#plus a black dog and black cat

[wast3dreligion]

all i want is an old brick and black house filled with dead things that all the neighborhood kids are scared of

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

nothing like a call from your mother to make that escapism feel extra sweet

[antisocialxconstruct]

The cat should be here tomorrow, I'm really excited to see that one in person because it was such a ridiculously lucky find.

[piratejenna]

Unstoppable force (my regularly increasing desire to have a cat) vs immovable object (me being uncomfortably though not life-threateningly allergic to cats)

[sylvanfreckles]

I just want to binge-watch Gravity Falls and play House Flipper until I feel less autistic.

I'm ignoring the buyers and pretending I'm setting up housing paid for by my secret fortune for marginalized individuals and families. That's a nice mansion you got there. Would be a shame if someone broke it up into six family apartments and planted a large vegetable garden.

[britneyshakespeare]

i always think about the most cold heartless thing a teacher ever said in one of my high school classes like it was an uncontestable truth, that the only real reason we have dogs and cats is cuz they’re cute. like what. this was years ago and i didn’t know how to respond to it at the time bc i was 14 but like. what. do we not as humans need something to love? something to love us? pets wouldn’t be worth all the work if they were just cute

[rebelfell]

writing about going to the gym instead of actually going still counts…right? 2k 18+, MDNI

eddie munson x fem!reader (implied plus-size)

The gym at Eddie’s new apartment complex wasn’t so bad. 

It had just undergone a big renovation by the time he moved in, so it still smelled faintly of paint and some of the machines had that protective plastic film over the monitors. It was on the small side, but had enough room for a row of treadmills and ellipticals that faced a big window, looking out on the grassy knoll of the courtyard behind the leasing office. 

Eddie never went on them, though. He was mostly there for the weights, following the regime Steve had put him on a couple months prior. It wasn’t as rigorous as the one his friend followed, but it was demanding enough that Eddie needed an occasional break, elbows resting on his knees as he tried to catch his breath and pushed sweaty tendrils of hair from his face.

His shirt was old and ratty with the cutoff sleeves and drooping armholes stretched far beyond their natural elasticity. Truthfully, it did make him look a little douchey. But he also kind of liked the way it showed off his arms, the edges of the tattoos on his ribcage, the tops of his obliques.  

Especially now that he actually has obliques.

He’s not yet worked his way up to the full-blown gym-bro attire Steve wears when he’s posting his little thirst traps all over Instagram. The videos are the worst—him planking shirtless or flexing his biceps as he curls a weight or swinging weird giant ropes with his arms.

Eddie’s only filmed himself lifting a few times now. Partly because Steve keeps demanding he send him videos so he can “check his form” but also because…he just looks good, okay? 

He never dreamed he’d be the type. Aside from a (very) brief skateboarding phase, his main source of exercise when he was growing up was running from local law enforcement. 

Now here he was lifting three days a week, considering adding a fourth.

He was still slacking on cardio—the smoker’s lung capacity really hindered him there. But Steve had suggested they try boxing, and a free pass to hit Harrington certainly held some appeal…

Eddie found he actually kind of liked the gym now. It was quiet and peaceful. It gave him an hour or so to turn his brain off and focus on nothing but counting sets or reps. He felt good when he walked back to his place a little sweaty and sore, feeling like he’d done something.

And he liked it especially when you showed up.

He’d seen you a few times around already, mostly walking with your dog. Or dogs, rather. By his count there were a couple different ones. 

There was a Corgi who would stomp his stubby little legs like he was mad at the concrete; and a border collie you liked to take to the dog park and toss a frisbee for him to catch; and an elderly chihuahua he often saw you lift into your arms and carry for the end of his walk when he grew tired and looked up at you sadly with those big, pleading eyes. You were powerless.

Spotting you out and about whenever Eddie was going to get his mail, or taking a walk to stretch his legs after sitting at his computer too long, catching a glimpse of you from his balcony when he sat out there in the morning or evening, had started to become the highlight of his day.

He still had yet to, you know, talk to you.

If he ever had the fortune of walking past while you were out, his words immediately failed. And he couldn’t even count now the number of times he’d walked past the dog park while you were there and wished desperately he had a dog just so he had an excuse to go in and talk to you.

He wondered, regretfully, if you could tell he was a cat guy just seeing the smattering of light hairs all his black clothes attracted like a magnet.

But now you were here. Physically present in the same room as him. Close enough for him to reach out and wrap his hands around you. Looking so fucking delectable in your workout clothes.

Your shape was mostly concealed by a baggy hoodie that just barely covered the roundness of your ass and skimmed the tops of your thick thighs—both of which were only accentuated by the tightness of your black Lycra shorts.

He might have dredged up the nerve to finally say something—even a meekly muttered “hi” would have been an improvement on the nothing he’d been slinging. But your headphones were resting snugly over your ears and he generally took that as a firm sign not to bother people.

They were nice ones, he noted. Not a pair of the obscenely expensive Apple ones Steve liked to wax poetically about, but you’d probably sunk a decent amount into them for the sound quality.

 Or maybe they were a gift from your boyfriend, Eddie thought bitterly.

You smiled at him as you passed, giving a little wave that almost made him drop the weight in his hand. Honestly, a broken toe would have been worth it. He tries not to ogle you, honest he does. But he can see you in the mirror as you step up onto the treadmill directly behind him, despite every single one of them being free. All he has to do is tip his head slightly to the side and his view is pristine. He won’t stare, though.

He won’t, he won’t, he won’t.

At least not anymore…

He did his best to concentrate on his workout as you got yourself situated. Absently, he wondered if you were here because you thought you needed to be, and he really hoped that wasn’t the case. Because from where he was sitting, there wasn’t a goddamn thing on your body that needed any improvement.

You don’t seem to be taking it too seriously, though. Starting out at a slow walk, flicking through your phone to choose your music as you amble along. Eventually you must settle on something and set it down before you start to hike up the incline on your machine. 

He figures out pretty quickly you're doing one of those “strut” workouts he’s seen floating around, where you increase your speed with the switch of each song.

Except you’re doing more than strutting—you’re performing.

It’s subtle at first. You start out simply walking at a steady pace, but then he catches a couple motions of your arms, a few flips of your head that send your hair flying. In the reflection of your face on the window he can see you’re lip syncing along to the song, your closed fist becoming a microphone for what looks like a long belt.

He bites back his own smile as he watches you, his eyes drawn to your shape in the mirror over and over. It makes him forget what rep he’s on every time, his workout little more than a charade at this point.

As your pace increases, your breathing gets harder and sweat starts to slicken your brow. You pause just long enough to pull off your sweatshirt and drape it over the guard rail. It drags up the bottom of your shirt, revealing a flash of your bare back that sends Eddie reeling. 

He can’t help but imagine himself flush behind you, kissing down the delicate curve of your spine, gripping desperately at the meat of your hips and ass, molding them with his hands as he thrusts with abandon and the fronts of his thighs slap wet against the backs of yours. He would beg you to let him go down on you just like this—breathing in the smell of your musk and sweat, tugging down those shorts to bury his face between your thighs until they were trembling like his did on leg day, brushing off your complaints about being too gross or dirty.

He’d show you what dirty really was. 

Eddie jolts as the dumbbell he’s holding slips from his clammy palm and he just barely moves his foot in time. It hits the ground with a dull thud, but if you notice you don’t give any indication.

Ears buzzing now, shame radiating at the back of his neck, he set the weight back on the rack and dropped to the floor, twisting into something resembling a yoga pose he saw Nancy post once. The temptation to get on the treadmill next to you is so strong, but he’s afraid it might make you too self-conscious to keep going with your little show.

Plus, he’d probably end up tripping over his own feet and face planting on the machine. Kinda tough to put the moves on a girl when you’ve got a smashed face that’s bleeding like a faucet.

Instead, he drags out his stretching, hoping he can time it right so it won’t seem too weird if he leaves the same time you do. He’s already stayed longer than he normally does, but the promise of finally getting to talk to you is too enticing.

If he was a smarter man, he might have tried thinking of something to actually say if he got the chance, but that’s a whole other issue. 

At last, the machine you’re on started to whirr as you lowered the incline to normal and slowed the speed of the belt until it stops completely. Eddie’s chest heaves as he watches, his pulse racing so fast it’s probably going to trigger the smartwatch on his wrist. You catch his eye in the mirror as you wipe down your machine with a disinfectant wipe and his head snaps forward.

Best of all, when you’re done, you tug down your headphones so they rest around your neck.

This is it, he thinks, his heart pounding harder than it ever had during a workout. Now or fucking never.

“So, uhh, how many dogs do you actually have?”

As pick-up lines go, it’s…not great. But it gets you to stop next to him on your way to the door, tilting your head and smiling as you do.

Fuck, you’re pretty.

“What was that?” you ask.

Eddie scrambled. He ran his hand across the nape of his neck, resisting the urge to smack himself in the back of his head. All of a sudden, his body is unbearably hot and he’s never been so embarrassed of his douchey shirt now that your eyes were scanning him up and down.

Wait…were you checking him out?

“I just…I’ve seen you walking them,” he chuckled. “I was wondering how many you have.”

“Oh, none,” you laughed. “It’s kind of a side gig. I walk them for some other people who live here.”

“None of them are yours then?”

“Nah,” you said, sheepishly looking down at the floor and then flicking your gaze back up to meet his, a smile curling across your lips. “I’ve got a cat, though.”

next

[anachronisims]

Catch You on the Flippity Flop!

a TS2 traits expansion

by @anachronisims (sufficeittosay) and @cityof2morrow

Part 1: New Traits!

What you get: 16 new trait object files for your personality diversity pleasure. Most of them are opposites of existing 3t2 traits that didn't already have them. One is just because :)

Big Spender (opposite of Frugal)

Black Thumb (opposite of Green Thumb)

Can't Carry a Tune (opposite of Virtuoso)

Climate Denier (opposite of Eco-Friendly)

Difficulty Reading (opposite of Bookworm)

Dislikes Animals (opposite of Animal Lover)

Dislikes Cats (opposite of Cat Person)

Dislikes Dogs (opposite of Dog Person)

Dreamer* (the intersection of Ambitious and Absent-Minded)

Generous (opposite of Mooch)

Homebody (opposite of Adventurous)

Minimalist (opposite of Gatherer)

Nudist (opposite of Never Nude)

Slow Learner (opposite of Genius)

Sweet Tooth (just because)

Terrible Cook (Natural Cook)

(*) I know @lilbabydilljr released a Dreamer trait already as part of the hidden/scrapped TS3 traits collection, but I wanted to change the flavor text and concept of it. My spouseman is a real dreamer-content-to-dream and I felt the TS3 scrapped version was too close to Ambitious. So @cityof2morrow made a different icon for it, and changed the GUID as well because Dill's conflicts with HB's simlife goggles. However, the file name is the same as Dill's and will overwrite it.

ETA: These are traits objects that WILL appear in your catalog in Gen/Misc. They are NOT added to the traits collection file as I don't use it. Feel free to do so yourself, of course.

What's coming next: Updates to existing traits mods that are plausibly affected by these traits (plus some personal preference tuning). Check out the to-do list here. Suggestions welcome and encouraged! Anyone who would like early access as a beta tester, please let us know!

Credits: @hexagonal-bipyramid for the original 3t2 Traits Project, @moocha-muses whose Dylan's Black Thumb got me thinking about this becoming realer than flavor text, and the whole inspiring TS2 simblr community whose appetite for traits mods keeps me going!

Download at SFS

Updated Feb 18 2024 at 245 EST (US) to fix an issue with thumbnails/catalog appearance.

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

He'll Follow me Down Every Street, No Matter my Crime

PAIRING: John 'Soap' MacTavish x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: You had an affinity for shiny objects. This time, a sting of pearls locked away in a mansion calls your name through the crowd of a party - only trouble? You have a hunch the man you help at the front door isn't all who he says he is.

WORDCOUNT: 11.9k

WARNINGS: Guns, blood, death, gore, heists, theft, suggestive mentions, mentions of sex, heavy flirting because reader's a tease, propositions of sex, drugs, the reader is loosely based on Cat Woman from DC, etc.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You wouldn’t call yourself a good person.

Life had given you the short end of the stick early on, taking what little you had in your grubby hands and shoving it into the ground, making you watch as they stomped on it until all that remained was a remnant of hope. Like a shard of glass, you held it even as it cut your palms open. But there was only so much that you could hold until you longed for more of it—until you wanted to take the broken bits and try and form a mosaic out of them. 

It started as petty crime—the theft. 

You got good at it. Very good.

You remember the first time you tried to pick a man’s pockets; aged fifteen with a switchblade in your pocket that you had never used before, bought off a man in exchange for cigarettes. When you’d been caught, the man—looking quite like Albert Einstein, mind you—had snapped your wrist so far back you heard it snap in two places. It still aches on cold days. 

In that moment, a firm resolve had taken over you. A rabid understanding.

No one was ever going to do anything for you, and if you can’t rely on your skills to get you through, then you only had yourself to blame when it all went bad. 

As you said, it started with petty crime. Then it got a bit more serious. 

You dabbled with blackmail and multi-level schemes that involved all sorts of money and luxurious items. Extortion.

You considered yourself quite the salesperson, admittingly.

But personality-wise: arrogant, prideful, and vain. The list went on and with no near end in sight. It was life, was it not? You were finally able to live it lavishly even from the time you’d just gone past the border of the drinking age.

But the best part about it was that you were entirely alone. Alone in every sense—not even a cat or dog to your name, much less a person to care for or about. It was perfect. 

Years of this went on, and you mean years. This was a job to you, and as you slipped into the hugging form of a deadly red dress, and rubbed your lips with the exact same shade—#4A0000 Oxblood—it was enough to make your pulse thump with excitement. The thrill of this made you want to never let it go; adrenaline junkie down to the jitters in your fingers when you first got the invitation. 

‘On behalf of Victor Lawson, you are formally invited to his mid-autumn get-together at his estate. Enjoy such finery as a five-course dinner, open access to his ballroom and gardens, and the pleasure of the host himself who’s eager to have you over. This invitation is viable to bring a plus one. We look forward to having you. ’

It was perfect. Perfect.

