#live laugh spinach

[spinachappreciation]

This pride month would be a great month to announce Sherlock Season 5

#spinach #spinach appreciation #spinachappreciation #live laugh spinach #sherlock #bbc sherlock #sherlock bbc #johnlock #pride month #gay

[merriclo]

Hey

*squints suspiciously*

You’ve eaten enough today, right

GAJKDKFKA no absolutely not

#in my defense. i have none actually #i had spinach dip and three of those fuckin. tropical llama gummies #and !! a monster energy <3 so my heart is going. batshit insane rn #live laugh love #my mutual in spirit #you ask clo answers

[kthsbelle]

STRAWBERRY HAIRCLIP 🌸🍓

★ summary: female! reader finds a tattooed stranger asleep on her bed in the middle of her squishmellows at a house party.

★ pairing: college!eren jaeger x soft maths major fem!reader ♡

★ warnings + tags: 18+, college au, tattooed eren, softcore cute reader , eren w a snakebite piercing , thick thigh reader , poetry from eren, smut .

★ wordcount: 3,395

a/n: this is my first fic here ! i read a lot of eren au’s today and this idea suddenly came to mind ! i decided to share . please enjoy !

“ not again…” an exasperated sigh fell heavily from your lips like it weighed a thousand pounds . you were standing in front of your house , a small pile of books you had borrowed from the library squeezed against your chest as you looked at the fluorescent lights peaking out of the windows . the bass from inside your house reverberated throughout the neighborhood , and even from the outside , you could distinguish the faint sound of a pop song .

another college party .

your brother was a heavy partier , but you strongly disliked when he did those at home without even warning you first . you had a throbbing headache from having your nose in books all day , practicing for mid-terms . the last thing you needed were drunk college kids slurring around and music blaring in your ears .

rest , you needed rest .

options - doja cat ft JID

you pushed the front door to your house open and instantly wished you hadn’t . as if it was waiting for a chance to hit you , the sound of music rushed to you and assaulted your ears , making you wince back in surprise . “ im gonna kill this asshole,” you grumbled under your breath as you started pushing past the squeezing bodies that danced in the living room .

you stopped in the kitchen which seemed relatively empty , except for a flury of red hair moving between the fridge doors .

“ sasha ?” you called out over the music . the red-headed girl in question jumped in surprise , her head yanking up to smash directly against the frame of the fridge . the force of the action caused it to shake a little . she yelped out in pain . “ are you okay?” you quickly questioned with your hand slapped over your mouth to hold in a laugh .

“ im good , im good !” she quickly said as she stepped away from the fridge with a bottle of tostios’ spinach dip . “ you’re not here for the party , are you ?” she said , eyeing your outfit with an amused look on her face .

you obviously looked misplaced and you knew it . with your printed , pastel yellow high-waist pleated skirt , yellow oversized ‘ LEMON’ sweatshirt and knee high socks , you rather looked like you belonged browsing an empty aisle in a CD store or at barnes and nobles . – and honestly , you wish you were .

your style has always been the epitome of soft girl core , with small stickers adorning your cheeks and orange blush at the tip of your nose . your requirement was to look like a cute fairy nymph at all times .

you’ve been like this for as long as you could remember and before the trend gave it this name . your brother found it endearing , even though he’d mask it by poking fun at you . you didn’t care though , it gave you comfort .

“ where’s my idiot brother ?” you questioned . watching her prying open the bag of chips and scooping up some of the dip . a lot of it .

“ oh – he’s gone somewhere upstairs with katie “ she paused to swallow, “ you don’t wanna see him now…” she shook her head and you quickly caught on to her suggestion .

“ ew!” you grimaced . the last thing you wanted to think about was your brother…doing it .even though he was two years older and you were relatively close , one thing you didn’t want to know about was...this.

you shuddered softly and stepped forward to make way for the drunk couple that stumbled in with their mouth glued to each other in an intense make-out session . your mouth lifted in an annoyed expression while sasha shielded her face away like she had looked directly into the sun for too long , ‘ gross ! connie i dont wanna see this !’

you laughed softly at these two before deciding that your hunt for your brother was over . you just really wanted to sleep – as much as you could despite the music. “goodnight , sash ! and…connie ?” the last part came out like a question as the man seemed to be too preoccupied by the blonde he was kissing . you smiled at the waving sasha before making your way out again.

you inhaled again before diving back in the crowd , looking to reach the stairs that lead to your room . you got a few stares which you completely ignored , not wanting anything to do with drunk college boys . your eyes stayed focused ahead of you , giving the clear message that you weren’t here to have fun . you balanced the books against your chest as you went up the stairs and into the hallway . the sound of the music was considerably lower , but still bothersome . you walked past a few people making out in the hallway , your eyes focused on your white bedroom door at the end of the hall , holding your breath at the mere idea of finally finding solace – peace in your sanctuary . you lifted your knee to allow one arm to reach for the handle while the books took support against the other arm steadily . you twisted the doorknob and wasted no time to walk in your room , but what you saw nearly made you scream for help .

i was never there – the weeknd

in the middle of all your squishmellows , sprawled out , and in a seemingly deep sleep , laid a complete stranger . he wore black cargo pants , a white shirt and a black bomber . he slept comfortably on his back with a tattooed arm draped over his eyes , glossy lips slightly parted letting air through as his chest rose and fell softly . the shiny metal on his lip caught your attention , and you identified it as a snakebite piercing. the position had allowed his shirt to ride up his hips , the V lines showing a sinful path that curved and dipped down inside his Calvin boxers which were peaking out of his pants . the fairy lights above your headboard shone soft golden orbs on him , painting an ironic picture as he laid against your avocado-patterned comforter . you felt your throat closing , strangely aroused by the scene .

 you couldn’t stop the book avalanche even if you wanted to . the book on top slipped out of your grip , dragging down all the other ones with it and  they subsequently hit the ground with a loud thud . ‘

“shh ! shh !” you tried hushing the book as if they were alive as you knelt on the floor to pick them up . the sleeper immediately froze at the sound before he quickly sat up , his messy bun almost coming undone at the abruptness of his reaction. he stared at you through confused , tired eyes before realization hit him . “ oh shit !” he croaked out , voice deep from his tiredness as he sank on the floor to help you pick them up .

“ w-who are you ?” you questioned while looking down , feeling the tip of your ears go red . why are you even getting shy ? he’s the one in your room .

“ eren. “ the stranger you know as eren held out a small pile of books towards you . you didn’t look at him directly . “you ?”

you mumbled out your name.

his green eyes peeked at one of books he held and a thick eyebrow scrunched in confusion , “ differential …equations…?” the confusion was evident in his tone as his head tilted to decipher the picture on the book cover . a few strands of hair fell above his eyes .

“ applied mathematics major ,” you answered after having swallowed the ball of anxiety that had settled in your throat .

his emerald eyes widened in surprise before a small smirk lifted the corner of his lips , “ for real ? damn . “ you were used to this reaction . most people thought you studied theater or fashion because you always looked like you could be in a winx club live action .

“you ?” you asked back . quickly taking the books from him and dropping them on your lap , the impact causing your thick thighs to jiggle softly . eren did not seem to miss this action , his eyes lasting a minute longer on the sight before looking up at you . you subconsciously thought of the typical college fuckboy majors; business , or music...

“ literature.” it was your turn to show surprise , and the boy chuckled softly at your expression . you couldn’t help but notice how white his teeth were .

“ah…” was your answer . you wanted to slap yourself for losing your social skills for a minute , but you were just too tired to handle so many emotions and words at the same time .the boy only chuckled in response , his hand brushing back the bangs that only managed to fall over his eyes again . “you don’t seem convinced .”

miss you – oliver tree , robin schulz

“i’m not,” you answered honestly , a small smile of your own dancing on your lips , “ you look like you study…”

“ business ? music ?” he took the words right out of your mouth as he stood up , extending his hand down towards you . you were suddenly taken aback by how tall he was and how he seemed to command all the attention in the room . you blushed when you realized how close you were to his thigh and quickly grabbed onto his hand to stand up , except he pulled you up harder than you expected and you crashed against his chest . the smug look on his face told you he did it on purpose . your chin rested against his chest , slowly assessing the height difference between you two .

for a moment , his eyes seemed to have darkened into something more primal before they softened again , a smirk curling his lips upwards , “ and you didn’t strike me as a maths major either . “

you rolled your eyes , feeling slightly offended . you turned around and stepped out of his embrace towards your desk , suddenly feeling chilly. you knew it was your insecurities hitting at you – people always had a hard time believing you were smart and it pissed you off . however , you had long moved passed this – or so you thought . how did eren manage to set you off so easily ? it wasn’t even that bad .

he felt the cold air coming from you and raised his hand in defense , “ hey , hey . not saying there's anything wrong with that , you know ? i wouldn’t be able to half of what they do anyway, “ a small smile drew on your lips at his attempt to reprimand . “ plus,” he added as you arranged your books on your desk in no particular order to distract you from your wild pulse , “ its ‘cause you’re really cute . in a…forest pixie kind of way…”

love lost – mac miller , the temper trap

a small giggle broke from you , “makes sense . thanks. “ you answered , bending forward a bit to work your sneakers out of your feet while holding onto the table . the cold air hit the cheeks of your ass which was unknowingly protruding out of your skirt and you heard a sharp breath being drawn behind you .

when you turned around , eren almost looked like he wanted to pounce on you . you cleared your throat gently , feeling blood rush to your lower stomach like molten lava .

“ what do you do in literature anyway ? analyze Shakespeare’s attachment issues ?” this ripped a laugh out of eren . his laugh was even more attractive than his smile - it chimed pleasantly in your ear , sounding boyish but deep .

“ good point . but we did study him a lot .” 

you arched an eyebrow and smirked , “ what’s your favorite quote by him , then ?” you asked challengingly , not really expecting him to answer . you just wanted to mock how boys challenged you whenever you expressed interest in something unconventional . eren shrugged before lifting his eyes towards the ceiling in a small moment of contemplation.

“ love is not love which alters when it’s alteration finds, or bends with the remover to remove. it is an ever-fixed mark, that looks on tempests, and is never shaken.” he finished the last part , teal eyes boring into your soul .” my favorite author is bell hooks , though.” he added with a small smile .

to say that you were taken aback was an understatement . the tattooed stranger that broke into your room just spoke the most meaningful words in the softest , yet firm tone you’ve heard. you wanted him to recite poems to you over and over.

the two of you stayed silent before you looked towards your bed and back at him . “ uhm…what are you doing in my room , anyway ?” you decided to address the elephant in the room which you should’ve obviously done a while ago .

“ oh , uh i was looking for a bed to crash and sober up and your room smelled good ... like strawberries .” he explained and looked at your bed and the array of squishmellows decorating it with a look that seemed endearing . “ not gonna lie , it’s the most comfortable sleep i’ve ever had .” he said and you smiled with pride knowing that you had invested a lot of money into making yourself the softest , most comfortable bed ever .

“ but , i can leave if you want...” his voiced trailed off as if hoping you would say no - which you did . “ i mean you can stay a while more...”

“ hell yeah ! “ he cheered and let himself fall back on the bed which allowed him to bounce back a few times before he grabbed one of your blue axolotl squishmallows and pressed it against his face . you laughed softly , oddly proud that someone loved your bed so much . your friends always loved staying in your room when they came over, but it’s the first time a stranger - who seemed so different from you expressed such content from being here .

you plopped down on the bed and brought your knees to your chest , looking up down at your hands while you chipped away at your pastel nail polish . eren pulled the plush down slowly , green eyes peeking over at you. “what ?” you asked feeling your face heat up uncontrollably. “ you’re cute. “ he simply said with a smirk before looking up at the ceiling . 

you bit your lip from stopping your smile from spreading too much . “you’re flattering me .” you replied as you looked down at your thighs which seemed to have been more exposed than you thought . the elastic at the hem of your thigh-highs sank slightly into your skin , squishing it out in a way that seemed more lewd than you intended . you quickly reached to pull your skirt down but ring-covered fingers pressed against your thigh , the cold metals sending chills down your spine as he blocked your action. 

“no.” he said in a semi-commanding tone . “ they look great.” you could see the intensity in his eyes as he looked at you and moved his hand away after letting it slide down a bit leaving a burning path from where he touched you .

your heart was beating inside your ears at this point and you needed a distraction . “where are your friends anyway... or girlfriend ?” you bit your lip .

white tee - summer walker

this was a bait to see if he had any girl in his life , which , why wouldn’t he ?

“they’re all drunk and annoying right now...and don’t have one” he answered the last part with a smirk on his lip as he looked at you teasingly , long and thick eyelashes that curled at the corner giving him a gracious aura . “ why ? wanted to know if position was empty? “ he asked in a teasing tone .

“ you’re such an ass!” you whined , pushing him with soft laugh to mask your embarrassment at the fact that you were, in fact , checking. eren chuckled and reached towards your face , pointing at one of the stickers adorning your eyes . you understood that he wanted it , so you pulled a little star and placed it against his hand .eren looked at it like it was the first time he’s even seen a sticker.

a small silence settled between you two as you played with your fingers . 

“ what about you ?” he suddenly asked after his silent contemplation . 

“ nope !” 

“damn...how ?” he asked , genuinely confused and you shrugged in response , “ they’re not business majors “ you replied teasingly which made him release another amused laugh . the vibration shocks throughout your body .

eren looked at you silently , bangs brushing agains his long lashes which clearly annoyed him . he tried swatting them away but it never worked . you giggled softly and motioned for him to come closer to you , “ come here,”  you told him as you removed one of the hairclips that held your ponytail . 

eren obediently scooted closer to you , resting his cheek against your thigh while his hand palmed at either sides of them . “ is that okay ?” he asked . to have the hottest boy you’ve seen resting on your lap ? 

YES , YES , YES , YES !!!

“ sure “ you answered and he simply closed his eyes with a content smirk on his lips . you were ready to combust as you reached down , brushing the soft strands of his dark hair away from his face and slicked it back into his messy bun before sliding the hairclip over it and securing it . you smiled as you looked at him . what a contrast it was - this edgy , tattooed man with a strawberry hair clip in his hair . he didn’t seem to care either . 

“i’d eat you out real good right now .” the words he let out almost made you choke on air. he opened his eyes looking back at you and he was dead serious.

the man let out a laugh at your expression before closing his eyes again , his lustful expression suddenly gone like it was never here . “ don’t worry , i won’t.”

you probably looked at him like he grew two heads . you didn’t say anything back , your stomach in knots. he was so hot , it hurt . would you really pass up an opportunity like this ? when the last time you even got laid ? this time by the hottest man you’ve ever laid eyes on .

“what if i want you to...?” you attempted back , voice coming out small but hopeful . 

suddenly the hands that were resting so softly against your thighs tightened their grip and eren smirked at he lifted his head . “good girl”  he praised

you gasped softly as he pushed your back to the bed , your cunt throbbing uncontrollably . he parted your legs and knelt between them , his erection pressing against your thigh . he felt so hard . you bit down your lip , feeling your wetness spill out . “ wanted to eat that pussy the second i saw you on that floor...” he admitted , his voice low and guttural . his fingers pulled your panties down and hooked your legs over his broad shoulders . his fingers separated your puffy folds , exposing your pussy completely to the cold air . you bit down your lip , letting out a needy whine causing your tiny hole to clench around nothing and eren nearly felt his mouth water . “shit...” he breathed before sticking his tongue out , letting fingers collect the saliva on them before rubbing them on your bare folds . you didn’t need any lubrification , but he just wanted his spit on you . he was convinced he’d never seen a pussy like this . he was about to dip his head down and eat you like a caveman when you stopped him mid-action. 

“eren ?” you asked , blushing beet red . he was confused but paused to listen , hoping you didn’t want him to stop already . “ c-can you tell me another poem ?” the man couldn’t help the smile on his face. “ you wanna be talked to while getting your pretty pussy eaten ?” he mused before nodding, “ of course, princess. “

he dipped down between your thighs , his hot tongue sliding down your folds .

“by my soul,”

his hands squeezed your thighs around his head even more , like he wanted be suffocated . you moaned out at the delicious contact of his tongue gliding down to your hole. 

“ i can neither eat”

his lips closed around your clit , his piercing brushing against it making your body jolt on the bed. “eren !”

“drink”

his lips sucked on one of your labia folds before releasing it. “fuck - eren !”

“nor sleep;”

he lifted his head and ran the flat of his tongue against your whole cunt before moving his head sideways to place kisses on your inner thighs , his warm breath fanning soothingly over your skin .

“nor– “ a finger dipped in your hole , slowly thrusting in and out. you screamed his name again, body shaking on the bed, “,what’s still worse , ” he placed another kiss against your pussy ,

“love any woman in the world but her.”

his head dipped down again, and this time, he wouldn’t stop eating you out. you felt pleasure ripple through your body in delicious waves as your eyes closed and you let yourself go . the last thing you saw between your thighs was his dark glossy hair and the strawberry hairclip that held his bangs together .

#belle’s writings 🎧! ♡ ✶ . ࣪ ׅ #eren jaeger #eren jaeger smut #eren yaeger #eren jaeger x reader #aot smut #attack on titan smut #levi ackerman #aot imagine #attack on titan imagine #eren jaeger imagine #college eren jaeger #eren x reader

[lucid-loves]

Taste Like Venom ~ Simon "Ghost" Riley Part 4

Pairing: Ghost x assassin!reader (fem!reader, no use of y/n, callsign “Hex”)

Word Count: 3.6k

CW: angst, violence, blood, strong language, scars, enemies to lovers trope, slow burn, fluff, clear attraction and sexual tension, smut later on, reader POV and ghost POV, minors dni, Soap lives in this AU

Let me know if I missed any CWs.

Story Synopsis: After Makarov gets away once again, Laswell decides to force a favor from you, the world’s greatest assassin and best-kept secret. You are now expected to help the 141 with taking down Makarov in addition to playing nice with them. It’s hard to play nice when you have always worked alone. It doesn’t help that one of the team members, Ghost, gets curious about you in each interaction. 

Chapter Synopsis: While you are alone in your own hotel room, the men talk about you over Italian cuisine. This includes speculation on Ghost’s feelings for you. Meanwhile, you are already gearing up for infiltration to tap the target building. Ghost decides that he wants a front-row seat to your show.

A/N: I am adding a taglist from now on for those who want to be a part of one. I made a post asking people to like it if they wanted to be part of it. If you would like to comment that you want to be in a taglist, you can do so on this post~

Taglist: @eatingtheworldsoffanfiction @dory-98 @cum-tea-and-towels @completelymarveltrash

Part 1 ~ Part 2 ~ Part 3 ~ Part 4 ~ Part 5 ~ Part 6 ~ Part 7 ~ Part 8 ~ Part 9 ~ Part 10

Good God, authentic pizza was absolutely amazing. The standard for pasta was incredible as well. It beat the standard cafeteria food back on base by a landslide. The 141 grimaced as they thought about someday having to return to the food back home. Even the food they’ve eaten out of your fridge has been refreshing to their taste buds. Soap was the most vocal about his dread of the mass-cook cafeteria food as he devoured another slice of heaven. “Christ, going back to bland spinach and soggy rice is going to be fuckin’ painful!”

“Remember when they tried to do a taco night. Fucking hell, the lettuce was dripping fat like a sponge.” Gaz added as he took a swig of whiskey. It wasn’t the Italian choice of liquor to pair with food, but it was the 141’s choice. Not Ghost’s though. He missed his Kentucky bourbon. 

“Last Thanksgiving was the most painful for me. Turkey was drier than my fuckin’ belt.” Soap chuckled, trying not to drip sauce onto the bed with how his whole body laughed with him. They were eating in one of the double queen hotel rooms, away from the public eye. When they were all together in a group, they often garnered attention. Such was the price for being such large, capable men.

“Anyone reckon that Hex is up yet? Food is gonna get cold.” Price inquired. They had saved some food for you. A plate full of different things since no one knew what you liked. Even Kate didn’t know when they called to ask her. Still, they tried their best anyway. And their best was getting cold on a ceramic plate.

Soap shook his head in refusal. “I’m not gonna knock on her door. The lass scares the shite out of me.”

Gaz laughed out loud. “Soap? Afraid? Never thought I’d live to see the day.” 

“Hey, you weren’t the one that nearly lost an ear! With fuckin’ car keys of all things.” He defended, taking a long swig of his own drink. He clearly wasn’t going to forgive you for that any time soon. It made him annoyed when he thought about the fact that you probably didn’t care. 

Price shrugged and poured himself another drink. “You were kinda asking for it, Johnny. I think I would’ve nearly killed you too if I’m being honest.”

“Well, Lt. made the joke first and he didn't nearly get stabbed.” He continued to argue, looking to Simon for an answer on how it was different when he cracked the joke. Ghost just stared with indifference, sitting in the corner with his mask halfway up. Even if he was with the people he trusted with his identity, he just felt more comfortable hiding his face while he ate.

The room went quiet for a moment as the men thought about it. Out of all of them, Ghost seemed to be the one that was able to get the closest to you. You still pushed him away by miles, but it was definitely closer than they were getting. Kyle took another slice of pizza, the fresh basil so vibrantly green that it looked like it was glowing. “How do you feel so comfortable pushing her boundaries, Lieutenant? One attempt at our lives is enough for us to back off. Yet, you seem to keep going back for more.”

The men waited for an answer, an idea crawling into each of their heads. Price had already picked up on it by now. He noticed as soon as Ghost lifted you in his arms. Gaz vocalizing his observation out loud just now triggered Soap to realize it too. A slow, knowing smirk crept along Soap’s lips. Simon scowled at the insinuation, reading all of their minds. “All of you can bury your ideas six feet under. I’m just trying to get her to trust us. The mission will go a lot smoother if she does. The sooner we do that, the sooner we can go home.”

