#everything i did today was such a blur so ofc now i just want to do more cons 😩

[bloodydeanwinchester]

i had them sign my favorite fanart of all time!!!!!

[realcube]

video games + blowjob 🎮

characters: bakugo, kirishima, sero & kaminari

tw// oral (giving), swearing, fem!reader, nsfw - minors dni

all aged up!

katsuki bakugo

♡ bakugo only finds the time to play video games once every millennia 

♡ most of the time, he’s working, training or spending time with you 

♡ also he only plays when the bakusquad arrange a time + date on the gc bc - he’ll never admit it - but he misses talking to them and playing like he used to, so the occasional Battlefield call they have really triggers a sense of nostalgia for all of them

♡ but the calls usually last a good while though lol - minimum 5 hours

♡ usually you let him be and don’t bother him during his calls bc you know how rarely he gets to call his pals but one day, he had been teasing you so much leading up to  his call - leaving you extra needy - and you couldn’t really help yourself

♡ so you snuck into the study room while he was playing, starting off by giving him a light massage which he enjoyed but the problem arose when you slowly got to your knees and began pawing at his sweatpants

♡ that’s when he noticed that you dressed up in your best lace for him too, which made him hard lol

♡ at first he looked pissed off and tried to ignore you but he kept losing focus on the game, his mind brimming with all the things he wanted to do with you

♡ eventually, he gave in and briefly muted his mic to hiss in your ear, ‘fine. but if you make a single fuckin’ sound or try to tease me, i’ll fuck you for all of them to hear, kay?’

♡ you simply hum in agreement before pulling both his boxer and sweatpants down without hesitation, then getting to work

♥　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥

bakugo growled deeply, at both your expert mouth movements around his hard member and at the shitty orders kirishima gave. “ ‘over here’ ? where the fuck is that?” it took an embarrassing amount of effort to suppress his moans while said that.

but he wasn’t all to blame. as you made it a point to deep-throat him as soon as you thought he was going to open his mouth to say something. 

“what happened to you, bakugo? you’re so quiet! is everything okay?” mina offhandedly pointed out while heading to the ‘over here’ that kirishima described. although you couldn’t hear what mina said since bakugo was wearing a headset, his reaction was enough to amuse you. 

bakugo snarled, immediately barking profanities at her, “shut it, pinkie! nothing’s fucking wrong! now get back to shoot-” he realised he was on the verge of climaxing so he desperately went to mute is mic before letting a moan escape his lips as he slumped back into his chair in pure bliss, his eyes rolling back into his head slightly as faint pops could be heard from his sweaty palms.

something about the pleasure you worked so hard to bring him an shot an indescribable sense of euphoria through his body, hence he reached down to ruffle your hair without averting his eyes from the screen. “good girl. now scram.”

eijiro kirishima 

♡ again, he doesn’t really have time for video games; his main priorities are work, training & you 

♡ but sometimes video games can fall into the ‘you’ category bc occasionally he asks you to play super mario cart, animal crossing, wii sports etc with him

♡ the only time he plays video games without you is when he plays with the bakusquad on the arranged date they planned

♡ but before the call starts, you can tell he is really tense by the way he is biting his nails so you inquire about it and he kinda just gestures to your new - rather revealing - pyjama set then at his throbbing erection

♡ and ofc being the supportive gf you are, you offered to give him a blowie

♡he loved the idea but at first, he was kinda worried that he might get caught since he is usually very vocal during sex so obviously it’d be hard to just...stop

♡ however you reassured him that he’s manliest guy you’ve ever met so he’d definitely be able to resist a few moans

♡ so he came around quite quickly lol

♥　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥

“come over here quickly!” kirishima commanded proudly into the mic, a wide grin spread across his face at not only how good you were making him feel, but also at how well he was repressing his moans and the praise he so desperately wanted to give you for sucking so skilfully.

he had to say though, the amount of energy it was talking him to do all of the above was enough to leave him exhausted to the point that the game was just a blur of background noise. and the bakusquad could tell something was wrong as usually kirishima has the best aim out of them all but he has yet to make a single headshot.

although his eyes were glued to the screen, his mind was fixated on only you and how good you made him feel. as he approached his orgasm, he simply let his eyelids flutter shut as he focussed on the little movements you made; your tongue rubbing the underside of his cock, your occasional desperate attempts to deepthroat him, the way your lips wrapped perfectly around his girth, how you resorted to using your hands to take care of the parts of his length that your mouth couldn’t fit. 

