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theywhowriteandknowthings · 14 hours

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Dog-eared | Chapter 1: The End

Summary: You know your boss is involved with organised crime. The flashy cars, men in tailored suits, call girls that come and go, and the odd hours he keeps. It screams organised crime of some kind, or a cult. But you’ve been able to keep it all separate from your personal life. Until now. Chapter Warnings: Canon-Typical Violence, Blood and Gore, Mafia Themes/Mob Violence etc., Swearing, Nearly Naked Price. Main Masterlist | AO3 Wordcount: 2556

Series Masterlist | Next Chapter ->

On the surface, working for the Mob is no different to any other corporation, you do your job – a cushy gig as a Cyber Security expert – you get paid. There’s no union busting, or quibbles over PTO and pay, simply because it’s laughable to even consider them when your boss is literally the head of one of the most notorious London crime gangs.

You butt heads with the department heads and shareholders of the shell company just as frequently as at that company owned by Nestle, you’re pulled from project to project just as often as working for Amazon’s tech support, you work unpaid overtime at the same frequency as that law firm down the road.

The key difference is the pay.

You’re flush with savings, your student loans repaid, and you live a pretty cushy life, all things considered.

“Alrigh’, lass?” The familiar Glaswegian twang shakes you out of your post-lunch daydream at your desk and you smile up at your friend as he perches on the edge of your desk. You didn’t even hear the door to your office open.

He’s dressed to the nines in a blue three-piece number, suit jacket slung over his shoulder. His waistcoat is a slightly darker blue with gold brocade embroidered on the silky material. His tie is a bright yellow to match, if you didn’t know any better, he’d almost pass for a Canary Wharf banker wanker.

His hair is styled in the usual short mohawk he’s favoured since you were kids. A bittersweet remnant of the boy you once knew shining through the hardened exterior of the very dangerous man you’ve come to love.

“Soap MacTavish, those will kill you,” you say with a roll of your eyes as you point to the cigar tucked in the exterior pocket of his suit, “Celebrating?”

“Not yet,” he says as he drums his fingertips on the desk, “But Cap’n thinks we’re about to strike it big.”

“I don’t want to know,” you playfully cover your ears with your hands, “So zip it.”

“You asked,” Soap says with a grin, “Besides, Price is keeping this one on the need-to-know basis, so I couldn’t tell you even if you were feeling a wee bit nosy.”

“Good,” you say with a huff as you lean back in your chair, “Just come back in one piece, yeah?”

“Always,” he promises with a wink as you see the lift doors open behind him, Ghost and Price in full view through the glass walls of your office. Both men are deep in conversation, “Besides, I’ve got plans this weekend, can’t woo my missus if I’m dead.”

“Speak of the devil,” you grumble as Ghost and Price stop outside your open door. The scarred blond man nods at you, a subtle twitch of his eyebrow and scarred lip more than anyone else gets in this place. He’s in a pale salmon suit, black shirt unbuttoned just enough to brandish the gold chain around his neck.

Price looks through you like you don’t exist. His azure eyes cold and emotionless as you nod in his direction. You can’t help but notice the way his rolled up shirt sleeves hug his thick arms, nor the gold shirt garters that only add to the old-school gangster look. His dark trousers are pressed to perfection, the hems brushing over the tops of his maroon Brogues. His beard is freshly trimmed, framing his thick lips in a way that makes you yearn to know what it’s like to feel them brushing over your skin.

It used to sting, the sheer indifference he shows you, but after four years, you’re over it. Mostly. You try to give him the same wide berth, mostly talking through Kate, his COO, if the need arises.

But you’re not so proud to admit you’d climb him like a tree if he so much as hinted that he was interested.

“Duty calls, hen,” Johnny leans in to press a kiss to your forehead, “See you soon.”

You feel the multiple eyes on you at the overly familiar gesture. The rumours that you and Soap were/are fucking have been circulating since you first joined Price and Sons. It makes you laugh, because – to you – it’s obvious how in love Soap and Ghost are.

“You’ve got to stop doing that,” you call after him playfully, “Aaron from HR is on my ass about inappropriate work relationships!”

“Whatever you say lass, you love the attention,” Soap says without turning back, his laughter echoing through the hall as he joins Price and Ghost outside your office. But being the subject of office gossip is the least of your concerns, it seems.

An alert flashes up in a command window, then another, and another. Emails start piling in along with Teams and Slack messages from multiple department heads and C-level execs.

You groan inwardly at the workload dumped at your feet, on the wrong side of lunch on a Friday. You’re going to be here into the early hours, you just know it.

You call up Farah, getting her to ensure the counter measures are doing their job across the system as you do the same. It’s a standard DDOS attack, aimed at the infrastructure layer, and one of thousands the company experiences each year. But there’s something about this one that makes you doubt it’s run of the mill. You don’t have time to question why as you see a second and third wave of emails and video calls coming through.

You’re pulling up Farah on a video call as you hear the glass door close behind Soap.

You don’t notice the way John Price lingers at your door, his gaze transfixed as he watches you work the problem. You miss the way he clips Johnny over the back of the head, telling the younger man to “behave”.

~*~

You’re trudging through the rowdy streets of London on a Friday night, still glued to your work phone as you try and wrack your brains over the incident. Farah offered to stay late onsite, which you had gladly accepted. You trust Farah more than any other colleague you’ve ever had. She’s capable, smart, funny, and most of all she knows her shit.

You’re only a few streets away from your flat now, thumbs furiously typing away as you hear the distinct rumble of thunder in the distance. You curse yourself for not packing an umbrella this morning.

You: Farah, don’t stay up too late, the worst of it is over, we can pick back up in the am.

Farah: Yes boss, will catch you in the morning, have a good one! Don’t lose any sleep on this, I’ve got it covered.

You: You too, night.

Farah: No promises, now put the phone away and let me know when you’re home safe.

You smile to yourself as you close the app. You know she’ll be glued to her work computer all night, but at least you can say you tried. You feel the heavy drops of rain splatter against your skin as the weather turns rapidly around you. The Friday night partygoers screeching and groaning as they too fall prey to the fickle whims of British weather.

You’re soaked through by the time you reach your building, the doorman letting you in with a sympathetic smile. You miss the guilt etched into his face as you shuffle through to the lift.

All you want to do is settle down with a glass of wine, your scrunkly elderly dog Lola, and the latest episode of that period drama series everyone is going on about.

You approach your front door, pawing through your handbag to find your keys when you hear it. A short, meek little yap that barely registers as a bark. A sound you’re far too familiar with to mistake it for anything else.

Lola.

You look up to see your door ajar. Your stomach drops as you see the bloody streak of a handprint smeared over the handle. You look down to see a scarlet boot print stamped on your welcome mat as you nudge the door open with the toe of your shoe.

“Hello?” You call out as you use the torch on your phone to illuminate your dark flat.

You can smell the red-copper scent of blood in the air as you follow the scarlet droplets that trail through your open plan flat. The jingling of Lola’s collar makes bile rise in your throat.

“Look, whoever you are,” you start your bargain with a surprisingly level voice, “I’ve got money, I’ll give you whatever you need, just leave my dog be, yeah?”

There’s no response as you drop your handbag down on the sofa, the familiar landscape of your home shrouded in darkness as you lament not turning the light on at the door. But the warm light spilling from your bedroom tells you exactly where your intruder must be.

You make your way to the safe on the far side of your flat, dangerously close to your bedroom door where the intruder lies – the bloody handprint smeared on your bedroom door a perfect match to the one you saw on the way in only stoking your fears.

You quickly disarm the safe and pull out your – very illegal – Colt 1911 with blackened frame and mother of pearl grips. You hit the mag eject, acknowledging the full clip before sliding it back into place and pulling the slide back to arm the weapon. You may not technically be part of the mob, but you’re not so naïve that you’d not prepare for this sort of thing.

You steel yourself, phone forgotten on the floor by the safe as you support the underside of your pistol grip with your off-hand, your dominant hand steady around the grip, aimed at shoulder height as you prepare to breach your bedroom.