All of them returned to enjoying their meals, unconvinced by Ghost’s protest. Was Simon attracted to you? Absolutely. Did he like you? Well, he certainly didn’t hate you. The biggest problem for him was that you were dangerous. Not just from an ability standpoint, but from an emotional standpoint. While he did want to get close to you, he still wanted to keep you just out of arm’s reach emotionally because he knew that you would burn him. Poison him with that venom of yours. He knew if he really did fall for you, he would never stop falling. 

For the sake of the mission and his own preservation, he convinced himself that you were only a temporary attraction. A beautiful woman with incredible power that will return to the unknown as soon as this is all over. His teammates knew better, though. In all their time of knowing Simon, he has never shown interest in women. Always too busy. Always too focused on work. Not even making time for hook-ups. When you came into the picture, you got his attention in a way they have never seen before. That meant a lot to them.

“Regardless, you have the honor of delivering our assassin her dinner, Lieutenant.” Price smirked, abusing his power as Captain to avoid feeding the feral woman next door. Ghost clenched his jaw, cursing out John in his mind as he got up.

The men continued their lighthearted conversation as Simon walked out, plate of food in hand. Taking a deep breath, he walked to your door and knocked. When there was no answer, he thought that perhaps you were still asleep. So, he took out his spare keycard to the room and welcomed himself in. 

The room was dim, large shadows casing over the beige walls. A few laptops were running on the desks, already hacked into the security cameras of the target building. You’ve actually been up for a while and have been busy getting things ready for your infiltration. It was alarming when you woke up in your hotel room instead of the car at first. However, it didn’t take you long to figure out that someone must’ve carried you. You were pretty sure who it was, but you didn’t dwell on it. There was work to be done and you had wasted too much time with sleep. 

Kate helped you get into their systems. From there, a layout of the building was mapped out along with the IDs of everyone working for Makarov. You have watched enough security footage to take note of the guard routes. All that needed to be done was planting the taps to allow you to listen in on everything. Nothing was going to be unheard. Not even the sound of a guard taking a bathroom break.

Simon watched you fasten a black belt tight around your hips that carried a collection of small throwing knives. You wore new pants, a long sleeve turtleneck with a hood, and boots. All tight. All black. His hands ached to reach out in order to trace your prominent curves. He wanted to feel the thin fabric of your shirt, the heat of your skin exuding through it. 

Instead of that, he placed the food down on top of your dresser, resisting the temptation. “Not going to eat first?”

You didn’t even glance his way, something he wanted to fix immediately. “No. It will weigh me down. I had room service bring up some fruit earlier. It will tie me over until I get back.”

“You’re leaving now?” He questioned, anger rising in his tone. You should have let them know that you were awake. That you were set up with the tech. That you wanted to proceed with the mission with a lookout. You shouldn’t have intended to do this alone.

But, you couldn’t help it. This is how you have always worked. Besides, to you, there was no reason to waste time with unnecessary things like knocking on their door to let them know you were ready. What were you? A fucking dog looking to be let out? “Now is better than later. Security usually lets their guard down after meals. It’s not too late in the night to expect intruders too. Now is the optimal time for me to place the taps.”

Simon scoffed at your unapologetic reasoning. “And you were just going to do this alone? Not even someone to watch the cameras out for you? What if you get compromised?”

Here we fucking go again. You grabbed the taps sitting on the desk, putting them in a small satchel securely tied to your belt. “Can you not criticize the way I do things every fucking conversation? I’m doing what I do best, Simon. I’ve never been compromised before. That’s a streak I intend to keep.”

He stepped towards you, his frame menacing as he towered over you. Hearing your name come from your lips was still something he wasn’t used to. Despite that, he wasn’t going to let you do this alone. This time, his tone was gentle yet resolute. “I’m letting the force know and I’m going to monitor the cameras.”

Looking up into his eyes, you could see that he wasn’t going to waver from his decision. There was no point fighting about this, you finally decided. Not even twelve hours ago was your last fight with him. A part of you was getting tired of it. Stepping back towards the hotel window to leave, you threw in the towel. It wasn’t going to stop you from getting the job done anyhow. “Do whatever you want. I don’t give a shit.”

“Hang on.” Ghost stopped you, his hand reaching out to grab your wrist. He pulled you towards him, using the advantage of his strength to have you close to him. Anticipating you to either reach for your knives or strike him with your other hand, he prepared to guard himself. However, you never used the same trick twice in a row. 

Like a forceful tango, you stepped your full weight forward to catch him off balance. You then pushed further as he was forced to step back lest you headbutt him, your hand now having the room to land on his chest with a quick, sharp force. In Simon’s fall, you swiped his sheathed knife from his own belt. Before he knew it, he was laying on his back on your bed, you straddling him, his eyes locking with yours that blazed with victory. 

Ghost’s strong hand was still wrapped around your wrist, but your free hand had his own knife pressed against his chest. Right over his heart that was thudding against his chest like it wanted to break out. The hot blood in his body was pumping into overdrive. Not in fear of death. No. In pure, passionate attraction. He swallowed hard, fighting back the urge to still pull you down and kiss you through his mask. Even if it would cause the knife to be plunged into his heart, the thought of being able to share a passionate kiss with you didn’t seem like a bad tradeoff.

Tendrils of your hair fell past your face, framing a beautiful jawline he wanted to trace with his lips. The image of you gasping in shock and pleasure as he squeezed your hips flashed in his mind for a second. It wouldn't have been hard to do. His other hand was still free but frozen as you pressed the tip of the blade into his chest. He also imagined the potential sweetness of your tongue, giving him a taste of dessert after dinner. He wanted to be the one to catch you by surprise and submit to his will. Only, you would love it and beg for more through feverish kisses and the grinding of your hips against his.

Christ, he was getting a boner. 

He wasn’t the only one who was feeling it, though. The sound of your own heartbeat was flooding your ears. You couldn’t seem to pull away from his blue eyes that so heatedly begged for you to come closer. The heat already felt from your body pressing against his didn’t feel like enough. Especially when you began to feel his growing hardness pressing against you. That just made your own sex tingle with need.

You got off of him quickly, putting distance between the two of you. What the fuck were you doing?! What the hell was wrong with you?! You haven't been with anyone for so long, but it was no excuse to get so swept up like this. Not with someone like Ghost. Not with someone like Simon Riley. You needed to get a fucking grip. Get your head on straight. Damn it, you were better than this!

Slowly, he sat up and cleared his throat, trying to pretend that what just happened wasn’t the sexiest thing he’s ever been through. His knife was tossed onto the bed next to him, your movements quick as you rushed to get the fuck out of there.

However, when Simon called your name, you froze. He sounded a little breathless, his voice making you shiver. “Hex, wait.”

Simon stood from the bed to grab something from the desk. Cautiously, he walked towards you, now learning his lesson that it wasn’t a great idea to just grab you so suddenly for multiple reasons. At a slow pace, he opened his large palm to show you a small earpiece. Still being careful with his speed and touch, he lightly brushed your hair behind your ear and inserted the earpiece for you. You flinched as his fingers brushed against your jaw, butterflies erupting within you.

“You’ll be able to hear me through this. I won’t say anything unless I really have to. You’ll be able to talk to me through it too. Whatever you want, whatever you need, just say it.” Ghost promised. 

You couldn’t bring yourself to say anything. You feared that using your voice would reveal just how flustered you were over what just transpired. Instead, you gave a simple nod and headed back to your window.

The nighttime breeze flooded in as soon as you opened the window, the chill seeping into your bones. Good. You needed to cool off. Without looking back, you slipped out into the night, leaving Simon behind to wonder if supposed enemies were supposed to be attracted to each other like this. 

~

The shadows concealed you, the moonlight accentuating them on every surface they could touch. Quietly and quickly, you moved from shadow to shadow until you stumbled upon the targeted building. From the outside, it looked like a rundown, abandoned office building up for sale. The place was hidden away, tucked behind the forefront of what Italy wanted to offer instead. Beauty. 

You watched armed men standing guard, looking out into the alleyways for enemies. Sticking to the shadows, you crept along the side of the building before spotting an open window just above you. Taking a deep breath to focus your mind, you sprung into action. With a few wall jumps, you were right in one of Makarov’s weapons depot. 

From the laptops back at the hotel, Ghost carefully watched the footage, almost holding his breath as he searched for you. His team gathered into the room once he told them you had left already. They had assumed that all the time he spent missing with you was just him helping set up the tech. He didn’t correct them on this. Like you had said before, never underestimate the power of assumptions.

Relief washed over his shoulders as soon as he saw your figure invade the building. Just as fast as you had entered, you hid, dropping a tap that was modeled to look like a dead fly onto the dirty tile. The place was dusty, the smell of stagnant air filling your lungs. The men here didn’t care about the cleanliness of the place. Fortunately for the 141, that meant that they wouldn't have to worry about anyone cleaning up the “dead flies.”

All of the men watched the footage as you swiftly made your way from room to room dropping flies. Soap double checked to make sure that the enemies’ own footage was still scrubbed as you worked. Regardless, you moved so carefully that any video of you just looked like a weird, black glitch. You were in your zone. This is what you did for years. This is what you have secretly missed doing.

Every move you made was calculated, following a strict regime based on the men’s own schedule. As you dropped more and more taps, Price began to check if they worked on his end. Sure enough, they could hear everything.

Gaz noticed that Ghost’s body was rigid, his eyes refusing to leave the screens. He was keeping track of you like he would lose sight of you if he blinked. Wanting to ease his worries, he began to prepare some tea using the hotel’s electric kettle. Kyle was always one to look out for his friends like this.

A hot cup of black tea was placed in front of Ghost, the smell already releasing the tension in his muscles. Gaz pat his stiff shoulder. “She’s gonna be alright, bruv.”

Ghost gave a silent nod, finally taking a moment to let his eyes wander off of the monitor to have a sip of tea. Now that he was more relaxed, he viewed your movements in a more admiring way. None of them could pull off how smoothly you moved. How easy you glided through like a gust of wind passing through. Even when you were close to an enemy, you kept your cool, refrained from killing, and moved on without detection. 

You were a god damn modern-day ninja. A fine one at that.

In less than an hour, you had swept through the whole building without detection. Every tap was planted. Not once did you hear Simon in your ear either. You were glad. You felt like if you heard his voice through the earpiece it would break your flow. But, a part of you did yearn to hear his deep voice so close to you. 

Getting out was the easiest part. Having no one seen you come in, you took the same route out. When you came back through the window, you were met with grateful smiles and words of praise that were foreign to your ears. Ghost wanted to be the first one to say something about your skills, but loud-mouth Sergeant Soap beat him to it. “Damn, Lass! I think you just set a record for 141!”

“That was quite impressive stuff there, Hex. It was like you were never there. Kate was right about you.” Price grinned as he thanked you in his own way.

Gaz hopped on the headphones to listen to the taps as soon as his Captain moved. “All of them are working just fine. I’ve only ever seen moves like that in movies and video games. Job well done!”

You were unsure of what to do with all of this attention, never having experienced it before. When you worked alone, there was no one to tell you that you did well when you got back. You didn’t know if all of this flattery made you feel good. In all honesty, the confusion you felt about it made you a little sick to your stomach.

Weaving past them all, you grabbed your cold plate of food that Simon brought to you earlier and left without a word through the door. After receiving some worried glances from his soldiers, Price provided some words of reassurance. “Don’t worry, men. Hex probably isn’t used to having people wait for her like this, let alone praise for good work. Give her time.”

As the team brought back some of the tech to monitor from their rooms, Ghost stepped out into the hallway to look for you. He initially thought that you would be in one of their rooms to use the microwave, but you were nowhere in sight. While he wanted to keep looking, a call by his Captain to help made him call it there for the night. 

And so he spent the rest of the night bunking with Soap, listening in on private conversations and thinking about you. Meanwhile, you spent your night eating a cold dinner alone on the hotel rooftop. Overlooking the city, your own mind occasionally wandered against your will towards Ghost and how it would feel if his heat saved you from the autumn winds chilling your skin.

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[zepskies]

Break Me Down - Part 6

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x Female Reader

Summary: You’re a private investigator by trade, but now you happily sit at a desk — leading a surveillance team at Supe Affairs. After managing to end Homelander in New York, Soldier Boy escapes custody. You are recruited for the manhunt, joining Butcher’s team.

Truly, you joined the S.A. for the right reasons. But after you become his accidental hostage, Soldier Boy will break down every single one of them…

💚 Break Me Down Masterlist

AN: This chapter is a heavy one, but ultimately shifts her relationship with Ben…

Word Count: 6,700 Trigger Warnings: (18+ only.) Attempted sexual assault, violence, mentions of domestic violence, torture, and past trauma. Angst, hurt/comfort, fluff.   

Part 6: A Hot Meal

Frank informed you the next morning that Simone, the new chef, had to call in sick. Apparently she’d slipped a disk in her back after yesterday’s festivities. 

Poor thing. You wished her a safe recovery, and an STD panel. 

But that left you and a handful of hungry men gathered in the kitchen like stray cats.  

Soldier Boy’s crew was a mere few. Some were former military, all were gruff, grisly-looking guys.

Frank was their leader, stocky and stoic, and an ex-Marine from the Dominican Republic. Followed closely by Saul, who was a taller blonde from Idaho, and ex-Navy. 

Then there was Lorenzo, appropriately nicknamed “Loco,” who reminded you the most of Frenchie. Loco was Colombian, lean, and covered in tattoos, but generally the most laid back and always cracking jokes (dirty or otherwise). 

You’d learned that he’d been in the same unit as Frank. And he was the one who took the second shift on watching you in the beginning of your imprisonment. 

And finally, there was asshole Tony, the only true local. But you didn’t hold that against the rest of Colombia. 

He at least was still sleeping after an all-night job, according to Frank. 

You assumed Ben was still in bed as well, because he hadn’t yet graced you all with his presence. 

The rest of them were staring into either the fridge or the pantry, trying to work out breakfast. 

“I could whip up some eggs,” Loco said. 

“You mean those rubbery shits you made yesterday?” Saul quipped. Loco frowned, but shrugged in admission. 

“We’ve got cereal,” Frank pointed out. 

“Cinnamon Toast Crunch?” Loco asked hopefully. 

“Raisin Bran.”

“Maldito hijueputa. I can’t live like this.”

You watched them fumble around like they’d never seen the contents of a fridge before, shaking your head in disbelief. Were all men really this helpless? 

You sighed and stood up from your stool at the breakfast bar. 

“All right, guys. Step aside,” you said. “My powers are limited, but I can attempt an omelet of some kind.”

Frank discreetly let out a relieved breath, while Loco made fervent Catholic blessings to the Virgin Mary. Saul seemed to be reserving his judgment until he tasted said meal. 

You smiled and took out two cartons of eggs, some evaporated milk, onions, garlic, ham and cheese, and some fresh spinach you found in the vegetable drawer. Then you rooted through the pantry and found the seasonings you needed, like sea salt, pepper, and oregano.

Yvette taught you this recipe, and it was one you’d been successful with before. So it stood to reason that you could do it again. 

Within half an hour, you were serving sections of two massive omelets to each man (seriously, it might as well have been a quiche), with a generous portion for yourself. Though you still saved a large piece for Ben…and yes, even Tony. 

Loco took a huge bite and moaned. Saul frowned in disgust and shot a fist into his shoulder. 

“Shut the fuck up, man,” he reproached. 

“But it’s hella good,” Loco said, rubbing his shoulder. He offered you two thumbs up and a wide smile. “Gracias, corazón.” 

“You’re very welcome,” you said with a laugh, and fought hard not to blush in embarrassment. Frank gave you a rare, conspiring smile. 

Who would’ve thought a hot meal could make you friends among criminals?

“Even Saul’s got nothing to complain about,” Frank remarked, noting the other man’s silence in his thoughtful chewing. Until Loco teasingly prodded him in the side with a fork. 

Saul made a sound of irritation around a mouthful of food and fended him off with a warning look (and a threatening butterknife).  

Loco tsked. “You have to untighten your asshole, my friend. You will give yourself a hemorrhoid.”

“You are my hemorrhoid,” Saul snapped. 

You stifled a giggle. 

Frank wore a deadpan look, but amusement still glinted in his eyes.    

“He’s just mad because Loco put peanut butter in his gun last night,” Frank told you in a lowered voice. But Saul still heard it, because his frown deepened while Loco’s grin edged into a smirk. 

“You know how hard it is to unjam that shit out of the slide?” Saul said. “Even the safety’s clamming up now.” 

“Shit, I should’a put jam too!” Loco said. “PB&J in a barrel, no?”

Saul punched his shoulder again in the same spot as before. Loco made a pained sound, but took the abuse with a good-natured smirk.    

“Very mature,” you laughed quietly. 

“Fucking children,” Frank agreed, with a sip of his coffee. But something told you that he was fond of these assholes. 

And that’s how Ben found you all. 

He stood in the doorway with his arms crossed, for a moment just watching his crew eating, joking, laughing—with you at the center of it all. 

He’d been standing here long enough without them noticing that he was actually getting annoyed, until Frank finally looked over and straightened a bit. 

“Sir,” he said. All eyes in the room went to Ben, who raised a brow and strolled in with a casual, lazy gait. He nodded at his men, who all greeted him back with respect. 

He noted you tightening up too, your expression turning more careful as you lowered your eyes and continued eating. 

There was something about it that annoyed him. But he ignored that for now, in favor of heading over to the pan on the stove. 

“Your plate is over here,” you mentioned, sliding over his breakfast. “Coffee’s still hot in the carafe.”

Ben flashed you a sly smile. “All right, sweetheart. Why don’t you get me a cup?”

He knew you’d frown, just like that, with annoyance glinting in your eyes. Try as you might, you couldn’t hide it all the time—your stubbornness. You were mouthy too, with an answer for fucking everything.

But when he took the proffered plate and tried the eggs, he raised his brows in pleasant surprise. 

“Okay. So you can cook,” he said. “Good to know.”

You raised a brow at that, but you handed him a mug of black coffee. He took a sip and made a face of disgust.

“Jesus, could at least put some sugar in there.” He passed it back to you. “Fix that for me, would ya?”

Your brow twitched again, but you took the mug wordlessly. Saul got up from his seat at the bar and washed his plate in the sink himself before he left, followed by Loco, who thanked you one more time before he followed Saul’s lead. 

You gave Ben his coffee while you started putting the leftovers away and soaking the pan in the sink. When Ben next took a sip, he coughed as his tongue was assaulted by sweetness. He shot you an irritated look.

“What the fuck is this?” he snapped. 

You looked over at him with widening eyes. “Oh, I’m sorry. Too sweet?” 

Your face was all innocence, but he was starting to figure you out. He caught a gleam of satisfaction in your eyes. His lips twitched, not sure if they wanted to smirk in amusement or frown in annoyance at your audacity. 

Ben glanced over at Frank, who stood near you with an empty plate. Clearing his throat, Frank set his plate in the sink and also washed it himself.

Ben dumped his coffee there and gave Frank a look—one that said to fuck off. 

His subordinate actually hesitated, making Ben’s frown deepen. But the man eventually left you and Ben alone while you finished up the dishes and Ben ate his breakfast. He didn’t mind complimenting the chef. 

“You surprise me, sweetheart. Now, if you start cooking more often than you eat up the pantry, I may need to keep you around,” he remarked teasingly. And he dumped his plate into the sink while you were busy washing the large pans you’d used.

It was meant to be a joke. He’d said worse things to you before and you’d volleyed back playfully, or at worst case, brushed it off. So the way your head whipped towards him with a glare managed to take him by surprise. 

“Maybe if you put as much energy into feeding yourself as you do into fucking your way through South America, you wouldn’t be such a helpless asshole,” you said. 

It changed the air in the room, making it tense as Ben raised his brows at you. He straightened to his full height and approached where you stood at the kitchen sink. 

“Care to fucking rephrase that?” he asked.

Did this bitch really just call him helpless?

You had one hand on the counter, maybe to steady yourself. Your chin took on a defiant tilt as you stared up at him and crossed your arms. 

“At least your team has the decency to say thank you,” you snapped. “You can’t even be bothered. What are we, your fucking slaves? Should the whole fucking world bow to suck your wrinkly dick?”

Your vitriol somewhat put him on his heels. He stared at you, incredulous.

“I knew that doe-eyed Mary routine was a fucking show,” Ben growled. “Behold the salty cunt underneath. When yesterday, I know for a fact you were contemplating sucking on my cock like the fucking slut you are.”

Your expression became enraged. You aimed to slap him, with even your nails poised to scratch at his eyes, but he knew the attempt would hurt you far more than it’d hurt him. He grabbed your wrist and threw it away from him. 

You huffed, irate beyond belief, and tried to walk away from him before you said anything else you’d regret. 

But Ben’s hand closed on your arm again and whipped you around. You saw the anger in his eyes, the effort he was making to hold himself back. You both knew that with just a fraction of strength, he could crush you. He could end the game.

You were angry enough right now that you didn’t care. 

“Do it,” you challenged. “Bat me around until I act right. You supes call yourselves heroes, but I don’t see anything noble about you.” 

Instead of your arm, Ben gripped the counter next to you as his nostrils flared. His fingers bit into the tiles, cracking through them and making you flinch. 

“Go to your fucking room,” he ordered. “Before I take you up on that offer.”

Before he loses his shit, you interpreted. 

Your sister’s words again managed to cut through the red of your temper.

Protect yourself.

You hesitated, trying to slow your breath. Then, you lowered your eyes. And you scurried back to your room. 

You only released your tears when you were blessedly alone.  

Meanwhile, Ben was fucking fuming. He took it out on a potted plant, smashing it on the kitchen counter. He watched the fractals of clay spin off like bobble tops and the soil scatter across tile and in the sink. 

All the while, he refused to actually acknowledge how your words had affected him—other than infuriating him.

You were stubborn, with a smart goddamn mouth. You clearly hated him, and not just because you tried to help Butcher put him back to sleep. 

But he’d been spotting hints of attraction behind your blushes, whenever he teased you. He was mollified, slightly, with the knowledge that your body was interested, even if your mind was having a hard time being persuaded. 

Ben could work with that. 

