#I 'M GETTING DEPORTED

[shellxrls]

i’m gonna start tweaking i swear this bitch cannot let go of ts . omg

#when i cut her off i kept things private bc im respectful and i don’t go round sharing close friends personal business #regardless of whether they wronged me or not #and now i find out for months she’s been airing out all my personal shit to everyone she meets 😂😂 #i love it here 🩷 #if ur gonna go telling everyone how u had to take care of me whenever i got drunk make sure to mention the times u invited me only to get m #drunk for quote ‘your own entertainment’ #+ also how your stupid fucking family tried to get me deported out of the country pls! #my bad this is all so personal but i can’t talk ab it with irls bc regardless of what’s she’s doing im not starting this again

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

Am I the asshole for putting my name on my surrogate baby’s birth certificate because I wanted to keep the baby I carried and the man who got me pregnant from leaving the country?

Some background, I (26f) have secondary infertility (egg issues) and have had several miscarriages due to this, but I have no primary infertility (uterus issues). Earlier this year, I was accepted into a university about 500 miles away from where I was living, I am an older college student, so a lot of financial aid options weren’t available to me, so I decided I would live with my boyfriend (28m).

Fast forward, I’m a 25-year-old freshman and I m living with my boyfriend. I get big into the local art and poetry scene. Among other friends, I meet a nice older couple (36f and 37m)-let’s call them N&M, in a committed relationship, but not married, who are looking into hiring a surrogate because she had a hysterectomy some years ago. I’ve always wanted to carry a baby to term, but have never been able to due to my fertility issues, so I immediately volunteer.

Papers are signed, second ivf cycle takes and I’m pregnant with a baby girl (let’s call her G). My boyfriend decides that this (being in a relationship with someone pregnant with someone else’s baby) isn’t what he signed up for and we break up. I don’t have anywhere to live, so N & M offer to let me move in with them, so me and the (unborn) baby have a place to live.

About halfway through the pregnancy, M has a visa issue and has to go back to her home country for a few months, leaving me alone with N.

M’s visa issues turn out to be more serious than she thought and their plans change. During this time, I also developed some romantic feelings for N (I am carrying his baby, after all), and I kissed him at one point and let him know I’d be open to expanding our relationship and stepping in as a mom for G, since M had effectively been deported. (They were never married, I’m carrying his baby).

He kinda freaked out. This is also when their plans change, N is going to move to M’s home country with the baby as soon as she’s born and I start to panic because at this point, I’m carrying her, this is my baby, more than she’s M’s. I mean, people donate eggs all the time, but I’m carrying this baby and M isn’t even in the country, so I feel like at this point I’m more of a mom to her as M is. so (and this is where I think some of you might think I’m an asshole) I took the surrogacy papers from their important documents drawer. I didn’t know if I would do anything yet, I just wanted to have it so N couldn’t leave the country with my baby.

When the baby’s born (0f), it was supposed to be a home birth, we had a plan and N had documents all filled out and ready to submit that had M listed as her mom, and I was just going to go along with it, but there ended up being some medical complications and it turned into an emergency ambulance ride and hospital birth.

G is born with some pretty significant health issues due to the traumatic birth and spends most of the next week in the neonatal icu. N is with her, the hospital asks me to fill out her birth certificate and I put myself on it as her mom since M wasn’t even in the country and I want custody of this baby and now, without a dna test from M, which isn’t going to happen because she was deported, even if he doesn’t want to be with me, N can’t leave the country without fighting me for custody.

AITA?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

[darlingofvalyria]

on my one good knee— a masterlist.

Aemond Targaryen is your boss— resident and well known Asshole of Rose & Thorne Publishing. He's also about to be deported. After he lies to Federal Immigration— roping you in the process — he needs you. You want a raise and a promotion (and maybe a very public proposal, get the bad man on his good knee, and oh will I ever).

You don't really need him but you like the potential wins. Plus the lording over him part really sweetens the deal.

So you invite yourself to his father's birthday.

As his fiancé. . . wait, what do you mean wife?

COMING SOON (Mid October), +18 MDNI | The Proposal AU! Aemond Targaryen x Assistant F!Reader

⋆·˚ ༘ *↳ ❝ P A R T S ¡! ❞˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ꕥ

『 ↳✧･ﾟ PARTS MARKED 'M' CONTAIN MATURE CONTENT, if you've watched the original, i know sandra & ryan don't fuck (film spoiler???), but this is my version and i say fuck it. pun intended. balls to the walls, bitches ;⋆·˚ ༘ *・❥・

01 | Are You Right In The Head?

02 | Is That Your Good Knee?

03 |

04 |

05 |

06 |

07 |

08 |

09 |

10— epilogue |

Message to be added to the taglist!

#aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond fluff #the proposal #hotd fluff #aemond targaryen fluff #aemond smut #hotd smut #aemond x reader #aemond x you #aemond x f!reader #elle writes !! ꒱ ↷˗ˏˋ🍒 #˚➶ ｡˚ ➥ elle's masterlists ₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚. #modern au

[wolfpants]

my year in fic

It's 5am and I can't sleep, so what better way to keep me sane than this lovely roundup post @sorrybutblog tagged me in! Tagging @citrusses @getawayfox @oknowkiss @sweet-s0rr0w @tackytigerfic @skeptiquewrites @mallstars @sitp-recs @moonflower-rose @danpuff-ao3 @writcraft @wrapped-up and anyone else who sees this and wants to play too!

Sorted newest to oldest ✍🏻

Thickets | Drarry | E | 17.3k

When Draco returns to the UK after two decades of building his career as an internationally-renowned artist to look after his ailing, estranged father, he crosses paths with his former flame, Harry Potter, in the most unexpected way.

Waiting for the Moon to Rise | Drarry | E | 8.9k

When Harry and Draco move into Grimmauld Place straight out of Hogwarts, the last person they expect to find taking up residence is Bill ‘divorced, dishevelled, and dangerous’ Weasley. But what if their new, furry little problem is the help they need to finally bring them closer? Stranger things have happened, Draco supposes.

Terrible People | Drarry | E | 52.8k

What happens when Harry and Draco end up on the same Muggle gay cruise? They certainly didn't plan for it to happen (but their friends might have). They're stuck with each other for a week, they might as well make the most of it, right?

A Saviour's Guide to Manners and Decorum | Drarry | E | 13.1k

Honorary Minister Harry Potter (yes, he's fully aware his job title is meaningless, and he quite likes it that way) is a disaster at public events. After seven years of dealing with his boorish behaviour, cringey table manners, and clumsy dancing, the Ministry's press team take matters into their own hands and hire Wixen Britain's leading Etiquette and Deportment Expert, Draco Malfoy, to take on the challenge of cleaning up Harry's image before the Ministry's 300th Anniversary Celebration Gala.

Everybody Hates a Tourist | Drarry | E | 51.5k

On a stag do in sunny Brighton with the Gryffindor lads, the last person Harry expects to run into is Draco Malfoy. After a glimpse of Malfoy’s Muggle life in Britain’s gay capital, Harry’s curiosity gets the better of him and he finds himself returning to the seaside again and again, drawn to the city, drawn to this new version of Malfoy that Harry barely recognises from school.

Precious Metal | Ronarry, Dron, Drarry | M | 28k

Precious metal awaits in an abandoned, cursed cottage on the Isle of Jura. Ron’s illegal hunting ring is on it, but disaster strikes when he runs into a jumpy and suspicious Draco Malfoy, camped out where the treasure is hidden. What happens when they accidentally unleash a bond curse when both of them harbour feelings for the same man?

Trillium | Dronarry | E | 13.4k

Harry and Draco are shagging. Ron’s got a hunch, and the only way to find out is to volunteer his services alongside Harry’s in the Big Malfoy Manor Cleanup of 2010. What could possibly go wrong?

Kinkuary '23 | Various pairings | M - E

A collection of 28 short fics spanning different pairings and inspired by the Kinkuary 2023 prompts! A mix of M and E ratings. Expect rare pairs, Drarry, crossgen, group sex, dirtyhotwrong... you name it!

#I've probably written too much this year #my brain is sore and tired #oh well! #writing #drarry #hp fic #drarry fic #draco/harry #harry/draco

[thewayofthemandalorian]

feels like home - oneshot

Pairing: Marcus Pike x F!Reader

Rating: M

Summary: When your work visa expires sooner than expected, your only option to stay in Washington is to get married. Marcus offers to be your husband until you get your green card. Neither of you expect that your marriage will end up being more real than intended. 

Word count: 11,527

Notes: I was thinking about marriage of convenience in stories and the first character that came to mind for “marrying their friend to help them but then falls for them” was Marcus Miguel Pike. These two are kind of idiots, but they’re idiots in love. Much love and thanks to the wonderful @ezrasbirdie​ for beta-reading and holding my hand when this fic was giving me the hardest time. Title from long story short by Taylor Swift.

This fic is cross-posted to AO3 under the same name and my taglist can be found linked in my bio as well as my masterlist which is linked below.

Comments/reblogs appreciated.

Warnings: Marriage of convenience, miscommunication, yearning, committing fraud, swearing, therapy, food mention, sharing a bed, friends to lovers, kissing, non-explicit sexual content (including female receiving oral), divorce mention.

masterlist (main) || masterlist (marcus pike)

Looking up from your menu, you look at the man sitting across from you. You really don’t have a connection to this man. Dan? Dean? You can’t even remember his name. Probably not a good sign about asking him to marry you. 

“Are you guys ready to order?” asks the waitress who’s materialized from nowhere. 

Daniel speaks before you can order the burger and fries. “I’ll have the steak, well done—” he misses the way your nose wrinkles. It’s a cheap diner, the consistency of the steak is already going to be that of a shoe — “and she’ll have the garden salad with house dressing.” 

You have to force yourself not to gawk at him. Before you can correct the waitress, who looks bored out of her mind, she’s gone. 

You’re starting to re-think this whole thing. Maybe being sent back to Canada on an expired work visa won’t be that bad. 

“How much money did you say you make again?” Dieter asks. “Because I’m between jobs at the moment and I don’t think I can pay.” 

You didn’t say how much you make. “No worries. I can cover it,” you offer your date what you hope is a polite smile. “I just need to use the restroom, I’ll be right back.” 

Don doesn’t seem to care. 

Pulling your phone out of your purse, you text your best friend. I need you to call me in three minutes with a fake emergency. 

Lily is usually attached to her phone, so you expect the three dots to come up almost immediately. They don’t. A minute goes by. Nothing. 

Your phone dings after a minute. Sorry babe, I’m in an important zoom call for work! Try Marcus maybe? 

With a groan, you throw your head back. The one person you didn’t want to bother in all of this. He doesn’t know anything about your current predicament. Nor does he know about your hare-brained idea to get around getting deported because you didn’t realize that your work visa is expiring in three months instead of thirteen months. 

In your defense, it had been Lily’s idea. You just hadn’t had any better ideas. No worries, you reply. Going back to the messages page on your phone, you tap out a quick text, basically a replica of what you texted Lily. 

The bubble of three dots pops up immediately. What’s up? 

I’m on the worst date!!! I need an excuse to leave. 

Marcus’s reply comes in quickly. On it. Play along. 

It’s not the best exercise to employ, but you get the impression that Dylan won’t let you go, no matter how much you insist. 

“Sorry about that,” you smile as you sit back in the booth with the fake flower and the plastic checkered tablecloth. “I got a call from my mom and she worries if I don’t answer.” Making a mental apology to your mom for kind of throwing her under the bus, you offer a grimace that you hope is convincing and make a note to call her later tonight. 

“Ugh, tell me about it. My mom drives me up the wall. ‘When are you going to get a girlfriend? When are you going to get a job? When are you going to move out of my basement?’” 

Right on cue, your phone rings. “So sorry, I have to take this,” you say, not even looking at the screen. You know it’s Marcus. “Hello?” 

Marcus is so good at saving you from pickles like this. “Hey, I’m so sorry to call you like this but… my plane landed about forty-five minutes ago and I’m wondering when you’re coming to pick me up from the airport? Should I just keep waiting for you at baggage claim?” 

Not quite what you were expecting but you play along. “Oh, shoot! I knew I was forgetting something. I am so sorry! I will be right there.” To your date you say “You don’t mind if I go pick up someone from the airport do you?” You don’t even wait to hear a response. “I’ll just grab the check and be on my way,” you tell Marcus. Once you hang up, you turn back to Dom. “I completely forgot that my brother was coming today. I thought it was tomorrow, but I promised him I would pick him up from the airport.” 

The waitress comes over with a charred lump of meat that’s supposed to be a steak and a wilted, sad looking salad.

“I’m so sorry to do this but can I get mine boxed up and get the check?” you ask. She nods and gets you a box and the bill. You leave a few bills on the table and say goodbye to your date. “It was lovely to meet you,” you lie. 

“Can we do this again?” he asks. 

Absolutely not. “Gotta go!” 

You make a mad dash for the exit, making sure to toss the salad into the garbage on your way to your car. Unmatching with David as you go.

- - - - 

You make your way to Marcus’s condo, picking up a pizza on your way over. You’re hungry and you want to thank Marcus for getting you out of that. 

At some point you will have to tell Marcus what’s going on, but you don’t want him to pull any strings or do anything like that to keep you here. You want to stay, you just don’t know how outside of marrying someone who is already an American citizen. 

It’s not that you disliked living in Canada. It’s where you’re from, where you grew up. Your life is here, though. Your job, your friends. Marcus.

Balancing the bag of soft drinks on the pizza box, you press the buzzer for Marcus’s condo. A second later he buzzes you up. 

“Thank you so much for saving me,” you say by way of greeting. 

Marcus takes the box of pizza from you. “Not a problem. What was wrong with him?” he asks. 

You follow him into the cozy condo that he’s made his own in the past two years that he’s been in Washington. Art prints cover the walls, a floor to ceiling bookshelf with stacks of books in no particular semblance of order covering a wide range of topics and genres in the corner. It’s cozy. Homey. From the first time you visited his place, you felt at home, at ease. 

Flopping down on the plush couch that he’s had since his undergrad, you groan. “What wasn’t wrong with him?” you grouse. “It was every cliche in the book. He even ordered me a salad.” 

Marcus Pike knows he’s made some blunders in his own love life in the past. Hell, they were such big blunders that he’s been in therapy since he arrived here to get to the root of it and ensure that he never makes the same mistakes in his love life again. But he would never, ever order a date’s meal for them. Especially not a salad. The only time he would make an order for someone, anyone, is if they’re in the bathroom when the server comes to take the order and he already knows what his date wants. 

