#with john looking to him for reassurance: “i know it's necessary; but do you think it wise?"

[hidden-ember]

simon says

🗯 pairing: captain john price x fem!reader | simon ghost riley x fem!reader

🗯 tags: nsfw - mdni, cucking, oral sex, fingering, penetrative sex, unprotected pinv, established relationship, praise, ooc as fuck i'm sure

a/n: this one was incredibly self indulgent, so i got a little carried away with it. i fully intend to do a pt. 2 if you all want that!

You couldn’t believe the situation you found yourself in: your husband of several years just confessed to you he had always had a fantasy of watching you with another man. You expressed that you weren’t opposed to the idea; as long as it was something he truly wanted then you’d do your best to please him. 

When he threw out some names of people you may be interested in he never expected to see a spark of desire in your eyes as he mentioned his former boss.

“Oh really?” Ghost asked with a raise of his eyebrow, his tone laced with amusement. 

“Y-yeah,” you said shyly, not wanting to go into detail about how attractive you found Captain Price. 

The older man led Simon in a specialized task force for a few years, both having since moved on to different military ventures and then retirement. 

Price had always caught your eye at any get-together he and the rest of Ghost’s former team would attend, and you had never imagined revealing this attraction to your husband. Until now. 

Any time he would tower over you while making small talk, cerulean eyes subtly trailing down to your lips and chest before meeting your gaze you had to fight to keep your face from flushing. 

Your dreams the nights after these gatherings would be filled with visions of the Captain buried between your legs, his facial hair prickling your skin as he worked you with his mouth until your legs were trembling. 

Ghost cleared his throat, sensing you were deep in thought. “I’ll text him now?”

Once you gave him the go ahead he reached for his phone. His fingers trembled slightly as he tapped out a message, inviting Price over Friday evening for some ‘fun’. 

He tossed his phone down and leaned in close, his warm breath tickling your ear as he whispered, “I’m going to enjoy watching you with him.” 

“I hope so, Simon, because I wouldn’t be doing this otherwise,” you responded, pulling back to look at him. You wanted him to know even though you were indulging him in this fantasy, you would never imagine being unfaithful to him without his knowledge and without him being involved.

Ghost met your gaze, his eyes filled with appreciation and desire for you. “I know, love.” 

You left it at that, both carrying on with the rest of your week without mentioning it again until shortly before Price’s arrival.

“You’re still okay with this, yeah?” Ghost wrapped his arms around you from behind as you did your makeup in the mirror. 

“More than okay,” you reassured him as he tugged at your earlobe with his teeth. 

“Easy now,” he chuckled, a hint of warning in his tone. 

That was the best thing about this arrangement. You had always been attracted to Price and were eager to explore that, but you were most looking forward to what came after.

You knew that once he watched Price fuck you, Ghost would be ravenous. You had a long night ahead of him proving to you that while he may allow another man to touch you, they’d never be able to touch you better than he could. 

“I don’t know what to wear.” Your face grew hot as you began wondering what Price would think when he saw you again. 

“Anything,” Ghost replied firmly. “You look great in anything.”

“Well I have that dress from-,” you paused when he began shaking his head. 

“That won’t be necessary,” he murmured against your neck, trailing soft kisses down it as his hands settled on your stomach. “You’ll be waiting for us in the bedroom, sweetheart.”

“Oh,” you whispered, realization dawning on you that he was suggesting you wear lingerie. 

"Hmmm. Price seems like the type to enjoy white." You thought out loud, a lace baby doll you had in your dresser coming to mind. "Something about corrupting a good girl."

“S’that what you are?” Ghost smirked while making eye contact with you in the mirror. 

You laughed away his teasing, knowing he was only attempting to get you riled up. “Oh, please. If anyone’s corrupted me it’s you, but let me have my fun.”

"That's perfect," he agreed, his eyes roaming over the reflection of your body, envisioning the delicate white lace. "He's going to love seeing you like that." He leaned in close and whispered into your ear, his voice low and husky, “And so will I.”

His stiffening cock was now pressing firmly into the small of your back and you grinned at him in the mirror. “I can see you’re very excited about this.”

Ghost's eyes darted downward before meeting yours again, a mix of embarrassment and desire flushing his cheeks. "Not every day my wife offers up herself and her body for another man," he confessed with a shrug that did little to hide his arousal.

“Don’t be embarrassed, love.” You squeezed his hands reassuringly. “It’s hot you’re so into this.”

"Thank you," Ghost whispered as he wrapped his arms around you tighter. "I just want to make sure everything is perfect for Price tonight. He deserves it."

“Yeah? Deserves to fuck your wife?” You teased, knowing it would only make the hardness poking into your back ache even more. 

Ghost chuckled darkly at your words. "Yeah, he does," he growled while pressing his hips forward slightly into you with a noticeable amount of possession in his movement. "And I plan to enjoy every filthy second of it."

You spun around to face him, and he immediately stepped forward, pushing you into the edge of the vanity. Ghost groaned as he felt your hands slip beneath his shirt to stroke his stomach, a thick layer of fat having formed over his abs since retirement that drove you crazy in all the right ways. 

"Don't tease me like that," he warned when your fingers moved higher up his chest.

"Fine,” you conceded with a soft sigh, sliding out from under his shirt. “I’ll keep my hands to myself until he arrives.”

"That’s a good girl," he praised, loving how aroused you were getting. He pulled back slightly but kept his hands on your waist. "Now, why don't you get dressed and wait for us on the bed, hmm?”

As you moved to put on the white lace number and matching silk thong you knew both men would adore you in, Ghost left for the living room, leaving your bedroom door slightly ajar. You bit down on your lip nervously when you heard the doorbell buzz not even a few minutes later. 

Ghost’s heart raced with anticipation as he approached the front door and saw Price’s silhouette against the dim street light shining through the glass. He knew you were waiting for them in the bedroom, dressed in the lingerie that he had helped pick out and he had to make an effort to appear nonchalant as he opened the door for Price.

You sat on the edge of the bed, your heart rate quickening as you heard the Captain’s commanding voice fill your home. Their conversation was muffled, but the distinct sound of ice and alcohol being poured made you smirk to yourself.

The pair catching up over a drink like former colleagues while you were waiting in the bedroom like a piece of meat to be devoured only added to your arousal, the wetness gathering between your legs becoming more prominent the longer they left you alone. Ghost seemed to be carrying most of the conversation for once, probably out of sheer excitement.  

Price appeared to be enjoying himself as well, laughing at something Ghost said before they made their way to the bedroom together.

As they entered the room your eyes darted between your husband and his friend, unsure who to look at. The click of the door closing echoed through your mind as you pictured what was about to happen. 

Ghost took a step towards you, his eyes fixed on your body as he admired the sexy lingerie that clung to your curves. He couldn't help but feel a surge of possessiveness as he turned to look at Price, who was now standing close behind him.

He swallowed hard, the bob of his Adam's apple betraying his nervousness, before stepping to the side and sitting in the armchair at the corner of your room.

Price looked you up and down slowly, taking in every inch of your exposed body. His eyes lingered on your full breasts before traveling back up to meet yours. 

"You look bloody incredible, Mrs. Riley," he smirked, knowing it would drive Ghost mad to hear you being referred to with his last name. You were his after all and Price would do well to remember that. You glanced at Simon briefly, surprised to see his face beaming with pride rather than annoyance as he watched Price approach you. 

“Thank you, John,” you blushed, having to crane your neck to look at him the closer he got to the bed. The lamp in the corner illuminated his face as he stood before you and you noticed even more gray hair dusting his temples and beard than the last time you saw him. 

He wasted no time before kneeling down, his calloused hands running up and down your thighs lightly before stopping at your knees. You were sure your face was completely bright red now, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. 

“Oh, sweet thing,” Price let out a breath as he spread your legs. “You’re soaked already.”

He placed a kiss to your core through your panties, holding eye contact with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine. Ghost sat up a little straighter in his seat at the sight.

The silk fabric clung to your folds now, saturated with your arousal. You felt yourself throbbing now, cunt desperate for attention. Many nights you had dreamed of being in this exact position, his handsome face staring up at you from between your legs.

Disappointment must have been evident on your face as Price pulled back and shifted on his feet, moving to lean over you. Your pouting drew a raspy chuckle out of your husband.

“Needy girl you have, Simon,” Price observed with a small smile, turning to look at him. He gave a single nod in response, eager for Price to continue.

With gentle hands he brushed your hair behind your shoulders as his gaze roamed your chest, his hum of satisfaction reverberating through the room. He unfastened the clasp on the front of the baby doll, letting it fall off of you and onto the bed. 

Your nipples hardened as the cool air hit your skin. Price’s hands found their way to your breasts immediately, beginning to roll his thumbs over your nipples in tight circles. He studied your face closely as it contorted in pleasure, admired the way your breath caught in your throat audibly at the sensation. 

“You know, I’ve always wondered what it would be like to fuck you,” Price whispered into your ear, his hot breath causing goosebumps on your skin. His lips brushed against your earlobe and your eyes widened, finding Ghost’s. He watched you with a hunger and possessiveness you had never seen from him before, clearly having heard what the other man said to you. 

You gasped in surprise when Price’s lips latched onto your nipple, too distracted by Simon to realize he had wandered lower once more. You moaned softly as his tongue circled the hardened bud, back arching as he squeezed your other breast roughly. 

Ghost watched attentively from his corner seat, a mix of arousal and pride coursing through him. He could tell by the way that you were responding that Price was taking good care of you, making sure you were enjoying every moment. 

Price’s mouth left your tit and he captured your lips in a kiss. It felt strange at first but you softened, losing yourself to the feeling of him. The kiss deepend as Price’s tongue slid past your lips, tasting you for the first time. His hands wandered down your body, teasingly grazing the hem of your panties before finally slipping beneath to run along your slick folds.

“All this for me, hm?” Price murmured against your lips.

“Y-yes,” you stuttered. A half truth. It was for him, yes. But it was just as much for Simon, who was now palming himself through his jeans.

Seeing how excited you were already, he didn’t hesitate to part your folds, circling your entrance once before pumping two fingers inside of you. You let out an exasperated gasp and squirmed as he did.

“Oh, c’mon, angel. I know you can take it.” He winked at you before continuing. “This is nothing compared to your husband’s cock,” he said playfully before curling his fingers inside of you, thrusting faster now.

"That's a good girl," he praised you as he felt your relax around his fingers, rewarding you by pressing circles into your swollen clit in a steady rhythm with his thumb.   

Ghost could tell by the sounds you were making that you were getting close already, the thought only serving to fuel his arousal. His chest tightened as he watched Price work you open. You faintly made out the sound of a zipper as your senses started to be overloaded, vision blurry and ears ringing.

“Fuck, John. I’m close,” you moaned, wrapping your arms around his free one to steady yourself as your climax rapidly approached. His muscles tensed under your grip; he was every bit as strong as you had imagined. 

Price tutted at you, shaking his head. “Ask your husband for permission, dear.”

“Simon,” you pleaded. “Simon, please, I-” your breath was coming in ragged gasps, leaving you incapable of forming a full sentence.

“Let go, love,” you heard him from the corner of the room. The way his voice strained told you that he was stroking his cock as he listened to you begging for release. Begging him despite another man being the one to drive you to orgasm.

Price grabbed you by the chin, angling it upwards and pressing his lips to yours, stifling your cries of pleasure as you came undone. As if he could keep your release all to himself like this, swallowing it down so Ghost couldn’t have it.

Ghost watched intently as Price took control of the situation, his body tense with anticipation for what was about to happen. He could feel his own climax building inside him, mirroring your pleasure as he listened to your cries of ecstasy being muffled by the other man’s kiss.

As Price continued to milk your orgasm, he leaned down and whispered into your ear, this time low enough that Ghost couldn’t hear, “You were never quite this pretty all the times I’ve imagined you coming.” 

He pulled away slowly, leaving you panting and covered in sweat. His eyes met Ghost’s once more before he finally released you from his grasp. You sat at the edge of the bed, legs trembling as you tried to catch your breath. He pulled your panties off, eyes glued to your glistening cunt.

“Lie back for me, sweetheart,” John ordered as he moved for his zipper, desperate to free his throbbing cock. You did as he said, gaze locked on his crotch as he tugged down his pants and boxers. 

As his cock sprang free, you hated the way you instantly noticed it wasn’t as big as Ghost’s. It wasn’t small by any means, maybe even a bit longer, but not as thick. You had gotten so used to feeling stuffed full by Ghost that now a part of you was anxious to have another man for the first time in years. What if you were spoiled? What if your husband had ruined you for all other cocks?

You glanced in his direction, noting the small smirk tugging at his lips and you knew he was aware of exactly what was on your mind. Smug bastard, you thought to yourself before returning your attention to Price, opening your legs wider for him.

Ghost’s expression remained impassive as he watched Price line himself up and penetrate you. His hand twitched unconsciously, the urge to reach out and claim what was rightfully his burning within him. But he held back, remaining silent and still, his hand freezing on his cock.

You moaned as Price buried himself to the hilt, having quickly forgotten any anxiety you were feeling a moment before. He let you adjust to his length before pulling out completely and slamming his hips forward, causing you to yelp. Ghost began pumping himself again as he saw how rough his friend was with you, how well you were taking him. 

“Fuck,” he hissed as he pounded into you. “Good fuckin’ girl.” 

His arms fell to either side of your head as he leaned in to nibble at your neck. From this angle his gut pushed into your stomach - the only distinction between the sensation of his and your husband’s was John’s more pronounced happy trail. 

He reached down between the two of you and began roughly rubbing at your sensitive clit again. His tempo didn't falter and he was hitting your g-spot with each stroke, white-hot pleasure clouding your mind and turning you into a mumbling mess beneath him.

“Yeah? Like that?” Price cooed at you and your toes curled. He kept up his pace, relentlessly pummeling you.

“Yes. God, yes,” you whined. The sounds of skin on skin and moaning filled the room from all three of you now. 

Your walls contracted around Price and your back arched, pressing your bodies flush together as you surrendered yourself to him completely.

“Come for me,” he encouraged with a hint of ownership. Not of you, but of this orgasm. The last one may have been for Ghost, but this one would be for him. 

He thrust into you more deliberately now, bottoming out each time. You let out a strangled moan as you climaxed again. Ghost came with you, spurting into his hand as he squeezed his cock tightly, his own sounds of pleasure drowned out by yours.

You whimpered as John suddenly pulled out of you and moved to stand at the edge of the bed. “C’mere,” he croaked, quickly sitting you up and bringing your head down towards his cock.

“You didn’t think I’d let anyone else finish inside that pretty little pussy of yours, did you?” Ghost murmured from the corner, voice hoarse as he was spent from his own release.

You shifted your gaze to Simon before parting your lips for Price. “Mm, see how you taste on another man’s cock?” He taunted as you wrapped your mouth around the head.

Though your eyes stayed glued to Ghost’s, you attempted a nod in response. Tears pricked your eyes as you slowly took more of his shaft into your mouth. 

“Simon says you’re good with your mouth. I intend to take full advantage of that,” he said, grunting as he pushed himself deep into your throat, your eyes returning to him.

As you moaned around his cock he smirked down at you. "Oh, you like it rough, do you?" He quickly lost control, hips meeting your face as he thrust in rhythm with your mouth.

You had mixture of saliva and pre-cum running down your chin now, mascara staining your cheeks. Ghost had you in a similar state countless times before while fucking your face, but seeing you like this wrapped around someone else's cock was turning him on in an entirely new way.

In an attempt to prolong his release, Price tangled his fingers into your hair, holding you in place at the base of his cock. When you gagged he loosened his grip, allowing you to back off a bit before you started bobbing your head on his length again. "That feels incredible," he said, admiring the way you milked his cock.

His balls were already tight, and you pushed him over the edge once you began to caress them with feather-light touches. He threw his head back with a low groan, frame tensing as he shot thick ropes of cum down your throat. His hips jerked forward as you hollowed out your cheeks. You swallowed most of his spend and pulled off of his cock with a satisfied moan.

He brushed the hair away from your face, his chest heaving as he looked down at you. His thumb trailed over your bottom lip, collecting the bit of cum that had dribbled out. He held it there for you, waiting for you to clean it off. You took it into your mouth, taking your time cleaning him, savoring the taste as you swirling your tongue around his finger. He pulled it out with a loud pop once he caught his breath.

“Beautiful,” he whispered, referring to your performance just as much as your disheveled appearance.

“That she is,” Ghost said, rising from his seat, looking at you with a predatory gaze. He tucked his still semi-hard cock into his pants and your stomach tightened at the sight.

Price zipped himself up as well and turned to Ghost. You were surprised he wouldn’t be staying, but it was clear the two men had discussed all the details beforehand. 

“Oh sweetheart, I don’t want anyone here for the depraved things I’m gonna do to you,” Ghost threatened in a low tone that had you clenching around nothing. Price let out a hearty laugh before turning back to you.

“Thank you for being so good for me,” he murmured and cupped your face in his hands. When Ghost cleared his throat behind him, he corrected himself with a sheepish grin. “Good for us.”

He gave you a genuine smile and a soft kiss on the forehead before leaving for the front door with Ghost. They exchanged goodbyes and the last you heard from Price as you walked to the doorway was, “Don’t be a stranger now, Simon.”

Shortly after you heard the door swing shut your husband was on you. “Alright, back to bed with you,” Simon grinned, smacking your ass playfully. You giggled, walking backwards, eyes never leaving him as he stripped. 

“You’re mine,” he reminded you with a growl before his lips crashed into yours, the two of you falling onto the bed.

[wh0reforcoriolanussnow]

He’s mine || Billy the kid x oc!reader

Summary: Mrs Riley’s affection for Billy does not go unnoticed by you, or anyone for that matter. There was hardly competition because unlike her, you weren’t married and sworn to another man, but Mrs. Riley just needed a little push over the edge and she would be done for. What you didn't expect however, was that you would be there at the scene of her downfall.

Warnings: slightly dark oc! mention of blood, shooting, oc sorta manipulates Billy, possessiveness, guilt trapping, violence, mention of dead body

Wc: 4,712 this is a loooong one, longest one ive ever written lol.

A/n: Sofía does not back down when it comes to getting what she wants is all I gotta say 😃 also it's sorta long because I'm basically retelling some of the scenes from the btk episode but with sofia in it so..

Divider by @pommecita

In Mr. Murphy's sprawling house, the air buzzed with animated conversations, and the linger familiar scent of alcohol and smoke added to the vibrant atmosphere. You and Billy navigated the lively gathering, your hand on Billy's arm.

"There he is," A voice murmurs softy, pulling your attention away from Billy. "Billy! Come here." John Riley, Murphy's right hand man, beckoned him over for a chat. You could sense the hesitation within Billy but Mr. Riley persists. "I would like to introduce you to my wife," He rests his hand on the woman's waist. She looked no more than 3 years older than you, her hair elegantly arranged in a bun as she showcases her pearly white smile.

"Honey, this is the fella I was telling you about, this is Billy the Kid," Because of how tall Billy was compared to majority of the people here, Both Mr. and Mrs. Riley had to gaze up at him. "Billy belongs to The House now. This is Irene," John gestures to his wife.

Watching the entire ordeal by his side, you saw a glint of desire in Irene's eyes. "Howdy," Billy tips his hat nonchalantly, sporting a bored expression as Irene extends her hand out for a shake. Your gaze drifts around the room, noticing eyes already fixed on you as your hands delicately squeeze Billy's arm.

"So, you're a cowboy, are you?" She grins broadly, the smile stretching from ear to ear, her hand lingering on Billy's just a beat longer than deemed necessary for a married woman with high status like her. "Oh, he's an outlaw, baby," Mr. Riley corrects his wife with a sly smile. Leaning in, he murmurs into her ear, "This man's wanted for murder."

Irene subtly inches closer to Billy, her voice gentle and soft, "Well, it sure is nice to meet such a handsome outlaw." Her eyes carefully trace his features as Billy, feeing a tad bit awkward, manages a brief, but tentative smile, then glances towards Mr. Riley. "Billy," He bids him goodbye, tension already simmering, and he draws Irene along with him, her gaze remaining fixed on him.

