He allowed himself the soft satisfaction of pressing a kiss against your face, brushing your hair out of the way beforehand and holding his lips there for a second longer then he intended to. He drew back to catch your subconscious smile at his movements, and he felt himself smile in return without meaning to.

He should go. Rest for an hour and finish his work before your meeting. he should pull himself away from your peaceful expression and his mind filled with thoughts of you. But... it was Valentine's day, she'd understand if he stayed with you a little longer, wouldn't she?

[0oolookitsme]

But Baby, It's Cold Outside

Type - One-Shoty Blurb!

Verse - Singer!Harry x Ceo!Y/n

Word Count - 1.2k

Warnings - None, just some tooth rotting fluff ;)

A/N - Y/n blushes so hard in this one I was legit smiling while writing the ending lmao. Hope you guys like it just as much! <3

MASTERLIST | Please rb to share!

Y/n was on her knees on the carpeted floor, her hands stacking things up on the Christmas mantel that she had been set on decorating since she'd opened her eyes this morning. Her knees hurt because of the hardwood floor, but it was better than having to bend down while standing up, nevertheless.

They were surprisingly late to decorate for Christmas this year because of their prolonged stay over at Anne's for a while. After all, Anne wanted the see her daughter-in-law who was pregnant with her grandson or granddaughter -- and Y/n was starting to feel more and more deprived of a mother's love by each day, making Harry take her to Anne.

She had put Harry to work currently with fluffing up the Christmas tree's leaves, and to decorate it with the string lights they'd bought just the day before. He was crouching just about beside her, facing her with the tall tree standing between them.

"I swear, this tree has got me working the hardest I ever have," Harry joked, wiping the sheen layer of sweat on his face. He chuckled when Y/n shook her head, laughing at him and not at his joke -- but he didn't need to know that. "So dramatic," he heard her murmur under her breath, knowing that she meant for him to hear it.

"I'm the one who's dramatic?" He questioned her with a touch of accusation to it. "You're the one who's been up my arse this whole month with 'let's do this, let's do that'!" Mimicking her, Harry smacked his hand on the tree and hissed in pain when a thorn pricked his finger.

A smirk appeared on Y/n's face as she continued to mess with the order of stuff she'd stacked up on the mantel. Shrugging, she said, "that's what you get for teasing me."

Herry scoffed instead of saying anything and went back to fluffing up the tallest bit of the tree. His armpits were moist with his sweat but he wouldn't even dare to think about putting out the crackling-fire in the fireplace. He might be a naturally warm body, but Y/n definitely wasn't.

Whether it was summer, or winter -- her body was never found to be hot. Hell, even when she took off her fuzzy socks last night her feet were freezing cold. And, with the baby growing in her body, Harry wouldn't even let Y/n remove the thin blanket he had wrapped around her frame when he woke up at the first ray of sunshine and realized that it had started snowing.

"H? Will you please bring me those mini-Christmas trees?" Y/n asked him, turning to give him some puppy-eyes but caught him watching the snowflakes on the windowpane instead. Tilting her head and joining him in looking outside, her lips stretched in a smile.

The snow fell soundlessly, drifting down like white and fluffy cold crystals. It brought an essence of magic in the world, falling softly into blankets that cover the landscape. 

"...'course," she heard him mumble, and turned just in time to catch the smile he passed her with a glint in his eyes that she'd come to recognize as admiration. Though she wasn't sure if what he was admiring then was the snow, her, or the 7-month baby bump.

In the time that Harry went to pick up the set of trees from the kitchen island, Y/n dropped the blanket from her shoulders, feeling too hot suddenly. The room had grown too warm for her current liking, and as she sat down cross-legged on the floor to give her knees some rest, she wished for Harry to be back by her side.

She slipped back on her bottom until her aching back hit the leg of the sofa and rested there. Patting the spot next to her, she invited Harry to sit beside her and whined internally when he passed her a knowing look and brought back the blanket with him. "Open the window if you're going to make me wear that blanket again," she told him pointedly, passing him a smile to tell him she didn't mean that behaviour seriously.

"But baby," Harry looked at her with a desperate look on his face. "It's cold outside!" he told her, wanting to open the window himself but he simply denied to because he couldn't have Y/n catch a cold. He sat down, spreading his legs and crossing them at the ankles.

He draped the blanket over both of their legs, making sure her bump is also covered. Leaning in, he pressed his lips on her pouted ones, smiling in the midst when she wouldn't back away.

Y/n reached for one of the kid's books that she'd been reading to learn some stories she could tell her little bundle of love when they were old enough to whine to her for just one more story. With some trouble, she caught the book on the sofa behind her and opened it, keeping it tilted just in case Harry wanted to join her.

But Harry was rather busy idly playing with her free hand, and as she continued to read, she felt him raise her hand up and press a kiss into her palm. Her cheeks, that were already rosy because of the cold, had now turned a shade of raging red and Harry couldn't help but cackle at that.

Y/n slapped his arm, an embarrassed smile dressed on her lips. "Stop it," she hissed, unable from removing the bashful smile on her mouth when Harry kisses the back of her hand the other time around. She turned her face away so that he couldn't see the cherry-red tint on her face, her mouth trembling because of the shy-giggle she was working hard to keep in.

Harry loved seeing the smallest gestures affect her in ways that she couldn't even control. Sputters of laughter kept falling from his mouth and when she didn't turn to face him after some while, he couldn't help but grab her chin and make her look at him.

Although she had shut her eyes tightly, the apple of her cheeks still suffused with a shade of pink that he decided was his favourite from now on. "C'mon!" He laughed when she wouldn't open her eyes.

He had only started getting such exquisite reactions out of her since he put a baby in her, and God, he would put another one in there if she would keep making him lose his mind like this.

Suddenly, a yelp flew out of his mouth, and he flinched away when she pressed her icy foot flat on his calf.

"Oh my god," he laughed with a surprised expression on his feet. "Baby, how the fuck are you so cold, still?" He shouted with laughter, his heart bursting with love when she started laughing profusely with her head thrown back. He, somewhere in the midst of it all, had stopped laughing, gazing at her instead.

But when Y/n didn't hear him laughing along with her, she opened her eyes only to find him looking at her as if she'd had hung stars in the room for him; and Harry swore her eyes were genuinely glittering and shimmering with something he was sure the poets would call love.

[talesofesther]

serenity haze

Jenna Ortega x Reader

Summary: You notice the changes in Jenna in the lines that you draw; the sketches of her in your sketchbook have more lines to them, creases in her eyebrows, and shadows below her eyes. Your heart clenches painfully whenever you look at a finished piece you did of her.

Requested by anon

A/N: First time writing for her so don't crucify me pls. I still feel a tad bit weird writing about real people, but I see my Jenna as a character in a story, that's all. Hope you can enjoy this one, let me know your thoughts. Requests are always open, though be aware that I go where my inspiration takes me, and be mindful of my guidelines.

Masterlist

You were naturally observant, it was a habit that came with a hobby.

You liked to draw things, and to be able to draw them, you had to observe.

Because you're observant, you tend to notice patterns, details, and moments that might go unnoticed by most.

Lately, you found yourself drawing one thing in particular — or better, one person.

Jenna Ortega captivated you, anyone who met her would probably say the same. She is captivating after all. Yet you know your feelings are different, because you see a side of her that few people do.

You had been offered a role in the new Wednesday show, it was a smaller one, but a privilege nonetheless. And this role gave you the opportunity to meet Jenna.

After the first month of working together, it was already known on set that; where you went, Jenna wasn't too far behind.

You'd catch yourself searching for her in the crowds most days, her favorite coffee order in hand. She'd greet you with a warm smile that never failed and a hug that lasted a little too long. Jenna was sunshine if sunshine could be a person, she was the most genuine girl you knew; beautiful inside and out.

It was inevitable that she became your muse.

Unbeknownst to you — and maybe even to herself — Jenna felt drawn to you too. You were quietness, you were calmness, you were the steadiness she craved in her hectic life.

Jenna had no obligations with you, no expectations to meet; she could be herself, on good or bad days, and you'd still be there. She didn't know how much she needed something like that until she finally got it.

In some ways, it felt like you were her breath of fresh air whenever she needed one. Which seems to be happening quite often nowadays.

Whilst everyone was running around on set, cameras on every corner of the room, and people talking incessantly in their intercoms, Jenna was speaking with Tim about an upcoming scene in the show. She leaned back on what was one of the booths in the Weathervane cafe, crossing her arms over her chest and nodding along to his words.

He spoke about the dance, and Jenna confirmed she had almost all the choreography done already. Except she didn't.

What she had, were sleepless nights weighing down on her shoulders.

She tried to take a deep breath to calm her nerves, but it didn't do much. Her gaze skimmed over the room against her own volition, finding you sitting in a corner of the set — on the floor no less — sketchbook in hands.

Jenna felt the overwhelming urge to escape to your world.

Dark lines steadily appeared on the paper along with the drag of your pencil. You bit into your lower lip, a habit of concentration, and glanced up at Jenna; only to notice her eyes already on you.

The heat that came to your cheeks was instant and you gave her a sheepish smile. She caught you red-handed. Hopefully, she wouldn't bring it up.

Because, how could you resist? When Jenna is standing there against the sun, golden rays highlighting all her features for you; from the curve of her lips, to the tip of her nose, to the shape of her eyebrows. Flawless.

You couldn't resist taking out your book and drawing a quick sketch of her. Sometimes for you, watching people from afar was much better than seeing them up close, you could capture their essence fully, notice each little quirk or mannerism.

Take Jenna for example; her thumbs brush the fabric of her Nevermore uniform as she speaks with Tim, she's nodding eagerly to everything he says, not able to stay still on her feet. She's a little nervous, a little anxious. You could tell from the other side of the room.

It's no secret that filming this series is taking a toll on Jenna — your pencil traces the outline of her jaw on your sketchbook before you move to her eyes, and around them, you see yourself being forced to add just a tad more shadow; it's been happening for a while — you see her exhaustion in the lines that you draw.

The rough image of her stared back at you from your sketchbook, and part of you wanted to take her hand and go away for a day or two.

There's a sudden presence beside you that makes you flinch back to reality. Jenna sat down on the floor with you; she rests her head back against the wall, a lazy smile tugging at her lips.

She brought her knees closer to her chest, making herself look smaller than she already is. Turning to look at you, all she asked was; "what are you drawing?"

There's always a silent understanding between you both. You bumped her shoulder with yours, "that's confidential information."

And she actually pouts, lower lip jutted out and big doe eyes pleading at you; "even for me?"

"Especially for you," you mumbled, not sure if she heard or not.

Jenna doesn't inquire further, forever reciprocating the serenity you bring to her life. She slumped closer to you, allowing her head to fall on your shoulder, blindly trusting you to hold her weight if so needed.

You placed your sketchbook aside, focusing solemnly on her. Your cast and crew mates are still walking around, no one spares a glance at the two actresses who sit on the floor of Jericho's cafe; it feels like your own little bubble of peace for a precious minute.

"Were you and Tim discussing a new scene?" You asked eventually, gently leaning your head on top of hers.

Jenna hummed, "it's a dance that will happen at the school party, I'm creating Wednesday's choreography."

"That's exciting, do you have anything already?"

"Not really. I've got two weeks."

The turmoil of emotions was so evident in Jenna's tight voice that you almost pulled away so you could look her in the eyes and tell her… you're not sure what you'd say, but something to ease it.

Yet you held back, choosing instead to take her hand and whisper 'you got this' against her hair.

———

Things only got worse after your little moment.

Jenna has been on autopilot. You doubt she's sleeping, or resting at all. She's always the first one to arrive on set and the last one to leave.

The sketches of her in your sketchbook have more lines to them, creases in her eyebrows, and shadows below her eyes. Your heart clenches painfully whenever you look at a finished piece you did of her.

It was a Saturday night, you sat on the roof of your trailer, enjoying the starry sky above you, the cold breeze around you. With the flashlight of your cellphone on, you turned the pages of your sketchbook, reminiscing the drawings of last week; until a rather loud noise caught your attention.

You looked around you with a confused frown. The set's parking lot was empty, with only a few street lamps on, and no one in sight.

This could be a cliche horror movie scene. You could feel a chill running down your back; but then you caught sight of Jenna's trailer, the lights were on.

Checking your phone, you realized you had been sitting outside for longer than you thought. 1:37 AM.

Not giving yourself much room to chicken out, you hopped down from your trailer, stuffed your sketchbook in your pants pocket, and walked up to her door.

You hesitated, awkwardly hovering outside Jenna's trailer in the dead of night. Your stomach was twisting and turning unpleasantly. Coming from inside, you could hear the faint melody of 'Goo Goo Muck' playing.

Your worry got the best of you. Taking a deep breath, you raised your fist to the door, and knocked.

The music stopped abruptly, and you heard shuffling from inside her trailer. And then nothing, the silence stretched for a few good seconds, before her door finally swung open.

Jenna stood in front of you and got your heart shattering a little. She was a bit of a mess; hair up in a disheveled bun, only in an oversized hoodie and sweatpants yet you could see her forehead glistening with sweat, her lips quivered softly with each breath she took, and you could tell her eyes were red-rimmed if you looked closely.

"Hi Jenna," you started with a timid smile, "uh- I'm sorry to bother, it's just, I was out and I saw your lights on and just wanted to ask if everything's okay."

Jenna gulped down the lump in her throat, fidgeting with the sleeves of her hoodie; "yeah it's fine, I'm fine." She tried mimicking your smile, but it didn't reach her eyes.

"Okay," you whispered sympathetically, seeing right through the lie.

"Um-" Jenna cleared her throat, but it sounded more like a soft sob. She avoided meeting your eyes then. "Would you- would you like to come in?"

It was a plea more than anything else. You didn't hesitate in saying yes.

You closed the door behind you and glanced around her trailer; she had her laptop on her bed, YouTube page opened to The Cramps' song; there was a stress ball rolling around on the floor, you figured that's where the loud noise from earlier came.

"I'm working on the dance," Jenna turned to you, threading her fingers through her fringe, restless.

"And how is it going?" You asked, though you had a feeling you knew the answer.

"I can't come up with anything," Jenna shrugged, chuckling humourlessly as her eyes welled up with tears.

Your heart was trying to escape your chest — Jenna's eyes were shining under the orange lights of the trailer, hands trembling as she tried to hold herself together — you took a step closer to her; "Jenna, I think you just need to let your mind rest for a while, have you-"

"I can't," she cut you off urgently, "the scene is one week away. One week. And I have nothing," tears started to roll down her cheeks, but you don't think she realized it.

Jenna started walking from one side to another of the small cramped space of her trailer, "I can't think of anything that would fit Wednesday, and we're shooting this scene next week. I told Tim I could handle it and yet I have nothing, what am I gonna tell him? That we're gonna have to postpone shooting because I can't come up with a fucking choreography?"

By the end of her rant, Jenna was panting heavily, borderline hyperventilating. Her tears came nonstop as sobs shook her body. She was hugging herself, chasing some type of comfort that wasn't there.

Your worry finally escaped you and you closed the distance between you both. You took her face in your hands, cupping her cheeks as your thumbs gingerly brushed away the wetness there; "Jen, look at me," you spoke softly, not missing the way her hands came to desperately grasp at your shirt, "breathe with me okay? Can you do that?"

A fresh batch of tears hit your thumbs and you felt your chest crack open; yet Jenna nodded, all reddish nose and glistening eyes.

You took a deep breath in, held it for a second, and then exhaled, watching closely for the way that she'd copy the motion. You did it a couple of times until her breathing was finally somewhat even.

"There you are," you mumbled, regarding her with a bittersweet smile when her eyes found yours, "you're okay," you promised, brushing away a few wisps of hair that clung to her skin.

A sob escaped Jenna's lips as soon as she heard the words, letting her forehead lean into yours in a silent request.

You gladly complied, raising your lips to place a kiss between her brows before guiding her head to rest on your shoulder. You embraced her body flush with yours, arms sliding around her back until you felt the curve of her spine. The thudding of her heart mingling with yours.

You could feel the gentle trembling of her body from time to time. It only made you hold her tighter.

Jenna had a death grip on you, your shirt bunched up on her fists as if you'd disappear if she let go. She buried her head on your shoulder, seeking a safe place, "I'm so tired," she spoke against you, words muffled.

"I know," you kissed her temple, "I know."

You're not sure if you held Jenna for five minutes or one hour, but you stood there for as long as she needed. And when she was ready to pull away, bright and puffy eyes timidly looking at you with nothing but gratitude, you didn't say anything; all you did was turn off her laptop and put it away for the night, dimming the lights on her trailer to give her body a much-needed break.

Then, you sat down beside her on her bed. There was a reasonable distance between you that she was quick to close, sitting shoulder to shoulder with you.

"Be honest with me now, have you been sleeping this past week, at all?" You raised a brow at her.

Jenna pursed her lips, in some ways resembling a child who'd been caught stealing from the cookie jar, "that obvious?" She asked, ducking her head to hide behind her fringe.

"Very," you smirked, "for me at least."

That got her looking up at you with tender curiosity, she was looking more like herself already.

With your heart in your mouth, you fished for your sketchbook in your pocket. You handed it to her without daring to breathe.

Jenna flipped through the pages as if they'd crumble between her fingers; carefully, reverently. You could hear the way her breath caught when she found herself between the sketches, once, twice, and then again and again. Different versions of her by your eyes; talking, thinking, walking, smiling, laughing, sometimes even scowling.