Dating’s been a wash for Marcus since coming to Washington. At first it was from the sting of Teresa’s actions and rejection, but since then, no one’s been able to spark his interest beyond a couple of dates and maybe a round in bed. But it’s been two years. And no one’s been able to catch his attention. 

Well. No. That’s not fully true. His attention has been caught. But you haven’t picked up on it and he’s pretty sure that you just want to be his friend. Plus the fact that you were just on a date with another man kind of solidifies that too. 

Marcus isn’t bitter about it. He knows how it is. The old him would have attempted to get with you, try whatever it took to get your attention. But he likes being your friend. Likes the easy rapport he has with you. And he doesn’t want to date someone he works with, even indirectly. Since you work in art restoration and conservation, you liaise with the art crimes unit quite often. That’s how you met. Marcus was new to the D.C. branch of the FBI and was in a new position. You met on his first job with the D.C. squad and just clicked right away. That had been two years ago. Since then, you’ve been thick as thieves. 

“I thought you were going to give Tinder a rest for a while?” Marcus asks, grabbing some plates. 

You shrug. “It was Lily’s idea.” You know you have to tell him. The fucking letter is still in your purse. It would be so easy to just tell him why you were on that date, why you’re more stressed out than he’s ever seen you be (and he has, especially on particularly tricky cases). 

“Are you all right?” asks Marcus, almost as if on cue. He hands you a plate and you load it with two slices of pizza. “You seem a bit…” He shrugs. “...I don’t know. Under pressure? And not just from the date.” He sits down beside you, crossing his pajama pants-clad legs. 

You don’t even know why you haven’t told him yet. It started out as you trying to figure out if you could extend it or apply for citizenship but those had both been denied pretty quickly. You know that Marcus would offer something and you don’t want him to feel obligated in any way. He’s sweet like that, always doing stuff for other people without complaint. You know he’s big on marriage and romance. You know he wants the real thing. Not some sham that would fool the government and only end in divorce once you get your green card. 

“You know you can tell me anything,” Marcus reminds you. 

You smile at him. “I’m fine. Just…” The tell-tale sound of your mother’s ringtone interrupts you. “Can you get that for me, please?” you ask him. “It’s in my p—” You remember what else is in your purse just as Marcus is digging into it for you. His eyes land on the letter, the IMPORTANT stamp in bold red letters peeking out from where it’s folded. 

“Not to snoop, but what’s this?” he asks. 

It looks like your mom is going to voicemail. 

- - - - 

“So you know how I’m here on a work visa? A transfer from the National Gallery in Ottawa?” you ask. 

Marcus nods. “Yes. You’ve been here for six years. What does that have to do with anything?” 

Your phone dings with a text message from your mom. You quickly tap out a reply that you’re with Marcus and will call her back later. She sends a heart and a winky face emoji. “So I was under the impression that I still had a year on my work visa. I don’t.” 

“How long do you have?” asks Marcus.   

“Ninety days. Well, technically, eighty-three now. And I don’t know, maybe going back to Canada and applying for citizenship wouldn’t be the worst thing ever to happen. But my whole life is here. My job, my friends. Everything I’ve worked for.” 

“Can you extend your visa? Or apply for citizenship?” Marcus offers. 

You offer him a rueful expression. “I’ve already extended it as many times as I can. And I think I can only apply for citizenship if I’m married to an American citizen since my work is contract based. I tried putting a feeler out to Larissa to see if any permanent positions were coming up, but she was non-committal.”

Marcus doesn’t know enough about immigration or custom laws to refute that. It sounds accurate based on the one class he took way back in the day when he first signed up to be in the FBI. “What are you going to do?” he asks. 

“I don’t know. Outside of marrying someone until I have my citizenship, I can’t think of anything. That’s why I’m back on Tinder. That’s why I was on that awful date tonight. To see if I can at least attempt to hack it.” 

Marcus doesn’t know what to think. “Why didn’t you tell me? I could have probably helped you in some way.” 

“I was going to. It’s… weird, you know? I don’t want you to feel obligated to help me.” 

“Oh, honey,” he says gently. “It’s not obligation with you. Never. I’m just sorry you’re going through this. We’ll figure it out.” 

The mood of the evening dampened, you head home shortly after that, calling your mom on the car’s bluetooth. “I thought you were with Marcus,” she says after answering. 

“No, I had to get going. I just crashed at his place after a bad date.”

Your mother sighs. “When are you going to realize that that man has it bad for you? Or admit to yourself and him that you have it bad for him?” She never misses a beat. 

It’s your turn to sigh. “It would never work with Marcus. Not now. Not with…” You trail off, not wanting to worry your mom with your work visa woes. 

“Not with what, honey?” she asks. 

You chew your lip for a second. “Nothing. It’s complicated.” Eager to change the subject, you ask, “What’s new with you?” 

Your mom tells you about what she’s been up to in the past couple of days since you last talked. Gossiping about family and the new couple that moved into the condo down the hall from her and their antics. 

It’s always nice to talk to your mom. You wish that she would consider moving down to Washington because you miss her greatly. But she is stubborn and likes living in Ottawa. “Mom, I gotta go, I’m about to pull into the underground parking and you know how reception is down there for bluetooth.” 

“Okay, honey. I’ll talk to you in a little bit.” 

“I love you, Mom.” 

You hang up shortly after and park your car. You sit there for a while, thinking about the whole ordeal of this evening. While things hadn’t become awkward with Marcus after your bombshell, you wouldn’t be surprised if things become awkward. You like Marcus, really and truly. But you also know that he is a romantic. He’s had some bad experiences in romance, a failed marriage and a broken engagement under his belt already. You don’t want him to help you in this, admittedly, hare-brained  scheme you and Lily have cooked up, fueled mostly by wine and desperation. You know that if you had told him from the start, he would offer to marry you and you don’t want him to experience anything but the real deal. If there’s anyone that deserves real, true, genuine love and not a sham, it’s Marcus Miguel Pike. 

Your phone dings with a text notification. It’s Marcus. Your heartbeat picks up. Your eyes glaze over the notification on your lock screen, not really allowing the words to sink in at first. He’s going to offer to marry you. Or pull some strings. Or tell you that he finds things awkward now. 

Hey, sorry to cancel on you but I can’t make it to our weekly diner night tomorrow. I’ve just remembered that I’m visiting my dad in Texas for the weekend. Would love to reschedule for when I get back.

It’s not what you were expecting. Marcus is close with his dad and step-mom and he visits them as often as he can. He says it’s the one drawback of the transfer to Washington, not being able to see his dad and his step-mom as much as he would like to, especially now that his dad is in his mid-sixties. 

Sure, that sounds fine. I’m free most nights next week except for Thursday when I have to work late and Wednesday when I’m doing girls night with Lily and Nikki. You press the blue arrow button to send the text and then almost immediately tap out another message. Are we okay, Marcus? I didn’t make things awkward did I? 

Marcus replies. Of course we’re okay, honey. Everything’s good. How does Tuesday sound? 

Sounds great. Have a good weekend in Texas. 

- - - - 

The weekend passes with little fanfare; you go on a semi-decent Tinder date on Saturday, but your heart’s not in it. Brad is a nice enough guy, but he spends the entire date talking about himself and his venture into cryptocurrency. As the night progresses his intentions of going home with you become more and more clear. 

You split the bill and go home, alone. Tinder gets deleted for the time being. 

Tuesday rolls around and it’s so busy you hardly have time to get home and change. Marcus texts you to say that he’ll pick you up which is a huge relief. 

You still don’t have time to change, but you’re able to drop off your lunch bag and your work stuff, trading it in for your purse and a heavier jacket. Autumn has well and truly settled in. 

Marcus is right on time, waiting for you when you come down at quarter to six. He’s still in his FBI get-up, tie and everything. 

“Busy day for you, too?” you ask. 

“Huh?” Marcus looks down at what he’s wearing, as if he’s forgotten. “Oh, yeah. New case, looks like it’ll be a doozy from the details we have so far.” 

He merges into traffic and you talk about your weekends. Marcus is less chatty than he normally is. “Is everything okay, Marcus?” you ask. “You seem quiet tonight. Did you not have a good day?” 

Marcus shakes his head. “I’m fine. Just thinking.” He takes the next exit, not the usual way to the diner that you usually go to with him. At your look of confusion, he says, “We’re going somewhere different tonight.” 

Somewhere different ends up being a higher-scale restaurant than you’re used to going to with him. “This is fancy,” you comment as you step into the restaurant. It’s dimly lit with candlelit tables and twinkly lights on the ceiling. 

“Can I help you, sir?” asks the hostess. 

“I have a reservation under Pike,” Marcus tells the young woman. She taps a few buttons on the tablet at her station before ushering you and Marcus to your table. 

After taking your coat off and putting it on the back of your chair, you look at the menu as the waiter tells you the daily specials and soup of the day and pours you two glasses of water. 

“This is really fancy, Marcus. Did you get a promotion?” 

Marcus looks nervous but determined. “No. No promotion.” 

“Then why—?” 

He’s fiddling with something under the table. “I thought a lot about what we talked about on Thursday night when you were at my place. About your predicament and how the only feasible way you could stay.” 

The waiter returns with a basket of bread. “Can I interest you two in a wine menu?” 

Marcus nods. “Yes, please.” 

A wine menu is pulled out from the waiter’s apron. “Do you need a minute to peruse the wine menu?” 

“No, thank you. We’ll have a bottle of this one.” Marcus points to a vintage red halfway down the list. One of your favourites.

Taking the wine menu back, the waiter nods. “Very good.” 

The two of you are left alone again for a few minutes. “You were thinking about what happened on Thursday?” you prompt. 

Marcus nods. “Yeah. I thought about it a lot. As soon as you left, I knew what the answer to your problem was. That’s why I went to Texas. I needed to get something from Dad.” 

Your heart leaps into your throat. “What’s the answer?” you ask. 

“Marry me.” 

You don’t have time to react because at that moment the wine is delivered to your table and you take that moment to order your meals as well. Marcus tells you that you can order anything you like. He’s paying and won’t hear any arguments. 

The appetizers are brought out and you finally have a moment without interruptions. “I don’t think I heard you correctly, Marcus.” 

“You heard me just fine, honey.” 

Your face goes warm and you are absolutely blaming it on the wine that you’ve only had one sip of. “Marcus, you don’t want to marry me,” you argue. 

“Yes, I do,” he counters. 

“I know you, Marcus. You want the real deal. Something that’s real and true and—and, you know, not a scam?” You lower your voice so no one can overhear you. 

Marcus isn’t swayed. “You know that I’ve been married once and engaged another time. You know that I’m a romantic who wants to sweep a woman off her feet. I also know that I’m impulsive — something that I’m working on with my therapist — and I think with my heart instead of my head sometimes when it comes to things like that.” 

“Exactly, Marcus. You deserve something that is true. I don’t think you’re going to get that by marrying me–” 

He’s still not finished. “All of that is true. But I can’t think of anything better to do than to help my friend, someone I care for very much. I thought a lot about it and I want to do this for you. With you. You should be fake-married to someone who cares about you, someone that you know and care about.” 

You refuse to cry at this gesture. “What about your job?” you ask. “If it gets out somehow that you helped commit fraud with me so that I can get my citizenship, you could not only lose your job, but go to jail. You’re a federal agent.” 

Marcus shrugs. “I understand the risks. I want to help you. Plus, I like being engaged,” he jokes, trying to lighten the mood. “So, will you,” he pulls a small black velvet box out from under the table, the one that he was fiddling with, says your name, “marry me?” 

You have to admit that it’s the best option you have at the moment. You love Marcus and you are genuinely moved by what he’s doing to help you. Marcus is, in your opinion, husband material through and through. You don’t really have any other answer. “Yes. I will marry you, Marcus.” 

- - - - 

You know it’s not going to be a real marriage, that you’re only doing this so that you can stay in the States. Still, you can’t help but be over the moon at the prospect of marrying Marcus. He’s assured you multiple times that he’s okay with doing this and that he wants to do this with you. 

There are absolutely going to be ground rules. Like who to tell and what to tell them. Only Lily and Nikki know that you need to do this so you give them firm instructions the next night to use their discretion and ask that if they are interviewed by immigration officers that they play it that you and Marcus are in love. 

Something that isn’t a stretch for you. 

Marcus thinks that you should move in with him into his condo before your courthouse wedding that’s scheduled three weeks from now. It was the earliest the two of you could get. You agree, especially since your lease is coming up for renewal soon. You tell your landlord early that you’re not renewing the lease and that you’re moving out. She doesn’t care, only glad that she is able to increase the rent for the next tenant. 

It doesn’t take long to move your things into Marcus’s place. For the time being, you’re going to sleep in the guest room. 

The plan is to stay married until you’ve had your citizenship for nine months and then you’re going to file for divorce. Marcus doesn’t seem worried about it affecting your friendship. This is a favour he’s doing you. A very, very big favour. 

You end up telling your mother a slightly modified version of events. You’re having trouble with your work visa so Marcus is helping you out. “How is he helping you?” she asks. 

“He’s offered to… sponsor my visa,” you settle on. 

“That’s so nice of him to do.” She pauses. “Hang on. I thought only spouses or partners could do that?” 

Your silence is worth a million words. 

Your mom says your full name. “Marrying Marcus? So you can stay there?” 

“It was his idea,” you say. “And it’s very generous of him.”

Your mother sighs. “It is, honey. But I’ve seen that show, 90 Day Fiance. It never works out.” 

“I know, but that’s a show. This is real life. I know Marcus. I… care about him. And he cares about me. We’re going to make it work.” You won’t tell her that you’re getting a divorce as soon as you’re able to and it no longer looks suspect. 

“I just wish I could be there for the wedding, sweetheart.” 

You sigh. “I know, Mom. But as soon as we are able to, we’ll hold a reception.” 

Settling in at Marcus’s place is easier than you thought it would be. He’s easy to be around. Your schedules are similar enough that you have breakfast and dinner together most nights. Not much has changed since he proposed to you. 

Marcus has always been affectionate with the people he cares about. He only increases it a little bit. Holding your hand, kissing your cheek or your forehead. It’s easy. Simple. You like it. 

There’s a lot of things that you like—love, even—about this arrangement. 