But another part of him wondered…what the fuck was it about this girl? 

Why does it matter if she’s fucking into me or not? What the fuck do I care? He certainly wasn’t wanting for pussy. 

He should’ve gotten rid of you a long time ago. In fact, he should’ve shipped you back to Butcher, better yet, with a bullet through your skull so his band of morons would get the message…

But there was something about you. He’d known it from the moment he saw you in that club. When you broke dumbass Tony’s foot with that lethal goddamn heel, wearing black leather and a sexy gleam of confidence in your eyes as you walked away. 

To continue your hunt for Soldier Boy.

If Ben was honest with himself, (and he wasn’t), you had a fire he just didn’t want to dim. 

You were avoiding him. That was obvious. And maybe Ben was avoiding you too, a bit.

He whittled away the next couple of days with lines of coke, weed, and booze, among other things. Still, none of it managed to dull his mind enough to get a full night’s sleep. Because every time he closed his eyes, he dreamed of being in a metal coffin, unable to pry his eyelids open.

Most of it was flashes of memory mixed with nightmares. Of being frozen and defrosted, his head held underwater just to see how long he could go without breathing.

Being electrocuted on every surface of his skin to see which parts of him were more sensitive than others, less or more durable. What affected him more, bullets or acid, electricity or burning. 

Then the serums that lit his blood on fire, making him feel like his bones were liquifying from the inside out…

Ben would wake in his large bed, covered in sweat. And it took a hell of a lot to even make him dewy. 

The problem was, this was happening more often. Thanks to his abilities though, he was able to function on less sleep than most people anyway. 

At night, sometimes he walked through the dark and empty halls of this huge fucking mansion that felt empty as shit, even when he crossed one of his men. 

Sometimes, he wondered what it was all for—the long years of his life. Sometimes he wondered why he was still here, with no team, no family, no fame, and no real fucking life.

In the morning, after he cleared through the brain fog of post-drugging, Ben wandered downstairs and slurped down a mug of coffee. 

Simone was back, and she dutifully put together a frittata for him. Really, he was craving some plainer eggs and bacon, but this would do, he guessed.

After he finished eating, he wasn’t really sure what he wanted to do. The drugs were starting to bore him, as were the women, if he was honest. 

Ben ventured near the French doors leading to the backyard. He noticed you sitting outside in the garden, surrounded by little yellow flowers. Your mouth was moving, but he could barely hear you. 

Slowly he opened the door, so you wouldn’t hear him. Ben approached from behind, but didn’t go far. He just got close enough to hear you softly singing, letting the wind carry your voice away. But now he heard you perfectly. 

“If I didn’t care, more than words can say…if I didn’t care, would I feel this way?”

You had a good voice, he acknowledged. And just within the safety of his own mind, it reminded him of the way his mom used to hum along with the radio when she cooked. 

His mouth quirking, he returned inside and fished for the phone in his pocket. He scrolled through his contacts and found the number for his favorite escort service here in Colombia. 

Now that your anger had died down, you were feeling a bit guilty. You felt more than justified in raking Ben over the coals, and when you thought of how he’d snapped back at you, it still made your blood boil…

But somehow, your guilt remained. Maybe there’d been a better way to say those things. A gentler way that his massive ego could accept. 

Though you snorted as you walked through the halls that were now second-nature to you. It was late at night, but not too late that your brain could be calmed and cajoled into sleeping.

He doesn’t understand gentle, your mind reasoned. All that gets through his head is brute force. And sometimes, not even then. 

But he’d had every chance to lose his temper violently with you. While he’d certainly been an asshole, he hadn’t tried to break you. Just the kitchen counter. 

Curiouser and curiouser…

Without meaning to, your feet brought you close to his door. Your hand was poised to knock…but you hesitated.   

Then you heard the sounds coming from within, lusty feminine sighs and male grunting, and you grimaced. Memories of your previous experience in opening Ben’s door flit through your mind and made you blush. 

Nope, not this time. You made a sound of disgust and backed away from the door, then fled back down the hall. 

With a sigh of boredom, you supposed you could use a midnight snack. You’d just have to go it alone this time. 

Fine, you thought, suddenly petulant. And you would make something good too. Something that took some effort, and he wouldn’t get a single morsel! 

You went down to the kitchen and rifled through to find the ingredients you needed to make one of your mom’s old comforts: chocolate chip muffins. You didn’t have a Betty Crocker box mix, but you thought you remembered Yvette’s recipe to make them from scratch. 

You found a mixing bowl and threw in the powdered ingredients first—the flour, baking powder, sugar, salt. Then you added the vanilla extract, the eggs, vegetable oil, milk, and whipped them up into a batter. You dipped a finger in to taste it so far, and you smiled with a pleased hum.

“Whatever you’re making, it already smells good.”

Your smile fell as you looked up. Tony walked into the kitchen with his booted foot. 

You wanted to sigh. What the hell does this bitch want?

His long hair was tucked behind his ears, and he was dressed in tactical gear this time, complete with a belt, though curiously devoid of his gun.

The last time you’d seen him in this ensemble, he’d been kidnapping you. Maybe Soldier Boy sent him off on an “official” errand of some kind, like buying drugs off a cartel or something.

“Good evening,” Tony said with a nod. You nodded back at him, watching him as he approached the kitchen island. You made sure it remained between the two of you as you went to the fridge for some more milk. The batter was a bit too thick.

“What’re you making?” he asked.

“A roast chicken,” you sassed. He shot you a dry look and surveyed the ingredients across the counter. He reached for your open bag of chocolate chips and stole a few, scooping them into his mouth. 

Rude, but you didn’t comment. You knew you shouldn’t snipe too much with him. 

“Whatever it is, mind saving some for me this time?” he asked. “I heard you made breakfast for the guys the other day.”

“I did saved you some,” you replied. “Not my fault if the self-proclaimed King of Everything ate it all.”

In most ways, Ben was a bottomless pit. 

Tony started to curve around the kitchen island. You didn’t miss the move, and you stepped carefully in the other direction. 

“What? I just want to grab a beer,” he said, giving you a teasing smirk. “You afraid of me, mi vida?” 

You were really sick of men giving you unearned endearments. 

“Oh, yeah. Fucking petrified of the one-legged wonder,” you replied. Your voice was dripping with sarcasm. Tony’s sly façade fell into irritation. 

There it is, you thought.  

“You really are a bitch,” he said tersely. 

“Takes one to know one, bitch,” you rejoined. It wasn’t your wittiest comeback, to be sure, but it still seemed to infuriate him. You should’ve been trying to diffuse his temper, not goading him. You just didn’t really think he would try anything after what happened last time.

But you were wrong. 

Tony went after you, swifter than you thought possible with that big-ass boot. You muttered a curse and tried to evade him, but he grabbed you by your hair and yanked you back, making you shriek in both surprise and pain. 

You had no choice but to twist and aim a shot to his throat with your elbow. While he choked, you aimed another blow to the bridge of his nose, knocking his head back. 

You should’ve just fled the kitchen. Guaranteed, you could’ve outrun him. But his audacity made your temper snap. You followed up with a well-lined fist in the same region of his face, once, then twice, and he uttered a shout of pain as you both felt the crunch of his nose breaking. 

But then he managed to grab your arm. The two of you grappled, him slipping his foot out of the way when you tried to drive your heel into his boot. 

“Can’t get me twice, you fucking cunt,” he hissed, and pulled something from behind his back. Your eyes widened, thinking it was a gun. 

And it was a gun. Just not the kind you anticipated. 

A shock of electricity ran through your entire body as he tased you in the side, right below your ribs. You convulsed as he did it, unable to move until he relented. It made a few seconds feel like minutes of agony. 

You couldn’t even scream. Even when he stopped tasing you, you gasped in air and lost control of your legs. 

Tony hooked an arm around your waist and propped you up against the counter. With whatever strength you had, you raised your head, dazed and still in pain as you tried to grasp his shoulder.

He smirked down at you. With one hand, he ripped open your shirt so hard that the fabric burned against your already tingling skin. You gasped as you finally realized what he was about to do.

“Nnn…” you uttered, shoving weakly at his shoulder. 

“Shhh,” he said. His cold and lustful blue eyes roved over your heaving breasts still held in your bra, the expanse of your skin. He was able to get a grip of the button on your jeans before you summoned enough strength to fight back.

You shoved your hand against his face, trying to impale his eyes with your nails. But Tony ripped your hand away.

“Fucking bitch. Even now you won’t behave,” he muttered. 

He heaved you higher against the counter and pinned you there with a hand wrapped around your throat. He started squeezing, chocking precious air out of your lungs, but you kicked at him, bit your nails into his hand and clawed and fought as hard as you could when he tried prying your legs open with his knee. 

You tried crying out, but it was just whimpers making it through his tightening hand around your throat. He got frustrated enough to just break the button on your jeans, ripping the zipper down in the process. 

Then, two large hands closed on Tony’s arms.

Both of you looked up and found Ben’s steely green eyes. With a tightening of his jaw and a single upward shift of his grip, Tony’s arms broke. Bone struck through the skin, and the man screamed a horrific, blood curdling sound.

The hand wrapped around your neck released, letting you take in precious air. But that also meant you had nothing propping you up on your shaking legs.

You slumped to the floor against the kitchen island, then watched in horror as Ben grabbed the side of Tony’s face and bashed his head against the counter—over and over until his skull split open. 

Nostrils flaring, Ben took in long breaths as Tony’s mangled body fell to the floor in a bloody heap. 

Then he turned back to you. Your vision was a bit hazy as you tried to look up at him. Hot tears slipped down your cheeks as he slowly kneeled down to you, and helped you stand up. 

“Easy,” he murmured. “You’re all right.”

But you couldn’t stay on your feet. 

You made an uneasy sound, and Ben caught you when your legs couldn’t support you. You struggled to raise your head again, but you managed it.

Ben’s eyes roamed over your face and tried to discern what was happening. They held the question that he spoke out loud.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. 

What’s wrong. What a damn question, you thought.

Blinking, you tried your best to focus on his bearded face. 

“He tased me,” you told him through shallow breaths. 

Ben’s jaw clenched again, but all he did was nod. After a beat, he swept you up into his arms. You gasped, but he looked down at you in silent question. You nodded and relaxed against him, briefly closing your eyes. 

You wouldn’t know how that small gesture affected him as he carried you out of the kitchen. And up the stairs to the second floor, all the way to your room.

He was careful in laying you down on the bed. You were still crying, and now embarrassed for your own modesty as you grabbed a blanket and tried your best to cover yourself, your ruined shirt hanging from your shoulders and all. 

By the time you looked back over your shoulder, Ben was gone. 

However, a few minutes later there was a knock at your door. You sniffed.

“Who…” you tried to speak, despite the pain and coarseness of your voice. “Who is it?”

“Frank,” came the response. You didn’t know if you wanted him in here. 

But after a long moment, he spoke again.

“I’ve got some water for you,” he said through the door.

You licked your dry lips and tried to swallow, even though it hurt. Water, you could definitely use. 

With a sigh you said, “Come in.”

Frank entered with a bottle of water and a med kit. You eyed him warily as he dragged a chair over and sat across from you where you laid on your bed. 

“Can you sit up?” he asked. 

You weren’t entirely convinced that he was here to help you. But his brown eyes were calm and steady, and you didn’t detect a threat in them. 

“I was a paramedic before I enlisted,” he said. 

You blinked in surprise. You eventually obliged him by sitting up, but you still held the blanket around your body. Ben must’ve filled him in…and sent him to check on you. 

Tears welled up in your eyes again. Because every time you thought you had Soldier Boy figured out, the humanity of Ben surprised you. 

“Can I see where he tased you?” Frank asked. 

Though you hesitated, you opened your blanket enough for him to take a look at your bruised side. Sighing through his nose, Frank nodded. He wore medical gloves, and he raised his hands to prod at your neck.

You whimpered and leaned away from his touch. Frank slowly dropped his hands away from you. His eyes softened. 

“You asked about my family,” he said. You gave a belated nod, once you remembered that conversation from a few weeks ago. Had it only been a month since you’d gotten here?

It felt like a year. 

Frank held your gaze, and you remembered asking him. Got a family? Wife and kids?

He hadn’t answered you. You’d thought maybe there was a story there. Now you knew for sure that there was.

“I have a daughter,” said Frank. His tone held the weight of sincerity, just as his words held an underlying promise.

Your tears fell. You nodded and allowed him to finish patching you up. 

He then left you alone, saying that he would bring you something to eat in a little while. But after the door clicked shut, you allowed yourself to let go.

You mostly spent the next day in your room. Frank came by to check on you, to offer you something to eat. You took what he gave you, but you only nibbled. You couldn’t quite bring yourself to enjoy eating.

You imagined it getting clogged in your throat, as a hand wrapped around it. First Antonio’s, then your father’s hand. 

You remembered when you were thirteen years old, and you finally snapped back at him when he tried to cut down your mom again with his drunken cursing.

You remembered the dryness of his hands, one of them closing around your neck and squeezing until you saw black spots encroaching on your vision.

And your mom intervened, threw herself onto him. You held your little sister in the closet. She was far too little to understand what was going on, but she knew it was bad.

You covered her eyes, and you watched through the slits as he beat your mom within an inch of her life.

You remembered fumbling with the landline, whispering into the receiver until police sirens circled through the windows and illuminated the dim house. 

You remembered until you had to shut your eyes against memories and hot tears. 

It was another day before your room felt like a suffocating cage once again. Night had fallen, according to the TV guide, approaching midnight. 

You had to gather your courage, but you got dressed into one of your new plain shirts and jeans (which Ben had bought you, you were reminded).

When your stomach growled, you frowned. You hadn’t been able to keep much down for the past couple of days. Sighing, you reached a hand for the doorknob.

Your fingers hesitated on the brass, but you remembered something Louisa told you the day she graduated from high school. 

You hugged her tight with the broadest grin and kissed her cheek. With tears in your eyes, you held up her hand, which held a diploma with honors. 

She had a chance to go to college—something you hadn’t had. But you were going to make sure she did.

“You’re a rockstar, Lou. I’m so damn proud of you,” you said. She laughed and wiped a tear from your cheek. 

“It’s only because of you,” she said. “You’re a rock, sis. Even when you’re not.”

Your sister was a smart little shit, wise beyond her years. And that had stuck with you ever since. 

You’re a rock. Even when you’re not.

Even when that insidious voice inside whispered things. That you were weak, not strong enough, not smart enough. A burden on your family, on your friends. A disappointment. A bitch with an attitude and not much else. 

But you sucked in a shaking breath and frowned at yourself, your brows knitting together. 

No, you thought stubbornly. 

And you opened the door. 

With cautious steps you made your way downstairs. You forced yourself to keep walking, your heart rate climbing, until you reached the kitchen. 

You didn’t know what you expected, but Ben standing there and staring into the fridge was not it.

It was the first time you’d seen him dressed down, in sweatpants, a soft-looking gray shirt, and some old man loafer slippers. You couldn’t help a smile at the sight. 

Maybe he sensed a presence behind him, because he perked up and glanced over his shoulder. Finding you standing there with a small smile, if a bit awkwardly, the corner of his mouth twitched upwards.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he said. 

“Hey,” you replied with a nod, and you braved entering the kitchen. It was spotlessly clean, almost as if nothing had happened in this room.

Except for the large section missing from the kitchen counter, revealing the cement underneath. Likely it had been too damaged to be repaired and needed to just be torn out and replaced. 

Your gaze roamed across the counter to the spot where you’d been assaulted. You couldn’t help focusing on it, so long that your vision started to glaze over. 

Until you realized that Ben was slowly approaching you. He had a beer in hand, which he must’ve grabbed from the fridge. You sucked in a breath and looked up at him. 

“You’re up and about pretty late,” he remarked. 

“So are you,” you returned with an attempt at a smile. “I got hungry.”

Ben huffed in amusement. “Figures…though not gonna lie, was feeling peckish myself.”

He gestured at the fridge dismissively. “There’s not much.”

He could’ve woken up Simone, you were ready to point out. But maybe, just maybe, something you said had gotten to him. Maybe he’d wanted to just figure it out for himself, but didn’t know where to start. 

“Let me take a look,” you said instead. You went first to the pantry and took a brief inventory. “You feeling sweet or savory?”

“Savory,” he replied after a moment. He went over to the breakfast bar and sat down with his beer while you continued to rifle through.

“Hmm, how about spaghetti?” you suggested. 

Ben raised a brow. “It’s almost midnight.” 

You shot him a small grin. “So? You’re hungry, right?”

You could tell he wasn’t totally into the idea, but he shrugged. 

“All right.” 

You hummed as you gathered all the ingredients you needed. Ben watched you lay them out across from him on the counter: onions, tomato sauce, various seasonings, and more. He eyed the entire head of garlic you were getting ready to peel.

“Jesus, you tryin’ to kill a vampire or something?” he quipped. You gave him a wry look.

“Have you ever made spaghetti before?” you asked. This was as basic as it came, but the way he was looking at the vegetables told you the entire concept of peeling, cutting, and throwing them together into a pan was foreign to him. 

“Probably,” he said with a shrug. 

Meaning never, you interpreted. Ben really just had no idea how to cook, you realized. You didn’t understand how a century-old man was so lacking in everyday skills…

But maybe you did. The files neatly stored in your brain reminded you that he’d grown up a rich kid. Very rich. Then after he became Soldier Boy, he’d all too soon reached the pinnacle of fame. He’d made so much money in four decades that he’d probably never needed to do a menial task in his life.  

Maybe you could get him to try. 

However, you hadn’t realized it until now, but even after a full day, your body hadn’t fully recuperated from what you’d gone through. Maybe it was the latent stress, but you already felt tired, your body heavy.  

With a growing idea in your mind, you finished peeling and crushing the garlic and grabbed two onions. You held up one of them for his view. 

“Would you mind helping me?” you asked. 

Ben sat back in his seat, crossing his arms. 

“Do I look like Betty fucking Crocker to you?”

“Do you have to be so rude?” you clipped back. His lips twitched in amusement, until you sighed, and took a break from standing up straight to lean against the counter. Your side was starting to twinge from where you’d been tased.

“What’s the matter now?” he asked. His brows knit together, and you could almost swear you saw concern in his eyes. 

But you pressed your lips together. It really pained you to admit it, but…

“Still a bit shaky,” you said, lowering your eyes. “I…honestly don’t know if I can finish this.” 

For a moment, Ben just stared at you. 

He frowned, then made a sound of annoyance. 

“Christ,” he muttered, and finished off his beer before he stood. He took his time coming around the island to meet you. 

“Fine,” he deadpanned. “What is it you want?”

A smile grew across your face, bright and grateful. You handed him an onion. 

“Peel and chop this, please.”

You made room for him at the cutting board and gestured for him to move in there. Ben considered the onion in his hand and took the knife from you. And after a beat of hesitation, he cut the whole thing in half. 

You made a halting sound, lightly touching his wrist. “I’d peel that first if I were you.”

“I know what the fuck I’m doing,” he retorted, but you read the defensiveness in his eyes. 

Hiding an amused smile, you relented and let him do it the way he wanted. But you did notice that he started peeling off the first layer of skin before he started cutting again.

Meanwhile, you found a sauce pan in the cupboard and a pot for boiling the pasta. And the two of you fell into a strange, companionable silence while cooking together.

Until you noticed him glancing at your neck. You knew there were bruises there, still purplish, but healing. It reminded you to gather your courage for something else.

“Thank you,” you said, with difficulty. “For…for saving me.”

Ben’s gaze met yours, but all he did was nod. You’d expected him to be his usual cocky self about it. 

“Why did you do it?” you asked. He paused in his truly horrendous cutting; irregular pieces of onion were all over the cutting board, but he was still going for the second one.

Then he huffed. “Would you rather I hadn’t?”

“Be serious,” you said, before you could censure yourself. He raised a brow at you. 

“You know what?” he said. “Think what you want about me, but I’m not a fucking animal.”

His frown deepened, like he was offended at you just for asking. 

Well, fair enough.

So you let it go as the two of you cooked together. 

But as Ben was peeling the stubborn hide off the vegetable, it slipped out of his frustrated hands and rolled away. Thankfully it stopped just shy of falling off the counter. 

You couldn’t help a small giggle at his expense. He had the strength of twenty men or whatever, but he couldn’t chop an onion to save his life. 

Ben shot you a wryly amused look. “Oh, you better not be fucking laughing at me.”

That just made you laugh in earnest, even though you covered your mouth with your hand. His grin deepened at the sound, despite the embarrassment making his face and neck warm up. 

He grabbed the hateful head of veg and looked anywhere but you as he got ready to try again. There was no way he was letting you, or this fucking onion, make a fool out of him. 

But your soft hand soon covered over his. You offered him a genuine smile, your eyes gleaming.

“Want me to show you a trick I learned?” you asked. 

He hesitated, but he eventually moved over and let you in on the action. You took up the knife, held down the onion, and cut the ends off first. Then you were able to more easily peel off the rest of the outer layer. 

“You can do this part any way you want, really. But I like to cut it down the middle first, then chop up one half at a time like this,” you explained.

And you felt Ben move in closer behind you to watch your methodical work. 

The heat from his proximity actually made you start to blush like a damn school girl. You tried to stamp it down, but heat flared into your cheeks when his hand covered yours and took back the knife.

“All right, all right, I got it. Move over,” he said. You huffed, but you grinned and let him continue…

By the way his eyes later lit up when he tasted the meal, you knew he really did like your cooking. Now, you didn’t want to feed his outdated views on gender roles…but you could admit, seeing him enjoy something so simple as your grandma’s spaghetti recipe was gratifying. 

It wasn’t the first time you’d shared a decent moment with Ben. But it was the first time that it hadn’t felt like an act. You didn’t know what to do with that—or the conflicted feeling making your heart ache. 

And you certainly didn’t want to find anything about him endearing. 

AN: So first of all, sorry for all the angst and TWs in this one. But here lies the end of Tony's fuck ass. ✌🏽 And maybe she's starting to understand (and trust) Ben a bit more...