And Jenna has never seen herself look so beautiful, so enchanting. Is this how you see her?

Her vision got blurred again but she gulped it back this time, "it's so beautiful," was all she could whisper, smile tugging at her lips as her fingers traced one of the lines that formed her.

"You are," was your answer, in the same quiet tone, afraid to break the spell holding this moment.

Jenna's eyes turned up to you at last, big and vulnerable, almost completely black because of her pupils. She leaned in just a tad, your noses shy of brushing each other — gravity, magnetism, fate; whatever it might be, trying to push you together.

You ran your tongue over your bottom lip in a motion that she followed, "tomorrow, I'll help you with your dance," you took hold of her free hand, intertwining your fingers, "and it's gonna turn out amazing."

Jenna giggled, and you wanted to bottle up the sound and keep it forever.

"Tonight," you copied her smile, "we'll rest, okay?"

Bringing your hand up to her lips, Jenna planted a kiss on your knuckles, "okay."

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are literally what keep me motivated to continue posting here, so I'd appreciate it if you could take some time to reblog and comment if you want. <3

Jenna’s taglist: @milkiane @bookfrog242 @thenextdawn @alexkolax @aahdiieb @mindingmybidness12 @melthedwarf

[wosoluver]

I have a request for Lena Oberdorf x Bayern Reader.

On the topic of her transfer to Bayern. This request is full on fluff with maybe a little angst of them being apart.

Reunited

Can we please get one about Obi loving domestic life with Reader when they see each other (cooking together, cuddling while watching movies & even versing each other at video games). But misses it dearly when the two have to be apart for months on end due to their commitments with their respective clubs. Sure the two see each other during the national break but that’s not enough. So Obi decides to transfer to Bayern to be with Reader 24/7.

Reunited.

Lena x reader

"Finally reunited!" you said as you put your seatbelt on.

"Only for a little bit though." she said turning on the engine, to drive to her apartment from picking you up at the airport.

"Don't say that, we have a couple of days." you grabbed the hand she had in your thigh, intertwining your fingers and kissing the back of it.

"Sorry schatz. I swear, I'm very excited to spend time together."

You were a Bayern Munich player, and your girlfriend, well, she was one of your best rivals. She played for Wolfsburg.

You can say it took a lot of concessions, to make the relationship work.

"Okay love, I'm going to shower. Can you order dinner for us?"

"Yeah. Movie night or game night?"

"Game night!" you said disappearing into the bedroom's in suite.

"How does it feel to lose for the third time in a row?" she asked as you pouted your lips.

"You cheated this last round!"

"Well, all is fair in love and war." she tried to reason.

"And which one was it? Love or war?" she had distracted you, by removing her sweatshirt, staying in only a pair of shorts and a sports bra.

It would've been fine if she did it because she was hot. But she did it exactly to distract you. Flexing her muscles at any chance she got.

"Both. I wanted to win the game and I love to see you drooling." she said teasing you.

"I didn't drool!"

"You so did." she said pulling you to sit on her lap.

"Fine. How could I not? I'm dating the embodiment of a goddess."

That would have been enough, if she wasn't already turned on by you naturally.

"I think it's time we go to bed." she said with a naughty look on her face.

"Good Morning my love." she said kissing your temple. You opened your eyes, taking in Lena's sleepy and puffy face, as a ray of light came through the window.

"Good morning liebling. Slept well?"

"The best I have, since the last time we slept in the same bed." she would always bring up the fact you guys were separated by over 400 kilometers, constantly.

"In a couple of years, this will be our lives everyday." you reassured her, the best you could every time.

"I'll die of happiness when that happens."

This woman made your heart feel like it was about to explode.

"How about we cook some breakfast? I can make your favorite."

"Yes! I've been craving it." giving you a kiss before getting up. "Let's go."

"I've never seen you get up so fast in my life." as you followed her to get cleaned up.

"I don't know how you make this taste so good. Usually healthy versions of things taste like cardboard." as you prepared the pancake batter.

"We can't really break our diets, so. Also it's just a good recipe."

"Don't play it on the recipe. It's all you. Take a complement please."

"Thank you, schatz. How about we make a smoothie to complement it?"

"I'll start cutting the fruits." but before she could turn, you grabbed her attention.

"Hey..." you said dabbing a finger in the liquid and tapping it on her nose.

"Oh, it's on." letting out a mischievous grin.

You had the day all to yourselves. Not wanting to waste your time with anyone that wasn't each other, you decided upon watching movies. Only movies ever allowed to play by your girlfriend, was Disney movies. Not that you would ever complain. And you had chose the first one. Tangled.

Cuddling up to her. She was almost always the big spoon, only setting for other option when she felt extremely needy. So you laid on your back, as she placed her head on your chest, cuddling to your side the best she could, since you were a bit smaller than her.

You spent your time focusing partially on the movie and partially in gently combing her hair through you fingers and massaging her scalp.

"They are just like us. I'm obviously Flynn, good looking, funny, has a hot girlfriend."

"And I look nothing like Rapunzel."

"No, but you would probably defend yourself with a frying pan, if someone broke into the apartment."

She never failed at making you laugh. You loved that about her.

Every time you spent more time around eachother, she was more and more sure, of wanting to marry you. Of taking the decision to ask for a transfer.

She hadn't brought up yet. She was waiting till it felt like it was the right moment.

While you held each other under the blankets, you noticed she wasn't paying attention at all. So you brought up what you thought was bothering her.

"Aren't you supposed to be looking for a new apartment? I thought your lease was ending this summer."

"I've looked at some but, not one of them felt right." she mustered all her courage for her next words. It was now or now.

"It will only feel like a home, if I have you with me."

"What do you mean?"

"What if I moved to Munich?"

"That would be amazing! Are you planning to leave Wolfsburg next year?"

"Actually, I'm asking for a transfer over the summer."

"Are you messing with me?"

"I'm serious. All is fair in love and war, I want to move into a more competitive club and I want to be with you, close to you, not having to take a plane just to kiss you."

"You are?" You instantly jumped up on the bed.

"Yes." she said laughing as you jumped on the bed.

You landed on top of her. Pulling her into a hug.

"Love, I can't breathe properly." she said under you.

"Sorry, right, you have to be alive for that to happen." she pulled you back to her.

"I love you." she left a kiss on your forehead.

"And I love you." you said placing a kiss on her lips.

Hope you like it! Thanks for sending this in 🩷

[rustedhearts]

GQ: 12 Rounds with Steve Harrington

Aug. 14th, 2001

by Charlotte Cooper

Former middleweight boxing champion Steve Harrington sat down with GQ Magazine to dish on the reason behind his retirement, his bloody past in the ring, and his twelve year relationship with wife Libby.

I arranged to meet the brooding boxer at a cafe in West Hollywood. The Harringtons settled into a quiet community in California after the birth of their daughter, Jane, in 1997. They're spotted by paparazzi running errands and attending events for fellow famous friends looking like a pair of models.

Today, Harrington cruises up to the cafe in a fiery orange Pontaic GTO (after the interview, I googled the car: a 1969...fat money, Harrington.) Donning his infamous black Ray-Bans, a white t-shirt, and a pair of loose jeans, he walks to our table on the patio like he used to walk into the ring: a confident stride, a professional pokerface.

CC: Steve, it's lovely to meet you.

SH: Yeah, you too.

CC: Are you a big coffee guy?

SH: Huge. I hate these hipster places, though—I don't want anything with a fancy name.

CC: Black coffee for you then?

SH: Yep.

He did, indeed, order a black coffee—iced, the largest size they offered—and, to my surprise, a blueberry muffin. He mumbled something about his wife scolding him for not having enough fiber in his diet as he picked at the sugared top.

CC: Mind if we get started then?

SH: Why not?

CC: I had a fun idea for us. I'm limiting myself to 12 questions. 12 rounds—12 questions.

SH: Clever.

CC: Thank you, I hoped you'd think so. Okay, to start, what's life looked like for you lately? What have you spent the summer doing?

SH: Uh...just hangin' out, really. Libby, my wife, and I have been spending a lot of time with our daughter outside. We've traveled a few places, seen some landmarks. Was that a 2-in-1 question or 2 questions?

CC: I think we can call it a 2-in-1. That sounds lovely, what landmarks have you seen?

SH: I think you're gonna use your 12 up pretty fast. Uh...we saw the Grand Canyon, Mount Rushmore—total waste of time, by the way. Couple a' stone heads. Bullsh*t.

CC: The Founding Fathers weren't your cup of tea?

SH: Nah. Just a couple of old a**holes on a mountain. Nothing special.

CC: What about Libby, any place she favored?

SH: God, anywhere with a f****in' library, and she's over the moon. Bookstores, too.

CC: That's right, she was a librarian, wasn't she?

SH: Still is, though she might not work in one. She's workin' on something special, I won't say too much about it.

CC: I look forward to hearing about it! Does she have a favorite library?

SH: We went to Scotland for our honeymoon, she spent the first afternoon in a musty library somewhere in the country. I lost her in a bunch of Shakespeare manuscripts.

CC: Wow. She's dedicated to her craft.

SH: Yeah, that's true. Shakespeare c**kblocked me, though.

CC: Damnit, Shakespeare.

That got Harrington to laugh. I think I'm the first person to get Steve Harrington to laugh in an interview. This is going on my headstone.

CC: Now, down to some serious matters, and why we're all here. Tell me about the retirement.

SH: Not much to say. Just somethin' I had to do.

CC: You had a pretty gruesome injury in the tenth round of the O'Malley fight in '99. Did this have anything to do with your retirement?

SH: Yeah. Pretty much everything to do with it.

CC: Tell me a bit about that.

SH: I mean...one minute I'm on my feet pounding a guy, the next the lights are off. It was just...noiseless. Totally silent...other than this ringin' in my ears.

CC: What do you remember next?

SH: Waking up in the hospital. Libby was just screaming. I've never heard her scream like that. I think she thought I was dead or something.

CC: To be fair, all of America thought you died in that ring.

Here, Harrington picked up his coffee and took a long sip. He looked off toward the busy road, the cars whizzing by.

SH: You seem to know a bit about it.

CC: My father's a big fan.

SH: Ah. Yeah...I guess. She doesn't like talking about it.

CC: That's valid. Do you?

Though Harrington hadn't been in the ring professionally in half a decade, he seemed as big and wide as ever. His shoulders were massive when he shrugged them.

SH: Not particularly, but...it's been easier to. I don't know, not fightin' anymore...my body feels different, I feel different.

CC: A good different?

SH: I guess.

CC: Do you miss it?

Again, a look off toward the road. I got another ghost of a smile.

SH: Sometimes. But...I don't regret retiring when I did.

CC: Some people in the sports industry claim that you faked the injury because you knew you were going to lose that fight. What do you have to say to that?

A real laugh this time. Two laughs in one interview? This was going down in the history books.

SH: I'd say I bet they'd never say that to my face.

CC: I, for one, saw that match, and can confidently say you weren't faking a thing.

SH: Think my brain bleed would say the same thing.

CC: How many concussions would you guess you had during your career?

SH: Psh...probably more than I even know. Some of those headaches were probably concussions and I just didn't know. I think our 12 round question thing’s done for.

CC: I think so, too. How did Libby feel about all that, the concussions?

SH: Back then? She was a nervous wreck all the time. I really...I really put her through the wringer.

CC: But she stuck by your side. You guys are very dedicated to each other.

SH: Yeah. She's the strongest woman I know.

CC: Did she ever try boxing for herself?

SH: Oh, absolutely not. I taught her the basics—right/left hook, jab, block—but she'd never step foot into the ring.

CC: Too much blood?

SH: Seeing what it did to me. What it did to our family.

CC: The O'Malley fight really altered the course of your life.

SH: I guess. But sitting in that hospital bed, I didn't even have retirement on my mind.

CC: What was on your mind then?

SH: Oh, I wanted to get back out there. I was ready to...maybe prove myself, I guess?

CC: You wanted revenge?

SH: Yeah, that's the word.

CC: For the injury?

SH: It wasn't so much that. I've got nothin' against O'Malley, by the way. He's a fair fighter, he did exactly what he was supposed to do.

CC: Then why the need for revenge?

SH: I guess because...the injury put me in a position where I couldn't take care of my family. I couldn't provide for them. And that pissed me off.

CC: I see. All the frustration, it was because you were immobilized.

SH: Yeah, I guess. And I had f****in' memory loss, so that pissed me off—forgetting sh*t you know that you know. My little girl was still a baby, too, so...it was hard.

CC: You take pride in being able to care for your family.

SH: Yeah. They're all I got.

CC: So when was the moment you decided to retire?

SH: I think...when I couldn't pick my daughter up. I couldn't lift anything heavy, and even though she was this tiny little thing...she was too heavy to move.

CC: That must've been heartbreaking.

SH: I wanted to see her grow up more than I wanted another championship belt.

CC: Yeah, you've got—what?—fifty of those?

SH: Eh, you stop keeping track.

CC: Before you go, I'd like to ask some lighter questions, reminisce about your glory days.

SH: Sure, go for it.

CC: Do you have a favorite match?

SH: Uh...not really? If I had to choose, probably the St.Jude's match with Munson. It was fun, just sparring around the ring with a buddy.

CC: You and Eddie Munson took the 90s by storm.

SH: We were just havin' fun.

CC: Still friends?

SH: Oh yeah.

CC: Lastly, what are your guilty pleasures right now?

SH: Well, I gave up smoking. A direct order from the missus. So, I eat a lot to replace it.

CC: Have a favorite snack?

SH: Honestly, I love Pringles. The pizza ones.

CC: That's a good choice. Well, thank you so much for meeting with me, Steve.

SH: Hey, thanks for makin' the time.

[casualsheeteater]

Carnal Desire - Part 1

Warnings: NSFW, Violence, Gore

2nd POV, Fem reader.

You'd been assigned to König, a mountain of a man, for this mission. He'd been tacked on to the 141 as part of the top brass's collaboration with the PMC group. You were told not to question it, so you mainly ignored the newer addition. Until now.

The man was quiet, speaking only when absolutely needed. It unnerved you. Though, his height didn't necessarily help, either. He was built like a brick fireplace, towering over everything, and wound with layers of thick muscle. You could feel as much whenever you were thrown into him during the bumpy ride. Along with his gear piercing into your sides.

The two of you were draped head to toe in ghillie suits in order to aid in camouflage. Not your favorite outfit, but not the worst. They were made with shady, damp forests in mind, leading to a darker color palette along the mixed leaves and mesh.

When Price had announced the mission, your mouth had run dry. You'd worked with Konig before on a few previous missions, but /not/ this close.

A sigh slipped from your lips. While you were confident you could flow well with him, it didn't ease your nerves, and the mysterious coil slithering in your stomach.

When the Jeep finally lurched to a stop, you were almost grateful. You quickly undid the strap binding you to the seat and waited for the orders to crack through your earpiece. It was only meant to be a 'drop-off', but intel had stated there were some stray /dogs/.

Soon, Price's whiskey lathered voice dripped through the speaker in your ear. "Area's clear. Disperse, and get to that safehouse," he grumbled. Immediately, as though a gun had fired a blank to announce the start of a race, you were out of the Jeep, scanning your surroundings.

Your boots firmly planted down onto the powdery dirt, the slight crunch of contact with a few loose pebbles adding to the bit of noise. Your gun was raised, aim steady, as your poured over the immediate landscape.

You wouldn't doubt that your guests hadn't heard you approaching, the Jeep wasn't exactly /stealthy/. Regardless, you stepped off the narrow dirty path, winding between the thick trunks of trees and brush.

"Good luck," the driver murmurs with a slight salute out of the corner of your eye, and as quickly as you had arrived, he was gone, turning around and going back to whence you'd came.

König, who'd gotten out opposite of you, flicked his head to you, the fabric of his long sniper hood jerking with the movement. He carefully studied your body language.

A shiver crawled down your spine as you felt the heat of his gaze on you. But you did your best to ignore it.

Your eyes carefully scanned, nitpicking the various dark greens and arrays of shadowy logs. Few rays of sunshine battered down through the treetops, hidden by the bulk of leaves above creating a blanketed atmosphere.

The two of you had been informed of a crucial safehouse being on the radar of a dangerous criminal group. Some documents had apparently been left behind, as well as several weapon stashes scattered in and around the forest, including the town surrounding it.

You and König were briefed to take a 'lookout' approach, and only engage in combat if spotted. To avoid such confrontation early in the mission, you were sent out later in the day.

Not that it mattered to you, your back was already beginning to complain about the 40 pounds of gear currently piled onto your figure. It wasn't anything you couldn't handle, you were trained for it after all, but you wouldn't mind shucking the majority of it onto the ground of the safehouse.

"Ready?" You whispered to König, you heard the rustle of fabric before you turned and caught the movement. He'd nodded, choosing to stay quiet for now. The two of you hadn't had time to really have a /conversation/, just a few polite phrases. Didn't stop him from watching you like a hawk every time you entered a room, though.

Quickly, the two of you immersed yourselves into the brush, mindful of your steps while moving fluidly through the sticks, stepping over logs, as your back slightly hunched, your silenced assault rifle aimed in front of you, scanning continuously. It was a rhythm, something you easily fell into every time you were put into this setting. Though, it was slightly different with the behemoth next to you.

Surprisingly, he was as quiet as you. Probably quieter. In that aspect, he was similar to Ghost, who glided about the compound, scaring Privates out of their minds. It was fun to watch, you will admit that.