“Last chance,” you call into your bedroom and the unmistakeable sound of Lola’s happy grumbles catches you off guard.

You kick the door in and immediately you’re left dumbfounded, but you don’t falter, gun pointed towards the man slumped on your bed.

“What the…?” You trail off as you feel heat singe at the tips of your ears, flooding your cheeks as you take in the sight before you.

John Price is shirtless, stripped down to his tight grey boxer briefs as his head lolls back against your expensive mahogany headboard. His hair sticks to his head, blood and rain smeared through his short locks. His face is bruised and bloodied, his lip split and one of his eyes swollen shut. Even beaten half to death, the man is striking.

“Mr Price?” You hiss as you slowly lower the gun, setting it down on a chest of drawers to your left, “What happened?”

You struggle to decide your next move, there’s a loud, shrill voice in the back of your mind that makes you want to dab his face with a wet rag. Shower him with care and attention like some trite romance novel. An equally loud voice tells you that it’s not your problem, this isn’t what you’re paid for, and you should just turn him out on the street.

Then you see the duct tape strapped tight around his hairy chest, two wads of what look like sanitary towels bunched up over his lower abdomen and another tampon-looking object stuck in his right bicep.

“Call me John,” he wheezes out and you jump back at the sudden signs of life from the beleaguered man. You can’t believe he’s still breathing, let alone conscious right now.

“What the fuck are you doing here, John?” You hiss as you notice the big lump under your blood-stained duvet, a long tail wagging against Price’s side as Lola seems to finally realise you’re home.

“Deal went sideways, shit really hit the fan this time,” he coughs out through gritted teeth as a tremor wracks his body, “Got the bullets out, used some of your shit in the bathroom, will compensate you.”

“Right,” you say as you shake your head, “I don’t want to know, don’t need your money, not like tampons are expensive anyway.”

“Fuck off with your sanctimonious bullshit for once, love,” Price hisses as he glares at you with his one good eye. You bristle at that but hold your tongue, glowering right back at him, as if he isn’t one of the most dangerous men in the country.

“You need a hospital,” you say slowly as you perch yourself at the end of the bed, “But I’m guessing you’re going to tell me to fuck off with that idea?”

“You catch on fast,” John says with a heavy exhale through his nose as Lola wriggles her way out of the bedding, her greying muzzle popping out of the covers dramatically as she sniffs you out, “I need to stay here a while, lay low while I plan my next move.

“Absolutely n-,” you begin but you’re cut off, John continuing to speak as if you aren’t even there.

“I will compensate you financially, of course, but you cannot let anyone know I’m here.”

Lola stretches her old body out with a soft whine before trotting down the bed to you, wonky tail swishing back and forth before she plops down onto your lap. Milky eyes peer blindly up at you with adoration as you scratch behind her ears.

“What about Soap? Ghost? Gaz? Kate’s gotta be worried sick,” You say, watching the wounded man labour through each breath. You try not to admit to yourself that you’re worried about him. He’s a mobster, scum, you should have nothing but resentment for him. But the nagging voice telling you to care for him, nurse him back to health, just won’t quit.

It's the right thing to do.

“Kate’s the reason I’m here,” he says as his voice becomes faraway, distant, “Said I could trust you.”

Before you can ask any more questions, Price passes out. His jaw falls slack and his one good eye flutters closed as you look between the haggard man and old dog in your bed. You groan as you release the mag from your gun and eject the chambered round, placing the disassembled piece down on your bedside table.

You force Lola out to do her business, the small dog grumbling the whole time you pry her away from the warm bed and even warmer man nestled under your sheets. You pick up your phone up on the way as you text Kate to see if she’s awake.

Kate: Call you in 5.

Is all you get as you’re lifting Lola back onto the bed, who immediately settles against Price’s side.

Traitor.

You think as you rummage under your sink to find your cleaning supplies. The welcome mat is burning away in a steel bin filled with lighter fluid on your balcony, but you need to clean up the rest of the blood before the nausea eats you alive. You phone begins to ring just as you’re locking your front door. You answer with a scowl as Kate says your name syrupy sweet in your ear.

“Cut the shit Kate,” you snap as you hold the phone in the crook of your neck as you start mopping Price’s blood from your tiles, “What the hell is going on?”

Series Masterlist | Next Chapter ->

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pooopsock · 3 days

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Since yall loved my other post and I might as well lore dump and introduce my ocs

elmur is a 19 year old who was born with a curse that gives him the ability to see beings that normal naked eye can’t see. These other beings include monsters and ghosts. He grew up with azazel and yuria and they became like his own parental figures, since he didn’t have the best guardian when he was growing up. though it’s hard for him to make decisions between the two since polar opposites opposite. Yuria being more laid back and azazel being more stern and serious. But he always has his uncle Dean to be the (well the only good human figure in his life ) elmur is super chill, and he’s also kinda dumb but I love him idk, (also no one can see these creatures other than him)

Yuria is a . Well was a semi famous solo singer that was murdered in the 1980 by a fan on her wedding day. But instead of doing the usual “haunting and being sad all the time”. She takes the opportunity to have fun with her predicament, especially when death (grim reaper or death in general) is waiting for her to move on. She’s semi friends azazel but often gets into shenanigans with him due to their polar personalities. She is very chaotic, but she’s also kind of sassy. I love her. I love my wife. I’m so glad that other people love my wife. Oh and she’s also pen pals with Dean.

Azazel is a being that is known as the outsider which is a monster that is exist in the outside plane, which is where most of the monsters that Elmer can see. It’s a combination of what we see. Basically monsters that just appeared but can’t be seen. They tend to copy humans mannerisms but not all of them are friendly . Azazel is one of those friendly monsters that had basically adopted elmur. He originally knew elmurs grandmother who had unfortunately passed. So taking care of Elmer is like a justice to her. he’s a stickler for the rules and sometimes he doesn’t realize that he’s being too serious with elmur. He’s not really used to it. He’s /srs most of the time, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t pissy (think of the narrator from Stanley parable)

Dean is Elmer’s uncle and he already has a lot of personal issues and like Elmur he didn’t have the best life either. He drinks a lot but he also doesn’t want his past to define who he is now. Hes a Divorced police officer and he lives his nephew elmur and his son Travis (and some extra company) Dean is aware of Elmer’s “friends” but he’s supportive of it and doesn’t like to judge or shame elmur. Despite being divorced he’s on friendly terms with his ex wife and they still talk. But Dean is mainly alone when it comes to a social life, which is why he’s been getting random letters in mail from a secretive pen pal. Let’s say on the side of yuria chaotic energy and azazels serious and /srs manner, he’s in between I didn’t be careful someone who is confused about what they want can become confused about what you’re worth

Yeah so those are my bbs

If you have any questions feel free to ask or if you wanna draw my ocs ur absolutely allowed

I love ya

#my art #glass eyez

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urhoneycombwitch · 2 days

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On dad!Steve !! I would love if you could write something about him coming to terms with becoming a dad/pregnancy and labour/just first time dad!Steve in general makes me melt (especially if he's a girl dad 😔)

kay I’ll speak on it bc I have thoughts for SURE

cw: dad!steve, pregnant!R, light emetephobia ment, childbirth desc (no smut but my page is +18 only)

canon-wise, I feel like Steve’s only gotten smarter. obviously he’s still got a goofy himbo side. but he’s getting cleaner with fighting. sharper with his observations. lighter on his feet that’s only come with lots of protective practice.

but the part of him that really cares goes into overdrive after s4, in the canon I’m building in my head 😇 I think he might get a little obsessive about safety for awhile, in the wake of their heroic, underground-world-defeating victory. that kicks into high gear when he finds out you’re pregnant.