Chuckling under your breath, you think of the items that Victor had in that mansion of his—the jewelry and the raw cut gems. Your particular interest was a set of pearls that his mistress wore, well, wife now. Affairs are such messy things.

Slipping into black heels and looking into the full-length mirror, you smirk slowly at yourself, glancing up and down. You were the picture of elegant perfection—like a woman born and bred into money. Your penthouse was layered with the remnants of your spoils, stories on every counter or vanity; engraved into the pieces of fine metal and stone you wear on your wrists and neck. Bleeding wealth. Everything you have you had lied for, but did lies not take more practice than truths? 

You consider yourself an artist. 

“Perfect,” you clip the heavy earrings to your lobes, seeing the skin droop at the weight of rubies. Brushing down your dress, you hum, clicking your tongue at the thought of how pearls would better compliment the outfit. “No,” you grumble, frowning in disgust. “Nearly perfect.” 

Walking out of the fabric curtain you have to block off your room, your heels click against the marble floors, creating a large echo over the vaulted ceiling; the place had a coldness to it, really. A separation. 

Not that you cared.

Grasping the modest wool dress coat from the coat rack, you slip it on with a huff and fix the collar; hand moving into the pockets to take out your silk gloves and move your fingers into them. Last was the purse—a small black leather handbag that you let hang off of its strap on your right shoulder like another limb. The invitation was kept safe inside of the wool.

One last breath to try and keep your cool and stop the constant smirk that tries to force its way onto your face, and you call the elevator to your floor before stepping into it. 

“The pearls are in the office,” you say, inserting your key and pressing the button for the lobby. “His wife leaves them in the glass display case if that maid’s words are anything to go off of. And tonight,” you hum, finger grasping your phone from your purse and pressing into the front to unlock it. A social media profile pops up and you stare, eyes half narrowed in lustful pleasure. “She’ll be wearing her sapphires.”  

Victor’s wife is pictured in blues and silvers, and you had to admit, it wasn’t the correct color scheme for a mid-autumn ball. But you supposed she wanted to be the center of attention anyway, so her plan if that was the case would pan out perfectly. No one wears a blue that shade this late into the season. 

You drop your phone into your coat pocket and shrug, blinking slowly as the small waft of the elevator music is interrupted by the ding of the doors; that sudden lightness to your head shows that it has come to a stop. Stepping through the opening, you wave to the doorman and plaster a sickly sweet smile on your lips. 

“I’ll be back soon,” you explain. “Don’t miss me too much, then.”

He grins like an idiot. “Yes, Ma’am! Here,” the man scrambles, “I’ll get the door for you.”

“Oh, lovely, thank you, Dear.” Outside is a nice chilled breeze, leaves moving over the street only a small distance of concrete away—your driver is waiting patiently outside of it, the tinted windows up and the engine already running. 

Your body moves to it. 

“Ma’am,” he nods.

“Hello there, Buck,” you blink slowly at him, politely reaching out an arm and squeezing. “So good to see you again—and the Misses?”

“At home resting, thanks to you.” You hum, dismissing the comment as the man pulls at the car handle and moves to the side.

“It was the least I could do. Such a horrible feeling,” your lips mutter, “getting sick. If I only have to throw some of my money to get people to listen to their patients, it’s money well thrown. Do tell her I hope she feels better soon.”

“Of course, Ma’am.”

“Wonderful.” Sitting down on the seat, you carefully tend to your dress so it won’t wrinkle, picking at loose bits of wool from your jacket and gazing at your reflection in the glass. Such a vain little creature you’d grown into. Your eyes trail down your nose, lips, down the swell of your neck, and the bones of your face; running a finger over your cheek and trying to stop itching at the makeup you already long to take off.  

But beauty takes time. 

You’d look better with those pearls. 

Buck gets into the car and locks the doors, and soon the entire vehicle is speeding off into the darkening sky. Your skin tingles with anticipation. 

You enjoyed making those who’d broken the backs of others see a bit of your power when they realized you’d won, but the instances when you could go in and leave without a trace made you feel on top of the world. A woman with such a desirable position; an unforgettable ease of mastering a conversation. 

It was addictive to watch them fumble around like idiots. Go crying to authorities about things they could easily buy again and again. It makes you want to never stop talking. Your fingers twitch at it—your heart pounds. 

A sly fox’s smile comes to your lips, and you hum under your breath as the car brings you into the lion's den.

—

“Well,” Johnny grumbles, voice gruff. “I don’t understand why it needs to be me. Gaz looks better in a suit and everyone knows it.”

“Damn right I do,” the man in question replies, tossing a belt the Scot’s way, to which Johnny catches with no problem, slipping it into the loops of his dress pants with a heavy hand. “Don’t forget it.” 

MacTavish's throat echoes with an unimpressed grunt, side-eyeing Kyle as he smirks. Grabbing the fly of his pants, the man runs it up, moving his feet to make sure he’s not stepping on any of the fabric. 

“Garrick needs to be nearby in case of trouble. He’s your oversight.” Captain Price leans against the far table of the hotel room, glancing at his watch. “Five minutes, Sergeant.” 

“Five bloody minutes,” Johnny groans, blinking as he tightens his belt. “Couldn’t at least have bought a bigger dress shirt? Suffocating over here, Sir.”

Ghost glances at him from where he stares out the window, arms crossed and fingers tapping his bicep. “You can blame Laswell for that.”

“Just make sure you don’t rip it in the middle of the party,” Gaz pats his shoulder, and Johnny glares, sighing out aggressively at the pull of fabric. The fellow Sergeant is smug and amused. “Can’t go in and bring you another.”

“Ah,” the Scot grunts. “Don’t worry, it’s just a little public embarrassment. Nothing I haven’t gone through before.” 

“Story for us?” Simon utters, raising a brow.

“Not one I’m willing to tell.

John interrupts the banter session easily with a sharp command. “Alright, you can trade stories all you want later, we’re short on time and the driver’ll be here any minute. Soap,” Johnny blinks over, buttoning up his waistcoat and pushing the blue tie under it. Price stares, raising a brow, but his lips pause for a minute. “...Why are you wearing a bloody blue tie, Son?”

“What?” Johnny’s face pulls in, stubble shifting the scar on his chin. The sides of his eyes crinkle in. “Why’s that matter?”

John’s eyelids close for a moment before he takes a long breath and looks to the side, shaking his head. “No time,” he utters before coming back to it. “Go through it again, Sergeant. Slowly.”

“Target is Victor Lawson’s computer—located in his office at the back of the mansion. Three rights and a left is the fastest way there, barring breaking down the walls.”

“Good,” John grunts, seeing Johnny’s smirk at his joke. The Scot goes and grabs his suit jacket. “And?”

“One gun and a knife, hidden in the back garden with a silencer near the fountain,” the man licks his lips. Gaz passes over an earpiece which he hooks into his shell, clear and nearly invisible against his skin. “M9 with only one magazine. Fifteen rounds.” 

“You don’t have to use it,” Simon weighs in. “In situations like these, opt for a knife. Less mess to clean up if you do it right.”

“Don’t want to think about the types of parties you go to, Lt,” Soap sends a sly smile the Lieutenant's way. “Think I’d shit my pants if I saw you at one. Mask or no.”

“I like parties,” Ghost says blandly back, blinking at him slowly. “They don’t skimp out on the appetizers.”

“Why am I not surprised,” Johnny mutters, moving back and hurriedly flattening out his suit. “Right! Time to get this over with, boys. I’m goin’ in—don’t miss me too much while I’m away.”

Price’s hand goes to rest on his shoulder, moving him out of the door as Kyle calls his good luck to him. The Captain moves a hand in emphasis on the words he ends up speaking. 

“In the inside pocket, you have a USB,” he says, and Johnny’s blue eyes stare at him, serious with his lips flat. “We don’t need the entire system—just plug it into the box and let it do the work.”  

“Rog.” Soap asks, “Anything I need to expect from this Lawson fellow?” 

John grunts. “Negative. Man’s a drunk who likes to flaunt wealth, he’s in the background of his practice; has others do the dirty work for him. But we need his intel.”

“Then I’ll get it,” the Scot assures firmly, steel determination in his gut. “M’not so easily distracted, Price. It’ll be like takin’ a walk through the park.” 

—

“I’ll be back soon, Ma’am,” Buck comments as he opens the door for you, sticking a hand out to assist you out to the red-carpeted grounds. “Call if you need to.”

“Thank you, Buck, I will,” you chuckle, nodding. 

Walking past you run your hands over your jewelry, slipping your fingers up the inside of your wrist until you grasp the sleeve of your coat and pull it down more. It was growing colder out, and it was best to get inside the party as soon as possible. Already the air was thick with the noise of music and small talk, properly illuminated by lights that spilled out like water from a river. 

Around you, the front entrance was guarded by the tall sentinels of rose bushes; decorations in the form of strung lights and pumpkins placed and carved to immaculate detail. The mansion itself was the biggest on the tree-strangled street, and cars were coming and going quickly; lights moving through the dark trunks. 

Looking and walking slowly down the red carpet to the front entrance, your shoulder is lightly grasped. 

“Ma’am?” You startle, head whipping around to the sound of a deep Scottish accent. 

Your eyes lock with cobalt blues, a large man behind your form holding a piece of paper in his hand. You look at it quickly, the calloused and firm fingers extending the item.  

He was in a black suit, and while you fight to raise your brow at the deep shade of blue for a tie, you find that the outfit suited his stocky build quite well. You could see the size of his biceps easily, and in the light, your face nearly went slack at them. 

Not even mentioning the thighs.

“Apologies,” the stranger breathes, backing up a step and releasing you with a soft smile on his lips. “Saw this fall out of your pocket. I’d hate for you to lose it so close to the door.”

Staying silent for a moment, you quickly fall back on your natural charm. 

“My pocket?” Your hand extends, brushing against the man’s own before lightly taking up the familiar shade of the invitation. You flip it over in your hands, eyebrows raising in slight shock. Your other hand pats down your coat pocket, finding no firmness besides the body of your phone. 

“I didn’t even notice,” you chuckle lightly, focusing on the man ahead of you. A small flutter of upset moves in your veins. “Thank you very much, Sir. That would have been embarrassing.”

“Ah,” he shrugs his wide shoulders. “Don’t worry about it. And Johnny’s just fine, Dearie.”

“Well, it’s very nice to meet you, Johnny,” you move up and lean forward, lips shifting to leave a delicate kiss on the side of his cheek. Hearing a slight hitch in his breath, you hide your smirk, leaning back fully to stare into Johnny’s slightly widened eyes and the reddish sheen to his cheeks. He clears his throat, mohawked hair shifting in the breeze as he turns his head to the side for a moment. “You’re a lifesaver.”

You tilt your head. 

“So, here for Victor’s party then?” 

“Ah,” the man recovers quickly, nodding as you turn and begin a slow pace. The both of you stay near each other as the stairs to the front door get closer. “Yes, Ma’am. Have you…been to one before?”

You humph, shaking your head. “No way, I only ever go to these things once. Waste of time, in my opinion.” Your eyes send Johnny a glance to find him blinking at you in confusion. “What? You thought I would be all snobby about it? Most of the people here can’t even take back a shot correctly.” 

A shocked chuckle exits the Scot’s lips, eyebrows raising on his face. A far more casual smile now takes form on his part. 

“What are you even here for then,” he asks cheekily. “If you don’t mind me asking?”

You smirk. “The spoils of war, of course.” 

“You’re strange, you are,” Johnny utters, but finds he can’t wipe the grin on his face for the life of him. In his ear, Price’s voice grinds through like iron. 

“Soap, stay on schedule.”

He grunts, rolling his shoulders. Johnny’s thumbs go to rest in his belt, looping the brown leather.

“War’s a big word, Bonnie,” his blues glint.

“Would you prefer quarrel,” you dart back, and your spirits seem to enjoy this conversation some. The man was…new, so to speak. There was something different about him that you couldn’t place; he felt more layered than the normal people at these events usually came. Like you could speak to him for hours and only crack the surface. But, even by just his eyes, you could tell that he was intelligent. Very much so. 

“That might be more your speed,” you end with a tilt of your head, jewelry lightly clinking against one another. 

“I think you’d be surprised.” Your chuckle is smooth and easy to listen to. 

“Perhaps.”

Johnny hums, smirking as he pulls ahead a tiny bit. “And what do I call you, exactly?”

“My name?” You find a hand in front of you when you make it to the stairs, and you mildly get thrown off by it. Blinking quickly for a moment, you recover and delicately place your hand into the Scot’s, smiling as he helps you walk up. 

His flesh is warm, and you can feel it even through your gloves as it bleeds into you. A warmth that pushes back the chill of autumn, sending winter scampering like a dog with a tail between its legs. You ignore how your breath hitches at that action.

“You can just call me Cerise.” Is what you say as the doorman draws near and as Johnny stares with an intrigued furrow on his brow. Before the Scot can speak, you’ve already walked away, heels clicking and your purse swinging; hand whispering out of his like it was never there. 

Blue eyes watch, but they quickly snap out of whatever trance was there beforehand. 

There were things to accomplish—adrenaline was already taking hold in Soap’s bloodstream, making his focus hone in. While your conversation had been…interesting, and you were quite the beautiful woman, of course, he had a job to do. 

But first, he had to get through the door.

As you were speaking with the doorman, easily handing over your invitation, the man slips his hand into his pants pocket to get it ready; voices from other guests all around.

But his hand touches nothing. 

Immediately, Johnny feels his stomach drop.

“Where’s the fuckin’ invitation,” he hisses under his breath down the line, trying to keep his voice low. Soap’s eyes darted about on the ground, thinking that maybe he’d done the same as you and just dropped it. But no, nothing.

John’s hurried voice moves through the earpiece.

“Sergeant, don’t tell me you lost the fucking invitation.”

“It was in my pants!” He growls. “Bastard things that are making my thighs go numb.”