“good job.” he hummed his praise for you as he felt you helplessly try to take him into your throat once more before he was ready to cum but the moments leading up to his high were interrupted by a “thanks, man!” from denki which made kirishima’s eyes widen before he hastily muted his mic, allowing himself to orgasm in your mouth from there and let out all the loud moans he had been hiding. 

“thanks, baby.” he said, slowly feeling the post-cum ecstasy fade as he leaned over to press a gentle kiss on your forehead, proceeding to slap his hand over your mouth as he noticed you were about to head in the direction of the bin. “swallow it.”

hanta sero

♡ since sero became a pro-hero he definitely plays way less video games than he did before but he didn’t quit

♡ but whenever he does play, you’re either on his lap or giving him a blowie 

♡ so needless to say, this wouldn’t be your first time sucking him off while he played

♡ anyway, y’all were getting ✨spicy ✨ one day until he realised that he had a call + battlefield scheduled with the bakusquad

♡ deadass he was kissin’ down your neck while rubbing circles on your clothed clit until he just faltered like ‘oh shit i’ve got a call with ‘em today, don’t i?’

♡ DFRGTHYJU you were livid >:((

♡ bc he had got you all riled up and now he was just gonna leave 😩

♡ you asked him if he could skip the call just this once to finish what he started but he was like ‘bros before hoes’ while putting on his headset 

♡ but being the generous king he is, he unzipped to allow you to give him a blowie while he played 

♡ at first you were all pouty bc he should be the one giving you oral but once you realised that it was his offer or nothing, you begrudgingly got to your knees and began 

♥　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥

“eijiro, cover-- eijiro! kirishima!” he yelled into his mic, clearly getting riled up from the high action of the game and the matching high action of your mouth. “hellooo? you there, man? oi, i think kiri ‘s afk.” sero reasoned, looking at the frozen figure of his teammate. 

he felt the tip of his cock hit the back of your throat so he couldn’t help but look down at you, shooting you a cocky smirk instead of the moan you were expecting. he knew what you were trying to do but he wanted to make it clear that it wasn’t going to work on him.

sero had lots of practise at choking back moans and hiding orgasms so it was going to take much more than deepthroating to catch him off-guard. 

he momentarily muted his mic so he could instruct you to go deeper while simultaneously grabbing fistful of your hair to force you to deepthroat him once more, bringing him much closer to his orgasm.

eventually, he suddenly reached his climax but you didn’t allow him to mute himself; you wanted to see him struggle. but unfortunately for you, it was hardly an issue as by now, he was used to cumming silently. but you forgive him as the faces he mada are enough to make you wet as hell.

“alright, mr tough guy.” you purred in his ear, muting his mic for your sake, “let me ride you. let’s see how quiet you can be then, hm?”

challenge accepted. 

denki kaminari 

♡ probably still plays video games a lot - even when he gets a job as a pro-hero

♡ but mans still got his priorities straight so if you ever approach him while he’s playing, saying that you’re feeling a bit horny, he’ll quit real quick lmao

♡ and a video games session with the bakusquad is no exception

♡ you’re feeling horny just thinking about the way he ate you out last night so you told him you want to return the favour as you watch him put on his headset

♡ you knew this was a special time with his friends though so you would’ve been too hurt if he said no but ofc he gladly accepted your offer

♡ but he still wanted to play though so he was a bit conflicted for a moment or two until an idea struck him

♡ ‘just blow me while i play, babe!’

♡ to say you were confused and a little concerned would be accurate, so you inquired further to make sure that he was 100% comfortable with it and he’d deal with the repercussions of a slipped moan 

♡ he seemed confident that it wouldn’t happen though - a little too confident. but this stemmed from the fact sero had told him that he lets his girl suck him off while he plays video games and nobody ever notices. but kaminari didn’t realise that sero’s impressive ability came from years of practise.