(see more of my to-be-named world building here)

for the first few months of your pregnancy he’s never been more grateful to be working in the same building as you. he takes every opportunity to to visit you at your library posting, between teaching his classes (under the pretense of grading papers. Professor Harrington can generally be found at a one-elbow lean on your front desk any time he isn’t in his office.)

he just loves you so much and wants to make sure you’re doing okay. he brings you ginger soda, the fancy brand you like- kept stocked in the staff fridge when your stomach is roiling with nausea, passed with an apologetic kiss to the back of your hand.

bleeding heart Steve feels so bad he can’t take all the pain away, does his best to alleviate your new and growing discomforts. rubs your shoulders and puffy ankles down with lotion each night. gives up coffee in the mornings (even tho he used to RUN on caffeine) so you can kiss him without aversion 💖. he’s with you for every shaky night-sweat throw up session on the bathroom floor, kneeling to hold you hair back from getting sick in it. warm palm on your lower back in assurance and comfort.

he calls it at 6 months. begs and cajoles and patiently argues (sweetheart, you’re wakin’ up so early with work. you should really rest, anyways- find a nice horizontal hobby to keep you off your feet. treat it like vacation 🫶) which turn into not so patient arguments (practically in your third trimester, goddammit, you want me to go crazy with worry? gonna have premature greys at this rate. let me keep you safe, angel, please. for my sake.) until finally you agree to take the damn maternity leave early.

and u know Steve’s reading all the books. how to be a good first-time dad. 101 lessons for the new parent. mother’s health and wellness magazines. childbirthing books. by the end of your third trimester, he’s gained enough knowledge to be an honorary midwife. could deliver the baby himself, if the situation really called for it. better to be prepared 🫡

and that spring , you’re both lounging on the couch. there’s a sunny spot under the big window, and you’re warming like cats, you feet propped in Steve’s lap. moon of a stomach peeking out from underneath a stolen one of Steve’s soft tees. his eyes are fixed on his library book on gentle parenting until you take a sharp inhale.

there’s a spasming band just under your navel that you press your hands into, and Steve pauses in rubbing absentminded at your ankle. looks up at you in concern and then at his watch and says “whoa, that’s like, 4 contractions in the last 5 minutes. are these for real or what?”

and you’re like “uhmmmm. don’t b mad but my water kind of broke this afternoon.”

and Steve looks at you with this very poorly concealed bewilderment that’s quickly morphing into shock and so you start talking before he can like “no no it’s chill. it’s cool!! 😎 doesn’t even hurt that bad and I knew you’d be home at 4 anyways….”

and you quiet when Steve rips his glasses off and pinches his nose between two fingers and says in a Very strangled voice “yeah. okay. well it’s 5 PM traffic right now which means rush hour which means we need to go to plan C right off the bat…”

and you watch this man unravel in the most efficient way possible. tugging at the roots of his hair until it stands overly-tall but managing to pack all your bags in the car in under 3 minutes. a record. and he gets to the hospital using all the mapped-out backroads so you’re there in a tight 15.

but as it turns out, a speedy arrival to the L&D ward of Hawkins Memorial wasn’t even necessary, because you spend the next 21 hours in the most intense, soul-crushing pain Steve’s ever seen you go thru in his life and it almost breaks him. for real.

he’s so soft for you and no amount of reading about other people giving birth could have prepared him for the heartache and helplessness of seeing you ride the wave of a contraction. or go thru the brutal process of getting an epidural, your hands digging into his forearms hard enough to leave bruises as you leaned on him thru it all.

and Steve did not know he could fall more in love w you but he does, the second you become a parent alongside him, wet and wriggling baby girl placed on your chest. spend two nights in the hospital healing up and fumbling through feedings and giggling over your new tiny daughter. counting her fingers and toes every time you unwrap her. cooing over those big brown eyes that look just like Steve’s.

and with his first baby, Steve is overprotective to the max. only Robin can babysit at first, and that’s only after she’s checked off a rigorous amount of reading material from Steve’s comprehensive required book list. he’s fussy about her routine (truly puts so much of the postnatal stress in himself so you can focus on bonding w/ your babe and resting), is fiercely protective over u and the new baby, like mama bear to the maxxx.

he’s actually GREAT at multitasking and the all consuming constant buzz of listening for certain types of crying and feedings and baby hand-offs thru the night really solidify the fact that he can do this. he’s already a million times better than his own parents at it, a fact of which you constantly remind and encourage him with.

and I’ve said it before but I’ll say it again, best thing to ever happen to Steve Harrington is having a second kid bc it chills him way the hell out. for reasons chalked up simply to It's the way the world works, Steve falls into a natural rhythm w your second kid. finds his stride as they say. he’s just as excited and caretaking and protective during your second pregnancy as with your first, but this time without all of the panic and wire-thin nerves. coasts thru calmly.

perhaps a touch too calm, because when you go into labor with your second kid, it’s the middle of a snowstorm in Hawkins, and since u and Steve went thru such a long hard birth with your eldest, you both take your sweet time getting ready to go. saying goodbye to your 3 year-old while aunt Robin comes to stay. even stopping for a snack on the way to the hospital because last time they didn’t let you eat and you were fucking ravenous the whole time.

but then Steve has to drive so slow and safe bc of the snowy roads and you’re still a good 20 mins out when things progress so rapidly and so unlike the first time around; Steve is so level-headed and lets you crush all the bones in his right hand while he drives with his left, coaching you through breathing exercises, trying to keep calm but oh shit, you’re making the same sounds you made three years ago when you brought your first baby into the world, all low groans and gritted teeth and Steve’s pleading with you to hold on, just a few more minutes as he coasts into the emergency bay of L&D. doesn’t give a fuck about parking in a tow zone, they can take the damn car, Steve’s already launching himself out of the drivers seat to scoop you up and hike it indoors.

in the nick of time. 10 minutes and a few pushes later and your second baby is there, all scrunched and tiny, so much smaller than her sister, got the slope of your nose and Steve’s pretty cupids bow. she arrived so fast it feels like a joke, you and Steve cuddling a bit cramped (the way you all like it) in the hospital bed, laughing a little, marveling at the fact that you’re a family of four now, how different it’s all been the second time around. how neither of you realized how much your hearts could expand to engulf your two kids with so much love, it feels like you’re both bursting at the seams 💖

#lu’s anons #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #dad!steve harrington #dad!steve harrington x reader #mom!reader #parent!reader #steve harrington x pregnant!reader #pregnancy cw

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avoicebehindthestars · 3 days

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No Feelings So In Unison (Good Omens fanfic)

Right, I figured it's time I shared my newest fanfic "properly".

rating: G

Length: 6k words (oneshot)

Summary: Overwhelmed by the all-encompassing brightness and endless vastness, Aziraphale manages to sneak out of heaven.

Excerpt:

Crowley hesitated again. His brows furrowed as pain crept onto his features. Of course, safety (Aziraphale’s safety) came first, but that didn’t mean the demon wasn’t hurting. He now smacked his lips and sighed.

‘Do you want me here?’ he asked, the same defeated voice that had been resonating in Aziraphale’s mind ever since that ill-fated morning, despite the passage of time.

The angel was so, so glad he had made it rain. He could only hope the raindrops would mask it when the tears building up in his eyes would inevitably overflow. Still, as he nodded, he could do nothing about the quiver of his chin.

‘Kay,’ said Crowley, but rather than joining the angel on the bench, he crouched in front of him to meet him at eye-level.

Aziraphale was wishing so hard that he could remember a single scenario, a single opening line of the countless speeches he had rehearsed ad nauseam for when he met Crowley again. I’m so sorry. I was wrong. I wasn’t thinking. I didn’t know what to do. I never should have… Please, give me another chance. Forgive me. I need you. I can’t do this without you.

I love you.

Yet, nothing sounded right, nothing was coherent. It felt as if an impenetrable wall had risen somewhere between his mind and his lips. Messages crashed like angry waves against this dam that held them, so desperate to get across, but instead only scattering into a chaotic whirlpool where he could no longer make head or tails of any single thought.

‘So what happened?’ Crowley broke the silence, his voice a little less distant.