"I don't like her," You assert boldly as Billy smiles, he loved it when you were up front with him. He turns to face you, his hand gently on your waist while the other finds its place at the base of your neck. "Me neither, sweetheart. She looks like trouble, and I don't want that," He reassures you, affirming his unwavering loyalty.

"Hey Billy," James Dolan interrupts his conversation with Jesse. "Uh, we've, uh, set up a little fun thing for you to do," he says, fixing an intense gaze on Billy. You set your glass down, and Jesse glances at you. "See, everyone here, they want to see what you can do with a gun, hmm?"

At the mere mention of guns, Billy's gaze shifts to the floor, and he leans back on the table behind him. "They've all heard the stories." Jesse uncomfortable shifts as you observe Dolan, "Murphy thinks it would be a great idea for you to give 'em all a little- you know- demonstration." He playfully slaps Billy's chest.

"Yeah? No." Billy says flatly, turning to leave before James firmly grips his arm "Okay, okay, Billy." He shakes head, his hands resting on his hips. You narrow your eyes at him, not liking him already. "I see you don't understand how the wicks. We're paying you a whole lot of money, so if we ask you to do something small for us in return," Billy's head drops, "we expect you to do it."

"Now, come this way," He gestures, anticipating Billy's compliance. Instead, Billy stands his ground, "I don't feel like doing that," You glance between Billy and James who kisses his teeth and beckons for a man named Jimmy.

Jesse turns around to face the table, pouring himself a glass of alcohol before extending the offer to you. A subtle shake of your head declines the offer, but Billy eagerly accepts, tossing his head back with a satisfied expression. James whispers into another man's ear, Jimmy you assume as he then continues to tell Billy how he should do this little, to show everyone how good he was.

"You can do that for us, yes?" Jimmy holds Billy's shoulder, his gaze on the floor once again. "And if you agree there, Billy, we got you a little gift, hmm?" James adds as he opens a wooden box revealing a gleaming double action revolver.

You weren't an expert on firearms but the subtle widening of Jesse's eyes before he averts his gaze signifies the weapon's quality "It's brand new. Very expensive. We think you're gonna like it," Jimmy adds as he and James stare at Billy.

Billy's gaze shifts from the gun to the two men standing before him. A momentary hush envelops the room before his eyes meet yours and Jesse's. A sigh escapes him as he sets his glass down.

Billy picks up the gun, inspecting it, before toying with it, eliciting gasps from those around the room. He then tucks it in his gun belt, pouring himself a reasonable amount of whiskey and downing it in one determined gulp. You approach Billy, placing a reassuring hand on his forearm as he wipes the corner of his lips.

"You sure you wanna do this?" You gently ask him, already knowing his reluctance. "What choice do I have, Sof?" He mutters before he's urged to move on.

"Ladies and gentleman, our friend Billy here's gonna demonstrate his gifts as a gunslinger and the reason why we hired him to protect all of our interest. Yeah?" Major Murphy's voice resonates with authority as Billy loads the gun barrel.

You stand alongside Jesse, a tantalizing sip of alcohol hovering at the edge of your lips as you observe the unfolding spectacle. Just a few feet away, Irene grips her satchel, her eyes wide with anticipation. "Come on, Billy!" Murphy exclaims, his applause echoed by the enthusiastic claps of those surrounding you.

Billy wipes his mouth, clearing his throat before fixing his gaze on the targets ahead. The initial shots are a breeze, a mere warm-up for someone of Billy's caliber. In a lightning-fast span of three seconds, all five glass bottles shatter, eliciting an eruption of applause from the captivated crowd.

You smile to yourself, you knew Billy was very skilled, this ordeal demonstrating it even further. He returns to the table where a range of guns were displayed. There's a palpable tension—anger, annoyance, perhaps both—etched across his features.

The stress of the last couple of days working for Murphy, threatening people out of their own homes, has left its mark on him. Night after night, Billy sought solace in you, pouring out his emotions as you offered him nothing but a listening ear and a comforting embrace.

In a swift motion, he removes his tie, choosing another revolver with a sense of purpose. The murmuring crowd hushes as Billy cocks the firearm, once again targeting cans on the ground—now more challenging to spot and precisely aim at, but not for Billy.

With each bullet making contact with the tin, a collective flinch ripples through the crowd, including Mrs. Riley. Unfazed, Billy seamlessly transitions to a rifle. He fires a few shots at a measured pace before seamlessly shifting into a rapid sequence of shooting, cocking, and repeating.

The tension in the crowd palpably escalated as Billy's anger became increasingly evident. The wooden backdrop itself caught fire amid his repeated shots, casting a fearful hush over the onlookers, the only audible sound being the ominous crackling of the flames.

You maintained a composed stance, your gaze unwaveringly fixed on Billy. He, too, remained motionless, likely processing the chaotic scene unfolding. A swift glance at Mrs. Riley revealed her frightened demeanor. Billy wiped his mouth, setting the rifle down, and approached you. Without a word, he took your hand, pulling you along as your eyes briefly connected with Irene, navigating through the subdued crowd.

"You okay, Billy?" You gently ask him knowing he was still fired up from before. He was sat on the bed, arms resting on his thighs with his legs open. You slot yourself in between them as your hands run through his hair, a tender attempt to soothe him.

He tilts his head back, his hands roaming around your back and down your . "You still seem stressed," You frown as he stares at you quietly, though the glint of mischief was still evident in his eyes. "I can fix that," You whisper against his lips before he kisses you aggressively, hungry, starving for more.

~

The saloon buzzed with the clinking of glasses and the shuffling of cards as Mrs. Riley sauntered in. Her eyes, keen with mischief, spotted Billy at the table, surrounded by others as he was deeply engrossed in the poker game, his attention fixed on the cards in his hands.

"Hey there Irene. Come to join in?" Sam says as Mrs. Riley smiles, "If you'll have me, Sam," As she approached, she ignored the way your hand rested on Billy's thigh as your eyes stay focused on the cards in his hands. Mrs. Riley couldn't help but cast a flirtatious glance his way, something that Billy doesn't catch on, but you do, and Charlie, who was seated on your other side.

"Good evening, gentleman," Her high pitched voice greets as you supress a subtle eye roll. True to their gentlemanly nature, they all reciprocated with polite greetings, Billy even taking his hat off as you remained silent. You silently threw daggers her way.

Your dislike towards the woman started from the second you caught her eyeing Billy when she sat beside her husband in the carriage. Even with Billy’s hands on your waist and the close proximity between the two of you that was more than platonic, it didn't seem to deter her away—drew her more in perhaps.

Undeterred, Mrs. Riley leaned in closer to Billy, her words tinged with flirtation. "My! It's Billy the Kid, isn't it?" She purred, a blatant expression of infatuation adorning her face, her smile captivating display aimed directly at him.

Billy's gaze finally shifts toward her for the first time since she stepped into the saloon. "Yes, ma'am," he responds politely, offering no more than a slight smile before his attention returns to the worn wooden table before him. You gently squeeze his thigh, and as his eyes meet yours, a silent understanding passes between you.

"Do not call me that," Irene interjects abruptbly. "It makes me feel old, and I am not old." She states, exhaling through her nose."I didn't mean to suggest you were," Billy quickly backs himself up.

Your gaze shifts to Charlie, and a subtle exchange of glances circulates the table. "I'm really so happy to see you, Billy," she utters, a faint smile playing on her lips, her voice lowering ever so slightly. The weight of her words hangs in the air, and Billy, in response, squirms uncomfortably in his seat.

You extend your hand gracefully above the space between you and Billy, a subtle bridge in the air. "Sofía Del Tobosco," you introduce yourself, your voice carrying the weight of confidence. Yet, she meets your greeting with a blank, unwavering stare, leaving the air between you tinged with an intriguing tension as the others on the table watch on.

"We haven't properly met, I'm Billy's-" "Aren't you Dulcinea's little sister?" With narrowed eyes, you retract your hand, an awkward silence settling over the table, "I'm good friends with her ya know," Mrs. Riley giggles, leaving you to decipher her intentions at the mention of your sister. A simple hum escapes your lips as you inhale sharply, shooting an annoyed look to Charlie, who quietly chuckles.

"Wanna start a new game?" Sam cuts through the silence. Irene gracefully declines the offer, "Oh, no. You go on. I'll watch," she smiles. "Good," you mutter under your breath, a quiet comment that only Billy and Charlie seem to catch.

Mrs. Riley gracefully raises a wine glass, "Here's to you, Billy," she toasts, her gaze unwavering as she lifts it to her lips. Billy's expression remains inscrutable as he watches. The corners of his lips hint at a subtle upward twitch before he speaks, "Well, we should get going."

You gladly agree with Billy as you get ready to leave, "Gentleman-" "Oh, no. Don't go," Irene cuts him off as Billy freezes, "Stay." Despite being on your feet, you cross your arms, fixing her with an irked expression. "Walk me home later?" She nervously proposes, her hands fidgeting in her lap.

Your lips part in astonishment at her words. There was no way she asking that from Billy when clearly, he has a girl by his side. Billy's eyes flicker towards you, a subtly nod indicating his loyalty. Mrs. Riley persisted, "Please, Billy?" Just as you open your mouth to respond, Sam beats you to it.

"I'll walk you home, Irene," Sam says, diffusing the tension in the air. The relief on Billy's face is palpable as you gently touch his bicep and he glances at you. He bids farewell to the table, and you follow suit, exiting the saloon with Billy. His hand extends behind him, finding yours as he pulls you along with a certain urgency, knowing what the rest of the night would entail.

~

Amidst the haze of smoke and the lingering scent of alcohol, Jesse and his gang sprawled across the room, resting a chaotic atmosphere. You were making small talk with the people around like the mannered young woman you were.

Your keen eyes wandered around the room before landing on Mrs. Riley, who was making her way to Billy. You narrow your eyes, “Has she learnt absolutely nothing?” Your words spat out with an unmistakable tone of annoyance. Charlie lets out a subdued chuckle, shaking his head as he swirled the glass of alcohol in his hand, a wry smile playing on his lips as he watches Billy and Irene.

"Hello there, Billy," Irene came up behind him, a huge grin plastered on her face. "Mrs. Riley," he politely greeted her, a trace of urgency in his tone, "I wanted to see you. I really—I want to talk to you. I need to." Her words were slurred. Sensing trouble, Billy discreetly scanned the surroundings, his eyes discreetly seeking you.

"Uh- maybe now is not a good time," He made a move once his gaze fixated on your silhouette. "Oh no, definitely now. I have something to say," Irene interjected, pulling Billy back with a subtle sigh escaping him. "Get me another drink, will ya?" Her request carried an undertone of desperation, a silent plea to retain his focus.

Billy surveyed her, noticing the telltale signs that she had indulged in one too many drinks. "Sure," he bobbed his head before moving to find a servant holding glasses full of alcohol. "Gracias,' Billy thanked the woman with a smile before he redirecting his attention back to Mrs. Riley.

She gracefully retrieved the glass from his hand, her fingers delicately lingering on his before she flashed a captivating grin, taking a sip. "What did you want to say?" Billy, with a subtle furrow of his eyebrows, gently steered her back to the purpose of their conversation.

Mrs. Riley gulped. "I want to tell you about my husband," she began, and Billy couldn't help but notice a subtle shimmer in her eyes, dulled by the influence of whiskey. "What about your husband?" Billy questioned, a hint of confusion coloring his expression, uncertain where the conversation was headed.

"I- I hate him," she confessed, punctuating her words with another gulp of whiskey. At the abrupt confession, Billy's gaze eagerly sought yours once again. "You can't even imagine," She shook her head, her voice trembling. "Maybe this isn't the place to talk about this," Billy pointed out as he nervously looked at the people around who could possibly be listening.

There was silence in the air as Billy's words manage to sink into Irene's head. "No," she utters softly, delicately placing her glass on a nearby table. "Light my cigarette, will ya?" She gazed up at Billy, who sighed but complies, retrieving a packet of matchsticks from his pocket and igniting the end of her cigarette.

From afar, you were silently raging inside as you watch the two interact. You knew Mrs. Riley's affection was more than friendly, oh it was more than that. "I feel like I'm going to be sick," You mutter with an eye roll, fishing out a cigarette from your purse.

You move the end of the joint to a nearby candle letting it ignite as you take a few deep drags, eyes glued on Billy and Irene. "Thank you," Irene said lowly, her eyes looking off to the side before she directs her gaze back at Billy. "You know, you're very good-looking, Billy,"

Billy wets his lips, casting his gaze downward, an air of discomfort lingering in the unusual tension between them. "Can we go somewhere? I like you," she murmured, drawing nearer with a drop in her voice.

Billy knew what she was trying to do and he wanted nothing of it. He locks eyes with you for a fleeting moment, your silhouette veiled in smoke, a clear sign of your annoyance. "I don't think that's a good idea," He firmly says as Irene's hopeful expression drops. "Please. Please, Billy," She pleaded. There was something uneasy about how she was begging him.

"I told you I hate him. I have to get away." Mrs. Riley persisted as Billy's eyes search hers. He ignored the unsettling feeling in his stomach, "No. I'm sorry, Mrs. Riley." She pursed her lips before she lightly shook her head, her eyes closing for a brief moment, an acknowledgement of his rejection.

"Never mind," She giggled softly to herself, "It's not your fault," Irene gave Billy a smile before it drops slowly as if something inside of her was sinking. The two of them stood there for a couple of seconds before Billy felt her lips on his.

"What is she doing-" You stub your cigarette on the table, ready to storm off in Billy and Irene's direction before Charlie subtly interjects, his arm forming a barrier in front of you. Your eyes were wide in shock after witnessing the unexpected kiss. "Did you see that? Tell me you saw that, Charlie," you exclaimed, shooting him a pleading look.

"Yes, yes I did. But causing a scene won't help, besides, I think someone else could do that," Charlie whispered in your ear, prompting you to give him a puzzled look as your nails dig into his arm.

Charlie cocks his head to where Mr. Riley was, a few feet away from the two, standing with a few other men. You smirk to yourself, imagining the havoc you would create when you redirect Mr. Riley's eyes to Billy and Irene kissing. Charlie removes his arm from in front of you as you straighten up.

Seizing the moment, you deliberately raised your voice, "Is that Mrs. Riley with Billy?" The words echoed through the room, catching the attention of those nearby.

Mrs. Riley's husband, mere feet away, overheard the commotion. Anger flashed in his eyes as he turned to witness the scene, realizing his wife's inappropriate proximity to Billy. Without a word, he stormed out, following Mrs. Riley into the night.

You push your purse into Charlie's chest, "Watch this for me, will ya?" You gave him no time to answer before you were already moving away from him. You made purposeful strides to follow Mr. and Mrs. Riley, leading you outside.

"Hey!" You hear John's voice yell loudly as you hastily conceal yourself around the corner. You peeped from the corner as your eyes widen; John had a firm grip on Irene who was whimpering. "You fucking, lousy fucking bitch." He seethed, his hold on his wife unwavering.

"What do you mean?" Irene fired back, "I saw you in there, with Billy," John lowered his head as Irene shut her eyes. "I know what you were doing, You was trying to get him to fuck you, because you're a little fucking whore!" He taunted her, violently shaking her slender frame.

Both Mr. and Mrs. Riley seemed the slightest bit drunk. Sensing the intensity, you quietly moved to another spot to hear them better, "I'm tired. I want to sleep," Irene pleaded helplessly, pulling away. Her once-neat bun now betrayed signs of disarray.

"I've had enough of you. Do you understand?" John forcefully pulled her back towards him, and Irene released a pained groan. "You're a fucking embarrassment. You're always out there in heat. It's fucking disgusting and I've had e-fucking-nough!" He yelled in her face.

Part of you wanted to go out there and confront him, but what would that do? Your gaze involuntarily fell on the revolver snug in his gun belt—John Riley, a man not hesitant to use it, especially if he discovered you eavesdropping on their private dispute.

"So have I!" Mrs. Riley yelled back, making you slightly jump at the suddenness of it. "I've had enough of you; I hate you!" She roughly shoved him off of her, stumbling as she walked away.

From where you were hiding, you could see what she was doing. What she was reaching for in her garter. A revolver. Swiftly turning, she cocked it and fired, the shot lacking precision. Her lack of aim resulted in wounding John's upper right arm, and you instinctively covered your mouth to stifle a gasp, your eyes widening in shock.

Meanwhile, Billy had been searching everywhere for you. His search for you led him out front of the house where the unmistakable sound of a gunshot pierced the air, prompting his head to whip in the direction of the noise.

Against the wall, you pressed yourself further, a silent witness to the unfolding chaos. In a single, fluid motion, Mr. Riley drew his gun, the metallic click resonating in the tense atmosphere before a decisive shot rang out. Her body dropped to the floor where you saw a clear view of the blood pooling around her body.

Your hands covered your mouth in both shock and horror. Trembling with fear, you couldn't tear your eyes away. At the echo of a second gunshot, Billy sprinted to the side of the house. The urgency became palpable – you needed to leave, immediately. Peeking cautiously around the corner, you saw John's back, hunched and vulnerable, as he clutched his wound.

You quickly slip out before you bump into a hard surface. Your eyes widen in shock as Billy stares down at you, his eyebrows knit in confusion yet his gaze reflecting genuine concern. Before he can question about your unexpected presence, his attention shifts behind you to where Irene's lifeless form lies sprawled on the ground.

His gaze then locks onto John, who winces in pain. "She's dead!" Billy instinctively pushes you to safety behind him; your breathing is quick and shallow, your chest heaving with rapid breaths. Billy's gaze remains fixed on Mrs. Riley.

"What did you do?" His voice turns cold, and the unmistakable sound of him cocking his gun follows. "Billy!" you whisper-yell, hand urgently tugging on his shirt. "She shot me! She tried to kill me!" John points to his bleeding wound, your fear lingering despite Billy's protective stance. "Now, get me some fucking help!"

"Hey, hey, hey, hey!" James Dolan rushes in between the two, "what the hell is happening?" Billy's aim at John doesn't falter. "You're friend killed his wife." You flinch when John's yell rang through your ears, "She shot me! Look at me!"

"Okay, okay, just.... Billy," Dolan puts his hand on Billy's arm, lowering the gun, "Billy, put it down, all right?" Billy complies but hesitates when he puts his gun back in the safety of his belt. You clutch onto Billy's arm as pulls you into his chest, relief flooding through you as he holds you tightly.

"Hey, go fetch the doctor, huh?" You hear James yell. Unbeknownst to you, Billy's eyes stayed glued on Irene. His lip quivering slightly. There had been so much life in her just a couple minutes before, and now, he stared at her lifeless body, blood soaking into her dress.

As his hand moved to caress your hair, his eyes snap to James and John. James was ushering John to go back inside so that he could help him until Billy interjects. "We need a fucking sheriff!" He yelled, as you felt the vibration of his chest in your entire body as you clung to him even more.

"Billy, Billy please, take me out of here," You pull his face down in between your hands as he gazes at your desperate eyes. "Just, just get out of here!" James instructs the onlookers. Billy brushes the sweaty strands that framed your face back. "Sh, it's okay, 'm right here, sweetheart," He pulls you back into the warmth of his chest as you let out a choked sob.

~

“What were you doin' there?” The question, anticipated and inevitable, lingered in the air. Placing your cup on the kitchen counter, you turned to face Billy, his eyes fixed on you, awaiting your response. His expression, an enigma.

Exhaling through your nose, you crossed your arms, eyes drifting to the plant in the corner of the room. "I just wanted to check if she was okay, stumbling around the house drunk, Billy," you lied, leaving the part out where you saw them kissing and discreetly letting Mr. Riley know of the inappropriate behaviour his wife was partaking in.

Pushing off the counter, you approached Billy, your feet closing the distance. His legs, too long for the table, faced you, stretching out.

"Then Mr. Riley came, so I hid... And then it happened," you explained, shrugging. A sigh escaped your lips as you settled beside him, your hand offering a comforting squeeze to his thigh.

Billy scrutinized your features, finding sincerity in your eyes, yet sensing an underlying truth—you didn't truly care about Mrs. Riley's death. Your behaviour around her proved it.