You’ve had your visa extended by another ninety days since informing the correct people about your impending nuptials. Your application process has been expedited as well: Marcus denies having involvement, but you’re sure you remember him mentioning having a buddy in immigration and you’re convinced that Marcus called in a few favours. Usually it takes at least a year, but your caseworker informed you it should take no longer than six months. Marcus still blushes when you kiss him on the cheek when you find out the process will be accelerated.

“Doesn’t it bother you that you won’t be able to date or flirt with anyone?” you ask one night about a week before your wedding. 

Marcus frowns. “No? In case you couldn’t tell, I wasn’t drowning in dating opportunities before we decided to do this.” He pauses. “I kind of… I don’t know, scare people off.” 

You squeeze his hand. “It’s their loss, Marcus.” 

He smiles ruefully. “I know I can come on too strong sometimes. It’s something that I’m working on.” The two of you sit in silence for a minute. He looks at you after a minute, a playful look in his eye. “Why? Are you bothered that you’ll be missing out on dating?”

You chortle. “Please. Like I was doing so well for myself before this.”

Marcus taps your knee with his free hand. “What a pair we make.” 

Another minute goes by. “Marcus? You don’t scare me.”

- - - - 

The day of your wedding dawns. You never anticipated having a November wedding, but then again, you never anticipated having this type of wedding either. 

You and Marcus have breakfast together in his nook. It’s oddly domestic and you can’t quite pinpoint why. He woke up early and made pancakes and bacon and eggs. “We can’t get married on an empty stomach,” he explains as he sets your coffee mug in front of you. 

You twist the engagement ring around and around in the car ride over. You’re wearing the nicest dress you have; Marcus is wearing one of his nicer suits. “This is what I was going to wear to the engagement party I was going to have with Teresa. Now, I mostly wear it for the few times I’m needed to testify in a hearing,” he told you when you discussed what the wardrobe for today would be. 

You have no one to give you away, so Marcus’s dad, here to be one of the witnesses along with his wife, offers to give you away. It’s a sweet gesture. You’ve always liked Jeremy Pike, so you’re lucky to be his fake daughter-in-law. 

Marcus’s step-mom, Rachel, takes pictures. As you’re walking up the aisle, you’re trembling. “Don’t worry, sweetheart,” Jeremy murmurs so that only you can hear. “You’re in good hands with my son.” You don’t know how much Jeremy Pike knows, but he’s right. You couldn’t have chosen a better husband, even if it is a fraudulent one. You catch Marcus’s soft brown eyes and the look on his face calms your jittery nerves. Taking a deep breath, you make it to where Marcus is waiting with the justice of the peace. 

“You look beautiful,” Marcus whispers to you, his lips right at your ear. Your breath catches at the contact and also at the compliment. It’s not a real marriage, you remind yourself. You and Marcus, while about to become husband and wife, are not going to have a traditional husband-and-wife relationship outside of what is necessary to get you your citizenship. Nothing is changing except your relationship status. It doesn’t have to change. He doesn’t want it to. Otherwise, he would have said so. 

But, says a little voice in your head, that doesn’t mean that things won’t change.  

Having no idea where that thought came from, you take Marcus’s hand in yours and face the justice of the peace. His hand is strong in yours, but gentle. Always a steady hand to hold at any time, including and especially now. This is not brand new information, but it’s something that grounds you in this moment. The ceremony is not long. The justice of the peace says some words, has you and Marcus make your vows, exchange the rings (courtesy of Marcus’s grandparents), and sign the documents. It’s quick. No-fuss and to the point. 

“By the power vested in me by the District of Columbia, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss each other.” 

You don’t catch Marcus’s expression before his lips touch yours but Rachel is quick with her camera, taking a few pictures before, during, and after your kiss. You’ve never kissed Marcus on the lips. On the cheek, yes. You’ve also received forehead kisses from Marcus over the years, but this is a first for you. His lips are soft on yours. It’s a gentle kiss, just a peck more than anything else. You want more. It makes you feel warm, good. 

Marcus rests his forehead against yours for a few seconds. He’s smiling, you’re smiling. You’re married. To the man that you love. Only problem is, it’s not a real marriage and will be over before it starts. 

Jeremy and Rachel take you and Marcus out for lunch. You and Marcus have the day off and the next few days. You are not going to do anything out of the usual, but you’re going to spend more time together. Get into the pattern of being husband and wife. 

When you and Marcus return home that evening, you make dinner together. Sit together at the dining room table and talk about whatever comes to mind. After doing the dishes together (Marcus washes, you dry), you sit on the couch and watch a Nicolas Cage movie on Netflix. It’s easy, comfortable. You snuggle in under the blankie that he’s had for years, the really warm one, and he puts his arm around you, holding you close to him. 

Once the movie is over, you say goodnight and go to your separate rooms for bed. 

- - - - 

Two weeks later, you receive a notification from the immigration department, saying to expect the first of four visits from an officer soon. 

“I guess this ends our sleeping in different beds,” says Marcus. The plan is to start sleeping in the same bed, Marcus’s bed, closer to when the officer comes so that it looks less conspicuous and so that you are totally comfortable with each other. That afternoon when you get home from work (Marcus is working late on a case), you return the guest bedroom to its original state and move all of your stuff into Marcus’s bedroom. All of your clothes fit in well with his in the dresser and the closet; it looks like Marcus already made room for your stuff. 

You decide to become more affectionate with Marcus. Not that you weren’t already affectionate, but in a way so that it doesn’t seem so scripted when your case worker arrives in a few weeks. 

Setting a framed picture of yourself and Marcus on the dresser, you go to make dinner and let your mind wander. Marcus arrives home just as you’re setting dinner in the oven. Pressing pause on Broken Bells, you greet him at the door. “Hey,” you say, drawing him in for a hug and a peck on the lips. 

Marcus is surprised. The hug he’s used to, since you always greet him with that, but the kiss takes him off-guard. “Hey to you, too. What was that for?” 

“Oh, um, I thought, since the case reviewer is coming soon, we should be more comfortable with each other and physical affection,” you explain. 

Marcus tries to hide his disappointment. A part of him hoped that he was doing this because you are starting to reciprocate his feelings. But of course, it’s for the sake of authenticity. “Right. Yeah. That makes sense,” he replies, swallowing down his disappointment. “But I think we need more practice than just that,” he teases. 

Your eyes twinkle. “I think that’s reasonable.” 

Marcus kisses you again and you nearly float away, forgetting for a second that this is only for the purpose of appearances; he makes it feel so real. “How was your day?” you ask. 

“Long. Do I have time to shower before dinner?” he asks. 

You point at the timer on the oven. “Lots. Take your time.”

Half an hour later, Marcus freshly showered and in a grey sweatshirt and some pajama pants, you sit down for dinner.  He looks cozy. “I should have helped you with dinner. I’m sorry,” he apologizes as you set his plate in front of him. 

You kiss his cheek. “It’s fine. I like doing this sort of thing. And you had a long day at work.” 

Marcus digs into his meal. “How was your day?” he asks. 

After dinner, Marcus helps you with tidy-up despite your protestations that he should sit down. You can tell that he’s exhausted. “I want to help,” he argues, brooking no denial. So the two of you wash the dishes in companionable silence. It’s nice. You wash and he dries. 

“Can I?” Marcus asks, gesturing to your face. 

“Huh?” Marcus reaches out and wipes soap suds from your cheek, wiping them from his hand with the dish towel. Your face flushes warm. “Oh. Thanks,” you say. 

“You’re welcome.” And then he kisses you again. This one doesn’t feel staged or scripted, like it’s for the purpose of appearances and fooling the right people. This one feels like he wants to kiss you. That he’s doing it simply for the sake of kissing you. It could be for practice, but you don’t think so. His lips are soft against yours. Gentle but with a hint of neediness. Perhaps the neediness is yours? You can’t tell. His stubble tickles at your skin in the best possible way. The dish towel falls from his hand as he brings both his hands to rest at your waist. Yours grasp at the fabric of his FBI shirt. 

After about half a minute of kissing like this, Marcus pulls away. His cheeks are flushed pink, his eyes are still closed. You have a hard time reading his expression, even when his eyes open. The question of “why did you kiss me?” is on your tongue, ready to be asked. But you find that you don’t want to hear the answer if it is what you fear. And you don’t want to shake this feeling that his kiss has given you.

You feel warm and cherished and you want to do that again. Not for the sake of the charade. Just because. You’re just friends with him. You just happen to be married to him as well. But friends don’t kiss their friends the way you were kissing him just now, even if it is just for show.

Uh-oh. You’re in trouble. 

When it comes time for bed, you get into your jammies as Marcus is brushing his teeth in the ensuite bathroom. You know what side of the bed is his, so you take the other side, reading a book as he finishes getting ready for bed. 

You’re both adults. Who happen to be married to each other. You can share a bed with your husband. You are not going to overthink this at all. Just like how you’re not currently overthinking the kiss from earlier. 

Marcus comes out from the bathroom as you’re finishing your chapter. You mark your page, put the book on the night table and look up at him. He looks…nervous? Good to know you’re not the only one who’s overthinking all of this. 

After a second’s hesitation, Marcus gets into bed. “If this isn’t okay I can go to the guest room or the couch or—”

“Shut up, Marcus. We’re both adults. We’re married for chrissakes. It’s just sharing a bed. Just sleeping.” You sound more sure of yourself than you feel, but it must work since Marcus, after another minute of deliberation, gets into the bed. 

It’s late, you’re both tired. Marcus sets his alarm for tomorrow morning, plugs in his phone and switches his bedside lamp off. You follow suit and you’re plunged into darkness. “Is this okay?” he asks after a minute. 

“Yep,” you reply. “Goodnight.” 

“Sleep well, honey.” 

It takes a few minutes of getting used to, but the bed is so warm and comfy. It feels slept in unlike the bed in the guest bedroom. In the darkness, the only light coming from the clock radio’s time display, you can see Marcus’s sleeping silhouette. He’s a side sleeper, currently facing you. 

You can do this. You can pull off being fake married to him. You can sleep in the same bed as your husband.

With that, you fall asleep. 

- - - - 

When you wake up the next morning, the light is dim. You can hear rain on the windows. You’re warm and feel like you’re cocooned. You’re on your side, facing the wall in the opposite direction of Marcus’s side of the bed. The thick duvet is warm and plush, but that’s not the primary source of your warmth. As you wake up, you realize that your back is pressed up to something firm. Something that feels suspiciously like Marcus’s chest. Marcus is still sound asleep. His arms are locked around your waist. 

Oh. You ignore the thought of how easily and quickly you could get used to this. All of it, really. The way his legs are tangled with yours right now. The way he cares. How easy it was to fall into a routine with him. If this wasn’t fake, you could see a life with Marcus Pike like this. How easy it would be—how easy it is— to love and be married to Marcus Pike for real. 

With that sobering thought, you wrangle free from his hold, gentle enough that he doesn’t wake. He snuffles in his sleep and rolls over. You grab a towel from the walk-in closet and go to the bathroom for a shower. There’s not a lot of time until Marcus’s alarm goes off. You’re quick, knowing that Marcus will need to use the bathroom soon. You’re just finishing up when his alarm goes off. 

He’s bleary-eyed when you come out from the ensuite bathroom dressed and ready for the day. “Morning,” you say. 

Marcus’s voice is sleepy. “Morning, sweetheart.” He’s rumpled and he has a major bedhead. You resist the urge to run your fingers through his soft-looking brown locks. “Did you sleep well?” he asks. 

It was the best sleep you’ve gotten in ages. You nod. “Mmm-hmmm.” 

Marcus yawns and stretches. The bedclothes are around his waist. As he stretches, his shirt rises up, showing off a sliver of tummy. You avert your gaze before you stare for too long. Get it together, you tell yourself. 

“Um… I’m done in the bathroom if you need to use it,” you say awkwardly. 

Marcus nods and he gets up from bed. If you’re not careful, you could get used to this a bit too much. 

After he’s showered, he comes into the kitchen where you’re making toast for yourself. “Let me drive you to work today,” he offers as you hand him a mug of coffee, made just the way he likes it. “Thank you,” he adds, kissing your cheek before taking a sip. You somehow make his coffee better than he does. 

“Aren’t you going to be busy with the case? From the sounds of it you’ve got your hands full with it and I don’t want to take you away from your work if I don’t have to.” The idea is tempting, but you’d feel guilty if his work was slowed down because of you. 

Marcus is unconcerned. “Nah. Most of what needs doing today is filing evidence and paperwork. And you don’t take me away from anything,” he assures you. 

He’s just saying that to be nice, but it makes you feel better about it all the same. “All right, if you’re sure.” 

It’s raining, which brings a dampness to the already cold November air, so you’re glad for the lift. Your car is a bit of a lemon, especially when it comes to heating. Meanwhile, Marcus’s FBI-issued SUV is relatively new and has almost, if not all, the bells and whistles; it makes for a warm ride over to the museum. He drops you off as close to the front door of the Smithsonian as possible. You clutch an umbrella in one hand, your purse in the other, hood already up. “Have a good day, sweetheart. I’ll see you later,” says Marcus. 

“You too, Marcus.” Your hand is on the door handle, ready to get out, but something makes you turn back to face him. He has that tender look on his face and he leans in. You meet him in the middle. 

It’s a quick, almost chaste kiss. If your hands weren’t full, you’d cup his cheek. He’s really committing to the bit. 

“I’ll see you later,” you whisper when you force yourself to pull away. “Thanks for the lift.” 

On your lunch, you get a phone call from the case worker for your immigration. There’s an opening in his schedule to bump up your preliminary meeting and subsequent meetings if that’s convenient for you and Marcus. “Um, sure. I think that we can get things organized for that as far as work goes. When are you thinking?” you ask. 

“November 24. I know it’s only a few days from now and I apologize for the short notice. I can send a letter to your bosses if need be.” 

Today is November 21. That only gives you two days, not counting today, to get ready. You clear your throat. “I–I think that can be manageable.”

The case worker—John, you think his name is—confirms it with you, gives you a window of time when to expect him and what to expect. “It’s just a preliminary meeting. Some basic questions and whatnot. Nothing to be worried about.” 

Right. You thank him and call Marcus immediately after hanging up. 

“Do you think you can get out of work on Thursday? I just got a call from the immigration agent. Says he has an opening for our preliminary meeting.” 

Marcus pauses for a minute. “I think so. Yes. Let me just move some things around, re-assign some things and I should be good.” 

“Okay. Thanks. How’s work today?” you ask. 

He chuckles. “It’s fine. How about you?” 