You’re none the wiser to the conversation in the man’s ear, only pausing when you hear the implication of something not going right. As the doorman takes your invitation and looks it over, you turn your head to the side and watch for a moment in confusion as Johnny pats his thighs and backside, hands over the pockets and his body turning in a circle.

“Johnny?” You call, walking towards him. The man freezes, eyes snapping back to you. You grab onto the tips of your gloves and begin taking them off, stuffing them into your coat. “Are you alright over there?”

His jaw is clenched, eyes simmering with annoyance. “Just fine, Hen, no need to ask,” your eyes narrow, slowly dropping to where the obvious lack of an invitation sits in his hands. “Just…uh, seems I’ve gone and lost something o’ mine.”

He goes back to whispering under his breath, throat bobbing with irritation that could rival even yours on a bad day. Even his cheeks gained a sheen of red to them, and not from the wind. 

You blink, sighing under your breath. 

You weren’t a good person, but you weren’t heartless either. The man had been good company, the least you could do was repay him. A good conversation is so hard to come by these days. 

“Oh,” you play off with a chuckle, turning back around and speaking loudly. The doorman looks up at you quickly. “I’m so sorry, I forgot to tell you about my boyfriend, Johnny.”

The air halts, and wide blue eyes snap to the back of your skull.

“It must have slipped my mind in all the excitement, you can understand how such a magnificent property just takes all of my attention.” You chuckle, pushing an embarrassed sheen to your eyes and body—hunching your shoulders in, gripping by the elbows, even bending your spine lightly forward to lean closer to the man. “It’s so beautiful here, I was so caught up in the decorations. He’ll be my plus one for the night.”

The doorman chuckles with you, glancing at the Scot who quickly clears his throat; taking this blessing for what it is and ascending the last steps in record time. 

A hand hovers over the small of your back, a bulky body slotting beside your own. Your nose twitches to the scent of hair gel and…you pause, swallowing down saliva. Was that the tang of gunpowder?

“It’s just fine, Miss,” you blink back to the present. The invitation is put to the side. “You’re both welcome inside. Please, enjoy your time in Mr. Lawson’s estate.”

“We will,” Johnny grunts, nodding. “You have a good night, Mate.” 

You smile politely, the two of you walking through the open doors. A pair of lips moves to your ear, the words said with low reverence.

“I owe you, Bonnie,” he pauses. “Big time. Nearly scuffed the entire thing.”

“We can’t have that,” you ease, voice like water. “Quickly, what’s your last name?”

You both walk side by side, yourself only stopping for a moment to shimmy out of your coat. Hands move to the back of the collar, helping. 

“Last name?” Johnny asks, confused at the instant question. “Why?”

“They’re going to introduce us when we walk in—I need to know so I can tell the announcer.”

The Scot stares, holding your coat as you take your phone out and put it into your purse. He passes off the item to a man near a side door, who asks your name and scurries off when he has it.

“MacTavish, full first name, John.” He grunts, admitting, “There’s a lot more to this than I expected.”

“It’s all for show, Mr. MacTavish,” your hand moves to his arm, lightly taking him along with you and restraining the want to squeeze the muscle under your fingernails. The man was as built as an Ox—what did he eat? 

“There’s always more to things like this,” you chuckle. 

A small silence falls, but it’s broken when Johnny’s curious nature betrays him. The way you had lied to the doorman…it had been so natural for you it had made him pause now that he had the time to think it over. Hell, he’d half-believed you himself.

Price had even been silent in his ear since then, only a shocked grunt moving across the line. As you shift a hand-held mirror out from your purse and bring it up, looking into it, he speaks up.

“You were good at that,” the Sergeant mutters, looking around at the paintings and decorations in the hallway, hearing more people entering from behind. The noise echoes from ahead as well, the party in full swing. “It was quick-thinking on your part, any reason as to why you’d help me?”

A smirk flicks over your lips as you snap your hand-held closed, moving it back into your purse. “You’re asking if I want to get into your pants?”

Johnny nearly chokes. “N-no! Not at all.”

Your head tilts, side-eyeing him, heels hitting the floor and carrying your snake-like stride. Not once do you blink at him, studying; taking him apart. Johnny’s enamored by the way you do it. 

He suddenly knew to be far more cautious around you than he had been previously. His fingers twitch at his sides, and he goes to push back his mohawk with a run of his palm over his hair. He licks his lips and turns his face forward with a heat writhing under the skin.

“It’s alright,” you explain. “I wouldn’t be opposed, but, unfortunately, tonight I have other things to fuck than you, Mr. MacTavish. Perhaps at a later date.” 

The man is at a total loss, jaw as slack as a piece of paper in the wind.

But what shocked response he could give you is lost as you move into a far more open room, you both at the top of an overhang—pillars and a large chandelier, shining bright. Marble with real vines wrapped around banisters; tables full of food in such quantity it seemed excessive. But the people. Hundreds of them, all dressed their very best at the bottom of these double stairs. 

Soap’s eyes went over all of them, studying faces in an instant and memorizing them for later. No Victor from what he could see…he just needed an excuse to slip away when everyone was occupied. He had to get to the garden first; get that knife and his gun that had been stashed. If it all came to worse, he couldn’t afford to get caught without one of them. 

Gaz can only do so much as overwatch from outside.

You move to a woman at the left, smiling as you move to whisper into her ear your title and Johnny’s.

“Miss Cerise and her plus one, John MacTavish.” 

The woman nods, and no later does she call into the crowd, moving her voice above the bob and flow of the conversation waves. Many of the men in the crowd choke on their drinks—eyes snapping up—at the mention of your moniker.

“The Miss Cerise and her plus one, John MacTavish.”

“Johnny,” you call, and the man blinks, seeing and immediately moving out his elbow so you can loop your arm through his. “I am curious about one thing,” you say as the scent of gunpowder returns. 

“Yeah?” Soap asks, scanning the faces that now pause their speeches and look at the pair of you. He grows uncomfortable at the attention, but you seem to soak it up—particularly the glares from a few faces that you seem to be acquainted with. “What’s that then?”

“You’re not here for the party, are you?”

Bloody fucking Christ, who is this woman?

“What makes you say that, Bonnie?” He forces out, his muscles winding up; jaw working itself in a tight clench. The Scot’s stubble writhes with the force of it. Has he been compromised that quickly? Not possible. Johnny’s mind starts running, and Price gets into his ear to call a firm order to move away from you immediately. 

But that would make your unblinking eyes worse, and Soap didn’t want that. The hair on his arms starts to rise, spine straightens like a stick. You felt it, feet going down the stairs without having to look at them, your head is stuck gazing at him. 

“No offense, of course,” your voice even results in his feet wanting to disobey him, to turn your way. The way you spoke was hypnotic. A siren. Some womanly beast from long lost history, coming to haunt him when he had a job to do on a limited schedule. 

You continue. “But you’re not right. You don’t fit into this crowd.”

“What?” Soap tries to push a flat joke. “Did my hair give it away?”

You study him, smirking. “No.” There’s no other explanation beyond that.

This was supposed to be simple.

Give him a gun and he’d be the most experienced shooter in this room; a jumble of cables? He’d have a homemade explosive in minutes. 

But why the hell would they put him in a suit?

“Listen, Cerise, Hen,” Johnny levels, “I’d love to stay and talk, really, but I need to fuck off and find some of my friends. Thank you very much for the save at the door, but there are some things I need to take care of.”

“And here I thought I’d get to keep my fake boyfriend,” you pout, leaning into his side. He watches you tensely. 

Your lips move in a laugh like a ringing bell. “But, yes, you’re right. I also have to take care of my entertainment for the night.” You move up to his cheek again, placing a kiss on his stubble as you both reach the bottom of the stairs. You whisper into his ear. “It was very nice meeting you, Johnny. Do tell me if you’ll ever take me up on the offer I gave you.”

Disappearing into the crowd, it’s like you were never there.

—

Johnny grunts as he tries to bend down, the fabric around his thighs and arms pulling tight enough to stop the blood in his veins. 

“If someone doesn’t get me properly fitted,” he growls down the line, “you can find a new demolitions expert, Price.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, Sergeant.”

“It was short notice, Johnny,” a Manchester accent follows.

Blue eyes glared at the bag hidden beneath foliage, a hand snatching out and grabbing it quickly.

“Ghost,” Soap huffs. “Good of you to join us with our late-night heist.”

“Figured you could use the support.”

“Oh,” Johnny scowls, “always. ‘Specially when I have to get myself surgically removed from this piece of utter shite.”

“Now you’re just being dramatic.” With a shake of his head and a growing smirk, the Scot takes out the M9 and the combat knife. Moving to attach the silencer to the gun. Blue eyes scan the garden rapidly; on the lookout for any guests or guards walking near the fountain at his back. 

“Alright, I’ve got the gun.”

“Knife?” Ghost asks. 

“Affirmative, Lt.” 

“You’ll be smart to use it away from any prying eyes. Neck leaves too much of a spray—go for the gut and cover the mouth until they stop moving.”

There’s a moment of rustling fabric as Soap shifts the gun into the small of his back, the back of his suit enough to cover the grip but restricting the ability for a fast draw. Simon was right—the knife was the best option for him. 

“You are stone cold, Simon,” the Sergeant smirks, eyes gazing over grass and gravel as the knife finds a home up his right sleeve, resting against his forearm. “Price, has Gaz checked in?”

“Affirmative,” the Captain comes back on as Johnny stands, re-hiding the bag into the bush. “Says he has eyes on from the neighboring mansion’s roof. He’ll lose you when you go inside, but if you need any guards terminated, lead them outside and he’ll take care of ‘em.”

Soap nods, head swiveling and brushing down his front. “Copy. I’ll keep it in mind.” 

But as he’s walking, the Sergeant pauses, dress shoes getting brushed by the grass. A bead of silence lingers on him like a needle into fabric, a nagging feeling like an itch at the base of his skull. 

“Price?”

“What is it?”

“I need you to look into someone else at the party, calls herself ‘Cerise’.” Johnny can practically hear the confusion over the line and he moves on to explain as he walks farther into the garden. “See if there are any files with that name. I have a bad feeling, and I can’t place it.”

“The woman?” Simon’s voice enters his ear.

“Aye, her. The things she said…they’re stickin’ with me.”

“Hate to tell you, Soap,” Price sounds slightly amused in his dim monotone way. “But the things she says stick to most men.”

He growls, face going heated as his chest tightens. “I’m not speaking ‘bout any of that.” Johnny’s head swivels up to the balcony of the ballroom, trying to pinpoint his location from the maps he’d memorized prior. “I’m talkin’ about how she—”

Speech halts in a fast instant of a choked-off sentence. 

A flash of red catches his eye. 

“Johnny?” Simon asks over the earpiece, confusion in his tone. But with a slack jaw, Johnny can only watch in awe and shock at the woman currently breaking into one of the locked balcony doors. And he knew they were locked. The informant had said they would be. 

It was you. 

Red dress and moonlight over your flesh, you look around the balcony before bending and opening up your purse, fiddling for a moment with the contents inside. 

“Johnny, sit-rep.”

Unblinking, Soap watches as you take something out, moving closer to the door and inserting it into the door lock. 

“She’s fucking picking the lock,” Johnny breathes, his breath making a cloud on the air. 

“Who, Sergeant?” Price asks.

“Cerise,” Soap huffs, his jaw closes slowly, blinking as a hand comes up to rub at the back of his head. Only a minute or so later, you move back from the door swiftly, stuffing your items back into your purse and standing. Hand going to the handle, you push into it…and it opens with no trouble at all. 

Walking through, Soap gapes as the door closes silently behind you.

“She got in,” he relays, and he hears Price order for Simon to contact Laswell—possible hostile inside of the mansion. “How do I go about this, then?”

“We need that intel—neutralize her if she interferes.”

Something swirls in Soap’s chest, but as he hurries to the stairs up to the balcony after you, gravel stuck into the grips of his shoes. With a grunt, he says, “Copy, Sir.”

Reaching the very same door you’d just gone into, the man slips inside without a whisper, clicking off his earpiece.

—

You trail a hand along the wall at your side, keeping to the barrier and resisting the temptation to fill your purse with expensive pewter statues and whatever other bits you can fit. But you can’t fight off the feeling for long, and before you take a fast right on the way to the office, your noiseless hand snatches at a small statue of a knight and stuffs it into your bag. A low chuckle breeds in your throat. 

As you pass mirrors, you gaze at your neck, trying to imagine the glint of pearl and the way they’ll feel over your flesh; sitting heavy with wealth and dripping perfection down to the golden clasp. 

“Three rights and a left,��� you go off the words from the maid, pausing when you hear the sounds of staff or security. Heels muffled on the thin carpet, your body slinks along like a cat, red dress trailing with all its dangerous intentions. 

You’re only one last turn to the hallway of the office when you’re unceremoniously grabbed by the scruff of your neck. 

Eyes snapping wide, a sharp inhale is muffled on your lips as a hand settles over your mouth, ripped back along the carpet and shoved into the wall with a rattle of picture frames. 

Ignoring the sting of your spine and the fingers that find purchase around your flesh, you blink away the sheen of panic and lock eyes into familiar cobalt blues. 

“Johnny?” Your voice is muffled behind skin, and your hand snaps up to his wrist when pressure is set over your windpipe. Shock flies to every other emotion available, confusion taking precedence. 

His face is rabid with anger.

“Who the fuck are you?” The words are snarled on his accented tone—lower than the bottom of a canyon. 

Physical interactions, in this sense, were never your strong suit, of course. You specialized in getting out before anything like this ever happened, not when a hand was around your throat and starting to put pressure. In fact, now that you thought about it, the man ahead of you would have absolutely no trouble snapping your neck in a second. Despite all of your pride, a bead of fear moved up your back. 

Yet, you still glare with all the venom you can muster over the barrier of Johnny’s hand. The weight at your neck stays, but the one over your mouth moves to lean into the wall beside your head. 

“Get your hands off of me, you brute,” your words are tight, nails digging into his skin and making indents. 