Next time: Two weeks later, Ben is getting under her skin in the worst (best) way. (AKA: the moment we've all been waiting for...)

You should’ve just pushed him away already…but his nearness was mucking up your good sense. 

The truth was, you weren’t afraid of him. Not anymore. And maybe you didn’t hate him.

Maybe…

“Well, what’s it gonna be?” he asked you.

Your lips parted, halting on a reply.

Keep Reading: PART 7

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[tinyundercover]

pepper & felix

part four

Felix has a lot on his mind. word count: 3.2k

“Hey, Felix, are you even listening?”

A hand waved in front of Felix’s face, jerking him back to reality. 

His three friends stared at him, the four of them seated in a booth of a local restaurant. Felix blinked several times, momentarily shoving away the uncomfortable memory of a tiny heartbeat thudding against his finger.

“Yeah, yeah, sorry. I just zoned out for a sec.” He forced himself to laugh, beginning to pick absentmindedly at his food. The cozy setting of the restaurant helped to ease his stress somewhat, but his stomach still continued to squirm.

His friend that had addressed him— Alice— just snickered and said, “Honestly, Felix, you’ve been acting so weird lately.” Her dark eyelashes fluttered in amusement, peering at him from across the booth.

To Felix’s left, Breanna nodded, a finger twirling one of her long dark braids. “Yeah. What’s going on with you?”

As three pairs of eyes stared at him, Felix chewed his lip. “Um…”

He hadn’t told anyone about Pepper, aside from his soulmate, who had seemed to be just as shocked as he was to learn about the existence of tiny men living in the walls. His soulmate was actually the one to suggest that Felix keep his discovery a secret. 

As much as he longed to tell his friends about that crazy incident three days ago, he didn’t want to sound completely insane. Honestly, he was wondering if he had imagined the whole thing.

“He’s probably just worried about The Little Mermaid auditions,” Owen suggested, giving Felix a toothy smile from across the table. “He really wants to be Prince Eric.” He raised his voice in a mocking royal tone, lifting a finger.

(Owen didn’t do theater, unlike Felix, Alice, and Breanna. He just liked hanging out with them.) 

Felix exhaled. “Yeah, that’s exactly it,” he lied, grateful to have an excuse for his distant behavior. “I’m super nervous. I’d really like to get a lead.”

“Same,” Breanna and Alice said in unison. 

“I’ve been practicing, like, every day,” Breanna admitted, resting her chin in her palm. “I think I’m gonna go for Ursula.”

The three others voiced their approval. Alice then began to rant about “that bitch in Music II that just wants to be Ariel so bad” and Felix took the opportunity to zone out again, thinking about a tiny man sprinting across his counter, holding a piece of spinach. 

He frowned suddenly. Had Pepper been stealing the spinach for food? Had Felix interrupted him and forced him to go hungry? Was he okay?

“Felix,” Alice said, turning towards him so quickly that her silky black hair audibly whipped. “You are literally staring at the wall.”

“Oh, uh—“ Felix blinked several times, face going pink. “Sorry. Ugh. Just thinking.”

His friends laughed, and Felix ran his hands anxiously through his blonde hair, trying to ground himself in reality. 

“Hey— what audition song are you using?” Breanna asked, her brown eyes dark and kind as they searched Felix’s face. Felix appreciated her immensely; she never made fun of him and always seemed to notice when he was uneasy.

“I haven’t decided yet,” Felix murmured, glancing at her. “Something from Beauty and the Beast, maybe. I dunno.”

“I’m using Beauty and the Beast, too,” Alice chirped. “My soulmate actually suggested it.”

That caught Felix’s attention. “Wait— you’re talking to your soulmate, now, too?”

Alice’s eyebrows raised, and she sighed dramatically. “Dude, I just said that, like, ten minutes ago. Have you really not been listening this whole time?” Breanna and Owen nodded.

He flushed. “Oh, shit, I’m sorry. Um— when did you start talking? Tell me again.”

Alice, of course, was thrilled to tell the same story twice. She immediately leaned closer, as if she was telling the three of them a secret. “He turned twenty-one yesterday,” she explained, lips twitching into a smile, “and we literally talked all night. He’s so sweet, and smart, and funny. Like, it was love at first sight.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s just how soulmates work,” Owen teased. Alice gently punched him.

“Shut up. Anyways, I just knew he was the one for me the second I heard his voice.”

Felix offered a smile, but her words sent an uncomfortable feeling into his stomach.

“You’ve been talking to your soulmate too— right, Felix?” Alice continued, tilting her head. “How’s that going?”

Ugh. Felix stalled by taking a sip of his water, then cleared his throat. “He seems a little shy,” he admitted. “I… I don’t really understand him yet, I guess.”

“What do you mean?” Breanna asked curiously.

Felix chewed his lip, thinking. “Um… I mean, I like him. He seems nice. But sometimes he’ll just cut our conversations off without any warning. And he never really talks about himself? He just asks me questions, mainly.”

He rested his chin on his hands, dropping his gaze. “We also haven’t really talked in a few days,” he mumbled. “We just… had a weird conversation, and he stopped reaching out.”

“I’ve heard of this happening,” Owen said thoughtfully, running his fingers through his red hair. “It’s actually pretty common to not get along with your soulmate right away. My older brother hated his soulmate for a few months before they actually got to know each other.”

“That’s comforting,” Felix said darkly.

“I’m sure you’ll work things out,” Breanna offered, and Alice nodded supportingly. “It just takes time.”

“Yeah,” Felix agreed, although his mind was starting to drift again. “I’m sure.”

—

Felix felt self-conscious.

His gaze wandered around the walls of his apartment. He was currently sitting on the floor, legs crossed underneath him, and quietly singing along to a song playing from his laptop. This was normal for him, typically. When an audition or a performance was coming around, he spent a lot of his time sitting in his apartment, practicing. 

However— the knowledge that someone could be sitting in the walls, watching him right now, made him incredibly uneasy.

He hadn’t seen any sign of Pepper in the last three days, and he hoped that he hadn’t scared the little guy off permanently. Pepper had seemed absolutely terrified after their encounter.

His stomach twisted in regret, and his voice wobbled. If he could go back in time, he would change how he had treated Pepper in a heartbeat. Thinking of that tear-filled gray gaze staring up at him from beneath a cup just made him want to throw up.

God, I was such an asshole. He closed his eyes, steadying his breathing for a moment. When he held Pepper, he could feel his kicks and punches and struggles, but he had barely even acknowledged it. He had an entire person in his hand and he had completely ignored their fear.

Felix felt sick.

The song ended, but he had stopped singing along a few minutes ago. He leaned back dejectedly against the seat of the couch.

“You sound pretty.”

Felix nearly jumped out of his skin. He sat up straight, immediately freezing.

There, at the base of a bookshelf, was Pepper. Down on the floor, only a few feet away from Felix, Pepper seemed smaller than ever. He wore a tiny blue jacket that somehow seemed baggy on him, his sleeved arms folded in front of his small chest. A pair of tiny gray eyes were locked on Felix.

Felix was immediately hit with an onslaught of emotions; he was relieved to see Pepper again, but his heart was already thudding with guilt, remembering how easily he had trapped such a tiny being against his will. He felt incredibly uncomfortable to see Pepper standing on the floor, his neck craning to look up at Felix, who was also sitting on the floor. 

“I said you sound pretty,” Pepper repeated. Despite his casual demeanor, there was a significant caution in the way he lingered by the wall, as if he was ready to bolt at any moment.

Felix blinked, muscles tense. “Oh– thank you. I, um… I didn’t know you were listening.” He held his breath, as if Pepper might bolt at the drop of a pin. 

Those tiny shoulders shrugged. “I just overheard you, and I figured I’d stop by.” After a moment, he added, “Besides, I wanted to come and thank you.”

Felix did a double take. “Wait, what?”

“For letting me go,” Pepper explained, as if this was a normal Tuesday for him. “And you didn’t kill me or keep me, which is pretty typical for humans. And you didn’t go searching for me afterwards, even though it’s been three days. So… thanks for all that.”

Felix’s heart sank, while an uneasy feeling itched at his skin. Is that really what Pepper had expected from him? Being killed, or tormented? The thought of hurting Pepper any more than he already did made him feel sick to his stomach. He couldn’t explain why, but he needed Pepper to understand that he wasn’t any of those things he had described. 

“Pepper…” His voice was hollow. He leaned forward, heart twisting at the sight of Pepper taking a small step back. “Pepper, you don’t need to thank me. I should be apologizing. You didn’t deserve to be grabbed, or– or trapped like that. I’m sorry. I really, really am.”

The borrower frowned for a moment, inquisitive. Then, quietly, “You just did what any human would do.”

Felix’s stomach turned. “That doesn’t make it okay. I still could have hurt you.”

Pepper remained suspiciously quiet, and Felix’s heart pounded. “Did… Did I hurt you?”

“Just a couple bruises,” Pepper said with a shrug, picking at the hem of his blue jacket. “It wasn’t that bad though. Nothing broken, or anything.”

Fuck.

Felix’s stomach was suddenly filled with ice. “Shit… I’m so fucking sorry, I wasn’t trying to hurt you, I swear.” His blue gaze worriedly scanned Pepper’s small form, as if he could magically see the finger-shaped bruises underneath his clothes. “Can— can I make it up to you, somehow? Please?”

Standing on the floor, Pepper seemed even smaller. He was barely over three inches tall, and Felix had acted so carelessly that he had bruised him. What had he been thinking?

“It’s okay, really,” Pepper said, seeming a little wary. “I get bruised all the time. It’s not new to me.”

“No, no. Can I make you something to eat, maybe? As an apology?”

The small man hesitated, wide gray eyes darting around the room. “You don’t have to do that.” As if on cue, the rumbling of his tiny stomach filled the air. Pepper’s tan face immediately flushed, and Felix tilted his head sympathetically.

“Here… let me go make a quick salad. It’ll take five minutes. Wait here.” Pepper had tried to take a piece of spinach a few days ago, so Felix figured a salad would be a good peace offering for all the trouble he had caused. 

Before Pepper could refuse, Felix swiftly pulled himself to his feet. He immediately felt uneasy, looking down at the three-inch-tall boy from his height of nearly six feet, and took a calculated step back.

Pepper hadn’t moved, but his posture was significantly more rigid than it was before, staring up at the human. Considering the circumstances, Felix was grateful that he hadn’t instantly scurried off into the walls, and he murmured, “I’ll be right back.”

As he crossed the room into the kitchen, he tried to imagine that he was three inches tall, looking up at a man the size of a skyscraper. He shuddered, uneasy at the thought, and decided that Pepper must be a lot braver than he gave him credit for. The small man had actually approached Felix willingly, after all.

He stood aimlessly in the kitchen for a few seconds before rummaging through his fridge. He hadn’t gone grocery shopping in a week, and a lot of his produce was getting old. He’ll have to make do with what he had.

After a minute or two of dicing a cucumber into microscopic pieces, Felix spared a glance to his right, and stiffened.

It took him a moment to register what he was seeing. A small silver hook was latched onto the edge of the counter, and climbing up the thread it was attached to was Pepper. 

The small man was about three quarters of the way up, not even looking in Felix’s direction. The human blinked several times, entranced by Pepper’s quick movements. Pepper had pulled his sleeves up to cover his hands as he climbed, a clever way to avoid ropeburn. 

Deciding not to say anything, Felix turned back to the cutting board in front of him, carefully sectioning off an ounce of diced cucumber. He was halfway through chopping up some spinach when he glanced over again, only to see Pepper seated patiently on the countertop, raveling up his thread into small circles.

Felix gently cleared his throat. “That was impressive.”

Pepper tilted his head in Felix’s direction. It wasn’t any easier to read his expressions, even now that he was higher up. “Thanks.”

“Where’d you get that hook from?” Felix asked politely, absentmindedly searching for some sort of small plate or bowl he could give to a person the size of his finger.

“My sister,” Pepper explained hesitantly. “It’s an old fishing hook, I think. She got it for me when we were kids.”

Felix’s eyebrow raised, and he immediately had a thousand more questions. Pepper had a family, then? What was his childhood like? Did Pepper’s sister live here, too? 

“What’s her name?” Felix finally asked, figuring that was a safe enough question to not frighten him off.

To his surprise, Pepper actually frowned, tightening his tiny grip on his hook. “It’s not really my place to say,” he said finally, voice cautious but firm. “Humans aren’t supposed to know anything about us, even our names.”

You told me your name, Felix wanted to say, but he decided against it. He glanced over as Pepper spoke up again.

“Have you… told anyone about me?” Pepper spoke as if he was trying to be casual, but Felix could sense a tenseness in the small man’s shoulders. The human blinked.

“No… not really,” Felix said softly. “I only told my soulmate. I’m sorry. But to be fair, I don’t think he believed me.”

Pepper’s face was unreadable, so Felix added, “Um, do you know what soulmates are?”

After a long moment, the borrower finally said, “I’ve… heard of them.”

Felix nodded, scraping a blend of diced veggies onto the corner of a napkin. “Humans have a telepathic connection with their soulmate,” he explained. “So I was able to tell my soulmate that I met you. But he acted kind of weird about it, and we haven’t really talked since, so… he probably just thinks I’m crazy now, I guess. You’re in the clear.”

“Huh,” Pepper said. “That’s interesting.”

Felix turned towards Pepper, the napkin laying flat in his hand. As he approached, it was hard not to stare at Pepper, in awe of just how small he was. The counter looked gigantic compared to him. 

He set the napkin down a few inches away, hyper aware that this is the closest he’s been to Pepper since their last encounter. The small man visibly flinched as his hand approached, and Felix desperately wanted him to understand that he would never grab him like that again.

“Here,” Felix offered. “It’s spinach, cucumber, lettuce and some carrots. I didn’t add any dressing, cause I wasn’t sure what you like. And— I’m sorry— I don’t have any silverware that you could use. Um, but I hope you like it.”

Pepper, for the first time, actually sent him a small smile. “Thank you.” He swiftly approached the napkin, peering down at it momentarily with his small hands planted on his hips. After a moment of examination, Pepper picked up a piece of cucumber and tentatively nibbled at it. 

Felix hovered nearby, his mind racing with a thousand questions. He still had no idea what Pepper even was, or why he had been lingering around his apartment. Did he live nearby?

“So…” Felix avoided looking at Pepper, busying himself by scraping the rest of his salad mix into a tupperware container. “I know you said humans aren’t supposed to know about you, but… I can’t lie, I’m really curious about you.”

Gray eyes peered up at him, hesitant. 

Felix met his gaze briefly. “You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to,” he assured. “But… but what exactly are you? Why can’t humans know about you?”

He tried to keep his voice light, respectful. In the corner of his eye, Pepper sat down, crossing his legs underneath him. Felix hoped that meant he was comfortable.

“Uh…” Pepper placed the cucumber piece back down on the napkin. “Well, we try to stay out of sight, for our safety. The world just… isn’t built for us.” He gestured vaguely to the kitchen, and Felix agreed that he looked very out of place on the massive counter. “If humans knew about us, we would probably be seen as— as pests, or something, so that’s why we try not to bother anyone.”

Felix’s eyebrows raised. “That’s messed up,” he said worriedly. “You all live in hiding because of humans? That’s… awful.”

He hated the idea that Pepper had at one point believed that Felix would hurt him, just because he was smaller. Did he still believe that? 

“It’s not so bad,” Pepper reasoned, shrugging. “I mean, I’ve lived like this my whole life. And it’s not like we want to be interacting with humans, anyways. Humans are dangerous, whether they try to be or not.”

Felix stayed quiet, uneasy. Pepper continued hesitantly. “So… thank you, for keeping our secret. It means a lot more than you’d think.”

The human blinked, glancing over at the small man. Earnestly shone behind Pepper’s gray eyes.

“Of course,” Felix assured. “I’ll never tell anyone about you, I promise.”

Pepper opened his mouth like he wanted to say something, but decided against it. Felix glanced over, watching as the small man leaned over the remains of his little salad and began to rip the napkin into a smaller piece.

After a minute, Pepper straightened up, and Felix realized what he had done. The napkin had been tied up into a little bundle, the salad nestled securely inside. “I’ll take this home with me,” Pepper said, genuinely grateful. “Thank you so much.”

He really did seem to have a lot of experience with this kind of life. Crafty, clever, and resourceful. Felix nodded, heart lifting at the positive response from the small man. “Of course. It’s the least I could do.”

Pepper nodded respectfully, beginning to walk towards the toaster, where Felix recalled there was a hidden exit. Then, the small man paused, peering up at Felix again.

“Also— I’m sure your soulmate doesn’t think you’re crazy,” Pepper said. “I think he’d be glad to hear from you again.”

Felix’s eyebrows raised in surprise. He had forgotten he had even mentioned his soulmate to Pepper. “Oh! Well, I’ll… I’ll reach out to him soon.”

“Good. And thanks again, for the salad. Maybe I’ll see you around, Felix.”

Hearing his name on Pepper’s tongue made Felix’s heart jump, not unpleasantly. “Right. No problem. See you around.”

—

Hours later, Pepper sat in his hammock, nibbling on a piece of carrot, thinking of massive hands and blonde hair. He sat up straighter as a voice entered his mind.

“Hey, soulmate, how have you been?”

“Hey, Felix,” Pepper murmured, setting his carrot down. Heart skipping a beat, he pressed his hands to his chest.

“Hey. It’s good to hear from you,” he responded, the corners of his lips twitching into a smile.

____

that awkward moment when ur soulmate turns out to be a literal giant that shouldn't even know u exist ... poor pepper

thanks smmm for reading! :]

#g/t #g/t writing #pepper & felix #g/t soulmates

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

LOVING ‘THE OTHER HALF’! You literally write Bruce so perfectly… lowkey curious to see what would happen if the reader finds out he’s The Batman… 🫣

Previous Part | Masterlist | Next Part

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x Reader

Length: 3.9K

Warnings: Some angst; Bruce Wayne’s Top Notch Communication Skills and secret keeping; canon-typical violence

You’d thought—well, you’d hoped—that as time went on, the questions would go away. You’d hoped that his behavior would make me even more sense. 

It hasn’t. 

If anything, your perception of Bruce has become incredibly confusing. You enjoy your time with him, no matter what the two of you get up to—dinner, parties with his friends or your friends, a night in. More often than not, it’s a night in. After the incident at work, your boss started sticking you with opening shifts. The commute’s way less cantankerous from Bruce’s place, and you’re happy to spend the nights with him, anyway. You sleep better when he’s there. 

The problem is, he’s usually not there.

You always fall asleep with him, but you have awoken on more than one occasion to an empty bed, and an empty penthouse. You’ve texted Bruce on those nights, but his phone has always rung in the apartment. He leaves it sitting on the coffee table. Where the hell does he go without it? Does he have a burner phone? What kind of weird-rich-guy-eyes-wide-shut bullshit is he getting up to that he’s leaving his phone in the apartment for…Hours? You love him, but whatever it is that he’s keeping a secret is beginning to tear your apart.

You want to ask. You have been dying to ask, but it just never feels like the right time. 

-- 

“You and Brucie have been alright?” 

“Oh,” You flounder as Liz nudges your hip with hers, waiting expectantly for your answer. Your hands still over the nibbles that you were putting out on a tray before you resume mechanically loading the spinach puffs that you made. “It’s—Yeah, we’re good.” 

“When are you going to move in?” 

“What?” You splutter a laugh, unable to help it. “Why would I—Did he say something to you?” 

“Oh,” Liz raises her hands in defense. “Sorry. He said you were staying over a lot, you know.” 

“I mean, I have. He’s stayed at mine, too. He’s not moving in with me—definitely not moving in with me, Mish would never stand for it,” You taper off in a mumble. 

“Mish?” 

“My roommate, Michelle.” 

“I didn’t know you had a roommate.” 

“Mhm!” 

“Does she work in a store, too?” 

It feels like a loaded question, and it’s one that you would’ve taken as a jab when you first met Liz. But sometimes you realize that Bruce and his friends live so far above the average Gothamite that they don’t know what it's like to have to live from paycheck to paycheck, in narrow, badly lit apartments that most of your paycheck from your cruddy job goes to. You’re determined not to take offense when they make stupid, probably accidental demeaning comments. 

“Nope!” You chirp. “She’s an administrative assistant at a marketing agency.” 

“Oh! Could you do something like that?” 

You smile a touch tightly, your irritation welling. You’re certain that one was on purpose. 

“You know what, Liz, I think if I really wanted to, I could do just about anything.” 

“Are you two still gabbing in here?” 

You glance back at the sound of Bruce’s question, smiling sincerely at the sight of him. 

“We’re just catching up, having girl chat. Don’t be such a lurker, Wayne,” Liz scolds. She takes the tray that you’ve organized, shooting you a wink before heading for the living room. You lean back against the counter, crossing your arms over your chest. Bruce reaches out, snagging one of the spinach puffs from Liz as she passes him. You smile as he takes a bite of the morsel, then grunts and shoves the rest of the bite into his mouth, sucking some melted feta off of his thumb. 

“Tasty?” You tease. 

“Very. Where’d you get the recipe?” He asks through the mouthful before he swallows.

“My mom.” 

“Mm. Thank her for me.” 

“Sure,” You chuckle. 

“What were you two talking about?” Bruce asks, bracing his hands on the counter behind you. 

“Nothing. Just…Like Liz said, girl stuff.” 

Bruce’s eyes narrow a touch as they wander your face. Then, “She said something about your job again, didn’t she.” 

“She kinda did.” 

“I’m sorry. I’ll talk to her.” 

“It’s alright. If it really starts to bother me, I’ll talk to her about it myself.” 

“You sure?” 

“I’m positive. But thank you.” You reach up, straightening Bruce’s collar. You go still as you spot the blooming of an angry purple bruise on his skin. You know that it isn’t anything you’ve seen before, that it certainly wasn’t anything you could’ve inflicted. It turns your stomach. What the hell has he been getting up to? 