And that’s what starts your daily lunchtime phone calls with your husband. When he picks you up a few hours later, you’re chilled to the bone, both from the damp, cold day and the icy cold wind, as well as from working in the temperature controlled basement. Stepping into his car and into his world, warms you right up. Setting down your purse and wet umbrella, you greet him, cupping his cheek this time when he kisses you hello. 

A savoury scent from the backseat greets you as well once Marcus sets the SUV into drive. “I picked up dinner on the way over. I don’t know about you, but I don’t feel like cooking and I just want to get under the blankets on the couch.” 

It’s like he read your mind. 

 - - - - 

“I think I’m in love with my wife.” Marcus sits back on the plush couch at his therapist’s office the next day after dropping you off at work again. 

His therapist, Dr. Kate Solana, frowns. “You think you are?” she asks, pushing a lock of brown hair behind her ear. She’s a younger therapist than Marcus would have originally envisioned having for himself; he’s certain she’s younger than him. The first session, he thought that she looked more like a fitness instructor than a therapist. But she’s good at what she does. She’s helped Marcus change some of his ways of interacting with people for the better. 

Marcus sighs. “You know why I married her.” 

Dr. Solana nods. “Yes. To help her. But you were friends with her before marrying her.”

“Best friends,” Marcus clarifies. 

Dr. Solana looks at her notes. “You said that you had an agreement that you would stay married until it no longer looked suspicious. Are you having second thoughts?” she asks. 

He hesitates for a minute, thinking about his answer. “Not really? I’m still committed to the act. I just don’t think I can call it an act anymore. At least on my part.”

The therapist nods, contemplative. “What exactly is the problem?” she asks, taking a sip of her coffee. 

Marcus opens his mouth to speak and then closes it again after a minute. Still thinking of how to answer. “I know that I’m… too much sometimes. I come on too intensely.” He says it as a fact. He knows it’s true, knows it’s why his past relationships have failed. Why he’s had a failed marriage and a broken engagement. He can feel himself coming on too strongly with you, even if you think it’s for the purposes of acting natural when the immigration officer arrives on Thursday. It isn’t an act for him; he doesn’t think it ever has been. Dr. Solana doesn’t say anything, allowing him to think out loud and verbalize his feelings and his thoughts. “I don’t want that to happen with my wife. I don’t want to scare her off. I made an agreement with her and I intend to keep that promise. I’m just not sure how I’ll take it when it comes time to file for divorce. I thought, stupidly perhaps, that I could do it. That I could just pretend, but I can’t pretend. It’s never been pretend with her.” 

There’s a long pause. “Are you saying that you want to tell her how you feel or…?” 

Marcus sighs. “I don’t know how I could. She thinks it’s pretend. It’s an act for her. Surely it is. My wife is a person who takes what she wants. She would have told me how she felt already, wouldn’t she?” He shakes his head. “I don’t know.” 

Dr. Solana waits a couple of seconds before she speaks. “The foundation for every relationship, romantic or otherwise, is communication and honesty. You can’t have trust without open, honest communication. My advice to you? Tell her how you really feel. It doesn’t have to be with some grand gesture or anything like that. It can be as simple as sitting her down and telling her that you have genuine feelings for her. Do you worry that she will reject you?” 

“If she turns me down, the thing I would worry about the most is that we wouldn’t be friends anymore. Above all, what I want is for her to be in my life, in any capacity,” Marcus admits. And it’s in that moment that he knows that he truly loves you.

“Tell her that. Tell her the truth. It will only make things that much harder if you don’t. She might surprise you and feel the same way. It could be that she’s not telling you how she feels because she’s worried you’re just pretending.”

Marcus opens and shuts his mouth again. He hadn’t thought about it like that before. 

The rest of the day goes by without any significance. He picks you up at five. Dr. Solana’s words of advice echo in his ears all day. He’s not going to tell you right now. Not with the immigration officer coming the day after tomorrow. Marcus knows you have a lot on your plate with that. He doesn’t want to add to the worry that you have. 

He’ll tell you when the meetings with immigration are about to begin in just over twenty-four hours. He knows it’s prolonging everything, but he could see a life with you. Beyond just a green-card marriage. Marcus would do it again for you if asked. He’d do pretty much anything you ask him. Above all, he just wants you to be happy. 

You lean your head on his shoulder. “What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?” you ask, cutting through his ruminations. 

“Huh?” Marcus blinks. “Just thinking, that’s all.” 

Removing your head from his shoulder, you look at him. “Everything okay?” 

Marcus smiles at you. Kisses your forehead. “Everything’s fine. Just a bit of a long day.” 

It’s not a lie. He is fine. He did have a long day. He just hasn’t told you that he’s in love with you. 

“You missed.” 

He blinks. “What?” he asks. 

“You missed,” you repeat, as if that clarifies things. 

Marcus is about to ask what you mean when you press your lips to his. This one somehow feels different to the other kisses you’ve exchanged. Like you’re not pretending. Like you are kissing him for the sake of kissing him. It takes a few seconds for Marcus’s brain to catch up, for his lips to respond to  yours. 

Your husband can kiss. This isn’t one of those tender kisses, not one of those chaste ones. No, this one has heat and passion. His teeth graze your lips at one point, nibbling at them as he continues to kiss you. By the time you’ve broken apart for air, you’re practically sitting in his lap. 

Letting out a bit of a shaky, breathy laugh, you joke, “We’re getting pretty good at this.” 

Marcus’s grin is this side of devilish. “I think we need more practice.” And he kisses you again. 

- - - - 

Thursday morning dawns blearily. It’s cloudy and overcast, the sun refusing to come out from its grey shroud. 

The condo is in tip-top shape. It looks lived in by both you and Marcus, like this is your home that you’ve shared for longer than three weeks. The case worker is arriving just before ten. Your nerves are on high alert. 

Something’s changed with Marcus in the last few days. He’s still the same Marcus, but he seems more into committing to this act. You never knew he was such a good actor before this. Which doesn’t make sense. You’ve seen him act surprised at birthdays and such and he never gave off this Oscar worthy performance. This is a man who is an open book. Maybe he’s committed to this act because he knows that you have a lot to lose if the act isn’t bought.

It’s a bit heartbreaking you have to admit, knowing that this is all an act on his part. You’ve hoped that he would take the bait and realize that it isn’t an act for you. And maybe it never has been. You nearly broke down at girl’s night last night, lamenting to Nikki and Lily that your fake marriage is more real than you ever thought it would be, that you’re in love with your husband and he’s only pretending to be in love with you for the sake of your green card.

It’s a kindness he’s done for you, helping you obtain your green card like this. But you want it to be real so badly. You don’t want to get a divorce, but you know that Marcus will want one so he can be with someone he wants to be with.  

“Just have sex with him!” suggested Nikki the night before. “That’ll definitely give him the hint that you want this to be a real marriage!”

You’d shaken your head. “No. That’s playing dirty, I feel like. Marcus, while he does deserve a good lay, needs to be told in an honest, upfront way. I just thought that he would not be so slow on the uptake, you know?” You sighed. “Maybe he doesn’t feel the way I thought he did. Maybe he’s just doing this so committed to better sell the story.” 

Lily and Nikki both protested. They both argued that you just need to tell Marcus how you feel. “You always go after what you want. It’s a trait that I really admire in you. But I’m really confused as to why you’re not going after Marcus. Why you’re not telling him how you really feel and hiding behind this charade,” Lily said, not in an unkind way. 

You’d taken a big, fortifying sip of your long island iced tea. “I’m just… scared,” you admitted. “I’m scared that I’m wrong about how he feels and that it’ll end the entire relationship, including our friendship.” 

Nikki had placed her hand on yours, Lily following suit. “Or, he could feel the same way. And maybe he’s not telling you or taking the bait because he has the same worries that you’re having.” 

When you’d arrived home later that night, Marcus was already in bed, reading a book. You’d quickly gotten ready for bed and curled up next to him, still slightly buzzed from your drink. Marcus kissed you on the forehead gently and tucked in next to you. 

The buzzer distracts you from your reverie. “Ready?” asks Marcus. 

You nod wordlessly. 

Places, everyone. 

The agent knocks on the door a few minutes later. You take Marcus’s hand in yours. Not so much for the act, but for reassurance. He twines your fingers together and offers a nod of encouragement before he opens the door. 

“Agent Pike, Mrs. Pike, hello.” It’s the first time someone has referred to you as Mrs. Pike. You like it. “I’m John Turner, and I’m your assigned immigration officer.” 

You and Marcus welcome him into the condo. You take agent Turner’s coat as Marcus offers him something to drink. 

When you rejoin them, Turner is taking in the condo, a watchful, studious eye observing, trying to see if anything is amiss. There’s a folder tucked under his arm, presumably with your case information. 

Marcus carries a tray into the living room with two cups of coffee for you and him and a glass of water for Agent Turner.

“So first things first,” says Turner as he sits on the chair opposite the love seat that you and Marcus sit down on, your entwined hands resting on your knee. “This isn’t an interrogation. Neither of you are in any sort of trouble. This is all standard stuff. Just to make sure everything’s accurate and as it should be so that you can get your citizenship. This is just the preliminary meeting. There will be an additional two meetings after this one, plus some discussion with the references you’ve provided,” he explains.

You nod. “Thanks so much for speeding up this process for us. It saves us both so much needless anxiety.”

“Of course. Shall we get to it?” 

The questions start out basic. Full names, countries of origin, birthdates. Easy. 

“When did the two of you start seeing each other?“ asks Agent Turner.

Marcus answers this question. “Five months ago.” 

The immigration agent raises an eyebrow. “You got married after dating for four and a half months?”

You take this one. “Yes. We were going to wait to get married, but then I got the news about my visa expiring sooner than I thought and neither of us wanted to wait,” you explain. “And when you know, you know.” You look at Marcus affectionately. “I think I knew pretty early on.”

Marcus returns the smile. “I’ve been married and engaged before. It never felt the way it feels with her. There’s a clarity with her that didn’t exist with my ex-wife and ex-fiancée. I just want her to be happy, I would have gladly gone to Canada with her and joined the Canadian equivalent of the FBI if it meant I could be with her.” 

You nod. “I know how it looks, Agent Turner. But I’m married to Marcus because I love him and didn’t want to be separated from him. It was his idea to get married so he could sponsor my citizenship application. My job is contract based and not permanent, so my boss couldn’t sponsor it. Being married to the man I love was the top priority. Him sponsoring my visa and citizenship is just an added benefit.”

Agent Turner scribbles down all that you are saying, his phone also recording everything that is being said. “I see. And what are your plans should you be accepted? Likewise if your application is rejected?”

You think for a second. “If I’m accepted and receive citizenship, I’ll continue what I’m doing now. Stay married to Marcus, do my work as an art restorer. If I’m rejected, I’ll go back to Canada.”

“With me,” adds Marcus. He doesn’t need to add more; you’d discussed it this morning, that his answer to this question would be simple and to the point. He feels the need to continue, however. “Truthfully, agent, I’d go anywhere if it meant being with her. She’s one of the best parts of my life. I can’t imagine a life without her. She makes me so happy and I love her more than I have loved anyone else. It feels like I have known her for years. To know her is to love her. And if she’s deported, there’s nothing that would stop me from following her to Canada. Yes, part of why I married her is so that she can stay here, her life is here now. But I married her because I wanted to. I love her. I want to spend my life with her.”

Your heart is about to burst with emotion and love for Marcus. He didn’t have to say all that. You just wish it was true. 

All the same, you add, “Being married to Marcus is something that is just so wonderful. I’ve loved him for a long time. We’ve been friends for years, but being his wife is just so much sweeter because of it. I’m married to my best friend. He’s the love of my life and I’m just so lucky that I have him as my husband. He talked about how he would follow me anywhere to be with me and it’s the same for me. I’d go with him anywhere if it meant being together. Home is wherever he is.” You look at Marcus, the emotional look on your face hopefully saying everything that you can’t put into words. 

Just because Marcus probably didn’t fully mean what he said, doesn’t mean you can’t mean what you say.

- - - - 

The rest of the meeting goes smoothly. He’s there for about an hour total. When he leaves, your shoulders immediately relax; while Marcus was a calming influence during the meeting, you couldn’t help but be nervous and tense.

Marcus makes lunch in silence. You watch his back as he makes some sandwiches, the movement of his back muscles beneath his dress shirt. You can’t take it anymore. “Why did you say those things?” you ask.

Marcus turns, butter knife paused in midair between the bread and the jar of mayonnaise. “What things?” he asks.

“The things about following me anywhere and all that.” 

Marcus pauses, his heart in his throat. “I said those things…” He takes a breath, sees you watching him intently. “I said those things because they are true.”

You gasp softly. “You did?” 

He nods. “I did. I’m in love with you, I think I have been for a while. It just took a while for me to catch up.”

Your eyes narrow. “Is that why you offered to marry me?” 

“Not entirely. I didn’t want you to get married to someone you didn’t know or like. My intentions were always platonic. But then… I don’t know. My heart and my brain caught up with each other. But I was just so worried that you didn’t feel the same. That this was still just an act for you.” 

It takes a full sixty seconds to process what he’s said. Something finally clicks in your mind. And then you burst into laughter. At Marcus’s confused look, you explain, “I’m sorry, I’m not laughing at you. I thought the same thing. Because here’s the thing. I’m in love with you. And I was worried that you were just committed to the bit.” 

Marcus’s look turns from confusion to realization. “You love me?” He’s still in a bit of disbelief. “All this time I thought you were committed to the act, but you’ve been trying to show me that you want more.” 

You nod, realizing the same thing about Marcus’s actions. “So, we’ve both been thinking that the other is under the impression that this was still an act when we’ve both wanted more?” you surmise.

Marcus chuckles. “That’s about the long and short of it, yeah.” 

“God, we’re a bunch of obtuse idiots,” you quip before closing the ever shorter gap between you and Marcus. The contact between your mouths is instant and electric. The butter knife that Marcus was still grasping clatters to the floor as he greedily kisses you, his arms wrapping around you, wanting you—needing you—closer to him. He takes you into his arms, his lips never far, and hoists you up onto the counter, your legs wrapping around his waist as you make out with him, sensual and sloppy and greedy. Your lipstick has transferred some to his lips. He doesn’t care. “Christ, honey, I’ve wanted you so bad for so long.”

You nod. “Me, too,” you gasp out. Marcus is pressed up enough against you that you can feel just how much he wants you, the effect you have on him. “I think we’ve waited long enough. I think it’s time we consummate this marriage. Make it real.” 