The man can feel your pulse under his hand, the thump of your blood as he looms, glaring heavily. He wanted answers. 

“I asked you a question, Bonnie,” his jaw clenches, eyes unblinking. “I think it’s in your best interest to answer it truthfully, eh?” 

“And what about you then?” You force out, “I guess my hunch was correct, you’re not here for the party.”

“I have a job to do,” Soap snaps under his breath, eyes moving the hallway as your free hand delves into your purse slowly. “I have a feeling you’re lacking in that department, Cerise, whatever the hell that name bloody means.”

“It’s French,” you snarl, teeth bared, and feeling insulted. “It’s elegant.”

“It’s a load of bullshit. That’s not even your real name, you minx.” His hand tightens even more, and your eyes gain a sheen of panic as your throat closes—his hold was unbreakable just as is, a trained and dangerous thing. Trained? Who was he? What did he want with Victor’s estate? 

Was he a thief like you, or hired security? 

“Answer me!” His face moves forward, nose nearly brushing yours and breath puffing your face. “Who do you work for?”

“Work?” Your voice raises, confused and angry. “I fucking work for myself, asshat! Do you think I’d waste my time doing this for someone else? Those pearls belong with me.” 

His eyebrows pull in, face tight.

You lash out with the pewter statue in hand, aiming for his head. Halfway there, the man’s limb beside your skull flashes out and you find your wrist captured, shoved back into the wall, and outstretched beside you. 

Gasping at the pain that ricochets your bones, your hand drops the item in an instant. Your brows go tight with old wounds, the memory of your first attempt at pickpocketing sparking up along with the pinch of marrow. 

“Not very bright, Hen,” Johnny’s voice is graveled, glancing at the statue as it bounces along the floor. His lips twist, expression shifting as he takes in your prior confession one word at a time. The attack hadn’t even phased him. The scar at his chin roaves, as he huffs out as the hold on your neck loosens, “Now what did mean pearls—?”

Your knee reems itself upward and connects with his crotch.

Balking back, Johnny’s spine bends, curling in as a long and loud groan enters the hallway—a curse hurled out soon after. Not planning on lingering, you bolt off, jewelry jingling, and lungs heavy in your chest. 

“What the hell,” you gasp, taking that last left and staring at the large wooden door at the end of the lineup; fancy gold handle. Fingers shaking and neck aching, you hear the sharp call from behind you as your body gets to the barrier.

Yet, there’s no time to pick the lock. A curt bark moves along the walls.

“Cerise!” 

“Fuck,” you draw the word out, quivering hand moving through your purse to find your picks. 

Johnny rushes the corner, one hand still on his aching lower body and the other pointing down the hall. 

“Get over here,” he snaps. 

“Fuck you!” You snap, glaring. “Stop acting like there was anything down there for it to hurt!” 

“I am five seconds away,” the man hisses, “from dragging you out of here by your arm and throwing you to the fuckin’ security. You’re a damn thief.” He says it with utter surety, knowing as he puts all the pieces together. 

“I am a businesswoman,” you back up a step as he moves even closer, the bulk of his body intimidating now that you know what it could do to you. “And, apparently, you think it’s acceptable to toss one around like you’re trying to have sex with it,” your eyes flare, back going flat to the window behind you. Johnny looms once more, arms caging you in as they go beside your head and the fingers curl. Both of you bark at one another with, at present, no bite.

“I’m not opposed to fun, Mr. MacTavish,” your smirk is venomous. “But I prefer to do it when I’m not on the job.” 

“Stop talking,” he snaps, eyes darting to your lips as your gut spikes with adrenaline. His front is nearly flush with yours. “This isn’t worth it—you’re wasting my time. I need to get into that office”

“Then let me go,” your lips are near his, brushing with every word. Now your silver tongue has something to latch onto. He wants to get into that office just as much as you do. “We can help one another.”

“You?” Johnny scoffs, tilting his head as footsteps echo down one of the nearest halls. “Help me? Sorry, Dearie, but after that stunt of kickin’ my fucking balls in, you’ll have to wait for ‘em to re-drop before I put any sliver of trust into you.” 

“Tempting,” you huff, both of your teeth bared like dogs—not once do either of you blink away. “But you can’t get that door to move without me.”

Johnny raises a disbelieving brow, and you elaborate.

“If the pins aren’t all moved in under ten seconds, and the door opened, an alarm goes off,” the man stills above you, and you smile in pleasure. “All security in the area will come rushing down on you and your horribly styled hair,” he snarls, eyes flashing, but you continue, face triumphant. “And I hate to say it, Mr. MacTavish, really I do, but I doubt you can pick a lock better than me.” 

Johnny glares still, and this time, it’s far more sharp. Something moves behind his blues; consideration or exasperation, you don’t know. Hell, you still don’t know what he’s going to do when he gets into the office. But this is an alliance between wild animals.

The man is about to open his mouth, jaw already loosening, when a loud, questioning, voice moves from the end of the hall. 

Both of you freeze, pupils going tiny from where they stare into one another's. Even the blood in your veins slows to a near stop; shock so potent it renders you speechless. Someone was coming down the hallway.

“Is anybody down there?” A voice calls, echoing off the ceiling. There wasn’t anywhere to hide. 

Johnny moves back immediately, a hand going to the back of his suit to try and grasp at something as you hurriedly blurt out, “Kiss me!” 

The man flinches, anxious eyes narrowed. He blinks rapidly. “What?”

“You heard me,” you snap. Footsteps get closer and the Scot looks at you like you’ve gone mad. 

“I am not fuckin’ kissing you, Bonnie,” he says bluntly, a chuckle on his lips. “No way on God’s green earth.”

“Do you want to get caught or do you want to play it off as a mistake?” Your hand moves forward and grabs at his tie, yanking him back to you. He barely budges, raising an unimpressed brow. “I swear to God, MacTavish, do not ruin this for me.”

The man glares, snapping, “I’m not the one that decided to kick a man in the dic—”

“Hurry up and kiss me!” No time.

Someone’s shadow cusps the visible part of the hallway, and you stare with a pleading expression, Johnny glances over his shoulder before he moves his hand away from the M9. With a deep grunt of disapproval, he leans forward swiftly and slams his lips to yours.

Gasping at the intensity of it, your face is smushed as the Scot’s hand comes up, grasping under your jaw and keeping you attached to him, the other stuck at your hip where it creases the fabric. 

For a moment you even forget why he did it, and your body melts slightly as he huffs through his nose—your fingers finding his waist. He shivers as they dig in, and he pushes you into the wall, making the dichotomy of warm flesh and a chilled window leave your eyes nearly rolling to the back of your head. 

When your tongue brushes his lips, soft smacking meeting your ears, he hums, leaning into you harder. Neither of you fight it when your lips meet again and again, this time making your hand go to the back of his head, greedy mouth opening when he growls into your flesh. It’s nearly feral with clacking teeth and a massacre of senses. His fingers knead at your jaw slowly.

“E-excuse me,” Johnny rips himself from you, whipping around with a red face. Keeping you in front of him, his pounding heart makes his eyes blur for a moment, attempting to focus. You peek over his shoulder, face burning like a million suns, but a smirk forcing itself forward.

The man behind the mysterious Scot is older, and not part of Victor’s security at all. Just a partygoer who had gotten lost along his way. How he even got back here through the main way without being spotted was something of an achievement, you supposed.  

He stutters into the heated air. “Sorry to…erm, interrupt, but I don’t suppose you two know the way to Mr. Lawson’s garden?” 

The both of you are brainless for a second, Johnny’s hand still on your hip. 

“Two lefts and a right,” you utter on swollen lips, eyes smug. “Door’s already open.”

He hurries off, without a glance behind him, and silence falls again. 

You blink at the man now suddenly unable to meet your gaze, backing off of you like you’re made of red fire. Your head tiles even as molten heat rages in your bloodstream, pounding in the base of your throat. 

“My, my, Johnny,” you draw out, leaning closer as he sends sharp glances. “I’m impressed, who knew you had that in you?”

“Stop it,” he ends the subject, voice fast and firm.

“And here I thought you’d be a bad kisser. Very attentive to a woman’s needs.” You smirk, slinking past him and muttering in his ear, “Gold star for you, Mr. MacTavish.”

“Get the door open before I change my mind!” He snaps, but you aren’t put off by the darkness of his eyes.

You raise your hands, tossing a look over your shoulder.

“How did I know you’d be so pushy?” The man’s jaw moves as it clenches, nose twitching. He runs a hand over the back of his neck and glares.

You kneel, opening your purse and snickering as you grasp the picks and twirl them between your fingers. They were metal—long and bent to be inserted into the lock and manipulated until you found the correct sequence of pins inside of the mechanism. Inserting the first pick, you take and turn the knob slightly to the left, keeping it like that as you hurriedly insert the second.

“Ten seconds,” Johnny utters, watching closely as his anger simmers down to annoyance with you. Yet, he can’t deny that he liked that kiss, either. “Bastard has a lot to hide.”

You hum under your breath, face close to the door and ear twitching with each click. “Not for long.”

White pearls glimmer in your mind. 

Feeling around, the pressure from one pin to another is easily definable to you—years of practice moving from brain to brawn flooding out. With every bit of loose metal identified, the handle is moved by the first pin to keep them from slipping back down. 

“Five seconds,” the man behind you forces out, looking back from you to the hallway, anxious about getting caught. 

“Do shut up,” you sigh harshly, head tilting. “Stop breathing down my neck and make yourself useful.”

“Doing what,” he grunts, blues getting stuck at the back of your scalp.

“Hand near the door,” your voice is easily forced to sound hurried. “You need to push it open, shoulder and all.”

“When?” He barks, already rushing to hover his large limb over your head. You finally get the small snap of all of the pins in place, a click of achievement. 

Your heart skips a beat, yet you say casually, “Now.” 

He nearly barrels it down, and your eyes widen as he moves through with the force of a bull, your left-behind form kneeling as the man’s shadow dashes. You blink a few times, brows pulling in with distaste.

While you should have been happy, all you do is stare with a raised brow at Johnny as he stops the inside handle from making a dent in the wall, head on a swivel.

“I said to push it open, MacTavish,” you grunt, standing. “Not bring it down, you idiot.”

He turns as you fix your clothes, taking out your compact mirror once more and running your hands along your neck; slinking into the office. Johnny huffs, rolling his eyes. 

“Forgive me, Cerise, if I didn’t want the entire bloody party comin’ to me.”

You wondered if now was a good time to tell him you lied about the alarm but decided it was better to hold off until you had your prize. The less he knew, the better.

“Yes, yes,” your voice is low, “are you going to tell me what you want with this place or am I going to be left in a well of intrigue?”

“You’re not gettin’ a peep out of me, Dearie,” he levels looking around slowly—always keeping an eye on you. Johnny doesn’t trust you, but, hell, you don’t trust him.

Shrouded in mystery. 

You shut the door behind you, gazing with glee at the expensive decor and knick-knacks. Was that a gold statue of a deer, you spied? Oh, that would fit just perfectly on your foyer’s side table. Pity you can’t just carry it out of here. 

“Such a tease,” you hum, sauntering like a fox over the hardwood. “But I have to admit, John, I don’t care a large deal. You’re not important to me.”

“Likewise, Thief,” he grumbles, eyeing the way your hips sway with every step. 

There’s the click of a safety going off, and before your fingers can card along the glass case set into the side wall, keeping velvet boxes in their clutch, you freeze. The door’s lock is reinstated. 

Eyes still, you stare at Johnny’s reflection in the glass, heart slightly pounding faster. His face is staring, lips pulling into a smirk. 

“As much as I’m just loving our little session, Ma’am, I just need you to understand something, yeah?” 

You don’t speak, don’t blink. You hate to admit it, but you feel a droplet of unease as it enters your bloodstream. Had he had a gun this entire time? Your eyes find it now, an M9 hanging from his right hand. It’s black body and the long silencer, an image of death if you’ve ever seen one. You’re not new to guns—no, no, not with how you’ve chosen to live your life; the world you’ve taken by the throat and throttled. But getting threatened with one never became easier.

“I think I understand just fine,” you say, smoother than you feel. Shifting your head, you look over your shoulder, raising a brow. “I have business to attend to, MacTavish. I suggest you do the same.”

“I can’t have witnesses,” you laugh, shrugging. Your hands go to the clasp of the glass cabinet, flicking it to the side with a slide of cold metal.

“And I can’t go without these pearls, do you expect me to care about what you can or can’t have? My needs outweigh yours.”

A low rumble. Johnny’s hips shift weight, and that gun still hasn’t risen from the side. He wasn’t going to shoot you, though you recognize that it may be a bit of a shock to him as well as to yourself. 

“I very much doubt that,” enters the air with an accented drawl.

“Doubt it, then,” your bluntness is cold and precise, attention already taken as you move to grasp one of the jewelry boxes, pushing the top open with a squeak of the tiny hinge. A silver sigil ring meets you, and your lips twitch at its shimmering material. “Just stay out of my way.” 

“Bloody fuckin’ bastard,” the Scot utters under his breath, shaking his head harshly before his feet take him to the desk set near the back. He allows you to stuff your purse to your fancy, even as his mind screams at him to just put a bullet in you and end this—there wasn’t time for games. Certainly not ones played with a damn fox like you. 

The memory of the kiss still sears the man’s brain, until Johnny thinks of every interaction you two had had over this fast-paced and stressful night. 

But now it was time to hone in. Clean-up later. 

“Price, I’m in the office,” Soap mumbles through the line, clicking his earpiece back.

“Good,” the reply is swift. Johnny ignores your small intrigued look, not commenting on the amount of valuables you suddenly have bulging out of your purse. Like a kid in a candy store. The sight is almost enough to make him smirk at you. “Insert the USB and let it do its work. Should take a few minutes—hunker down and assess the exits. There are three floor-length windows behind the curtains; if it comes to it, break through and drop into the pool below.”

“Swimming lesson?” Soap jokes, patting his inner jacket pocket and producing a small black USB stick. 

“Eager, are you, Sergeant?”