"I just can’t stop thinking ‘bout it," Billy admitted, fingers toying with the mug handle before him. "Of course you can't, Billy-" You were cut off as Billy spoke, "She was even begging me! Fucking begged me to take her somewhere, away from him."

You bit your lip, containing your reaction to this new revelation. Irene begging him to take her away? Mr. Riley's accusatory words echoed in your mind, You were trying to get him to fuck you

"I-I should’ve done something. If I had taken her somewhere, she'd probably be alive right now," Billy stammered, and you moved to cradle his head, ushering him to stop. "Billy. Billy, stop." You spoke calmly, though turmoil brewed within.

He blamed himself for Irene's death, carrying the weight of responsibility for her demise, a fate she brought upon herself by flaunting more than friendliness—brazenly, in front of her husband.

"It is not your fault that Irene was murdered, okay?" you reassured him as he fell into silence. "Still, takin’ her somewhere could’ve helped-" "Stop!" You abruptly shouted, making Billy flinch in your grasp.

Closing your eyes, you took a deep breath before releasing your hold on him, and Billy stared at you in shock. "I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled. I just-" You halted, inhaling again to gain your composure.

“Do you really think nothing bad would’ve happened to either you or Irene if you did take her somewhere? Billy, Mr. Riley would not have taken it lightly if he found out you did take his wife somewhere,” you reason with him.

Billy nodded slowly. "Yeah, you’re right." You gave him a tight smile, patting his thigh. "I should probably get going, Jesse wants to meet up with me." Billy stood, adjusting his hat, and you rose from the seat.

"Okay, be safe." Approaching him, you smiled up, and he slipped his arm around your waist. "I love you." Leaning in, you replied, "I love you too," your lips meeting in a tender connection.

[gumnut-logic]

I need to tell you something (Bit 1)

From this prompt :D a little random virgil!whump before breakfast.

-o-o-o-

Virgil tripped over a chunk of masonry and nearly fell flat on his face. At the last second he caught himself and only staggered.

For the zillionth time in his career, he thanked the specialised rubber in his boots. They made him slightly less agile in the field, but he had compensated over time and his boots had saved so much skin and bone they had proven themselves essential and a blessing.

He blinked, the grey of post-disaster blurring a moment. Scott was in the distance liaising with the GDF. Virgil knew he would much rather be pulling people out from under the rubble, but they were at the stage of the mission where ‘liaising’ was necessary. A good part of the time John managed to handle that, but onsite it was usually Scott.

You would think Virgil’s calm and calculating mind would be better suited to speaking to the local authorities than Scott, who despite being an excellent commander had been known to fly off the handle at the occasional idiot. However, Virgil had also been known to calmly ignore idiots and just do the job of saving whoever needed saving at the time.

It was probably the incident where Virgil had backed Firefly over the top of some guy’s car because the idiot refused to move it. In Virgil’s view it was simple practicality.

Scott and John did the majority of liaising from that point on. Apparently some people did not agree with Virgil’s efficiencies.

A grumbling thought. Didn’t stop Scott from torching a car or two with One’s exhaust.

It was a matter of style, apparently.

“Virgil, what are you doing?” John’s cool voice was ever reassuring as it bounced down from orbit.

“I need to speak to Scott.”

Scott blurred again as he gesticulated with aggravated arms. Great, he was pissed about something.

“Is there something wrong?” There was sudden suspicion in John’s tone.

Virgil grunted at him. “Just need to speak to Scott.”

While Virgil loved John with all his being, Scott was the big brother Virgil was drawn to when he needed help. Scott was his leader, best friend, support, someone he couldn’t do without.

Virgil had a problem? He went to Scott.

“Scott?”

The gesticulation stopped and his big brother turned. “Virgil? What? You’re supposed to be on the east side.”

“I know.” He swallowed. “But I have to tell you something.”

Blue eyes stared at him through two layers of plexiglass, his brother frowning.

“Excuse me, Commander, but you still need to move your craft.”

Virgil blinked away blur and realised Scott had been talking to two people, not one. One was GDF, yes, but the other was some guy dressed in a suit. His expression was one of outrage.

Oh, great, one of those.

“What is it, Thunderbird Two?”

Yay for name dropping, muscle flexing, and…he located Thunderbird One and sure enough, she was perched on the road, blocking a fancy looking car.

Hmm, Virgil could whip up a Firefly. She’d climb nicely over that polished hood.

“Virgil, are you okay?” A gloved hand landed gently on his shoulder.

“Huh?” Turning his head back to his brother, the world took a moment to catch up. Oh. Urgh. “Um.” His stomach clenched.

“Virgil!” Two hands were suddenly holding his arms. “What the-?”

“I’ve been shot.”

The specialised leather of his boots did nothing to help as his legs suddenly decided they no longer wanted to hold him up.

But strong arms disagreed and as his big brother caught him, he knew he’d made the right decision to tell Scott. Scott would look after him. Scott always did.

He did yell, though. Virgil attempted to blink away the blur but this time it was persistent and wouldn’t clear. It only got worse.

Scott was calling his name, and swearing, so much swearing. And the other guy, the guy with the car…

Virgil really needed to construct a Firefly and trash that guy’s car just to shut him up.

But as the world faded, he focussed on Scott’s voice.

His big brother always knew what to do.

-o-o-o-

Next

[nekoannie-chan]

Things are looking up

Pairing: Brock Rumlow X Mutant!Avenger!Reader.

Word count: 777 words.

Summary: You have a plan to save Brock.

Warnings: Canon divergent

A/N: This my entry to @incorrectmarvelquotesss​‘ 1000 Followers Celebration with other prompts #9:

"Half of this city wants you dead."

"Wow. A month ago, the whole city wanted me dead. Things are looking up."

@saiyanprincessswanie​

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You turned off the TV; the news continued to talk about the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D., as well as Brock being wanted; they had already caught Jack.

"Are you all right?" Steve asked as he took control of the TV to turn it off.

"Sure, I was just thinking about everything that's happened; it's... shocking," you said. That was never supposed to happen.

"I know it's all very confusing, and you must be disappointed." Steve took your hand.

You nodded.  The only good thing was that no one suspected you; they still believed you were one of the "good guys." You needed to find Brock, and then...

You still had to think about what you would do; you were going to twist the information as much as necessary to save the love of his life, and you would protect Brock as necessary.

Even if it meant using your powers—powers that neither S.H.I.E.L.D. nor Hydra knew about. The only one who knew your secret was Brock.

You also knew how Steve felt, though you didn't care; you just planned to use all that to your advantage. No one knew what was between you and Brock either, except Jack, of course.

Escaping from the compound was very simple; no one would notice your absence, and in case they did, you had an alibi; you had communicated with Clarice before; she covered for you, and no one was going to oppose you helping other mutants.

Of course, you used your powers to get Clarice and John to help you find the love of your life.

You finally managed to get into his apartment; of course, it was a place where no one would be suspicious, although it probably wouldn't be easy for him to sneak out, or maybe it would; you didn't know.

There was no one there when you entered. You sighed; he wasn't supposed to be living in those conditions.

Somehow you were going to make it all better; you cleaned up the place a bit; it was a mess.

You took one of the candles you found in a drawer—you had given it to him on an anniversary—and you lit it.

Everything seemed to indicate that somehow Brock had recovered his things before S.H.I.E.L.D. or someone else did it, which reassured you a little. Maybe they could never get evidence of your relationship with him, so no one suspected.

Brock noticed the recently extinguished candle; the aroma was unmistakable. He had to take precautions because there was a possibility that Rogers and the others were there.

"You have nothing to worry about; I'm alone," you said, coming out of hiding.

"Y/N? " Brock was perplexed; he didn't think he would see you again. Even when he saw the news, he was happy that you had not been discovered. Several times, while he was in the hospital, he kept wondering and worrying about not having been able to protect you. What are you doing here?" Brock was not upset, but worried. If no one was looking for him or had evidence against him, he was not going to let you put yourself in danger, especially not because of him.

"No, what are you doing living in such a terrible place?" you questioned, looking around the horrible place.

"I think it's obvious; they can't find me," Brock replied grumpily.

"They took Jack to the Raft."

"I know."

"Half of this city wants you dead."

"Wow. A month ago, the whole city wanted me dead. Things are looking up."

"I can make that change," you said.

"Y/N, don’t..."

"HYDRA abandoned us, I know that, but I also know how to get everyone on our side, so no one would try to assassinate you, nor would you be wanted," you continued speaking.

"Even if you did, how are you going to explain what they did to me?"

"I know who can fix it; remember, I have my contacts; it could be one of the Morlocks or the Underground." "You have nothing to worry about," you assured me.

You would probably be exhausted after trying what you thought, but it would be worth it.

You waited until it was dark so you could go to the old X-Mansion, which was abandoned, but there was everything you needed to make your plan a success.

After a few hours, you decided it was a good time to return to the compound; it was time to test if your plan had worked or not.

As soon as you crossed the gates, you smiled; you had changed history, and now no one would know that you had been part of the enemy.

[lovesick-yanderes]

Lovesick: Part Three

Part 1 / Part 2

Cal Character Bio

TWs: typical yandere behavior

-

“Hey, Cal.” You’re standing outside of his apartment’s entrance with your arms crossed, looking around at the other doors and buildings throughout the complex as you greet him. You aren’t focused on him; instead, it seems like you’re searching for a lost item. Cal smiles, masking his pleasure at John’s absence as excitement to see you.

“Hey, _______,” he calmly says, leaning against the doorframe to chat with you. “What’s up? Here to see Buttercup?” As if on cue, the cat slowly strides towards the door, rubbing herself on Cal’s legs and then on yours. She sits down next to you and stares up, leaning her head against your calf as she waits for you to pet her. You don’t.

“Not today. I’m actually here to… Well… John didn’t come home yesterday… I was wondering if you’d maybe seen him?” You ask, your voice faltering a few different times. You’re anxiously fidgeting with your hands and your gaze has shifted to the ground. He notices you shaking as you stand before him.

Cal feigns shock, his eyes widening. “What do you mean he didn’t come home?”

Whatever resolve you’d been holding in suddenly breaks. Tears cascade down your face and you start to sob, bringing your hands to your face to cover them. “I’m sorry,” you wail, sniffling and trying to stop. “It’s just- he’s gone. I haven’t seen him since we went to bed on Friday night, and now it’s Sunday, and-”

“Hey,” he says calmly, walking out of his doorway and wrapping an arm around you. He brings you in for a gentle, reassuring hug. You lean into his embrace, relaxing into his body as he rubs your arm to comfort you. Cal savors the moment, permanently etching how you feel in his arm into his brain before he pats your shoulder. “Let’s go inside. We can talk more once you’ve calmed down, okay?”

You sniffle and wipe your tears, pulling away from him and nodding. With a quiet “okay,” you head into his apartment with Buttercup close behind. Once you’re inside, you climb onto Cal’s couch, and Buttercup instantly crawls into your lap. While you pet her to get your mind off of John, Cal quietly makes you one of your regular drinks from the Cardinal Cafe. When he delivers it to you, you can’t help but let out a strained laugh when you recognize the beverage as one of your favorites. “Thanks, Cal.”

After you finish most of your drink and Buttercup helps calm you down, Cal joins you on the couch. “If you’re not ready, we can take some more time,” he tells you, reassuring you through your emotions. “But I’m here when you’re ready to talk.”

You nod your head, take a deep sigh, and then finish off the last of your drink. “Yeah. I think I’m good now. Thanks, Cal, I really appreciate it…” You set your cup on a side table and return both of your hands to Buttercup, who lays contently in your lap, purring as you gently pet and massage her. 

You narrate your version of events to Cal, who sits quietly, giving you space to speak and clear your mind. “I don’t usually see him until around 4:00 on Saturdays, but I thought it was weird that he hadn’t even texted me… He always says good morning and makes sure I eat lunch. At 6:30, I assumed he was working late or went out with some coworkers… When I went to bed, I figured I’d wake up next to him sometime in the night, but I never actually fell asleep because I was just waiting for him to get home.” You pause and tears start to well up in your eyes. “I was in bed until I came over here. I don’t know where he is, and I’m freaking out, Cal.” You stop petting Buttercup to run your fingers through your hair, inhaling deeply to help calm yourself back down. 

Your sadness nearly breaks Cal’s heart. It’s necessary, he tells himself. They have to be like this now so I can show them how much I love them. He wraps his arm around you, pulling you into a firm side hug. “I’m here for you, ______,” he tells you, resting his head onto yours. You erupt into a waterfall of tears, leaning into him as you wail. “We’re friends. I’m gonna help you through this.”

In the coming days and weeks, you make the call to the police and John’s family to report him missing. Police come and take your statement. An official investigation is launched. A formal search party assembles and combs through the trails John was known to run on. His body never turns up. Months go by. His case becomes cold. 

You stay with Cal, too heartbroken and anxious to step foot in the apartment you shared with John. “I don’t need office space,” he tells you when he insists you officially move into his extra room and off of his couch. He worked at a coffee shop, after all. He could use his laptop anywhere in the apartment. “It’s just until you’re feeling like yourself again,” he assures you, knowing that you’ll never really leave his side again. Once you’re convinced to sublet your apartment for the rest of your lease, he pays for a company to move all of your belongings in. John’s family comes to retrieve his things. Anything left behind is donated. Another couple takes over your lease. And just like that, every part of John is removed from your life. It’s almost like he was never there at all. Almost.

Six months after you move in with Cal, he starts to see progress on your mood. The combined efforts of therapy, quitting your job, and the emotional support of Buttercup helps you rebloom into the person he remembers from the Cardinal Cafe. Of course he’d love you no matter what, but it was nice to see you smiling again. Especially when it was for him.

“Hey, Cal,” you call out to him as he enters the apartment once he’s out of work. He smiles as he walks through the apartment, heading towards your room. He leans against the door frame and smiles at you as you beam back at him. You set your book to the side of your bed as Buttercup jumps up from your lap, rushing to greet him with a loud, wailing cry of a meow. Feed me, now, she begs. “We missed you.”

He sighs in bliss at your statement. 

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something,” you tell him. He watches with admiration as you fidget with your hands, avoiding looking at him while you mumble and launch into a long story. He watches your lips curl into quick, nervous smiles as you talk to him. He’s enamored with you. He’s barely started actually paying attention when your words make his head spin.

“I have feelings for you.”

His ears start to ring. Everything slows, and he can feel each second as it passes. His heart practically leaps out of his chest. You confessed first. He thought he’d be waiting much longer to share his true feelings with you. He was trying to be slow, to respect your mourning period while still showing you how good for you he is… But here you were, already baring your heart. He moves towards you without thinking, crossing the room in a smooth, fluid fashion. He joins you on the bed and takes your hand into his. 

“I’ve known that I liked you for a while now,” he tells you, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. You didn’t need to know exactly how long he’d been pining for you. He leans down to rest his forehead against your hand, leaning heavily into your touch. The embarrassment, shock, and excitement of your confession give him a head rush. He feels short of breath and so, so woozy as he lays against you. His cheeks turn red and he feels as if his body is radiating heat. He slowly looks up to you, meeting your gaze with a lovestruck look in his eyes.

“I didn’t want to tell you too soon,” he says. “Didn’t want it to be-”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” you tell him, using your free hand to move his bangs and caress his face. “I’m just so glad you feel the same.” You start to lean down to him and he quickly fills the gap, capturing you in a firm, impatient kiss. It is the first of many. He did it.

[lemonnngrass]

OwO? What do you take me for classpect wise? <>

alright :3 if anyone reading this is not familiar with homestuck/classpecting, i included a small glossary of important words.

i immediately ruled out the (both passive and active) destruction and stealing classes. this is prince (active destruction), bard (passive destruction, thief (active stealing) and rogue (passive stealing)

ive also ruled out aspects i view as logical, not emotional, which are light, time and mind. of course, time is also the destruction aspect, which simply does not feel right for you. i considered ruling out void, too, but did not.

at the moment we have exploitation, manipulation, creation, understanding, and embodiment classes.

im leaning towards a passive class, if only because to me you have never seemed like much of a fighter when not necessary.

now im ruling out rage and doom aspects, two aspects generally accompanied with well, anger and suffering. next goes breath, because you have always seemed like a leader (successful session leaders tend to be passive classes, looking at you karkat) that was one with their companions- not an independent figure that they simply look to for guidance.

we're left with space, blood, void, hope, heart, and life for aspects.

im going to knock off void, because while you are good at knowing and keeping secrets, it only shows itself in people you already know- not strangers. a void player would know anyone is keeping a secret no matter how little they knew them and how well they hid it.

next i remove blood from the cards. blood is the complete opposite of breath, meaning while you would have total freedom as a breath player, you would have absolutely none as a blood player. while you care deeply for your friends, blood showcases a complete dependency on them- at least in my, rather fanon, interpretation.

below, a list your possible classes (all are passive) and aspects:

class: page (explotation), heir (manipulation), sylph (creation), seer (understanding), and muse (embodiment)

aspect: space, hope, heart, and life

pages inspire others to use the pages aspect. it is, possibly, the most passive aspect that is not an embodiment class. this in between of regularly passive and the helpful passiveness of a muse doesn't seem like you- nor does the extreme slow build. im ruling it out, and seer for a similar reason-

seers are less of a slow build than pages, but knowing you, i think your knowledge of your aspect would be instinctual, even if much much more limited- even more so than a mage.

a sylph fixes their aspect. in kanayas case (sylph of space), she theoretically wouldve known how to teleport through space without harming it, or harming it the least. she could have mended rips in it, and could have made small pocket dimensions useful in frog breeding. you wouldnt have to worry about your aspect being harmed in the first place, maybe that reassurance is your inspiration reaching far into paradox space to insure it is safe, maybe its something else.

now, heir or muse?

heirs change their aspect, manipulating it and making it something easily manageable. of course, less so than a witch. lets use john (heir of breath) as an example. he can inspire change in the wind and in freedom, guiding breath while it guides him as well. hes constantly doing whatever the hell he wants, always being changed by his complete freedom.

muses are their aspect, in the most core manner. calliope, our only example of a muse, is creative in every way she can be. she becomes creativity to inspire through it. for not being an understanding class, muses understand their aspect in their core- even if it isnt conscious and more innate.

what was it again i said about you not being a seer because your knowledge was instinctual, not learned?

so, youre a muse. but what is your aspect....

space? ah, calliope. that wouldnt fit. you love drawing and writing, but you are not creativity itself. many think they are a space player because they enjoy the arts, but it is so much more than enjoying it, especially in the case of a muse.

a muse of life would be explained as brimming with life, never having a dull moment and always enjoying their life no matter what happens. i dont think that fits you very well, does it? everyone has their moments.

now...hope and heart. this is what ive been dreading the entire time. really, this couldve been a few sentences about you being a muse and the rest about hope or heart.

hope...you would inspire inspiration, basically. everyone looks to you knowing you can make what you want happen. because of your inspiration reaching everywhere, you could stare down the barrel of a shotgun and know you were to be saved soon. i always see an air of haughtiness behind the pure joy, the everlasting positivity. yes, you inspire people, but now you expect them to almost serve you. you believe you wouldnt even need to godtier, you wouldnt die because everyone loves you. i dont think you think like that, but maybe its the pale speaking.

muse of heart. you inspire people to express their emotions, becoming one with their inner selves. you help people bring themselves inner peace by helping them understand their turmoil.

youre the ultimate emotional support, the sessions crutch. and if you allow them to rely on you too much, they may become dependant on you- so be careful.

for fun, heres a muse of heart land i came up with: land of mazes and belonging. i can explain it more if u want me to :3

glossary under the cut

passive classes: classes that tend to strategize more than fight and normally do not engage in physical combat. generally better leaders than active classes. best example in canon is john egbert, imo

active classes: typically physical fighters, tend to wield their aspect as a weapon while passive classes use it as a shield. sometimes the de facto leader of a group, but in sburb they tend to fall out of this role with a passive class replacing them. best example is dave strider, with karkat vantas being a close second.

classes: one part of the classpect puzzle. sorted into groups of two, such as the destruction, stealing, and understanding classes. your class is how you wield your aspect.

aspects: the second part of the classpect puzzle. not sorted into groups, unless you count inverts- an aspects invert is its total opposite. they determine what your powers will manifest as.