Marcus doesn’t need to be told twice. Helping you down from the countertop, he leads you to the bedroom. (“As much as I want to fuck you on every surface in this house, our first time should be in our bed, honey,” he explains.)

He has you spread out on the bed. His shirt has been shucked off, his pants strewn across the room. You’ve seen him in just his swimsuit before, but in this context? Totally different. You’re practically salivating over the sight of your husband—your husband—like this, looking at you the way he is. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, brushing kisses into every inch of skin he exposes as he helps you out of your sweater dress and leggings. “So fucking beautiful.” He kisses you on the lips with a toe-curling kiss. You haven’t even done that much yet and he already has you desperate. You grapple at his shoulders, sighing into the kiss. 

“I love you,” you say in between kisses. “I love you.”

He kisses down your chest, taking extra time at the spot where your neck meets your chest, your breasts. His fingers toy with the hemline of your panties. You whine as he presses a kiss right above them. “I love you.” 

The last layer of your clothing gone, Marcus goes straight to work, making you even more desperate. He’s generous and he’s methodical. He’s a giver. 

It’s not very long before your husband has you reaching your first peak. Your fingers, which are twisted in his soft brown hair, tighten and he groans in pleasure. Satisfied with himself, he presses his lips to yours. “I love you.” 

He doesn’t give you much time to recover, just enough time to grab a condom from the night table drawer. You are clean and on the pill but you’re still beyond words to tell him that. Next time.

Before you have fully processed what is happening, Marcus has buried himself inside you, inch by inch. He gives you a second to adjust (your latent suspicions about his size confirmed) and then he moves. “Marcus, oh my God,” you gasp, your voice reedy with need. 

“T-take what you need,” he stutters, your hips snapping against his as you move together. 

“You—you too,” you manage to stammer out. 

Neither of you last long, all of the pent up feelings quickly coming to the surface. Your need for him supersedes everything else. Marcus stills and groans, kissing you through your collective high. 

He’s still inside you as you both settle down. You kiss his shoulder, his neck then pull back, still breathless. “Why the hell did we wait so long to do that?” you ask once you’ve caught your breath a little.

Marcus shakes his head. “I have no idea. But we’re going to make up for missing out on it for so long. I promise, Mrs. Pike.” His eyes twinkle and you can see how happy he is to be able to call you that. 

“I’ll hold you to that, Mr. Pike.” You kiss the tip of his nose.

Lunch goes forgotten until you stumble out of the bedroom a few rounds later to get something to eat and drink.

- - - - 

Two years later…

“Honey, are we getting a divorce this year?” Marcus asks as he nips at your neck from behind you. 

You reach back to touch his face. “Mmmm… I don’t think so. I’m too used to being married to you now. Maybe next year.” 

Marcus spins you so that you’re facing him. He’s still warm and sweaty from what you were just doing a few minutes ago. “Mmmm…” he growls before capturing your lips in a hungry kiss. “Me too.” 

It isn’t long before you’re on top of him again; he’s still inside you so not much effort is needed. It’s been two years of absolute bliss. The rest of your application process went smoothly and it didn’t take long until you had received full citizenship (you and Marcus had been otherwise occupied when the phone call came). You took the last citizenship test needed and passed with flying colours. 

Since then, you’ve left the Smithsonian and relocated to the Jeffersonian, acting as the official liaison to the FBI’s art department in a permanent position. Not long after receiving your green card, you and Marcus hosted a wedding reception where your mom finally got to meet your husband. It was there that Rachel finally gave you the wedding photos. The one she took of you and Marcus right before the kiss that made you husband and wife hangs in your bedroom, showing the mutual love and awe that you and Marcus share for each other long before either of you fully realized it. 

Your honeymoon, taken a month after you received full citizenship, was nothing short of magical. Marcus took you to Mallorca and you spent two weeks soaking up the sun (that is, once you broke in the bed a few times together once you arrived at the villa you were renting). 

You and Marcus are a team. A true husband and wife. Sure, you have problems every now and again, but it’s nothing that you can’t solve together. You’re a team, and nothing is hidden from each other, always on the same page as each other.

Divorce has become a running joke between you; it’s the last thing either of you wants. You’re happy together, you’re going to spend the rest of your lives together. He feels like home, he’s a steady, sturdy force in your life that you were missing up until marrying him. And you’re the same for him. You never thought it would end up this way, but you’re so glad and so lucky that it did. You are married to your best friend. Life can’t be sweeter than that.

The End

--- taglist in reblog.

#pedro pascal #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x f!reader #the mentalist #the mentalist fanfiction #marcus pike #marcus pike fanfiction #my fic #my writing #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfiction

[starsarefire824]

Byler Fic Recs

I haven't posted some fic recs in a while so I thought I would!

Here are some ones I love:

In Undertow (M) by olliecoddle (@souverian-are-we): This is my favorite thing I'm reading right now. It's. Just. So. Good.

The Wheeler’s lakehouse was a two-story wooden building with white siding and blue shutters on each of the little windows. It sat on the edge of a large blue-green lake, a long backyard full of tall tufted grass that ended in a wooden dock extending out over the water. Will had been to the Wheeler’s lakehouse twice as a child, once when he was eight and again when he was sixteen. Now, he was twenty-nine and pulling up to the long driveway of the house in his beaten-up Ford Escort, his stomach in nervous knots that he was trying to calm with a half-full can of ginger ale.

or, four months after one byers/wheeler couple breaks up, another gets married. and, of course, will and mike are both the best men. and, of course, there is a plot to get them back together. nothing goes to plan.

one soft infested summer (M) by wheelersboy (@lucasvenkman)" The Stoned Byler to ever be stoned. And it's sexy and emotional and just delicious summer vibes. And I'll forever be thankful for the Director's Cut. 😉

The Party spend their last summer before college together at Summerfest in Milwaukee. Oh yeah, and they're stoners.

My Teeth In Your Neck (T) by @foodiewithdahoodie: Boarding school, sexual tension, and fencing. It's dope.

Mike and Will used to be friends. Best friends! But after one fight they couldn't come back from during the summer, they haven't spoken to each other since. The only time they cross paths is on the piste, with epee swords brandished, as fencing rivals for their opposing boarding schools - Hawkins High vs Lenora Hills Prep. This year is no different, except it kind of is. Something pulls them together and this time they can't escape it. Because there's no Mike without Will and there's no Will without Mike. Simple as that.

the strawberries are dying (T) by @eggowls Rated T: the world needs more historical au Byler fics, and this one is perfect. Beautifully written and an interesting premise. I have to catch up on this one.

At the height of the stock market crash, the Wheelers are the richest family in Roane County and in need of domestic servants to fulfill their estate's needs. In a bout of desperation, they end up hiring the Byers family, much to everyone’s (except Nancy’s, who has a crush on Jonathan) chagrin.

However, in the midst of it all, two outcasted young boys from completely different lives find a light in each other. And—slowly—their lives begin to intertwine to the point of no return.

need, lie, mean, cry (T) by @willow-lark: a good shorty fic with lots of angst!

Nobody needs Mike Wheeler. He probably wouldn't be so mad about it if Will hadn't lied and made him think otherwise.

Let's Go Crazy Together (but not like this) (M) by Julia_Skysong: Byler hate each other and end up sharing a room at rehab. It's awkward. I'm only halfway through, but I'm loving it.

Anger, fear, trauma, grief. One turned to alcohol. One turned to drugs. Now, somehow, they've ended up sharing a room at the same mental hospital. Will and Mike are stuck, forced to work through their issues together, for better or for worse.

things i can't say (T) by @chiquitablanquita. Switched notebook trope, my beloved. I really liked the writing here.

Will’s sketches contain a confession: he’s in love with his best friend. Unfortunately, his best friend’s journal looks a lot like his sketchbook.

If You Stay (M) by Flurryofstarz. A The Proposal AU, Byler edition. It's fucking cute. Impatiently awaiting an update.

Faced with the threat of deportation, career-oriented Mike Wheeler says he's engaged to his hapless assistant, Will Byers. Will commits to the lie while imposing a few conditions of his own. With a skeptical immigration official waiting for them to slip up, the two must work together to fool their friends and families into believing that their once-strained relationship has since evolved into true love.

But what happens when they start to believe the lie too?

Or, the fic inspired by the enemies-to-lovers rom-com, The Proposal (2009).

he could be a bee to a blossom (E) by anonymous: I loooveed the writing. Truly a Tragedy that it's anonymous.

Mike reached down and grabbed something. He was seated on the edge of the bed, curled towards him with his knee resting near Will’s pillow. He had a carton of freshly washed and cut fruit in his hand. “I already went to the grocery store and got, like, a million things. We could probably shelter in place here for a month and a half.”

Mike said it in a way that was not remotely sexy, but it still made something in Will’s stomach heat. He almost felt like purring, kneading his hands into the mattress with satisfaction. [My alpha got that for me. My alpha is making sure I’m healthy and hydrated. My alpha is taking such good care of me.]

A record scratch went off in Will’s head. Christ alive, Mike was NOT his alpha.

(A/B/O AU… And they were roommates!)

Be mine through the Hawkinspocalypse (and I'll be yours forever) (E) by TikaWayward: I love this whole series. It's unique and sexy and well written.

Mike was long. Long frame extended in a stretch. Long limbs shaking from exhaustion. Long fingers clenched around ripped sheets. Long hair damp with sweat, sticking to his long pale nape and freckled shoulders. Even his back seemed long as he tensed. Will had to commit this view to memory, engrave it in his mind forever. Even if it was the only time they ever shared such intimacy, even if Mike had only asked him for help because he was there, familiar, convenient, and they needed his heat to stop as soon as possible. There are goddamned monsters out there Will, I can’t be in heat right now, I can’t! He needed to revere this moment.

Mike truly was the most beautiful creature Will had laid his eyes on. __________________________________________________________________

Or Mike presents as an omega in the middle of his patrol with Will in a monster infested forest.

The Best Ever Death Metal Band Out of Hawkins (M) by olliecoddle (@souverian-are-we): uhmmmmm, I'm obsessed with this. Rock star angsty Byler.

Will had the same pre-show ritual before every gig he ever performed. About twenty minutes before he had to go on stage, he would lock himself in any confined space he could find. In a bathroom stall, his dressing room, the maintenance closet, he would turn off the lights and hide for a few minutes. Today, though, it was five minutes before he had to go on stage, the clock ticking down, and he had spent the last half hour wandering around the venue looking for Mike Wheeler.

Will needed to talk to him.

or, the party has a band. will and mike make out on stage. for the bit, of course. it causes problems.

I’m a Wreck (Without You Here) (M) by @talkingtothelights. I'm only on the first chapter but it's so heartbreaking and emotional. Good shit.

Mike has been living 2,200 miles away from his family and hometown for the past fourteen years. He rarely visits, but when he receives heartbreaking news, he’s forced to return home for a funeral. It’s in this unfortunate chapter of life that Mike must come to terms with the consequences of abruptly running away from home and perhaps reconnect with the one person he’s tried his damnedest to forget about.

not strong enough to be your man (T) by @perexcri. The prose is fucking beautiful. I really enjoyed this one.

He swallows down a flurry of all the things he wants to say – every moment and untold truth and aching thought that’s bruised his mind for years – but it comes out so plain, so stark and oddly-jagged in the silence following the lighting, taking up space where thunder should be:

“I meant it, Will. You’re not an inconvenience.”

Will shakes his head and turns.

Mike wants to feel like he's meaningful, like he's an active part of his own life - worthwhile.

It's a good thing Will needs him now more than ever.

Right?

Make Believe (E) by FlurryofStarz. One of all time favorites. Amazing slow burn and super interesting a/b/o dynamics. Mike centric. I cannot wait until the plot point I think is going to happen is revealed. 👀

There's absolutely no way to know what a person will present as ahead of time, but Mike's never been more certain about something in his life. Will Byers is going to be an Omega--a male Omega--and the second that happens, he'll lose everything. Some knothead Alpha like Troy or James will claim him as their own and no one will be able to stop them. Luckily, the Party has a plan. It might be complicated and unconventional. It might not even be legal, but it's something and that's all Will really needs. Something. And Mike's more than willing to try it if it means saving Will.

But what if Will isn't the one who needs saving?

*** if you’re listed here and want to be tagged let ms know!

#byler #byler fanfic rec #fic recs #will byers #mike wheeler #stranger things #if youre in the mood for some good shit.

[kandisheek]

FIC REC WEEK 11 – A/B/O

AUTHOR SPOTLIGHT: AvengersNewB

When I'm in the mood for some really great A/B/O dynamics, I always turn to Ven. She really has a gift when it comes to turning tropes on their heads and making them her own. And I love, love, LOVE the way she writes omega Tony in particular. She's incredible, and her fics deserve all the love in the world.

Here's some of her work that I think you should check out:

Must Be True

Pairing: Steve/Tony Rating: E Words: 8,793 Tags: Lingerie, Praise Kink, Protective Steve

Summary: When the stakes are too high, Tiberius Stone offers his omega, Tony, as a little side incentive to close important business deals. Tonight’s business is an arms deal with the Avengers, and the alpha they’re meeting is Captain America.

Reasons why I love it: Ugh, Tiberius is such a piece of shit. Ven really captures that essence here. And oh my god, poor Tony, but at least he makes the best out of a horrible situation. I'd read a million more words in this universe, and I really hope you give it a shot too, because it's awesome!

Braid

Pairing: Steve/Tony Rating: T Words: 2,378 Tags: Vikings, Arranged Marriage, Sharing a Bed

Summary: Viking Arranged Marriage AU - Young omega Tony is traded to the Vikings by Stane, for safe passage and gets married to alpha Steve Rogers the captain of the chiefly vessel.

Reasons why I love it: This one is so goddamned sweet, it almost makes me want to cry. I never knew I needed to read about Tony braiding Steve's hair, but I did, and Ven made the perfect version of it. The whole setting is amazing, and Tony's insecurities and doubts feel so real, it's like they're jumping out from the screen. I love this one more than I can say, so please go and experience it for yourself!

Never Enough

Pairing: Steve/Tony Rating: T Words: 4,639 Tags: Insecure Steve, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Mentions of Mpreg

Summary: "Tony, what I'm trying to say... I think you should have a baby even though I apparently can't have one. At least in the near future. I think...I think…" He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath." I think you should get bonded again"

Reasons why I love it: It's honestly refreshing to see a fic where Steve is the one who is completely insecure in their relationship. Their emotions read very true to their characters, and I love how Tony is so quick to reassure Steve that all his doubts are unfounded. Plus, the ending is so sweet it makes me want to scream into a pillow. This fic is amazing, so go ahead and read it!