♡ you obliged though, happily setting yourself on your knees in front of him and taking his length into your mouth 

♥　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥

“thanks, man!” kaminari exclaimed cheerily, a bright smile spread across his face; partially due to his teammate’s praise but mostly how he’s made it so long into the call without a single moan despite the fact you were making him feel so good down there.

however, as you looked up at him and observed his cocky smirk, something snapped inside you - as it reminded you of the grin he wore last night that you got to see when he’d occasionally pull away from your soaking cunt for air. hence, you recalled how much of a tease he was yesterday and how it pissed you off to no end.

so now that he was sitting submissive to your touch in front of you, why not take your revenge?

your neck slowly retreated backwards to the point where the only thing connecting you to kaminari’s cock was a string of saliva, to which he instinctively whined, “hey! w-why’d ya stop?” completely disregarding the fact he forgot to turn his mic of so mina replied, “who stopped what?” out of confusion.

kaminari’s eyes widened and his face flushed in a way that brought you great amounts of satisfaction, so for being good entertainment, you rewarded him by unhurriedly enveloping his cock with your mouth once more. 

“oh, nothing!” kaminari choked back a moan, realising that his high was fast approaching so he acted accordingly, going to mute his mic, “one second gu-- ah~” the front is cock was finally  - and suddenly - welcomed into the walls of your throat, followed by rapid thrusts which was enough to result in an irrepressible groan escaping his lips.

luckily, his finger found the mute button before the bakusquad was forced to listen to the rest of kaminari’s orgasm. “fuck, baby~” he groaned, tossing his head back in pleasure as his hips jerked back and forth and before he knew it, he was at his climax. out of habit, he yanked his dick away to cum all over your face and chest, barley able to see the masterpiece he created through his heavy lids.

once he finished, he looked down at you with a proud smile, drool staining the corner of his lip, “always so pretty for me~”

[keanureevesisbae]

But professor… - c.2

Summary: Penny continues to have some questions about the assignment, but thankfully professor Marshall is right there to help her out

Professor!Walter Marshall x Penny Townsend (Asian ofc)

Wordcount: 2.3k

Warnings: Mentions of murder and blood

Masterlist // But professor… masterlist // Previous chapter // Next Chapter

My second criminology class, I was feeling a bit under the weather, but like the real die hard that I am, confusing to give in and rest (which would’ve be the better idea), I continued to go to class. I hid part of my face behind my scarf, while I would take a sip of my tea every now and then. I barely absorbed anything that class and professor Marshall must’ve noticed, because he didn’t call for me the entire class.

Thankfully.

But now I feel better and am going to make up for my lack of attention last class. While the the class can be pretty gore, it has become my favorite class, partially because I really like professor Marshall.

No wait, solely because I like professor Marshall.

I don’t want to admit it, but I kinda went out of my way to look presentable for class. I spend my entire life being invisible, unnoticed, but that’s not the case in this class. It’s nice to be acknowledged (I could do without Fitzgerald, who continues to creepily stare from a distance). I put on some lipstick, that matches my blush pink sweater.

Professor Marshall looks up from his notes when I walk in the lecture hall, one corner of his mouth curled up a bit. ‘Morning,’ he says, his tone low and brass.

‘Good morning,’ I say softly, walking towards my assigned seat. Since last class happened in a blur, I am going to pay extra attention to this one.

It is hard though, to focus. We have to understand the crime scene, trying to dissect what happened exactly. However, all the blood, fake or not, makes me want to vomit. I swallow hard and thankfully professor Marshall is skipping over me.

Until…

‘Miss Townsend,’ the professor says, ‘overlap between the victims. I want at four points.’

Four points? Is he for real? That’s a lot. I hate that I made a sort of good point the first class. I have to live up to that expectation now.

Think, Penny, think. ‘All victims are fathers,’ I start, ‘white collar workers and have a brunette wife.’ I try to remember what he told us about and what I read prior to this class. ‘They had affairs with someone they worked with, someone who worked a job that paid less than theirs.’

‘And what does that tell you?’

‘The killer has a type,’ I say, but from the looks of it, he wants more. ‘The victims are carefully picked out, maybe because… These men remind the killer of someone?’

He nods. ‘Exactly.’

I let out a deep relieved sigh, knowing that there is a possibility that he won’t pick me again. I see Fitzgerald looking over his shoulder, to basically gawk at me. He is going out of his way to say intelligent stuff during classes, but everything that leaves his lips is… Bullshit.

After the class ended, I stay for a bit, because of course I have another question. I might not be entirely stupid, but academically gifted is not applicable to me. ‘Professor Marshall,’ I say, as I walk towards him.

‘Miss Townsend,’ he says, ‘you did well today in class.’

‘Oh.’ Stupid me, blushing again. ‘Thank you. I have another question about the assignment.’

‘Why?’

Did he seriously just asked me why? I start to stammer a bit, taken aback from his retort.  How am I supposed to answer that? Maybe just stick with the truth? ‘Because I don’t understand.’