The question sits on your lips, but before you can say a thing, a thud comes from the other room. The sound makes your heart jolt, but you calm when it's chased by raucous laughter. You and Bruce turn your heads toward the sound, and you lower your hand from his shirt, folding your arms against your chest. 

“What do you think that was?” Bruce asks. 

“I don’t know, but they don’t don't strike me as the type to break out the Twister mat.” 

Bruce chuckles before he turns back toward you, his hands resting on your hips. When you don't reach for him in kind, he crowds closer, his smile faltering.

“What is it?” He plies, tipping his head. 

“Hm?” 

“What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing’s wrong.” You answer too quickly. You know it by the way Bruce’s frown deepens. 

“What’s wrong?” His question has more of a concerned edge to it now. 

“Nothing is wrong,” You insist, speaking with a pointed slowness. “I’m just…” You search Bruce’s face, taking in the genuine, concerned expression on his face. 

Your questions are all crowding on your lips, threatening to spring forward. Where the hell does Bruce go at night? And how does he know the intimate details of things he oughtn’t? You’ve checked the recording of your interview from the store’s attempted burglary. There was no mention of the route that you and the burglar took to the back office—not from you, and not from the reporter, or your manager. There was no way for Bruce to know where the office was, unless he’d asked your manager—but if he had, she would’ve gushed to you about his speaking with her. 

What lie will he use this time? Spelunking, again? Base-jumping, maybe? You search for the words, drawing in a deep breath. You care so deeply for this man, but you can’t trust him.

“I—” You start, then go quiet, raising a hand and scrubbing it over your face, breathing, “Fuck, I can’t do this anymore.” 

"Can't do what?" Bruce reaches up, cupping your jaw and tipping your head toward him as worry twists his face. “Hey, look at me. What’s going on?” 

“Bruce, I—” 

You freeze, stunned as you hear another loud pop in the hall, chased by the thudding of boots, and a yell of, “Get on the ground!” 

Before you can even think to react, Bruce draws you close, tugging you toward the island and pulling the two of you down to hide behind the counter, his head resting protectively on your head. Your heart drops into your churning stomach, fingers grasping nervously at him. The two of you listen as the boots thunder past you, down the hall, to where Liz and the others are screaming and panicking. Bruce peers over the counter slowly, looking around before he draws you up. You half-stumble after him with nervous feet, watching as he yanks a kitchen knife out of the holder and opening the pantry. He practically shoves you in, pressing the handle of the knife into your hand and warning, “Keep quiet, stay here.” 

“What?” You breathe, “No, nonono, Bruce, don’t—” You wince as he shoves the pantry door shut. You can just see through the slats that he’s running out of the kitchen. You stand trembling in the pantry, both hands wrapped around the knife's handle. You can hear footsteps, and a few more yelled orders before—

You yelp as the kitchen is plunged into darkness before you slap your hand over your mouth, as if you can snatch the sound from the air and shove it back inside. Your hand shakes, palms and fingers sweating around the knife. Your body is wracked with the same panic that you felt at work. You hear a yelp, a shout, a gunshot, and a few more screams. It’s another moment before you hear someone run into the kitchen. Your heart stills in your chest, your breath catching in your throat. You flinch as you hear and see the flash of a gunshot. It’s closely followed by the grunting and groans of someone being beaten. They’re shoved into the counter next, and you hear the rattle of things being swept off of the counter. 

“Who are you?”

The question is gruff and sharp—the vigilante's tone is low, growling. You frown. You know it. You know that sound. You know that voice. You’ve heard it in rare occasions, in far more exciting moments—amorous moments in rooms that are often just as dark. You find yourself stepping closer, straining your ear to catch on the gruff voice again, over the babbling, panicked incoherence of the begging burglar. 

You close your eyes despite the dark of the room, taking in the sound of the voice. You know it—Oh, god you know it— 

“We just picked this random spot, man, we didn’t know who was in here!” The burglar swore. 

“And it just so happened that you weren’t otherwise occupied?” 

Occupied.

Your jaw drops open as your mind flashes to one of Liz’s bathrooms—to your hand smoothing a condom over Bruce’s length as he yells over his shoulder that the bathroom is occupied. There’s a pause, the clang of metal hitting bone, and the dull thud of a body falling to the floor. Before you can stop yourself, you yank the door open and hiss, “Bruce?” 

The kitchen is silent and still. The loudest sound is the thudding of your heart. 

“Get back inside.” 

Your knees go weak. It’s Bruce’s voice. But there’s no way he would’ve had time for someone else to leave, for Bruce to come in. 

“Get back inside,” He urges again. You take a few panicked steps back into the pantry, yanking the door shut again. Your hand holds tightly to the knife, your mind whirling with your revelation. 

When the cops find you, you’re still crouching in the pantry, a knife in your hand and tears in your eyes. Liz is a mess, insisting that Bruce has been kidnapped. You cover and reassure her—tell her that he couldn’t have been, that he left the kitchen right after he ate the spinach puff, that he’s probably back at the penthouse. 

Frankly, you’re not sure wherever the hell he might be, but hey. That’s nothing new. 

--  

He gets back to the penthouse at three in the morning. 

You’re probably not as startled as you should be, but you’re still wired and awake. You've spent the last few hours talking yourself in and out of the revelation. You didn't see who it was—you couldn't. The voice is familiar, sure, but you've heard audio recordings of Batman on the news, and it's wholly possible that someone just sounds like Bruce. You have grappled for every justification, every possibility, but in your heart, and in your gut, you know the truth.

You haven’t gotten a single call or a text from Bruce since the incident, and you look up to find Batman standing in the entryway of the apartment. You hesitate before you push yourself off of the couch. You take a few slow steps toward him, hands flexing nervously at your sides. He keeps quiet and still, as if he’s still hidden within the shadows. You take another step closer, closing the gap between the two of you. You raise your shaking hands carefully, resting your hands on his helmet. You gently lift it away, watching as it ruffles his hair. Your eyes sweep him—his tensed jaw, the darkness around his eyes. 

It’s surreal. You’ve known—you’ve suspected for the last few hours, but to see it now—to see Bruce in armor, to find the man you love behind the mask—

“Okay,” You manage, turning away from him and drawing in a deep breath to try and steady your wildly pounding heart. “Okay.” 

Your hands flex in the material of the mask, and you look down at it, tipping it to and fro. 

"Did you just have this stashed somewhere near Liz's?"

"No. I left by the fire stairs."

"And went where?"

"I had to go rattle a few cages."

“...It's been you the whole time?” You ask. 

“Yes.” 

“So what happened at the shop—” 

“I knew.” 

“And you came to mine and just acted like you had no idea?” 

“I had to make sure you were alright.” 

You stare down at the helmet, fingers sweeping over it. It’s so heavy. 

“...Who else knows?” You ask. 

“Alfred.” 

“Of course.” 

“And someone at Wayne Enterprises. Lucius Fox.” 

“Anyone else?” 

“...I told you about Rachel.” 

You nod, muttering, “Right.” Your fingers flex around the helmet. “How the hell did this—How did it start?” 

“...Can we talk after I take this off?” 

You glance back and find him gesturing to his body. You nod, holding the helmet out to him. Bruce hesitates before he takes it. He doesn’t go. He just looks over you. You shake your head a touch. 

“What?” You ask. 

“Are you alright?” 

For all of your muddled feelings, a little bit of your anger and confusion melts. “Yes. Are you?” 

Bruce nods a little before he turns away fully, eyeing the mask in his hands as he heads down the hall. You can only resist the urge to follow for a few moments. You stand in the doorway of his bedroom, watching the shades come down. He glances back at the sound of you before he begins to remove his armor. You tip your head to the side, watching him shove a row of suits in his closet aside and open a panel on the wall, jabbing a few buttons before you hear a hiss. You watch him step inside and out of sight. 

This could still be fake, right? This could still be fake. He could’ve just used his, like, millions of dollars to get an exact replica of the suit…But it wouldn’t explain why he knew exactly what had happened at the shop. It would explain his weird bruises, his nighttime disappearances. 

You straighten up as you hear Bruce come back, watch him tugging his sweatpants up and over his hips. He’s facing away from you, opening a dresser drawer. You pass the closet as you approach him, just catching sight of the suit descending before the back panel slides closed, obscuring the compartment from view. 

You can see Bruce's body clearly now, for the first time—and it’s beyond bruising. There are scratches and marks riddling his back and sides. Most of them seem old, and faded. You can see the span of the bruise—the radiating bloom of it spreading from his neck, stretching to the slope of his shoulder. You reach out hesitantly, resting your hands on his hips. He goes still—in tension, confusion, you’re not sure. You crowd up close, brushing a gentle kiss to the tender skin. His shoulders relax under the carress, his body leaning back into yours just a little. You smooth your hands gently over the ridges of his abs, nuzzling into his neck. 

You watch Bruce raise his hand, reaching for the light switch. 

“Don’t,” You mumble. When he goes still, you tip your chin up, lips brushing the shell of his ear:

“I wanna see you.” 

Bruce glances guardedly at you over his shoulder before he dips his head. He lowers hand to rest on yours, gently prying it from him. Your stomach flips nervously, then settles as Bruce slowly turns to face you. You can’t help the way your eyes skate and wander his torso, catching on each additional bruise, each fading scar. You raise your hands, gently running them down over his shoulders. You shiver as Bruce raises his in turn, smoothing them up your back.

You crowd closer, pressing your face into Bruce’s neck. He curls his arms around you, nuzzling your temple. You press another careful kiss to the bruise, squeezing your eyes shut as your emotions swell sharply. It’s almost too much to take, knowing that this man who spends his days among Gotham’s elite, grinning at paps, feigning ignorance and carelessness, spends his nights trying to make the city a safer place. You lean back from him, raising your hands to hide your face, and the prickling of tears in your eyes. Bruce doesn’t immediately tug you back in—he gives you some space. You draw in a shaky breath, clearing your face and scrubbing at your face to try to stave the tears off. 

“Okay,” You mumble. “Okay. I need a drink, and you—” You wave in his direction, “You need to talk.” 

--  

It takes him time—time that clearly pains him, that he doesn’t seem to want to take. The two of you sit on opposite ends of his couch. He’s sprawled out across the cushions; you’re scrunched up on the other side, leg bouncing anxiously. When he comes to a stop, he’s staring down at his hands. It’s only a moment before he tacks on, 

“I’m sorry.” 

You frown, shaking your head. It’s confusing. What the hell is he sorry for? Lying? 

“I shouldn’t have let you find out. I think it may be best if we…Part ways.” 

Your gaze lifts to his, brows knitted. 

“...Are you kidding me?” You ask after a moment. 

“No, I’m not—” 

“Oh—” You laugh, stunned, unable to help yourself, springing off of the couch with all of your nervous, pent-up energy. “Oh, that is bullshit, Bruce.” 

“It is not bullshit!” He barks back. “It’s for your safety!” 

“If you wanted me to be safe, you wouldn’t have said a word in the kitchen. You would’ve just gone on your way—or kept using that—that stupid gruff sex voice you use—” 

“Sex voice?” 

“You know, that,” You scrunch your face up, “That, you know, when you—” You clear your throat and lower your voice, letting out a garbled, growling noise. 

“I do not sound like that.” 

“You have before. Like, more than once.” 

“It is not a sex voice.” 

“And it is bullshit, for the record,” You add again, planting your hands on your hips. “If you really, really wanted to cover it, you would’ve stayed in the apartment for when the cops got there, faked that you were as freaked out as everyone else. Or you would’ve come back to the apartment in your regular clothes and told me you’d just stepped out for some air and the cops had kept you from coming back inside. You’re as tired of hiding this from me as I am of you hiding it.” 

Bruce’s face falls, and he shifts in his seat to brace his elbows on his thighs, looking down at his empty hands. 

“I didn’t know that you knew something was…Off,” Bruce admits softly. 

“Not a clue?” 

“A few hints, but I didn’t think it was about the suit.” 

“...Okay, two things,” You close your eyes, holding up two fingers as you gather your thoughts. “It’s not just about the suit, it is about what you do in the suit. I get why now, but—You know.” 

“What’s the other thing?” 

“What the heck did you think I was off about?” 

“I know you’re not stupid. I know you’ve seen some of the blood, some of the bruises. Guess I thought I’d covered it well enough.” 

You can’t help but scoff. 

“With what?” You ask incredulously. “The polo, the base-jumping, the spelunking, or the invisible shaving cuts?” 

“Alright,” Bruce groans, running his hand through his hair. You’re quiet for a moment, looking him over before you turn away from him. 

You can’t tell him not to do it. You can’t pretend that Batman hasn’t done good for this city, or that you haven’t been at the receiving end of it, seen it firsthand. If it had been different—if Bruce had come to you with the idea of an undertaking of the sort, rather than having already established himself as a vigilante—you would’ve told him that it was a ghastly idea, that he’d have himself killed in a day. Still, knowing what Bruce gets up to, night after night, is making your stomach squirm. 

You hear the creak of him rising off of the couch, then feel him coming up behind you. 

“Look,” He sighs, “Batman doesn’t exactly have friends in this city. If you’re linked to him, you could get hurt.” 

You’re quiet for a moment, biting your lip. 

“I doubt I could ever be linked to Batman when I’m not even linked to Bruce Wayne,” You counter.

Bruce reaches out, resting his hands on your hips, tugging you back. You wobble, then sway back into him a little reluctantly. You stare down at the floor, considering. 

You could still cut ties. Your acquaintance is early enough that it wouldn’t raise eyebrows among his friends, or your parents—and, all things considered, maybe Alfred.

“If you want me out of here, tell me,” You finally say, just managing to hide your dismay. 

“It’s—” Bruce starts before he sighs heavily, grip tightening on you. “I want you safe.” 

“I’m safe with you.” 

Bruce curls his arms around your middle, pressing his face into your shoulder. “But what if, one day, you’re not?” 

You glance down at Bruce. You find his eyes squeezed shut, his face twisted in upset and fear. You go quiet for a moment, then rest your head against his, closing your eyes. You can’t blame him for the assumption. He lost his parents to the city. He doesn’t want to lose you, too. 

You turn in his arms, curling your arms around his shoulders and drawing him in. Bruce burrows close, fingers grasping desperately at your shirt. You press a kiss to his head, combing your fingers through his hair. Bruce takes his time straightening before he cups your cheeks, smoothing his thumbs over your cheekbones. He takes in your face slowly, as if it’ll be the last time. You draw a deep breath in through your nose, steadying yourself. Oh, no. 

“Can we go to bed?” You plead before he can say anything else. “Talk about this more in the morning?” 

Bruce hesitates, then nods, mumbles, “Alright.” 

--  

Bruce takes his time joining you under the covers. You let yourself watch him, and think. You’re almost afraid to go to sleep. You’re almost afraid for the sun to come up. You can’t fathom what he’ll say then.

But tonight, when he shuts the lights off, he leaves the blinds up. You can make him out in the dim light of the room as he lays down beside you, as the two of you settle down on your sides and watch one another. You reach out, resting your hand on his cheek as he takes your other hand in his. He nuzzles into your touch, his eyes slipping closed. You see him take in a deep breath, then push it out slowly.

For the first time since you’ve known him, Bruce looks completely relaxed. He’s not shrouded or hidden from you. Your stomach flutters with butterflies as he turns his head, brushing his lips against your palm. 

Next Part

#Bruce Wayne x Reader #Bruce Wayne x You #Bruce Wayne/Reader #Bruce Wayne/You #Bruce Wayne fic #Bruce Wayne imagine #The Other Way

[ramblingoak]

Them Rats

Copia x Reader - Copia makes a special dinner to celebrate the birthday of one of his rats.

Warnings: none, unless Copia dancing and singing in the kitchen while being a Domestic Rat Dad bothers you, sfw, 980 words

Thank you @tasty-ribz​  for the amazing art, it inspired me to finish 💙🐀

You heard the singing before you even opened the door.

A soft smile grew on your face and the stress from the day melted away.  Well, most of it.  You were still planning on bribing one of Copia’s ghouls to throw Cardinal Alero down the stairs (Sunshine would do it for a few bags of Flamin’ Hot Cheetos).  

You had been dealing with the arrogant idiot all day, prepping for an event to welcome the new initiates.  Alero wasn’t happy with any of your ideas or your Latin translations.  And he really wasn’t happy when you told him you needed to leave for a dinner date.  He ended up keeping you an hour longer than you had planned.  

Hopefully you weren’t too late, Copia had been practically vibrating with excitement the last few days.  You’d seen the doodle of a rat in a party hat on his calendar all month and you figured today was special.  It wasn’t his birthday so it must be the birthday of one of his rats.  You opened the door and you were instantly hit with the delicious aroma of homemade pasta.

The sight of him wobbling his ass in the kitchen was even better though.

He was singing so loudly he hadn’t heard you come in yet so you took off your shoes as quietly as possible and started to tiptoe towards him.  There were a few pots and pans on the stove that he was fiddling with and you saw the remains of dough making on the counter.  Copia was also sporting two perfect flour handprints on his ass despite him wearing his ‘Kiss Your Italian Cook’ apron.

You were about to call out to him but a small face looking up at you from the kitchen table caught your attention.  Little Ravioli was sitting politely next to a small plate full of equally small raviolis, happily munching on one.  You smiled down at the little guy but opened your mouth to scold Copia about having rats on the kitchen table again when he finally swung around while growling out ‘them rats’.

“Ah, dolce!  Finally free from Alero’s clutches, eh?”  Copia walked up to you and brought his hands to your cheeks, lightly rubbing his thumbs across them before giving you a sweet kiss.  “Did you kill him yet?”

You laughed and grabbed his apron to pull him in for another few kisses, he tasted like spinach though so you wrinkled your nose.  “Alero lives, but I have plans to change that.”  He smiled at you and leaned in to kiss the tip of your nose, then used the sleeve of his red hoodie to rub against your cheeks, dusting off the flour his hands had left.  You pouted when he pulled away and rested your hands on his chest.  “I’m sorry though, he kept me too late.”

“No-no amore, you’re not too late!”  He took your hands and led you to your usual chair at the small table.  A kiss was pressed into your hair as he filled your glass with wine.  “Actually today is Ravioli’s birthday so he got a little snack too.”

“I know Copia, you’ve had it marked on the calendar for ages.”  You smiled at his blushing cheeks and he just shrugged shyly and turned to go back to the stove.  Little ravioli had climbed onto his plate at this point, sitting amongst his treats.  Another one was in his hands and you could see some green smeared on his face, spinach was one of his favorites.

You turned to watch Copia untie his apron and then grab two plates full of steaming pasta.  “Don’t worry amore, I’m saving you from the spinach.  These are full of cheese for il mio adorabile topo.”  You raised your eyebrow at the nickname, watching as he set the plate down in front of you and then placed the other before his own seat.  Copia turned and grabbed a small shot glass with what looked like wine in it and then finally sat down across from you.  The glass was put onto Ravioli’s plate and you watched as he dropped what he was eating and then shoved his face in the glass to lap at the red liquid.

“Copia…can rats have wine?”

“Oh no, amore, no.  Cranberry juice, I got some for him today.”  You watched as Copia doted on his rat some more, rubbing the top of his head and then holding out another ravioli for him.  The rat took it and then plopped down again to continue munching away.  Your heart was just overflowing with love for the man in front of you…even if he did let his rats onto the table.

You watched as the reigning Papa cooed at his rat in Italian and then started singing softly again, more from ‘Rats’, of course.  His beautiful voice got louder as he got more into it and even little Ravioli had stopped eating and was watching him.  Copia booped Ravioli on the nose as he growled out the chorus and you knew you wanted to join in at the best part.  You started tapping your foot on the floor and then banging your head a little bit as Copia got further into the song. He reached over to nudge Ravioli’s round belly, growling out ‘them rats’ once more and you jumped up from your seat to join in:

“Ah whoah!”  

Copia turned and gave you the most beautiful, dorkiest smile you’d ever seen and then continued through the chorus while you kept up with your part.  He scooped up Ravioli and then got out of his seat to start dancing around, wobbling his flour covered ass once more.  You moved closer to start dancing with them, but not before putting your hands in the flour still on the counter.

Your Papa needed a few more handprints on his ass.

For a continued look into my Domestic Rat Dad Copia agenda please read Pancake Breakfast

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[kscheibles]

e la vita ch. 1

content warnings: f! reader, drug mentions, drinking, emetophobia, bisexuality (homophobes and biphobes begone I will block u so fast)

word count: 3.8k

I didn’t want to be in Italy this summer.

That makes me sound ungrateful or something, but it’s the truth. Three months ago, I had planned to stay in Brooklyn with Claire all summer long. Hosting dinner parties, eating greasy breakfast sandwiches, dancing to old $1 records in our cramped apartment, picnicking in Prospect Park, and being totally, delusionally in love.

That was before things went south, she stopped trying and left me with more rent than I could possibly pay in the city. When Christina had first mentioned that a group of her friends was headed to Italy for the summer, I’d dismissed the possibility of going with them. Not only did I dread cohabitating with her wealthy, influencer friends who seemed to deal only in clout, I thought I’d be otherwise engaged. Weeks later, I’d gone back to her groveling, asking if I could sleep on the pull-out couch in Nina’s family villa for the summer. Luckily, the sofa was still available.

Now I sit at a wrought iron table – lease broken and all of my belongings sold to wealthy Manhattanites – in the warm yellow light of the Lombard sunset. Around me are chatty, outgoing girls, each more beautiful than the last. They gab about clubs and brands and boys. In the sea of Botox and iPhones, I cling to Christina like a life buoy. I push my tortellini around my plate to make it look like I have an interest in food, but I really don’t. I’m jet-lagged and uncomfortable. And even if that wasn’t the case, I’ve barely eaten since the breakup, relying on oat lattes and dirty water dogs to keep me alive.