Restless Gravity

Pairing: Steve/Tony Rating: M Words: 10,929 Tags: Warlord Steve, Temporary Amnesia, Cyborgs

Summary: Omega Tony Stark gets bonded to a human-hating space warlord, to get his people a new home after the destruction of their planet. Warlord - Arranged marriage AU, with a bit of a twist.

Reasons why I love it: This fic has it all. Amazing worldbuilding, a great plot twist, identity porn, incredible characterization and wonderful dialogue. I love this one to pieces, and I hope you go and read it, because it deserves all the love in the world.

Love of Inconvenience

Pairing: Steve/Tony Rating: T Words: 4,856 Tags: Marriage of Convenience, Immigration, Mutual Pining

Summary: Tony had a plan; bond with Steve to keep him from deportation until he could find Steve's childhood friend Mr. Barnes. Temporary. For convenience. The plan did not entail falling for this perfect beautiful omega.

Reasons why I love it: Oh my god, this fic just makes me want to grab them and smash their faces together. It's so good! The way they finally get together in the end is so satisfying, and the journey there kept me hooked the whole time. I love this fic so much, please go and give it some love!

#marvel #stony #fanfic #fic rec #fanfic rec #ficrec #a year in fanfic recs #a/b/o

[maxverstappensflatbrim]

Show Me Yours | Matty Healy [30]

chapter thirty, act four: somebody else

masterlist

little Author's note /TW before this act begins. There's going to be alot of talk of drug use and addiction within the chapters coming, if you're not comfortable with these kinds of things please don't read.

August 22nd 2016

“Tom?”

Tommie looks up slowly at Jamie as he stands across the tour bus from her. She knows that tone, he’s breaking bad news to her.

“Jamie..?” She responds in the same tone.

“Um, a letter came to the Dirty Hit office in London for you.” He fiddles with the piece of paper in his hands, the rustling noise soothing her.

“We’re in Japan.” She points out with a raised brow at the long delay of him telling her. They haven’t been to London in months, travelling straight from the US to Asia and completing shows and festivals out here.

He nods, “I know. It came on your birthday, I brought it with me to America but, I just-. I just… didn’t know when the best time would be to give it to you.”

She nods and gets up from the settee to take it from him slowly, “Not getting, like, sued or deported or anything?”

“Deported? From where?”

She shrugs, “I don’t know.”

He shakes his head, “Not getting sued nor deported,” Then he adds as an afterthought as he realises he has no idea what’s actual beyond the licked seal of the letter, “I hope.”

“We’ve stopped for the day off, the guys are down the front waiting.”

Her breath hitches as she turns it over, she recognises the messy writing and spelling mistakes right away. A few letters are smudged from the use of the writer’s left hand and there’s a drop of something stained on one corner, she hopes it's coffee, but it's probably alcohol.

It’s a letter from her father.

She stares at it a few more moments, until she can hear her name being called down the other end of the bus, then she grabs her jacket and shoves the letter into the pocket, deep down to take it out later.

“Come on, Matty’s getting impatient.” Adam tells her, arm around her shoulder as he tugs her along the long corridor through the living space and kitchen area.

“Uh, where we going?”

“He wants to take that speed train he saw a youtube video about, then go to some arcade because he saw a video on how to hack the claw machines.”

She nods, but then stops herself from walking down the steps, pulling back with one hand gripping the railing and the other the letter inside her pocket, “Uh, I’m gonna stay back, I’ll meet you guys later, send me your address…”

“You sure? You alright?” He asks, brows furrowed in that motherly concern he has only for her.

She nods, “Just, didn't sleep well last night, and I can feel a migraine coming on.”

“Do you want me to st-”

“I think alone time will be best,” She says, “Peace and quiet to get rid of it.”

He nods in agreement, “Okay, I’ll grab you those little chocolate snacks you liked in the seven eleven.”

“Thank you, Ads.”

She heads back into the bus, closing the curtain of her bunk and flicking her little Yoda night light on to read the letter.

She clutches the letter, doesn't realise she’s crying- no, sobbing- until the curtains rip open with such a force that the wind blows her hair over her shoulders and she’s looking up to the furrowed brows of Matty looking down at her.

“Baby?”

“M-Matt-”

He’s sitting beside her pulling her into his arms right away, lips to her hairline as he whispers, “What’s wrong, Baby?”

He closes the curtain around them, shutting out the bright lights thinking it’s a panic attack or a sensory overload, “Is it too bright? Too noisy?” He lowers his voice and she shakes her head moving the letter to his hand.

He’s silent as he reads it, eyes scanning the page, squinting to make out the words that have been smudged by her tears.

“That bas-”

He drops the letter to the end of her bunk far away and forgotten until she’s prepared to deal with it, moving his hand to trace softly up and down her back as she clings to him.

“It’s alright, come on, let's lie down.”

She nods into his shoulder, making no effort as he tries to move them so they're lying on their sides facing each other.

Matty lies with his back to the curtain, right on the end almost falling out and she tugs him closer with his opened button up.

“What happened to the train?”

He shrugs, “Didn’t feel like it.” That’s a lie, it’s all he’s talked about for the past two weeks, he’s been researching the speed, watching youtube videos on it. He’s obsessed with this train. 

“Matt?”

“Hmm?”

“Thank you.”

He nods, hands still moving up and down her back, he smiles as he feels something start nudging at his leg, “Got an intruder.”

Button, who is now a lot larger than when she used to cuddle between them as a puppy, forces her way between them in the tiny bunk.

“Hey, Buttie.”

She spins around a few times, kicking at Matty to move over as she licks Tommie’s tear stained cheeks.

Matty grins as Tommie gives a wet giggle at the dog, quickly promising with a whisper into her head that she’s okay. Button rests her head in the crook of Tommie’s neck, curled up into the curve of her body and huffs as she gives Matty one last taunting kick. The dog’s not stupid. 

Matty reaches over the dog to take her hand, resting it on the dog's back and interlocking their fingers together. His other hand scratches Button’s head which is just what she wanted, the dog's lips lift and she twists herself so Matty will scratch a certain point of her back for her.

“Go to sleep, baby,” He says quietly, leaving Button for just a few seconds, which the dog is not pleased by, lifting her head to stare blankly at him, Matty ignores button to move some hair out of Tommie’s eyes, then drags his finger down her cheek before returning it to Button’s head.  

“I’ll be here when you wake up.”

⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ

August 29th 2016

The man across from her shifts awkwardly, he clears his throat and sips the coffee. It’s too strong, makes her nose hurt and stomach churn.

She sits, sipping from a dr pepper can and watches him, waits for him to make the first move.

“Carol-”

“I go by Tommie.” She says, “I always have, even when I was a kid-”

“I know.” He says quietly, “But you’ll always be little Caroline, the little five pound baby who was so small she fit in her grandfather’s palm.”

“How would you know?” She asks, “When mam gave birth you were getting pissed, like usual…”

He sighs, “Caroli-”

“John.”

He swallows, looks down at the stained table in the little London coffee shop they’d agreed to meet at, not far from the flat she and the guys are currently staying at.

“I know I’ve made a lot of mistakes. Some are unforgivable-”

“Unforgivable?” She scoffs and shakes her head, “Some should’ve landed you in jail a long time ago, John.”

He bows his head, then shakily reaches into his pocket taking out a folded up piece of paper.

There’s a young girl in the photo, wearing cowboy boots and a hard hat, her little red hair hidden by the yellow plastic. She must be around six years old. There’s a scooby-doo scooter that she’s riding one handed, her other hand as a pink ukulele in it.

“This is what kept me going in rehab. Looking at this picture and knowing I ruined her childhood. The thing that kept me going was the knowledge that you were out there doing good, Ca- Tommie.”

Then he pulls his phone out, showing her photos of a toddler, the same pink ukulele sits on the floor in the background, paint chipped with stickers she had put on there herself peeling off. “This is Juliet. Your sister.”

“Does JJ know?”

“JJ lives with us.” He says quietly, “We have a three bedroom house, he’s got his own room, his own stuff. It was his birthday last wee-”

“I know.” She cuts him off, jaw clenched at his audacity, “I never missed one.”

“You’ve missed four.”

“I was ten years old and using my pocket money from nan to buy him birthday presents, John, I think that makes up for it, for escaping when I had the chance.”

He slowly puts the phone away, “I understand, Tommie, that you’re mad at me, at what I did, what I was like- But don’t take it out on everyone else. On JJ, Juliet the rest of the family. You have to understand my point of view. I’d lost my mother, then my father, I was a teenager, I was seventeen when you were born, seventeen, no parents and a newborn child what- What was I supposed to do?” He tilts his head to follow her eyes. 

“I was younger,” She tells him, “I had it worse.”

“This isn’t a competition.”

“Your parents died, yeah, that’s bad, that’s horrible, I know I went through it. But my parents neglected me, my own dad beat me, that’s fucking worse.”

“Your mother was no better than me, where was she-”

“Do not bring my mother into this. Yeah, she lived a little but she was there. She made an effort, she worked to give me everything I had, she partied at night, so what? She gave me clothes, food, roof over my head, she gave me love. Yeah, in little bits that I had to scrape the bottom of the fucking barrel for but she gave it.”

“So what?”

“Yeah, ‘so fucking what’, she never hit me.”

He sighs shakily, rubbing a hand over his stubbled double chin, “I’m better, I was sick back then, but I’m better now, I want you to try and understand that.”

“I understand this perfectly,” She lifts her chin, biting her lip when it wobbles, “Mam wasn’t good enough, JJ wasn’t good rough, I wasn't good enough. But some posh slag Iris, from ‘up North’, with a designer vagina ready at your disposal is-”

The only thing that can be heard over the steaming kettles behind the kitchen is a skin on skin slap.

They both pause, John with a hand in the air and her with a hand pressed to her cheek.

His eyes are full of regret, instantly, he flexes his hand and watches her carefully as her hand pushes into her cheek, “Caroline, I’m sorry, I-I… I don’t know where that came f-”

“Same old, dad.” She says quietly. 

“I’m sorry, I-” A tear falls from his eye, “I’m sorry, Caroline. I didn’t- well, I-”

She clenches her jaw so tight the bone there cracks and she has to open her mouth for it to pop back into place, “I preferred it better when you’d just hit me and tell me it was my fault.”

He stands slowly, grabbing his jacket and folding it over his arm, “I want you to know I’m so very proud of you, Tommie. Of everything you’ve become. Everything you’ve done alone.”

She doesn’t look at him, she keeps staring straight forward at the other side of the booth.

“Of the woman you’ve become, the things you’re doing. So, so proud. And I’m sorry that you’ve had to do it all alone.”

“I wasn’t alone.”

⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ

Slamming the door behind her she jumps as someone says her name, “Tom?”

“Cal?”

His brow raises and he walks around the kitchen counter he was leaning against to meet her at the door, “You good?”

“Yeah.” She nods quickly, turning her face away from him, “I’m going to jump in the shower.”

“How was coffee with your friend, what was her name again?”

“Lily.”

“Right, Lily.”

“Got cut short, she had to go back to work.”

He hums, “Maybe you can try again next time you’re in London.” He suggests and she nods in agreement as she hides herself away behind the bathroom door.

“Hey, Tom?” He knocks his knuckles on the door, “Can I talk to you?”

She waits a few moments flushing the toilet chain to buy herself time as she rubs concealer on the forming red hand print.

She opens the door leaning against the frame and places the fakest smile she can manage on her face as she looks up at him, “Hmm?”

“We’ve been asked back in the studio in two weeks to record a single, a radio single, I was going to ask if-”

“Can we talk about this later? After my shower?”

“This is important to me, Tommie.”

“I know,” She says, reaching to place her hand on his arm, “And I am so so proud of you, I promise… I just feel disgusting.”

“Please.” He lowers himself to meet her direct eye line and she nods. 

“Quickly.”

He grins, “Can you come to LA with me? Just a couple days, help me out with writing a song, maybe help with the productions-”

“Cal,” She says quietly, “We’re different genres, you’re country rock, I’m… whatever it is that Mattty feels in the mood for when he gets up that morning.”

He runs his tongue across his teeth, looking away and she sighs, reaching her hand out to touch his arm.

“Let me have my shower then you can tell me all about your single and your ideas maybe you can run some by me.”

He opens his mouth but the door is shut quickly and he leans back against the wall for a few seconds, making his way to the lying room where a brown flowery leather book sits open on the coffee table.

⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ

Gabby’s brows raise at the quietness of the usual booming apartment. She looks around, setting her bag down on the settee.

“Tom? You in here?”

Matty told her Tommie and Caleb should be there, but it’s not a single sign of life besides the light coming from the bathroom.

Gabby smiles to herself knocking on the door, “Tommie?”

“G-Gab?”

“Yeah, just me, I picked us up some food, Caleb not here?”

“Has he gone?”

Gabby’s brows furrow and she shifts against the door as she looks around, it’s a little messy, just some clothes thrown over the floor and her bag discarded. But she knows Tommie, knows this mess would usually cause her to go off on one of her cleaning tangents. She can tell something is wrong., “Uh, he must've he’s not here. Everything okay?”

“Uh, yeah, give me a few minutes, I just got out of the shower.”

“Okay… I’ll set up the table.”

Tommie hums in response, still working on covering the mark on her face. Gabby sets the shopping bags onto the kitchen counter then works to pick up the clothes, she tosses them into the washing basket in the corner of Tommie’s bedroom then hangs her bag up in its place on the coat hanger beside the flat’s front door. 

Tommie dresses quickly, into some of Ross’ trousers she has to roll six times to fit and then one of Adam’s Oasis t-shirts before walking out to meet Gabby in the kitchen.

“Everything okay?” She asks again.

Tommie nods quickly, “Yup. What’s for dinner?”

“Chinese.”

Tommie nods, pulling some cups from a cupboard down for them, filling one with dr pepper and the other with diet coke, passing the diet coke to Gabby as she moves through the kitchen.

Gabby stays silent for a few more seconds, then decides to break it.

“Tommie?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you sure you’re okay? I mean, I know we haven’t known each other very long, but Matty speaks highly of you-” She sighs and touches her arm gently, “You don’t seem yourself today.”

She nods silently and Gabby’s brows furrow as she moves to place one finger on her cheek, her eyes move around her face as if putting the puzzle pieces together, “Did Caleb-?”