“Not particularly, Sir.” 

“Coulda fooled me,” Ghost joins on, dry response adding to the choir of strange humor.

Johnny’s fingers move to plug the USB into the port, hearing the click of it inserting and stepping back as lines of code jump across the now illuminated screen—files pop up and disappear just as quickly, and the blinking light on the stick tells him all he needs to know about if it’s working or not.

“Johnny,” Simon pipes back in, and the man shifts his body to the side, hand coming up to his earpiece on reflex. 

“What is it, Lt?”

Across the way, your eyes glint.

Lieutenant? So the man’s military? Jesus, that changes things. I thought he was just some guy trying to get dirt on someone he disliked. Business partner, maybe. But military?

Your shoulders get a bit more tense, but it doesn’t stop your fingers from brushing your real prize—the last box inside of the case; red leather. It was all but calling your name like a veiled ghost of lust.

“Got a hit for a file with an Unknown, alias ‘Cerise.’ Laswell dug through the records.”

“Do you?” Johnny licks his lips, feet backing up a step and swinging his weapon. “Lay it on me, then.”

“Not much to relay—multi-year investigation, borders on some of their top classified cases for untouched HVTs. Don’t even have a description. String of high-caliber thefts, blackmail, extortions, and suspected of multiple murders to end it all off. Woman’s been busy.”

“Well,” Soap draws, tilting his head with raised brows. “Isn’t that just lovely?”

But the last part stuck with the Sergeant—murders? Call him naive, but you didn’t seem the type for that.

Blue eyes linger on you, slipping up and down with a twitch in their lids. He sees your face light up as you pop open a jewelry case; lips peeling in a violent smile as the round bodies of elegant and expensive pearls meet the light. Hell, Soap nearly hears you squeal. 

Murder? But he knows that looks are deceiving. 

He addresses Price, peeling his eyes away and taking a long breath. “Any advice, Captain?”

“She’s not the mission. Get what we need and get out.” It wasn’t shocking. 

“And Gaz?” 

“Still on overwatch—getting antsy. Says there are more security patrols in the gardens but they haven’t done anything more than speak to an old man.” 

Johnny blinks. “Say again, Sir?”

“Old man,” Price repeats. “Have him out by the gardens, moving about; asking questions.” A pause. “Why?”

“We might have a problem,” Soap growls, and not a second later there’s news being relayed. 

“They’re moving up the stairs into the mansion, Soap.”

“Fuck me,” the Sergeant snaps, rushing to pull at the curtains behind him, seeing the pool far below—it would take a bit of a jump to land a safe distance from the concrete, but there were limited options. 

Making out in a hallway pretending to be horny partygoers wouldn’t fix this.

You glance over at the ruckus, in the middle of clipping your prized necklace over your flesh, feeling the weight of it against your collarbone. The sensation of pleasure was so overwhelming your gut swirled with achievement like a storm at sea. 

It was perfect. 

Staring long at yourself in the glass reflection, your smile is wide and sharp—uncaring to the Scot’s sudden anxieties. You had your pearls and a few extra treasures, that was all that mattered to you. All that was left was your escape. Taking your phone out of your stuffed purse, you text Buck and tell him you’re ready for a pick-up and to park a little way down the street.

‘Need to walk the drinks off a little bit,’ is what you type, before hitting a firm send with a smirk.

Moving backward, Johnny still speaks hurriedly into the earpiece you had deduced that he has, and has probably had since the evening began. Fast-clipped sentences, and glances to the whirring computer, the USB stick you see inserted into its body. Your curiosity has always been your downfall, but you weren’t about to mess with whatever heist this was; especially involving the military and their forces. 

That was a cat you didn’t want to drag out of the bag. 

Making your way to the door, your hand is just about to grasp at it when you full-stop. Blinking slowly, your head tilts, your ear twitching to hear the muttering from beyond the barrier. With a moment of understanding brewing, a hand lands on the back of your neck and yanks you back, dragging you like a toddler for the second time tonight

Before you can shout at the brutish man, a hand is once more over your mouth, and a voice in your ear. Was this really the only way he could figure out how to keep you quiet?

“No speaking—you’ll just give away our position.”

You glare, unimpressed, until he releases you—blue eyes firmly leveled on your face in order. 

“Keep it shut,” he harshly whispers. As your mouth opens, he raises a finger and clicks his tongue, moving away quickly as you stare past in insult. Jaw loose, your eyes glint with hatred, growl in your throat as you turn after him. 

“I’m not fucking three, you asshat!” You exclaim under your breath. “I bet I’ve gotten out of more situations like this than you have. And would you quit dragging me everywhere?!”

The handle across the way is jiggled, Johnny glancing at the computer screen in desperation. It wasn’t done yet. He scoffs, face twisting. 

“Debatable.” You vehemently roll your eyes, looking around the room. This wasn’t exactly good—but it wasn’t unsalvageable. Looking at the woodgrain of the door like a plotting snake, you decide you could always play it off as one of Vicor’s multiple affair partners. He had scores, no way the man could remember them all. Tell security that he’d invited you here to discuss child support or hush money; that had to be fair play. 

You hum under your breath, sighing. How would you explain Johnny? A lover? Bodyguard? Your mind runs through scenario after scenario, until a large knife is shoved right in front of your face. You balk back with a choking sound, startled like a bird on a line.

“Take this before I change my mind,” Johnny grunts, grasping at his gun firmly. 

Your eyes stare with a sneer at the combat knife, which wiggles as the man’s hand shakes it impatiently. 

“I’m not taking that—are you mad?” 

Soap’s face is as stubborn as stone. “I’m not leaving without my intel, and neither are you.” A look is thrown up and down your body which makes you straighten, heels situating themselves below you. “You wanted to be here, Dearie, so you can’t back out now, can you?” 

“If I was here alone, none of this would have gone wrong,” you get into his face, eyes deadly. The door shakes as someone runs a shoulder into it—loud shouting from the hallway. 

“You’re a vain little minx that plays mind games because she thinks it’s fun,” Johnny hisses, breath atop of yours and eyes unblinking. “Mind yourself, you hear? This is bigger than a necklace, you vain creature.”

You huff. “It’s funny you think I care.”

“Little—” The computer beeps, and Johnny’s head whips back around as the frame of the door begins to crack.

The USB’s light glints a steady green, and then goes off, just as the computer screen blackens.

“Price!” Soap barks. “USB is done uploading, I need intel from Gaz, now!”

“Everything below the window is clear, Sergeant—get out!

“I need something to protect the damn thing from the water,” the man is already moving back, gun clattering to the desk as he opens drawer after drawer for anything—even just a little bag of—

“Holy shit,” you laugh, picking up something that had fallen to the floor in Johnny’s rabid search. “Victor was getting up to it.”

Cocaine baggie—the Sergeant snatches it from you. 

“Woah,” you huff. “Wasn’t aware you had an affinity.”

“I am beggin’ you to keep your trap shut.”

“Ooo,” you smirk, eyes shimmering. “I like that.”

Johnny seethes like a dog, looking at you as he dumps out the drug and rips the USB out, shoving it inside as white powder hits his dress shoes. From there, the thing gets shoved into his pocket with a heavy hand.

“Come here,” he takes you by the arm, pulling. With his other, he grasps his M9 once more. Your annoyingly smooth voice in his ear is a constant knife right to his brain. 

“Of course, Handsome.”

“Sergeant, for the love of God, tell me that Cerise isn’t in that room with you.” Price’s voice interrupts the two dogs at each other's throats, baring their fangs with sharp intentions.

Soap tilts his head harshly, moving to the window with you beside him. For whatever reason, he fights his senses to leave you here to be caught. 

“Then I won’t tell you, Sir.”

“Fucking hell, Soap.” The Scot huffs, smirk at his lips. 

“In a worse way because of it, too.” His hand tightens on your arm and you only chuckle, fingers to your mouth as heat moves up Johnny’s neck. He clears his throat, looking away, muttering to his Captain. “Won’t bloody leave me alone.”

“Awe,” your free hand captures his bicep, running up the fabric of his suit jacket. “I’d never leave you alone, Baby.” 

Soap suppresses a whole-body shiver, your heated kiss still strangling him every second he gets a whiff of your perfume. His feelings towards you were strange; potent like a snake to a mouse. 

The worst part was that he didn’t know who was who in this equation.

Releasing you, your body jostles at the sudden lack of a brace, but you recover with a laugh and a raise of your brow. 

Johnny takes his gun and sends four rounds into the glass.

Yelping, your hands go to your head, covering your ears and slightly ducking. 

“Time to go, Sunshine!” Your waist is gripped, legs jerked up with a grunt. All at once your eyes widen, your brain understanding the total lunacy that’s about to take place.

“Wait!” You shout just as the front door is busted down. “I’m wearing tangerine quartz—i-it can’t get wet!”

He’s already in mid-air, a smirk on his face, peeling back the stubble on his cheeks as his body crashes through the broken glass.

There’s the sensation of flying, briefly experiencing what a bird lives before gravity takes over, stealing you just as it does your stomach. You yell sharply, but that’s all you get above Johnny’s heavy chuckle before water enshrouds you both. It sloshes over your head, and takes you down into its depths; chlorine makes your eyes burn before you snap them shut.

You’re taken by the first thing that strikes you as your waist is pulled back to the surface—Johnny hiking you upward with your back to his chest. 

Who keeps water in the pool this late into autumn?

Gasping as your head breaks out of the water again, your nails dig into Soap’s wrist, loud commotion from far above, and the screaming of orders. 

A bullet whizzes past your face. 

“I’m going to need Gaz on this!” Johnny shouts, unwilling to let you go as his legs begin kicking, water running through his hair and flowing off of his nose.

There’s a muffled call before one of the security guards from the office window is struck in the head, a spray of red popping from the burst container of his skull—body slumping out of the hole. He hits the ground with a slapping crunch as you pant on fast breaths. 

Getting forced back along with Johnny, you curse in the open air at the sight, eyes wide as your dress is utterly ruined by the pool. 

You’re tossed upward, body grunting and skidding along the concrete as your palms slap the ground. Scrambling up, Johnny pivots with you behind him, taking his M9 and leveling it up, firing off a few rounds before the sound of your rushing heels strikes him. 

Soap calls to you, but you’re already speeding away to the tree line, water leaving a long trail as you sprint to the best of your ability. The pearls around your neck glimmer, slapping against your flesh.

“What the fuck,” you gasp, heart rushing like a lion. “What the fuck!”

Grass moves near your feet, the estate slashing by—gunshots still echo, those loud booms moving over the night; you even hear the loud panic of the party, beginning to understand what they’re hearing. 

Stumbling on a rock, your palms skin themselves along the ground, but you don’t wait to think about the sting. You push back up and keep running.

“Cerise!” Soap barks, running after, looking over his shoulder as his earpiece is full of loud orders. 

A hand swipes at the back of your arm and misses as you pivot and grasp your purse strap, swinging it around until it slams into Johnny’s head. 

“Fucking hell!” He snarls, hand raising to shield himself as you do it again. 

“You’re crazy!” You yell, mind stuck on blood and bursting heads. Your purse is in the air, swinging from your raised hand; feet still backing up from the bulky form. 

Blue eyes blink at you, occupied with both looking behind for pursuers and shots as you both move into the trees rapidly, circling one another even while escaping. “You’re shooting people?!”

“It’s my mission!” Johnny shoves out, jerking out a hand. “We need to leave—now!” 

“I’m not going anywhere with you!” You yell, looking him up and down, backing up, and bringing your purse close to your chest. 

Both of your eyes lock in a battle. 

“Bonnie,” the man levels, “You’re not staying here with them—they’ve seen your face.”

“I like my chances better when I’m alone,” you swallow down your tone, evening it out to emanate the confidence that you always try to carry like a sword. You’re not going with Johnny—not now. Now you had to go through aliases; move again—run like a petty criminal. You had to hide your valuables and get your finances together.

Staring, you pant, water dripping from your nose. 

You needed to disappear again. 

“Don’t be a bloody fool,” Johnny hisses, moving closer. “C’mon, we need to leave.”

“You’re right we do—go, then.” It’s final. “I’m not following you anywhere,” your eyes darted his form, remembering how his weight had pressed you into your wall. “Enjoy your intel, Mr. MacTavish, but I have my own affairs to deal with.” 

You slip your purse strap over your body and unclip your heels, dangling them by your finger as you stand back to full height with a deep breath. You’re scared now—nervous. Being around guns was one thing, but watching someone get shot was another. 

No one was supposed to die tonight; you’re shaken.

“Cerise,” Soap opens his mouth, annoyance in his veins. But he looks into your eyes and pauses, seeing the fidgeting, the flightiness. The man stills, glancing at your visible heartbeat, gobsmacked. 

You were afraid. The woman who’d smirked when he’d pushed her into a wall—the woman who had no terror of getting caught. Afraid of him.

He backs up a step raising his hand. 

“Hey,” Johnny eases, lowering his tone. You don’t change your attitude.

“No, MacTavish,” you clench your jaw. “This is where our game ends. For good.”

Eyes lock; stare. They dig and they stay still, night aflame with chaos. The game had been fun, but, Soap knew the truth about this as well as you did. It was felt in the very air along the vibrations. He can’t drag you along back to the Exfil point—it would bring nothing of it but wasted time and energy. There wasn’t any time, and even as his instincts told him to level the barrel of his weapon with your skull…he couldn't do that.

He had to let you go.

There aren’t any words spoken; none said in parting or goodbye—in all accounts, the two of you don’t even know if you like one another. Both of you would aggressively deny any such thing, even if the pair of you were absorbed in how one another feels rubbing your hands along clothes. That dig; that pull.

In the end, you turn, and you disappear into the trees, rushing to circle back to the front of the property where Buck will be waiting down the road. Your heart patters, your jewelry bouncing, and your purse full of your stolen quarry.

In the end, blue eyes watch you for a long moment.

And then Johnny backs into the shadows of night, and neither of you seemed to have ever existed at all.