Aziraphale opened his mouth, but words still wouldn’t come. How could he even begin to explain?

‘Did they kick you out?’ Crowley tried guessing.

Another head shake was all he could manage.

‘Did you run?’

‘S-sort of,’ Aziraphale finally forced his speech apparatus to obey, though each syllable spilled out of his mouth in a clumsy murmur. ‘N-not quite. Just… for a while. I, I couldn’t… It was all… All so… so…’

He began gasping despite himself. It frustrated him how hard it was to formulate simple concepts into plain sentences. The frustration made his thoughts even more scattered. His lips, his cheeks, his tongue and his limbs felt so numb as if they weren’t even parts of his body. He felt he would either be sick or start crying any moment.

‘Bright and empty?’ Crowley supplied to the angel’s massive relief. ‘Yeah, you never did like it. Neither of us did. Always jumping at the first excuse to get away from the office, do some fieldwork instead.’

Inspired by: this tumblr post and this fanart

A massive thank you for the GOAD WG members for helping me choose the setting!

@goodomensafterdark

#good omens #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale #good omens 2 #good omens fanfic #my fanfiction #good omens after dark

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hippolotamus · 14 hours

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Tease Tidbit Tuesday 🪩

tagged by the always lovely and talented @dangerpronebuddie 🔪 @loveyouanyway 💔 @diazsdimples 💖 definitely go read their snips!

Thanks to some prodding from James (and inspo from the tune that goes with this scene) Mirrorball fic has made a return (*chants to self* please stay, please stay, please stay) This scene happens way after anything posted so far. Nonetheless, master list of snippets and lore here. Bon appetit or whatever

Chim taps on the screen, opening Buck’s message and lets out a disbelieving huff. He scrubs at his chin, occasionally flicking his gaze up to Buck then back down to his phone. This goes on for what must be a solid minute before Buck’s curiosity and impatience get the best of him. “What?” Chim pockets his phone and looks at Buck, really looks at him. A piercing and disarming stare that makes him squirm, and not in a good way. It’s not often that this side of Chim shows up. The part that’s more like an older brother, loving and caring for Buck even when he probably doesn’t want to. Buck knows he should be more grateful, but right now he really hates it. He wishes Chim would go back to teasingly calling him a dumbass about whatever ridiculous thing he did or said. “I know you’re not asking me that right now. Like, I’ve always known you weren’t the brightest sometimes, but jeez, Buckaroo, I didn’t think you were this stupid.” Buck resolutely stares at his shoes, at the album covers and other kitschy knick knacks decorating Chim’s small office, at the imaginary dirt under his fingernails. Anywhere but at the man in front of him. “Have you tried talking to him, Buck? Like actually talking to him.” “No need,” Buck sniffs, aiming for nonchalant and missing by a mile. “He made it pretty clear how he feels about things. About us.” He crosses his arms defensively and bites the inside of his cheek. He’s done crying over Eddie. (Okay, he’s not, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to let himself do it in front of Chim.) “You don’t think that maybe there’s a chance-” “I don’t have anything to say to him!” He curls his hands into fists, digging the nails into his palm. “And there isn’t a damn thing he could say that I wanna hear from him right now. Or ever.” Nothing except I’m sorry, I was wrong. I fucked up and I didn’t mean it. I love you. “He made his choice and now I have to deal with that. Because I still have shit to do. If this is how I choose to make sense of it all in my head, Chim, then so be it. So.” His breaths are ragged and shallow, his voice trembling. He swipes away the tears beginning to escape before they can roll down his cheek. “Are you going to do this for me or not?” Chim studies him for a moment and Buck thinks he’s about to get an earful. Except he doesn’t. “Yeah.” Chim sighs, clapping him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry Buckaroo. I’ll take care of it.”

The Tunes™️

np tagging @actuallyitsellie, @epicbuddieficrecs, @a-noble-dragon, @tizniz, @mountedeverest,

@fortheloveofbuddie, @weewootruck, @saybiwithme, @bidisasterevankinard, @shipperqueen6,

@ramonaflow, @taketheplanspinitsideways, @spotsandsocks, @theotherbuckley, @stereopticons,

@kitteneddiediaz, @mrs-f-darcy, @daffi-990, @drowsy-quill, @your-catfish-friend,

@thekristen999, @filet-o-feelings, @wikiangela, @underwaterninja13, @lizzie-bennetdarcy,

@rainbow-nerdss, @steadfastsaturnsrings, @queenmabcreates, @inell, @jesuisici33,

@shortsighted-owl, @queerbuckleys, @bi-buckrights, @elvensorceress,

@bucksbiawakening, @giddyupbuck, @hoodie-buck, @indestructibleheart, @ladydorian05,

@lemonzestywrites, @monsterrae1, @statueinthestone, @slightlyobsessedwitheverything, @the-likesofus,

@thewolvesof1998, @watchyourbuck, @wildlife4life anyone else who wants to 😘

#sorry not sorry but eddie did a Not Great thing #buck is a very sad boi right now #yeah he’s changing up his music again #that’s how he deals #but #maybe he can try the peach cobbler #hippo writes #fic: watch my shattered edges glisten #buddie wip #tease tidbit tuesday #tumblr tags please just work challenge #Spotify

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jungle-angel · 2 days

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While He Was Sleeping (Bob Floyd x Reader)

Summary: Bob's parents have been together for close to 30 years, but there's a little secret to how they met

Warnings: Weed smoking, concert shenanigans, Bob's uncles all being complete morons etc.

Notes: For @sorchathered for the RomCom prompts!!! I did kinda deviate a little bit from the story, but my darling, please enjoy (lol).

30 years........30 years to that day Bob's family had been together and you and him could hardly believe it.

The whole Floyd family had convened en masse to the ranch in Montana to celebrate, but at the end of the day it was just you, Bob and his parents, the four of you sitting out by the firepit in the waning evening light, the haze of late spring having set fully over Bozeman and the bright red disk of the sun fully visible in the sky.

"Holy hell what a day," Joe sighed as he pulled Irene close to him.

"Good day, Dad?" Bob asked him.

"Yeah, just exhausting," he said. "Wasn't expecting that many people to show up."

"I'm surprised your brother's brain still works," Irene chuckled as the flames crackled.

"What do you mean?" you asked, laughing a little.

"Bobby never told you?" Joe asked. "Jeez, I thought that story ran rife in the family."

You looked at your husband who in turn grew sheepish. "What happened with your uncle?"

"Um......I.....I don't remember......" Bob said, trying to hide the laugh that was threatening to come out.

"Oh I do," Joe chuckled. "Eyeballs, you remember this one?"

"Oh indeed I do," Irene laughed. "Because that's the story about how we met."

Your eyes went wide, yourself smiling as your jaw hung open.

"Alright, my guess is it's storytime," Joe said, making himself comfortable in the Budweiser camp chair. "Back in the late 70s, me and my brothers decided we were gonna sneak into a Doobie Brothers concert with a few friends of ours."

"Summer of '79 right?" Irene queried.

"Yep," Joe replied. "Us five idiots had piled into the back of our friend's Vista Cruiser and headed off to the stadium to go see'em in Oklahoma City. Concert was great, until Chris decided he was gonna actually smoke a doobie."

You and Bob laughed a little bit. Bob's uncle, Chris, had always been the straight laced one in the family, a very well respected police officer just like Bob's brother, Michael.

"Anywho....." Irene said, giving her husband 'the look'.

"Anywho," Joe continued. "Chris is high out of his mind by the time the concert gets out and walks himself right into a fuckin lamp-post on the way back to the car. He's not moving of course, so we've gotta book it right to the hospital. We get there and the nurses completely freak so they test him and fin out he's concussed."

You and Bob both grimaced at the image.

"So us idiots are waiting," Joe explained. "When lo and behold I see this gorgeous lady coming in because a friend of theirs was so loaded that she ended up eating shit on the pavement."

You and Bob shouldn't have laughed, but you were, the two of you letting out a piggish snort.