But König? He only used his build on missions, not engaging much in larger crowds. Everything about him was a mystery. Well, except to Horangi, another operator who'd been pinned onto 141 with him. The only thing you knew about Horangi was how awful he was at poker. Again, not having much chance for conversation due to back-to-back missions, and your general avoidance of the newcomers.

Not that you minded it, you quite preferred the constant missions, kept your mind off of things, and more in your work. You supposed you were quite isolated as well, not engaging whenever Soap would attempt to drag you out for drinks.

Though, this mission seemed more like an opportunity to relax more than anything. Price would occasionally tend to send his soldiers onto missions like this. A brief reprieve from the onslaught of typical work.

/Ah./ It was probably so you could get to know König more. Price had already been discussing the possibility of future duo missions between you and the other man.

As you stepped, you could feel how the man next to you was practically brimming with adrenaline. In the corner of your eye, you saw, what you could of his eyes. All you knew was that they were /wide/, intaking any visual information he could.

You didn't blame him. By now, the two of you were deep into the forest, the powdery dirt road nowhere in sight anymore.

Suddenly, he was no longer at your side, a stride or two in front of you, which, considering the length of his legs, was hefty. He motioned for you to get down with his hand, his own slightly crouched position deepening.

Immediately understanding his intent, you did as instructed, eyes flicking about your surroundings, trying to find a form of cover. Next to you, an overturned hollow log was draped across the ground.

/Convenient/.

You ducked down, crouch-walking your way over to the log. Konig was right next to it. You peeked in. It was big enough to hold about three people. Perfect.

Resting the barrel of your gun onto the top of the log, you peered through the scope. A quick scan showed you nothing. With a quirked brow, you glanced over to Konig. You doubt he'd heard wrong, he was much more experienced than you.

Before you understood what was happening, Konig dragged you to the ground, rolling over on top of you as a shot thundered through the forest.

"/Verdammt-/," he muttered, the first word he'd spoken since you'd first met him. Besides on comms. His voice was deeper in person than you'd thought it'd be.

You stared, wide eyed, at him on top of you. His head was shifted, looking over his shoulder, before ducking down and facing you as another shot rang out, closer to your position now. His eyes met yours. The cold pupils /glinted/ with murderous intent. Not directed t you, of course. Didn't lessen the chill down your spine, regardless.

A rustle came from the brushes to your right, and both of your heads snapped to it. From his utility belt, Konig snatched a knife, and raised it. The two of you were already decently camouflaged, the ghillie suit sufficiently covering you both. Especially you, as Konig's also draped over you.

As soon as a head peeked above the brush, Konig pounced. You watched for a split second before quickly redirecting yourself. /This was a life or death situation./

Your gun, which hadn't clattered too far away from you in the commotion, was still primed and ready. You snatched it, propping yourself back up, trusting the cover of your ghillie suit gave you, and aimed as you scoured the surroundings. The slight outcropping of a face immediately tipped you off.

You exhaled, bracing your body for recoil, and steadied the reticle. A shot rang out, and the body jerked back, out of sight.

To the left of you, you heard grunting, before a sickening /SNAP/. Konig had finished off the other guy within a minute or so.

It was still a wonder to you, how the man managed to disable someone within a matter of moments. Another shiver went down your spine.

"Status?" He growled out to you, accent thick. You hadn't noticed him approaching.

"Fine," you took another look through your scope. "Two tangos approaching," you whispered. They were /just/ out of range for your rifle.

He stayed silent for a moment.

"Direct me over comms," he instructed.

You give him a quick sharp nod, readjusting your stance so you're better easily able to move your gun about. A deep breath fills your lungs, you hold it for a moment, hearing the slightly quickened thumping of your heart, before letting it out. You lean down, immediately spotting moving brush.

"Straight forward from my position, at least 70 meters," I mutter.

Konig begins creeping forward, and you flick over to get him in your sights.

He makes short work of the trek, his long stride benefitting him, as in no time, you hear the take down over comms, blood spurting out of, what you presume is a neck. "Tango down," Konig reports.

You begin to move forward as well, as soon as you lock onto the other man. "Far right, 2 o'clock, prone position." You inform, spying the other man hunkered down. It was a good spot; you'll give them that.

Several minutes pass, and Konig's disappears out of sight. Frantically, your reticle searches the area.

"(shit but in german.)" Konig suddenly growls over comms.

Grunting and tousling are heard over Konig's mic. At once, you're picking up your pace. "Konig?" You call, just above a whisper. Your rifle is resumed to it's usual spot in your grip as you book it to his location.

"Konig!" You press, as more struggling is heard. Not too far from you, you hear a shot, and wince as it's also transmitted into your ear.

It goes deathly quiet.

Your muscles begin to burn, as you dodge and duck, moving around bushes, stray rocks, and logs. You hurl yourself away from the trunk of a tree, using it to gain momentum as you hop over a lifeless body.

He speaks your name over comms, it's rough, gravely. You come to a stop, as you spot him in front of you, standing, huffing and heaving, much like you.

Konig turns to you, blood splattered across his front, several specks dripping from his ghillie suit. His eyes, piercing in that cold unmoving gaze. A knife, harshly gripped in his right hand, as several combatants lay on the floor. He'd been ambushed while going for the man who was prone, as they'd been able to hide out of sight.

"Sitrep?" You ask between breaths, your chest rising and falling.

He didn't speak, only stepped towards you as he dropped the knife. It clattered to the ground at his feet. His pupils were solely focused on you.

Another step.

You resisted the urge to retreat back.

Again. His boots quiet against the forest floor.

Finally, he was right in front of you, as you strained your neck to meet his eyes.

Your name dripped from his lips and you froze. Like prey, cornered by a predator. /Yet he was your teammate./

His hand rose, coming up to cup your cheek, staining it with the blood of the men he'd just disarmed. It was still warm, and you swallowed, your neck slightly bobbing at the motion.

"/Mein./" He spoke.

Your brows furrowed slightly. 'Mein'? You had limited vocabulary on German, but regardless, you knew that meant 'mine'. You opened your mouth to question, and he pounced.

His other hand flew up, pushing his hood under the seam of his balaclava and pulling the other up to his nose, revealing his scarred mouth. He pressed his lips to yours as he bent forward, keeping one hand on your face, the other wrapping around you like a snake in his vice grip.

Any noise you were going to make was clamped down, practically sucked out of you, similar to the breath in your lungs. He stole it, all of it, as his rough lips encased yours.

His eyes, focused on your reaction and body language, studied you, as if a flame had been lit in them.

He broke away after several moments, and you inhaled, inflating your lungs once more.

"/Konig/, not here-", You try to reason with him. The two of you were still right in the middle of enemy occupied territory.

The man bent back down, and right before stealing your lips once more murmured, "Nein, jetzt."

You closed your eyes, melting into it, as his tongue licked into your mouth. Your hands came up to grasp him, sinking into the fabric on his arms of the ghillie suit, like you were trying to scratch him out of it.

He began to push you backwards, causing you to falter, right up against a tree. Without hesitation, he begins to pull the straps of the heavy bag down, helping you slip your arms through them before tossing it aside in the bushes. Again, he broke the kiss, as his hands began to wander, making quick work of your belt and the buttons of your pants.

Anticipation and sudden arousal shot through your body, hitting you straight in the gut. Your heartbeat quickened, as you caught sight of his eyes. Pupils dilated and solely focused on you. His mouth, pressed into a thin line, slightly upticked due to an old wound slicing his lips.

König leaned in, pressing his body right up against yours, those same lips peppering promises onto your neck.

It almost felt like the calm before the storm.

His hands continued, rough pads of his fingertips dancing along your flesh, rippling goosebumps up your torso. They journeyed downwards, past the band of your underwear, before freezing.

"/Wet/," he muttered, and you felt the grin on your neck.

A small noise came out of your mouth at that, realizing just what he'd done to you despite the situation, and in a /forest/ of all things.

The man gave you no time to ponder, diving straight into your cunt.

..

.

To be Continued ❤️❤️

[weemsfreak]

Fangs Pt 2

Larissa Weems x fVampireReader

Larissa Weems gets into trouble at a conference. Her girlfriend comes to her rescue. Larissa knows her girlfriend pretty well, but she's not a vampire, is she?

Warnings: Mention of sexual assault/assault aftermath (not detailed), almost smut, blood, cigarettes

Pt 1

It had been almost a week since Larissa's conference incident. Surprisingly to you, she hasn't asked any questions about how she ended up at home. It was like she didn't remember it. Maybe she just wasn't ready to talk about it.

You had sent for Larissa's things from the hotel and they arrived a couple days later. Although she was the one who had gone through this horrible event, it seemed like you were the stressed one. You were so, so stressed. So stressed that you found yourself smoking on the balcony of your shared room. You were concerned about Larissa's safety, stressed about her lack of memory, and hurt by the way that the other outcasts treated shapeshifters, as if they didn't know the struggle. You wanted to report them, they should never have the chance to do that to Larissa again, or another. Though, Larissa would have to be the one to talk about it, and you didn't think she could handle that right now.

It was a Sunday, a day you and Larissa had off, yet she was in her office typing away at her laptop. You brought some blankets onto the balcony to lay down, the weather was beautiful today. You had finished off a bottle of alcohol, thinking that it was a good day to get day drunk, since Larissa was busy. You wanted to slow your racing thoughts, even if it was just for a bit. As you took a drag of your cigarette and looked up at the trees, you let the rays of the sun shine through the leaves, washing over your body. You sighed, having a taste of human blood made you crave more, even though you preferred that of animals. It wasn’t that it was better, it was just different. You really wanted to tell Larissa about your outcast status, as it was becoming increasingly difficult to hide, and you felt guilty for doing so. "Y/N, darling" Larissa hollered to you from the bedroom, and you sat up, attempting to hide your smoke. She stepped onto the balcony, "Do you know where my…what are you doing?" she asked, raising a brow. You looked up at her innocently, "I'm just relaxing with my friend" you said in a joking manner, pointing to the empty bottle beside you. Her brows creased, "I see that, but what's in your hand?" she questioned. You looked down to your hand, cigarette between your fingers, "Um, I'm…smoking." You looked up at her, a disapproving look on her face. "Since when do you smoke, Y/N?" "Since today" you chuckled sadly. Larissa looked away for a minute, taking in the warmth of the sun. "Do you know where my notebook is?" she said, turning back to you. You got up and went inside, digging around in an unpacked box to find it. "Here you go" you said, handing it to her. You didn't understand why she hadn't questioned the boxes, she didn't keep her things like this normally. She thanked you and headed toward the door to her office before she stopped and turned back around. "Would you help me move something, sweetheart?" You smiled, of course you would.

Larissa had ordered a taxidermy bear, saying that bears represent moral figures who dish out punishment for disrespectful or improper behavior. Much like her, they are a symbol of strength and wisdom. "I want it in this corner, but it's so heavy. You would think it to be lighter considering it's taxidermy" she huffed. You stared up at the bear. You didn't realize how large bears could be, this was a big one. "No worries Riss, I got it." You picked up the bear at it's base and carried it to the other side of her office, plopping it on the floor. "Is here good?" you questioned, before getting a look at Larissa's expression. Her mouth was open and her eyebrows furrowed in question and surprise. "When did you get so strong?" she asked, amazed. It didn't occur to you that you shouldn't be able to move the bear alone, you didn't even drag it, you lifted it. "Uh, I'm not that strong, maybe you're just weak" you jested, giggling nervously.

As Larissa was lost in her work, you made your way out onto her office balcony. There were some students hanging down in the yard, some doing archery and some sitting, reading. You would never get over how proud of Larissa you were for running this school, and for standing up for the younger generation of outcasts. As time passed, you became more and more aware of the discrimination that the outcast community faced, and it hurt your heart to observe it. You didn't realize how bad it really was though, not until you saw Larissa be disrespected, bullied, and taken against her will. You were just so grateful that nothing worse had happened, something way worse could have happened.

You stepped back inside and made your way to your girlfriend, pulling her and her chair away from her desk. You didn't ask permission before straddling her lap and wrapping your hands around her, placing your face in her neck. "What are you doing love?" she asked in a quiet hum. "I'm a koala" you said, laughing at yourself. You pushed her closer to her desk so she could continue her work. "I'm thinking of going to another conference at the end of the month, it's in Canada" she quipped, sounding excited. You opened your eyes and froze for a minute, the thought of her going to another conference and being unsafe made you anxious. "Can I come?" you asked spontaneously and nervously. She thought for a moment, "Why?" "I just, uh, want to visit Canada! And spend time with you" you said, forcing a smile. "Sure love, you can come." You sighed in relief and snuggled further into the woman. Honestly you had no interest in going, but you would do anything to ensure her safety.

You fell into a light sleep in the tall woman's arms, waking up with a jolt when you heard her huff in anger. "Ugh, this man from the outcast board is so hard to deal with." You frowned, you didn't want to hear of or see a man from an outcast school or board again, especially a siren. "Do you have your cigarettes on you?" You sat up, looking at her in confusion. You pulled them out of your pocket and handed them to her, expecting her to throw them in the garbage. "Light one for me?" she asked, and you did so reluctantly. "Merci, ma chérie" she said, taking it from you and putting it between her lips. Your expression fell in surprise, you were a bad influence. You leaned down to her ear and whispered, "Riss, that's French." She looked at you with a sly smile on her face, blowing out the smoke. "Oui, et?" You rolled your eyes, taking the cigarette from her and taking a drag. "Tu sais que j'adore quand tu parles français." She chuckled, turning her attention back to her work. Something about her was turning you on right now, something about her always did. Maybe it was the way her voice sounded when she spoke french, the way she cooed every word to you. Or maybe it was that she shared the same rebellious acts as you, like smoking when stressed. You passed it back to her as you ran your fingers through her hair, starting to grind down into her hips. You continued even though she ignored you, until she brought her hands down to your hips. "What's wrong baby?" she purred, which made you whimper into her shoulder. "You're so beautiful Rissa, god" you whined,  beginning to kiss up her neck. You rolled your hips into hers as she leaned her head to the side, giving you more access to her neck. You kissed and nipped at her, elicting soft groans. After a bit you pulled away, eyeing a hickey that you had left by accident. Eyes going wide, you knew she wouldn't be happy about that, as it would be hard to cover up. Good thing she wore high collars. You continued sucking on her pulse point, and she let out a low moan. You all too easily got lost in her sounds and the touch of her soft skin. As you rutted against her, you became careless and to your utter terror, you felt your fangs emerge, something that never happened uncontrollably. You pulled away in shock, but when you did, your fangs scraped against Larissa's neck. "Ow, what was that?" she asked, her hand coming up to soothe her neck. You closed your mouth, not daring to answer incase she saw your teeth. You scrambled to get up from the woman's lap and ran to the bedroom, closing the door and putting your weight against it so she couldn't follow you.

She knocked on the door, "Darling, what happened?" You thought in silence, truly you didn't know what happened. You were always in control of your fangs, they never emerged randomly, never when you touched Larissa. You shook your head when you realized that perhaps your instincts were now in play. When you sucked that man's blood last weekend, you had reminded yourself of what humans blood tasted like. You knew that the blood of someone you were attracted to would taste a hundred times better, so when you were close to Larissa's neck and saw her hickey, you lost control. "Nothing Riss, one minute." How were you going to explain this? Was there even a good lie about what could've scraped her? You didn't use your fangs a lot, so when you did, you developed a small lisp. Larissa would surely hear it when you spoke. "Y/N open the door. Why are you hiding from me?" Tears welled up in your eyes as you realized that in fact, you were hiding from her. You were hiding a whole part of yourself from her. You gathered yourself and prepared for a small fight over why you had never told her about your vampirism. Slowly, you opened the door, only to be met with nothing, nobody. You looked around her office, she wasn't in there. Closing the door, you sunk into the bed and covered yourself with the blankets. Why weren't your fangs retracting? "Y/N?" Larissa whispered, crawling into the bed with you. Oh right, there was another door to your quarters. As she tried to get under the blanket with you, you held it down so that she had no access. As she pulled at the blanket to try and get to you, you used your strength to allow no weak spots. You started laughing as this was hilarious to you, the fact that she couldn't get to you through something as weak as a blanket. You laughed hard for a good minute which made Larissa laugh too. She finally gave up and laid on top of you, putting all of her weight on you. You smiled, you loved the comfort that this woman gave you. You didn't want to hide yourself from her any longer, surely she would understand. You pushed the blankets off of you and were met with her gorgeous face. She was frowning, obviously concerned. You looked up at her with sad but loving eyes as you cupped her face, stroking her cheek with your thumb. "Talk to me love" she whispered, "Why did you run?" Your lip quivered as you looked at her, you felt bad about not telling her earlier. At one point, it had become a fun game for you to see how well you could hide it. You kind of felt like you didn't want her to know, you had hidden it for all this time. You shook your head no. "Why are you saying no? Why aren't you talking?" she raised her voice, bringing her hand up to grab your cheeks. When she reached for your face, you pulled away. Her brows furrowed and she looked fed up. She reached for your face again and grabbed you this time. She squeezed your chin lightly, "Open your mouth" she said with suspicion, eyes narrowing at you. You shook your head no again, not daring to speak. She stared at you for a minute before backing off and saying "Fine" while rolling off of you.