[mlobsters]

supernatural s11e8 just my imagination (w. jenny klein)

this uh, sounds interesting. oh, i've scrolled past gifs of this guy, try to skip by anything with an actor i don't recognize nowadays

DEAN Dude. Who you talking to? SAM Him? DEAN Are you having a stroke? Do you smell toast?

the sleepy face and morning voice but asking the questions while also making that face, very cute. 10/10 (wanna hear about how smelling burning isn't actually a classic symptom of stroke)

i, too, was taken aback by the marshmallows nachos, dean.

DEAN Come on?? Are you kiddi… Look… This… mother… You and me, library, right now. Come on!

dad's pissed

SAM Dean, when I was nine years old, you know what I wanted more than anything? Marshmallow nachos. DEAN Yeah, you were a weird-ass kid.

marshmallow nachos plot device

SAM In Romanian lore, Zanna are creatures who guide and protect lost children. Zanna intentionally appear as figments of a child’s imagination, allowing the child to move on with confidence once guidance is no longer necessary. Maybe Sully’s telling the truth. DEAN Okay. Say Bozo is legit. Right? Which, you know – hello crazytown, but okay. How is this our problem?

don't be an asshole, dean

DEAN Good. The Bert and Ernie pretext. Awesome.

if the shoe fits...

DEAN You know, this whole imaginary friend thing was dumb then and it’s dumb now. SAM Yeah, you’ve made that pretty clear. DEAN You didn’t think to tell me he was real? SAM Well, Dean, I didn’t think he WAS. You saw the lore book too, I mean, maybe when I was nine years old I thought he was real, but I grew up. Or grew out of it. Whatever. I left it.

don't particularly enjoy when they do this. dean's an ass, sam gets hurt and we feel sad for him.

DEAN And what did you need Drop Dead Fred for in the first place? SAM I was kind of a lonely kid, Dean. DEAN You weren’t lonely. You had me!

preemptively getting upset. you had me, except when you were old enough (according to john winchester) to stay for who knows how long alone. you know, at that big age of 9 years old. episode makes it seem like we're supposed to be upset with dean but this is all dad. and how exactly did john take dean hunting when he was younger than 9, where was sam. bobby? pastor jim? let me tell you the logistics get more preposterous the more you think about it, and with every new little backstory they decide to toss in

comedy music and all, at least the visual gag was compelling what with the sparkly blood all over her hands and face

DEAN The whole family. Yeah, just get the whole gang in there… You know, the family that showers together… Kay.

dean.

combining this cracky murder mystery story with more groundwork of how sad and alone sam was as a kid, and how he spent so much of his life wanting to run away, blergh. meanwhile we see dean at that group home as a kid and considering staying, but seeing sam makes him decide to go home with them. thinking about it too much and making myself upset! great!

you can't make me cry and then have an extended air guitar demo by bleeding imaginary friend man.

slight reassurance that it's not that sam wants to run away from them, but that he just doesn't want to be left alone. which is a totally logical and understandable - especially for a fucking 9 year old - way to feel.

SULLY Yeah, it was really bad. You know, I’m not gonna lie to ya – when you went off to hunt, I considered that one of my biggest failures. It just seemed so clear to me that you wanted something else. But – I was wrong. And it all worked out, didn’t it? SAM I don’t know about that.

SULLY Come on. You’re a hero. Sam, you saved the world. I keep track of my kids. And you did really good, Sam.

real nice for someone to actually call out what sam did right

SAM Well… Not all good. There was some bad. And some really bad. Sully – I screwed up. I let something out into the world that was… SULLY You mean the Darkness? That’s what the others are calling it, I’ve just heard rumors. SAM I’m gonna fix it. I am. Dean and I, we’re – we’re gonna fix it. It’s just…

sam is being so vulnerable and earnest, hurts. good job, padalecki

SAM There’s this Cage in hell, and it’s where they keep Lucifer. And I’ve been in it, and it’s… And I think God wants me to go back. SULLY Ever think… about running away anymore? SAM I did. Um, I mean, I have. But not in a while. Not anymore.

so i'm not sure what direction that's to be taken. is running away going to the cage (surely not) then running away from the perceived responsibility of needing to do it? but we can't counsel sam on that without knowing for sure who's telling him this. because i mean sam has mentioned lucifer like, 4 times this episode. did you consider sam, my love, that lucifer is involved in the messages

DEAN Trust me. Revenge? Ain’t gonna make you feel better. Listen, I’ve seen more than my share of monsters. And I mean REAL monsters, bad. These guys? These are Sesame Street Mother Teresas. But when I wasn’t there for my little brother, Sully was.

will always take when dean admits he was wrong and didn't see how him not being around affected sam, but the setup went a little too hard (imo) on dean being a clueless jerk. first appearance of the mushy music i think in s11.

SAM Sully. One thing I’ve learned – heroes aren’t perfect. SULLY Mm. Sometimes they’re scared. But that just means the thing that they’re facing, it’s super important. And nobody else is gonna go for it, because nobody else has got the balls.

damnit sully.

SAM Dean, we need to seriously discuss me going to the Cage. DEAN Okay. Not happening. Good talk. – Sam, even if these visions are real… SAM Yeah. It’s Lucifer? And me? In the Cage? I know. But this – this lump in my throat… It’s not an excuse. Not anymore. DEAN We’ll find another way. Okay? There’s always another way. SAM Okay. Then tell me – what is the other way?

did they not have this conversation back in whatever, first trip to the cage? s5? when they had 99% more information than they do right now. i cannot believe. I CANNOT BELIEVE we're making decisions without knowing FOR SURE who the visions are coming from. and why isn't sam more suspicious they're from lucifer? ok, so he's all traumatized by lucifer and thinking with his emotions and fear and feeling like he deserves the punishment. but hell, DEAN. since he's all dubious. how about a position that's reasonable what with sam's and their history, that the visions are from someone - but if not god, then WHO

[writethelifeyouwant]

Made For You | Prologue

Summary: Dean and Sam like what they have together, and if screwing your brother screws with the universe’s “grand plan” while they’re at it, then even better. Neither of them has ever cared much for tradition or fate, but it turns out there are some destinies you can’t escape. Sometimes, someone is just made for you. 

Pairing: Alpha!Dean x Unpresented!Sam Rating: 18+ Warnings: Incest Tags: Omegaverse, growing up, Sam’s curious, Dean answers his questions, because he’s a good big brother Word Count: 947 Created For: @spnabobingo - Free Space | @anyfandomgoesbingo - Free Space

Series Masterlist

For as long as Dean could remember, his little brother had always been full of questions.

Of course, when he was two, Sam had gone through the typical toddler phase of asking “why?” after every single thing his big brother said. It had taken a lot out of six-year-old Dean not to just shove the kid out of his way and hide somewhere no one could ever ask him “why?” again. Then when he was a little older, and started to notice more and more about the world he lived in, the questions morphed into: Where does Dad go all the time? Why isn’t he back yet? What is the shotgun doing under your pillow?

Dean had tried his hardest to avoid answering those kinds of questions as long as he could. Dad didn’t want Sam to know about the monsters under the bed, not just yet.

When Sam was seven or eight, he’d gone through a fairy tales phase, to Dean’s utter disgust. But those had been the only books that Mrs. Nowicki, the elderly motel desk clerk that John had asked to keep an eye on them, had left over from her daughter’s childhood. Sam had been delighted when she’d brought them in one morning, and told him he could keep them as long as he wanted. That hadn’t been necessary, the dorky little kid had devoured every single one of them by the end of the day.

After that, the questions had morphed into: Do you believe in love at first sight? Were Mom and Dad true mates? Do you believe in true mates? Do true mates always have to be an alpha and omega? What do you think you’ll present as? What about me?

Dean had wanted to pull the shotgun out from its not-so-secret hiding place beneath his lumpy cotton pillow and shoot Sam, then himself, just to make the kid shut it about all that true mates bullshit. Instead, he’d gone to the library down the road and stolen a copy of Grimm’s Fairy Tales – the ones that had the real endings, with death and blood and guts – and shoved that under Sam’s nose and told him to read that and then shut up.

When he had finished the book, Sam’s next question had been: Why do you always ruin everything?! Dean had smirked triumphantly to himself in his vindictive-older-brother way, not at all sorry.

Right before Dean’s eighteenth birthday, Sam had asked him: “What do you think you’ll present as?”

“Alpha,” Dean had shrugged, unconcerned. He was pretty confident about what he’d turn out to be. Sam looked at him nervously, hands wringing in his lap.

“What do you think I’ll present as?” he had asked in a small voice, looking much younger than his thirteen years.

“Bitch like you? Definitely omega,” Dean had mocked with a cold sneer, sick of all these goddamn questions. But then he saw how Sam’s eyes began to cloud with tears, the multifaceted colours blurring to a muddy hazel. “Hey, no, I didn’t mean it,” he reassured his little brother, patting him awkwardly on the arm. “You’re already tall as me, bet you’ll be even bigger one day. That’s definitely an alpha trait.”

“You mean it?” Sam sniffed, cheeks twitching with the ghost of hope.

“Yeah, totally,” Dean nodded, bravado back in full swing. “I mean, we fight monsters for a living for god’s sake. You, me, and Dad? Alpha as they come.”

He had been right, and a couple weeks after his eighteenth birthday, Dean had presented as an Alpha. His hormones had gone into full swing, whacking him out with a rut that had lasted nearly two weeks, and he’d been a horny bastard even outside of his ruts ever since – something Sam never failed to rib him about in the years following.

“Just you wait until you’ve presented,” Dean grumbled. “You won’t want to keep your dick in your pants either.” Sam’s eighteenth birthday had been last weekend, he’d probably be popping his knot any day now.

“What’s–” Sam hesitated, chewing on his question a little before starting again. “What’s it like?”

“What’s what like?” Dean grunted, not following.

“W-what’s it like, y’know,” Sam’s hands flailed around awkwardly in front of him, his face breaking out in a splotchy, embarrassed blush. “What’s it like knotting someone?”

Dean’s mouth ran dry as he looked at the hopeful, nervous expression on his little brother’s face. When Sam licked his lips, Dean felt a lurch somewhere behind his navel, and he felt a flush begin to creep up his neck to match Sam’s.

“Um,” he cleared his throat awkwardly, “it uh, it feels really intense, I guess. Like at that moment, while you’re tied, there’s no one but you two. It kinda feels like they’re everywhere, even though it’s only your dick inside ‘em. And it’s all… tight, and warm… and uh, wet.”

Sam had a look on his face like Dean had punched him in the gut; knocked the wind right out of him. He didn’t know what made him do it but Dean looked down, and saw Sam was hard. Sam saw him looking, his chest heaving shakily as their eyes locked. The younger boy cleared his throat.

“Have you, uh, have you ever done it with a guy?”

Dean hadn’t suspected that question in a million years, and he blinked in stunned silence for a moment, eyes still fixed on Sam’s.

“No…” Dean answered slowly. His heart was beating so loudly he bet Sam could hear it too.

“Have you ever wanted to try?”

Sam and all his goddamn questions. They would be the death of him, Dean was positive.

Chapter 1 posting on June 7th or subscribe to my website to read up through Chapter 4!

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[tommyspeakycap]

I love your work! I was wondering if you’d be willing to write something about (toddler) baby Shelby having Alfie help her bake a cake for Tommy

omggggg that’s so so cute!!

A Bakers Help

The burly Camden Town ‘baker’ was nothing short of completely shocked when he heard a soft banging on his office door in the mid afternoon. His eyebrows had furrowed and he had kept his hand readily on his weapon so he was prepared in the event of an enemy being on the other side of the door. He was surprised to say the least when he tugged open the door and had to look down multiple inches to spot she who knocked on the door.

There stood a little girl. One he knew fairly well but who’s appearance outside his office was still a shock. That little girl was notorious around most of England, especially in heavily gang populated territories where the “Shelby” was a household name and everybody who knew that name knew the littlest member of the family was something akin to a jewel in Tommy Shelby’s crown. Alfie had been curious as to whether or not she was actually attached to Thomas Shelby’s hip in consideration to how much time she spent right by his side, teetering along on little legs so he knew she was safe right by his side. It wasn’t often that Tommy entrusted others to watch over his youngest sister, so it would be safe to say that Alfie was incredibly confused.

“Good morning.” The little girl greets, her lips plastered with a bright smile as she lifts a hand to wave at him. Alfie braces himself on either side of his doorway with strong hands so as to lean out of his office to look out into the ‘bakery’ to both the left and right before stepping back in. “Mhm yes it was actually. Where’s your brothers?” He asks, turning his eyes back to the girl in the doorway who fights to pull her wool coat back up from falling off her arms due to the fact it hadn’t been buttoned up. The girl shrugs, “Dunno...Can I come in?” She asks politely, “It’s very cold.”

Alfie Solomons squints his eyes and forms a crease between his brows, but even he can’t deny the chill in the winter breeze through the unheated factory and the shivering of the child, and so he steps to the side and gestures her in the door. Alfie hums, or maybe something more akin to a grumble, in thought as the five year old wanders around his office to take in the whole surroundings. “And where are your pikey brothers then yeah?” His voice rumbles deep and gravelly the same way it always does, not missing the chance or thinking twice about dropping an insult to the Shelby men as he speaks. The youngest of the clan shrugs her little shoulders. “Dunno,” she says again, “I’m with Ada. Told her i was going out to play.”

The words most definitely do worry Alfie Solomons after the girl with Tommy Shelby’s striking blue eyes and his heart in the palm of her tiny hand finishes speaking flippantly. It occurs to him that she’s simply too young to understand both risk and consequence. She knows that Tommy Shelby dotes on her like the little princess he believes her to be. She knows he loves her, he tells her every day. However, Alfie knows the far darker side to that love. He’s heard of people brutally murdered with remains unidentifiable after coming close to her, and although Alfie has no desire to harm a child who probably doesn’t even understand what it is the rest of her family do when she’s not around, that doesn’t reassure him even in the slightest that Tommy, Arthur, Ada and John Shelby along with Polly Gray wouldn’t rip him to shreds if they knew their little princess was stood in his office for whatever reason.

“Right,” Alfie states, “Better get you home then,” He strides easily towards the door to hold it open, but the little girl simply quirks one eyebrow and remains where she stands. “It’s Tommy’s birthday soon.” She declares, looking up at the hardened London gangster as if he poses no threat nor fear to her in the slightest bit. She smiles at him, big and bright. She didn’t know him. She didn’t know if he was violent, didn’t know if he was supposed to be scary. She just knew she had met him before, he was relatively funny as the 5 year old obviously did not pick up on the thinly veiled threats hiding beneath the verbal back and forth between her favourite brother and the man she stood with now, and more importantly than anything; she knew he was a ‘baker’. “You need a cake on your birthday, you know.” She adds very matter of factly, and Alfie Solomons doesn’t fight the little grin he gives. “And you’re a baker, so you can make good cakes. I need you to help me make Tommy’s cake for birthday cake time on Saturday.”

There’s virtually no way this little girl had just come up with this by herself. The way she acts, her generosity, her sweetness and her absolute insistence of cake for her brothers birthday was not something she had adapted by herself. Children don’t just come up with these things. That thought, for Alfie, means that those who have raised her have drilled a certain kindness into her. Thomas Shelby has raised his little sister to be the kind of kid who will find a man she thinks is a baker just because her brother told her he was, so that he can help her make a cake. That makes Alfie want to laugh. Tommy Shelby acts the part, but Solomons now knows he’s the type who taught a little girl about the importance of cake and birthday fun.

“Fine.” Alfie responds, out stretching his arm to gesture the little girl out into the factory. He did actually have a designated area for the ‘bakery’ just in the event that someone came looking or investigating and he needed to show there was actually a bakery there. He was thankful for that now, because he got the feeling that there was little to no chance he would have gotten away from the very very persistent little Shelby trailing behind him. It becomes apparent very quickly that little (y/n) will have no luck when it comes to seeing what was going on up on the counter, considering she wasn’t even nearly the same height as it, never mind tall enough see over it. Alfie has to get creative in that respect, eyes flicking around until they lands on a a stack of crates that he grabs a couple of to pile them next to the counter so that the youngest Shelby can contribute as she pleased to the cake making.

All things considered, Alfie was actually a fairly good baker. He didn’t come up with the idea of a bakery to cover his illegal business work for no reason. He knew he could bake if it was necessary (which it sometimes was to smuggle alcohol), so this ask from the little girl who had a list of ingredients and an exact image of how she wanted this cake to look, wasn’t a huge task for him.

In the process of the bake, Alfie learned a lot. He learned that little Shelby couldn’t quite pronounce her L’s (which Tommy was apparently working on with her), so she called him Afie. He learned that Tommy’s favourite cake was vanilla sponge, which was why it was a four tier vanilla sponge with extra strawberry jam that his sweet little sister had chosen. He learned that the little girl got here by very discretely tripping up her cousin, Karl, so that Ada was preoccupied giving him a plaster for his knee and stopping his tears and (y/n) snuck off from Ada’s London home in the direction she felt like she remembered Tommy going when he had taken her to Alfie’s bakery once, albeit leaving her in the car with Arthur and John. She had to ask for directions from confused strangers a few times, but ultimately she found the place on her own. Alfie learned that little Shelby talks a lot. She’s very clever, can follow instructions a lot better than most children of a similar age. It had become increasingly clear she didn’t see any problem with talking about the fun things she did with her brothers. The way Arthur and John like to throw her about to hear her giggles, how Tommy tucks her in every single night that he can. How he tickles her, how he still carries her around even though her aunt Polly protests it. How good her aunt Polly’s cooking is. How much she loves her family. She sees no problem with divulging these soft family moments, although Tommy would probably be absolutely appalled that people knew these things about him and his brothers. It made the head of the Peaky Blinders seem so incredibly mundane.

Alfie could see now why that sweet girl was so loved and held so dear by the family. He also had to wonder if she truly was one of them. She was funny and bright, she giggled with him and babbled on about sorts of rubbish. Alas, she was bossy as Thomas himself. She was loud like Arthur, sarcastic as John, self assured as Polly, as independent as Finn and opinionated as Ada. She made sure to tell Alfie exactly how to stack the first layer while she mixed ingredients for the next layer and he was kept on a very short leash, reminded every so often that he was not to dip his fingers in any of the mixtures and leaning over as he worked to tell him Tommy liked more jam than what Alfie had put on.

“Wait!” She yelps out, leaping off the makeshift kitchen stool made from those bottle crates to chase after Alfie until she reaches the man who was carrying the cake towards a box. “Finishing touches,” she insists, ever so slightly dusting the cake with powdered icing sugar to give a final decorational appearance. Alfie smiles subconsciously as the small girl stands back with a proud grin, turning her eyes to man holding the cake, “Thank you Afie,” she beams, her cute little way of saying his name never lost on him as his heart flutters. “Welcome, baby Shelby.” He responds as he slips it into the cake box he’d ordered one of his men to go and get without question.

Alfie was certain he would step outside his bakery and London would be burning. He expected to have Shelby’s killing people on the streets searching for their baby, their sweet little princess. He assumed (and rightly so) that Ada hadn’t told Tommy that she had absolutely no idea where his most precious little love was for genuine fear of his reaction and so she had mobilised some friends and acquaintances she had made while in London to try finding her little sister. Albeit they were evidently unsuccessful and absolutely no one expected little (y/n) to be baking with Alfie Solomons for her gangster brothers birthday because she just loves him so.

Ada literally burst out the front door frantically when she saw the car headlights pull up outside her house, wrapping herself tightly in her coat as Alfie Solomons lifts her little sister down out of the car. The 5 year old stands innocent as ever next to the man who Tommy never truly knows if he can trust or not as he reaches back into the car to lift out a white cake box with two strong hands. “Better keep a closer eye on this one yeah?” He gestured his head to (y/n) who runs towards Ada and jumps into her open arms to be squeezed incredibly, almost painfully tightly. “Never run off like that again!” She hisses, her concern and anxiety clear behind her words as she speaks into her sisters soft hair, stroking it with her hand for some form of reassurance.