"Oh my God," Irene laughed. "Cheryl Anne was more than loaded. She was giving the nurses a hard time and I needed some air."

"So she goes out and I'm thinking that maybe I should talk her up a little bit," Joe chuckled.

"Yeah, Chief Running-Of-The-Mouth is hitting on me while his partner, Afraid-Of-Crotch-Hair is near the dumpster and has just lit his pants on fire," Irene remarked.

"Nobody knew he had a lit roach in his pocket, dear," Joe reminded her.

By this time, you and Bob could barely breathe, let alone stop laughing. "Dad what the hell.....?" Bob squeaked in between laughing fits.

"Do you even remember what we were talking about that night?" Irene asked Joe.

"I think it had something to do with the furniture," Joe theorized. "You were leaning kinda funny on it."

"There was something else too," Irene added.

"What was that?" Joe asked her.

"Chris asked me when it was the two of us fell in love," Irene told him. "I told him it was while you were sleeping."

Joe's forehead came to rest against Irene's, and yours against Bob's. Who would have thought, that his father had found the same romance that the two of you had found all those years ago.

#top gun maverick #robert bob floyd #bob floyd x reader #robert bob floyd x reader

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thewritergremlin-rae · 2 days

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Mirror, Mirror, On the Wall - Who's the Most Alien of Them All?

Pairing: Loki x Reader Characters: Loki, Thor, Brock Rumlow, Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Frigga, Heimdall Rating: T Words: 3229 Content: 2nd person, kidnapping, chloroform, manipulation, soulmate AU, Hydra!SHIELD at work, set during/post Avengers 1 Summary: You'd never thought there was anything strange about your soulmate in the mirror, apart from how handsome he was, but as fate as it - he's trying to invade New York. Ao3: HERE Notes: I am an absolute sucker for Soulmate AUs so here we are! I'm thinking of using this same AU for some others (Bucky and Steve) but I'm not sure if it'll be in same universe

In this AU, you see your soulmates face as your own reflection~ THIS IS A REPOST OF MY OWN WORK I accidentally deleted the original post so the read more doesn't work on my own blog 😭

Banners by cafekitsune

Something considered normal would rarely be considered wrong.

So, registering your soulmate’s image via looking in a mirror at 18 and having a photo snapped had never worried you.

Everyone did it.

It was normal.

It was safe.

It was how most people found their soulmates, and even then some just didn’t.

This early spring day started as every day usually did. You got up and ready for work, took public transport to the office, and logged in at 9 a.m.

Lunch came and went, spent with the coworkers you got along with best, all venting about the small annoyances of the morning. You all returned to the office and the afternoon crawled by.

Last minute, your boss asked you to finish a report now rather than tomorrow morning and you waved goodbye to your co-workers with a shrug and a put-upon smile. They’d all been in your position at one time or another. No-one found it strange.

The report dragged on for a few hours and you had no idea why it couldn’t wait until tomorrow, but your boss was hardly known for his patience. He at least had the decency to stay behind too.

You sighed and printed a quick copy before knocking on the door to your boss’s office.

He called out and told you to come in, taking the report when you handed it over. His eyes barely scanned it before he spoke again; “Hey, I know it’s late, but we have a visitor in the conference room. Go keep them company, will you? It will just take a couple of minutes.”

You bit back the sigh and the roll of your eyes, knowing both could lose you your job. Stupid, tight ass boss. “No problem, boss,” were the words that came out of your mouth, a false smile before you turned and left - heading to the conference room.

You took the liberty of rolling your eyes hard before you plastered the smile back on and pushed the door open. “Hello.” You stepped into the room and held out your hand as you gave your name. “Mr. Dickson is sorry to keep you waiting, but how can I help you?”

Not the normal sort of client, if a client he was. Most clients showed up in suits or some sort of business attire, but this man wore a black T-shirt, combats, and a jacket certainly not of the suit kind.

“Brock Rumlow.” He smirked over at you and you saw the way his eyes gave you a once over. Slowly. Urgh. Double ugh when he continued with; “No problem at all, sweetheart. Don’t suppose you could get me a coffee?” He nodded over to the machine as he eased back into his seat.

“Of course, sir,” you answered with a smile.

“Feel free to grab yourself one, too. Your boss sent you in here to keep me company, huh?”

“Something like that, Mr. Rumlow.” The pot only needed warming before you poured two cups and offered him one, taking a seat opposite the man.

“I hope he doesn’t make you stay this late all the time, I hate it when my boss makes me work overtime.” He snorted and rolled his eyes as he took a sip of his coffee. “Do this, do that, clean up some mess, collect an alien’s soulmate, kill that politician, clean up more mess. Not a day’s rest I tell ya.”

You nodded politely, staring down at your cup as you fully processed his words. Aliens, soulmates… killing politicians? You didn’t know which was the most out there. “I-’m sorry I’m not sure I follow…”

He only looked more delighted at your confusion and the way your body had stiffened. “Well, you see, sweetheart, there’s this guy, Loki, who showed up outta nowhere and, see, he talks a big game about taking over the Earth and we figured, seeing as you’re his soulmate, that he might rethink those big ideas if we offer you up instead.” Brock shrugged as if this was just casual conversation and didn’t have you frozen in your seat. “’Course, if that doesn’t work, maybe threatening to harm ya will change his tune. But what do I know about aliens? I’m just part of the STRIKE team.”

Brock smiled, as though he hadn’t just threatened you or spouted what sounded like absolute bullshit. A beat passed as you stared into the cup in your hands, eyes unseeing. “So why don’t we-”

He growled angrily as you threw the coffee and the cup containing it at him and jolted to your feet, running for the door, pulling it open-

Your short-lived escape attempt ended when another similarly dressed and built man stepped into view. His hands clamped down on your arms and the panic really set in as you protested and tried to escape. “Let me go!” You kicked and thrashed, hoping the noise might cause your boss to call the cops, but that small slice of hope was soon ripped from you. He appeared from his office, face like thunder.

“You said this would be quick, hurry up before someone hears this racket.”

Brock huffed from behind you, fingers sliding into your hair and tugging hard to drag your head back. “We coulda done this the nice way, bitch, but that’s off the table.” He pressed a cloth to your mouth, harder than necessary.

The thought of not breathing hadn’t even crossed your mind before the fumes entered your body and you soon slumped into unconsciousness.

You woke already knowing you weren’t at home. Everything felt off and you hadn’t even opened your eyes yet as you laid on what felt like a bed. You took a shallow breath, trying to remember, but everything before falling asleep stayed fuzzy at the edges.

You had been to work and… right, your boss had made you stay late and there had been coffee and…

Your eyes snapped open but so far it seemed like you were alone. The edge of the bed wasn’t far from the wall and you hesitated before rolling over. Good. No-one there either and this side of the wall had windows.

You shuffled over to them, eyebrows furrowing at their size. Small and curved at the edges. you slid the blind up to be met with the sight of clouds and uninterrupted sky.

You scrambled to the edge of the bed and the one door that led in and out of the room. “Hey! Hey!” you yelled, banging on the door, fear skittering through you. How long ago had last night been? What time was it now? Where were you now?

“Quit ya banging!” A stern thump that made the door rattle had you stumbling back and falling down to sit on the edge of the bed. “We’re nearly there, no need to get your panties in a twist, bitch.” It sounded like the man you’d met in the office… Brock if you remembered correctly.

He’d certainly changed his tune, but you had thrown coffee at him. Bastard deserved it.

“Where are we going?!” You had no idea if he would answer, if anyone would. Did it even really matter?

You were to be offered up as some consolation prize to an alien invader in the hopes he might go away.

You weren’t convinced of the plan; who would change their plans for the mere idea and appearance of their soulmate. You probably wouldn’t if you were in Loki’s position.

“New York,” came the answer before you heard footsteps leave the door.

You sank to the bed and flopped back on it, unsure what to do with yourself or for the rest of the flight.