“Try the pasta,” Christina jabs, “trust me, you’ll have a lot more fun this summer if you lean in.” I break the shell open with my fork revealing succulent ricotta curds and bright green spinach. The filing swims in a sauce of brown butter and fragrant tarragon but doesn’t affect me as it should. Nothing does anymore. The group’s conversation interrupts my train of thought.

“They’ve come every summer since the nineties, same as us,” says Nina, smirking at the girl to her left. “Hottest little accents you’ve ever heard, I’ll tell you that much.”

“Who is she talking about?” I whisper to Christina.

“The boys in the other house,” she says, “the one you see on your way up here.” Nina’s family’s home is at a higher altitude than the rest of the city, necessitating a laborious hike to the bottom to actually do anything while in town. I’m sure that they’d been sold on the privacy of the location, but its impracticality left me wanting. The only other villa nearby sat at the base of the lush green hills before the road disappeared into winding dirt.

Another girl chimes in, “I saw them last year at a dinner in the city. They’re cute, too,” she coos. 

“I kissed George the summer I turned fifteen,” brags Nina and the whole table breaks into oohs and aahs. I usually have a shut-up-unless-spoken-to policy at group dinners, but I know Christitna is right. If I don’t lean in then the credit card debt I’d amassed to buy my plane ticket and the back problems I'm sure to contract from sleeping on a pull-out couch for a whole summer will have been for naught. Think of it as an acting exercise, I tell myself, a performance of the girl who is totally not hung up on her ex and excited for a fun summer with her friends. 

“I’m sorry,” I interrupt, “who are these guys?”

“They’re in a band,” says Nina.

“Like a real one?” I ask. Years of living in New York have taught me that all bands are not, in fact, real ones. Nina laughs.

“You’re funny,” she muses, “yes, a real one. They’re like famous. We’ll go over eventually, they throw the best parties you can find around here. Get real drugs, too. Not just liters upon liters of Aperol, not that I mind that either.”

With my question sufficiently answered, I return quietly to my pasta, cutting each shell into impossibly smaller pieces until it’s rabbit food that will glide down my throat and do the hard job of nourishing me without any work on my part.

–

After dinner, I tuck into the pull-out couch in the villa’s spacious living room. The lack of A/C and the balmy summer air make it impossible to enjoy the luxurious wool blankets Nina’s family no doubt splurged on. I allow myself to eavesdrop on the elated sounds coming from upstairs: women confiding in each other, commiserating about their troubles, and shrieking excitedly at each other's successes.

I first try to doze off at 10:15, hoping that an early night will be exactly what I need and I’ll wake up refreshed and on Italian time. After an hour of staring at the popcorn ceilings and trying to suppress my crippling fear of missing out, I’ve tired my mind out enough to begin slipping toward sleep. I have fewer and fewer thoughts until I’m jolted by a hip-hop bassline. It resonates through the trundle bed and rebounds off my ribs, cozying itself into my heart. As I begin to come to, I recognize the chords of a house track that used to play at the girl bar Claire and I frequented in Green Point. The melody is warm and familiar and undeniably annoying. How loud must the music be for it to affect me so acutely even as I’m a few kilometers away from them? 

I decide I’m pissed – and yes I decided. I’m freshly single, broke, jet-lagged, and fucking pissed at those entitled rich assholes. I slide my sandals on and head out down the hill in my sleep clothes.

-

I step outside onto the winding dirt road that leads the way to the boys’ home. The night is dark, lit by stars much brighter than I’m used to seeing in Brooklyn. I tilt my head back to look at them, trying to identify the big dipper. After a few seconds, I’m dizzy. I shake myself and trudge ahead, almost lulled into submission by the constant chirping of cicadas and the sweet fragrance of orange blossom that wafts off the bushes. 

With each step I take towards the boys’ villa (what were their names again? Nina said one was called George), the music, electronic and fast-paced, becomes louder. 

When I first knock on the faded wood door, I’m quite sure no one has heard me. I stand outside for a few minutes, contemplating whether I should knock again or cut my losses and return up the hill. I decide I may as well disrupt their party as some kind of karmic retribution for keeping me awake even as I’m exhausted from a transatlantic flight. I raise my fist and rap harshly at the door. A moment later, it flies open, revealing a curly-haired boy. Well, not boy, I decide as I inspect his features – lines decorate his forehead, and gray peeks out at me from within a ringlet that hangs over his eyes. He gives me a once over and can immediately tell I’m not here for the party. 

“Can I help you?” he asks, annoyed. His accent lilts and falls over the words. All of a sudden, I feel insecure in my braless and plaid pajama-clad state. He’s beautiful – and exasperated by me. I double down on my own annoyance. 

“Would you mind turning the music down?” I ask, still cordial, “I’m staying at the house up the way and I can’t get to sleep.”

The guy in front of me purses his lips and considers me for a moment. I feel itchy and uncomfortable. He’s looking at me like he can see through my clothes, to my soft hips and painted toes and peaked nipples. 

“Let me show you around, gorgeous,” he smiles, “then maybe you won’t mind so much.” He grabs my wrist and yanks me into the party. A warmth covers me as I cross the threshold into the villa. The inside of the home smells like college: cheap weed, sweet sticky mixers, and sweat. My sandals stick slightly to the floor, reminding me that I really shouldn’t be here right now. Like the alcohol that’s been spilled on the ground is some great cosmic interference to convince me to go home and get the rest I ought to. 

Suddenly, a big hand falls on the shoulder of the boy who’s pulling me by my limbs.

“Matty!” says the man. I can make out enough to see that he’s tall and devastatingly handsome. 

“George!” the boy – Matty, I remind myself – drops my hand and fully embraces the bigger guy. “Was just showing…” he nods at me to introduce myself.

“Y/n.”

“Around,” Matty finishes. George gives me a once over.

“Did she just roll out of bed? Or get released from prison?”

“Y/n came to ask us to keep the noise down,” Matty declares with fake sincerity, “Not a partier, are ya love?”

“Under the right circumstances, I can be,” I retort. Matty and George’s eyebrows raise in amusement, faces breaking out in smiles. That sounded much more cunning in my head. Now I feel like a toy they’re playing with, winding me up to see what noises I make. It feels infantilizing. I’m uncomfortable, crawling in my skin; pride battered and desperate to go home as soon as it doesn’t look like I’m running away from a fight of my own picking. “I’d better be going actually,” I assert.

Matty puckers his bottom lip in an exaggerated pout. “I’ll show you out, princess.” It’s a sweet nickname but it tastes bitter out of his mouth. He seems to twist everything good and make it unbearable. I resent him for it. I trudge in front of Matty towards the door with steadfast focus. As I cross the threshold, I turn to meet his gaze.

“Thanks for nothing,” I say calmly. Matty breaks into a devilishly smug grin. His eyebrows tilt a little and his lips reveal a few crooked teeth at the bottom of his mouth.

“My pleasure, darlin’,” he says. I scoff and turn on my heels, leaving Matty in the dust.

–

The scent of freshly chopped garlic fills the kitchen as I stand in an assembly line of young women with cutting boards and chefs knives, each diligently chopping an ingredient for the bruschetta. 

In front of me is a bunch of basil, perfectly fresh and green. I gently remove the leaves from the stem and create a pile in the middle of my board. It reminds me of when I would be tasked with raking the leaves as a kid. Too distracted by my childish whims, I would create more work for myself by piling the leaves on top of each other and taking a grandiose dive into them before scooping them up into a trash bag and discarding them. Each leaf was like a piece of confetti, a celebration of the season and of youth. Now I do these things to prove to myself that I’m young and that I can still conjure up that imaginative, playful nature if I try hard enough. 

As I rock my knife back and forth over the soft leaves, Christina asks me where I was the night before. 

“I came out around eleven to invite you upstairs, but I couldn’t find you,” she says.

Embarrassed, I train my eyes to the task at hand. This is not the group to look like a tattle-tale in front of. Actually, there’s very few groups in which that would fly. My penchant for playing God and divvying out karmic consequences to everyone whose path I cross is a part of my nature I’m not particularly fond of. I’m not keen to share it, especially around people who are still making up their minds about me. Despite my steadfast beliefs and borderline-outlandish behaviors, I maintain a fervent desire to be liked. It’s pathetic. 

“I stepped out for some air,” I murmur.

“Really?” she nudges, “Because I didn’t see you on the porch.”

I turn my basil bunch 90 degrees in a flourish, beginning to chop it lengthwise. 

“Fine, I couldn’t sleep because of the music,” I spit.

“And…” Christina has always been too good at getting me to reveal my true feelings. She goads me torturously until it’s easier to say what I’m thinking than to conceal it.

“And I went to ask them to turn the music down,” I finish, “There, are you happy?”

“Very,” she smiles. 

I pick up the chopped basil, letting the pieces float through my fingers and deciding I need to chop them smaller, still. I whack at the pile haphazardly, ruining the lovely squares I meticulously crafted earlier. 

“They didn’t turn it down, if you were wondering,” I pant, “Pricks.” Christina chuckles to herself.

“No one ever does.”

–

The music of the club is omnipresent as I enter hand in hand with Christina. On my feet are heels too high to be comfortable, but the perfect lift to accentuate my calves. As soon as I cross the threshold, I drag Christina to the bartender, ordering two negronis. We idle by the bar for a moment and I take in my surroundings, savoring the bitter aftertaste of my drink and the waltz of the lights that flicker and cover the dancefloor with reverie. I listen to the synths and flourishes of the melody that envelop my senses. I hadn’t expected to like the music, but the DJ is spinning disco and it just feels right: the cold Italian aperitif, the funky basslines, and the tranquil nighttime air. I almost wish I’d left my phone at home. Nights like these aren’t compatible with phones anyway. The atmosphere feels like a relic of a bygone era, full of free love and intoxication. 

Nina and a friend of hers find Christina and me at the bar and run up to us with inebriated bravado. “You guys made it!” she squeals. Little does she know we were pre-gaming at the villa in anticipation of this exact moment. I couldn’t handle Nina while sober tonight, that much I was absolutely sure of. It also didn’t help that I was alone – for the first time in several years – in a romantic foreign country without the girl whom I still loved. As unhealthy as it was, alcohol made that reality hurt a bit less. Nina grabs my hands and leads Christina and me away from the bar. 

“I need to introduce you to the DJs!” Nina exclaims. I glance at Christina to communicate that no, I’m not particularly enthused at the prospect of meeting some Eurotrash guy whose head is shaved and whose torso is covered in Gucci logos. She returns the glance, silently begging me to behave. I relent.

Nina leads us around the side of the floor to some kind of dark stairwell. Rationally, I should be scared of being kidnapped but my drunken stupor inspires more carelessness than I would usually indulge in. I watch the sway of Christina’s hips and follow her like a lost puppy. Finally, we reach the top and the DJ deck is revealed. It’s shadowy and hazy. To the left is a corner booth with a straight couple making out in a way that really ought to be illegal in public. Past the lookout, laser lights flicker and sweep across the dancefloor, catching on the artificial fog and filling the air with psychedelic color. My eyes fall on the backs of two figures at the DJ booth, smoke rising above their heads. I can make out that one has headphones on and is faffing with the turntable while the other has their hands in the air and the small, flickering glow of a lit cigarette dancing around their figure. I’m dragged towards them by Nina who throws an arm around each of their necks in greeting. As soon as the one with the cig turns around, I catch his eyes.

It’s Matty. Selfish, arrogant Matty. I nod my head and flatten my mouth in a kind of recognition. The room is spinning from the alcohol and my skin is buzzing with discomfort. The bass of the music resonates in my ribs, teaching my heart how to beat. My mouth tastes salty and my knees feel weak. 

I’m running to the corner where I can see a bin. Tears prick at my eyes and my hair sticks to my sweaty forehead as I swiftly empty the contents of my stomach into the small trash can. I kneel on the rough carpet and brace myself on either side of the bin with my hands. Between heaves, I lift my head to shake my hair off the back of my neck. The cool air feels grounding, but I’m soon back with my head in the can. I feel a hand on the back of my head, wrangling my frizzy hair off of my shoulders. I gasp, looking back for the sisterly comfort of Christina’s bottomless, cerulean eyes. Instead, I find a pair of brown, honey-flecked irises: Matty’s. I’m reeling too severely to be upset or confused; I’m just grateful when he uses his free hand to sweep my damp bangs out of my face and nods at me.

“Go on,” he encourages, “better out than in.”

I bury my head in the bucket again. 

“Atta girl,” Matty coos in my ear. I can almost notice his hand rubbing circles on my back. Even when I’m quite sure I’m finished, I keep my head down for a moment savoring the last few seconds that I don’t have to look Matty in the eyes. Curse him for helping me. I wouldn’t know how to interact with him under normal circumstances, much less when he’s been nice to me – and watched me unceremoniously blow chunks into a bin.

“You feel better?” he asks. I lift my head tentatively, still scared another wave of nausea will hit me. 

“I think so, yeah,” I mumble. Matty searches my eyes for any warning sign that I’m still sick.

“Have you got a hair tie?” I instinctually fish in my jeans pocket for one, handing it to him. Slowly, he corrals my locks into a ponytail and secures it, fingers grazing the tops of my ears and making me shiver. I sit back against the wall with my legs splayed out in front of me, knees visibly carpet burnt from my previous position. Matty flops down beside me. He reaches out to touch the red, irritated skin. 

“You don’t need a doctor or something, do you?” he asks.

“I’m fine,” I hiss when he applies a little pressure to my knee and shake his hands off me, “Why are you being nice to me?”

“When have I not been nice?”

“You wouldn’t turn the music down the other night,” I state. He smiles at me, eyes scrunching up until his pupils are totally obscured. 

“No one ever turns the music down,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Plus,” he adds, “I thought you were a buzzkill. Now I can see that’s not the case, sweetheart.”

“I can usually handle my drink better than this,” I protest, “And I’m also usually not a buzzkill.”

“I guess I don’t know anything about you, then,” he acquiesces, thinking for a moment, “Do you want to start over?”

“Sure, I’d like that,” I nod, smiling tipsily.

“So what’s caused you to be sick tonight?” Matty asks, leaning his head back against the wall. His hair is curled up in perfect ringlets and his skin glows golden even in the dim club light. He looks at me carefully, like his stare could hurt me. It could, I suppose. 

“Alcohol?” I say it like that should be obvious. His face wrinkles up again in a laugh I can vaguely identify as something that’s my fault. He looks pretty. I realize I want to make him do it again and again forever. I want to see the crinkles that grow at the sides of his eyes and the curl of his upper lip that reveals his boyishly crooked teeth.

“I figured as much. Anything in particular that drove you to drink?” I frown for a second, trying to remember. 

“My ex,” I say quietly.

“What’d he do?”

“Nothing,” I shake my head, “that’s the problem. She didn’t do anything.”

“When was that?”

“Two months ago?” My god, it’s already been two months.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs,  “that’s still fresh.” I shrug.

“It’s alright I guess. You just feel a little betrayed when someone stops trying. I thought that was the whole point of…” I trail off, gesticulating aimlessly with my hands, “love or whatever. To keep trying.”

“I get it,” he utters. 

“People stop trying with rockstars, too?” I tease. He smiles.

“How did you know that I’m a musician?”

“Well, first of all, I said rockstar–”

“Which I chose to ignore because it was sarcastic.” I roll my eyes.

“And second of all, the girls I’m staying with told me,” I finish. He nods in understanding.

“Well yeah,” he sighs pensively, “people stop trying with everybody. Even rockstars. If I’ve learnt anything in my life, it’s that giving up usually has more to do with them than it does with you.”

“You’re probably right, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less,” I argue.

“Nothing does. You just have to let it hurt for a while.”

We’re both quiet for a second. I catch a couple of bars of an Earth, Wind, and Fire song and hum along, content with the silence. I let my head fall onto Matty’s shoulder and he immediately turns his head to look at me.

“Oh fuck, sorry. Is this okay?” I ask, hand flying to my mouth “I know I just puked.”

“It’s okay,” he says, “I just didn’t think you would want to.”

“I want to,” I kiss his shoulder through the cotton of his white button-up shirt. He watches me the whole time as though he can’t quite compute what’s happening. Then he snaps back to his regular confident state.

“Let me know if you ever want to deal with your girlf– ex without drinking your feelings away…” he trails off, mouth meeting the crown of my head, “I’d love to show you around here sometime.”

“Okay,” I mumble, the alcohol, tiredness, and emotions beginning to get the better of me and coax me toward sleep.

“Okay?”

“Yeah, I’d like that.” Matty grabs my hand from my lap and wraps it in his two larger ones, caressing my thumb and humming into my ear.

–

a/n: the next bit is written, but I am still writing the end. smut soon! x

#matty healy fanfic #matty healy x reader #matty healy x y/n #matty healy fluff #matty healy fanfiction #matty Healy

[compacflt]

Rumors from Pearl Harbor.

When Admiral Kazansky first comes to Pearl, he brings with him about half of his previous staff, all exceptionally-hardworking people hand-picked over years—advisors, flag aides, secretaries, ranks all over the board. But his new hires, upon getting acquainted with the old guard, are shocked to discover that his previous staff still hardly knows him at all.

“He keeps to himself, mostly,” Lieutenant Commander Hartford explains over a pint. “I made the mistake of asking him once what he did for fun. You know, like, hobbies and stuff. He blinked at me for a second, and then said, ‘I read.’ That’s it! I read! My advice to you newcomers would be, don’t ask him questions about his personal life, because it tends to be pretty boring.”

“It sounds to me like he’s a walking, talking Wikipedia page,” says Captain Calvert, who worked for the previous two Pacific Fleet Commanders and thinks she knows how to deal with them by now. “We owe it to ourselves to figure him out. It’ll make our lives easier, anyway. So, let’s put our heads together: what do we know about him?”

What they know are his habits, which they’ll come to learn intimately over the next few years, and which are admittedly pretty boring. Admiral Kazansky is one of the first to show up to work in the morning and one of the last to leave in the evening. He often answers e-mails past 2300 hours, but never later than midnight. Jokes never catch him off-guard; he rarely smiles, and when he does, it has an ulterior motive. When he’s not working, he’s scheming and making plans to go back home to San Diego, and his requests for leave are always granted, because he works like a pack mule from home anyway. He signs off every e-mail with “Sincerely,”…

“Is he sincere, though?” asks Chief Warrant Officer Kent halfway through Admiral Kazansky’s first year. (Admiral Kazansky is surely unaware that his staff now spends the second Friday of every month chit-chatting about him over drinks in downtown Honolulu.) “I can’t ever tell. And he lives in Hawaii. San Diego’s nice, I know, but what’s so different about the beaches there that he can’t get here?”

“I genuinely don’t think he’s human,” confesses Commander Stoddard. “People warned me about that when I came here, and I laughed it off, but… he keeps his desk biologically sterile. Not one fingerprint, but I’ve never seen anyone wipe it down. I’ve looked through his drawers. Don’t judge me, I got curious. Everything squared away, like he’s goddamn Einstein or something. Have any of you ever seen him in his civvies?” No one has. “God damn it, where does he shop for groceries? No one’s seen him at a grocery store? Does he even own a pair of jeans? Does he wear his uniform to bed, too?”

“He probably goes grocery shopping on the whole other side of the island to avoid all the enlisted kids,” laughs Captain Calvert. “Come to think of it…you know how he always eats lunch in the office? It’s always a salad. And always the same kind of salad. This guy survives on one cup of coffee and one spinach salad a day. Maybe he really isn’t human.”

They build out their wealth of knowledge and come to learn that Admiral Kazansky is defined by his extremes, by what he always does and what he never does. Admiral Kazansky gets his uniforms dry-cleaned every week, though he never spills anything on them. No one has ever seen Admiral Kazansky stumble over his words while giving a speech, or trip over a sidewalk curb, or push a “pull” door. He is always polite and never friendly. Sometimes he is cold, and sometimes he is cruel in his patience with you when you’ve fucked up, like a cat toying with a hemorrhaging mouse. But he never raises his voice. He is always immaculately put-together, well-groomed, constructed every day like a product on an assembly line. Nothing is ever out of place. Allegedly his umbrella once turned inside-out during a rainstorm; he disdainfully shook it once, as a hunter might pump a loaded shotgun, and it flipped itself right-side-in again. The laws of physics do not seem to apply to him. Nor do the natural embarrassments that come with being human. Admiral Kazansky is never flustered, never harried, and never falls apart.

“I found this old picture of him shaking hands with another pilot on the Internet,” says Chief Warrant Officer Kent in Admiral Kazansky’s second year. “Smiling like the Cheshire Cat. Never seen him smile like that in all my years working with him. And he had frosted tips, too. Like Guy Fieri on a diet and steroids. It was the eighties, sure, but it’s like he knew how to have fun, once upon a time. Wonder what happened to him.”

“I feel lonely for him sometimes,” says Commander Stoddard. “Strict guy like that, no family, no friends, no wife, nothing to live for but the Navy? He’s like a workhorse with blinders on. Nowhere to go but forward. That’s a lonely existence.”

“Not if you’re a robot,” says Lieutenant Commander Hartford. “I swear, sometimes he breathes and it makes me jump, ‘cause I forgot he was alive!” —What else doesn’t Admiral Kazansky do?

That’s when they realize that none of them, not the old guard nor the new, has ever, not once, ever seen or heard Admiral Kazansky sneeze.

And they all finally give up the game and quit arguing and agree that, no, he really isn’t human after all. He must be some cyborg from the future sent to whip the Pacific Fleet into shape, and you can’t ask for too much humanity from someone who’s doing a pretty damn good job of it.

The rumors start soon after that. Jokes that could get them all tossed out of the Navy, but probably won’t. Jokes that accidentally spread like wildfire.

Yes, Admiral Kazansky could be a cyborg, but he also could be a Mormon fundamentalist, or a Scientologist, or a really weird Catholic. Maybe he goes home to San Diego so often because in his spare time he’s really a mule ferrying cocaine across the Mexi-Cali border. That’s what he does for fun. He eats spinach salads because he’s a reincarnation of Popeye the Sailor Man, and he needs all the super-strength he can get to deal with the Navy’s modern-day bullshit.