‘What don’t you understand?’

‘The case I chose,’ I say.

‘You have time at four?’ he asks. ‘To meet me in my office? I can help you out.’

I nod with a smile. I am going to his office! ‘Yes, thank you, sir.’

‘Where are your glasses?’ he asks, placing the presenter on the table.

He noticed that I wasn’t wearing my glasses today? Is it because I look stupid without them? ‘In my bag,’ I answer. ‘I sometimes switch between lenses and glasses. Why?’

Professor Marshall shrugs. ‘Just wondering. See you at four. Sharp.’

✎ ✎ ✎

I knock on professor Marshall’s office door at four sharp (I mean, he felt the need to emphasis it, so I should be on time, right?) and he says: ‘Come in.’ I open the door, to see him sitting behind his desk.

‘Is that… a chair?’ I ask, pointing to the pretty comfortable looking chair on the my side of the desk.

Professor Marshall nods. ‘I didn’t want you to stand,’ he says. ‘Don’t get used to it though. I plan on removing this thing as soon as you leave.’ He smirks. ‘It gives me the creeps. I usually don’t like people hanging around  in my office. Whether that is at NYU or the MPD.’

I take a seat and blink my eyes a few times. Gosh, I don’t think I have ever wore my lenses this long and they start to hurt a bit. Just keep them in for a few more moments. Be subtle. ‘My question is about the literature.’

Professor Marshall tilts his head. ‘Are you okay, miss— Penny?’

Apparently I’m not at all subtle. ‘Just my lenses, that’s it.’

‘You can take them out. Please, go ahead.’

Thankfully I brought my stuff with me and I grab my bag, searching for my glasses and lenses case. ‘The literature that is required for the assignment… There isn’t a list provided by you and I have a hard time finding some.’ I remove one of my lenses and continue to take out the other. Gosh, the relief. I put the glasses on and place both cases in the backpack.

‘I can email you a list of literature you can use,’ he says. ‘Why is it giving you difficulties?’

I shrug. ‘I don’t know, professor.’

‘Walter,’ he says.

Huh? ‘Excuse me, what?’

‘It’s after school,’ he continues, ‘so you can quit with calling me professor and start calling me Walter, okay?’

Walter. Seems so personal, so intimate. Not complaining at all, if I’m being honest. I nod. ‘Okay, I’ll try.’

‘Why did you choose psychology, Penny?’ he asks.

That’s a deep question. It’s almost like a first date (if I have to believe the movies, because yours truly never went on a date in her life). Why does he even care? ‘My parents thought it was important I went to university. They wanted me to become a doctor or lawyer, but I’m not that intellectually gifted. Besides, psychology might give me more of an idea of who I am or what I am. I traveled after high school, hoping to figure out who I am, but so far, no luck.’

Professor Marshall nods. ‘And you think criminology is gonna help you with that?’

I chuckle. ‘No, it’s not. Originally, I wanted to go for the child psychology course, to see if I could understand myself better through that, but I missed the enrolling date. It was either criminology or animal behavior.’

‘Animal behavior? That’s a course?’

‘Mhm.’

He nods. ‘Well, you’re really good in criminology,’ he says. ‘We could’ve used you in the force.’

I run my fingers through my hair and smile nervously. ‘No, I don’t think so.’

‘You noticed the droopy eyelid. Took detectives long enough before they realized that.’

‘Lucky guess.’

Professor Marshall leans back in his seat. ‘You’ve got to stop undermining yourself,’ he notes. ‘You are sharp, notice the details. You have a lot of potential, in this field or any other. I think you just don’t know it yet.’

My cheeks heat up. Is he saying what I think he is saying? ‘Really?’

He nods. ‘Really,’ he confirms. The professor keeps looking at me, but weirdly enough I don’t feel uncomfortable. ‘Tell me something what you want to find out about yourself.’

I clear my throat. ‘I don’t know yet.’

‘Tell me something about yourself then,’ he says. ‘Something that’s a foundation for who you are.’

I bite my lip and try to think of something. What is a foundation of who I am? ‘Well,’ I say, after contemplating for a moment or two, ‘I was adopted after I was left at a Catholic church doorstep when I was few hours old. I was brought to a hospital, where they found out I was a premature baby with heroin in my blood. They never discovered who my parents were.’

‘Oh, Penny,’ he says. ‘I’m so sorry.’