You sat in what had to be some kind of interrogation room, a bit rich considering these guys had kidnapped you. A window made up much of the wall in front of you; the blank expanse of glass left you with nothing to look at but the reflection of your soulmate. It hadn’t changed for several years, but you’d noticed recently his hair had grown longer and it didn’t seem as well kept as before.

The sharp lines of his face had always left you flustered, but now they left you worried at the gaunt paleness that clung to him. What had happened? You couldn’t possibly know, you didn’t even know his name. Well, you hadn’t.

Loki. An alien. An invader.

You continued to sit silently in the chair, not knowing that an agent and your soulmate’s brother were busy deciding your fate.

“Father will not be pleased. Midgardians are not welcome to our realm and Loki is likely to remain in prison the remainder of her short life.” Thor spoke calmly but firmly. “Besides which, you tell me she is dangerous? A criminal? Why should Asgard take a criminal of Midgard to the golden realm? I do not think our prison is the best place to introduce them.” Thor couldn’t be certain, but he doubted the two would get along from what SHIELD had told him.

His brother would likely perceive another criminal as a threat or he would keep his guard up. Loki was not one for letting people in so easily. Especially not now. Whether she deserved kindness or not, he doubted Loki would afford her any.

“What if your brother wants to bring her?”

Thor’s eyes narrowed, giving the agent a sidelong glance. Hardly normal to accept a prisoner’s request… but he did love his brother fiercely - despite his recent tricks. “If,” Thor stressed, “Loki wants to bring her… I may agree,” Thor conceded. But he doubted such a thing would happen. “I will speak with him.”

Neither you or Thor knew the thin thread by which your fate hung.

The car rumbled through central park, you seated in the back wearing handcuffs and some gag like thing over your mouth that stopped you speaking. You still wore the bright orange scrubs and white shirt as though they’d plucked you from a prison somewhere.

You were free of Rumlow at least, you didn’t even know if the agent driving knew that you hadn’t been picked up from a penitentiary. This new one aligned more with what you imagined an ‘agent’ to be. Black suit, white shirt, sunglasses. Very Men In Black, which, ironic, since you were about to meet two aliens.

The car came to a stop and you looked out at the people milling around. You only recognised two for sure - one of them being your soulmate. Tony Stark confused you, for a moment, before you recalled his shift into heroism the last few years.

An equally tall, blond man held your soulmate's arm just above his elbow, so you had to assume this was the brother you’d heard murmurs about.

Your car door opened and a hand grabbed similarly below your elbow to help you out. Curious eyes turned on you and all you could do was silently, desperately, plead for someone to step in. Someone to take the gag off. You just needed one of them to be curious.

“Er… I don’t remember any plus ones going out to this little party.” Tony Stark gave the agent at your side a look over the top of his sunglasses, his gaze briefly sliding to you.

“She’s Loki’s soulmate,” the agent replied, no judgement but not much other emotion in his voice. He turned and marched you towards the pair of aliens.

“Now, hang on a minute.” A different voice objecting this time and you craned your head behind you to see a blond dressed in a check shirt and a brown jacket. You thought you might have seen his face somewhere before, but you weren’t exactly firing on all cylinders and you couldn’t place him. “She might be a criminal of some kind, but you’re going to send her to another planet?”

“I’m sorry, Captain, but it seems she may be more dangerous than a Midgardian prison could handle,” Thor answered. “My brother told me he has made many a visit to her on Earth.” Fucking news to you! Your eyes flicked to Loki, brows furrowed, but he didn’t meet your gaze. “I do not think he could have taught her many of the tricks he uses, but SHIELD assures me that they have indeed met before.”

Now you understood the reason for the gag. Can’t contradict made up bullshit if you can’t speak. You were about to turn a furious gaze on the agent that brought you out of the car when the soft clinking of a chain drew your attention.

Loki curled a chained arm around your waist, grip firm, and tugged your back flush against him. The action forestalled anything you had been about to do or say and you attempted to catch his eye. He ducked his head and you felt the cool press of his own gag to the top of your head.

The gesture had you stilling in surprise and seemed to only cement the story that Thor had been spun.

You felt eyes on the two of you, studying intently, before Loki’s little stunt seemed to be accepted as proof and preparations began again. You assumed for travel to this Asgard, but how exactly? There weren’t any space ships nearby and you were fairly certain the car you’d arrived in wasn’t about to escape Earth’s atmosphere.

Something with Loki here?

Thor reappeared in your line of sight holding one of two handles of some canister. A blue cube glowed inside, but it didn’t make any more sense than it had a few minutes ago. He caught your eye, his look intense and serious. “Make sure you do not let go or you will be lost to space as Loki was before he came here.”

You felt like meaning lay beneath the words, something you were supposed to glean from them, but still struggling to process what had happened the last few days you simply nodded and took hold of the other handle. Loki’s hand settled beside yours, overlapping slightly. Unsure if this stemmed from kindness, or an attempt to be sure you didn’t let go. or something else to drag you further into the fiction and lies that had been created around you... Well, you had no way to protest, anyway.

You hoped nobody would spend too long looking for you. Maybe the local police had already told everyone you were dead, covering up the act that you still couldn’t quite understand.

You wondered if you would ever see Earth again after this.

Your hand unknowingly reached for Loki’s at your waist, gripping tightly in fear of what was to come and in sorrow that you didn’t know what mess you were leaving behind.

Silence as Thor turned the handle, anticlimactic, but you felt it as your stomach dropped similarly to when an elevator descends too quickly and you were pulled upwards. The blur of colours was almost too much for your eyes to bear as your vision blurred, but soon enough your feet settled on solid ground once more.

You desperately blinked back the blurring at the edges of your vision to take in the bright gold that lined the room you had landed in. Or maybe an observatory of some kind.

“Welcome home,” a deep but firm voice greeted, your eyes drawn to a man in gold armour whose eyes glowed just as brightly as the metal. He sheathed the sword into the metal stand in front of him and approached the three of you.

You thought you could see something sad in his gaze as he touched the metal on your face, drawing it easily away from you and returning your ability to speak. “I am sorry you were dragged into this mess, miss.”

“How did you…?”

“My name is Heimdall and my duty is to watch over the Nine Realms. While I cannot see all at once, and some have managed to evade my sight in the past,” At this he gave Loki a look before returning his gaze to you - eyes softening once more, “I have kept an eye on your journey these past few days.”

“Heimdall, of what do you speak?” Thor asked in utter confusion.

But you found the words and breath to speak first. “They lied to you, I’m not an inmate! I’ve never even gotten a parking ticket!” you protested, courage mounting with every word you got out. “I was just doing my job like always and a couple of thugs came to the office and kidnapped me.” A squeeze at your waist reminded you of Loki’s presence and you pulled out of his grip, turning your annoyance on him. “And we have never met! I’ve only ever seen his reflection.”

“Loki-” Thor growled at his brother, but received only a simple shrug and a look that lacked all remorse in reply. “Why did you-?”

Warm hands took your wrists and distracted you, your gaze drawn by watching Heimdall break the cuffs on your wrists as easily as if they were made of paper. “My apologies, miss. I had no way of letting anyone on Earth know of the misconception.” He didn’t smile, per se, but he seemed genuine and his greeting kind.

He took a step back and you breathed with relief to finally be free of all your chains. “At least someone knows what’s going on.” Though Loki had to have known too, so why had he lied to Thor and SHIELD? “How exactly am I supposed to get home?” you asked, looking between the two brothers as if scolding children.

“Heimdall is to use the Tesseract to restore the Bifrost and once it’s fixed, he will be able to send you home. If I can, I will return with you and explain the situation to the Avengers - they’ll be sure to help,” Thor rushed to assure you.

To be fair, they had tried, but Thor had been so convinced by SHIELD… Well, he just seemed to have gotten all mixed up in all of this so you nodded. “So, I’ll just have to wait until the bridge is fixed?”

Thor smiled brightly this time, like the sun bursting through on a cloudy day. “Yes, just until it is fixed. I’m sure Mother will be happy to provide hospitality.”