“Sorry Ada,” she hums cutely in response, “We made Tommy a cake though, for his birthday!” Ada let’s go of (y/n) and turns to the little girl. “Go inside and find Aunt Pol, i’ll be in shortly.” She says as she eyes Alfie Solomons with the stoney faced glare he assumes she learned from Polly Gray and her often stoney resolve. “Bye bye Afie!” The 5 year old chimes, scuttling up to him to wrap her arms around his legs for a moment before turning and running off with a wave at the doorstep with Alfie a little bit to stunned by how kind she was to him despite the bad man he was to do much else than wave after her. “You,” Ada snipped, cutting him out of his thoughts and crossing her arms firmly over her chest, “Baked a cake with my little sister?” Her words leak with confusion, eyebrows furrowed with her head tilted in question as she continues to be unable to think of any reason why Alfie Solomons hadn’t turned the little girl away or even used her as a bargaining chip with threats of harm to the child if Tommy didn’t do as Alfie wanted. Instead he baked with her a cake for Thomas and she was returned without a bump, not even a hair on her head harmed. He had returned the little Shelby who was uncharacteristically clumsy for a Shelby without her falling off of anything, burning herself on any ovens or accidentally eating something she was supposed to.

“Yeah.” Alfie responds, shrugging his shoulders at the same time. Ada steps closer to him to try in some way to read what he’s not saying, her heels clicking with each step. “And you want nothing for it?” She presses, her eyes narrowed as he shrugs. “Birthday gift innit yeah?” He grumbles, handing the cake to Ada. “She’s the best of you lot,” he states firmly as he turns his back to climb back into his car, “Keep her that way yeah?”

Ada’s frown turns to a soft smile as she nods, watching as Alfie Solomons pulls his door shut firmly and turns on his ignition.

“Mr Solomons, Oi!” She calls after him, forcing him to roll down his window to hear what she has to say. “Thank you.” She breathes, “For looking after her and bringing her home. And for the cake.” Alfie nods his head in acknowledgment. Ada isn’t sure what else to say. She still feels fairly nauseous at the fact her little sister was missing for virtually the whole day and littered with further nerves at the fact Tommy would be around to pick her up in a half hour and it wasn’t like little Shelby to keep quiet about anything, especially not when it came to Tommy and especially when it came to her adventures that her favourite brother hadn’t been part of, so assuredly she would let him know all about her baking day with Alfie after the cake was revealed tomorrow afternoon for his birthday. Alfie knew this too and he imagined he’d get a visit from the head of the Peaky Blinders relatively soon after he found out.

Tommy would probably be as confused as Ada as to why Alfie looked after little (y/n) the way he did. Alfie couldn’t even really explain it himself, she just warmed up his heart and the sweet little girl showed Alfie truly why Tommy loves that little girl so much. She brings laughter and happiness and fun. She brings light into a very, very dark life and Alfie appreciates that dedication Tommy had to keeping her safe a lot more now. He himself now had a soft spot for the kid and there was a part of him that knew for a fact he too would be making sure no one in his circle was breathing words of harming that little girl who had promised she would bake with him again, and had his birthday written on her hand so she could bake for his birthday.

Maybe the Shelby’s weren’t so bad after all.

[obxsummer]

By Your Side // John B Routledge

john b routledge x reader

warnings: physical violence, angst

part of #obx2celebration

masterlist

ask me anything

a/n: y'all please keep in mind this is fictional. i know the process of what happens in here would never happen in real life but that's the fun of it all :)

summary below the cut to avoid spoilers

--

summary: seeing your boyfriend in prison was never easy, but seeing him in the medical wing leads to a heart to heart in each other's arms.

The weight in your chest was getting heavier and heavier with each breath you took. It felt like you would never catch a break, never be able to breathe fully ever again. Ever since you and John B returned to the Outer Banks, it felt like it was one thing after another that just caused more and more trouble for the two of you. Nothing was worse than the look on his face when the cops finally cornered you and your friends. You had gripped John B’s hand as long as possible before he was torn from your grasp.

The whole day seemed like a blur then, but the soreness in your throat was still there from where you screamed at Shoupe and Deputy Thomas for how they handled John B. It was unforgivable, burned in your mind on repeat as you watched the scene over and over again with your heart cracking a little more each time. Regardless of the fact that your boyfriend was being arrested and charged for something he had nothing to do with, you couldn’t get over the fact that he was being shoved around and literally beaten by the people who were supposed to protect and help you. Needless to say, anytime you saw Shoupe or Deputy Thomas, your glare was enough to make them wish they hadn’t stepped foot in your path.

You were a mess without John B. Normally, the two of you were attached at the hip, but being without him was never this hard. The lingering thought in the back of your head kept reminding you that he wasn’t safe, he wasn’t home. Every minute he spent in prison was a minute you didn’t sleep because you were so worried.

Kie had done her best to try to console you. JJ had spewed crazy plans that only made you more upset because you knew none of them would work and John B wasn’t getting out unless you exposed Ward. Pope was silent, lurking in the shadows at the loss of his best friend. He clung to Kie in hopes that they would all figure something out soon enough.

The Chateau was nowhere near as comforting, even with all of your friends scattered across the house at every second of the day. You had visited John B each chance you had just to reassure yourself that he wasn’t gone completely. You would do anything to be in his arms, to hold him and just tell him everything would be okay.

Walking through the doors of the county jail, you moved without words to set all of your stuff on the counter that you couldn’t bring through. The lady behind the desk, Beth, was the only saving grace you had found in the chaos of this mess. She was the only one to treat you respectfully when it came to anything revolving John B. Although she never outwardly stated it, she believed your story, and that meant more to you than she would ever know.

“Hi, Y/N,” She greeted with a small smile. You returned the gesture and accepted the visitor lanyard she stretched out to you. Walking through the metal detector, you followed her back through the hallways. You had slowly gotten used to the cursing and yelling that followed your arrival. Beth was the Director of Visitor Safety throughout the building and in the short time you had known her, she had pulled many strings in regards to you and John B. Within the first two days, she had realized how uncomfortable it was for the two of you to sit and stare at each other with everyone listening. (And yes, she meant everyone because nobody could be in the presence of a “cop killer” and not be amazed).

Beth led you into her office with a smile and shut the door behind her as she left to grab John B. You were more than grateful for her help with everything. Had Beth not been there the day you walked in with tears streaming down your face from the anxiety and terrifying aura of the whole idea, you didn’t know what you would’ve done.

Glancing at the clock, you noticed more time had gone by than usual, and the sound of yelling that emerged had your heart sinking. You stood up, fingers twisting into the torn bandana fabric around your neck out of habit as you stared at the door in worry.

Beth appeared in the window a second later before opening the barrier and looking at you. “Come with me, hurry.” You followed her without another word, keeping close so you wouldn’t lose her. When she diverged off the normal path, you knew something was really wrong. She led you down a separate hallway, scanning her badge when necessary until big letters above the door told you this was the medical bay.

When you made it past the door frame, your eyes instantly landed on the bright orange jumpsuit that your boyfriend was clad in before noticing the expression of terror on his face as he sat on the bed. “John B!”

Wide brown eyes met your gaze in a split second before John B was shoving the nurse’s hands away to catch you the moment you collided with him. You could hear Shoupe, who had been standing nearby, let out what sounded like a sigh of relief before he mumbled something about filing a report and left the room.

“Are you okay? What the hell happened?” You asked John B once you leaned back, hands still grabbing his uniform as if he would disappear through your fingers.

“This is my daughter, Macy,” Beth introduced the nurse standing close by as she avoided your question. “We’re gonna hang over here for a second. If you guys need anything, let us know.”

The two of you gave Beth an appreciative nod as she stepped aside with her daughter. Turning back to your boyfriend, you caught the bruises covering his neck in the light. “JB…” Tears burned your eyes as your fingers glazed over the marks which made him wince. “What the fuck?”

Your boyfriend pulled you back into his chest, fingers running through your hair as he took a deep breath. Nothing was more calming to him than having you in his arms. Being able to actually hold you, feel your skin on his, was healing to him. “Doesn’t matter,” He mumbled against your hair as he recognized the comforting smell of your shampoo. “So glad you’re here.”

The small sob that escaped your throat didn’t surprise him much. John B wasn’t oblivious to what was going on to you without him around. It broke his heart that he couldn’t be there to talk you through it all. Most of the times you came to visit, you were constantly holding him in some way just to feel his skin on yours.

“What if something worse happens?” You choked out through shaking breaths. “John B, you’re not safe here. This isn’t fair. I’m not losing you in a prison of all places!”

“It’s gonna be fine,” He hummed as he pressed a kiss to your forehead. “I’m gonna be fine, babe. We’re gonna figure it out.”

“I’m ripping Shoupe a new one,” You grumbled as you reluctantly let go of him to look at the bruises lining his skin. You let out a teary sigh before your boyfriend brushed the salty drops from your face. “I’m getting you out of here. I’m going home and I’m literally… I don’t know, I’ll find something, somehow. I’m not standing here and letting this happen.”

John B couldn’t keep the smile from forming on his face as he kissed you softly. “I don’t want you doing anything besides taking care of yourself, okay? Please. For me.”

You huffed but nodded regardless. “Whatever, JB.”

“I’m serious!” He argued as he placed his hands on your cheeks to get your attention. “Please. There’s no point in tearing yourself apart without me.”

“Fine, then tell me what happened.”

John B rolled his eyes and sat on the edge of the bed before grabbing your hips and situating you to stand between his legs. His fingers squeezed your sides before he spoke up, “I think your dad has someone on the inside, here, and he’s trying to get rid of me and make it look like an accident.”

You blinked for a moment as you processed before you nodded slightly in agreement. “I wouldn’t put it past him.” You struggled with the idea that this was all your father’s fault and the guilt in your chest was getting worse each second. “I’m sorry, JB.”

“It’s not your fault,” He comforted as he squeezed your hips again in reassurance. “Come on, babe. You know that. I would never blame you for any of this. We just gotta get some evidence to end it, okay?”

“Y/N.” Beth’s voice interrupted your thoughts as you looked up at her. “I’m sorry, honey. We gotta go.”

You nodded slowly, hands intertwining with John B’s as you pressed one last kiss to his forehead. “Promise me you’ll be careful?”

Your boyfriend smiled slightly. “You know careful’s not in my vocabulary.”

Flicking his cheek gently, you smiled as you stepped out of his grasp to follow Beth back out while Macy attended to your boyfriend. Your thoughts were running, but one thing you knew for certain. You would get John B out of prison if it was the last thing you did.

--

masterlist

[joanquill]

Hello !!! Hope you're doing fine !!!

If its possible can you make short stories describing how william, sherlock, louis and albert would treat the reader in pregnancy? And what type of fathers do you think they would be?

If you think it's too much, please pick just one. Sorry for asking all in one request ...I just love your writings and this fandom needs so much love ♡

Pregnant!S/O Headcanons

Albert, William, Louis James Moriarty, and Sherlock Holmes

A/N: Hi!! I'm okay :) I hope you're doing fine too ^^ It's okay :) Thank you, and yes. It needs so much love 😔✊

Sherlock Holmes

He’d be the first one to know you’re pregnant, even before you.

You’d just notice that he’s gentler and softer than usual.

Like he’d be more affectionate, holding your hands everywhere, keeps his voice soft, asking you almost every second if you’re feeling okay.

He tries not to get angry and frustrated around you.

He even stops smoking and clears the air when he knows you’re around.

He goes to John and Miss Hudson for advice, knowing he needs all the help he can get.

He feels bored doing baby stuff, like shopping and baby showers, but he’d do it for you.

Tries to learn as much as he can about pregnancy and birth, what you can and can’t eat, what you’re not allowed to do, what can help you, all of that.

Sherlock didn’t understand what John was talking about when he said he should speak to the baby when they’re still in your stomach.

Like the baby doesn’t have a fully developed brain or ears yet, what’s the point??

But he eventually does it, first talking about you and him, then John and Miss Hudson, his cases, and it suddenly became a routine.

I feel like he’d be the type of father that brings his kid to work like you can’t stop him. He loves solving mysteries and his family, so he’s gonna do both. He’d even teach his kid about deductions and play their own games about it (while teasing Uncle Mycroft).

“What do you mean I can’t bring (Y/N)?” Sherlock asked for the umpteenth time, making John sigh.

“Sherlock, (Y/N)’s pregnant. You can’t bring a pregnant lady to a crime scene!” John explained, raising his voice at the end.

“It didn’t say anything about that in those books you gave me!”

“Now, now, ” you lightly laughed as you gently grabbed John’s arm and Sherlock’s hand, “I am feeling a little tired today, so I’ll just stay here with Miss Hudson,” you reassured, kissing Sherlock on the cheek.

“You can tell us all about it when you get home,” you smiled, waddling to Miss Hudson.

“Fine,” Sherlock breathed out, kissing you goodbye and kneeling down to your bulging stomach.

“I’ll tell you all about the criminal case later,”

“I still don’t think you should talk to the baby about murder, Sherlock…”

“They’re gonna learn eventually,”

Albert James Moriarty

William was first to notice you were pregnant. Most likely, he’d congratulate you two during breakfast, and you’re both looking at him in shock.

Albert eventually gives you a check-up to ensure that you and the baby are okay.

He makes it his personal mission that you get the best of the best– from baby stuff, the nursery, your pregnancy clothes, food, he will buy ONLY the best.

He tries to spend more time with you so he can look after you and the baby as much as he can.

If he does have an important meeting and can’t be with you, he calls you every time he has the chance.

He’s both excited and nervous to be a dad, not wanting to become like his.

But with the team, his brothers, and you by his side reassuring him that he is nothing like his family, he knows his child will have people loving them already.

Likes to join in all of the baby stuff, reassuring you that you won’t be alone through the whole process.

If you’re shopping for baby stuff, he usually just goes along to what you like, sometimes giving his own opinion (and probably buying more than necessary).

Money is no object. He will spoil his child/ren. He tries to spend a lot of time with them, not wanting to be an absent father, and dotes on them a lot. Of course, this doesn’t mean he stops spoiling and doting on you.

“Sweetheart…”

“Yes, dearest?”

“Don’t you think this is a bit…” you looked around the soon-to-be nursery.

It was probably the largest nursery ever built with giant teddy bears and stuffed toys all around, shelves filled with children’s books, a large treasure trunk with more toys, and decorated and painted beautifully with stars and clouds.

“…Too much?” you asked, raising a brow at your husband.

Albert let out a chuckle as he kissed your temple, “There’s no such thing as too much for you,” he reassured, making you roll your eyes.

“This is one lucky child,” you giggled, rubbing your stomach as you looked down on it.

Albert smiled as he knelt down, kissing your tummy.

“I believe I’m the lucky one here.”

William James Moriarty

Immediately knew it when you showed symptoms and brought you to the doctors to make sure.

I feel like if his S/O ever did become pregnant, they both already had a talk about children and are ready to take the next step.

So he’s thrilled that you’re finally gonna start your own family.

Louis is crying tears of joy while Albert is congratulating you two.

This man will not leave your side, slightly overprotective.

Like you have your own dedicated corner in his office where you can read, eat, or whatever you like just so he can be with you.

He also educates himself as much as he can about pregnancy and children.

This man is on your beck and call.

You want to eat some sweets? He’ll get it for you. Want to go on a walk in the gardens? Your arm in arm as you make your way outside.

He’d be the type of father who wants the best for his children. He didn’t have the best childhood, so at least he wants to give that for his own. He makes sure they’re well-educated, can have what they want without spoiling them, and tries to keep their innocence from the horrors of the outside world.

“I’m going to the kitchen from a snack,” you muttered, standing up from your chair.

“I’ll come with you,” William replied as he stood up, quickly walking by your side.

“But you still have some papers to sign,”

“They can wait. I am feeling a little hungry,” William reassured as he led you downstairs.

“Shall I cut some fruits for us, my dear?”

“I can cut them on my own, Will,” before you could grab the knife, William already has it in his hands.

“Will…” you called out, pouting your lips.

“Yes?” he smiled innocently, cutting the apples perfectly. You let out a sigh as you leaned on him.

“I can do some things on my own, you know?”

“I know, my love. I just want to do this for you,”

Louis James Moriarty

Very worried when you started throwing up in the morning, so he brought you to the doctor almost immediately, fearing it was food poisoning, but nope, you’re pregnant!

Louis has malfunctioned. He starts overthinking about things, worried he won’t be a good father, worried his children wouldn’t like him-

Just pull him back on the ground, reassure him that his children are gonna love him just as much as you love him and that he’s gonna be a great father, and he’ll be fine.

His brothers are happy for him, congratulating and excited to be uncles.

He can be… overprotective. He stays by your side the whole nine months and more.

He’s holding your hand as you walk down the stairs, carries everything, and does not let you touch a knife or something you can hurt yourself with.

He tries to ask for advice from his brothers and buys every baby and pregnancy book he can.

You can expect something new and healthy on your plate, specifically for you.

Say goodbye to junk food, alcohol, and other types of food that are bad for the baby because Louis won’t let you even touch them.

He knows he can be seen as… cold at times, but Louis tries to be soft and gentle to his children to let them know he’s there for him. Like William, he wants the best for his kids since their childhood was not all rainbows. Can be very overprotective of them, but he means well.

“Please…?”

“No,”

“Honey, you’re killing me here…”

“(Y/N), you know you can’t drink while you’re pregnant.” Louis sighed, his eyes focused on your dinner.

“Just one sip…?”

“Absolutely not.” you sighed in defeat as you sat down, pouting.

Louis looked back at you, feeling bad for denying your request, so he did the next best thing.

“Try this,” he muttered, giving you a glass of something red-violet. You raised a brow as you took a sip, tasting familiar.

“Is this-”

“-It’s not wine,” he clarified, “It’s just grape juice that tastes like it. Is it good enough?” he asked, making you smile.

You stood up from your seat and hugged him, careful not to squish the baby.

“It’s amazing! I couldn’t even tell,” you grinned, finishing the whole glass.

Louis sighed in relief as he happily watched you enjoy your drink.

“That’s good to hear.”

[gumnut-logic]

Two was so familiar it hurt.

One was his daydream, but Two was his reassurance.

Virgil didn’t say anything as he helped him through the corridors. A mop of black hair was his only sight as he looked down at the big man under his arm.

The shoulders supporting him were far broader than he remembered. It slowly began to sink in exactly how much he didn’t know. The uniform was familiar. The green baldric and kit. The tools were new and Jeff frowned at them as if to accuse them of betraying his faith in his knowledge. Why Virgil felt he had to carry a screwdriver around with him everywhere, he had no doubt his son could tell him if he asked.

But he didn’t.

They arrived at the room he expected and it was with some relief that it was what he expected.

It wasn’t until Virgil velcroed him to the bed that he saw the dent in the ceiling. “How did that happen?” It was out before he could think twice.

Virgil looked up from the tray of supplies that were not designed for an antigravity environment and frowned at the bulkhead above them.

“Oh, the exo-suit.”

“What was the exo-suit doing in here?”

Virgil pulled out a palm scanner and began a methodical examination. “Got myself trapped in it. Tried to get myself out. Didn’t go well.”

Jeff stared at the side of his son’s head, but didn’t ask the obvious question as Virgil stared at the hologram of a very battered old body above the bed.

Virgil’s hitched breath was the only sound in the room.

“I-I need to give you some supplements. A painkiller would probably be a good idea.”

“No, son. I can last a little longer. Need a clear head.”

Brown eyes caught his for just a moment before looking away. “There isn’t much else I can do until we get you to a hospital.” Virgil turned away, once again fiddling with equipment, unwrapping a hypodermic needle and fussing with a small bottle of liquid. “This is a basic dose of necessary vitamins and minerals.”

Virgil’s eyes were on anything but his father and the hologram above him.

Jeff reached over to one of the many patches on his suit and unwrapped the seal on his arm. “You’ll need to secure it again.”

His son blinked but said nothing, administering the dose to his father and rebinding his suit with tape. “We need to get you a new uniform.”

“It is enough for the moment, Virgil. We need to get back up top and get out of here.”