He is sorry for me? I bite my lip, before I say: ‘My adoptive parents are sweet, they really are, but I’m scared sometimes.’

‘Why?’

‘Well, because if I’m that unloveable at a few hours old, I bet I’ll become that later on, you know? Especially when they will find out that I might not even work in this field, because it’s not where my heart is.’

He places his underarms on his desk, folding his hands together. ‘You’re not unloveable,’ he says in a soft tone, ‘you could never be.’

I smile. ‘We’ll just have to see about that.’

The professor squints his eyes for a few seconds, almost as if he is trying to figure me out without asking anymore questions. ‘Tell me, what field has your heart?’

‘Cosmetology school,’ I say. ‘I know, a huge downgrade from this, but… I love stuff like that.’

He is smiling at me. ‘It’s not a downgrade,’ he says, his town a bit lower than before. ‘I bet you would be great at it.’

I clear my throat, a bit taken aback by the impromptu therapy session. ‘Thank you, Walter, for answering my questions. I feel like I’m bombarding you with questions to a point where it gets annoying.’

He shakes his head. ‘Don’t you worry about it, you could never annoy me.’ He grabs a piece of paper and writes something down on it, as I stand up. ‘Here.’

‘What’s that?’

‘My number. If you have another question or anything else, you can always text or call me.’

✎ ✎ ✎

Of course I have another question. Is it inappropriate to ask this much time and attention of your professor? I almost think it is, but I really want to understand the assignment and my other teachers aren’t as nice as Walter.

While I wish I wasn’t doing this entire major, I do want to prove myself, especially in my criminology class. I don’t want to let him down.

Oh my, have I taken an interest in my professor? That would be improper behavior, right? Isn’t this totally illegal?

Well, my feelings aren’t and he does not feel the same way, so nothing will happen anyway. No need to think about the illegality of the situation when it’ll never get that far.

I grab my phone nonetheless and the piece of paper and add him to my contacts as Walter. I check his profile picture. It’s a slightly blurry photo of Walter sitting in a police car, but even through the blurry pixels, I can still recognize him. The same type of sweater. The messy curls, the beard and the deep frown between his thick brows.

Me: Professor Marshall, can I ask you something?

Me: This is Penny btw

Walter: What did I tell you, Penny?

Me: Oh, I’m sorry

Me: Walter

Walter: Atta girl

My eyes widen as I read his text, while my heart skips a few beats. ‘Oh,’ I whisper to myself. This is making me slightly giddy. What is happening here?

Walter: What’s your question?

Me: I’m still having troubles with the literature

Me: You know what? I’m sorry, I am totally asking to much of your time and I shouldn’t do that.

Me: Forget it, I’m sorry

Walter: No, no, no, Penny, it’s alright.

Walter: I gave you my number, remember?

Me: Right…

Walter: The literature is your only question?

Me: Yes

Me: It’s just a lot and I don’t know which piece of literature is applicable to my case

Walter: You had case four, right?

Me: Yes

Walter: I’ll send you a list of the literature you can use

Me: You sure it’s not too much?

Walter: I’m sure

✎ ✎ ✎

During my counseling skills class I am in the back of the lecture hall and heavily distracted. This professor is incredibly boring and really enjoys hearing himself talk. However, I’m occupied enough. Since there is no on behind or next to me, I open another tab on my laptop, to see I have yet another message from Walter.

Yes, I said Walter. I’m not in class, so it’s not professor Marshall.

Walter: Still in class?

Me: Yes, still am.

Me: What are you doing?

Walter: Consulting on a case for the NYP

Me: Do you miss working for the police force?

Walter: I do

Me: Why aren’t you working for the police now?

Walter: I’m suspended

Me: Do I want to know what you did?

Walter: I may or may not have yelled at some guy, thrown around some chairs during interrogation.

Walter: Thanks to me we solved the case though

Me: Remind me to always be on your good side 😅 😅

Walter: You are, Penny

Walter: Don’t you worry 😉

Me: Do you enjoy being a teacher?

Walter: No, not in the slightest

Walter: How are your assignments holding up?

Me: It’s going okay… It’s just a lot.

Walter: I bet

Me: It kinda feels like I’m drowning

Me: Already

Walter: You need help?

Me: I can’t ask that of you

Walter: You didn’t ask, I offered.

Me: Okay detective 🙄

Walter: Did you just roll your eyes at me?

Me: No, sir, I didn’t 🙈

Walter: I can help you out, I promise

Me: Where?