“No,” Tommie stands up straight quickly, clutching her hand desperately, “God no, I’d kick that man’s arse in seconds if he touched me like that. It was-”

She hesitates, but looks at the soft, motherly look on Gabby’s face and relaxes back into the counter, “I saw my dad today, first time since 2012 when I left Wales to move up to Manchester with the guys. I said some things I shouldn’t have and he reverted back to his old ways to get me to shut up.”

She rubs her knuckles at her stinging cheek with a shrug, “My fault, I shouldn’t have said-”

Gabby scoffs, a harsh sound that has her leaning even further back, “Do not blame yourself for your father’s ignorance. If he thinks it's okay to lay a hand on his own daughter or any woman for that matter then there is something seriously wrong with him.”

Gabby’s eyes soften then and she moves to stand right in front of her, “Is that why you left?”

Tommie shrugs, picking at a string on her sleeve and Gabby opens the draw beside them, takes out the scissors and cuts the loose thread. Showing it to Tommie before tossing it into the bin and then taking the girl in her arms.

“Want me to go punch him in the balls?”

Tommie giggles, wrapping her arms around Gabby too, “Nah, I kinda wanna see him fuck up a few more kids lives before we take away his reproductive abilities.”

“Sharing is caring and everything?”

“Sharing is caring.”

taglist

@thereisaplaceintheheart, @indierockgirrl, @sofaritsalrightt, @julezs-bl0g, @eaglestar31, @sophinthealpss, @noacfemcel, @if-my-heart-bleeds, @befrwime, @fallingforel, @sexorchocolateorpillowsorclouds, @3terna15unshin3, @1975sophie1975, @thesocraticjunkiewannabe, @littlesoldierelleora

-let me know if you want to be added :)

#show me yours matty healy #matty healy x oc #matty healy x reader #matty healy imagine #the 1975 x oc

[myaimisgood]

Honkai star rail x male reader (random compilation)

Kafka:[shouting]"hey m/n!"

M/n:"what?"

Kafka:"what your body count?"

M/n:"ten thousand"

Kafka:[shocked]"ten thousand?! God damn you're a hoe!"

M/n:"how does that make me a ho- wait are we talking about people we slept with?"

Kafka:"yeah"

M/n:"oh okay It the same number then"

Kafka:"talk to silver wolf more"

M/n:"fine fine"

You walk over to Silver wolf

M/n:"hi silver"

Silverwolf:"gyat rizz gigachad faunm tax skibidi toilet sigma unspoken rizz rizzler-"

M/n:"uhm iam just gonna leave now"

Kafka:"so how was it?"

M/n:"I think I wanna kill myself"

Silver wolf and you were playing cod online

Silverwolf:[voicechat]"ez ez ez ez L get better old man ez ez ez ez"

M/n:[voicechat]"you live in [insert random address]

Silverwolf:[voicechat]"uhhhh.."

M/n:[voicechat] "your social security number is 12794207245 and your mother maiden name is Rachel Hensley"

Silverwolf:[Voicechat]"wait how do you kno-"

M/n:"[voicechat]your blood type is A- you have three sisters and two brothers and your full name is silver R. Wolf did I get that right?....your life over silver wolf you have three minutes left until twenty hitman are in your location"

Silverwolf starts crying and having an mental breakdown "IAM SO SORRY PLEASE"

M/n:"[voicechat]"you better start praying to God and Jesus Christ also I deported your whole bloodline overseas and I also completely remove your identity from the universe you're no longer a person Silver wolf.....................one minute until the hitmans arrive good luck"

#honkai star rail #hsr x reader #humor #hsr #male reader

[sitp-recs]

Hey hey, I just found your blog so I'm sorry if you already recommended these fics (or don't do fic recs).

Do you know any drarry fics were there is some type of makeover like a house makeover, finding a new job, getting new clothes for Harry, ... Or Draco is just really stylish and sure of himself? I'm thinking something like Turn, House Proud, Heal Thyself or Let him lead me to the banquet.

If you know any fics like these which aren't drarry that would also be really nice.

Wishing you a lovely october :)

Hello, Happy October! I adore those fics you’ve mentioned, they’re all incredible. I do feel like astolat captures this proud, confident Draco perfectly - it’s one my fave characterizations! I think you might enjoy these fics if you haven’t read them yet, they’re a mix of makeover trope and fashionista/confident Draco:

Burning Down the House by @peachpety (M, 4k)

Harry is happy as editor-in-chief of The Quibbler. From planning to printing, design to deadlines, he enjoys being in the hot seat. And after vanquishing Voldemort, managing fires is an easy part of the job. Until his scorching crush on his impeccably dressed fashion editor flares out of control, and he's forced to face actual fires.

Sex on Legs in Six-Inch Heels by @tessacrowley (E, 9k)

Draco Malfoy is a brilliant freelance cursebreaker and the only one who can help the Department of Magical Law Enforcement with a very dangerous case, but more importantly, he's wearing six-inch heels, and Harry cannot handle it, he really just can't.

Haute Allure by @lol-zeitgeistic (E, 12k)

Harry is famous for his menswear now. Malfoy is the inside leg that he loves running his tape measure up.

Party of Two by fireflavored (E, 13k)

Drinking, sex, and a total misreading of the concept of fuck buddies.

A Saviour’s Guide to Manners and Decorum by @wolfpants (E, 13k)

Honorary Minister Harry Potter (yes, he's fully aware his job title is meaningless, and he quite likes it that way) is a disaster at public events. After seven years of dealing with his boorish behaviour, cringey table manners, and clumsy dancing, the Ministry's press team take matters into their own hands and hire Wixen Britain's leading Etiquette and Deportment Expert, Draco Malfoy, to take on the challenge of cleaning up Harry's image before the Ministry's 300th Anniversary Celebration Gala.

Queer Eye (For the Wizarding Guy) by Magnolia822 (E, 23k)

Harry’s life is fine. He might be a little disorganised, and maybe he needs a bit of a haircut, but he’s fine. Really. He doesn’t need a lifestyle intervention, especially when the one giving it is Draco sodding Malfoy and his team of queer fashion and design experts. Of course Harry’s friends disagree, and now he is stuck with Malfoy for a week. One of them might not survive.

Slithering by astolat (E, 27k)

Draco found the nest down in the Manor’s cellars, while he was clearing them out.

'Tis a Far Better Thing by @the-sinking-ship (E, 37k)

'Tis a far, far better thing doing stuff for other people — or however the Muggle saying goes — because Potter is in need of professional help, and Draco is just the man to give it to him.

Shine, Even in the Darkness by raitala (E, 41k)

Harry hasn’t seen Draco for over fifteen years, but now he’s showing up everywhere and Harry is sort of weirdly attracted to him, but that can’t be right?

Nights With You by @the-sinking-ship (E, 58k)

Draco is mortified when moments prior to departing for the most anticipated destination wedding of the year, he is cruelly dumped. But when he learns that Harry Potter has, at long last, split with his horrible boyfriend, Draco is certain his luck has changed. Never a man to squander an opportunity for revenge (and what would probably be a spectacular shag), Draco vows to make Potter his for the weekend. Now all Draco has to do is convince him.

Home Truths by @skeptiquewrites (E, 67k)

In the off-season Harry decided to fix up Grimmauld Place and found that Draco Malfoy was the only person who could help him. A demanding career and unrelenting press scrutiny were enough to deal with before Harry added a house with a mind of its own, family history, and a tense, flirty, complicated relationship with his childhood nemesis to the mix.

Life Lessons by @bixgirl1 (E, 68k)

On the cusp of a promotion, Harry needs a little help with his image. Enter Draco Malfoy — who doesn't really do that, Potter — to whip him into shape… and make him feel things he hasn't for a very long time.

Criminal by @the-sinking-ship (E, 83k)

Things were going just fine for Draco Malfoy. He successfully conned and counted cards across Europe and America, amassing a small fortune, along with a lengthy rap sheet. That was until he made the grave mistake of returning to England for a high stakes card game and got himself caught – by Harry Potter no less. Now, Draco is stuck in England under Auror Potter’s guard with no friends, no distractions, and no escape. How the hell will he pass the time? And since when did Potter get so bloody fit?

Bonus: art!

Dropped Dead Gorgeous by dustmouth (T)

Draco Malfoy is hired to organise a funeral party on the anniversary of Harry Potter's first death. This of course has everything to do with how he is a true artiste with lace, fripperies, and dead bodies, and absolutely nothing to do with why Harry Potter keeps inviting him out to dinner.

#asks #Drarry reclist #makeover #fashionista Draco

[jerzwriter]

Detective Rose's Momma?

Pixelberry has been very Pixelberry and given us no backstory on our MC's Mother. I've wanted to create my own HC, but I'm hesitant because now that we know there will be a book 3, it could be ripped to shreds in a matter of seconds. Still... I have ideas, and I'm curious to know what others have dreamt up for Detective Rose's mother's backstory.

My ideas are below the break, but please reblog with your own HC. I'm tagging some CoP fans/creators I know of, but please, anyone is welcome to jump in. I'd love to know your thoughts.

I've toyed with several different HCs. I'm not sure which is the winner at this time lol I will use Carolina since that's my MC's name.

Runaway Mom - Carolina's mother and father were HS sweethearts. Her mother found herself pregnant not long after graduation, thwarting her dreams of attending college and potentially putting a damper on Jaime's (Jimmy - hey, my MC is Latina!) plans of attending the police academy. Her family wasn't very supportive, but the Rose family agreed to help out so Jimmy could still become a cop. But they weren't very supportive of her mother being able to pursue her dreams (a little old-school mentality, a little cultural). After Carolina was born, her mother suffered from post-partum depression. Between that and feeling her life was essentially stolen, she ran away, leaving full custody to Jimmy. Carolina was raised by her dad, her late abuelos, and Uncle Tommy. There would def be more drama in this route (Mom tried to come back once - why didn't Carolina know? Some really angsty stuff). In this scenario - she's still out there... and how could that be woven into the story. It could go different ways: a) She tried to come back after getting therapy and, being protective and fearing losing Carolina (perhaps a buddy recently lost child custody?), Jimmy refuses to allow her to have contact. He says she can see Carolina when she is 18 - if Carolina wants to. Her mother (obviously still unnamed, lol) could be heartbroken but accept it. Or heartbroken but angry and wanting vengeance... Do you see where I"'m going here? Or, b) She walked away and never looked back. But one day, she wants to reach out to Carolina. She contacts the NYPD trying to get in touch with Jimmy, and finds out he died when Carolina was only 13.

2. Dead Mom - Her mother died when she was young. During childbirth - something her father/Tommy always hid from Carolina to protect her from feeling guilty - is my preferred story. Since I don't think I want Carolina & Trystan to have children, this could tie into that story somehow. I also toyed with her dying of an illness when Carolina was very young and that she has little or no recollection of her.

3. Deported Mom - Another thought was her mother was deported when she was a child. Jimmy fought tirelessly to have her returned, but when things looked hopeless, her mother decided to try and build a new life in her homeland (not sure where this will be yet... undeveloped.) When Jimmy learns there is a chance that she will be able to reenter the US, he learns she's moved on with someone else, and they're expecting a child. She tells him to raise Carolina alone.

I don't know what I'll go with - but I'd love to explore this more during the break between Book 2 and 3.

What are your thoughts? What do you think happened to MC's mom in your HC?

Tagging some people - again - anyone can reply!

@storyofmychoices @lilyoffandoms @trappedinfanfiction @inlocusmads @starsarewithinme @moominofthevalley @reveluving @brycesgirl @aces-and-angels @cariantha @coffeeheartaddict2 @custaroonie @kyra75 @alj4890 @shreyamistry @ao719 @a-cloud-for-dreams

#crimes of passion #trystan thorne #trystan throne x mc #detective rose #backstory

[themculibrary]

Mafia Stucky Masterlist

Captain of Death (ao3) - Summer_Sunflower steve/bucky M, 105k (WIP)

Summary: They call him the Captain of Death.

That’s because he’s never lost a fight.

Being forced into the ring every week was as shitty a life as any could have, but it was fight or die, and Steve was not going to die. It was his life; earning loads of money from bets, and never seeing any penny himself, getting punched and kicked on the regular, and beating others half to death. A miserable life.

Then enter James Barnes, head of the infamous Sevastyanov family. He’s heard of this fighter they call the Captain, and he’s interested. It’s not the first time some rich asshole showed interest, but Steve can’t help but feel that this is different somehow. He just doesn’t understand why Barnes looks so familiar. Like a friend of his youth he had long forgotten about, or perhaps a part of a future that has not yet been.

His by Nightfall (ao3) - orphan_account steve/bucky E, 4k

Summary: Mafia AU drabbles where Steve is Bucky's personal guard by day and by night he belongs to Bucky to do as he pleases.

if i’m evil, still you’re right beside me (ao3) - lacunalady steve/bucky E, 105k

Summary: “How can you say that?“ Steve shudders, turning away. "I know the things you’re capable of. You’re not…a good person.”

There is a beat of silence after that. Steve is afraid for a moment that he’d angered a powerful man, one to whom he had his back turned. “You don’t know me,” Bucky says finally, his voice very soft. "I can prove myself to you.”

Steve Rogers didn’t mean to stumble into mafia business that night–but stumble he did. After saving the life of infamous mob boss James Barnes, Steve finds himself trapped in a Brooklyn alleyway with a target on his back and nowhere to run. That is, of course, until Barnes offers him a deal; in return for saving his life, Barnes will offer him protection from Rumlow’s retaliation. The twist? They have to convince the rival mob (and all of New York’s juiciest tabloids) that they’re madly in love.

I'm not Me when You're Away (ao3) - Tator steve/bucky, clint/natasha T, 8k

Summary: “Didn’t know the Russians took in fags,” Abba sneered as he was drug up from the table.

Ivan elbowed him in the back of the head. “You’re lucky he came. Barnes might not have been so merciful otherwise.”

or the 5 times Steve kept Bucky from doing his own dirty work and the 1 time he did it for him

Mafia in the Morning (ao3) - Simp_Poetry steve/bucky, steve/tony N/R, 115k

Summary: Bucky and Steve have an angsty talk about Steves affair with Tony Stark. Mafia Au. Bucky and Steve on opposing sides.

Needy (ao3) - otpcutie steve/bucky M, 495

Summary: Bucky wants his Daddy's attention and knows how to get it.

Proving a Point (ao3) - Tator steve/bucky T, 2k

Summary: “Please, Steve, please tell me that you did not let three guys who you knew worked for me beat the shit out of you to prove a point. Please.”