“I don’t know if that story makes sense,” laughs Captain Calvert on the phone with her husband in Washington, “but it makes more sense than the real Admiral Kazansky does!”

So the rumors get spread around.

“I don’t know if you know this,” Maverick comments, watching Ice make their bed from the relative comfort of the bedroom doorway, “or if I should tell you this, because you might crack down on it, which would be a shame, ‘cause it’s funny. But every time you send a mass e-mail to the Pacific Fleet commissioned officer corps, you become the main topic of conversation between all of us officers for a solid day and a half.”

“Oh?” says Ice with a smile, struggling to fit the last corner of the fitted sheet to the mattress. He sighs, tugs on the strings of his old ratty-ass hooded sweatshirt, and looks at Maverick balefully through his glasses. “Help me out over here, would you? —What are people saying? All good things, I hope.”

“Not really,” Maverick says, stuffing a pillow into a pillowcase as he stares out the window into the San Diego sunshine. “Some pretty crazy shit, actually. Hard as hell for me to keep a straight face. I heard this one—you know, people are saying you eat nothing but salads?”

“Oh,” laughs Ice, hospital-cornering the free sheet. “Yeah, that one’s kind of true. I bring salads in to the office sometimes.”

“You hate salads.”

“I know, it’s torture! Move over.” He bumps Maverick out of the way to tuck in the last corner. “But, I figure, if a man torments himself with spinach-and-arugula salads three times a week, you ought to respect his commitment. It’s all an act. You get to a certain Defense Department paygrade, it all starts being storytelling and stagecraft.”

“Or trickery and deception, depending on how you look at it.”

“Sure. But you could say that about everything. —Besides, I’d rather the Navy discuss my salads than discuss… well, this.” He gestures to Maverick, then down to the bed. They start tugging the comforter over it together. “How much slack you got over there?”

“‘Bout a foot.”

Ice pulls his side down a couple more inches to match, then flips the top up. “Is that it? That’s all people are saying about me?”

Maverick grins and bends down to pick up a pillow. “They’re also saying that you’re the reincarnation of Popeye the Sailor Man. I yam what I yam and that’s all what I yam, and all that. Think fast.”

Ice doesn’t think fast, and the pillow hits him square in the face, and he laughs again as he catches it in his arms. “Shit, that’s good,” he says; “I was just about to call Slider, think I’ll tell him that one. That’ll make him laugh. Popeye Iceman.” He tosses the pillow onto the made-up bed and pulls out his cell phone, but—then he frowns, grimaces, mutters “Ah, no,” and turns away to sneeze.

#these are not real OCs obv #none of my OCs ever are #just names saying things #if a tree (ice) falls in a forest (sneezes in his office) and no one’s around to hear #does it really make a sound? #cyclone hears these rumors and immediately starts slamming salads and dry cleaning his uniforms #what he doesn’t understand is that sometimes overachieving is driven by having something you desperately want to keep hidden #im very interested in an interpretation of TG86 ice that #has constructed a mythos/character around himself #(best of the best & scary frosted tips for example) #to hide the truth of who he actually is. #Popeye iceman #top gun #top gun maverick #pete maverick mitchell #icemav #tom iceman kazansky #top gun fanfiction #it’s the way he lives. ice-cold; no mistakes. #popeye’s ‘I am what I am and that’s all that I am’ would be good advice for my ice to take #of course around mav tho…

[spinachappreciation]

@britishbrodcastingcorporation

you know what to do

#sherlock bbc #bbc #sherlock #bbc sherlock #sherlock season 5 #MAKE A SEASON FIVE YOU COWARDS #spinach #spinach appreciation #spinachappreciation #live laugh spinach #johnlock

[kidsnextdoor-doodles]

Some of my favourite bits from Sooper Secrets and Boomerang Bloopers part two

The fact that this is 95% a persona she’s putting on for her objective

Nigel needs therapy Part 2. Lizzie probably has to encourage this behaviour because she’s a GKND operative

HERBIE SECTION HERBIE SECTION HERBIE SECTION Guys he’s an important character he got his own section trust me (coping)

He’s autistic your honour. Also intrigued by the fact he gets every top secret mission assignment. Guys he’s important I SWEAR!!

I just thought these were an interesting tidbit

Herbie agrees that Nigel needs to chill. Probably because he’s annoyed at being called so much. Also not to overthink a tie in book but, first name basis?

The fact that Kuki can just speak to animals but I haven’t seen any fans do something with it

FANNY SECTION FANNY SECTION FANNY SECTION

This just made me laugh. Again, not to overthink a tie in book but Fanny thinking Rachel would agree makes sense when you consider what Rachel said at the end of op fugitive (“I'm ashamed to call you a girl! I never thought a girl could be so stupid!”). Also moonbabes crumbs so Gay!! Part 4

These two together makes me think that Fanny hating boys wasn’t because of some major turning event in her life like a lot of people portray. It was just something that built up over years and she just got ruder lmao. Also any Decom lore crumbs are very appreciated here

As someone who lives with a ten year old boy, I don’t doubt this for a second

Everyone shitting on numbuh 13. Snarky Hoagie lol. Also numbuh 12 girl what are you doing here??

Nigel wears sunglasses so he can stand out, and suggests that neon orange shoelaces are a good idea

Nigel needs therapy Part 3

Nigel NEEDS therapy Part 4

RACHEL SECTION RACHEL SECTION RACHEL SECTION

Guys idk being supreme leader doesn’t sound very fun /s. The fact that she apparently really wanted to be supreme leader makes this very ironic. Confirmation that she knows of the TND directly, I can imagine the earful Chad got after op End. Also she’s one of the two known operatives to like spinach, the other is Hoagie

#knd #codename: kids next door #kids next door #sooper secret and boomerang bloopers #lizzie devine #numbuh 65.3 #numbuh 6 #numbuh 86 #numbuh 13 #numbuh 2 #numbuh 4 #numbuh 5 #numbuh 12 #numbuh 14 #numbuh 60 #numbuh 362

[missyandthemisfits]

JJK - Grocery Shopping With Them Pt. I

Yuji Itadori - He’s got a hard time staying next to the cart especially once he sees something cool or funny or weird. Like, he doesn’t like wander half way across the store or anything like that, but he’s skipping his way up to the weird off brand cereal just as soon as you make it to the aisle, grinning back at you with that dorky smile as he does.

“Babe look, they’re called Nut O’s!” He’s snickering way too hard and loud and it’s just a liiitle embarrassing, but endearing. You chuckle as he shuffles back over, box in hand. “Can we get em?”

You snort and sigh halfheartedly, not really accustomed to denying the sweetheart.

“Throw it in, Yu.”

It was seriously hard not to spoil him sometimes.

Megumi Fushiguro - When I say he has a mental and physical checklist of everything you guys have vs everything you guys need to stock up on- it’s that serious for him. No like shopping is actually no joke. Any sort of suggestions made that aren’t on the list? He’s scowling a little harder than normal, eyeballing you and the food item you two definitely don’t need-

“But Megumiii, they look so good - please babe we have to try them!” He crosses his arms in scrutiny.

“That’s an unnecessary expense. Don’t even get me started on the sugar content-,”

“Oh my fucking- PLEASE.” There’s a long sigh and he finally relents.

But make no mistake he’s taking satisfaction in the fact that you inevitably hate the taste. Megumi 17, (Name) 0.

Nobara Kugisaki - Honestly? Y’all get the same level of giddy to see weird foods and utensils in the store, so much so you’ve got an entire collection of things like …sriracha pocky and those boxes of foreign snacks, all of which you end up recording yourselves try for the masses. 

“Dude, no this is actually fucking gross I’m gonna-,” You’re laughing hysterically as she gags beside you, snorting a bit as she downs her entire bottle of water.

“It actually wasn’t that bad for me.” The look she gives you in response is priceless. 

Maki Zenin - She’s the type to carry a book around in the store and let you take as much time as you need deliberating over spinach vs lettuce because she’s got her entertainment. She’s got very specific tastes too so it makes it really easy to shop for her when she’s not around, you on the other hand are so very indecisive- but she’s learned to live with that.

“Maki…should I get spicy or regular?”

“Hmm,” she doesn’t even glance up, “Flip a coin?”

“But what if I get home and decide I want the other one? Uggghhh-,” She finally peers over the pages.

“Just get both.” You’re looking at her in teary-eyed awe.

“You’re the smartest person I know Maki!”

“I know.” 

Toge Inumaki - Loves going grocery shopping with you. I mean, loves spending all his free time with you, but there’s something about grocery shopping that just makes his day. He adores the domesticated feel of it all, he surmises. 

“Salmon.” He gives a thumbs up at the wasabi flavored prawn chips in your hands and you cheer a little, placing them in the cart.

“Sure they won’t be too spicy for you?” He thinks for a moment.

“Mustard Leaf.” He gives a shrug and you chuckle.

“What do you mean you’re not sure? Weren’t these your suggestion?”

“Salmon Roe.” He gives a nod and you can tell by the way his eyes sparkle he’s smiling under his scarf. 

“Well alright, don’t say I didn’t warn you…”

Always a pleasant experience to be around this cutie.

#jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #yuji itadori #megumi fushiguro #nobara kugisaki #maki zenin #inumaki toge #jjk headcanons

[kiss-me-muchoo]

𝐓𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 || 𝐉𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦! 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲_𝐀 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐧 𝐐𝐙. 𝐉𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐓𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐡 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬. 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐲𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐭 𝐓𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐥𝐞𝐟𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭, 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤. 𝐁𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐞𝐫, 𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐉𝐨𝐞𝐥.

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬_𝐀𝐆𝐄 𝐆𝐀𝐏, 𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞, 𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧 𝐝𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞, 𝐓𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐉𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐥 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞, 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐚 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐡𝐦𝐚, 𝐓𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐣𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐝𝐞𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐬 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐒𝐓 + 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟. NO PROOFREAD

𝐀/𝐍_ 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐈𝐒 𝐀 𝐅𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐑𝐄𝐉𝐄𝐂𝐓 𝐌𝐄, 𝐈 𝐆𝐄𝐓 𝐈𝐓. 𝐇𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐃𝐎𝐍’𝐓 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬. 𝐈𝐧 𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐨𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐒𝐚𝐲 𝐘𝐞𝐬 𝐓𝐨 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐋𝐚𝐧𝐚 𝐃𝐞𝐥𝐑𝐞𝐲. 𝐔𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬!!!!

✰ 𝙄𝙉𝘿𝙀𝙓 (𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩 𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚) (𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙨 𝙢.𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩 𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙩𝙤𝙤)

♪ ♫ 𝙋𝙀𝘿𝙍𝙊 𝙋𝙇𝘼𝙔𝙇𝙄𝙎𝙏 (𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙨𝙩 𝙥𝙡𝙖𝙮𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩)

The shower stops. 

Joel is calm but hurries to gather his clothes and dress again. You do the same. Because you didn’t want to make, Tess walk on a scene. 

When you brushed it back to place your sports bra, a slight pain appeared in your right breast. When you look down, there are some hickeys, red but slowly turning purple and green. 

You offer Joel a little smile. But he doesn’t reply. He only leaned to tie his boots and stand up. 

You shouldn’t feel sad because of that. You knew he would always be like that.

“Here…” When you raise your head, he’s offering you a towel. With red cheeks burning your entire face, you clean the white sticky mess between your legs. 

“Thanks…” sometimes you wonder how you ended up in that situation with Joel. When did both of you cross the line?. 

Well, you knew. It was that night when he kissed you in the kitchen. You felt it was wrong. However, a nasty feeling would creep over you whenever you remembered Tess and him were a thing. You didn’t dare to ask Joel. But you knew for sure that they were a thing of the past. 

“We are coming back after curfew. Don’t wait for us. Lock the door immediately after we leave. Okay?” You can’t nod. Because you want to go with them. You want to meet the kind couple of men that offered spinach, lentils, and lots of things that were helping you survive.

“Could I join you two one day?” Tess came out dressed and ready to go, she heard you, and just as she did, she smirked, laughing at you.

“Outside of the QZ? I don’t think so, petal. You can barely go to work at the clinic. Just to sit and look pretty,” your jaw clenches. 

“Everyone works their ass to survive. Even me, sick and everything.” She turns to look at you. Maybe startled by your defiance to fireback. Joel crossed his arms, wondering if Tess would yell at you.

“Good damn thing to know. Because we risk our lives every 60 days just to get your medicines, kid. The least you can do is shush, sit, and look pretty playing the nurse”. She didn’t know shit about what you did in the clinic. She didn't know the pressure and the pain of the people. Joel can see how angry you are, finding it admirable how you are breathing to control yourself. 

“Fine. Sorry, and thank you for everything. Now I have to go because a poor woman is waiting for the Barbie nurse to fucking sew her legs and open her lungs to breathe. Have a safe day…” you explain calmly. The bag you take every day to work is under the bed. You can see Joel and Tess exchanging looks when you reach to get it. Probably complaining about you. Quietly, you make your way out of the room. Immediately followed by Joel. 

“Wait for a damn second…” he whispers, grabbing your wrist and pulling you close to him. Near the door, with you almost leaving, he offers you an apologetic look. But he doesn’t say anything, as usual.

“What?” You ask tiredly. 

There’s that head tilt he always does when he has a lot to say but remains quiet. 

“Be safe…” Exhaling loudly, you want to punch him. His hand is still wrapped around your wrist. His skin is warm. And he had said so much with his touch earlier in his bed. But now, back to normality, he was cold. Even when his holding was trying to tell you that he cared. You couldn’t feel it.

“Sure, Joel…” With that said, you sprint out of the apartment. Leaving the man behind with some guilt in his chest.

Every night, there you were, stirring something in the kitchen. Always finding a way to serve him a decent plate of food and ask about his day. Obediently helping him anytime he was struggling and Tess wasn’t home. Patiently waiting for him to take your body and dive into the pleasure of sex. And he couldn’t offer you anything back. Because he promised he would never fall in love again. 

Then why did he feel safe talking to you in the darkness of night in his bed?

——-

Scarlet drops of blood stained your shirt. A man almost chopped his finger while working. The hell of the Boston QZ was absolute. 

“I don’t have antiseptic right now, sir. I can only avoid an infection with pure alcohol,” the man growls in pain. He must be around his late sixties. He’s friendly but curses a lot.

“Whatever you have, kid. This already hurts like a bitch” You offer him a little smile before gently grabbing his other hand and spreading some alcohol in the wound. He closed his eyes and squeezed your hand.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, breathe. Hey, breathe…” The man looked into your eyes, following your voice. He tried to breathe and relax. He doesn’t even look when you stitch the loosened skin of his hand and finger.

“You have been blessed with those fucking hands, kid. Thanks…” You nodded as you watched him leave.

Again alone in the clinic. A typical day in your new life. Summer was approaching, and your first anniversary since you started living with Joel and Tess too.

Life is lonely, even when you live with two adults. Your family was gone, and as their bodies were burned, your laugh, smiles, and a spark was gone too. 

Joel, on midnights, was the only person who could make you feel a little better.

Because that was when both of you were half asleep and half awake. Like a drunken moment, to be honest, real.

That didn’t mean the man, and Tess were always kind to you. But even when you tried, they would always scold you, just like the argument of the morning last week. Things had been awkward with Tess since then. But secretly, you knew she thanked you for cooking stuff she liked. 

You ended your shift at 6:00 pm every day. Today was no different. Only that woman who paid you gave you a gentle smile and carefully slipped more than you were supposed to be given. 

She saw a big smile on your face, followed by the kindest wave of spoken thank you.

You’re happy because of that. A little spark of hope that would make your day better... You would sneak into the back of what was your old house. The construction was destroyed and burned after the incident with your family. Still, after checking once some months ago, you noticed the land wasn’t infected. The little garden your family had was still alive. 

That’s how you got fresh vegetables for you and your party. Avoiding sharing exactly where the greens came from. 

Squash, onion, radish, mint, and beet. All skillfully placed in your backpack so it wouldn’t draw any attention from FEDRA or noisy people. 

The world spins once you stand up. It frightens you. You know you’re not clean from anemia. Now you were working again, and you could do everything independently, unlike at the beginning. But you were still ill.

Once you feel better, you quietly leave what was your house, making you feel sorrow and a deep pain in your chest. 

There’s a small market that day. Selling useless stuff, like tools and radios, but you only have eyes for a cassette player. It’s pretty, looks like new, and the poor man selling it offered you less than what you expected. You end up giving him half of your credits. You thank him because he gave you a cassette to play; David Bowie 

More than okay.

FEDRA starts announcing that curfew is closer, only 45 minutes away, which alerts you. 

Joel and Tess might still be out. Maybe they went to Bill and Frank's again. Or their missions are taking longer.

Either way, you are so happy to show them the cassette player. The other night they were saying how much they would like to listen to music again since Tess’s player was starting to show damage.

That old device could light up the depressing apartment. 

There’s mold in the hallways that connect the rooms. Smells like dust and feels like it was hunted at night. 

That encourages you to walk faster towards your door. It creaks, and the lights of the little kitchen are on. They’re home.

They’re talking, but you can’t hear very well. Suddenly, Joel’s head pops from the door frame.

“Where the hell have you been?” He sounds irritated. Literally stomping, followed by Tess, who also appears before you.

“There’s less of an hour left till curfew. Are you mad? We don’t have time to worry for you” Constantly, Tess makes you want to roll your eyes. However, you don’t. You only push the brown bag harder against your chest. 

“I got to work an extra hour. And there was a market today. The one on Tree Line Avenue?” Joel rolled his eyes, and Tess sighed. 

“What were you doing alone there?” Joel asked calmly, but his face showed irritation.

You knew he had a soft side for you in private. But this was a little exaggerated. However, little did you know that Joel was freaking out the entire hour after your shift. 

“It was on my way. Jesus, Can we take a sip of normality? It’s not the first time I come home slightly late,” you say, sighing, taking a seat on the table and placing the brown bag in front of you, along with your bag.

“What part of it’s dangerous outside you don’t understand?” Joel asks you from behind. You’ve been out of the QZ. When your family lived, they took you out. Your father was respected by FEDRA because of the deals they made in Boston when you arrived there. You knew what world was that you lived in.

“I believe I’ve been aware of the twisted world we live in since I have memory” A couple of adults know what you mean. You were tiny when the infection started. You have been living in a broken world since always.

“You are so careless. We don’t need to deal with you and your bullshit” Again, the anger wants to start boiling you. 

“I’m also getting tired of both of you and this kind of bullshit,” Joel notices that the argument is escalating. He doesn’t need this. Everything could be acceptable. But there was a constant stress that got in the way and complicated everything.

“You are so careless. We have been nice to you. Stop being an immature brat” You shake your head at Tess’s words. 

“That’s not true…” you whisper. You’ve been good, patient, and thankful.

“You can’t play these games nowadays. You had your family that already knew every movement of the city. Now you’re alone. It’s not safe” Joel didn’t mean to trigger any memory of your family. And once he spilled the words out, he regretted it.

“Stop…” you say, already feeling some tears coming out.

“You’re gonna cry? Seriously?. We’re just telling you to be smart. Mommy and Daddy are gone, and now you have to be responsible. If it wasn’t for us, you’d be dead” That’s enough. Your palms hit the table. Startling the couple.

“SHUT UP!” You yell at both of them. Your face was red and wet from the tears that kept falling uncontrollably. 

“The shit you two had seen over 29 years, I have seen it in 24 hours. All these years, you have been dealing with grief. I have been shoving mine in my ass for 10 months. And you two can’t stop treating me like a baby? But you also expect me to become a soldier?” you spit with venom at them. 

“Be fucking moral and accept you two; just use me to let out the stress and anger” You violently grab the bag and walk towards the door again. Joel follows you.

“…y/n. Where do you think you’re going?” He asked hurriedly. But you ignore him.

“I was buying a gift for you two at the market. Because I’ve been so fucking thankful to you two for everything. Go on, say I’m a stupid girl to use my credits on that instead of saving it. Assholes…” is the last thing you say before closing the door.

Joel sighs, covering his face before going to follow you.

“Where are you going?” Tess asks him. The man turns to look at her, frustrated.

“I’m not letting her go out. It’s already past curfew…” he says as if it was the most obvious thing.

“Maybe she would learn alone….” Joel looks at her indignant. Walking back towards the woman.

“Tess, Are you fucking jealous of her?” He asks demandingly. Because they had something going on for years. They were a little family. But things worked better if they weren’t romantically involved. And she was the one who suggested it some years ago.

“No, Joel. But I can’t help feeling my blood boiling every time she does something stupid, and we have to pull her away like a baby trying to grab a knife,” she spits out. Brushing some hair away from her face and walking towards the living room, she suddenly stopped. 

“But… I also feel something. I ain’t no touchy, you know that. However, I feel an awful feeling in my chest every time she’s smiling and acting like we don’t live in this shit hole,” Joel sighs, analyzing her words. Tess was his…well, his. But now things were changing. You made that change.

“She’s trying, Tess. She took her whole family's lives with her own hands. I found her fucking dying. She’s fucking trying. Don’t blame her for a smile,” she laughed bitterly. 

“You do the same. Only being soft when you want to get under her pants” Tess raised her eyebrows, forming an O with her lips. She was mocking Joel.

“How-?” He tried to ask but failed.

“How do I know you are fucking that girl?. Last month I was greeted with her naked back on top of you,” and even with that, Joel didn’t feel shame. 

But he didn’t like that Tess had to see.

“Why do you think I have been taking the deals at night?” everything falls into an awkward silence. Joel is losing time. He could be making you come back. But simultaneously, he knows he has to talk with Tess.

“You’re jealous…” the woman shakes her head away. Tess was tough. She liked to leave things clear but avoid feelings. That’s why Joel knew her very well.

“No…” he sighed, walking towards her and grabbing her arms.

“You decided to drift apart from me, Tess. You told me it was better this way. And… let’s be honest, she does a lot for us” Tess looked directly into his eye, avoiding him. Although she had no other choice than to answer.