Walter: My loft?

Me: Your loft?

Walter: Yes, I can pick you up from somewhere

Me: You have crime scene pictures around your place?

Walter: I’ll have them gone by the time you get there

[holylulusworld]

More than their roommate (3 of Arc 1)

Summary: Slowly the lines between lust and feelings blur and someone tries to destroy your blooming relationship.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader x Sam Wilson

Characters: Director Nick Fury, Maria Hill, OFC

Warnings: language, bickering, smut, fingering, light oral, possible FATWS spoilers, hurt & comfort, cuddling & snuggling, polyamory, bad therapy etiquette, mentions of non-con filming, extorsion, mentions of former abusive relationship, implied smut

A/N: Part 3/3 of (Arc 1) - The Therapist

Divider by @firefly-graphics

<< Part 2

Since you moved in with the boys, they work together like a well-oiled machine. 

Fury wanted to know your secret, but this is something you’ll never share.

Unbeknownst to you, Bucky and Sam, Fury already found out why your roommates work better together.

He saw the footage from their office and more than one from your shared loft.

Someone sneaked into your home, installed cameras, and filmed you anytime you had sex with one of your roommates – or both.

“Sam,” you gasp, looking at Sam between your legs. He has you on the edge of an orgasm but won’t let you fall. “We got no time. Fury wanted an emergency meeting this morning, with all of us.

“Yeah?” he looks up at you, smirking as you admire his face, covered in your slick. “I’m just having a snack before we go, babe,” Sam grins, diving back in to wrap his lips around your oversensitive clit. 

“Ah, fuck – Sam!” you cry, grinding against his face. “Please, I need a shower, fix some papers, and make a few calls,” you say, breathlessly. “Let me cum, please.”

“Alright, lemme just-“ Sam slides three fingers inside of your cunt, presses his fingertips against the roof of your vagina. “I’m gonna make you cum now and we have a shower together. I wonder why Fury called you in the middle of the night…”

“So sexy,” Sam kisses your sweet spot, leaves open-mouthed kisses along your neck. “What are we doing here, Y/N? I’m not complaining but is this something serious or just fun?”

“Honestly,” you turn around to face Sam, running your loofah over his chest, “I don’t know. All I can tell you is that I never did something like this before with two men. When I’m with you and James, I feel-“

“Complete,” he whispers, stopping your hands from cleaning his body. “Y/N, we need to talk about this. I don’t think Bucky can lose someone else. He already lost so much.”

“I’m not here to break your hearts,” you touch Sam’s cheek, just looking up at him for a moment. “I like you both, a lot. Right now, I can’t call it love yet, but if I would ever fall in love with someone again, it would be you and him…”

“Doc carries her own package, huh?” Bucky wonders, flipping through the pages of your file. “Did we find out who the douche breaking her heart was?”

“Not so loud,” Sam tuts. “After what she told me this morning, I asked a friend to dig a bit deeper. Sharon said Y/N left her former job, a well-paid position as someone broke her heart.”

“What do with the information now? I don’t think she wants us to stick our noses into her-“ Bucky bites his tongue when you walk into the living room.

“Ready?” you ask, brows furrowed in a silent question. “What? Do I have something on my face? Damn, is there a visible bite mark at my neck?”

“No, you just look so sexy in your professional outfit, doll,” Bucky grins, holding out his hand. “Do we have to go to the office today?”

“Fury said it’s important, James,” you tut. “Let’s be professional for once, okay. I know you hate meetings, but this is unavoidable.”

“Why is this woman here?” Bucky eyes the foreign woman warily, not missing you squirm in your seat. “Something wrong, doc?”

Sam can see a hint of fear flash across your face before you clear your throat. 

“This is Sarah Murphy, our expert for, let’s say internal affairs,” Fury huffs, hating he must have this specific conversation with you. “Let’s get this over with, Ms. Murphy.”

“Director Fury asked me to be here today to make sure whatever we discuss, stay within these walls. I can assure you, the material we will show to you, will not leave this room either and no one but Director Fury saw the footage.”

“Footage?” you furrow your brows, confusion is written all over your face and you clutch your hands to your chest in attempt to calm your racing heart. “Did you spy on one of us?” 

“None of us spied on you, Doctor Y/L/N. I always appreciate your hard work. Sadly, someone sent us this,” Fury points at the laptop Sarah Murphy placed on the desk. “I want you to watch the footage, all of it. Ms. Murphy and I will leave the room meanwhile.”