You awoke hours later and peered out the window, it was now getting dark. You emerged onto the balcony and averted your eyes to Larissa's office doors. There she was, still sitting at her desk, still typing away. Taking a deep breath, you noted that your fangs had retracted. With a breath of relief, you pulled out another cigarette, lighting it and turning to bask in Larissa's beauty through her balcony doors. You were truly the luckiest person alive to have her, and she deserved the truth. The truth about you, the truth about what happened at the conference. Unfortunately, you didn't know how to bring it up, you didn't want her to remember something traumatic if her mind had blocked it out. She turned her head to meet your gaze and gave you a small smile. She stood from her desk and opened her balcony doors, stepping outside. "Hi baby" you mumbled. "Hi darling, did you have a good sleep?" she said, reaching over the railing and taking the cigarette from your mouth. You chuckled, "Yea, I did." As she took a drag of the cigarette, you reached over and grabbed her face, giving kisses to her cheeks, forehead, and nose. "When will you be done of work?" you asked with a pouty face. She looked at her watch, "Hm, give me a half hour?" You nodded as she retreated back to her desk.

Half an hour later you emerged from the shower and were met with Larissa sitting on the bed, having unpacked her boxes. You looked at her confused, was she not going to ask about them? When her eyes met yours, she stood and lunged toward you, her fingers tangling in your hair and her lips meeting yours passionately. You whimpered into her mouth as you were caught off guard. Honestly, you were so nervous around Larissa now, nervous that your fangs would emerge when you were close to her. You didn't want it to happen out of your control, so you figured you would show her deliberately. Larissa scooped you up and turned to place you on the bed, her lips still attached to yours. She straddled you and broke the kiss, nipping at your neck. You whimpered beneath her, but you wanted to tell her now. "Rissa" you breathed, hoping she would stop. She continued kissing down your breasts, and you wanted her so badly right now, but you couldn't. "Riss" you said, more serious than before. You knew she was ignoring you, so you grabbed at her arms and flung her off of you, getting on top of her and pinning her down. "Y/n!" she breathed loudly. You brought your lips to her ear and purred, "You are a bad listener." You subconsciously looked down at her neck and found her marks from earlier. You felt yourself losing control again, so you sat up and climbed off of her, turning away. You sighed, "Larissa I have to tell you something." She sat up next to you and pulled you into her lap. She looked at you concered, you didn't use that serious tone very often. "What is it, love?" You wrapped your arms around her neck as if she'd try to run from you. Taking a deep breath you mumbled "Larissa, I'm a vampire." A smirk crept up on her face as she looked at you. "Yea, right" she chuckled. You frowned, she really didn't believe you. "I am" you stated, giving her an unbelieving look. "Okay, well then why don’t you wear glasses? Or drink blood? Or-" "Or have super human strength? Or have fangs?" you cut her off. She turned her head away from you, mouth opening, pondering. Had she really missed the signs? "You are pretty strong" she said slowly. "Well why don't you do those other things?" she questioned, turning her gaze back to you. You pursed your lips "I do. I drink blood when I'm alone, and I eat normal meals with you. I can take so much sunlight, I wear glasses like half the time." Her brows furrowed, you didn't seem all that convincing. "Why-why didn't you tell me then?" You pressed your cheek to hers, hoping that she wasn't mad at you for keeping it from her. "I don't know. At first I thought it wasn't important to tell you. It's not obvious, so I never brang it up. And then after awhile, I realized you still didn't know, and it felt like a big thing to bring up." Larissa hesitated before letting out an understanding hum. You brought your lips to hers, giving her small kisses. "I'm so sorry Riss, I wasn't trying to hide from you" you said, lip quivering. She looked at you reassuringly, before biting her lip in question. "Where are your fangs then?" she asked quietly. "You know when I scraped your neck earlier today and ran? That was my fangs." Larissa's mouth dropped in shock, it made so much sense now. "What? Why has that never happened before?" You looked down at the bed, "I don't know" you lied. There was silence for a minute before she lifted your chin gently and you met her gaze. "Will you show me?" You nodded, but you were reluctant to show her. Of course she knew what fangs looked like, but to date someone with them, kiss someone with them, be vulnerable with them? That was different. You looked into her eyes as you opened your mouth and let your fangs emerge. She looked down at them and her eyes went wide, she didn’t fully believe you until now. "Oh my god" she breathed, hand covering her mouth. You closed yours and frowned, "Do you not like them? Do I make you nervous?" you whispered with a lisp. The woman chuckled, "Darling you are so adorable. I'm not scared of you" she smiled sincerely. You sighed, relieved "Thank the gods."

 Larissa let a sly smile creep onto her face as you looked at her, "What?" She pushed you onto your back, hovering over you. "Your fangs are very attractive my love” she purred against your lips. "You like them?" you questioned, talking normally again. Larissa lifted your lip with her finger and grazed it against your teeth, "Where'd they go?" You let out a laugh, "I put them away." She narrowed her eyes at you and grabbed your throat, squeezing slightly, "I want them out" she growled. You let out a whimper as you let your fangs emerge again. As she kissed down your neck, you couldn't help but be scared by your own teeth. What if you craved her blood? You couldn't just help yourself. Why did she want them out? Of course you'd never hurt her on purpose, but what if you did by accident? As you were lost in your thoughts, Larissa stopped her ministrations and suddenly sat up, pulling you with her. She looked at you like you had betrayed her, like there was something on her mind that she was entirely confused about, like you had done something. Well, technically you had. She furrowed her brows as she stared down at you, vulnerability written on her face. She reluctantly opened her mouth, "Wait, it was you! Wasn't it?!"

[tuliptired]

He’s Good People

Chapter 1: Ask me, I Won't Say No (How Could I?)

Pairing(s) Reader/Ray, Reader/Egon Reader/Winston

Summary: Janine's always told you that you had a strong "line of fate". Whatever that meant. When you lose your job and apartment, however, you're offered a (temporary) fix with her ever-generous employers.

Hopefully part of a series! A little Ray-centric- Check Ao3 for more tags and warnings.

read it on Ao3!

Today was the big day. You’d be working at your job at a major TV station for just about forever now, and it was about due time for a promotion. The pay was decent, enough to clothe and feed you and have the slightest amount left over, and you got to specialize in what you loved all day, everyday, while contributing to American television. The varieties of the entertainment industry. 

But you were starting to come to the realization that maybe your skills were a little underappreciated. You worked quickly, feverishly, and passionately, after all. You’d be damned if you said you hadn’t been dreading turning up everyday for a little while now. You put off asking, figuring that you should be grateful to be employed at all, but coaxing from your very opinionated best friend you gained while interning in Brooklyn proved fruitful, as she sat on the phone with you.

“You’re worthy. You’re deserving, they’re lucky to have you, you’re doing them a favor by showing up,” she repeated the affirmation to you, undoubtedly breaking a rule or two as she used her work phone from her receptionist job for a personal call. She'd been your biggest supporter, from every new hairstyle or investment, and she knew you were more than capable of whatever a higher position could offer you. You, on the other hand, stared at your reflection in the mirror. You don't really know what you'd do if turned down. You need this, your heart clenches a bit.  

You steeled your nerves, taking a deep breath in and a light breath out. “I am worthy, I am deserving, they’re lucky to have me, I’m doing them a favor by showing up,’ you chanted. The chord of the landline strained against the stretch you put it through from the kitchen to the bathroom. 

“That’s the spirit,” she praised you on the other end. Before you could respond, a sharp beep interrupted you, and she groaned lightly.

“Other line. Listen, I gotta go, but I want details. You know where to call me- and call me as soon as you get word,” she ordered you, causing the fear in your stomach to reemerge, the moment coming closer. But, her voice did make you feel better, in a way.

“Thanks, Janine, pray for me,” you half-begged, desperation unashamedly showing in your tone.

“Mazel.” The phone clicked.

You took what felt like the hundredth calming breath, and it was only 9 am. As you exited your apartment, the world woke up around you, the walk to the bus a little more packed as you made your way down town. On the bus, there was an ad for the Ghostbusters across from you. You laughed to yourself at its presence, a square poster of the 4 men simply standing in a line. The only other design is a little tagline- ¨who you gonna call?¨

You´d always wanted to ask Janine about her place of employment, naturally. She only ever brushed it off as a day job that took up too much of her free time, but you were a bit more curious than that. Believing in ghosts and spirits and monsters wasn't something you were necessarily taken with, but if there's a ghost up somewhere in Albany, it's not your problem. Leave it to the professionals, if they wanted a call so bad. Their pseudo-celebrity statuses were admirable, though- their ads for drinks and toys and services took up 70% of your network’s commercial breaks.

You were practically dripping with a mix of assuredness, sweat from your walk, and a tinge of fear as you clocked in when inside the giant, bustling company. The walk to your workspace felt like you were walking into war, going over every point you wanted to make the moment you saw your supervisor. He was a little hard to get to, really. He was even able to convince you that the due date he had given you in writing was much, much earlier- and you believed him, until you were working overtime with your entire department for the 3rd night in a row for something you had a month to finish.

You were intercepted halfway to your desk, and your confidence dropped to your toes as his smile wasn’t the half-there, busy and distracted one he often held. It was deliberate. He wanted something from you.

“Y/N! Goodmorning, goodmorning. I need a quick word with you.” God damnit. 

His sudden appearance derailed your ability to form respectable sentences, your fingers fumbling with the lapels of your shirt cuffs. “Actually, I was looking for you too,” your tone betraying you.

He led you into his office suite, a brown set of rooms that got less presentable as they went from reception to official-one-desk-two-chairs territory. He stopped you in the hall, where ambient lights illuminated pictures of happy talent, tv producers, and writers who struck it big under his guidance smiling big with awards in hand. “Spare a minute?” He put his hand on your shoulder. Asshole, you can’t refuse. You were already there.

He didn’t wait for an answer. “It’s been a real busy season, huh? Lots of work. Lots of talented stars. SNL’s really jumping off, isn’t it?” You smiled with a bit of pride, knowing the time you and your colleagues put into the success of an experimental show like it, albeit behind the scenes.

“I’m gonna tell it to you like it is, ‘cause you’re a smart kid. You went to Columbia, right?”

Flattery. You answered anyway. “Yeah. Yeah, I was gonna put some time aside for my masters,” you try and broach the conversation back into your favor. Tell him about your ambitions, your qualifications, and the job will fall into your lap.

He had an unreadable expression, his manufactured appearance unwavering. His mid length brown hair and brown suit nearly blended in with his decor. A blank slate was important in entertainment, he told you one day, you want to be what boys and girls want to see, he said. “You’re gonna have a hell of a lot of time then, kid.”

You blinked, words tumbling out your mouth before you could measure them. “I beg your pardon?” You asked earnestly. 

“Lots of work. Lots of talented stars,” he repeats. “It costs a lot to keep the boys and girls happy. Too much to keep certain departments as big as they are.” He swallows, picking up where he left off. “I figured, you’d feel better hearing it from a friendly face then some corporate robot, huh?”

You don’t remember how you got to the payphone, but you did, and you shakily entered Janine’s work number as tears and snot threatened to spill over the dam that was your face.

So there you were, her by your side, sitting under a tree in a nearby park, leaving work for a “personal emergency”, ignoring the voice of her boss as she made her way downtown. You felt bad, coating her shoulder in your sadness, but you couldn’t help it.

“He sounds like a total jackass,” she insisted. “I would’ve put my foot up his…¨ She looked down at you, your cries resigned to snotty sniffles. “You okay?” She asked softly.

You looked at her weakly. “Am I a loser?” You choked out, feeling absolutely miserable. This was rock bottom if you’ve ever been there. Jobless and bawling in a public park.

Janine grabbed your hands. “Don’t ever say something like that again. I’m telling you, your fate is something bigger.” Your eyes got glossy again, and she shook you around forcefully.

“No more crying! C’mon,” she hoisted you to your feet, head spinning and tears dried out of whiplash. Silently, you let her drag you to a grocery without protest, watching numbly as she stopped at a candy counter with you clinging to her arm. 

“10 Crunch bars. And as many of those red things that can fit in the bag.” The man behind the counter obliged, not without looking at the pair of you like a mother and her overgrown child. She took the paper bag, and loaded up another basket with the supplies to make your favorite dinners from the grocer, not forgetting a large tub of speciality ice cream.

“I can’t ask you to buy all of this,” you said softly, but your voice broke into a quiver as you realized what buying something entailed. “Now that I have no-no money,” your voice, wet and weak, about to break out into another session of hot tears.

“If you start crying again I’m leaving you at customer service,” She threatened as she opened her wallet, making her way to the cashier. 

“D’you think the corner takes applications?” You walked in tandem to the bus that’d take you home. 

“We can find out together. I’ve been telling you, there are men at Playboy who’d pay good money for-”

“WOW, Janine, your voice is a little loud, no?”

Her attempt at making you smile worked, and you felt a little better at her side on the bus. Stuffing the sack of candy in your bag, the bus rocked gently as Janine rested the large grocery haul on her lap. 

You were ready to just fall into bed, with or without Janine there, but your droopy eyes were snapped open upon seeing a white envelope taped to your front door. With further inspection, Janine watched sadly as you read that it was a water bill due ridiculously soon. The best you could do was knock your head against the plaster of the wall and hand her your keys.

You had a whole feast of food to be prepared laid out on your counter as you lay on the couch, weak and unwilling to do anything as you pressed your face into the cushions. “Is your oven always this…not on?” Janine’s voice came confused from the kitchen, a bundt pan full of box-mix-cake batter in her left hand.

“You’re joking,” you peeled yourself from the couch, crouching in front of the oven. One spark, nothing. Two, nothing. Three, four, five…not even a match could lit the stovetop nor the burners in the oven. You slid to the ground, defeated. “Kill me, Janine.”

You could hear her click her tongue, before a tiny bleeping filled the room. She apologetically moved her way to your phone, explaining that her boss(es?) were paging her. While you wallow on the kitchen floor, she dials in a number and waits, a little frazzled.

“I told you, it was an emergency.” Her eyes look to yours, silently asking for permission to spill the worst day of your life to some guy you don’t know. You close them, surrendering as you melt into the ground. Maybe this was rock bottom?

“I'm by the theater, it’s a bus and a brisk walk…you can manage without me for a night…4 grown men can’t problem-solve?...Peter- friend of mine got laid off, and they’re pretty upset, ok?...Yes. No, not that one…yes, that one. Ask them yourself, Peter.” She glances at you, annoyed as she holds the receiver out. Not having a speck of pride left, you trudge over, taking the phone limply. 

The line is silent for a bit, except for distant, deep voices you can’t hone in on, expect for the fact that they were arguing.

“Hello?” A voice starts.

“Hello.”

“Real sorry about your job, dear. Tell Janine to bring you around and we can show you a good-” Whoever the hell is on the other end is interrupted by a frantic voice, interrupting as they take hold of the call.

“Hello? This is Dr. Stantz. Uh, Ray is better. Janine told my friend Peter here about your work situation, we wanted to let you know we’re real sorry. Let Janine know she’s not in trouble, but she needs to get here soon, ok?” Dr. Stantz sounds genuinely sympathetic, and you can’t help but be comforted by his words.

“Thanks,” is all you can manage, if not rudely then a little flat.

“If you ever need anywhere to go, our headquarters are open! We have food, hot water, Janine,”’ he laughs on the other end, a little awkward. And a little on the nose for comfort. You react freely in the safety of the private nature of a phone call.

“Thank you?” You answer honestly. He clears his throat.

“If I could hear from Janine, please?”

You wordlessly pass it back to your unamused friend, and she listens to the other end.

A loud, low rumbling in your laundry closet cuts through the calm. You glance at each other, assuming the worst as you swing the door open.

Bubbles spill out onto the floor, your washer unit shaking and leaking onto the worn out wood. All things, this is what gets you the hardest. Your washer can´t break now. Out of all the horrible, awful things, your washer can not break now. You can't even cry, it's so ridiculous. Standing incredulously in ankle deep suds, all you can do is stare at the appliance spit and sputter liquid onto the floor. Janine breaks your bout of shock, pressing the phone into her shoulder so she can reach you. Her voice urges you to unplug it, and before you could break down again, you´re leaning against the lid, with the sudden realization that all the water and soap could start an electrical fire.

You have to lean your entire torso against the top, arms fumbling for the chord buried somewhere in the dark space against the wall. Soon, your legs are dangling over the edge. It would be a funny sight, if the machine wasn't shaking so monstrously underneath you.

Suddenly, there's a large hand on the back of your thigh. It was a cold, unnerving touch, sharp points digging into the flesh of your leg. As you could look back, to tell Janine to let go, your receiver drops to the ground. Her face is ghastly pale, and she´s suspended in a scream. As you look down towards the front of the washer, the large, reptilian claws try to grab you, to pull you into the washer with it. Your eyes widen, and you scream as you clamor to get out of its reach, to no avail.

Janine’s at your side, prying the digits off of your skin, the claws no doubt leaving marks in their wake. You climb to the top of the machine, legs to your chest, and she slams the door on the arms enough times to force it shut. 

Catching her breath, she backs up to the phone slowly, her eyes on you as if you yourself were whatever beast residing in your washer.

¨Ray.¨ She says his name as if there’s a 3rd party in your little apartment listening. ¨You´re coming to us.¨

4 men in brown jumpsuits are at your door. They look much more frazzled than they do in their ads. There´s…a crocodile? A monster? Living in your house? Your brain can´t form cohort thoughts as you blink, eyes drying out. One of them tries to console you as you sit in your armchair, breaths shallow and skin cold. You can’t even freak over the local legends standing in your home. 