He saw the hesitation flicker across that longed-for face. “You’re lying down on one of the medbeds in the cockpit. You’re going to let the medscan finish so when we reach home, we have enough data to know what we have to do.”

Jeff eyed him. The changes were subtle. The confidence level was much stronger, more assured, despite the situation.

“Virgil, we need you up here.”

John’s voice would forever be music to his ears.

“FAB.” A swallow, and Jeff could see his son visibly gather himself. “C’mon, Dad. We have a rescue to complete.”

-o-o-o-

Thunderbird X (complete) & Thunderbird XL (wip)

[anxiousstark]

The four times the Pogues tried to pair you up with JJ + the time they realized you were already dating | JJ MAYBANK

Request:  Hi! I love the whole 5+1 trope so I wanted to request one with “Five times the Pogues tried to pair the y/n with JJ and the one time they realized the pair was already dating.”❤️❤️

I LOVED this idea. I changed it to 4+1. 

Warnings: FLUFF. Swearing (always), mentions of sex. The end might be not as good as the rest, wrote it when I was feeling a little down but I promised to upload today. Enjoy it.

Word Count: 2030

All Rights Reserved. The author, me, don’t allow any type of copy or adaption.

If you guys see my works in other websites, let me know, please. I only have Tumblr.

BIG MASTERLIST 

"Please," You begged, hands squeezing the muscular arm of the boy that was sitting next to you. "Just a little sip, JJ." You pouted. The envy spread through your body as you glimpsed at his pink milkshake, deliciously going up the straw until it reached his lips. You swallowed, mouth-watering. "Please, I'm going to die, JJ."

The blond boy rolled his eyes, reminding you that you didn't want to order anything. He continued happily sipping his milkshake, eyes fluttering close. Those milkshakes should be a sin. They tasted so good, and their coldness could fight against the heat of the summer of the Outer Banks. "Stop looking at me." He groaned. "I'm trying to have a moment with my baby." Of course, he was talking about his so-loved milkshake. His words made the other pogues chuckle while they continued to eat their food.

"JJ," You whimpered. His head snapped towards you, giving you attention for the first time since the waitress delivered the milkshake. "Just a tiny sip."

Nobody could ignore your puppy eyes. Therefore, JJ groaned, moving his glass so you could get a sip. You decided to take your time, admiring the metal straw, which was a project that Kiara decided to start in the Outer Banks. JJ nudged you, impatient to put his lips back on the straw. Finally, you savoured the milkshake, understanding JJ's heart eyes towards it. However, you couldn't stop taking sips, which made him groan while trying to take the straw from between your lips, putting his mouth closer to the metal straw AND your mouth.

The others watched the both of you with silly smiles on their faces. Sarah coughed. "So Y/N," You stopped playfully fighting with the boy sitting next to you to peer at your friend. "Have you thought about what I told you?" A couple of days ago, she started talking about the most handsome boys in OBX, and you weren't interested. Most of them were proud Kooks who would look at you as an inferior individual for not having as much money as them. "I mean," She fakely laughed. "If by the age of 25 you both are single you should date." She was straightforward, making JJ glance at her. She was hoping that both of you would end up being a couple because she had never seen two people having such a strong connection.

What Sarah Cameron and the others didn't know it's that under the table, JJ's right hand rested firmly on your thigh. Fingers caressing the inside, making you shiver.

The day had been awful. You liked your job because it provided you with much necessary money. But you didn't like how some costumers treated you.

Working at The Wreck was amazing, Kiara was there to help you with anything, and you loved her dad. However, when Kooks decided to come inside and order something, there would be nasty comments thrown at you.

Teenager boys labelled your body and beauty as if you were an object, which made you uncomfortable, and as much as you tried to keep calm, you couldn't promise not killing someone. Teenager girls judged your clothes, friends and of course, money. It was awful.

However, today was even more dreadful. Rafe Cameron and his friends had decided to step on The Wreck, which was unusual and meant they were seeking for trouble. As soon as your work clothes ended up being stained by someone's food, you knew the day would be worst as hours went by.

The Cameron boy concluded that it would be a great show if he stretched his leg, making you trip, falling face down on the tray full of food that you were carrying to table number 5. You wanted to cry.

In the other part of the Outer Banks, John B removed dirty clothes from his floor. "I'm so glad you are finally cleaning your room." Sarah leaned on the door, admiring her boyfriend. "It's a fucking mess in here."

"I'm not cleaning," He groaned. "I can't find the keys to the van." He found some dirty underwear, throwing it to the corner of the room.

"JJ took them," She jumped over the filthy clothes laying on the floor. "Don't you remember? Today it's Wednesday. Y/N works until late."

"Oh, true." Every Wednesday and Friday you stayed at work until late. Since you started, the blond boy had decided that he would drive you back home every night, not wanting you to walk on your own. Everyone was surprised by JJ's commitment to driving you every night you worked late. "We need to get them together. They are perfect. They care for each other so much."

"They truly look amazing together. Couple goals." She grinned when John B replied that they were also couple goals.

What John B and the other didn't know it's that as soon as you were inside the car, JJ hugged you tightly, your head resting on his chest while his lips hovered over your forehead. He offered words of comfort, fists clenched thinking of what Rafe had done.

Pope Heyward was sitting on his surfboard, enjoying the smooth flow of the waves, rocking him gently. He examined two of his friends while they were playfully fighting with the water.

You had decided to push JJ out of his board. As soon as he came from under the water, he told John B to take care of his surfboard as he had to drown you for doing that to him. You shrieked, trying to hide behind the girls, but the water slowed you down, and the blond boy was more agile. Everyone paid close attention, goofy smiles decorating their faces as they saw both of you trying to immerse each other.

"Oh my gosh," You turned around, glancing up at JJ. He had the biggest smirk on his face. Your hands were covering your chest, trying to process what he had just done. "Did you just take my top off?" He continued smirking, his right hand coming out of the water, showing the top part of your bikini. "JJ, I'm going to kill you!" You tried to grab the piece of clothing from his hand, your other hand covering your chest. However, he was taller than you, making it impossible.

Pope started making a gesture, telling the others to get out of the water so JJ and you could be on your own. John B was the one who tried to convince you to kick JJ out of his board, knowing that he would try to get revenge, which meant getting real close to you. It was their plan all along. And the next step to their plan was to leave you two alone inside the sea, hoping you guys would end up talking about your relationship.

What Pope Heyward and the others didn't know it's that that wasn't the first time JJ's fingers caressed your back until they arrived at their destination. Not the first time his hands explored every curve of your body. Furthermore, not the first time his fingers easily unclasped your bikini or bra.

Kiara thought that it was the perfect night for something to happen between both of you. You all were friends and cared about each other, but JJ was quite protective when it came to you.

The weight of the heavy rain provoked a powerful noise inside the Chateau, and the thunders seemed to get louder and louder. It was movie night, something you guys did every Saturday. Normally, you would cuddle with the girls while watching the chosen film, but not tonight.

When you came out of the bathroom, you were surprised to see that Kiara was cuddling Pope tightly. Next to them, Sarah rested on John B's chest. Your gaze examined both couples, confused. You always cuddled with the girls, especially in nights like these. You were terrified of loud noises, which affected your anxiety negatively.

The strident sound of thunder made you jump, not thinking twice before running towards JJ, who had an entire couch for himself. "What?" He asked when he saw you looking down at him with big eyes. Then, he noticed the position his friends were in and the fact that there was a huge thunderstorm outside. However, JJ didn't move, placing one of his arms under his head, inviting you to lay down on top of him. That wasn't something new neither, JJ and you cuddled all the time, which was another reason for why the pogues wanted to set you up.

To be honest, none of them paid attention to the film playing in the background. You were soundly asleep on JJ's chest, his right arm under his head while his left arm was secured around your waist. Fingers discretely caressing the patch of skin that was revealed.

What Kiara Carrera and the others didn't know it's that you were each other's safe place. There were night visits at each other houses, silently and lovingly holding each other at night, sometimes not so quietly.

You guys had planned to go to a formal party. At first, the boys didn't want to go, not being comfortable spending time around some stuck up Kooks. But Sarah and Kie had begged the boys, letting them know that their parents were making them go, and they didn't want to go on their own.

The surprise came when everyone was ready to go to the party, fancy dresses and suits. However, there was no sight of JJ. They found him on a hammock he had decided to set, being supported by two big trees. "JJ, dude," John B was the first one to talk, getting closer to his friend. Sarah couldn't hear the conversation as she had to move far from them, her phone ringing. "How aren't you ready for the party yet?"

"I'm not going." His eyes were closed, blond hair being moved by the gentle breeze of the night. "I don't like those Kooks." He gazed at Kie, reassuring her that he wasn't talking about her or Sarah. "I'm going to stay here. Have fun."

"But what about Y/N?" Pope asked, peering at the clock on his wrist. "Are you going to leave her at the party on her own?"

"No," Sarah interrupted, getting back to her friends. "It was Y/N," She showed her phone, being clutched with her fingers as her dress didn't have pockets, ugh. "She spent all morning puking. She isn't coming."

"Then no problem." JJ sighed happily, excited to enjoy a serene night under the moonlight while the breeze caressed his hair and body, stimulating goosebumps on his skin.

"Okay then," Kiara grabbed Pope's hand, interlocking her fingers with his. "There are burgers in the fridge. Let's go, we are going to be late."

Around one in the morning, they arrived at The Chateau, tiring faces and numb feet. The girls and Pope decided to spend the night there, not wanting to walk to their houses or moving at all.

JJ's bedroom was empty, which worried them as it was quite cold outside. "He probably fell asleep on the hammock. We should tell him to come inside." John B offered to go. Moreover, a couple of seconds have gone by when he came back, a big smile on his face. "They are keeping each other warm."

Everyone was confused, running outside to see what was going on, even though John B begged them to be quiet and give them privacy. They looked completely stupid hiding behind some trees, seeing you on top of JJ. Your hands were grabbing his face, kissing him passionately. Maybank's hands were on your waist, going dangerously down, wanting to feel you closer to him.

"You guys going to watch until then end?" They were shocked and embarrassed after being caught by JJ. "We can put a show for you." You giggled, letting your head fall on top of his chest. "Not the first time we do this," He winked. "We have experience."

"What the heck?!" Kiara stepped forward, grabbing her dress so she wouldn't stop on it. "How long has this been going for?"

"Around a year and a half."

"What?!"

[one-boring-person]

Dumb request but. Uncle Bob gets jealous bc someone hits on thee reader. (It's a funny idea tbh. Also change your name. you're not boring!! you're absolutely awesome!!)

Hehe, thanks for the compliment!😂💛 I loved this idea, so I hope you like this!😊❤💛

Total Strangers.

T-800/Uncle Bob x reader

Warnings: some bad language, some light sexual implications

Masterlist

The terminator goes stiff almost as soon as we enter the store, the unusual behaviour making me lift an eyebrow at him, looking over his perfect posture in curiosity. His imposing frame easily stands out amongst the other shoppers around us, but his new discomfort puts me on edge, aware of his ability to determine and assess threats before I even know they're a problem. With this in mind, I place a hand on the cyborg's arm, looking up into his face in confusion.

"Everything alright?" I ask him, meeting his emotionless stare as he turns it on me.

"Yes." He replies bluntly, still not having quite grasped the balance between using relative information and speaking as briefly as is necessary. 

"You sure? You're very tense." I probe, heading further into the shop with him, going to the section I need.

"I am positive." The terminator responds, following me, his eyes scanning the aisles as we move, the careful turn of his head still not quite natural yet, still a little automated.

"If you say so." I roll my eyes at his answers, choosing to ignore his obvious tenseness and start rifling through the racks of clothes, needing to find something to replace a couple of my old shirts.

"I did." Uncle Bob intones, standing over me, his large build hovering over me like a worried mother might fuss over her child.

It's not long before I get fed up with his presence so close to me, the terminator watching my every move, the precision in his gaze making me antsy. He shadows me around, staring at the people around us until they hastily walk away, his unnerving glare usually quite welcoming, though today it is just irritating me. After ten minutes or so, I turn to him, a small scowl etched into my face.

"Can you drop the hostile act? There's no need for it." I tell him, looking him in the eye.

"I am not sure what you mean." The T-800 frowns, cocking his head, a habit he picked up from me a few weeks ago. Usually, I find it flattering, cute, almost. But now it annoys me.

"I mean you need to stop acting like my bodyguard. It's totally safe here! You don't need to scare people off when they come within five metres of us." I clarify, gesturing to the area around us.

"Why? There is a possibility they may pose a threat to you. It is my objective to keep you safe." Bob recites, face going blank again.

Sighing in exasperation, I briefly close my eyes, pinching the bridge of my nose frustratedly.

"There isn't any threat, Bob. We're fine, ok?" I try to reassure him, "Just back off a bit, yeah?"

Frowning again, the cyborg nods and steps back, standing by a display of mannequins, his body going still, almost as if trying to blend in with them. Letting out a breath, I turn back to the racks and continue browsing the items there, picking out a shirt and inspecting it, my head cocked to the side, a frown playing at my expression as I consider it.

"Not your colour." A voice behind me suddenly speaks up.

Frowning properly now, I turn to face the newcomer, lowering the shirt as I give them a once-over, checking for any danger they may pose. Finding none, I relax slightly as the red-head smiles at me, showing me he means no harm, his blue eyes straying over my form with no particular subtlety.

"Oh? And what makes you say that?" I reply guardedly, my body moving to face him properly.

The guy shrugs, grinning at me.

"I don't think it will work with your hair, that's all." He tells me, coming to stand beside me, picking out another shirt from the rack, "This, on the other hand…"

Eyeing the garment, I lift an eyebrow as I realise he is right, though I'm far too stubborn to admit it, so I simply place the original shirt back and start moving away.

"Aw, come on! Please don't be like that! I'm only trying to help." The guy follows after me, dropping the shirt and catching up to me.

"I don't take clothing advice from total strangers." I inform him, trying to ignore him as I flick through some more clothes, jackets this time.

"Ah, well in that case, I'm Caleb." The guy offers his hand to me, still smiling, a glint of mischief in his eye.

Glancing at him, I don't react, waiting for him to drop his hand. After a moment, he does, only to instantly pick something off the rack.

"This looks like it would suit you. Wanna try it on?" He looks me over again, holding out the jacket to me.

"Not really."

"Aw, why not?" Caleb pouts, shoulders slumping slightly.

"I told you, I don't take clothing advice from total strangers." I try not to roll my eyes, picking out a different jacket entirely.

"Hey, you know my name. I'm not a total stranger." The smirk is back on his face as he says this.

"You have known her for exactly four minutes and forty-eight seconds. You are a stranger to her." A familiar voice interrupts us, the monotone sounding words muchly appreciated now.

Holding back a smile of relief, I feel my eyes flick up over Caleb's shoulder to meet the hard blue ones staring at the guy's head. The terminator stands over us, his imposing body easily dwarfing both of us, his expression blank, though his jaw looks oddly clenched, something I've never seen him do. Caleb turns to face the cyborg, his expression falling.

"Who the hell are you?!" He bites out, the words flat as he eyes over the much larger newcomer.

"That is not relevant information for me to disclose." Bob replies evenly, staring the guy down, "Now leave. You are not wanted here."

"Fuck no, I got here first. Wait your turn, asshole." Caleb snaps at him, though his tone is a little shaky.

"You are not needed here. Leave." The cyborg intones, disregarding the previous statement.

"How do you know I'm not needed? Think you are?" The redhead snorts, "As if."

"Your presence is very clearly not welcome. She has reciprocated none of your advances, and has been blunt with you to deter you. You have ignored all of this and have continued to pester her for no reason. You are not wanted or needed, so leave." Bob begins, clearly wanting to say more, though he stops at a look from me.

"I'm not going anywhere, and you can't make me." Caleb folds his arms, planting himself in place.

Brow twitching, Bob steps forwards, moving as if to grab the smaller man, hand already outstretched, only stopping when I intervene.

"No, Bob, it's fine. He's not worth it." I stop him, ignoring Caleb's somewhat triumphant look.

Bob halts, staring the other man down, a scowl starting to creep onto his face, staying in place for a good minute, before he finally moves, reaching out to pull me into his body, marching the two of us from the shop. Goosebumps spread out along my skin where he's touched me, the hand at my waist heavy but not unwelcome, the feeling of his hard body pressed into mine making me swallow tightly. We go straight to the car, leaving no room for conversation until we get there, at which point he breaks away.

"What was all that about?" I ask him, confused by his actions, "I mean, I'm grateful that you stepped in, but you didn't have to-"

I'm cut off by the feeling of his large hands on my waist again, yanking me into his muscular body, pressing me flush against his hips. Surprised, I barely register what is happening as he smashes his lips into mine, kissing me roughly, his tongue already slipping out to trace along my lower lip as I gasp into the kiss. My eyes widen momentarily, only to fall closed as I relax into the kiss, my hands coming up to run through his hair, pushing myself closer to him, his muscles right under my touch. The terminator steps forwards, shoving me up onto the hood of the car, still kissing me, his mouth ravaging mine hungrily as his hands start to move, pushing up my shirt to caress my back, one slipping down to grip my ass, tightening around me as he presses his chest tighter against mine. Moaning, I arch my chest into him, allowing him to slip his tongue into my mouth, the synthetic muscle exploring and roaming everywhere it can reach, only pulling back when I tap his arm, needing to breathe.

Heads staying close together, we stare at each other, our breaths mingling with each exhale, his hands still rubbing over my skin. It's only when a wolf whistle from somewhere nearby sounds that I remember exactly where we are. Eyes widening, I pull back further and look around, noticing the group of men walking past, three of them waving and jeering at us, leaving my neck exposed to Bob. Instantly, his mouth attaches to the skin there, sucking a mark onto my pulse point almost immediately, his tongue smoothing over the area, followed by a wet kiss. 

Trying not to moan too loudly, I gently push him off, already craving his touch again.

"Not here, Bob. It's not appropriate." I gasp out, lightly running a hand down his face.

"I apologise. I was unable to withhold myself." He replies, helping me down off the car, adjusting my clothes for me. 

Lifting an eyebrow, I smile at him in curiosity.

He simply smirks, having learnt the action from John, doing his impression of a shrug and helping me into the car.

[mochegato]

Pixie Spy

Written for the Jasonette July Wayne Gala prompt.

Why?!? Why was she doing this again? Oh right, because John Constantine promised to give her some help with a particularly difficult part of the Grimoire if she did.  And he needed the information he was currently obtaining in order to give said help.  That is how she ended up with an invitation, still not sure how Constantine pulled that off, to the most exclusive event of the year, the Wayne Gala.  

Plus, Adrien was kind of right, ordinarily it would be a great opportunity to showcase her designs. The problem was on its surface, her dress wasn't one of her best works. The black dress had a high, cowl neckline in front and in back, adding a bit of drama and a small homage to the local heroes, vigilantes she silently corrected herself.  The high neckline also offset the incredibly short bubble skirt, making her legs look longer than the Nile.  Despite being a bit uncomfortable showing that much leg, it was necessary for this particular design and if she could actually feel like she had long legs for once, she was willing to deal with the discomfort.  She also added a glittery belt to show her shape and add some bling, which seemed like something the people at this particular event would value.  It was functional, not fashionable.  Not that it was ugly, just that it was designed to be passable, enough to fit in but not enough to get noticed.

She fidgeted slightly as she stood in the entryway trying to get past the people piling up trying to not so discretely pay homage to the king.  That king being Bruce Wayne. From her research, he actually did seem like he was a good guy. The list of charities he started or contributed to was longer than she was tall. She scowled at the voice in the back of her head that sounded suspiciously like Adrien's saying that wasn't much.  Adrien, who got out of coming tonight because the mission was to observe the Waynes unnoticed and Adrien Agreste would get a bit too much attention, that cat bastard.

Despite the laundry list of charity work, Marinette was still suspicious of Wayne.  First of all, he was rich, filthy rich.  Anyone that rich had to have some dark and twisted secrets they were hiding.  He wouldn’t be the first rich person to hide their illicit activities behind a veil of charity work.  Second, he chose to live in Gotham, the most crime-riddled city in the world.  And that is just the reported crime.  A great deal of the crime never got reported to or investigated by the police, whether through corruption or exhaustion.  The kind of place a rich person could be confident they would get away with literal murder.