“I see my son is already volunteering me.” Her voice sounded light and happy despite the situation, drifting over from some as yet unseen doorway off to the side.

“Your Majesty.” Heimdall bowed to her and you quickly followed suit - you didn’t want to end up in the dungeons for however long it would take to fix the Bifrost.

You straightened up to find her gentle smile turned your way, her beauty and motherly face stealing your breath. “I’m glad to finally meet you, though you are such a familiar sight that I feel as though I know you already.” Her arm settled softly around your shoulders and she started to steer you along the beautiful bridge you stood on.

Loki huffed behind you and you wondered if he might be embarrassed? No, probably not.

“I’m sorry you were brought here under such circumstances, but welcome to Asgard.” Weird space travel and spy stories coming to life aside, maybe spending some time in the golden city laid out before you wouldn’t be so bad.

#loki x reader #loki laufesyon x reader #x reader #loki layfeyson imagine #MCU x reader #soulmate AU

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tassodelmiele · 2 days

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Noisy little mess

Hi sweetie⁓

Brief intro 'cause I'm so late to do everything this monday, goddammit.

Or...

CoDdammit. Lol.

Sorry

That's a "dialogued chapter". I love dialogues.

I lllllove them.

Next time i'll give you some more action, i promise.

Maybe. I suck at scheduling things

DISCLAIMERS: GhostxYou yelling time; Price is so good at being a psychologist i don't even know why he's a soldier; Soap risking his life by being a little too funny; Gaz doesn't like coffee; dialogues that last halves of hours; roommates enjoyining their time alone; brain gets error 404 on how-to-behave correctly;

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

Sixth part here:

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

«I bet someone'd fought the other day»

Price appears behind you, and incredibly, it's not breakfast time: it's like 4pm, and you're not used to seeing him somewhere which is not Laswell's office.

You let the weight fall from your hand, breathing heavily; lately, gym is the only thing that allows you to not explode like a goddamn balloon in a cactus field.

You exhale: «…did he tell you?»

«Didn't need to tell me. We heard the yells»

«…ah»

He sighs, sitting on a bench. «Some things are better to be told under your breath. Particularly if they are personal. And above all, if they're the kinda things you were talking about-»

«You're telling me you've heard that i-!» You say almost in a hurry, immediately biting your lips. «…sorry Captain»

«You don't need to be sorry»

«No? And…what about being bewildered?»

He frowns. And you find the intimacy of the gym, combined with Price's soft eyes and his bear you're so tempted to pet, comfortable enough to open up a little.

As if you've not behaved like an open book since you'd made the first breakfast with the Task Force.

«Look» you preempt every possible objection about not being professional on a military base (since you know you're not) «I don't wanna be a burden, or cause problems. I-I know you've already got plenty of them…»

And he anticipates you with a sigh: «…but?», knowing so well you're about to stream out a flow of that sort of thing girls tell their besties at pajama party nights.

«But…but I don't know how to handle the Lt! I…just don't know. It seemed to me we got along well but, apparently, we weren't. We are not. I mean» your hands gesticulate above you to draw the speech in the air «one day he almost broke my arm, then he helped me get rid of some sort of stalker, but the day after he offended me and told me to shut my mouth. I don't know! I don't know how the hell I am supposed to-»

«Is this bothering you?»

«Yes!» You almost yell, emptying your lungs with a sigh.

Price's humming fills the silence for a while. «Ok. I'll make sure to put you under someone else's supervision-»

«No»

You bite your tongue again, and he smiles under the bear; you know he did. He was expecting your answer, but doesn't need to make you feel bad about how much of a childish behavior this is. He pats your shoulder: «Ghost speaks through sarcasm. Not that easy to handle. But if he doesn't ignore you, then he likes you. That's what we've learned 'bout him»

«What about him being touchy?»

Now you can add to your "goal list of the year" that you've made Price slightly blush; and he can't deny it, even if he hides the red under a bear scratching. He doesn't even ask you about the kind of "touchy" behavior you're speaking of, so you imagine that, somehow, he already knows…things.

«Again» he sighs. «Does this bother you?»

Fists are clenched around the thumbs, squeezing them hard, and your sight is focused on the weights abandoned on the floor. You feel some sort of heat climbing up your tights thinking about how much Ghost's touch did notbother you. But your brain doesn't allow you to admit it. 'Cause it bothers you not being able to find him bothering just enough to officially make him stop, and you're just hoping he'll quit somehow 'cause old memories and vices are frighteningly awakening in you.

«It would be better» and saying this costs you a lot of swallowed cravings «if he stops»

«Mh»

It doesn't seem like he is falling for it. But he doesn't ask further.

«I'll speak to him»

And you can just give your beautiful Captain the best smile you've got.

«I just can't believe that bloody woman is a…whatever»

«People in bed are different from people in war, Lt»

Ghost glares at Soap through his fifth coffee of the day.

«Why, thank you, Sergeant. I'll engrave your pearl of knowledge on my tombstone»

«It'll be ma pleasure»

«What is it?»

Two pairs of eyes turn at Gaz, who's peeking from the opposite side of the table. None of them is a "snack" kinda guy, but this afternoon really calls for a break.

And Ghost's drinking coffee. Again.

The Lt. gazes back at Kyle.

«What?»

«You're not drinking tea anymore» he claims, suspicious.

«Are ya afraid I'll turn into a Scottish?»

Soap grins: «aha, not funny», as he rummages through the pile of recruits' tests that need to be checked. «Look, look at this, bloody Jesus, I-» He tooks away one sheet in particular, waving it around. «How the hell is she capable of runnin' like a-a...dunno!»

«Who're you talking about?»

«Our laddie» He spits out with a smirk. «Christ, she does have working lungs, look at her running test results!»

«'Course she has, or she won't be able to yell like that»

The whole office turns silent around Price's words. He enters with a smirk, nodding at his desk full of plastic glasses.

«When did the tea party start?»

«Sorry Cap., promise we ain't eaten all the cupcakes»

He grunts, heavenly sliding on his goddamn chair (spared by the misappropriation). He waves his head at Ghost:

«I've got complaints»

That makes him say his second: «…what?» in, like, two minutes.

«Our little one» Price explains «is politely asking you to stop being…you know what»

«An asshole?» is Johnny's supposition.

«A shithead?» is Kyle's.

«Surely someone's gonna be��bloody dead meat» is Ghost's ultimatum.

«I've spoken» are Price's last words, before he stretches his limbs so hard his bones crack, making Gaz shiver with a: «damn Cap., go see a fucking osteopath»

Then a mumbling is heard from Ghost's mask, almost chomped in his teeth as he tried not to let his thoughts hiss out of his mouth. But he fails, and everyone can hear: «fucking child, not grown enough to tell me by herself»

It makes Soap almost burst into a laugh he chokes in his guts, exploding in a sudden cough.

«Ya ok bud?»

«Aye, aye…'s just…» Johnny takes a breath, gaining some air. «'S funny to look at you two playing the “cordless phone” game»

Ghost doesn't like this. Not a bit, not a single word.

«What do you mean?» He snaps.

«Why don't you just talk frankly to her?»

«I've nothing to say»

«Bullshit. You've been yelling at each other for one week»

«You're a bloody blabbermouth»

«'M sorry, it was impossible not to hear you. Why are ye even so mean to her? You two started well»

«I'm not here to make friends»

«Maybe ye could get a girlfriend instead»

«Johnny»

Price intervenes before Ghost decides his knife fists better in Soap's throat than in his hand. Captain gives his boys one of his gazes.

«That doesn't have anything to do with you, so, even if you know every crumb of this shit cake…shut your holes. 'K?»

And they do it. They shut up, since they neither want a telling-off from their Cap., nor Ghost's knife in their butt.

The day was kinda ruined, though. At least, Simon's day. And he spends the rest working hours glaring back at everyone, avoiding speaking and trying to shut the echo of Soap's voice in his head. 'Cause he hates to admit it (and he wouldn't do it even under torture) but that goddamn man was right: it was just a matter of speaking with her honestly. Without being a dick.