“I’m promised I would never lie to you.”

or the one where Steve gets beat up by the mob

Slowly Unravel (ao3) - Lilitue steve/bucky M, 18k (WIP)

Summary: What happens when a damaged man with more blood on his hands than a butcher takes in a just as damaged woman? James Barnes, Ex-Military turned mob boss finds a girl sitting on a bridge in the middle of the night swinging her legs back and forth in an almost innocent gesture if not for being stories above turbulent waters. He makes a decision to pull her back from the edge, but how far from the edge can someone truly be?

the Kept Boy (ao3) - Neutralchaos steve/bucky M, 235k

Summary: Here is James Barnes, the most dangerous Alpha in New York. Rich, powerful, cocky and short-tempered, his only skill greater than his persuasion or intimidation is his marksmanship. Head of the Seyrbakov crime family, inherited over the heads of the late Aleksei Seyrbakov’s own sons, who he had deported when they attempted to murder him. Top of Interpol and the FBI and the CIA and probably the NSA’s most wanted lists, but there’s never enough evidence to bring even a parking ticket against him, as it has been for New York’s Bratva since the late 1910s. His company smuggles weapons, drugs, alcohol, tobacco, exotic animals, you name it, but you’ll never find a shred of proof. If land barons still existed, then Barnes – owning property in all the five boroughs, the state, the country, even on other continents – would easily be one. When you think of the Russian mafia, you think of Barnes. Here is James Barnes, gracing the scum and lowlifes of Brooklyn with his presence, and here is Steve Rogers, not-so-cheap yet consistently broke hooker, sitting on his lap like he belongs there.

Very rapidly, that makes him the most dangerous Omega in New York.

The Things We Do For Love (ao3) - Duchess_On_Fire steve/bucky E, 8k

Summary: It’s Christmas and Steve is struggling with the holiday season in the rich neighborhood where he's moved in with his husband and their adopted teenagers, Wanda and Pietro.

Steve is a stay-at-home dad who gets easily overwhelmed by the expectations of their uptight neighbors. His husband, Bucky, is in import-export and is rarely home. But when he is, their life is heaven.

AKA the one where Steve is married to a mobster and everyone knows this except for Steve.

You Have To Be Quiet (ao3) - orphan_account steve/bucky E, 3k

Summary: Continuation of Stucky Mafia AU drabbles:

After young Steve get's bullied and beat up, young Bucky gets revenge by beating the bully up and comforts Steve as well as other things that Steve didn't expect Bucky to do out in the middle of the day, when there's guards all over the mansion's garden.

Your for the taking (ao3) - cookie_book_took steve/bucky E, 32k

Summary: Yours for the taking…mafia steve, adrenaline junkie bucky. Bucky gets more than he bargained for when he steals from Mafia boss Steve.

#themuclibrary #mcu #marvel #stucky #steve rogers #bucky barnes #mafia #mafia masterlist #au

[acrosstobear]

fuck i like this boy so much 🫠 today/tonight was our last time seeing each other until he actually gets a visa and comes back to canada l m a o (so yes he actually is getting deported) and like. i just really like him? i had tickets to Tate McRae tonight and was originally going with my mom but with chemo and her back she didn’t want to go so i offered the ticket to boy knowing that this probably wasn’t his scene but could be a good time anyways. he’s like “hell yes i’m honoured” and goes as far to look her up, listen to her music, ask me questions about her, pick a favourite song from the night, held my jacket all night, held me in his arms where appropriate, jumped around with me, told me how beautiful i looked like 7 times like. fuckkkkk he’s awesome and now i’m not going to see him for at least a couple months and we’ve talked about doing a few long weekends together so i think we both want to try this but i’m just like 🫨😵‍💫🫣😑 that i like him SO much. help!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[faustiandevil]

Again not a translator by trade I just do what I can with the knowledge of the language only the Devil and Hungarians speak. I would love to get some notes, or help, because this one is full of misinformation in my humble opinion. So… uh… have the Youngkin book ready I guess…

Peter Lorre – the hero of horror movies is – Hungarian!

Talking with the famous actor’s father in Budapest

Slowly climbing our way up the snow covered street in Buda. We stop before a modest looking villa that stretches into a garden. Under the doorbell stands a small nametag:

LAJOS LÓRÁNT (Translator’s notes: Okay, so this article came out in 1947, after Hungary’s involvement in WWII… on the worst side possible and after the “liberation” by the Soviet army. Now it wasn’t uncommon for Jewish people to change their name to something more Hungarian for assimilation purposes. And during that time people who had a German sounding name could be deported back to Germany… even if they lived in Hungary for generations and had no political involvement in the war. The worse option was of course a brutal death. So that’s my guess as to why it says Lóránt instead of Löwenstein.)

Inside the warm room, among the heavy furniture we shake hands with a kind old man. With Lajos Lóránt, the father of Peter Lorre, the world famous actor, the big star of the so-called >>horror movies<<. We are talking about his son, who appeared in nearly almost every big European city, but his success reached its zenith in Hollywood. Old photos, yellowed articles emerge from the depths of the huge drawer. The past is mixed with the present here, the drawer shows us the ascending career path of a great actor.

– Peter was born in Rózsahegy (Translator’s note: If you are not Hungarian I guarantee you are pronouncing it wrong.), but he was still a child, when we moved to Vienna. He studied there, – the old man’s eyes start to shine – he graduated with honors from the Wiener Handelsakademien. For a short while he worked at a bank, but his dream, to become an actor, didn’t let him rest behind the boring desk of the foreign exchange department. With his young friends he organized an experimental stage, where they performed commedia dell arte plays. – they failed with it. He first performed in a serious play in Breslau, and from here his journey lead to Zürich. (Translator’s notes: If anyone could add more to these please do so. I don’t remember anything about either places.) Then he performed in Vienna with astounding success, then he went to Berlin. There he was spotted by Fritz Lang, who contracted him for the main role in >>M<<. The peculiar movie became a world hit, and with certainty established Péter’s career as an actor.

A faded newspaper, with yellowed edges comes out from the drawer now, the first Hollywood article, which was written of Peter Lorre.

>>…Peter Lorre – states the article – doesn’t hold onto the hundreds of critiques, he only put away one. That copy of the Times, where Chaplin has said that he has seen >>M<< three times and that he considers Peter Lorre the best European actor.<<

After the nazis seized power Peter Lorre has also immigrated, first to Paris, and then to London… The great actor was received with a warm welcome by the free people of the free countries. In London with one of his roles he won the English producer’s first prize, which is equivalent to an American Oscar. (Translator’s note: What?) Mr. Lóránt is now telling us about an episode in London:

- There was a group that got together in London, the immigrants, we went there together with Péter. (Translator’s notes: The story makes it sound as if papa Löwenstein was also there with him in London, but he wasn’t… as to my knowledge… anyway let’s continue…) One day a producer has joined us, he also came from Germany. He told us of an interesting and a typical incident. When the nazis took over the UFA studio, one day Goebbels visited the ateliers in Neubabelsberg. Everyone was there to see the >>tall<< visitor. Then Goebbles had asked: - Tell me, you had once a great actor… a sort of short little man… Why is he not here? - Minister, there’s a bit of a problem with him… - Problem?! What sort of problem?! I can smooth it over! - I’m afraid, Minister, that this problem cannot be fixed. - ??? - Minister, with Peter Lorre the problem is with his… religion! Goebbels straightened himself out, and his expression turned dark: - I no longer know this man! (Translator’s notes: Not a loss if you ask me. Burn in Hell nazi scum~)

Newer photos emerge, these are from America. Success, after success.

- Does your son write often? - Oh, of course. Always with such love and would love for me to move out to him. There’s a possibility it’ll happen around the summer. And he always writes in Hungarian, always, and he always states he is Hungarian. (Translator’s notes: Again what??? Man didn’t speak the language, but he could write??? That’s new info for me… but in a previous one we were also told by papa Löwenstein that he hates writing letters and would rather call home instead… I do feel validated tho, because yes Hungarians ride horses and women, man did not deny his roots. If anyone calls him a different nationality from here on I will be collecting kneecaps just saying.)

Our time is up, the photos and articles go back into the drawer. Mr. Lóránt puts away even the smallest paper piece with such great care, as if it were expensive porcelain.

Original article by György Gaál.

Text under images:

In the first movie, in the main role of Fritz Lang’s drama >>M<<

With his father, in 1930, at Siófok (Translator’s notes: Uhhh… in the previous one I translated this image was said to be taken in 1921 Budapest… Did papa Löwenstein remember it wrong, it has been 10 years and I’m unsure how old he was at this point… He could’ve just misremembered, or the journalist made an error. Either way I feel gaslighted. If anyone knows if he took any vacays near Lake Balaton lemme know.)

With his wife in Palm Springs. The white horse was a gift from Robert Taylor

#Peter Lorre #Faustian Fables #Faustian Translations #Long Post #If I made any typos uhhh those live there now

[wolfpants]

I've been tagged by the lovely @schmem14 and @danpuff-ao3! Thank you so much both! I'm very British and self deprecating so this was quite difficult 😂🩷 but then I reminded myself I put a lot of sweat and some tears into these fics, so here goes! I'm choosing some recent favourites rather than going for the usual offenders (Romp ahem The Hollow etc ahem).

Rules: Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love 💙

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🖤

Precious Metal | Dron, Drarry, Ronarry, M, 28k

Precious metal awaits in an abandoned, cursed cottage on the Isle of Jura. Ron’s illegal hunting ring is on it, but disaster strikes when he runs into a jumpy and suspicious Draco Malfoy, camped out where the treasure is hidden. What happens when they accidentally unleash a bond curse when both of them harbour feelings for the same man?

🖤

A Saviour's Guide to Manners and Decorum | Drarry, E, 13.1k

Honorary Minister Harry Potter (yes, he's fully aware his job title is meaningless, and he quite likes it that way) is a disaster at public events. After seven years of dealing with his boorish behaviour, cringey table manners, and clumsy dancing, the Ministry's press team take matters into their own hands and hire Wixen Britain's leading Etiquette and Deportment Expert, Draco Malfoy, to take on the challenge of cleaning up Harry's image before the Ministry's 300th Anniversary Celebration Gala.

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Run on Gasoline | Draco/James Sirius, E, 1.4k

James storms into Draco's hotel room after he's sent to the benches during a violent Quidditch match, and their altercation soon turns physical. Featuring pro Quidditch player James! Angry and experienced Quidditch manager Draco! Who also might be a little bit in love with James's dad!

🖤

Yours & Mine | Dron, E, 3.1k

Just another Sunday lunch at The Burrow. Featuring French dessert, fond Molly Weasley, flirty Drarry, and Ron's incredulousness.

🖤

Viridian | Draco/Blaise, Harry/Blaise, Drarry

When Blaise, Draco, and Harry are housed together in the same dorm for Hogwarts Eighth Year, Blaise is determined to get between them.

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No pressure tagging @getawayfox @tenthousandyearsx @moonflower-rose @skeptiquewrites @writcraft

#writing #ask game #tag game #drarry fic #drarry #hp rarepairs #mind the tags on all of these please! #dron #ronarry #rarry

[fatehbaz]

[T]he infamous Diable (Devil’s Island) [...]. Seventy thousand convicts were sent to French Guiana between 1852 and 1938. [...] Alongside deportation of political prisoners [...], a [...] convict population [...] was sent to the bagne (common parlance for the penal colony) [...] as a utopian colonial project [...] via the contribution convict labour would make towards colonial development in French Guaina. However, [...] French Guiana [...] was predominantly used as a depository for the unwanted citizens of France and its colonies. The last remaining French and North African convicts were repatriated in 1953, whereas the last Vietnamese prisoners were not given passage home until 1954 [...].

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[T]he same form of built environment and carceral technology [...] structures found on Con Dao [French prison in Vietnam] and [French prison in Guiana] [were] built at almost the same time [...] to house the same convict populations (Vietnamese implicated in anticolonial struggles) [...].On Con Dao the preservation of the [...] cages complete with mannequins emphasizes the use of such technologies of confinement and torture within a relatively recent history. Their presentation is also quite deliberately juxtaposed with the American camp located about a kilometre down the road [...], making the point that similar technologies of punishment were employed by the different occupations. Old world colonialism is thus displaced by new world imperialism. Both rely on the prison island and its cellblocks. [...]

The carceral continuities [...] throughout France’s penal colonies are supplemented by legal exceptionalism which works to redefine colonial subjects within shifting political contexts. [...]

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Many of the Indochinois convicts transported to the forest camps of French Guiana in 1931, including the Bagne des annamites, had originally been classed as political prisoners. The transfer was intended in part [...] to remove a number of anticolonial actors from Indochina. [...]

As political deportees sent to French Guiana were usually exempt from labour according to the political decree of 1850, this status had to be revoked to ensure the maximum labour force possible.

Consequently, those arrested on suspicion of specific acts of violence or property damage were reclassed as common criminals. Described by Dedebant and Frémaux (2012, 7) as “little arrangements between governors,” this was not simply a sleight of hand but written into legal codes. [...]

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[M]any of the Vietnamese sent to French Guiana had to wait until the 1960s to be repatriated. [...] After their sentences were completed, convicts were not simply repatriated to France or other colonies. A system of “doublage” intended to shore up colonial development meant they had to serve the same length of their sentence again on the colony. For those condemned to eight years or more, this became life. Opportunities for sustainable livelihood were limited in a territory possessing swathes of free convict labour. Worn out and sick from their time in the bagne, most of these men were unfit to work and relied on charity to survive. [...]

[T]he last living convict [of the Guiana penal colony] [...] died in Algeria in 2007 after being repatriated to Annaba. In an interview given in 2005, he claims that every night he dreams he is back in Cayenne: “when I think about it, I get vertigo, I spent my life there” [...].

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Text by: Sophie Fuggle. "From Green Hell to Grey Heritage: Ecologies of Colour in the Penal Colony". Interventions: International Journal of Postcolonial Studies Volume 24, Issue 6. 2022. Published online 8 April 2021. [Bold emphasis and some paragraph breaks/contractions added by me.]

#just arrest the activists and send them to the prison labor camp oh wait we arent technically legally allowed to force them to work #then just reclassify them not as political prisoners but instead as general criminals and then we can force them into slavery i mean labor #oh no wait now they finished serving their sentence and we cant force them into labor anymore #wait yes we can just change more rules so they cant go back home and have to work nearby #two or three or four birds with one stone