TAGS:

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[pettydollie]

thinking about bakugou with a wife who has “too many” pets..

just to be clear, you have 5 fur babies. two puppies, two kitties, and a bunny. your first puppy is a brown poodle named Lady like from lady and the tramp bc she kinda resembles her (except she’s much more poofy). her second puppy is Sprinkle. sprinkle is a lil maltese and he’s pretty small. next, her cat Dolly is a persian white kitty who always has pink bows in her hair. she’s kind of sassy tbh, but she probably gets it from her daddy. second cat is a full brown white cat named Bubba. he’s a very sleepy baby. finally, you have a light brown bunny named mocha.

all of your girls have cute pink bows on their fur and gosh, you have too many pictures of them looking adorable

fyi, katsuki thinks your names for them are absurd and extremely silly, but he doesn’t mind. he thinks it’s cute.

this man will wake up in the morning with both of your puppies jumping all over your shared bed and you’re wide awake, laughing and playing with them. katsuki snarls and hides under the covers, trying to go back to sleep. until he heard you gasp.

you immediately get out of bed and katsuki sits up, extremely worried. his face frowns as he sees dog urine on his sheets. “what the fuc..” he rubs his eye aggressively and watches as you take both puppies off the bed. “he’s not potty trained yet.. sorry honey.”

he rolls his eyes and shrugs. “t’s alright.”

when you’re around the kids pets, he’ll pretend like he doesn’t have a favorite. just to show consideration. but he absolutely loves your oldest, bubba the cat. he’s just so sleepy and cuddly and soft and it makes him so happy. he’s also quiet compared to your other cat, dolly. katsuki likes to joke that bubba has manners and dolly is a spoiled little girl.

one day, the two of you are shopping at PetCo for food, a new water bowl, etc just supplies. when you wander off and find an adorable white and black bunny. katsuki eventually finds you and he’s like “oh hell no.” he shakes his head. “no more kids, you have enough.” he firmly states, folding his arms and raising a brow. you hold your hands together, feeling an overwhelming excitement. “but- she’s sooo pretty!! plus, mocha needs a friend.” you turn to face katsuki with pleading eyes. you place your hand gently on the cage for dramatic affect

katsuki sighs and gives in, walking away to find an employee. you clap your hands in joy and begin brainstorming a name

when you two get home, you’re excitedly holding your newest babie. you lightly run to your bunny’s cage and show her who you’re holding as katsuki locks the door. “look, mocha!! i got you a friend today.”

so that leaves you two with 6 kids to raise

[fabricated-misslieness]

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: alhaitham x gn reader

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: alhaitham answers a seamingly meaningless question while cuddling with you

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 562

ᴍᴀʏʙ'ꜱ ɴᴏᴛᴇ: that this is the second time the reader is akin to a cat in an alhaitham fic is pure coincidence I swear. No beef vs dogs

"What animal would you be?"

Kaveh had asked this on a stray night, a couple drinks in, buzzed and free but not sobbing-drunk as he always is. He had meant it as an innocent question, a fun fact, and said that he would love to be a lion, coincidentally his Darshan's insignia, because they looked cool—well, he listed a lot more reasons, but that's what it boiled down to.

Alhaitham that same night said it was meaningless to answer. It's not like one would be able to achieve such a thing–morphing into an animal–anyway. Thus, he did not answer, and neither had you at the time, since conversation had moved on quickly after Alhaitham had shut his former roommate down.

However, despite his claims of it being meaningless, it seems to have stuck to his mind. He finds himself pondering the question whenever his mind drifts off work, which is a rare occurrence in itself, since he is a very focused individual.

Would he be a dog? Absolutely not. A crow? No, he didn't much care for shiny things. On the broader spectrum, a solitary animal? No, he had you.

The question, after everything, proved to be quite challenging.

The answer finally comes to him on an empty weekend afternoon which he's got no choice but to fill with physical contact from his undoubted "love of my life"—he says it that way, but he's got plenty choice and he chooses without hesitation.

Alhaitham's holding you, and you are merely enjoying your time together, when he says, "I think I'd be a cat."

Quickly recalling the conversation, you perk up to follow up, "Yeah? How so?"

"They're solitary beings, to a point, both enjoying alone time and company." He nods to himself, "They have fine taste, unlike dogs, they groom themselves and display a sense of discipline regarding so. Plus, if I really was a cat, I would have nothing to do around the house except lounge around. I wouldn't have any work to do, which is always a plus."

"To be fair, Haitham," You snicker in return, "if you were any animal, you wouldn't have to work."

"I meant that as a cat, you don't even have the burden of "tricks" automatically placed on you." Of course he thought it through.

"Guess you're right." You snuggle closer to his chest, and he thinks that's that.

But then you're perking up again, pulling away from his tight embrace, turning it loose as you meet his eyes. "I think I would be a cat too."

"Oh, yeah?" He shifts too, interestedly.

"I'd get to show you my love that way." You grin up at him, and he can't help but to smile back, despite the lack of elaboration so far. "Cats kiss each other by licking, I think, and they cuddle all the time. Could you imagine laying under a stray ray of sun, together?"

Strangely enough, he can.

There's the warmth of the summer, or of heat in the winter, on his fur, hot but pleasant, and he's got yet another source of heat between his paws, so to speak. He can also imagine himself with a nice black coat, and you with an orange one. It's a nice thought, oddly domestic.

"Yeah." He hugs you closer, the thought freshly laid to rest behind his closed eyelids, and you can tell he's satisfied.

Finally, that's that.

[makeitmingi]

The Cat and Dog Game [Chapter 30]

Genre: Romance, Fluff, Comedy

Pairing: Yunho x Reader (y/n)

Characters: Chef!Reader, RestaurantOwner!Yunho, MaitreD!Hongjoong, Waiter!Yeosang, Waiter!San, Waiter!Mingi, SousChef!Seonghwa, SousChef!Wooyoung, PrepChef!Jongho

Summary: Yunho's dream was to open and run his own restaurant. But he doesn't know anything when it comes to cooking. Until you came along and accepted the job, bringing with you a small crew. How will the black cat tame the energetic golden retriever?

Word count: 3.2K

"Uncle Junghyun? What are you doing here?" You blinked in surprise, seeing the older male. The male looked up at you, standing up and hugging you. It took you a while to process that he was actually here before you hugged him back.

"You probably thought I was your dad, huh?" He elbowed you teasingly. You rolled your eyes.

"Dad will not come here without making a scene. Plus, he doesn't have the patience like yours to sit here and wait for me to be done with the morning shift." You scoffed.

"I hope you've had a snack." You raised an eyebrow as you took the seat across the table from him.

"Of course. I got a jam pastry. I knew you were the one who made it. And might I say, it is delicious." He chuckled.

"How did you know I made it?"

"It was one of your mother's favourite pastries. Of course, you would have her recipe in making it." He said. This brought you back to the conversation you had with your father last night.

"So, what did the old man do to make you leave without a goodbye last night?" He asked as you took the seat across the table.

"It's nothing. He just... was being dad... You know how he is." You looked away. How could you bring it up? There was nothing to bring up except for the fact that your father was bad in dealing with situations and that it was the first time you were hearing there were rumours you weren't your father's biological child.

"Hmm, secretive as ever." He smirked.

"Not that, I just don't think it's worth wasting time over. Every time I'm with him, we argue and fight. It's the same old story, we get under each other's skin." You sighed.

"I get it. Alright, let's talk about something else then." He said, eyes shifting to look at something else. You tilted your head in confusion.

"The tall one at the cashier, he's the one?" He asked, sipping the remainder of his coffee.

"How'd you know?" Your eyes widened, turning around to see Yunho standing by the counter. He was a bad actor, it was obviously he was trying to busy himself with something else.

"He was oddly defensive when I said I was a family member looking for you. And when I sat here, he kept glancing over with a mix of worry and curiosity. I have to say, he isn't very subtle with his spying." Your uncle chuckled.

"Uncle..."

"Don't worry, I won't mention him to your dad. Besides, your dad and I aren't as close as you think anymore." He said.

Yunho watched curiously. Seeing your relaxed form as you spoke to the man, he figured that he wasn't your father. After finishing the dinner preparation, Seonghwa came out.

"Oh, it's uncle Junghyun." He sighed in relief.

"That's her uncle?" Yunho turned to the oldest. Seonghwa nodded his head.

"Not blood related. But he's close with her dad, known each other since they were kids. They've been business partners since forever so (y/n) grew up seeing him often." Seonghwa explained.

"Oh, no wonder he's dressed so... nicely? I'm just glad that isn't her father or I may have to escort him out of here." Yunho tilted his head as he tried to describe the way your uncle was dressed. Seonghwa laughed and nodded his head in agreement. Suddenly, you stood up and waved Yunho over.

"Me?" He pointed at himself, surely you meant Seonghwa. But you nodded in confirmation and Yunho headed over.

"Nice to meet you, I'm Jeong Yunho." He was quick to introduce himself without you saying anything, giving a deep, respectfuly bow as he held the man's hand with two hands.

"Relax, son. I'm Junghyun, (y/n)'s uncle." Junghyun chuckled.

"Right, since he introduced himself already. Yes, boyfriend, uncle." You gestured to each other.

Yunho's eyes widened and his ears turned bright red, this was the first time you directly called him the title of 'boyfriend' and it was to introduce him to someone else.

"Are you okay?" You turned to him, seeing him frozen.

"Y-Yeah." He rubbed the back of his neck. Junghyun let out an amused chuckle at Yunho's behaviour. Upon checking his watch, he stood up.

"I'll see you around, kiddo. Treat your boyfriend well." He hugged you, patting your head.

"I do treat him well. And every time you say you'll see me around, you never come visit. Then you suddenly appear like 2 years later. " You rolled your eyes but both males with you could tell that you were seriously disappointed.

"I'll try my best to come back more. But you're good on your own, I'm sure Yunho here will be of better support to you than I am." He gave you a fatherly smile.

"Yes, I'll always be with her." Yunho promised.

"That's not the point and you know it..." You mumbled. Junghyun smiled and cast a wave to Seonghwa before leaving.

With that, you and Yunho went to the kitchen to have more privacy. You were scheduled to leave to rest for the afternoon and Seonghwa was waiting for you to drive you home.

"I'll call you." Yunho said, hugging you in the locker room. You nodded and gave him a quick peck on the cheek.

"Rest up." You squeezed his hand before taking your things and leaving with Seonghwa.

"Nap time!" You declared, making Seonghwa wince at your shout. He rolled his eyes and drove back to your house. You didn't expect Jongho and Wooyoung to be there. But now that you thought about it, it had been a while since they've been over. Even if it was only for a few hours.

You showered in your own shower, which Jongho used after. He snuck in, leaving Seonghwa and Wooyoung to argue over who uses the guest bathroom first.

"I won~" Wooyoung said as he dove under the covers beside you, knowing he was taking Seonghwa's spot.

"Who is this?" He lifted the stuffed toy.

"That's Yuyu, the golden retriever..." You coughed as you ended your sentence, looking away in slight embarrassment. While Wooyoung snickered, you snatched Yuyu and Yunnie away from him.

"Go sleep in the guest room." You rolled your eyes. Wooyoung shook his head like a small child.

"I highly doubt Seonghwa hyung will let you take his spot." Jongho said as he emerged from the bathroom, drying his hair.

"He snoozes, he loses." Wooyoung stuck his tongue out childishly. As if he heard the whole conversation, Seonghwa appeared at the door way with an eyebrow raised. He silently challenged Wooyoung. No one takes his spot.

"You can sleep on her other side." Wooyoung protested.

"Goodnight." Jongho patted your head and went to the guestroom, not wanting to waste time hearing Wooyoung whine to Seonghwa. He just wanted to sleep.

"You sleep on her other side. Better yet, sleep in the other room." Seonghwa said, grabbing Wooyoung's calf and pulling him out of bed.

"Yah~" Wooyoung whined from his spot on the floor. But Seonghwa couldn't care less, getting under the covers and fluffing his pillow.

"There's space in the guest room and the couch. Why do you guys insist on squeezing here?" You chuckled.

"I've been here since the start. I don't know about him." Seonghwa nodded over to Wooyoung. But Wooyoung was determined, he went to your other side, making you scooch to the middle of the bed, all the while holding Yuyu and Yunnie in your arms. He grinned and snuggled into your back.

"Set an alarm, please." You said to Seonghwa before closing your eyes to sleep.

But after sleeping in the middle of them, you couldn't stretch properly so you grabbed the two stuffed animals with you and retreated to the guest room to sleep with Jongho.

"Took you long enough." Jongho mumbled.

"Had to wait for them to fall asleep, didn't even flinch when I got up..." You murmured back.

"Mmm, get some rest." He patted your hip before pulling the blanket up to cover your properly and going back to sleep as well. You hummed, slowly falling asleep.

By the time you woke up, you had time to have a call with Yunho. You couldn't stay asleep long so you spent whatever time you had alone talking to him. Of course, you insisted that Yunho should use the time to sleep but he'd much rather talk to you.

"I'm fine, Yunho. I am glad that you got to meet my uncle Junghyun though, and vice versa. He's such a father figure in my life." You said to him, pacing up and down with the phone pressed to your ear.

"I'm glad I got to meet him too. He seems nice and really cares for you. You grew up with him?"

"I did. He was always around when I was younger, knew the whole family. He would let me get away with a lot more than my dad." You chuckled.

"But he doesn't stay in Korea?"

"Yeah, he travels a lot since he decided to settle down in that sort of business. Always meeting clients." You said.

"So he doesn't work with your father anymore? He seemed to not speak well of your father too, even if they are best friends."

"They don't work together anymore but I guess they're still friends. I don't know how he ever put up with my father... That's what I fought with my father at the gala the other night. He was being all accusatory towards my uncle. I guess that's why he stayed away and doesn't visit as often." You sighed.

"I'm sorry, (y/n). I can tell that you were really close with your uncle. No matter what, your father shouldn't have let his own feelings break that bond you had..."

"It is what it is. Uncle Junghyun never addressed it to me either so I have no choice but to let it go." You sat down on the couch.

"I know it's easier said than done."