Fuck; that last part could have been a problem.

The fact is…problems that are killing his synapsis are actually two.

Price managed to get one of them, and maybe it's pretty obvious even for the rest of the team. But the other mental pirouette is what is really eating him alive. And he doesn't have enough teeth to clench, cheeks to devour internally, fists to smash on the door to avoid thinking about it.

'Cause one thing is liking you.

One other is wanting you. In a bad, absolutely not polite and caring, incredibly violent way.

Abstinence surely is one of the worst tortures. He's used to it, though: both to abstinence and torture. So it shouldn't be a problem, but it is, and he can't deal with it, he can't accept it, it's just unbearable and…and…

And Ghost almost starts to think everything is so overwhelming at the point of giving him hallucinations, as he hears…something.

Something familiar.

He stops next to a door, and it takes him one second to realize what door it is, and who's behind that door.

And what sound he had just heard.

And in that one second of chaotic information riddling his brain…he hears it again.

A moan. A cute one, so muffled and soft that it was almost inaudible.

His eyes slid to the room door.

That's your room.

And, if he remembers well, the big crazy woman of your roommate is currently out on a mission. Therefore, you're alone.

All alone.

Absolutely alone.

So alone that you're, evidently, enjoying your moment of privacy a little too much.

He's about to knock at your door, or to burst in, he doesn't know, he'll figure it out somehow, but as his hands brush against the door knob there's another moan, so soft, so gentle that he thinks he's hallucinating.

"Why are you doing this to me?"

«What are you…doing?»

He jumps, his heart skips a couple beats as he jerks alarmed eyes to look at who's just appeared next to him.

He almost faints when he sees you. Thank god the mask is covering his face, otherwise you would see a jubilance of embarrassment and fear, red and deathly white.

You're standing, a toothbrush in your hand and in your feet the insecurity of someone who doesn't know if to make an u-turn and pretend you've seen nobody, or stay and wait for an excuse.

Him too, he seems to choose the "excuse" kinda behavior: he coughs, straightening his spine at his limit to stand taller, more confident.

And he talks, but words are not as dry as he would like: «I came to see y-TO» he suddenly withdraws «to make sure you're going to be at the meeting tomorrow mornin'» the last few words become a mutter.

Silence follows. Moments of strange silence, oddly, densely fluffy, as if you're looking at the scene from above a cloud.

W H A T

That's what your mind is flashing while you're discharging your incredulity on the poor toothbrush.

«I…» You start, with the intention of saying something sensible, really, to make the most of this occasion and let him know how fucked it's his way to handle people, sarcasm or not. «We just-like-we've almost…in your…yesterday» you start all over again «you've treated me like a wannabe whore»

He immediately hurries: «Wasn't my intention to-»

«I'm sorry if it wasn't, you'd done it» You shut him. You shut your goddamn Lt., and this isn't even the first time. «I can't hold up with this anymore»

«With what?»

«You» You spit, clenching your fist around the toothbrush. «With you, ok? I-I-look, i know this couldn't-you're my superior, I'm sorry if I'm being…disrespectful? I'm sorry» words start to rush from your lips, eyes are wandering around, in search of a cute way to avoid yelling at him again. «But you're so…»

«…So?»

«Unreadable. Unbearable» adjectives slip through your mouth, sharpened and straight to his heart. Or at least you hope. «I can't work with nerves at a razor's edge»

«I supposed you already knew we've to work under all conditions»

«These are not normal conditions, don't just spit the whole thing out»

«Explain, than»

«You know!» You muffle the voice. «Stop teasing me, 's like you've got some sort of dual personality! Anyway, I've already spoken with Price and-»

«He'd told me» He cuts your speech. «But I'd rather your pretty voice gives me clarifications»

«We've already fought on this point, like, five times!»

«What point»

«You make fucking fun of me!». This time you yell, then immediately bite your lips. You feel like he's teasing you, and obviously the joke's always on you. «That's the point! And all 'cause-'cause I've moaned once, and somehow now you hate me because I've made you turned on!»

«I-»

«First you treat me like some kinda hoe, then you protect me from stalkers, but one minute later you make fun of-of-! Do you know» you're rushing disconnected words, and your toothbrush is pointed at his face threateningly «how fucking difficult it was for me to open up about my goddamn kink? Do you know??»

«Listen-»

«But I've done it! I've done it 'cause you're a superior of mine, and I want, I swear to god, I WANT to respect you, to-to trust you and be at ease with you like I used to till a bloody week ago!!»

You're breathing so heavily your lungs' movements are making your whole body wave. Stern, ice-cold eyes are locked on him, and you don't even know how you've managed to gaze at his mask for so long.

There are times in which you need to make a choice in a matter of seconds. Simple ones: putting salt first in the pot, or going first with pasta when water boils; wait a little at the coffee machine to make the espresso a long one; going to the bathroom before putting nail polish; picking up the book you're supposed to study instead of the phone with you're gonna fuck around with for the rest of the day…

Simple things. Ordinary choices.

Like biting your tongue before talking shits (that's what you're not doing), or speaking before it's too late (that's what he's not doing).

And you two face each other in a silent sights fight, spiced with rage and frustration, every muscle tensed and every fist clenched, teeth tight and cheeks chomped from the inside.

You'd like to burst into tears.

He'd like not to be a dick. For once.

And the whole situation is unlocked by another sudden, soft moan from the room.

You instantly get red in every inch of skin; he widens his eyes, just able to say:

«What the fuck-»

«Sorry» you're so fucking embarrassed you can't even stand his sight anymore. «Sorry, i-i've…i've given Bernie some "solo-time", and she…uhm…apparently-»

«Hold on». His tone changes so suddenly, turning into a hurried, awkward question: «Is Bernadette Kelly inside?»

«Y-yeah»

«Wasn't she supposed to be on a mission?»

«She was a substitute, in case Fisher couldn't do it. But he managed to go»

«…oh»

«…oh?»

He's lucky the black makeup disguises his redness so well, since he can feel how hot his face is under the mask, as he wonders how it could have ended if he had rushed inside the room to Bernadette touching herself.

«…ok. Well, no. But…ok, 's ok» He mumbles to himself, allowing his brain two seconds to readjust the thoughts's stream.

«Ok?»

It pisses you off so much you don't know where to restart the angry mood.

And you do it in the worst way possible, blowing out a mean: «you've thought it was me, didn't you? Were you ready to scold me again 'cause "I haven't got enough dignity to be a soldier", and then feel allowed to touch me?»

You're ready for everything, you're wearing armor in berserk mode: you can face him yelling at you, threatening, flirting, scolding, putting blame on you, taking you at gunpoint, punching you or throwing a burrito at you, you don't care.

You're ready. You're waiting.

Aaand waiting.

Aaaaaand waiting.

'Cause he's not moving, so frozen in place you're wondering if he's still breathing.

Ghost's not an evil man. He's not violent, he's not an asshole.

He's just having a metaphorical system error in his software that's reminding him he has not, in his goddamn entire life, dealt with such a duty.

And he doesn't know how to: he doesn't know if it's better a silenced gun or a sniper, to do stealth or to burst in the house with a grenade; he doesn't know if it'll be a dangerous mission or a walk in the park kinda thing.

He doesn't' know, 'cause his only way to solve these problems is being a dick and waiting till the counterpart gets enough of him, and just leaves him alone.

But this time he doesn't even know if he wants to be left alone.

And so, with his mind blown up and just your toothbrush in his eyesight…

He left.

Without a word.

He turns his heels, leaving you in the corridor.

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

#call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #cod fanfic #fanfiction #cod #ghost x reader #cod mw2 #cod mw3 #simon ghost riley #johnny soap mctavish #kyle gaz garrick #john price #ghost x you #ao3 fanfic #writing dialogues is so funny #so much yelling time #have you ever scold someone while brushing your teeth?#roommates moaning time #CoDdammit

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