But mostly, it was Constantine that made her suspicious of Bruce Wayne.  Not that Constantine had ever said anything negative about him, well nothing more than calling him a pain in the ass, but that was really not so much an insult as a compliment coming from Constantine.  But, Wayne had information Constantine needed to help them with the Grimoire and Constantine refused to say how Wayne had gotten that information. How and why would a playboy billionaire have that information?  There is absolutely no reason someone outside of the hero/villain/magic community would have that information.  And, if he was such a good guy, why would Constantine need to go to these lengths to get it without Wayne’s knowledge?  Unless it was related to one of his illicit secrets.

Her eyes darted around the room taking in its grandeur, muttering to herself about how ostentatious it all was.  Normally, she would be completely mesmerized by the grandeur and pomp of the scene.  The room was decorated to perfection.  Everything was absolutely exquisite.  However, she was too anxious and wary to enjoy it.  So instead of being inspired, each gorgeous detail grated on her. She reached up to tug on her hair before remembering her hair had been pulled up into an elegant twist held in place with a single silver pin. With her normal anxiety relief method unavailable, she instead shifted nervously from foot to foot while she scanned the room trying to catch sight of the rest of the Waynes, gently tightening and loosening her grip on her purse, trying not to crush Tikki.

She was so lost in her anxiety she didn't notice the dark haired man walking behind her take notice of her and stop.  He stood behind her with a nonchalance that didn’t seem to fit a man his size.  He watched her fidget and muttering to herself about “damn rich people” with a smile on his face.

“You don't seem excited to be here” he said quietly.

She turned around with wide eyes, shocked that someone had heard her.  Whatever she was expecting to see it was not what she saw in front of her.  The man towered over her.  Even in her ridiculously, dangerously high heels, Chloe insisted, her head didn’t even come up to his chin.  He was also extremely handsome, with chiseled features and the most gorgeous blue eyes she had ever seen.  Those eyes were going to be a problem.  They were clear and kind and roguish and hypnotizing.  His black hair with a shock of white was slightly tousled giving the impression of a rouge trying to look sophisticated.  Was it inappropriate to imagine running her hand through his hair and along his sharp jawline?  Yeah, probably not appropriate and likely not welcome.  Clean up your thoughts, girl!  Great, now Alya was in her head scolding her.  No, that’s not right, because that would definitely not be Alya’s advice.  

He was grinning at her with an impish look in his eyes. “What?  Not impressed with the ‘we care about whatever the point of this gala is, but we’re not hobos so let’s not skimp on the luxury for us’ décor?  Or maybe it is the illustrious, soul sucking, benefactors of Gotham that have set you on edge.”  The smile he shot her was guarded and critical. She chuckled lightly and looked away. “You have good judgement and a good reason to be suspicious.  But you made it to The event of the season, so you must have done something right… or wrong.”

She hummed and looked away.  “Have you ever had one of those days where everything went wrong and now you don't know how you got where you are or why you are there?”

“I’m familiar with the feeling,” he nodded.

“That's my life. All of it.  Every single fucking day.  This one included."

He barked out a laugh and looked at her again appraising her.  “Well aren’t you a ray of sunshine.  I think I like you.  You might just make this torture session more bearable.  See you around,” he chuckled as he walked away.

Marinette watched the man’s retreating back.  The night was already going better than she thought it would.  But the plan for the night wasn’t to find a date it was to act as a scout and keep tabs on the… enemy?  For all intents and purposes, that is what the Waynes were tonight, right?  They had information that she needed, that Paris needed, and they apparently weren’t going to part with it willingly, so they were the enemy.  No, enemy sounded too harsh she chided herself.  Opposition? Yes, they were the opposition.  That sounded much less hostile, more like a game… a game where people’s lives were on the line.  You know, just for fun, no pressure.

She found a spot against a wall she could use.  It was slightly raised but not well lit so it wouldn’t draw attention to her.  From her spot she could finally see the family. It was very thoughtful of them to group together like that.  She could see the little one, stiff and military-like posture, glowering at the people around him.  He was standing as far away from the rest of the people there as he could without actually leaving the room.  Much closer to the dancefloor, she could see the middle boy talking to a few business men. They all had fake smiles plastered on their faces as they made seemingly insignificant small talk.  She did not envy him that experience.  Between the two and to the side was the oldest son. He was chatting up some business person’s daughter, leaning in a lot closer than etiquette would dictate. Just the father then… there he was still not too far from the door talking to a dark haired woman.  He had his arm around her waist as she leaned into him. She must be the girlfriend then. Mari made a note that she should probably pay attention to where she was as well.  Fortunately, the spot she had chosen gave her a great vantage point.  Unfortunately, her observation spot wasn’t as unnoticed as she had hoped.

 ___________________________________________________________

Jason made his way over to the bar and ordered a beer.  He still hadn’t spoken to his family to let them know he was there and he definitely needed a drink before he approached them.  Why the fuck was he here again?  Fucking Batman.  

Fresh glass of beer in hand, he made his way over to his brothers, refusing to acknowledge any of the partygoers along the way.  He watched as his brothers took note of his approach and excused themselves from their conversation partners.  Dick didn’t look too happy to turn away from the latest interest, smiling at her and giving her reassurances before sending her away.  Tim looked less happy to have to turn away from the men he was talking with. He should be thanking Jason really. He was giving him an out from having to deal with them and their god awful personalities and fashion. Seriously, who told that guy that tie was okay.  Even the Riddler would think that tie was obnoxious.

“Okay, I’m here,” Jason said taking a large swig of his drink.  “How long before I can ditch this bottomless pit of misery?”

“Woah, slow down there.  You’re going to get drunk before the announcement.”  Dick cautioned him.

“Do you want me here or do you want me sober?  You’re going to have to choose one.  They’re mutually exclusive, Dickweed.”

“Come on Jaybird, we all have to be here.  None of the rest of us are getting drunk.”

“That’s just because I’m smarter than you guys are,” he said tipping his glass to Tim who had scoffed at the suggestion and took another drink.  “There is no reason we all have to be here.  We shouldn’t all have to suffer.  And officially, I’m not even a member of this hellscape of a family anymore so I really shouldn’t have to be here.”

“If The Disappointment gets to leave, so do I. Someone should be patrolling tonight instead of all of us wasting our time entertaining these harpies.  And if one more person tries to touch me on my head I’m going to break a hand.”

“Stop it!  Nobody is leaving, Damian.  We’re in this together.  And Jason, if anyone got to go home it wouldn’t be you.  You are the reason we all have to be here in the first place; so we can ALL show our support when we officially announce that you are part of this ‘hellscape of a family’ again.  So enjoy it,” he said with a cutting smile.

“Not everyone enjoys getting groped by the gold-digging, trust fund whores.  I’ve found a way to cope.  It’s called alcohol.  Now if you’ll excuse me,” he downed the drink in his hand, “my drink is empty.  I’m going to go find another.”

“At least try not to interact with anyone. We don’t want to piss anyone off tonight.  And I don’t want to have to fix your messes.”

“Way ahead of you, Replacement.”  Jason turned and walked away before Dick could reprimand him again.  He needed to get away.  He could only handle his family in small does, very small doses, miniscule amounts, and he had already surpassed that limit.  

He grabbed two more drinks off of a passing waiter’s tray and looked for the Sunshine Girl.  He scanned the room sipping the champagne, trying not to make eye contact with anyone in the room.  His size and demeanor was usually enough to keep people away but making eye contact made people think he was open to talking.  He was not.  He had no interest in making nice with Gotham’s elite.  He wanted to get this night over with, with as little pain as possible.  

He finally spotted her off to the side of the room speaking with the obnoxious tie guy.  Jason watched as the man slid his hand up the side of her leg starting to move under her skirt.  Jason started to make his way over to them until he saw her move closer to the man.  She was close enough to whisper seductively into his ear now.  Ah, not uninvited then.  Maybe he had misread her.  Well there goes his hope of this party not sucking balls.  He started to turn away but noticed a pained expression on the man’s face.  He turned back to reexamine the scene.  She was holding the man’s hand at an unnatural angle.  It was a hold he’d used a few times himself, it was discrete but extremely effective, causing intense pain with a small movement.  He knew if she moved her hand just a few more centimeters, she could easily break his wrist.

She let go with a viscous look pushing him away from her as she did.  The man shook his hand and scowled at her.  He started back toward her and Jason took off running, not pausing to apologize to the people he bumped into along the way.  Before he could get to her, she had already taken care of it. She squared her shoulders and glared at the man, making it clear that she could and would continue with her actions if he persisted.  When she moved her hand ever so slightly, just enough so he could see it and remember what she had done, the man turned away and smiled at the people who had been standing behind him as though nothing had happened.  Jason chuckled to himself watching her move away from the man. She was definitely going to make this night more bearable.

“Looks like you don’t need me around for protection. Although I did bring a drink so maybe I can earn my keep that way,” he said handing her one of the glasses in his hand.  “That was extremely impressive.  How did you lean to handle yourself like that?”  

She accepted the glass and shrugged.  “You live in Paris long enough you pick up a few things.”

“That isn’t something you just ‘pick up’. That’s experience.”

“And that is exactly what you get when you have a supervillain terrorizing your streets and thoughts for 5 years; experience. And how do you know about that move?  Rich boy secretly a vigilante?” She raised an eyebrow at him giving him a daring smile and pretending to take a drink from the glass.  She was on a mission and she didn’t know him.  She wasn’t about to actually drink anything a stranger gave her, let alone get drunk.

“You don’t grow up in Gotham without learning how to take down someone trying to cop a feel.  And what do you mean about a supervillain in Paris?” he asked taking a step closer to her, concern edging into his stare.

“It doesn’t matter.  It’s not relevant for tonight.” She said taking a step away and scanning the room again to locate the Waynes.

He looked at her for a few moments taking her in, not just her appearance but how she held herself.  She stood with confidence and nonchalance.  She wasn’t acting coy, she wasn’t baiting him to ask her more questions, she was serious.  There was some kind of supervillain running around Paris that they had no idea about.  Well that piqued his interest.  He wanted to find out more about that and just his luck, the only person around who knew about it was the gorgeous and badass Sunshine Child in front of him. Guess he’ll just have to suffer and spend more time talking to her.  The things he does for Gotham, he smirked to himself. “I’m Jason,” he said putting his hand out for her to shake.

She looked at his hand before hesitantly taking it. His hand absolutely engulfed hers. “Nice to meet you Jason,” she said looking toward the dancefloor.  She had last seen the Waynes near the dancefloor and they couldn’t have gotten far, right?  They were likely to be near it.

Misinterpreting her focus he asked, “Wanna dance?” placing down his now empty glass.

She needed a better vantage point to locate the Waynes and even if they weren’t on the dancefloor anymore, the dancefloor would be the ideal place get an unobstructed, overall view of the room.  She could see the entire room from the dancefloor.  She just had to scope it out discretely so Jason didn’t get suspicious.  “Sure,” she said smiling at him and accepting the hand he had offered her.

He guided her out onto the dancefloor.  Jason noticed a little girl standing nervously next to the dancefloor looking at a group of kids nearby.  “Hold on just a second,” he said dropping her hand to kneel down next to the little girl.  “Hey, I just wanted to say what a beautiful dress you have.  I wish you had a smile to match.  Anything wrong, kid?” he asked gently.  The little girl gave him a nervous smile.

“Thanks.  My Mom said I could pick out a dress and I chose this one.  But Mom says it looks silly.  It’s too fluffy and gets in everyone’s way.”

At that Marinette kneeled down next to her as well. “Oh.  Well, let me fill you in on a little secret.  I’m a fashion designer and I can tell you there is nothing wrong with fluffy.  You did a great job picking it out.  It is perfect for you.  I couldn’t design anything better.  I wish I looked as confident and effortlessly beautiful as you do. ”

The smile the little girl gave her was genuine this time.  “You really like it?”

“I do,” Marinette responded.  

“I do, too.  I’m not a fashion designer, but I still think you look good, kid.  And if anyone tells you they don’t like it, scr… I mean, forget them.  Who cares what they think.  A fashion designer and a delinquent think it looks amazing.  Don’t let someone else tell you what you like.” Jason added.  The little girl beamed at both of them and bounded off to join the kids with much more confidence.

Marinette watched him as he watched the kid play with her friends making raucous noise as they played, a grin on his face until he saw some parents come to reprimand their kids for being so noisy.  So, rich boy has a heart and is really protective of kids.  Well that wasn’t going to help Marinette focus solely on the mission. “That was incredibly nice of you.  That’s not advice I would have expected from someone attending a party like this.” Marinette said taking Jason’s outstretched hand again.

“Just because we’re miserable here doesn’t mean she should be, too.  Kids should be happy.  It’s ridiculous to bring a kid to a party if you aren’t going to let them be a kid. Adults in Gotham expect too much of their kids.  They treat them like props instead of kids, tools to help them achieve a goal.” He said voice getting gruff as he spoke.  He looked back at her and shook his head as if to clear his head of his thoughts.  He smiled at her instead and took her waist with his free hand to start dancing with her.

“You know, I noticed you never did give me your name.”

She looked into his eyes for a just a moment before she looked back to the dancefloor, “You know, I noticed that too.”

“Hmmm.  Secretive. No name but a fashion designer from Paris,” he said.  Marinette paled slightly refusing to look back at him.  He was paying attention to her and noticing details.  She hadn’t expected that from this crowd.  She was going to have to be more careful about what she said.  ‘Not get noticed’ played over and over in her head.  She was supposed to slip in and out with nobody remembering her.  She might have blown the mission already.  But, was she ready to walk away from those blue eyes?  Surely, talking with him couldn’t do any harm, right?  “So, did you design the dress you’re wearing?”

She was brought back to reality with a jolt.  “Yes.  Not… not my best work, but it fit the uh, occasion,” she stuttered out.

“Was the occasion to look stunning?  Because you do.”  He grinned smugly as she blushed heavily under his praise.  This was fun.  This was his new mission for the night; to see how many times he could make her blush.  “Still not going to tell me your name, huh?”

She looked back at him before dropping her eyes again.  Stupid mission.  If it were just her here for herself, she could stay here dancing with Jason and gazing into his eyes for the rest of the night, and tomorrow, and the day after for that matter.  But she wasn’t here for herself.  She was here for a reason and that reason demanded she be anonymous and keep track of the Waynes.

She scanned the floor again and finally spotted the Waynes, confirming they were all there.  Nobody had snuck off.  They really liked sticking around each other didn’t they?

“No, it takes more than a pretty line from a pretty boy to get my name” she said looking back to Jason and plastering on a fake smile. “I don’t need any rich boys remembering me after this is over.  Tomorrow I’ll go back to my real life and it will be like none of this ever happened. I can report that I came, I danced, and I even smiled a few times, then never speak of it again.”

“Friends or family forced you to come because they thought you needed some excitement in your life, Pixie Pop?”

“Something like that… Pixie Pop?”

“You won’t tell me your name and I need to call you something.  You’re little and mischievous and can handle yourself… Pixie Pop. Honestly, you’re lucky I didn’t go with Odysseus.  Also, you think I’m pretty?”  He grinned down at her.

She rolled her eyes but smiled anyway, cheeks flushing slightly.  “I think that would have made you Polyphemus, which you certainly have the size for,” she grinned up at him.  “Anyway, that’s why I’m here.  How about you?”

“Oh, my family thinks I have enough fun already. I’m here because if they have to suffer, so do I.  And all to bolster the name of the illustrious Bruce Wayne.”

Marinette examined his face as he stared toward where she last seen Bruce Wayne.  He looked annoyed and frustrated.  This was a side of Mr. Wayne she had not heard about in her research, a side that frustrated native Gothamites.  A bit more information could be helpful for her to figure out what role he played in the Grimoire information Constantine was gathering, figure out whether or not he was a threat.  “Not a fan?” she asked delicately.

He looked back at her examining her face for any malice.  “Depends on the day.”

She hummed in response.  “What can you tell me about Bruce Wayne?” she finally asked.

“Why do you want to know?” he responded suspiciously. Most people looking for more information wanted it as a weapon.  Bruce might not be his favorite person, he might actually hate him right now, but he wasn’t going to help someone take him down unless it was him.

She shrugged, “everything I’ve seen shows an exemplary record for him.  You don’t seem to be a fan though and you’ve grown up in Gotham so you would have some good insights.  So, I’m wondering what your take on him is.  What he’s done to draw your ire.”

Jason nodded slightly seeming to mull over what she said.  “He does good things.  He helps a lot of charities.  He honestly does care about the city and the people and about making their lives better. His parenting skills could use some work though.  He could show his sons that he actually cares about them as more than tools, you know, whether they live or died…” he furrowed his brows and looked away for a few seconds before he schooled his expression.  His eyes got a wicked gleam to them and he leaned towards her to whisper conspiratorially “… and I hear he’s sleeping with Batman.”

Mari looks at him surprised.  “Huh, I guess he has a type then, supermodels, superheroes…”

“Supervillains…” Jason says under her breath looking back at Bruce and his date.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he covered quickly, but the damage had already been done.  She had started thinking about Bruce’s involvement with the super community.  If he was sleeping with superheroes and super villains, that meant he was part of the same circles as Constantine… and Constantine liked dating in the super community.  Could Bruce Wayne be in the super community?  That would explain why he had information pertaining to the Grimoire.  And she might need to revisit exactly how Constantine knew Bruce Wayne.

“Are you okay?  I didn’t break you, did I?” he asked cautiously.

“Yeah, fine I could just maybe use some uh, water?” she gave an awkward smile.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, please?”  She just needed a bit of space to think.

Jason left to grab a glass of water and turned back to her.  She watched Bruce with her head crooked to the side.  He saw her finger discretely swiping to the right a few times as she stared intently at Bruce.  After a few times her finger swiped left instead and head straightened.  She looked around to the other members of the family as if she was counting, confirming something in her head.

Marinette’s eyes widened as she suddenly realized why Bruce Wayne could have information they needed and why Constantine needed her to keep an eye on the Waynes.  Shit. Shit shit shit shit. Shitshitshitshitshitshit. Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit.  She turned away quickly.  This could not be happening.  This. Could. Not. Be. Happening.  She did NOT help him break into the BATCAVE while she kept tabs on BATMAN.

And if Constantine was trying desperately to avoid him, like he did all his exes…That little…

Jason had no idea what happened but as he got closer to his Pixie he could hear her muttering under her breath in French.  His French was a bit rusty so even the pieces he could pick up were scarce and nonsensical.  Something about maybe “lying” and “Roast Beef” and “bat” and “shark” and “fucking”.  He couldn’t be positive about any of the words except two; “fucking” and ���bat” those he was pretty familiar with.  Not to brag but he could swear like a sailor in at least 7 languages.  And “bat”, he knew that word in a few more languages for obvious reasons.

She was abruptly moving and ran right into him before she could take notice of her surroundings.  She looked at Jason with wide eyes, reexamining the man she had spent the evening speaking and dancing with.  Suddenly, everything clicking into place.  There was one more hero she hadn’t accounted for, Red Hood, who while he hid his face behind a mask, just so happened to have the same towering build as Jason. But Bruce Wayne didn’t have any more kids, right?  And if the other vigilantes were his sons, Red Hood should be too, right?  He just had the three boys and the two girls who were out of town.  That was it.  He had another son, but that son had died.  What was his name… She gasped loudly, “Oh God! You’re Jason,” she exclaimed out loud.  

“Yeah?”  He said confused.  They’d been over this before.

“You’re Jason Todd,” she said looking down and taking slow breaths.  “You’re Bruce Wayne’s son.”

He looked at her startled.  She put that together quicker than he was expecting especially since she didn’t seem to know much about the family. “For what it’s worth, I don’t feel like his son most of the time,” he tried to joke.  “Sorry for not telling you before.  I don’t like talking about being in the family, or being in the family at all, actually.” He winced looking at her wide eyes.