"Yeah. Are you sure you don't want to get some sleep, Yunho? You clocked in early with me this morning. Even if you don't want to sleep, I hope you're lying down." You said.

"Don't worry about me, (y/n). Remeber, I have infinite golden retriever energy? But just so you don't fret, I am lying down now."

"That's good." You smiled to yourself. You could just imagine the big grin on his face.

"I know this is coming up all of a sudden but I realised you have not visited my place before. Would you like to stay over tomorrow night? After work. We can go in for tomorrow's morning on Monday then go for a date after."

"Wow, an invite to stay over already? That's fast and I haven't even seen the place yet." You teased him. As expected, Yunho grew flustered, stuttering nervously.

"Y-You don't have to! I-I know we just established things... s-so we can just... not..."

"I'm kidding, Yunho. Sure, I'd love to stay over if you would have me. You sound like you have a date planned already?" You laughed.

"You're always teasing me and making fun of me... But yes, I did already plan a date but it's a surprise. I'm making the reservations now as we speak."

"Can't wait." You smiled, knowing he was probably pouting on the other side as your tease.

"Me too. I'll see you tonight?"

"Yeah. I'll see you later. Goodbye, Yunho." You wished and hung up. Seonghwa came out, half asleep. His eyes fell on you and a small smile appeared on his face as he shuffled over, laying his head in your lap while his legs stretched over the arm rest. Your fingers raked through his hair, making him yawn.

"When did you move to Jongho's bed?" He asked sleepily.

"Shortly after you and Wooyoung fell asleep. You two were smothering me. My bed isn't that big, you know?" You scoffed, while typing on your phone.

"Were you talking to Yunho on the phone?" He asked another question. You hummed in reply.

"I couldn't stay asleep. Plus, I told him he could call me. I told him a little about uncle Junghyun and my dad." You informed.

"How did that go?" He closed his eyes to snooze for a little longer but was still listening to you. You paused for a second, your hand stopping on his temple.

"It was okay. He was accepting, of course. Patient... He listened... Understood me... Didn't push me to share more when I stopped." You tried to piece your thoughts together. You felt Seonghwa nod against your thigh.

"Is it normal? Not the fear but... some daunting feeling." You asked with a soft sigh.

"Oh, sweetheart. It's completely normal." Seonghwa said, his hand resting on your knee, his thumb caressing the skin softly.

"Done with the bathroom, hyung. You can go get ready." Wooyoung yawned as he came out, dressed in his outside clothes for the night. Jongho came out too, dressed and ready.

"Oh, that reminds me. I need to get some sourdough starter for the fish tonight." You went to the kitchen. Jongho helped you pack what you needed.

"Anything else we need?" Wooyoung asked.

"Can you get a pack of cloth gloves? They should be in the store. We need to prepare the sea urchin for our pasta sauce." You instructed.

While waiting for Seonghwa to come out, you went to change, leaving Jongho and Wooyoung to pack anything else you might need to cook for the dinner service. After that, you poured cold coffees for all 3 of you, setting aside a strawberry yoghurt drink for Seonghwa, his favourite.

"Alright, let's go." Seonghwa and you came out of the room. You rode with Wooyoung while Jongho and Seonghwa rode together. You sent Yunho a text, letting him know you just arrived for dinner prep.

"Texting the boyfriend?" Wooyoung asked.

"Shut up..." You mumbled, locking your phone and tucking it into your pocket. You both unloaded the items and brought them into the kitchen.

"Let's get started team." You said to the 4 and began immediately. As always, you had your written list pinned on the wall.

"Who is starting the stifado (Greek beef stew with red wine, tomatoes and pearl onions)?" You asked. Jongho raised his hand.

"I'll need someone on the live station for the sea urchin pasta later." You called out. Seonghwa raised his hand, taking responsibility for the pasta that will be cooked to order. It was bucatini, tossed in a sea urchin sauce with salted pollack roe and gochujang oil.

"Starting on the braised pork shoulder!" Wooyoung informed without you needing to ask who was going to do it.

His dish was a wine and pomegranate molasses braised pork shoulder, cooked with sweet potatoes, chestnuts and carrots. It will be sliced and served with the reduced braising liquid.

"Since I'll be on live station, let me start on dessert and let that rest." Seonghwa said.

"I will be doing the fish dish for today." You said, going to the kitchen to get the tomatoes for your sauce.

Your dish was a thin layer of sourdough starter as the coating around the fish fillets, lightly pan frying it and finishing with butter. Serving that with charred red bell peppers and a crushed tomato sauce.

"So, you're not going to pane the fish?" Seonghwa asked.

"Not exactly. My plan is to dip it into the starter like a wet batter but keep it thin. I just want a slight texture, nothing too crunchy like breadcrumbs. And I want that tangy flavour to come through." You said, crushing the tomatoes with your hands in a bowl for the sauce that you were making.

[A/N: I actually had a dish like this the other day and it was so good. I knew I had to put it in here.]

"While that is going, I'm going to start filleting my fish." You cleared your station and set up the area. You grabbed your filleting knife and kept the bin nearby to keep it as clean as possible.

"My stew is simmering. Can I help?" Jongho came over. You nodded and he set up beside you.

"Bones in here. I'm gonna keep them for a stock." You informed.

"Sure." He hummed and began filleting the fishes with you. You all worked on your own tasks, helping each other whenever there was an available window.

"Good evening." You were so focused on plating up the first sample of your dish that you didn't hear Yunho come in.

"She's in the zone. She can't hear you." Seonghwa said to Yunho.

"It's alright. I won't bother her then." The taller male smiled, nodding his head understandingly. He proceeded out to the front, he could always say hi to you later. He didn't want to take your attention away or break your focus.

"Yunho? Sorry, I didn't notice you came in." You sighed as you came out. Yunho turned around, a smile appearing on his face as he saw you approach him.

"Mm-mm, don't apologise." He wrapped his arms around you, engulfing you in a big puppy hug.

"Did you rest?" You asked, words muffled with the way you were pressed against his shoulder. He nodded with a hum.

"I hope you did too." He kissed your head while you tip toed to place a peck on his cheek. Yunho was grinning so much that his cheeks were starting to hurt, but he didn't care.

"Want to try my dish for tonight?" You looked at him. He nodded excitedly and followed you into the kitchen.

"Aww." Wooyoung cooed as the two of you, making Jongho elbow his ribs.

"Here. It's a fish dish." You explained, pushing the plate towards Yunho. He took a fork and broke a piece of fish, eating it with the roasted red bell pepper and tomato sauce. You watched his expressions intently. It wasn't important for Yunho to like it, you just wanted his honest comments.

"It's good. I like it, it's not too greasy and the outside coating is thin but adds a crunch. The sauce is very nice and bright." Yunho smiled. You smiled and nodded.

"Glad you like it. Thanks, Yunho." You said.

"I'm taking this with me." He grabbed the plate to bring it to the front to finish the remaining food. You laughed, shaking your head.

"Good evening." The other boys showed up. Mingi did the staff meal for dinner. Hearing that, Yunho volunteered to help him. Of course, he denied that he was doing it just to be around you.

"Yah! Yah! You're putting too much gochugaru!" Mingi called Yunho, whose hand froze over the pot.

"Oh, oops." Yunho blushed, putting the hot pepper flakes down.

"Stop staring at (y/n) and focus, man." Mingi rolled his eyes. Hearing Mingi's words, you felt your cheeks heat up too. You cleared your throat and continued what you were doing. Yunho knew you heard Mingi's words, exposing his actions.

"Shut up, Mingi." Yunho hissed. Mingi snickered and continued cutting the vegetables to put into the soup.

~

Series masterlist

[kisscara]

Hello! Can I request scara with a s/o that really loves cats, like they stop by cats on the street to pet them and regularly feeds the cats around their area and adopted a cat or two? love how the re-write is going btw! Ty!

cat fever [scaramouche x gn!reader] ⎯⎯ modern au, fluff

a/n: NAURR SRRY THIS TOOK SO LONG BUT TYY

it's scaramouche's first time stepping foot inside of your house.

it's also his first time meeting your five cats, which includes two kittens.

"kuni, you're not truly my boyfriend if you haven't memorized my lovely felines by name," you giddily say, dragging him into your bedroom.

scaramouche doesn't get you.

what do cats have, that he doesn't? he's got everything down pat, besides the obvious things like physical characteristics of course. from the large ego to the sharp glare, he's just like a cat.

maybe that's why you were so drawn to him the first time you two met.

"kuni, this is ako!" you bend down to pick up a small brown kitty with white fur trailing up from its stomach to its mouth.

"she was born two weeks ago. isn't she cute?" you grin as you present the hyperactive kitty to scaramouche. he experimentally pokes the tummy and it purrs in response.

you press a kiss to her head and set her back down onto the floor of your room. scaramouche tilts his head, muttering, "how do you sleep at night with all of these?"

you ignore his question and sit down, allowing two cats to leap into your lap. you smile up at him.

"the black one is sayo and the brown one is lisa. lisa is ako's mom," you explain, patting their heads. scaramouche sits by you and almost instantly, does another kitty welcome herself onto his thighs. scaramouche flinches and you giggle, "that's rinko. don't worry, she's just excited to have another visitor."

scaramouche hesitates before giving it an awkward pat on the head. this cat of yours has beautiful pitch black eyes and gray fur. it seems to favor your guest. scaramouche rubs the ears and rinko mewls. you beam, "see, they aren't that bad!"

suddenly, he feels two paws pushing at his waist. "oh, there's yukina. he's the only male out of all of my cats and kittens." you usher the white cat over with a tsk, "yuki, come here, baby." yukina is lured towards your call and he crawls by your side instead.

ako cries out of lack of attention and scaramouche looks at her in pity. carefully, trying not to make you notice, he gestures for the kitty to join you two.

but nothing slips past you when someone else is with your cats. you tease him in a lilting tone, "have you grown a bond with one of them already?"

scaramouche sputters in a flustered state. "n-no. i still like dogs better." and he says all of this while eagerly petting rinko and ako's heads. you frown, "don't end up liking my pets more than me."

he suddenly raises a brow with a sly smile, "i never said anything whenever you'd run off to greet a street cat."

you look elsewhere, forcing a laugh, "oh, really? i don't recall such an event." scaramouche hums, "not only that, but you spend most of your allowance on things like cat toys instead of gifts for me."

you accusingly gasp, "isn't my affection enough!? plus, i do give you gifts... just not as often as i give them to my cats."

sayo curiously looks between you and him. lisa licks at ako's head in the middle of it all.

you cross your arms and huff, "and you're basically saying my kisses and hugs aren't worth the price of inanimate objects." scaramouche places his hand on his face, "i guess you got me there."

your jaw drops in shock, "so it's true?" he shakes his head in amusement and leans over to press a kiss on the corner of your lips.

you blankly stare at him as he resumes his previous sitting position. yukina meows. "wait, one more time. you didn't get it properly." at your remark, scaramouche laughs.

he sits closer to you and cups your face in his hands before slotting his lips into yours. sayo, getting the signal that something bad was happening to their owner, tugs at scaramouche's shirt. however, rinko knowingly mewls and doesn't interfere with the situation.

scaramouche pulls away and you clasp your hands together, sighing with your eyes closed, "what gift could possibly be better than that, kuni?" he smiles, "a ring." you wave him away, frantically saying, "it's too early, don't get any ideas yet!"

a little later, scaramouche agreed with helping you feed the cats.

"there's a name on each bowl and it's important that they eat from their own because there's a specific amount i give." you place pieces of meat in every bowl and scaramouche wordlessly watches while rocking rinko in his arms.

the cats, perceiving the fact that their food was in the process of being readied, politely wait for you to finish up. you lead every single one to their designated bowl and allow them to eat up for dinner.

you hold up one finger, saying, "let's do a practice run." you point to the black cat. "what's their name?" you glance at scaramouche and he silently ponders. "that was... erm," scaramouche squints his eyes and rubs his chin. "obviously ako." he proudly smirks, crossing his arms.

his reign of victory fades away when you bluntly say, "wrong." you crouch down to pet the cat and correct him, "this is sayo. she probably doesn't like you anymore, now that you've mistaken her for ako. she's a very picky one when it comes to people."

scaramouche's shoulders sink and he utters, "reminds me of myself."

you laugh and stand back up. "maybe you should help me give them a bath. it might be easier to tell who's who when their fur is soaking wet and they're trying to escape the suds and the water!" you playfully prod, emitting a sigh from the male.

"don't cats hate baths? are you trying to get me killed?" scaramouche raises a brow.

you frown, "oh, i'm not that heartless, kuni! you can borrow my arm length gloves; i don't use them anymore since they got used to me bathing them." you hand him the said gloves and he puts them on. "thanks... i guess."

but oh boy, giving your cats a bath was probably the biggest obstacle scaramouche had to experience in his entire life.

he didn't get how you could just kneel there, bending over the side of the tub as you calmly dealt with their tantrums like it happened everyday, which was possibly the reason why you were used to it by now.

although, you were right. it did give scaramouche a chance to find out which cat is which, with you giving him commands the entire time.

"kuni, watch out for yukina! n-no, that one's rinko! ah, is that a dead mouse? wait, can you get lisa for me? kuni, that's ako!" yeah, it was a wild time.

scaramouche groans and plops onto your bed out of exhaustion. you sit next to him and laugh, "i'm guessing you should know their names by now." ako is in your arms and her teeth dig into your finger over and over. scaramouche notices this and looks at you.

do you have a high pain tolerance or something?

as if you read his mind, you say, "ako is teething; it's natural for her to have the need to bite into things. she doesn't bite too hard so it doesn't pain me or anything." you prop the kitten to sit in your lap and you coo, "isn't that right, ako?"

ako mewls in response. scaramouche murmurs, "i see." he adds, "i can't believe you can manage five cats all on your own. i thought you weren't even capable of keeping me alive." his lighthearted joke emits a giggle from you.

"oh, hey!" you add with a grin, "you can be my cats' father!" scaramouche suddenly deadpans, "what?"