 You only recognized one of them personally, from Janine´s birthday a few months ago. You couldn't stay the whole night, only dropping by to give her well wishes and leave her gift behind, but you can remember a brief conversation. You arrived around the same time, and he had opened the entrance to the building for you with ease, the handle notoriously always needing a bit of extra effort to haul the door open after being buzzed up. He walked you, explaining that her boyfriend forgot to pick up the cake, pointing to the box in his hand, which you shared a laugh over. In the time it took to get into her apartment, he explained that he was Dr. Ray Stantz, and he worked with her. You ingenuously told him he was the splitting image of a young comedian on the show you work for, to which he smiled, wide and a little embarrassed. Your conversation was cut short- Janine emerged from another room and dragged you over to some corner to see a mutual friend. 

One of the men flipped between the paper on a notepad, fixing the arms of his glasses. ¨If you don´t mind, we'd like to see the markings the ghost left on you.¨ He requests in a baritone voice, dark and monotone.

¨Egon!¨ Janine scolded him, rubbing your shoulders as you sat. 

¨Only if you´re okay with that,¨ another mediated, as ¨Egon¨ opened his mouth. He cleared his throat. ¨For research. Their research. Not mine. I’m not really a science guy-¨

¨Unbelievable,¨ Janine mumbled, ushering you up and out the chair. Before she could take you out the apartment, Ray grabs the doorknob- not to keep you inside, but to catch her attention. He looked at you both gently, if not a little urgently.

¨We´ll get rid of it no problem, promise. Real exciting thing you got living in your apartment.” He gives you both a soft smile, before opening the door and letting you out. Before you cross the threshold, she turns her head to address them as you grab your bag.

¨There better not be a hair out of place!¨ She shoots eaaaach and every one of them a look, the targets stiffening in the process. The man with the voice you recognize as Peter over the phone bids her farewell with a mock salute.

¨Yes ma´am, Janine!¨

¨I´m sorry about those guys. They´re,¨ she pauses, hand on her chin as you sit on the stoop, ¨the best in their field.¨ A little hard to believe, Peter had almost knocked down one of your trinkets on the way in and put it back a little too haphazardly for taste.

“They seem like interesting people,¨ is all you can manage. ¨Egon-¨

¨Don´t mind him. His brain´s big, but a little empty. He’s a peach.”

¨I was gonna say he was Columbia´s resident myth. I just couldn´t remember his name for the life of me.¨ 

Janine perks up a bit. ¨Oh? What was he like?¨ She pries, always in the mood for a little gossip.

You roll your eyes, albeit not really annoyed. ¨Well, I remember every girl in my major wanted to be the one to ¨break¨ him. Lots of turned down dates, lots of time wasted pretending to care about mushrooms,” you laughed at the memory. ¨He's still, just, not like that, huh?¨

Before she could answer, the entrance from the stoop is swung open, and said man is barrelling down the steps to the white van they tote around, hastily opening the backdoors and pulling something out.

¨What's wrong?” You and Janine say simultaneously. 

He turns to you, pausing mid-action. ¨Nothing,¨ he shuts the van door, making his way back up the steps at a much more measured pace. ¨Everything is fine.¨ Your apartment window slides open, impossibly quick.

¨EGON! Hurry up and get back here, it's got Winston!¨ Peter´s head is half out the window, face dirty and shaken up. Egon blinks once, and then resumes his pace back up to your apartment.

After what felt like half an hour, the 4 men stagger down the steps, worn and beat as you lift your head off Janine´s shoulder to asses the damages.

¨We got him,¨ Ray manages a weak smile, holding a machine billowing sickly chemical smoke.

¨He got us, ¨ Peter says flatly as he leans against Winston, who´s jaw is sporting a deep bruise. Hair disheveled, faces dark, and clothes stained, the men breathe heavily as they can finally relax, dragging themselves to the van. Janine stops Egon, taking his glasses off and saving a lens from popping out.

¨He was real mean,¨ Ray explains, ¨but a Class III of that size! Insane! I´d love to find out where he came from. Amphibious, malevolent ghost living in my washer- I´d pay to be you!¨ He´s excitable, even when his hands have light cuts littering them, his palms raw and pink.

“I’m sorry- I didn’t expect you all to get,” you pause to address their injuries. All things that will manifest after a hard-night’s rest. “So banged up.” You cringed.

“It’s nothing.” Peter started. “Eges, gimme your calculator, I need to run the bill.”

“No way!” Winston protested, hitting Peter on his tender arm, making the man recoil in pain.

“Don’t worry about the pay,” Egon cut in as he examined the trap in Ray’s hands. “We should be paying you , this particular ghost opens avenues for more experimentation. And I don’t mean that lightly.” His inflection remained the same throughout his entire sentence.

“More?” Peter complained.

“The workbench is getting crowded, Egon. Not everything can be a breakthrough.”

“You can never be too sure,” Ray insisted, opening the van door for the men to haul in. “If this thing’s connected to that beast back in Coney Island that we’re makin’ big strides.” He turned to you and Janine. 

You couldn’t help but ask, noting the deep scuff marks on the workboots each man wore. “Can I count on getting my deposit back?” Ray couldn’t quite meet your eyes.

He chuckled weakly. “Sure-”

“We blasted a chemical-leaking electrical machine inside an enclosed space with unregulated units of atomic energy. If you don’t want a malignant disease, I suggest finding a hotel,” Egon said from the front, the door still open. You could hear the thump of a boot against a car seat immediately after.

Janine bit her lip, thinking, suddenly unphased about how they didn’t heed her warning. “I’ve got my sister and her kids staying over,” she apologized. You weren’t mad, you knew how cramped her place could get, but also how much she cared for her family. Plus, Louis’ spring allergies would drive you up the wall. Ray’s frown deepened, before his face lit up. He got modestly close to you, lowering his voice.

“Tell you what, I wasn’t joking when I said we have space at the firehouse. Spend the night, it’s the least we can do.” He smiled softly in your little aside. His words reminisced of the one’s exchanged between dozens of young men and women during late nights at the TV station when they think no one’s around, and one of them is leaning against the wall. It was always sweet, and a little awkward knowing you’d have to make coffee across from them the next morning, but you couldn’t help but feel a little jealous. Lord knows it’s been a long time before anyone’s even thought of you that way.

You don’t have any other options, really. At least not on short notice. You eventually nod, apologizing for impeding on their space.

“Don’t worry about it! My grandma used to tell me- be a fine fellow if you want faithful friends at your funeral.” What a boyscout. You couldn’t stop the grin that spread across your face.

“There’s that smile. C’mon, we’ll take you and Janine.” That definitely made you feel something, somewhere. 

In the front, Ray drove while Egon sat next to him, and in the back, Peter sat on your right, Winston on your left, and Janine ending up having to sit herself on your lap. Ray blushed and apologized as he turned down the radio once the car’s engine turned on, speakers playing 70s rock directly into your ears.

“We never formally introduced ourselves. Not me, at least,” Winston spoke up at your side, Janine leaning forward so he could see you properly. “That’s Dr. Peter Venkman, Dr. Egon Spengler, you know that guy,” he pointed to Ray who looked at him in the rearview mirror with mock-anger, “and I’m Winston Zeddemore.” What a friendly man. 

“You don’t like the sound of  ‘doctor Zeddemore’?” You asked quietly, noting how he was a little out of place with the group of scientists.

He shook his head, not offended. “Not me. I would be- my dad wanted me to go the minister route, but I’m former air force,” he explains. 

“He’s still smart,” Peter adds at his friend’s defense.

“I know I am,” Winston sits back in his seat.

“Hey, you two,” Ray starts as he gets closer to the firehouse, “we have a bust in a few minutes. We’ll be gone for most of the evening. You can sleep, eat something. Ask Janine to read your palm!” He adds enthusiastically. 

You laugh at that as the car pulls into the large garage. “She told me I had a strong “line of career”. Funny how that worked out?” She pushed your head back with her hand. 

“Fate! It’s also the line of fate, ” she reiterated as Winston scoots back to allow you both out. 

“Is it fate that you’ll find a bill for $1000 under our pillows?” Peter mumbles, as Winston slides the door shut again. You can see the guys bickering through the windshield as Ray pulls out, honking the horn twice and flicking on the siren.

Inside, Janine slumps into her chair behind the front desk as you look around in awe. As soon as you open your mouth to ask if you can help with anything, she’s herding you up the stairs.

“You’ve had a horrible day,” she states, “sleep.” Opening the door to a repurposed fireman’s quarter’s, you swallow thickly.

“I can’t sleep in their beds,” you protest.

She surveys the room, examining each bed. “Winston, Egon, that one’s definitely Peter’s..Ray.” She stops in front of his bed. “He won’t mind.” 

You can’t even retaliate before she’s out the door, shutting it behind her. Sighing, you gave in, unbuttoning the top few bottoms of your oh-so-professional promotion-guaranteed outfit. You were pretty spent. But to sleep in this nice man’s bed? Maybe you were overstaying your welcome. A yawn disturbs your thoughts. Okay, you were exhausted, and he offered…

You had the most melancholy nap of your life, the kind you can only achieve after crying all day. You tossed and turned a little, walking up in the weird not-sleeping-falling-back-asleep state a few times. You hugged the thick comforter around you, lulling yourself back to sleep as the natural smell of the bed made its way into your dreams. 

You dreamt of being in highschool again, crushing and writing diary entries about a boy who smelt nice and made you laugh. It all felt so cathartic, that when you eventually dragged yourself awake you realized where the nostalgic scent was coming from- Ray’s bed. Your face got a little warm as you were broken out of sleepiness, remembering where you were. As you slowly sat up, your back pressed against something behind the pillow. On impulse, you reached backwards, pulling out a worn, soft Smokey the Bear plushie. You smiled to yourself at the sight, forgetting your embarrassment.

You crept out the room, praying to whoever was watching over that the men hadn’t returned and seen you slobbering all over their pillows. To your relief, it was only Janine, nursing many papers spilled over her narrow desk.

“What’s this?” You read the documents, what seem to be job reports that get more and more detailed the more unorganized the desk looks. Janine has different colored stamps balanced on her lap, as she juggles with the stability of a thick, 3 ringed diary against her computer screen.

“Notarizing,” is all she says, trying to bite back her frustration. Moving behind her, you can see that her thick tome his open to a double page spread of the different ghost classifications. You found her problem- the hand writing in the journal was abysmal, notes were scratched out, rewritten, written over.

“Do you need any help?” You ask, picking up a paper that fluttered to the floor.

She sighs, pushing her desk chair out and rubbing her eyes. “I need a nap myself.”

She disappears up the staircase, and you hear a door unlike the one with the beds fall shut. Glancing at her desk- and at the clock, you lower yourself into the chair. It’d be a while until they were back, right? And you really couldn’t leave this mess for Janine. It wouldn’t hurt to give her a hand. Plus, stamps were always a funtime.

You’d been stamping for an hour. Your eyes bulged at the clock, and then back at the neat, orderly piles of reports organized by date and class. Suddenly, the garage opens, and the men file out. Ray smiles upon seeing you, holding pizza boxes in his hands.

“I’m sorry! Janine just needed a break and..” your voice falters as Peter whistles at your work.

“You look nice behind a desk. Maybe we should get an extra chair and keep you with Janine full time. And you could understand my handwriting,” he raises his eyebrows, zipping down the front of his jumpsuit.

“Thanks for helping her out,” Ray takes a look, pleased at the sight, passing the boxes to Peter who takes them upstairs. “You’ve got a knack for clerical work!” Odd compliment, but you’re willing to take it.

Egon’s curiosity gets the better of him, peering at the documents as he takes the stairs up. You swear you can hear him hum contently as he looks down over the railing, Winston behind him.

“Wanna eat with us? We didn’t know what you’d like, and we figured everyone likes pizza,” Ray starts to shrug his own suit off.

“I’m sorry, again. I take your secretary, your money, your room, now your food.” Ray shakes his head hard, closing his locker. He waves his hands dismissively. 

“I’m telling you, it’s nothing at all. You’re good people.” His colloquialism makes you smile, stubbornly. You cave, following him towards the stairs as he walks backwards toward it. As you reach the second floor, the other 3 men were already seated at a table, distributing the food amongst themselves. You freeze beside Ray, nerves picking back up for whatever reason.

He leaned over and whispered in your ear. “We’re not freaks, you know. Just, 200-something-pound men who walk around in onesies and share a bedroom.” You laugh yet again, feeling a little dumb whenever you’re next to him, giggling every few seconds like a teenaged girl. 

Upon seeing you smile, Winston smiled in turn and pulled a chair out for you, putting the ice he held to his jaw down for a second. Gosh, you’d have to apologize for that again. Sitting down, he even passed you a plate of food, the two biggest slices out of all the others.

“You live near the Benjamin Fairhooke theater?” He asks, knowing it’ll spark interest in Egon.

“Old spooky haunted Abraham Lincoln theater, Winston.” Peter takes a sip from a beer can.

“Lincoln was shot in D.C.”

“Never seen it.”

You wipe your hands. “Abandoned for years. Some kids got in trouble for sneaking in. They were pretty spooked- they say they saw a headless body walking around.” Egon perks up at that. “They’ve got some strict security there now.” Your brain pings for a second, remembering a not so legal secret you had been holding.

“I had a friend who used to do city maintenance there, before they abandoned the refurbishing project. He moved to the west, and left me with the masterkey.” 

Egon’s eyes widen, ever so slightly. “I’ve been trying to get a reading on that place, but Ray’s not willing to come with me.”

“Ray’s not willing to break in with you, Spenges,” he cuts in.

“Do you want the key?” You offer, before you could think about what you said.

Peter groaned, slumping back in his chair. “You’re encouraging him.”

“Very much so,” Egon nodded. 

After the food was finished, mostly by the 200-something-pound men not realizing how much food they really took. You didn’t mind- you were the guest, after all. Ray suddenly realized that it was fairly late, and you still didn’t have an official place to stay. As the guys stood up to get ready for the night, he spoke up quickly.

He looked hopeful. “You don’t mind staying the night, do you?” Before you could answer, he starts to speak again. “Our extra bed hasn’t been broken in yet, you can take mine if you’d like!” Neither of you realize it, but Peter’s watching with more intent than the other 2 men. 

“Where would you’d sleep, Raymond?” Peter’s suddenly interested in the paint chipping on the doorframe.

“The extra bed, I suppose”

“That’s no good, you’ll mess up your back”

Something was unspoken between the two of them, their eyes having a conversation of their own. Ray’s big brain slowed a bit. “The…loveseat?” He offered, as if asking for permission. 

Peter made a buzzer noise. “I’ve already tried- it’s too small. And ocupado. Janine. She’s tiny. We’ll wake her up, send her home- you two figure it out.” Peter corales the other two, confused men out the room and down the hall.

Ray looked stumped, and a blush was slowly creeping from his ears. He seemed to be battling something in his head, before he refused the force tempting him as he shook his head. “I can take the floor,” he decides.

“What! I can’t ask you to do that.” 

“You’re not asking me. I’m telling you.” He wouldn’t budge. He started to clean up the mess his friends ever so gracefully left behind, before you moved to help him. 

“Just let me,” you responded to his face. Ever the host. You cleaned together quietly, but comfortably.

“I want you to know,” he bent over to put a spray back under the sink, “that we know what it’s like. To lose our jobs.” He stood to face you. You had a flash a shame hit your features, which you really couldn’t help. To the Ghostbusters’ credit, they had a good way of making you forget things.

His face was understanding. “Really, we do. We started this whole thing ‘cause we lost our jobs. It was a dumpy feeling.” You purse your lips, turning your gaze down. His head followed your eyes, and your stomach felt a little woozy as he physically commanded your attention.

“I wouldn’t say it so much if I didn’t think you deserved it.”

You let out a soft puff of air out your nose at the potential to make a joke. “You’re ready to believe me?”

His serious face melted into that of pride, his mouth splitting into a full-toothed grin.

“You’re something else. Hell yeah, I am!” He squeezed your shoulder, before having you follow him down the steps and into a basement. He stuck his head into a door and said goodnight to Egon before entering what looked like a laundry room. 

He swiped a few articles of clothing on hangers, hanging over most of the room’s perimeter. There were t shirts, longjohn’s, plain sweatshirts, smocks, of varying sizes, though they look like they’d seldom been used. He settled on gray sweat pants and a gray sweatshirt, holding them up to you from a respectable distance to measure.

“The firemen before us left all this. Joke’s on them, right?” He folds them loosely, handing them to you before rummaging through a cabinet for a toothbrush.

Your face unintentionally twitches as he holds the plastic wrapped brush out to you, wondering if it’s been here as long as the clothes you had in your arms.

He glances down at it once, before waving your fears away. “Janine bought new one’s last week, I promise.” 

After muttering an apology and leaving for you to change, he leads you back to the sleeping quarters, opening the door slowly. Winston was fast asleep, always the first to be out when the day’s work took a particular toll on him. Ray listened to the silence for a second, piecing together Peter’s absence and the sudden running of the shower down the hall. He leans over, excusing himself to get ready for the night and letting you know there was a bathroom connected to the room, albeit very small. 

After a quick brushing of your teeth, you emerge at almost the same time as him. He nearly jumps out of his skin noticing his stuffed animal still on his bed, stuttering how’d that get there’ s and it’s for memorie’ s. 