“I wasn’t supposed to get noticed by the Waynes. Shit!”

“Then you shouldn’t have worn that dress… or that face… or that smile, Pixie.”  He said grinning suavely.  

She examined him for a few seconds, emotions flittering across her face almost too quickly to identify them.  Confusion, bashful, flattered, hopeful, guilt, pain, melancholy.

“I have to go.” She finally spoke up.

“Wait.  What?”

“I… I have to go”

“Wait, is it… you have to go because I’m Wayne’s son?”

“No, I… shit.  Putain de bâtard.” Yep, that one he understood too.  Wait... “Me?” He asked pointing to himself.

“No, not you… Not because you’re a Wayne, well kind of because you’re a Wayne.  It’s…” she faltered for a few seconds then muttered under her breath again “Je vais tuer cette putain de mère.”

“Wait, who is the mother fucker you’re talking about? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.  I’m just going to kill a bitch when I get home.”

“Okay… Okay, first, that is a lot more swearing than I thought you were capable of and I’m extremely impressed… and turned on,” he chuckled as she rolled her eyes at him and mumbled under her breath “you should have heard what was going on in my head”.  He raised his eyebrows at her suggestion.  “Okay, you’re making it really hard not to make out with you right now.” He watched proudly as her cheeks suddenly blazed red at his comment. Another point for him tonight.

“Second, if you’re just worried about Bruce finding out you were here, it never happened.  I never saw you.  You were never here,” he assured her.  Instead of calming her she seemed more panicked, eyes darting from the door to him. This seemed like more than just not wanting to get noticed.  She was into something and didn’t want to be.  “Or, if you’re in trouble, I can help.  You just need to tell me what is going on.  You don’t seem like you would willingly work with someone out to hurt others, so whatever it is, I’m sure you aren’t willingly doing it.  If it is something bad.  I just really have no idea what is going on right now and I would like you to tell me.” He continued earnestly, looking her in her eyes to make sure she understood how deathly serious he was about it.  If she needed help, he WOULD help her.  Even if he didn’t like her, which he really did, he was going to help put that smile back on her face.

She looked at him for another few moments opening her mouth slightly to say something then seemed to think better of it and closed it again.  She narrowed her eyes and looked away scanning the room as she thought about what to say and do next.  She seemed to come to a conclusion as she turned back to him and set her feet firmly on the ground.

“I never told you why I was here, did I?” Even before he shook his head she continued.  “I’m here to keep an eye on the Waynes.  On you, apparently.  Didn’t know you were back from the dead though, so I wasn’t looking out for you. Congratulations on that, by the way, you know, on the whole not being dead thing.  That’s really amazing.  I’m glad you can be around to enjoy life and laugh and be sarcastic and look at me with those eyes and look like that in a suit… probably even better out of it.”  She muttered the last part under her breath.

“I’d love to see you out of that dress, too.” He smiled smugly at her.

She huffed out a breath, cheeks reddening again, “Yeah, not happening.  I’m burning this dress as soon as I get out of here.”

“I can help you with that, too.  I like setting fires.  Two birds, one pyrotechnic.” He preened for a moment enjoying the flirting. Wait, less flirting, more focusing back on the more important part of her earlier speech.

“Wait, why are you keeping an eye on us?” he asked apprehensively.

“So I could warn my… associate if any of you left. So he could have plenty of time to… what is the best way to say this…” she looked up to the ceiling and took a deep steadying breath thinking about the words she wanted to use.  None of this was part of the plan. “…so he could have plenty of time to evacuate your… lair? No, lair makes you sound like villains… your illicit… cavern of, actually I don’t know if it is a cavern… and it isn’t really illicit, is it?  Well, actually I guess it kind of is, but that still makes it sound like you’re a villain…your underground… no, I don’t even know if it is underground… to evacuate your… uh… secret… base of… um, operations?”

“My what?” Jason demanded now more than a little concerned. “Who are you?”

“Nobody.  Absolutely nobody of consequence. And nobody who should be here right now.”  She turned to walk away before Jason stopped her.

“No.  You don’t get to say something like that then try to slink away like nothing happened. Come on, we’re going to go talk to some people,” he said grabbing her arm a bit harder than strictly necessary and dragging her towards his brothers and Bruce.  She definitely figured out who they all were or at least who Bruce was and that they knew too, which put her in danger, and she was working with someone to break into the Batcave, which put them all in danger.  Everything about this situation was dangerous and bad and they needed to talk to the family to figure out the best next steps.

Marinette dug her heels into the ground pulling against him, a really bad idea considering how high her heels were. Instead of stopping him she stumbled into his chest allowing him the opportunity to wrap his arms around her, “I’m not going anywhere with you,” she said squirming to get out of his embrace. “This is between you guys.  I have neither the desire nor the interest to get involved in this little lover’s spat.  I have more important things to be doing right now.  Things that asshole was supposed to be doing instead of pulling practical jokes.”

“Jokes?  What do you mean jokes?  What the fuck is going on?”  He looked at her again.  She wasn’t afraid, she wasn’t gloating, she wasn’t even nervous.  She was annoyed verging on enraged.  

“Nothing you need to worry about, Red.” She threw in the moniker at him to get him to back down.  She knew how important secret identities were, and how finding out someone knew yours could throw you off your game.  She felt a bit of guilt as she used that knowledge against him but this was no longer fun.  Now this was infuriating.  John was playing games with his former lover, or current lover, whatever Bruce was to him, instead of just helping.  He was taking time she didn’t want to spend, time the people of Paris should not have to wait.  They had spent weeks planning this when he could have just walked in and asked for the information.  They had wasted so much time.

“I. Do. Not. Have. Time. For. This.  This is not a joke.  This is not some gag for you overgrown children to play at,” she said hitting her finger into his chest with each word.  “I have people in need relying on me.  I have children counting on me. Parents counting on me.  Single people, who also deserve to live just as much as everyone else, counting on me and all suffering while they wait.  I. Am. Done.  And I am leaving”

Jason listened to her shocked.  Something was happening and he had absolutely no idea what, but somehow they were involved.  He hated not knowing what was going on.  Apparently children were suffering because of all of this and he didn’t know why.  But, he was going to figure it out.  She was right.  They did not have time for this.  Whatever was going on, they were going to help.  He turned away loosening his grip on her waist to just laying his arm on her instead of encircling her.  He touched his hand to his ear to activate the com hidden inside, “Tim, can you check the security video for the uh… our base of operations?”

It appeared that Tim was giving Jason some resistance because Jason turned away even further and started yell whispering threats into the air.  He was trying to be as discrete as possible in the crowded room, which normally wouldn’t be such a concern but there was a group of dancers headed their way, just leaving the dance floor after the song ended.  Marinette took advantage of his distraction and the sudden cover to twist away from him and slip into the crowd.

Jason called after her and tried to grasp her arm but missed her.  He searched for her but the crowd was too thick, having had to bottleneck to get past the tables surrounding the dance floor.  He scanned the crowd for her twisted hair or the black dress, but couldn’t see her in the group.  She had effectively disappeared, but if she went into the crowd, she would have to come out and cross the dancefloor in order to leave.  He could just wait for her on the other side of the group and keep an eye on the dancefloor.  He moved to go around the table, but that side was just as crowded so he did the only rational, discrete thing he could in the situation, he slid across the top of the table landing on the dancefloor and waited to grab her there, but she never came out.

­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­

_____________________________________________________________

Marinette had a habit of catastrophizing.  She knew this.  Everyone who knew her knew this.  She thought of all of the worst case scenarios and tried to plan for them. Generally, it was a wasted effort that did little more than stress her out and annoy her teammates.  Today, however, today it paid off.  She had anticipated having to make a quick escape and once she decided it was time to go, she put her escape plan into action. Freeing herself from Jason, she pulled off her belt before even getting to the crowd.  As she entered the crowd of people, she pulled out her hair pin, letting her hair fall down.  She didn’t even have to hunch down much at all to disappear into the crowd as she weaved her way through them.  One advantage to being short.  She ran her left hand through her hair tousling it so her long raven hair cascaded around her shoulders.  With her right hand, she yanked at the cowl neckline of her dress, allowing the fabric overlay to drop forming a floor length skirt, revealing the bodice of her now red Harlow inspired dress that had been hidden underneath.  Her new dress hugged her body until it reached her hips then fell freely.  

Finally, she reached into her red purse, removed her phone, the cookie for Tikki, and Kaalki’s glasses, nodded to Tikki, turned her purse inside out revealing a now black purse with red detailing, and returned her phone, glasses, cookie, hairpin, and belt into it, leaving plenty of room for Tikki. The entire change took all of 10 seconds.  By the time she would walk out of the crowd, she would be completely unrecognizable, at least by anyone who didn’t already know her.  Unless that is, if they were looking for someone moving against the tide of people.  That would be a dead giveaway.  So instead, she pivoted and moved with the crowd instead of against it, parting with them after a few tables and moving laterally toward the exit.

Marinette made her way to the exit quickly, but not quickly enough to draw attention to herself.  She needed to get to Constantine before the “bat family”, as her research had called them, got to him.  They had reasons for keeping other superheroes out of Paris and she had no interest in having that particular awkward and slightly guilt laden (stupid gorgeous blue eyes she wanted to get lost in) conversation with them.  Especially when she was this utterly livid with Constantine, which was another reason she was rushing.  She needed to get to him so she could beat the asshole out of him. Oh, she was going to make him pay for this, and not in a way he would enjoy.  

She was angry and frustrated and guilty and grieved. She knew Jason didn’t deserve for her to snap at him like she had but she had been too frustrated to hold back and he was part of the problem.  She had been having fun with Jason.  She had been enjoying bantering with him and looking into his eyes.  She had really, really been enjoying having him look at her like she was the most interesting thing in Gotham and having him hold her closer than he had to while they danced.  And now it was gone.  She was a hero and he was a vigilante so he had to be kept at a distance.  A 3,670 mile distance to be precise, well approximate.

She was just about to cross through the exit when a voice stopped her.

“Hey,” a woman with short black hair and green eyes called out to her.  Marinette slowed down weighing the risk of just blowing her off vs the risk of stopping. She decided ignoring her might lead to the woman calling after her, which would bring unwanted attention, which she wanted to avoid.  Stopping seemed the safer answer.  As long as she didn’t look back at the gala or do anything else that might incriminate herself, she would be able to get away without any awkward conversations or fights.

“Yes” she answered with a strained smile.

“I saw that little quick change back there,” the woman responded.  Marinette’s eyes widened in panic.  Before anxiety could start going over all the worst case scenarios her mind could come up with, she was already in the midst of one of them in real life she really didn’t need to start thinking of worse things to add to it, the woman continued, nonchalantly scanning the people at the gala, “don’t worry, I’m not going to out you.  I just might have occasion to use a quick change myself from time to time, so I was hoping you might share where you got your dress.”  She shot Marinette a wicked smile.  ”Just because you’re hustling doesn’t mean you can’t look killer doing it.”

Marinette relaxed minutely and gave her a small smile, “it’s called MDC Designs.  She’s online. What’s your name so she’ll know who to look out for?”

“Thanks kitten.  I appreciate it.”  She said never looking back at Marinette.  “Selina.  Selina Kyle. I’d say nice to meet you, but we never met, did we?”

Marinette smiled to herself as she walked out the door. Maybe the night wasn’t a total loss. Hopefully, Constantine got the information they needed, she’ll get to punch his smug face as soon as she sees him, and she’ll get a new client.  Guess Adrien was right about showcasing her design after all.  He must never know.  Not such a bad night at all.

 Chapter 2

 Tag:

@fsketchart @jasonette-july-2k20

[louthestarspeaker]

Water Dancer

I was paired up with @photowizard17​ for the @tagminibang​! Had a wonderful time collaberating. I wrote the story and they drew the lovely art. Quite proud of what we did here :D

***

When Gordon was underwater, Virgil was a watcher. He hovered above the waves, eyes on the holographic marker that was a little yellow sub, on the telemetry numbers that marked breath and pulse. Virgil was a guardian, ready to tear apart the ocean if his little brother needed him. 

But, to be quite honest, when Gordon was underwater, he rarely needed anything.  Because when he was in the water, Gordon was a dancer. As a swimmer or in a sub, Virgil had seen him carve through the blue, had watched Gordon hone his skills his whole life.

But it was a very different thing, a rare thing, to be standing at his brother’s back, looking out the same windshield and watching the ocean rush by. Blue like his own world, his sky, but darker- and this world shook. 

“Seaquake!” Gordon shouted, his eyes going sharp and grip tightening on the controls. “Virgil, buckle up!” 

The warning came too late. The cockpit shuddered violently and Virgil grunted as he crashed into the wall before he could catch himself.  Four made a sharp turn and sent him sliding the short distance across the glass floor before colliding with Gordon’s chair, the air blown out of him. 

Virgil found himself staring through Four’s belly, his cheek pressed to the cool of the glass, high beams piercing through the dark. 

They were in the worst place you could be during a seaquake, deep in an underwater mountain range with jagged rock walls jutting up high on either side of them. They were crumbling, and Gordon, with expert maneuvering, wove Four through the falling boulders, trying to climb for the surface.       

It was loud.

There were screams coming from the passenger compartment, Gordon on the speakers telling them to stay calm. The deep rumble and sharp cracks as the world split apart around them. Deafening, even through the hull. 

A foot nudged at Virgil’s side. “Virge! You okay?” Gordon asked, shouting over the destruction outside. His eyes were still pinned to the windshield, but there was a crease of worry between his brows that had nothing to do with piloting.

“I’m okay.” Virgil quickly assured him. Don’t make your little brother worry.

Virgil gripped the back of Gordon’s chair and hauled himself to his feet, securing a tether to keep him from pin-balling around the cockpit again, and pulling on his helmet for good measure. 

Gordon chanced a glance over his shoulder, eyes meeting Virgil’s for a split second, making sure he was telling the truth. 

“I’m fine.” Virgil repeated. There was a dull ache in his shoulder and another in his side, but nothing he couldn’t walk off. Gordon had bigger things to worry about.

Four gave another great shudder.

“Come on, girl, come on.” Gordon mumbled to his sub between clenched teeth, eyes flicking rapidly from windshield to readouts and back again. 

Virgil kept a hand braced to the wall, trying to keep steady. 

A seaquake was nothing like turbulence. Air had a direction, a forward movement, you could learn to ride even the strongest winds if you had the skill. But quakes had no rhyme or reason to them, they seized you and shook you like you were caught in the jaws of some animal. There was no riding one, only enduring it.

But eventually, because it always did, the shaking did stop.

“That was a long one,” Gordon muttered under his breath as the cockpit stabilized. He relaxed a fraction, but not by much. They were still in a danger zone.

Boulders began to hit the seafloor, and the silt rushed up and enveloped them. Visibility petered out to zero and Gordon was relying entirely on his instruments and instincts to climb them out of the fog.

A slab of stone fell into their path, appearing only as a shadow in the silt, plummeting for the seafloor and eager to take them all down with it. Gordon maneuvered Four through a narrow gap, only a few feet of open space on either side of them.

Piloting Four was highly instinctual, the controls wrapped around Gordon’s arms like armor, designed so he could feel the weight of the current. His movements were quick and sharp as he darted through the falling rock, but they had a rhythm to them, a tide of their own.

Gordon was an ocean unto himself, dual sided in personality and skill. 

He was the obvious, the sparkling sunlit surfaces, the skipping waves and playful banter. And he was the hidden, the deep midnight blue in the depths, rarely seen in the light. 

Well, they were far from the sunlight now.

The sub swerved sharply, and Virgil struggled on his feet. A new alarm tore through the cockpit and Gordon swore, voice all sharp edges and hard surface.

"Okay, hold on, I think we're in trouble." Gordon said, the words slipped out of him in a breath.

Virgil leaned over to glance Gordon’s instruments. There was a boulder three times the size of Four free falling towards them.

Virgil swore too.

Gordon’s eyes ticked quickly back and forth, from his instruments to his blinded windshield, imagining the things Virgil didn’t know how to, and he could see the gears turning.  

“Hold on, I’ve got a stupid plan.” Gordon said.  

“Better than no plan.” 

For from his usual response when a brother said something along those lines, but right now the options were either stupid or crushed and Virgil had a preference.

Gordon kicked Four faster, sending her barreling upward, tight to the cavern wall, straight for the boulder. There was a narrow strip of negative space, was that what Gordon was aiming for? 

Virgil bit his lip. It was too small.

They couldn’t even see the distance closing. Gordon had the numbers, the meters decreasing, Virgil had the cadence of the proximity alarm, screeching louder, louder, louder.

Staring out and seeing nothing was scarier somehow.

Gordon hit the speaker button for the passenger compartment. “Everyone brace yourselves! We’re gonna hit!”

The lights switched to a pulsing red as they neared and it matched the heart beat thumping wildly in Vigil’s ears and chest.

“Helmet!” Gordon shouted. Virgil snatched his brother’s helmet out of a locker and slipped it quickly over Gordon’s head. 

This was all him. There was nothing Virgil could do. Adrenaline surged and it made his fingers shake. 

But the fear in him didn’t matter, because he wasn’t the one sitting in the pilot’s seat, because the person who was was a water dancer. And never had Virgil trusted him more than here, surrounded by the currents and the stone.

 Never more than now.

Gordon breathed.

And the world went dark.

The impact sent Virgil crashing into the side of the pilot’s chair, and there was a metallic thunk as Gordon’s head flung forward against the dash.

The screeching of the alarms bled together with the screams from the back compartment, melding together into blank, white noise in Virgil’s ears. A high pitched whine stretching out into infinity.

But infinity ended fairly quickly. And then that was it.

The red emergency lights blinked on again. Virgil’s shoulder smarted worse now but he was still in one piece. 

Gordon sat up from the dash, looking a bit dazed but no worse for wear. “We okay? You okay?”

“I’m fine. You?”

“All good.” Gordon grinned and rapped a fist against his helmet. “Nice to have a copilot.”

Virgil cracked a smile at that one.

He peered out the windshields. Outside the glass was a more solid darkness than the hazy shadows of before. “Gords, are we… in a cave?”

“Cave is being kind of generous.” Gordon said, taking stock of Four’s controls. “But I thought this hollow could give us some cover.”

“Are we stuck?”

“Totally. But lucky for us I’ve got a secret weapon.” There was a grin that was decidedly more cheeky little brother than reassuring rescue operative. “Check the depth gauge, bro.”  

Virgil looked over Gordon’s instruments and found a number he recognized. They were right on the edge of the threshold for Two’s rescue cable.

“I tried to get us a little closer to the surface.” Gordon said, watching his brother’s face. “But you could probably still fish us out.”

“I’m your plan B?” Virgil said, and the words were just a little incredulous. They were in an environment where Gordon was masterful, while Virgil was usually leagues away.

But Gordon just looked at him, aquanaut and submariner and water dancer, and his face said duh. “You’re always my plan B.” 

Which shouldn’t have been surprising, but in this instance it was. Gordon dove miles deep into the ocean, and Virgil waited for him far above. And sure he thought of himself as a guardian for his little brother but he couldn’t really tear apart the ocean if he tried. 

If he needed to.

Still. Virgil could understand it on some level. John’s voice in his ear could calm him like no other.  And it was always easier to fly with Scott on his wing. Virgil had just never considered he could provide that kind assurance from so far away. 

Though Gordon, apparently, felt differently.  

Virgil called Two to rendez-vous directly above them, and lowered the rescue claw to it’s maximum length.

It was a bit of a stretch, and had him pulling Two closer to the ocean than he would’ve liked, but her cable reached them. A hand reaching down from far away.

Virgil dig them out as quickly as he was able without ringing down more of the mountain. Gordon ran through a quick systems check, gave another word of reassurance to their passengers, then began to take them up. No one wanted to stay in the area any longer than strictly necessary. 

The cockpit grew steadily lighter as Four climbed for the surface, trading the silt for the sunlight. Gordon piloted with a careful frown, maneuvering his sub with practiced ease.

Carving through the blue as sure as ever. 

Virgil felt a smile on his lips. “Nice job, Gords.” 

Gordon looked up at him, crinkling eyes. “Nice job, yourself.”