"yeah, i'm their parent and that means you're their father now." you give him a swift kiss on the cheek, leaving the male speechless. scaramouche sighs, "i never would have imagined being a father of five..."

© kisscara

[yumeka-sxf]

A chronological analysis on Twilight and Yor - Part 19

*This is part of an ongoing post series. If you missed the Introduction/Part 1, click here*

----------

The episode where Bond assists Twilight with his mission at the laboratory may not seem like a significant story, but it's actually the first time Twilight has spent a considerable amount of time alone with someone (Bond) with whom he doesn't have to put on any airs – not as Loid Forger, nor as an aloof spy. He has no reason to hide anything from Bond, someone who can't talk or judge. So who is the man revealed in such a rare situation? While at first he's annoyed that Bond's presence could hinder his mission, his annoyance soon turns to empathy. With an uncharacteristically concerned look on his face, he asks Bond if he came to get revenge on the scientists who hurt him and his friends.

We saw in the doggy crisis arc that Twilight has compassion for dogs when he refused to harm the German shepherd that attacked him, and when he gave sincere thanks to Bond for saving Anya. But this episode shows further proof that Twilight sees Bond as more than just "a dog." Not only does he show empathy for what Bond had to suffer through in the past, but he's projecting the very human notion of vengeance onto a dog. He also chooses to trust Bond's instincts rather than send him away…and as a result, his mission is a success! As we'll see in later episodes, his bond with Bond (no pun intended) will only continue to grow.

Unfortunately the same can't be said for Bond's bond with Yor (though it's a totally one-sided thing). We as the audience know that Yor would never act violently towards Bond, but thanks to his misinterpretation of his vision of blackness (which Endo confirms in the fanbook did not mean death), he thinks her food will indeed kill him.

As @piracytheorist pointed out, Bond may not understand that Yor's toxic food is completely unintentional. Since he was traumatized by his time at the lab, where they fed him rancid food, he may equate being fed bad food to some kind of punishment. Plus, being a dog, he may not understand that humans' actions don't necessarily reflect their true intent (misinterpreting the actions of others is such a common theme in Spy x Family, I can even tie it back to Bond!) Doesn't help that Anya put the idea in his head that Yor will kill him if he disobeys her.

It's unfortunate, but at least Yor is oblivious to the fact that Bond thinks this way about her. I know she would feel awful if she knew he was scared of her!

After the "Pastry of Knowledge" incident at Eden, Twilight is again faced with more failing test grades from Anya. But this time, he's more composed about it, even noting that she would have done well on the classical language part had she not made so many spelling mistakes.

@sophiamarieispinkbunny-chan brings up a good point in this post that it's unusual for the ever-suspicious Twilight to dismiss the fact that Anya is knowledgeable about an archaic language of all things. But as we've seen time and time again, he's more likely to turn a blind eye to anything suspicious about Yor, Anya, and Bond compared to anyone else.

This suggests that, though he won't admit it, he could possibly be afraid…afraid that if he digs too deep, he'll learn things about them that could lead to them having to separate. The only exception to this so far has been when he investigated Yor after Yuri's first visit, which is understandable since having an SSS officer so close to him could be disastrous (and of course, he felt guilty about it after).

But in Anya's case here, he not only decides that's it not worth thinking about, he even cooks her favorite dinner that night (hamburger steak) without any complaints. Compared to the very first time he was confronted with her poor school skills, he's definitely learning to be a more understanding father (and a less meticulous spy).

Some time later, Yor meets up with Franky to help him rescue a lost cat. This is probably the first time the two of them have been alone together without Loid present, so Yor feels a bit uneasy about this unexpected social interaction. In typical Yor fashion, she expresses concern for the cat and is eager to help, but also thinks she may be more of a bother to Franky. She also hesitates when referring to Loid as her husband. As I've mentioned in previous posts, at this point in the series, I believe she has a crush on Loid but is clueless about those feelings, so she gets flustered whenever their relationship is brought up.

I find it funny how Yor with all her crazy strength and assassin skills is totally powerless against cats clinging to her! Obviously her power is strictly reserved for the "bad guys" she's sent to eliminate on her jobs (or anyone who threatens her loved ones). Innocent animals are safe, even if they scratch her face bit!

As Franky comes up with ways to catch Kopi, Yor gives him her full supportive side by continuously praising him for his inventions. However, she has no hesitation about sacrificing said inventions to prevent Kopi from running into traffic.

It not only makes sense that she'd be ignorant about how much work goes into building such a machine, but it also makes sense that she holds nothing back when trying to save someone who's in trouble, even if all notions of acting "normal" go out the window – whether it's this cat, the Eden cow, or confronting SSS officers that threatened her family.

As a side note, another example of Yor's wholesome, humbling personality that's only present in the Japanese version, is that she gives the honorific "-san," which denotes respect, usually translated as "Mister" or "Miss," to everyone (besides Yuri, but that's normal for an older sibling). Not just children like Anya, but even animals. She calls Bond "Bond-san," and in this episode, she calls Kopi "Kopi-san." She even called the terrorists from the doggy crisis arc "terrorist-san."

In fact, Yor uses keigo (the polite form of Japanese speech) excessively, almost to an abnormal amount. This could be a reflection of many things about her character, such as her low self-esteem, eagerness to put those around her at ease, and the possibility that Garden instilled the idea in her that she's just a "soldier" for her country, so she never gave a thought about fulfilling her own identity. However, as I'll discuss later, there are some rare and telling moments where she drops this filter and lets her raw feelings out.

When Yor returns to work later, we see that being "normal" is something she's still hung up about, since she gets very excited when Sharon suggests that she may have finally become "somewhat" so. This scene also shows how good she feels after helping someone out, which carries over to her meeting with Shopkeeper soon after.

Speaking of which, we once again see Yor's naivety about her assassin job that I discussed in Part 13: she thinks of it as just getting rid of "evildoers." But despite her strong desire for this, I never got the impression that she likes being an assassin, as in, she enjoys the act of killing people. Compared to a typical view one would have of someone who willingly kills for a living, she doesn't relish in her murders, taunt her opponents, or display any kind of pleasure from their pain. As we'll see throughout the cruise arc, she's very professional about it, being indiscriminate and earnest with her targets. She kills solely for the sake of others, whether it's to help her family or her country. What she desires is the result of the work – eliminating "bad guys," not the actual act of elimination.

The scene where Shopkeeper launches a surprise attack at Yor, only for her to easily dodge it, reminds me of the fact that Yor is sometimes described as "clumsy," but she's definitely not clumsy on the physical side.

Usually characters in anime/manga who are shown to have traits similar to Yor, like exaggerated naivety and a low sense of self-worth, are also shown to be clumsy in the typical sense of dropping things, tripping, and making messes. But, while Yor has tasks she's not good at, like cooking and sewing, and she occasionally has trouble controlling her incredible strength, she's definitely not clumsy. I'm really glad that Endo didn't give her the "clumsy" trait to go along with her social awkwardness, as it would make no sense for a highly skilled assassin to not be anything but perfectly coordinated with their body. We see many examples of this with Yor, not just in how she overpowers every opponent she encounters, but smaller things, like in her introduction episode where she catches the tray with her foot, and how she swiftly leaps and clings to the ceiling at the pet adoption fair without anyone noticing.

Continue to Part 20 ->

<- Return to Part 18

[youremyheaven]

Guessing BTS Rising Signs

hello besties. I made this post a long time ago and since then, we've had TWO Bts members reveal their birth times so I thought it would be interesting to look at the rest of the members in this context. Here's my old post if you're curious.

I'll mention the members with confirmed birth times so that we can get that out of the way:

Jungkook- Mula Rising

His birth time was confirmed to be 3:23 PM which makes him a Mula Rising and tbh I've always seen him as hella Ketuvian (he also has Magha Moon) and this just fits. Mula's dog yoni does give him that puppyish charm, kind of androgynous style and a very endearing, silly personality. Plus like I mentioned in my post about Nodal people and how child stars often have Nodal placements + often tend to be heavily tattooed/pierced, Jungkook joined Bighit when he was 13yrs old and made his debut at 15yrs and has a tattoo sleeve and hella piercings<33

He is Purvaphalguni Sun, Magha Moon & Mula Rising

Jimin- Pushya Rising

His birth time is confirmed to be 11:58pm. Although he did not specify AM or PM, he did say he was born around "dawn" and im assuming that means the dawn of a new day because 11:58 am is most definitely not the dawn of anything. I've always suspected that he had Cancer Rising because of his appearance, full lips, round cheeks and all that 🥺and also just how sweet and soft his demeanor is 🫶🏼

He is Chitra Sun, Rohini Moon & Pushya Rising

Now here are my speculations for the other members:

Jin- Shravana Rising/Purvashada Rising

purely based on his appearance i believe he has Moon influence because he's Jyeshta Sun & UBP Moon and i dont really see much of either (Jyeshta's rabbit yoni does come thru a little bit but I feel like his appearance is majorly influenced by something else??) He could also be Purvashada Rising and him being Venusian also makes sense to me but his no nonsense attitude, refusal to submit to anyone, how he acts as though he's better than others (most of the time, its just a joke and he is funny ngl) all comes down to Moon influence for me tbh and I def don't think he's Rohini or Hasta, his energy is harsher and more direct which makes me think Shravana

Yoongi- Ashlesha Rising

i def think he has a cat yoni (he is PBP Sun which gives him lion yoni/feline influence but there has to be more to it than just that) i used to see him as Punarvasu but now I lean more towards Ashlesha tbh, he does seem to have a rakshasa gana nak in his big 3, he's very discriminate about who he gives his time and energy to and that's very sidereal cancer of him. also im convinced that him and Namjoon have outcaste naks in their rising because of the kind of journey they've had from the underground rap scene to the biggest band in the world

Hobi- Ashwini/Bharani Rising

i think Hobi is an Aries Rising, like there's nooo way he does not have Aries influence (i know he's Krittika Moon) i think Bharani because its also an outcaste nak and BTS faced a lot of discrimination in so many different ways

Namjoon- Vishaka Rising

i used to be torn between swati and vishaka but now im pretty convinced he's Vishaka Rising lol, first of all he has Jupiter influence, just trust me on that

this is the cover of his first mixtape and he said his face is painted half-black because he feels that he's "half positive and half negative". if you've read anything ive written about Jupiter or watched Claire's vids on Jupiter you know that duality is a major Jupiter theme specifically the battle between good and evil. namjoon's lyricism also oscillates between opposites a lot. in seoul he sings about how "love and hate sound just the same to me" and all of these are extensions of his Jupiter influence. i know he has Venus & Jupiter in Swati but i dont think he has a Swati stellium because he's too balanced to have that much Rahu influence lol and even though he talks about struggling to maintain balance i think that's the Jupiter in him coming thruuu, Vishaka is also an outcaste nak and Namjoon has been the scapegoat for all kinds of hate for his whole career

Taehyung- Rohini Rising

i think he has a serpent yoni ngl and if he's Rohini rising then it will be conjunct Jimin's moon which makes sense tbh and he also seems Moon influenced because of how emotional he is.

A major reason why I've assigned Outcaste naks to majority of the members is because of how they were the outcasts/underdogs in the industry for so long and if the shoe fits...yk I dont think those themes would manifest for them as a collective if the majority of them did not have those placements

[algea]

hi guys here’s some more headcannons for Lars (btw i’m doing these literally right before my exam🥲)

like i said last time, these are my headcannons, they may not be yours…

Lars loves ice cream. Even though he may deny it, he has a massive sweet tooth. You most definitely can bribe him with sweets.

Lars is a cat person. Sorry guys, had to say it. It’s not that he hates dogs, he just thinks it’s easier to take care of cats, plus they’re super goofy. He would probably own a black cat or a calico. Lars would so spoil his cat as much as possible, you think it’s a little unfair.

Lars’ favorite genre of books is dystopian fiction. Something about robots and future make him excited. He really likes the book Brave New World.

Lars takes you on a date every week. That’s how his momma raised him. He may not be from America, but he sure knows how to treat a lady. He really enjoys going to the movies or the beach with you. He thinks you’re so beautiful when the salty air blows your hair softly around you. Lars loves the smell of the sea and thinks that he would definitely propose to you on the beach.

He is super good at video games. Not like the Last of Us or Call of Duty, I mean like Centipede and Donkey Kong. It’s what he grew up playing, so expect him to be insanely good. Also don’t play him in Super Smash Ultimate, he would shit on you fr.

Lars hates when you talk to someone on the phone when he’s with you. He likes being the center of attention when he’s with you. He also thinks it’s super rude because you’re spending time with him. Unless it’s your mom, then he completely understands and gives you some slack.

His favorite comedian is Bo Burnham. More importantly, he likes the music Bo creates. It makes him literally giggle when he listens to it. You think it’s a little weird, but you’re glad he’s actually enjoying something.

Whenever you’ve been at the lab for a few days, Lars always makes you a bath before you come home so you can have some alone time. Probably the nicest thing he’ll do for you, but it definitely shows that he loves you so much.

Lars doesn’t like the heat. He’d rather be in the cold where he can wear multiple layers instead of sweating to death. Poor dude was stuck with that most of his life, so he loved it when he moved to New York.

Mr. Nerd geeks out when someone talks about Ghost Corps in a good way. He’ll yap on and on forever about it if you let him. Sometimes you’ll have to drag him away from the poor soul who struck up a conversation with him.

He has a photo album like the ‘Our Adventure Book’ from Up, which contains photos of you and him together. He looks at it whenever he feels sad or needs motivation.

He has a system of marks for when you looks especially attractive to him. Normally they’re color coded for the color you wear and have a specific shape for what kind of outfit it is.

Surprisingly, Lars’ love language is gift giving. He loves giving you little trinkets that you’ve mentioned you liked. It’s the cutest thing ever. It shows he pays attention to you.

Lars loves it when you wear his glasses. He thinks you look like a nerd and it makes you 10x cuter. If you’re in the lab and you steal them off him, he won’t take them back until you give them to him.

um sorry if these are a little short, i’ll definitely make more in the future