“Don’t be mean to him,” you mock-scold him in a whisper. His cheeks are still pink. He’s wearing a matching pajama set- which was enough to make you shake your head and giggle to yourself.

He looks down, noticing his pink pajamas. “It’s light red . And you should be disappointed I passed on my Dr. Thirteen robe.” He remembers the bear still in his hands.

“You want him?” He holds the little toy out to you, Smokey’s been very clearly well loved, as his fur and outfit are fading slightly. “Take good care of him,” he looks as if he’s parting with a child.

“Promise.”

He makes his way to a wardrobe as quietly as possible, pulling out a pillow and blanket for his sleep on the floor. “You want new ones? Sheets, pillowcase? I’m not sure how nice mine are.”

Your mind flashes to the nice smell his bed had, and you promptly shook your head. 

He sets up on the floor, unconsciously choosing to sleep at your technical-side. You set Smokey up next to you, tucking him in, watching Ray lay out the bedding, before he sits back and sighs up at you.

“I know it’s not the Marriott. Sorry you hafta share a room with us.” Sure, he could’ve set his den up next to Winston, or taken Egon’s currently unoccupied bed, but neither of you were gonna complain. He refused to even entertain the idea of you sleeping on the floor of whatever the room the loveseat was in, so this was how it would play out. “I can imagine you don’t often bunk with people you just met before.”

“It’s just a night,” saying it was a little useless- you had no idea how long you’d need to stay with them. You had no idea about anything at all anymore.

He fell silent. “A night?” You couldn’t decipher why his voice had a despondent tone.

“However long you’ll have me.”

A pause. “As long as you wanted.”

The clock on the opposite wall was ticking softly. It was getting late, 11:30.

“Goodnight, Ray. And thank you, really. Thank you.” 

“Goodnight. I can…wake you up before the guys do, if that’s more comfortable for you. We’ll figure something out, ok?”

You nod, and he turns off the lamp on the side table above his head.

12:05. A freshly showered Peter opening the door to two bodies out of the three, softly breathing.

“Raymond Stantz. You were supposed to get into the bed, too.”

“Go to bed, Peter.” He pulled the covers over his eyes.

[winterspiderpurrs]

When Bucky and Steve started with the family several years ago, they didn't expect to be a bodyguard for a college kid. Sure, they knew the boss had a godson. He raved about him in the privacy of his home. They weren't sure why NOW, though, that they had to start being there to watch Peter. They did swing shifts, if they weren't Tony then they were with Peter..

But after a few weeks, they understood. See, Peter is a ray of goddamn sunshine. And he attracts a lot of attention. From his smarts to his looks. For how kind he is to how much sass he puts out. And well, when suitors start approaching Peter, Tony wasn't having it. No one was good enough for his bambino.

So Steve and Bucky run interference. Stops the girls and guys in their tracks. Snag the flowers, chocolates, books, jewelry, and clothing away before it can reach Peter. But the thing is? Peter always catches Steve and Bucky with the gifts and gets all blushy cause Peter thinks Steve and Bucky are actually buying the gifts for him. Course, they weren't going to correct Peter, and they took the kisses to the cheek and the hugs from Peter. Hey, it worked in their favor anyway.

Maybe one day, someone manages to slip by and starts to flirt/corner Peter after class. And it just so happens to be the day that Tony decides to surprise Peter and take him out to the lake for the weekend.

Tony is livid. He is a very possessive man.

The only ones allowed to even attempt touching Peter are Steve and Bucky. And that's cause beneath Peter's shyness is a little devil. And he KNOWS that the gifts/presents are not from Steve and Bucky. He knows he has plenty of suitors, and they are intercepting then on Tony's orders. Maybe he likes putting them in awkward situations. Maybe he likes making Tony a little jealous with he brags about the gifts he keeps getting.

*********************

@professional-benaddict and I came up with this and i fiddled with it a little and it's been sitting for a bit and finally typed a little something up to have it out there for others to enjoy!

[topguncortez]

Why can I see when one of the guys jokes saying save a horse ride a pilot wolfman is just there pulling you into him smirking no she would rather ride a cowboy🫣

ahaha I love this:) @wildbornsiren pls accept my apology for the Floydsin angst with some Wolfie fluff:)

reader's callsign is Bronco

It was almost like it was a match made in heaven for the two of them. They both came from generally the same place, Bronco was from a small country town in BFE Wyoming, and Wolfman was from another small town in BFE Wyoming. They both grew up in the rodeo life; Bronco rode and showed broncos, while Wolfman rode bulls.

Wolfman could remember the day she walked into class, her hair tied back in a perfect bun, a confident swing in her hips, and sat down right in front of Iceman in the front row. Wolfman was already in love with her and he didn't even know her name. And the very next day when she walked in with a black stetson on her head. . . Leonard Wolfe was a lost cause.

It was no secret when the two of them started dating. One day Bronco walked in wearing Wolfman's white cowboy hat, and it didn't take a genius to understand what that meant (even though Goose still pointed out that the hat on her head wasn't hers). Wolfman just smirked and looked over his black ray bans at her and winked.

--- --- ---

"Save a horse, ride a pilot, baby," The group of pilots snickered as they read the ridiculous pickup line leave Mav's mouth.

The pilots were currently at the O Club, spending one of their scarce few days off, getting drinks and dancing the night away. Goose had dared Mav to walk up to some random girl and use that cheesy pick-up line on her and it crashed and burned. Y/N could hardly contain her laughter as Maverick walked over and ordered another shot.

"Crash and burn, Mav?" Y/N giggled and ordered herself a shot.

"Hey, not everyone can be as lucky as you, okay."

"Yeah," Slider interjected, "Save a horse, ride a pilot, Y/N."

"More like; 'Save a horse, ride a cowboy," Wolfman said, coming up behind her and placing his white stetson on her head. She bit her lip as she titled her head back and grabbed him by the back of the neck to kiss her. Wolfman placed one hand one hand on her hip and the other on the small of her back. Her free hand went to hold the cowboy hat to her head.

The kiss was hot and bruising, neither one caring that the full bar could see them making out. Wolfman could hear the whistles and shouts behind him, which only encouraged him to make more of a show. He held her body as he dipped her slightly and then stood her back up. They pulled back and both had a smirk on their faces.

"We fucking get it. . . you're screwing each other," Slider said, rolling his eyes at the lovesick couple in front of him.

"Sure are!," Bronco said, and downed the shot that was placed on the bar in front of her, "Now 'scuse me fellas, but I think I got some ridin' to do."

[wixstria]

Thank you all so much for the love you're giving to ka'hara!!! It means sosososos much to me so i thought I'd give you guys her backstory/fan facts about her!!!!

• she was born 40 bby on Ryloth to a wealthy clan

• she was taken to the jedi Temple when she was three.

• from a young age she showed weakness in lightsaber forms and combat skills but was highly Intune with the force and had a thirst for knowledge

• she spent most of her time in the jedi archives, absorbing as much information about jedi history as she could.

• when she was 12 and it came time for a master to pick her, ka'hara failed all her combat trails. She was about to be sent The Jedi Service Corps before jedi archivist Tamar Russ took ka'hara under her wing and brought her to serve in the jedi archives.

• Ka'hara spent 9 years serving in the jedi archives. Studying and training under Tamar. Though her lightsaber skills got slightly better, ka'hara decided to stay out of conflict whenever she could.

• in the library one day, ka'hara met Cen Hamne. A Padawan around her age. Cen and ka'hara became best friends (maybe a bit more)

• when ka'hara was 20 years old the clone war broke out, desperate for jedi to serve, ka'hara was drafted into the medical division (due to her weak combat skills)

• she saw many jedi through many deaths, including her own master and best friend. Cen's death hit her the hardest, she was never able to move past those feelings of longing for the other Padawan.

• beaten down and rattled by ptsd, ka'hara's mental health slowly dwindled. Seeing she wasn't well enough to serve in the medical division. Ka'hara was sent back to the archives, only this time away from the jedi Temple, off world to a small outer rim Jedi archive and away from the center of action.

• when the war seemed to be dying down, when ka'hara finally thought she'd get to go back home and cope with the loss of her loved ones, order 66 hit.

• being off world on a small jedi outpost with minimal clone troopers and jedi sentinels out numbering them, ka'hara survived, survived while her family, her people, didn't.

• the jedi archive keepers dispersed, ka'hara settling down on a small outer rim planet away from the empire. She was lucky enough she was always in the background at the jedi order. The empire wouldn't come after an archivist, or a medic. years go by and after Destroying her lightsaber and cutting off her connection to the force. Ka'hara shut herself off from the world.

• until she meets Venka Agows. A Togruta bounty hunter with a prickly personality. Ka'hara fell, despite still clinging to Cen's death. And venka fell too.

• for the first time in years ka'hara felt loved, wanted, Protected from a world that wanted her dead. She would never be alone again. Her and venka traveled the galaxy until the rise of the rebellion. Venka was determined to take the empire down, and ka'hara follows, joining the rebellion and helping on the sidelines as a record keeper and part time medic.

• when the empire falls, and it does, ka'hara lives happily, knowing the force that destroyed her people had been put to rest.

That's her backstory! I'm pretty adamant about her not becoming a jedi again after order 66, too much trauma. She loves helping the rebellion from the side lines but has aloooooooot of baggage, shes still an absolute ray of sunshine though despite all that.

Now time for some fun facts!

• everyone describes her as a sweet kind girl, though shes got a small bit of a temper

• she lovessss to read (even those awful jedi pulp novels)

• she has a guilty pleasure for the history of jedi robes

• she's a lesbian but she struggles with her feelings because of the jedi code, even after the purge

• she's very clumsy

• after order 66 she adopts a loth cat named meatball!

[izvmimi]

cw: self-indulgent and selfship-coded. radiologist!reader (lmfao). fluff.

"ugh, do i really have to go down there?"

you bite your lip, and the radiology technician on the phone pauses, before she insists again, and when she mentions the trigger words 'patient care' and 'documentation', you start to regret the whiny tone your voice took just moments ago. this is a place of work, and you're a professional. a doctor. you shouldn't be upset by something so fundamental to your oath as actually talking to a patient, but this is the fifth time you've been called on the phone to deal with something outside of the growing list of reports waiting to be read, and frankly you're a little bit tired of it.

you sigh, but force agreeability into your tone this time.

"fine. thank you, i'll be down in a bit."

the technician thanks you for not resisting her further, and you hang up, leaning back in your chair and letting out a sigh as you rub your temples. you're tired and the night has barely begun. after drafting a CT report in the middle of a thought, you quickly let your junior know that you'll be back in a few minutes, and make your way down to the x-ray suite.

typically you don't read outpatients at this time of night, and any results you'd dictate into a radiology report would be relayed verbally by the emergency department physicians or the inpatient team instead of you, but this order had come in at a weird timing, and now you're the one who has to deal with the consequences. a few things were strange about the order, 1. that the name was hidden (although it won't be the first time your hospital has dealt with vips) and 2. that the patient themselves requested a physician see them before they got imaged. because the request was so out of the norm, you didn't fight it too much, because part of you was curious. the orders looked like they were for upper extremity films - forearm, wrist and hand. nothing too out of the ordinary.

you make it down the stairs in record time, your stride quick enough that you breathe a little heavy. the quicker you talk to them, the faster you could get out of there and back to your list without falling too far behind. once you make it to x-ray, you notice a few things are wrong.

your technician is standing outside waiting for you, and her face is the slightest shade of red.

a few other technicians who should be working in CT are also gawking through the window.

you raise an eyebrow, and she cocks her head over to the small waiting room. you look in that direction, and don't see much, save for two moving figures you can't identify in the back. when the other techs peering through the window see you coming, they look sheepish and step back as though they are trying to find something to explain why they're not working.

"what's the patient's name?" you ask the xray tech in a whisper, as you usher her to come in with you. you are about three steps from the door.

"Deku."

"Deku?" you repeat. the technician nods rapidly, and you're still confused to why she looks slightly distressed... up until you walk in.

Oh.

Deku wasn't a last name; it was a Hero name.

Deku, hero name Deku, sits in a hospital gown thrown over a frankly torn up hero costume, atop a rickety looking stool, accompanied by a man who just as recognizable as he is, hero name Dynamight, arms crossed over his chest as he leans against a wall. your eyes flit from one to the other, rapidly, and then you turn and look at the tech and she's standing quickly behind a computer, waiting for instructions. you blink a few times, as though you've forgotten how to speak or introduce yourself, then open your mouth, but patient-who-is-interrupting-your-workflow Deku beats you to it.

"hi, um, nice to meet you!"

he looks far too cheerful to be in the hospital, and he even raises his arm to wave, then winces, as it flops unnaturally in your direction.

that's the injury, all right.

Dynamight looks like he's about to hit him for a moment, then looks at you instead, you who gape like a fish in your bright pink scrubs and topknot.

"are you the doctor?"

Dynamight's voice and demeanor is as gruff as it sounds on television, and he already looks like he doesn't trust you. you're not new to resistance from patients because of the way you look (young and inexperienced), but this feels different.

you clear your throat. "yes-" you begin, and you try to introduce yourself properly with your last name, but Dynamight waves you off.

"we asked you to come down here because Glass Bones here insisted he needs to warn you about something before you read his xrays."

Deku gives you a nervous look, and tries to laugh off his hero partner's remarks, but Dynamight's stare looks straight at you, as though trying to intimidate you into submission. you've recognized hostility as a manifestation of caring over the years, so you try not to let it bother you. you nod, then look at Deku, who appears a lot less combative, and acts as though he's barely injured, despite the clear arm deformity that looks more painful than it seems to be.

"did you get pain medication before coming here?" you ask. reflexively, you move forward and take his arm, which has both heroes tense up. you look at the tech, and ask if she's sure he came straight from outpatient. he clearly needs a cast.

"do you have feeling in your forearm?" you ask. slightly overdeveloped muscles make it harder for you to feel the snap and you don't want to move him too much. when you look up, he's clearly blushing and Dynamight rolls his eyes.

"y-yeah."

you set his arm down quickly after examining him, feeling your own cheeks warm inappropriately, then look away quickly.

"why did you need the radiologist to come see you?" you ask, trying to avert your eyes from his too-pleasant green stare.

"he's fucked up his arm so many times that he usually goes to a specific hospital-"

"kacchan, do you have to speak for me-"

"- and since this was the closest place, he thought you'd deserve a warning."

you blink.

"that's... nice?' you ask. odd but nice, you think. "i assure you, i'm experienced enough that i probably wouldn't be that thrown off by atypical fractures."

you say this confidently, and then when you help the tech position Deku to get xrays, and look at the films in the suite, you and the tech both look at each other before stepping out.

"so uh... thanks for the warning." you tell him, sheepishly.

Deku smiles and you forget that you have a list piling up waiting for you.

"i don't typically do wet reads to the actual patient but you probably need that casted. i'll call the emergency department to let them know you're coming and maybe we can put in for transport for you-" you start.

Dynamight twists his mouth to the side.

"i can cast it myself. Get up, Deku," he starts, and Deku gives him a slightly miserable look that you find a little too endearing for your own liking. you wonder if they're dating.

there's a small part of you that also wonders if Dynamight could cast it, why he bothered showing up for xrays anyway.

"are you sure?"

"positive."

you raise your hands in mock defeat. "transport is still available if you'd like to go to the emergency department. i can give you a few moments to decide before documenting your refusal against medical advice." you say curtly.

"will you be there?" Deku asks and your heart stops. Dynamight gives him the most exasperated look while you gape like a fish.

"no...? i'm in the reading room..."

"oh. well, great to meet you! you have great bedside manner!" Deku says, and again, reaches with the wrong arm to shake yours. Dynamight drags him away, exhausted.

you watch the two of them shuffle out, and then as you step out, you can still see the other techs glance at them, then at you. they want to ask you questions, but you quickly shuffle your way back up to the reading room. you chuckle to yourself, because there's something a little hilarious about a radiologist being told they have nice bedside manner, but the giggle is less humor and something a little more... silly.

as you finalize your reports that night, you have a little renewed energy, and you deem it from value added by actually seeing a patient and talking to them in their time of need.

never mind that he's cute. never mind that he's Deku!

and never mind that in a week, you see him again, and he remembers you.

and never mind that he asks for your number, and technically, in saying yes, you don't break any rules. probably.

[hb-writes]

Ch. 9 - Choices

You always have a choice.

Charlie shuffled toward the car as Ray held the door open, an umbrella held over them both as she slipped into the backseat. 

Ray leaned into the open door. “Ready to find out what’s next for our Zodiac friend?” 

“Sure,” Charlie mumbled with a shrug as she focused on buckling her seatbelt. “Whatever you want.”

Ray leaned back and Charlie pulled the door shut before he could do so himself. She leaned her into her hand as she stared out the window, watching the rain as Ray put away the umbrella and  settled in the front seat. 

The car was quiet. Ray had  the latest in a string of true crime podcasts and audiobooks they’d been devouring on their solo rides through Manhattan, something about the infamous Zodiac killer, already queued up, but he refrained from pressing play. Ray had picked this one, but Charlie had been eager to continue on with it. Most afternoons, they had found themselves taking the long way from Charlie’s school to the Pearson-Hardman office in order to finish a chapter, but Ray wondered if she’d even been listening the past few days. She hadn’t seemed to be following along.

Ray readied himself to pull into the throng of traffic in silence, but as his gaze caught Charlie in the rearview mirror, he put the car in park instead. She heaved a shaky breath, her forehead falling against the cool glass. 