“Do you love her?” The question left Joel frozen. He stood quiet for a few seconds. But he knew the honest answer.

“No.” He said firmly. Yet, Tess smirked nonchalantly. 

“But you’re closer to loving her than you ever did with me,” she also said firmly, stating her words. When Joel kept looking at the wall instead of Tess, she brushed past him.

“Whatever. You’re right. I seized our contact. And I don’t regret it.” She wasn’t lying, either. “I treat her like a spoiled kid. I hate because she’s too damn good, and it frustrates me that she had a happy life before her family was gone.”  

“Tess, you know it’s been hard,” she nods. “Even she knows it’s hard. All we’ve been through, she has felt it in less than a year. And yet, she is trying to smile and thank us however she can” The man can’t help but respond in your favor. Because the urge to protect you has grown since he got to know you a little more.

“Yeah. Maybe she lights up this depressing place,” she admitted, pointing at their surroundings. Joel nodded.

“We need her as much as she needs us. I’m not willing to let her go” Joel didn’t mean to sound romantic or desperate for you. But deep down, he was. 

“And what was the “ Tess stopped, opening the brown bag you left on the table. She opened the wrinkled suitcase and took out the device.

“Shit…” she whispered, then handed the device to Joel. Who sighed, feeling worse, the cassette player just existing over there. “This girl is going to kill me.”

Joel felt Tess and a wave of remorse drowning her. But he also felt affected. Since he knew he could have done better for you. 

The cassette of Bowie was there judging them.

“Goddamit…” he whispered. You bought them a cassette player and spent a significant part of your credits on them. 

“You go to the east. I’ll go to the West. If we don’t find her in 40 minutes, we return” Tess nodded. Both grabbed their backpacks and started to look after you.

But that night, they couldn’t find you. They looked everywhere where FEDRA couldn’t catch them. And there was no sign of you.

That night, at 3:00 am, Joel went to sleep with a fear he hadn't felt since the outbreak. He couldn’t close his eyes for more than a few minutes. Waking up to gasp for air. Panic attacked him when he remembered you weren’t there sleeping by his side or heavily breathing on the couch. 

He needed you. He needed that sense of security he had when he felt your skin against him. 

——-

The floor of the clinic is cold. But as the summer arrives, the cold is a blessing. You couldn’t take the bed where hundreds of sick and infected had rested. 

But as you start to wake up. Flashes of the last night assault you again.

You hate being scolded. 

You weren’t a baby; you provided them food. Entering the place that traumatized you for life, only to collect fresh vegetables. You cleaned their apartment and clothes. All while working 10 hours in the clinic. 

You would always thank them, especially Joel, for risking their lives to get your medicines. The man saved you. He fed, bathed, dressed, and checked on you initially. Tess found the iron supplements and the inhalators with Bill and Frank. But they did that arduous journey every two months. You helped them every damn day. 

They were lucky to have the most excellent nurse living among them. And still, it wasn’t enough. 

From Tess, you didn’t expect anything.

From Joel, you wanted compassion and, secretly…love.

How could you not feel anything for the man that saved your life?

But how could you even think about love when he never showed affection?

After the argument last night, you realize Joel had never cared for you. And you were out of his life because you left home.

Home, that place was never your fucking Home.

All those mornings in the kitchen, folding clothes, acting like a housewife from the ancient world. All lies your own head created. 

The sun peeks through the thin curtains. And the rays are hot and potent. Hitting your eyes directly, making you uncomfortable.

There’s an hour left till everyone is awake. The routines would start, and FEDRA couldn’t know where you would live in the clinic. 

You use the shower and start getting changed. You would have to go to the apartment for your stuff, which made you cringe. The thought of encountering Tess or Joel. Especially, Joel, that didn’t sound pleasant.

“Fuck…” you mutter. You left the cassette player. Fucking assholes, you curse at the evil couple you used to live with. 

And that tears Joel, the damn cassette player, playing Starman of Bowie. He wakes up knowing you’re gone. There’s no breakfast for him and Tess. The curtains weren’t open, and your gracious figure wasn’t reflected on the wall as usual, braiding your hair and getting ready to work.

The door of the entrance slams, and Joel knows Tess is coming. 

She opens the door and throws his backpack at him.

“They saw her in the clinic….” Joel’s eyes spark at the thought of you. He stands up and accommodates his backpack.

“Let’s go then…” No more words are exchanged. They silently walk towards the clinic.

The streets are empty, maybe minutes away from being full of people working and suffering. Both should be on their way to work, but they have contacts. Contacts that are good to go with a bribe.

However, Joel doesn’t feel confident. His hands are sweating. And as he takes the little stairs of the entrance, his heart pounds. A mix of feelings invaded him, but he needed to know you were okay.

Both easily open the doors and quietly sneak in. Joel had a vague thought of the clinic reminding him of that old video game of Silent Hill and the killer nurses. Because the place was creepy.  

A long hallway covered with doors was the whole building. Maybe some exits in a few rooms, but it was a claustrophobic dream.

Joel held his gun softly as Tess guided the way because he knew he wouldn’t be accompanied, but his instinct would always act before him. 

And instinctually, he pointed at whatever opened the door of a random room. But as his tall figure obstructed the way, another weight fell upon him; you.

He grabbed you quickly, preventing you from ending up on the floor.

Confused, you looked up.

“Joel?” you asked, feeling his strong hands around your body. Instantly, you shook away from him, looking at him and then at Tess.

“I’m not in the mood for this. Get out…” you patiently say, breathing peacefully, calming yourself. 

“No. We are talking….” Your patient vanished. Pointing at the door, you look at the couple with anger.

“Get out before I call an agent,” Tess sighed. 

“Listen, we’re sorry. We shouldn’t have treated you that way. You’re right. We’re adults, and we should act like it” You are surprised by her words, but you are good at saving face.

“Yeah, no shit. Thanks for the words, but I’m going to get my things tonight,” you explain. “Now get out..”

“Okay…” Joel says, and while you don’t want him to beg, you don’t want to see him go. But he surprised you by talking with your arms and pushing you inside an empty room. 

“¡Hey! Let me go, asshole” Joel rolls his eyes and keeps all his weight on the door, blocking it.

“No. Shut up and listen” Crossing your arms, you wait expectantly.

“Yeah, I’m an asshole.” He starts saying. Dark bags are under his eyes, and his hair is messy as always. Yet, you can’t resist those beautiful eyes he has. “We’re basically a team. We help you. You help us. And we should feel lucky to have the embodiment of an angel with us nowadays.” 

You try so hard to hide your blush and smile. Because it’s the first time he says something like that.

“I-I care for you, Okay?. I couldn’t sleep all night because I was so worried for you. And this morning, you weren’t there to make it better. Because, cause-, you make everything better” stunt, you only look at him in disbelief. He must’ve seen that because his arms reached your hands. The touch left you even more stunned. Joel had never been this warm. 

“I mean it, y/n. I don’t think I can get used to fitting a routine again without you”. You don’t want to look desperate, but unconsciously, you jump to kiss him.

He corresponds immediately. Joel can’t help but welcome your kiss like Home. 

He doesn't want to look desperate too. But he missed you. He wanted to have you close. And he was scared to admit he was starting to relate the word forever with you.

“Then don’t treat me like this ever again. And I’ll stay as long as you want me” This time, he kissed you again. Your soft lips enchant him. But the moment is interrupted by Tess.

She stood awkwardly until both of you watched her there.

“The people are coming. We need to go,” she said. You knew that their job was more dangerous than yours.

“Go…” you whisper to Joel, who’s still lingering on your lips. 

“Are you coming home?” Home, that fucking word. There was still a lot to talk about with him yet. But for now, you have some hours to think about it.

“I’ll consider coming back today while I work,” you roar, letting Tess know. 

“Hey. You know I was serious back there, right?” She asks, avoiding your eyes. She's embarrassed.

“Yeah…” you say back.

“Then, No hard feelings?” You tilt your head at her question. 

“I guess not.” Both nod. But you won’t be the same again. Life has given you too many bruises as you grow, slowly changing you forever.

Tess offered you a little smile and left again, telling Joel to come too.

“Please. Come back,” Joel whispered once again. Making you feel some adorable feelings toward him. Joel was a broken man, and he met you freshly shattered.

“I’ll consider it. Because this is the type of Joel I would like to have daily,” he smirked. Holding your hips, he gently pushed you against the room's desk. His lips met yours again, this time softly and slowly. 

After some seconds, he grasped some strands of your hair and finally left.

The first thing you spot on the desk is a dandelion. Joel told you about an empty and abandoned yard of dandelions some months ago. He got one just for you.

Maybe he would never love you, but he could get used to you. 

—

“Hey. Earth calling y/n,” you snap out of the memory. Ellie is looking curious at you. You are in the backyard of your house in Jackson.

When you look further into the grass, your husband, Joel, looks worried at you. He’s sitting on a blanket with Cerise in his arms. She’s turning two months old. Your daughter looks like a little ball on his father’s chest.

“Are you okay?” You nod.

“Yeah, just a memory of Boston. Of Tess, to be honest,” Ellie widened her eyes. She remembered you crying when the older woman got infected. She told you that you were more than capable of going with Joel to deliver Ellie. 

“Do you miss her?” You remain quiet.

“I’m not sure. But things would be… different if she was here” Joel isn’t hearing. But his mind is working. Afraid you have developed these moments of trance little after Cerise was born. However, he smiles when you come closer to sit beside him and the baby. Ellie stays near the kitchen entrance, painting on the chalkboard wall Joel made for Cerise and her.

“Everything okay?” You nod, leaning to kiss him passionately. 

“Just got lost in my man,” he smirked. 

“Wait a little, and I’ll get lost in my girl, too,” you giggle playfully at him. 

You leaned, accommodating in the chest of the man who was your husband and the love of your life.

———————————————————————————————————-

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#pedro pascal x reader #joel miller x reader #pedro pascal fanfiction

[iguana-eyanna]

Not Like Any Guy I Met

Paring: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x plus size! reader

Summary: You realize that a name doesn't really define a person, especially if their call sign is Hangman.

a/n: it's a bit short, but I wanted to write about him after watching Top Gun for the 3rd time lol

You never felt head over heels for a guy till you met Jake, a.k.a Hangman.

He was quite the charmer, especially with his sharp wit and blinding smile. You couldn't say no to him when he asked to take you out on a date.

"I love this song." Jake said as he leans by the jukebox at the Hard Deck. You don't pay attention to the man who was by you, only seeing his navy uniform. "Souvenir by Billy Joel... it's one of the classics." you said, not trying to pay attention to him. "You know, my dad always told me that when you meet a girl who likes Billy Joel, you should take her out on a date." You scoff, almost laughing. "Really, your dad said that?" You ask, now turning around to see Jake for the first time. He was very handsome; and those dark blonde locks and green eyes? You could almost melt, but you kept your guard up. He could see you turning the gears in your brain and he smirks. "Let's just say I'm loosely quoting my pops." You take a step closer, crossing your arms as your skepticism takes over. "Okay... Lieutenant Seresin," You said, reading his name tag. "Ask me out." Now it was his turn to be off guard, as his pickup line usually worked 1/9 of the time. But at the end of the night, he got your phone number and the two of you started texting each other the night of.

Jake crossed everything off your list: he was a gentleman, respectful, flirtatious, and not afraid to tell that you have spinach in your teeth (you hate that guys are too embarrassed to tell you).

But one day, you briefly met his friends from work as you were dropping lunch for him. They were shocked at first, saying things like "I'm surprised you haven't broken up with him yet" or "I never met anyone who's dated him for more than a couple of weeks" and the famous quote Phoenix lives by:

"They call him Hangman for a reason."

Maybe they were just fooling around with you or they didn't want to see another girl get hurt, but you knew you had to talk with Jake before your heart gets broken.

Now you were by yourself at a fancy restaurant, waiting for him to arrive back at work. He chose this place and even reserved this table, but work got the best of him so he said that he'd meet you there.

You were fiddling with a small fork on your side and look up, seeing Jake looking a bit out of breath as his clothes seemed a bit wrinkled.

"I'm sorry darlin', I only had time to shower and throw on what I could find when I was done with training. I hope you didn't wait so long and can forgive me."

"Yeah, it's not a problem." You said in a small voice as you give him a sweet peck before he sat down in front of you.

Soon, you two began to eat your appetizers. You didn't say much as you were slightly playing the food on your plate, hearing Jake go on about breaking one Maverick's record.

He was in mid-sentence when he realized that you weren't being yourself, not even stopping him from gloating.

"Is everything alright?" He asks genuinely, reaching out for your hand.

You retreat your hand away from his reach, feeling a bit insecure.

"It's nothing, trust me."

Jake shakes his head, feeling a bit heated.

"I'm not going to let this go! You seem troubled and I want to fix it." Jake said, earning some stares around you.

"You are causing a scene, J." You whispered.

"Is it someone at work that's giving you a problem? I'll come down and give them a piece of my mind-"

"It's you, okay? You're the problem!" You barked back.

The restaurant fell into silence as they heard your outbreak, so you started to tear up and excused yourself out of your table and paid your tab.

Jake was shocked at first until he got to his senses and paid his tab too in order to follow you.

On your way to your car, you can hear him calling your name as he ran after you. You tried to be quick and finally sat in the driver's side, but he was quick enough to open the passenger side and sat down, facing you.

"Go away, Jake." you said, trying so hard not to cry.

"Baby, I just want to know what's going on. Please tell me." He whispers, seeing that this isn't you.

You take a deep breathe and stare into his green eyes.

"Is it true? That your call sign is the same when you date a girl to lead her on so you can leave her hanging?"

He was about to ask you how you could say such things, but he remembers how his friends can talk. All of that cockinesses he displayed really bit him in the ass this time.

He could lie to you, saying that he's not painted as the guy everyone says he is. But he knew he had to come clean.

"I wasn't best known to have the greatest relationship streak. But all of that changed when I met you."

You sigh as you feel your eyes well up.

"Jake, I really like you. You're not like any guy I met. But I need to know if this relationship is serious to you and not a game. If so, I'm not playing it."

He pauses for a moment, trying to find his answer. But his silence made up your mind.

"Please, get out of my car. I never want to see you again" you whispered, as you imparted the last words he would ever hear from you.

He didn't want to leave, but he had to. He slowly slips his way out and stands outside.

You quickly start your car and leave the parking lot, your eyes flooding with tears. You look both ways and began driving away, seeing him where you left him in your rearview mirror.

Focusing on the not so busy road, you start to drive on the main road. Suddenly, Jake jumps in front of your car and you brake harshly seeing him.

You unbuckle and get out of your car.

"Are you INSANE? I almost hit you!"

Jake couldn’t care less as he walked up towards you.

"You're right, okay? I'm not like any guy you met. Sometimes, I think that I'm the world's greatest creation and it gets to my head. I fly planes for a living but for once in my life, I found the girl who brings me down to earth. I want to change for the better because I want you to be in my future.”

You gulp as you hear him say those things. You guys never talked about what would life be like together. He ripped out his heart and held it out for you.

"J..." you whispered, unsure if you want him back,

"You have every right to listen to my friends. I can be a dick sometimes. But let's get one thing straight... I will never hurt you. I can't even fathom it because what did I do to deserve you? So please... can you give this cocky pilot a second chance?"

You don't say a word as Jake stands there in silence in the middle of the road.

"Baby-"

"I just like keeping you on your toes, Seresin. Of course, I want you back."

You hear the relief in his breathing as he holds you by your waist while you hold his face as you two kissed.

You break apart at those green eyes you fell for, knowing that the two of you can work this out.

"But if you break my heart, prepare for a tornado."

Jake chuckles as he brings you closer to his chest.

"I wouldn't dream of it, darlin'."

#jake seresin #jake seresin x reader #hangman #hangman x reader #hangman x you #hangman fic #jake hangman seresin #top gun #top gun maverick #top gun hangman #hangman x plus size reader #jake seresin x plus size reader

[thepenultimateword]

Tomfoolery

She wore bells in her hair. Big gold ones hung on the red ribbons weaved into her braids. The chimes bounced and jingled against her spine when she backflipped and sailed in gleaming arcs when she cartwheeled.

Apparently, she'd been part of a circus act before the prince's uncle bought her for the court. And with such a background, she could do all manner of oddities and diversions: contortions and gymnastics, juggling and skits of false clumsiness. She could balance knives on her nose like a seal--up to three at once. Her ribbon dancing was the prince's favorite, the way she made the cloth rush like a river current or swell like living flame. And on the days when everything failed to divert her royal charges, she did not shirk from their endless ammunition of rot, always armed with a bright, laughing smile. As if even in the face of yesterday's scrap pile, she too, was in on the joke.

The prince did not enjoy that last one, especially once he began noticing how the light in her grin never reached her eyes. They stayed dull and opaque all the time, like the frosted glass his father had installed in his windowpanes to keep him from staring out.

However, the prince's father and uncle seemed to revel in food-lobbing days, and it was after one such merriment involving the curdled remains of a creamed spinach dish and a rancid meat pie that the prince found her in the kitchen, swearing and ripping at the knots in her ribbons as she bent upside down in front of a half-filled wooden tub the prince was pretty sure, from the smell, had already been used for mass washing heads of cabbage.

"Can I offer you a hand?" he said.

She beat her bare toes into the wall of the tub with a yowl, flipping her hair back over her shoulders as she whirled to face him. For the first time, her eyes were clear, not shining with lovely laughter but deadly fire.

"Do I look like I want--" The flames doused, and her eyes went wide as silver coins as she registered his face. "Your Highness."

All at once she was on her knees, head nearly touching the greasy stone floor.

"I apologize, I didn't expect anyone of your..." she swallowed as if struggling past something foul, "standing to be here. In this part of the palace."

"Well, I used to come down and read next to the ovens, but I'm not quite so inconspicuous anymore. A little too big to hide behind the flour bags." He chuckled awkwardly. The jester did not smile. "Anyway, Catry said you'd be down here."

The jester leaned back on her heels, eyes narrowed. "That little--" She caught herself, gaze flicking warily back to the prince. "Angel! That little angel. So good of her to direct you to me. May I be of assistance, my prince?"

A warm blush spread up the prince's neck to the roots of his hair. He hadn't exactly thought about the peculiarity of a member of the royal family searching out the court jester. Many a servant could be spoken to on pretenses of orders, but he had no good excuse for why he'd be in search of her.

The truth sprang to his lips before he could think to smother it.

"I was wondering if you were alright. When Uncle thew that last pie, it looked like the tin-- Oh!" He canted his head toward the purple splotch making itself known under her left eye. "It's bruising."

His hand reached as if of its own accord, and she swiftly side-stepped, this time smoothly avoiding the lip of the tub. Her eyes narrowed even further. "I'm fine. Thank you, your majesty, but I assure you the bruise will not affect my performance. I'll have it covered and be ready to go by tomorrow."

Ice. Sharp, pristine, palace-perfect ice.

Right. That was about what he'd expected He had learned long ago that the people hired to serve and take care of him were not comfortable with his attention or friendship. What he meant as concern was always interpreted as criticism, expertly masked by royal politeness.

"I'm certain you will be." He paused, glancing over the tub and its room-temperature water. It was situated in an alcove at the very back of the kitchen, out of sight unless standing directly in front of it. He hadn't realized anyone might... He heated a little thinking about what would've happened if he had arrived a little later.

He pointed at the tub lamely.

"Would you like to use mine?"

As soon as it left his mouth he knew he'd made a mistake. She wouldn't even accept an inquiry on her well-being.

"What do you think I am?" she snapped, face red with embarrassment or fury or both. All decorum had fled. "Your uncle might have purchased me, and maybe to you, that makes me property. But I would rather be guillotined than accept the passes of a disgusting, spoiled, power-abusing, prince!"

The prince thrust up his hands, attempting to block the heat of some of her fire. "Th-that's not what I meant at all! Of course, I think you're beautiful, but I honestly only had your well-being in mind. I would never dream of--" His hands flew over his face, and he cringed as he found his cheeks hot to the touch. He pinkened at the slightest of embarrassments--something his father never ceased to remind him of--so right now he must be vibrant. "Excuse me."

His heart beat loudly in his ears, the blood rush making him a little dizzy.

"You're...really red."

A new wave of heat the prince didn't even realize could outdo the last one washed over him.

"I know."

"If you're this embarrassed just talking, how..." She trailed. "You were serious."

The prince didn't dare confirm or deny. Everything he said today had disastrous results.

"Why?"

He should just leave. Leave and pretend none of this ever happened. It wasn't like she could confront him about it later. But he also wasn't sure he could accept leaving her opinion of him tainted.

"Because that looks terrible." He jabbed a thumb at the foul water, his other set of fingers still clapped firmly over his eyes. "And they already treat you terrible. Me too I suppose. So I wanted...I simply thought you might like some help."

There was a long pause. So long, the prince half-wondered if she'd tiptoed around him while he hid his face in his hands. Finally, he peeked out through the cracks at her clenched jaw and dulled eyes. Reverted from the fiery phoenix of a few seconds ago to the submissive show bird of the court.

She locked onto his gaze. "No. Thank you. I appreciate, your highness's concern, but I fear my acceptance of such a magnanimous offer would not be appropriate. I fear I would tarnish your highness's name if anyone were to misunderstand. For this reason, I must also advise your highness not to seek me out."

A politically correct way of saying, 'Leave me alone.'

The prince's heart sank. He wasn't sure what he had been expecting of this encounter, but he couldn't help but feel he'd failed spectacularly.

"Right. Of course. I appreciate your heartfelt concern." He turned, moved a few steps, then turned again. "I-if you change your mind, about needing help, let me know. Alright? It's not personal. As a prince, I have all my subjects' best interests at heart."

A thin smile. "You have my word, your majesty."

That too, was all politeness, and maybe, at the heart of it, fear.

As the prince miserably retreated, he did not expect to hear from the jester again.

So it was rather a shock when she showed up at his bedroom window two days later, pale as a ghost and covered in blood.

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