“Is everything okay, Charlie?” Ray asked. 

Charlie’s eyes squeezed shut for a moment and Ray pursed his lips. Maybe it wasn’t his place. They hadn’t listened on the way to school this morning even though Harvey hadn’t been with them. Charlie had insisted on needing to be to school early to study for a test, so Harvey had gotten to the office on his own and Ray had noted that Charlie was even quieter than normal, her textbook open on her lap, though she wasn’t paying attention to that either. He’d excused her near silence that morning on the early hour, but it was Friday afternoon now. Ray had known Charlie long enough to know that something was wrong.

 “I don’t want to overstep, but…” 

Charlie pulled her gaze to Ray’s reflection in the mirror, her eyes just a little too wet. Ray turned in his seat to face her. 

“Did something happen at school?” 

Being a professional driver in New York, Ray had had his fair share of overly personal experiences with riders—tears included—and he dealt with it as a professional courtesy. It was different with the Specters though. It wasn't just about the pay or professional courtesy with them. It wasn’t quite friendship or family, but when you see the same people every day for years, you get attached. 

Charlie took a deep breath and pushed the palms of her hands against her eyes to wipe the wetness away. She shook her head, though Ray knew nothing had happened at school. She had been quiet and distracted for days. And distant from her brother, too, though Ray had no intention of getting into the specifics of that. That really wasn’t his place. 

“No,” Charlie said as Ray held out a tissue. Charlie took it, wiping at her face again. “Everything’s fine. I’m…I’m sorry about all this.” She waved a hand at herself, but Ray shook his head.

“No need to apologize,” he answered, still studying her. “Are you sure you’re alright?” 

Charlie nodded. It wasn’t the first time she’d cried in Ray’s car and she confided in him a fair bit,  but this wasn’t something she would talk to him about. He observed so much of Harvey and Charlie’s lives as he drove them through the city. He knew things about them that they probably weren’t even aware of. And even though talking to him might’ve alleviated something in her, Charlie wouldn’t put Ray in that position. 

“I’m fine,” she reiterated, nodding again. “Thank you, Ray. Do you have time to drop me off at home?” 

“Home?” he asked, his eyes widening. “Are you trying to get me fired, Miss Charlie?” Ray shook his head. “I’ve got a family to feed, a big family. Little Ray is almost taller than his mother.” 

Charlie had babysat Ray’s kids a handful of times. She doubted the seven-year-old was nearly taller than Ray’s wife, but Charlie let out a chuckle anyway, allowing him to try to lighten the mood. 

“Please?” she asked. “I’ll tell him I forced you. I just want to go home.”

Ray sighed. “Why don’t you just call him and ask?”

Charlie snorted. Ray had more faith in her brother than she did. “Because it’s easier to ask for forgiveness.” 

“Give him a chance.” Ray smirked, passing his phone back to her between the seats before pulling out into traffic. 

As Charlie held the phone in her hand, Ray took them in the direction of the firm, clear that he wasn’t going to give in to her without Harvey’s go ahead. No matter how well they got along, no matter how sympathetic he was to her plea, Ray’s first loyalty was to Harvey, his employer. 

She dialed the familiar number, closing her eyes as she waited for the call to connect.

“Hello, Charlie,” Donna said over the sound of her typing. 

Charlie didn’t even ask how Donna knew it was her. Sure, the woman had caller ID, but she was on Ray’s phone.

“Can you put Harvey on?” 

The typing on the other end stopped and Charlie bristled in the silence that stretched on the other end of the line. 

“I think you meant to say Hello, Donna. How are you? Can you please put my brother on if he’s free?” 

Silence stretched on once again and Charlie met Ray’s eye in the rearview mirror, an encouraging smile had her heaving a sigh. 

“Fine. Fine,” Charlie said as the typing started up again on the other end of the line. “Hello, Donna. How are you? Can you please put my brother on if he’s free?”

“I’m fine,” Donna answered, “Wouldn’t say no to a coffee, but—” Charlie exhaled, not bothering to mask the sound. She didn’t have the patience for idle chit chat, for games and Donna seemed to sense that— “Your brother’s here, but what’s going on with you?”

Something was going on. Donna knew that much. Charlie and Harvey had both been a touch insufferable for days now. And now Charlie was staying silent on the other end of the line.  

“You still there, little—?” Donna prompted, recoiling a bit when Charlie cut her off. 

“Nothing’s going on,” Charlie said. She glanced at the passing street signs. Traffic was minimal, and Ray hadn’t taken the long way today. At this rate, they’d be to the office before Charlie even got her brother on the phone. “Can you just put him on?” 

“Nothing’s going on?” Donna repeated. “You remember who you’re talking to, don’t you?” 

Charlie groaned. “Can you just do your job and put Harvey on the phone? I need to talk to him.” 

“Excuse me?” 

Charlie pulled her eyes from Ray’s in the rearview mirror, her cheeks warming. She hadn’t meant it to come out like that and Charlie consciously shifted her tone. 

“Look, I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean it, but you’re just being— 

“Fuck!” Charlie hissed when a click sounded on the other end of the line. 

“Nice language,” Harvey said, “And hello to you, too.” 

“Sorry,” Charlie scrambled, repositioning the phone she’d started to pull away from her ear. “I thought Donna hung up on me.” 

Harvey hummed, half-distracted. “And why are you giving her a hard time?” 

"More like the other way around," Charlie scoffed. "And I didn't have a choice. She was being, well, you know—Donna."

"You always have a choice, Charlie.”

His words sounded bored, but there was still a bite. Not enough time had passed between the click and Harvey picking up the phone that Donna could have told him much of anything, but he had an uncanny ability to sense things like that, rare as they were.

It wasn’t like Charlie to be rude to Donna. The two were usually so annoyingly in sync, frequently ganging up on him in a display of sisterly girl power. Donna insisted girl power had nothing to do with it. They were just awesome. 

Whatever it was—girl power or some inherent awesomeness—Harvey was just glad he only had one sister. He didn’t think he could manage that type of thing 24 hours a day for the rest of his life. He got enough of it now. 

And the only thing that was worse was when they weren’t getting along. 

“Did you hear me?”

Harvey would’ve bet his sister was rolling her eyes. He could nearly hear it through the phone in the drawn out pause before she finally answered him.

“Yes, Harvey. You’ve told me a thousand times,” she answered.

“So did you not hear me those other 999 times or were you making a choice to ignore me?” Harvey glanced at Donna, her back to him as she sat at her desk. “Just like you made a choice to give Donna a hard time just now?” 

Charlie didn't answer right away. She could have avoided talking with Harvey altogether if she had just gone to the office and hid out in the bullpen or the file room. 

Harvey cleared his throat.

“She started it,” Charlie said before he could say anything more. If she heard choice come out of her brother’s mouth one more time, Charlie thought she might lose it. “You know how she can be. She—”

“Alright, enough,” Harvey snapped. “What’s so important that it couldn’t wait until you get here?”

Harvey allowed the silence on the other end of the line for just a few beats. “Charlotte, I've got a meeting to prepare for so—”

“I want to go home.” 

Harvey laughed. “And I want a—”

Charlie groaned her brother’s name. She didn’t care to hear whatever smartass reply her brother was readying to sling at her. “Please, can I just go home?” 

“You’re grounded, Charlie. You know the rules.” 

Charlie leaned her head to rest on the window and she let out a long, frustrated exhale. "I knew you'd say no,” she said, her voice quiet as she glanced towards Ray out of the corner of her eye though he was focused on traffic. 

Harvey shifted in his seat, noting something in his sister’s voice. Something in her silence. Something in the fact that she was being short with Donna.  

"What is going on with you today?" he muttered, the words not a whisper, but certainly quieter— gentler and curious in the most genuine of ways. 

And Charlie could’ve told him the truth. She could’ve told him what was going on. Why she wanted to go home. Why she wanted to be alone. She could’ve told him why she hadn’t been sleeping well—plagued by unnecessarily late nights and early mornings. Why she’d barely been talking to him…Charlie was certain if she told her brother the truth, he would let her go home. And she was certain he’d join her there to discuss it within the office. 

But Charlie couldn’t fathom talking to him about it. Not now. Not when this conversation alone had made her so exhausted. So exhausted and disheartened and just heavy. Charlie’s chest tightened and her eyes stung with the faint mist of new tears. 

"Please, Harvey?” Charlie tried again because she couldn’t imagine going into the office right now. She couldn’t imagine talking to security or seeing Donna or facing her brother. “Please just let me go home."

“Alright,” Harvey said, the word coming out of him almost like a reflex because there was something in Charlie’s voice that made him want to give in. 

It had been a long couple of weeks for her. For both of them. All of Charlie’s free time had been passed by his side—at home or at the office. Work had been busy for him and school was busy for her. He knew she’d had a bunch of tests and papers due—she’d been going to school early for days now. She’d been moody, and maybe a little short with him because of it, but he couldn’t really blame her for that. He couldn’t really blame her for being moody. He couldn’t blame her for wanting to go straight home on a Friday afternoon. Harvey was eager to start the weekend himself. 

“Have Ray drop you off at home,” he said. “And Charlie?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Be good.” 

“Yeah,” she mumbled. 

“I mean it, Charlie.” 

“I know,” Charlie answered, ending the call quickly after that and passing the phone back to Ray as they approached a red light, not even bothering to tell him the outcome of the conversation. Either Ray had been listening to the conversation or he’d guessed Harvey would give in because he was already halfway to their apartment building, the next chapter of the audiobook starting before Ray hit the gas. 

She tried to listen, tried to pay attention, but as she settled into the backseat, her mind was still on the letter. It was in her bag now, stashed amongst her books and school work, after she took it from her brother’s desk the night before. 

She had spent the night thinking the situation over in her mind. Evan Marshall didn’t just want her to visit. He also had an upcoming parole hearing. And Charlie couldn’t quite sort out what the unsettled feeling in her stomach meant. 

It was complicated. And she knew Harvey hadn't intended on hurting her by keeping it from her, but it hurt her all the same. And even if Charlie had gotten to the understanding that her brother’s omission had been well intentioned, she was still angry. The letter had been addressed to Charlie. It was from her father. Whether or not it was hard, she had the right to know. 

After Ray dropped her off, Charlie holed up on the couch, pulling the blanket from the end of her bed and curling up in front of the television she wasn't even watching. Curled under the blanket with a frustrated stream of tears on her face, Charlie couldn't stop herself from contemplating what else Harvey was keeping from her, how many other letters he had stashed away over the years…

Harvey was a lawyer. An avid poker player. Surely, he wouldn't have difficulty lying to his little sister. Their father hadn't lied to her. He had always been open with her, but now Charlie questioned him, too. She questioned all of it. 

——

Charlie didn't remember falling asleep, but the sound of clattering dishes and smooth jazz woke her, telling her that Harvey was already home. She rolled over, facing the back of the couch and hoping to fall back asleep.

“Enjoy your afternoon soaps?” Harvey asked, his voice carrying across the room. 

The TV was off now, but Charlie knew now that she must have left it on. She pushed the blanket off as she sat up, feeling too warm and dazed, confused by the already setting sun streaming in through the windows. She glanced at her brother after running a hand down her face. It wasn’t even 6 pm, but he was already changed into jeans and a sweater, standing at the stove. Cooking, something that was a rare occurrence normally, but even more so the last few weeks. 

Charlie dragged herself from the couch, bringing the blanket with her, wrapped around her shoulders. Harvey smirked as she approached. Charlie’s hair and school uniform were a mess, the blanket dragging behind her on the floor, and Harvey felt a wave of nostalgia seeing her like that, so overcome with sleep. 

So overcome that she shuffled right past him, barely mumbling a goodnight as she headed towards the hallway. 

“Hold up,” he said. “Dinner’s almost ready.” 

Charlie glanced at her brother and then to the stove. There was one pot and two bowls set out beside the stove on the counter. All of the other dishes had already been washed and stacked neatly on the dishrack that usually lived under the counter. She idly wondered how he’d washed them all without waking her. How he’d made her favorite dish—an excessively garlicky mushroom risotto—without waking her. 

“I’m tired, Harvey,” Charlie said even as her stomach ached, something in her calling for her to step forward and just peek into the pot. 

“Well, you need to eat something,” he said, turning back to the stove for a moment, using a spoon to scoop and taste his creation. “And this mushroom risotto might just change your life.” 

Charlie groaned her brother’s name and the grin on Harvey’s face slipped as he set the spoon aside. He rinsed and dried his hands, flinging the towel over his shoulder before beckoning her closer. Charlie held her ground though, making Harvey close the distance between them. 

“You feeling okay?” he asked. He couldn’t deny that something looked off. Her skin was somehow both too pale and a little flushed, and she had dark, puffy circles under her glassy eyes. 

Charlie pushed Harvey’s hand away before it made contact with her forehead. He frowned, folding his arms over his chest and leaning back against the counter.

"I'm fine.” Charlie hiked the blankets up over her shoulders. Despite her nap, she felt exhausted. 

Harvey nodded, rolling his eyes as he turned back to the stove. “And I’m sure school was fine, too.” 

Charlie nodded at his back, mumbling a quiet confirmation when he turned back to her again.

“Good,” Harvey said as he plated her dish and held it out to her. “Take this to the table then.” 

Charlie’s shoulders slumped, but she took the plate Harvey held out to her before moving to the table and sitting down with the blanket still wrapped tightly around her. 

Harvey joined her a moment later, both of them quiet as Harvey dug into his dinner and Charlie moved her food around the plate. She didn’t look up to him or even both to pretend to take a bite. So, she wasn’t sick and nothing had happened at school, but Harvey knew his sister wasn’t fine. He’d known when they talked on the phone earlier. He’d known when he came home to find her asleep on the couch.

He had left the office early, hoping to spend some time with her—hoping for an opportunity to talk to her about the letter, but Harvey had a feeling that tonight wasn’t going to be the right time. Not that there was a right time or a good time for something like that. Some part of Harvey knew that sort of reasoning was nothing more than a delaying tactic. It was why he still hadn’t told her about the letter hiding away in his desk. He didn’t want to have this conversation with her, didn’t want to have to have it. 

Because in a perfect world, Evan Marshall would serve his full sentence. He wouldn’t have gotten their address. He wouldn’t have written the letter. He would have left things alone. He would have left Charlie alone. 

If any of those things were true, maybe Harvey wouldn’t be sitting here listening to the solitary sound of utensils scraping on the plate, an internal war waging within him on whether or not to bring up the letter…

A particularly loud scrape against the plate had Harvey setting his own spoon down. “What’s wrong?” 

Charlie’s eyes flicked up to Harvey’s for a moment before her focus turned back to moving a piece of mushroom in delicate circles. “Nothing.” 

“You’re not eating.” His gaze hadn’t left the face she tried to shield from him, allowing her hair to fall down over her eyes. Charlie caught a mushroom in her spoon and brought it to her mouth, chewing a few times. She lifted her gaze to him as she swallowed. 

“And you’re barely talking.” 

How many words had she spared him since waking up from her nap? Harvey was pretty sure it was somewhere less than ten. And Charlie didn’t know how to argue with him on that point without actually speaking. 

“Nothing to say.” Charlie shrugged, taking another bite of the risotto, a bit bigger this time, allowing her more time to chew…and not talk. 

Harvey watched her diligently chewing her food, readying another spoonful to occupy her mouth with. “Since when?” 

“Since I don’t feel like talking,” she answered, the next spoonful already half-way to her mouth. 

“Is this about what happened with Donna earlier?” 

Charlie’s chewing slowed and she bit her lip as she shifted her gaze to her brother. “Am I still going there tomorrow?” 

Harvey frowned, his shoulders sagging a bit. “Of course you are. Why wouldn’t you be?” 

“I don’t know,” Charlie mumbled, back to moving her risotto around the plate. “I pissed Donna off.” 

Harvey snorted. “You piss me off all the time and I still keep you around.” 

Charlie set down her spoon, pulling the blanket tight around her. She had chosen this topic. She had let her brother think this was why she was upset because talking about Donna was easier than talking about her father. The letter. 

And she knew Harvey was just trying to make a joke, to lighten the mood. She should have let him, but Charlie couldn’t find it in herself to even spare him a smile. She could barely blink away the watering of her eyes. 

“Hey, you mean a lot to Donna,” he said, resting his spoon on his plate and he reached across the corner of the table, squeezing her arm. “You know that.” 

“I know.” Charlie nodded. “Can I go to bed?” 

Harvey looked down at her half empty plate and reluctantly gave her a nod, watching as she scraped the leftovers into a container and placed it in the fridge. He half figured she would come for them later, sneaking back out to the kitchen after he’d gone to sleep. 

Harvey poured himself a glass of whiskey and then returned to the table, remaining there for quite some time after Charlie retreated to her room. He would check on her in a little while, but for now the quiet pulled his mind towards the letter he had once again failed to discuss with Charlie. 

Receiving the letter had thrown Harvey off a little more than he'd like to admit. Even before Charlie had come into his life, Harvey had hated the man—blamed him for ripping his family apart. Maybe if he hadn’t walked in on Marshall and his mother in his childhood home, things would’ve been different, but Harvey doubted it. Because he knew what Evan Marshall was—an adulterer. An alcoholic. A murderer. 

And the fact that a man like that was getting a chance at release was enough to make him sick, but the fact that he was Charlie’s father, that a man like that would have a chance to mar her life in some way, it nearly blinded Harvey with rage. 

Seeing the prison’s zip code had him, setting a white hot anger through him as he withdrew it from the rest of the pile, stashing it away to deal with later. Harvey didn’t even know how the bastard got their address, though he supposed property records were public record. 

But Evan Marshall hadn’t contacted Charlie in years, not since before his father passed away. Harvey knew Marshall had written Charlie letters a few times before. Their father hadn't kept the letters from her. Harvey hadn’t intended on keeping it from her either, but the discussion about their father, about missing him, about the doubts Charlie held…all of that still seemed so fresh. It had seemed almost cruel to pile this on top of it, like it wasn’t the right time. 

Not that there would ever be a right time to say, ‘Hey kid, your deadbeat dad wrote you a letter begging you to come visit, promising he's a changed man. If you agree to go see him, you'll be disappointed because he's a dirtbag. If you don't, then you'll live with infinite guilt because of some stupid social rules about blood.'

It seemed like an infinitely unfair dilemma, an unfair choice to put on Charlie and maybe that was part of why Harvey was delaying, but then again, who was he to make that decision for her? He just wanted to protect her.

By the time Harvey finally headed towards his bedroom, it was late. Hours had passed, but Charlie was still awake, curled up under the blankets, an envelope in her grasp. On hearing Harvey’s footsteps in the hall, Charlie shoved the envelope under the pillow as she turned from the door, steadying her breathing.

Charlie watched the sliver of light expand on the wall as Harvey opened her bedroom door. She closed her eyes as he stepped closer, his shadow on the wall growing larger within the light. 

Growing up, it wasn’t so often that Harvey stayed with Charlie and their dad out in Riverside, but whenever he did, he always came to her room whenever he returned home from outings with friends, people he knew from high school. Charlie usually tried to wait up for him…to make sure her brother kept the promise he’d made to her when she couldn’t have been more than four or five. She had always pretended to be asleep back then and Harvey had always let her. Charlie wondered if Harvey knew she was pretending now, her heart pounding as he stood beside her bed.

"Love you, kid," Harvey whispered as he pulled the covers up though they were already settled above her shoulders.

Charlie remained still and quiet. She didn’t know why it all hurt so much, but it felt like her heart was caving in as silence consumed the space after Harvey’s words, the door clicking shut behind him as he left her alone. It made the voice in Charlie’s head—Charlie’s voice—so much louder as it whispered back through the night. 

No you don’t. 

—

LTLB Masterlist (Everything)

LTLB Masterlist (Chapters)

Chapter 10

[iblameashley]

Family

Military | Male | Gay

1,720 words Content: Fluff, No Spoilers

Follow up to: Paths (loosely)

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley | John 'Soap' MacTavish | Ghoap

!!!SFW!!!

Simon is enjoying a peaceful morning on the porch of the MacTavish family home when he gets a visit from Soaps niece Elsie (My name for her). This little girl isn't afraid of the big scary military men, though.

If you read "Paths", please ignore the end where Simon is re-named Sam. For ease of understanding, Simon remains Simon in this follow-up.

Retirement isn't easy for some soldiers, especially soldiers names Simon 'Ghost' Riley; after all, he was a dead man as a civilian, and he was now listed as KIA after the Makarov mission. There was a part of him that wanted to resist retirement when Price offered it - ordered it, really - but Johnny was alive, and so was the last part of Simon that felt human.

Soap had found a way to dig himself under Simon's rough exterior and stir something within the man that even Simon figured had long since died. Given the chance to have a real life outside of the military? Outside of doing nothing but killing? How could he not take that chance now that he had fallen in love?

Simon was sitting on the front steps of the MacTavish family home in Scotland enjoying the fresh air of the early morning. A small haze of fog rolled over the fields nearby as rays of golden light beamed in his direction. His hoodie was zipped up tight and the hood resting loosely on his head, not that he needed the extra warmth, but it made him feel more at ease.

Simon sucked in a breath and slowly exhaled, watching his breath swirl in the air before disappearing. His new mask was a simple black face mask; Soap insisted. He scratched at it, but he still felt strange without something on his face, even around his new family. They seemed to understand though. Simon wasn't exactly sure what they had been told, but no one forced him to remove the mask outside of family dinners and he was okay with that.

He rested his arms on his knees and continued to stare out into the world, contemplating his options for this new life. Price had given him a second chance and he didn't want to waste it.

"Uncle Si!" Chirped a voice. It was Elsie, one of Soaps many nieces. He had met her the day he arrived in Scotland and she hadn't stopped tracking him down every day since. She skipped over to him from the front door and plopped down beside him wearing her usual big smile. She fiddled with his curly red hair as he looked up at him curiously.

"Elsie." Simon nodded at her in his usual gravelly voice. Somehow, he didn't mind being called Uncle Si. Elsie made it feel pleasant and normal, though everyone else tended to call him 'Riley'.

"You're always up so early!" She stated, almost offended. "You should sleep in!"

Simon smirked under his mask. He was luck enough to sleep, but to sleep in. Fuck no. He didn't want to be unconscious any longer than he had to be, even Soaps presence beside him wasn't always enough to ward off the nightmares that consumed him.

"Maybe." He finally replied, giving her another nod.

Elsie lived on the farm next to Soaps, and made it her personal mission every day to come over and visit her 'favourite uncles', as she put it. Of all of Soaps nieces and nephews, she was the most outgoing and in-your-face. It was a good thing she was cute.

Simon could see a bit of Soap in her; bot physically and in her personality. Though she had distinctive features too, like the freckles that ran from cheek to cheek.

"Need something, love?" Simon asked curiously. His eyes scanned her face. He let out another long breath, watching it curl in the air again.

"The others," She meant the other nieces and nephews, "say that you wear that mask because you have scars all over your face." She stated in her usual firm and confident tone. And accurately, in this case. "Is that true?" She tacked on with a tilt of her head.

She had those same blue eyes Soap did, and she too had wormed her way into his heart, though Simon tried desperately to hide it. Simon tilted his head up and stared back at the rising sun. He grit his teeth as he considered what to say.

"Its true." He admitted with a nod. His heart twisted a bit in his chest, he had never cared about his scars until people started caring about him.

"Can I see?" Elsie asked bluntly. She batted her eyes at him as if she had simply asked him how old he was, or if he wanted to eat breakfast with her. A true MacTavish.

Simon's eyes darted to the side to look at her before he shook his head. He swallowed a lump in his throat and pulled his legs in a little close. "Sorry love..." He mumbles as his eyes fell to the ground. "My face is really scary, I don't want to scare you." He explained in a tone softer than even he knew he could manage.

"I'm not scared, uncle Si." Elsie replied with an annoyed huff. "And uncle Soap say's you're pretty. I heard him." her head bobbed up and down.

Simon let out a deep chuckle. "That so?" He questioned her. He couldn't help but feel a smirk tug at the corner of his lips.

He turned slightly to face her, relaxing himself a bit. "I'm curious to know what else uncle Soap has said about me." he wondered.

Elsie beamed. "I'll tell you a secret." She said, dropping her voice to a whisper. He leaned into Simon and waited for him to come closer.

Simon's interest was certainly piqued, so slowly, he lowered himself down to her level. "What is it?" I asked in an equally low voice.

"I'll only tell you if you take your mask off."

Cheeky kid. Simon's eyes widened, she knew how to get what she wanted, and he found it amusing. He weighed his options, she could be lying to get what she wanted, but she also had a knack for knowing all the gossip in the family.

"You really want to see my face that bad?" He asked, a little exasperated.

"Yup!" Elsie replied joyfully.

"Alright, love." Simon conceded. He reached up and pulled the hood back and off his head, letting his short blond hair fee. He hesitated before moving his hand to the strap of the mask and unhooking it from his ear.

He turned his head away briefly as he unhooked the other strap and folded the mask in his hand. He felt uncomfortable and exposed, but slowly turned his head to look at Elsie.

Simon felt the muscles in his face twitch as Elsie's eyes scanned the scars that marred his face. She gave away nothing as her eyes darted back and forth.

"Did they hurt?" She finally asks in a soft, concerned tone.

A lump formed in Simon's throat which he promptly swallowed - albeit with some effort - and allowed himself a small smile. "Yeah, they did." Simon confesses.

"Mama always kisses mine better." Elsie explained. She lifter her leg up on step and pulled her sock down a little to show Simon her most recent battle scar, covered with a cute pink band aid.

Simon let out a mocking grunt, "Looks bad." he teased, "You think you're going to make it, love?" He queried.

Elsie gave a firm nod and smiled. "Yup!" She hummed, "I'm strong just like you and uncle Soap." She asserted.

The front door creaked open and as Elsie had summoned him herself, Soap appeared with sleepy eyes. "Aye, whats this now?" He questioned the two of them.

He slowly pattered over to Simon and Elsie in his pyjama pants and t-shirt. He gave a yawn as he reached down and picked Elsie up. "You bothering uncle Si again?" he jest before peppering her cheek with several kisses.

Elsie giggled and squirmed in Soaps embrace. "Uncle Soap! Stop!" she grumbled with embarrassment.

Soap took a seat on the steps beside Simon, their legs pressing against each other and Elsie resting on Soaps lap. "Morning love." Soap muttered with a still sleepy voice. He leaned in and places a soft kiss to Simon's lips. "What are you two chatting about?" He asked.

Simon gave his signature grunt and a nod to Soap. "Morning." He mumbled after Soaps lips parted from his.

"Uncle Si and I were looking at our scars!" Elsie chimed in. "Uncle Si said his hurt." She explained as she rocked slightly on Soaps lap.

"...and she was telling me her mama kissed all hers better." Simon added. He leaned himself into Soap until their shoulders were touching.

"Did anyone kiss yours better?" Elsie finally asked as she peered back up to Simon.

He shook his head 'no.'

Elsie frowned. She jumped from Soaps lap and moved to face Simon, using the stairs to bring herself to eye level. "What?" She said, clearly offended. "No one?"

Simon shook his head again.

"If ye like I..." Soap started with a smirk, only to be interrupted by Elsie.

Elsie leaned in and gave Simon a kiss on his larges scar - the one that ran from his temple down to his jaw - with an exaggerated 'muah!'

"All better!" She beamed at him.

Simon sat there in absolute shock for a moment as his brain processed what had happened; he wasn't accustomed to such kindness. He cleared his throat. "Thanks, Elsie." I managed to rumble out in his deep voice.

Elsie nodded and then took up the last bit of space on the steps beside Soap.

"I'd have kissed em' better had ye asked." Soap chimed in.

Simon let out a sigh and looked over at Soap.

"Later then, love?" Soap added with a shit-eating grin. He wrapped his arm around Simon and pulled him close. "Ahm jus' teasin' ye Simon." He chuckled.

Soap moved his mouth next to Simon's ear. "Mostly." He added with a whisper before placing a small peck on Simon's cheek.

Simon shook his head slightly, but deep down looked forward to seeing if Soap really meant it.

Soap pulled Elsie into a hug and rested his head on Simon's shoulder. This is what he dreamt of.

Simon sat there with Soap and Elsie, still unsure what a soldier like himself was to do in retirement, but he knew this was a part of it.

He also knew he'd have to talk to Elsie later to find out what else Soap has said about him.

[imgoingtofreakoutnow]

Jealous, much? (not me, never me)

Summary: During the recruitment for the Whickber Street Traders and Shopkeepers Association monthly meeting, Crowley catches the eye of someone. Aziraphale doesn't like that...

A/n: this is a very chill fic inspired by a prompt by our amazing @here-there-everyfuckenwhere also known as Ray. I hope you like it <3

Tags: @lavender-scented-soft-softgirl @yellownavystar (spero che non vi dispiaccia se vi ho taggato. In caso contrario, ignorate pure il post ahahah <3)

\_/

The recruitment for the Whickber Street Traders and Shopkeepers Association monthly meeting was going strangely smoothly.

He was halfway through the list and Aziraphale had managed to only give away three priceless books. He checked once again the list, tapping the fountain pen on his lower lip.

"Very well," he said, crossing over the previous shop name. "The next stop is Emma's grocery store but I do believe it will be a very easy and quick-"

He raised his head and stopped mid-sentence when his gaze couldn't find Crowley anywhere near him.

After looking around for a bit, he finally spotted him and his scarlet hair... talking to someone else across the street.

To be more precise, the someone else was talking to him while Crowley was simply looking and tapping something on his phone. The things however seemed to be related, given that the stranger kept poiting at the screen and leaning in to show him something and Crowley nodded, a crease of concentration separating his eyebrows.

They were standing side by side, their shoulders casually touching. Aziraphale frowned at that: it seemed quite improper to him, they didn't even know each other! Or at least, that's what he gathered since he had never seen that person around before.

Yet Crowley didn't seem to care about it, nor he looked at all fazed when the attractive human at his side deliberately touched his arm and "accidentaly" brushed their fingers on his.

Aziraphale felt something building inside of him. He couldn't quite tell what it was, but it left a sour taste in his mouth, as if his insides had started burning with the fires of Hell.

He straightened up and fixed his worn-out waistcoat before putting a smile on —one that, he could feel it, wasn't entirely on the wavelength as the mix of emotions he was feeling inside— and heading towards the two of them.

He cleared his voice when he was closer, receiving a confused look by Crowley's new acquaintance.

Now that he was closer, Aziraphale realised that they weren't as young as they seemed from the opposite side of the road, but their pleasant features were hard to ignore. They almost seemed sculpted by Michelangelo.

"Hello, is everything alright here?"

Crowley's face immediately shot up when he heard him, moving away from the wall he was leaning against to get to Aziraphale's side.

"Angel, did you know you could order food through your phone and then have it delivered to your door?"

"I had no idea."

Even though the mere idea did stir his stomach to more pleasant feelings, Aziraphale barely glanced at the screen Crowley was still looking at and kept all of his attention on the new smiling face in front of him.

"It's a pretty common thing to do nowadays," they explained with a shrug. "I'm really surprised you and your partner both didn't know about it."

"He's not my..." Aziraphale started at the same time as Crowley quickly muttered: "We're friends."

"Oh." Their face seemed to suddenly lit up, making the angel's visibly frown, as they tentatively turned their gaze back to Crowley. "Then perhaps I could give you my number?"

"I think you seem a bit lost, child." With the corners of his lips pulled painfully upwards and annoyance in his eyes, Aziraphale moved quickly his hand in the air. "You should head back home."

The stranger widened their eyes before quickly checking the time on their phone and then excusing themselves as they quickly walked down the street.

As he saw them disappear into the wave of the crowd, the relief that washed over him was much bigger then the little guilt whispering in the back of his mind. The knot in Aziraphale's stomach disappeared, as if it had never been there in the first place.

"Did you really miracle 'em away, angel?"

As he looked at Crowley, whose sunglasses had slid down his nose, enough for his yellow eyes to poke through, the angel felt another knot forming in his chest. A warmer one, a pleasant one.

"I'm sure they had other things to do anyway. I just..." Aziraphale moved his hands in the air, "pushed them in the right direction."

Crowley raised his eyebrows but didn't question him more on that. He pushed his sunglasses back on his eyes, keeping once again Aziraphale from that beautiful sight.

"Right. At least they finished explaining to me how this thing works."

Aziraphale smiled, and this time his eyes wrinkled in joy.

"Why don't you explain it to me while we walk to the grocery store," he offered as he placed a hand on Crowley's back, gently guiding him in the right direction before letting his hand fall back to his side.

Aziraphale didn't notice how Crowley tensed under his touch, nor how his Adam's apple moved as he gulped down the breath stuck in his throat.

As always, he never noticed.

[letitbehurt]

For those who’d prefer a bite of each to choose:

Viking Whump:

“It bit Ordün, you know.” The viking considered Kunni as if he were a stupid, crippled hound, then looked over his shoulder at his brother. “Are you sure you want it?”

Errik shrugged. “If it doesn’t behave then I��ll hand it off to someone who likes to beat or fuck the fight out. Perhaps Ordün will want to avenge his thumb.”

Kunni balled his hands into fists to hide their trembling, his face hot with anger. He lowered his head to hide the reaction behind a dirty curtain of hair, but he knew it was useless the moment he risked a glance.

Errik had seen.

Vampire Whump:

"Lay down," Galen ordered. Renoc looked at the metal table-at the leather straps where his arms, legs, and throat would be-and hesitated. Galen angled his head impatiently. "I won't strap you down unless I have to."

As far as Renoc knew, the door to this lab wasn't locked. Galen was human, and Renoc was not restrained.

But where would he go? Hobbes had made it clear that Renoc’s only protection came in the form of the scientist's custody. Without Galen, he was back at Hobbes's mercy. Back in that cell, under the unrelenting rays of a prison window, starving until Hobbes decided he had suffered enough to die.

Galen had at least allowed him to eat.

Slowly, Renoc hoisted himself onto the table.

Contemporary Whump:

Will had expected Nathan to return with Junith, to drag her down by the arm and throw her back into her own cell. But he didn't, this time. Junith wasn't with him at all.

Will dared to ask, his voice a hoarse whisper, "What happened to her?"

Nathan angled his head like a curious bird. "Who?"

Will almost said Junith's name, before he remembered that he wasn't supposed to know it. "The—the woman," he answered instead.

"Mm." Nathan's mouth pressed into a thin, displeased line. He crouched on the other side of the bars, and even though he couldn't possibly reach through the glass, Will scrambled back as far as he could, curled tightly against the hard corner of his cell. Nathan didn’t seem to notice. "She didn't like what I cooked for her.”