“I don’t understand,” you panic, grasping for Sam’s hand to squeeze it tightly. “Why do you want us to watch videos?”

“I must tell you before we leave the room, that someone sent us the footage, along with a few demands,” Fury stands, gives Sam a curt nod before he turns to leave the room. “In other words, someone tries to extort us. I will tell you about the details later.”

When it’s only you and your roommates you look at the laptop, afraid to watch whatever someone filmed. “I don’t want to watch this.”

“We must,” Sam says, breaking the tension, just pressing play. “Whoever filmed us or one of us will pay for it.”

“Maybe it’s not that bad,” Bucky tries, metal hand balled into a fist. “Maybe that bastard only filmed me doing push-ups or-“

The first thing you recognize is your hoarse voice, and the slap of skin against skin. Your eyes widen in horror when you watch yourself getting fucked by Sam while you watch Bucky jerk off and later on, covering your body with his cum.

“No,” your body starts to tremble, and you can barely feel the hand touching yours when the scene changes to another video. 

It’s in the kitchen this time, you bend over the kitchen island, Bucky’s hands hold you down by your shoulders while he fucks you roughly, calling you his whore.

“No-no-no-“ Bucky stops the video, clicks on the next one. This time you get fucked in their office, not days ago. “Stop this, Bucky-“ you cry, hiding your face in the palm of your hands. “Someone invaded our privacy just like that.”

“Baby doll,” slamming his metal fist into the laptop, destroying it on his way Bucky feels his chest tightening. He knows how it feels to have no privacy. “I will rip whoever did this to you apart.”

“So someone filmed us at our home and sent it to Fury. Then the same person filmed us at our office and did the same again,” Sam tries to not freak out. He hates you choke out sobs, desperate to forget about what you just saw. “But why?”

“We should ask Fury,” you whisper, not fighting Bucky when he brings you in his arms to cradle you gently. “Sam, you should talk. I-I can’t right now and Bucky, he’s too mad.”

“I’ll go get Fury,” Sam swallows thickly. He slowly gets up to kiss your hair softy, hand gently smoothing over your arm. “We will handle this, baby. No one is going to see this ever again.”

“We-We looked hot, at least,” you try to laugh, but choke on your tears instead. “I hate someone did this to us. It’s not only about me, but you and Bucky too, Sam. How dare them?”

“I’m going to kill them,” Bucky growls. “Rip them apart, limp by worthless limp…”

“Do we know who did this?” Sam asks while you sit between Bucky and Sam, not meeting Fury’s eyes. “Director?”

“I need to get this off my chest, doctor,” Fury sighs. “Whatever you do in your free time, is up to you.”

You nod, still not looking up. “Do we have a name or a reason why?”

“Sergeant Barnes, this has nothing to do with you, if you would just calm down,” Bucky starts to pace the room, jaw ticking, hands balled into fists. “I know you were on the footage too, but according to my information it’s all about the shield and the title.”

“Wait—what?” you gape at Fury, feeling a cold shiver run down your spine. “No way! You can’t be serious! Someone wants the title and Sam’s shield?”

“I’m afraid so,” Fury says, watching Sam run his hand over your hair. “We will do anything to help you, though.”

“What if Sam doesn’t give it to them? What did they say will happen?” Bucky asks, watching Fury lean back in his chair. “That bad?”

“Whoever is after the shield threatens to leak the footage. Doctor Y/L/N would lose her job. She would be compromised,” Fury explains. “I can’t say what would happen to your uh-“

“I don’t have a career and give a shit on my reputation, but we can’t let anything happen to Y/N and her job,” Bucky grunts. “What can we do to find them?”

“John Walker,” you whisper, glancing at Fury. “It can only be him – right?”

“Who is John Walker? I never heard of him before,” Sam watches you focus your attention toward Fury, not answering his question. “Y/N? What’s wrong?”

“If it’s John, we got to be careful. I know he wanted to become the next Captain, not accepting the gentleman’s agreement between Sam and Captain Rogers. I know some people at the government would like to see that man wield the shield, but we won’t allow him to do so,” you stand, straighten your skirt before you look Fury straight in the eyes. “I quit.”

“Doll, just wait a minute. Let’s talk about this,” while Bucky tries to stop you from throwing everything you worked so hard for away while Sam silently watches the change in your posture.

“What is else do we want to discuss, James? That bastard won’t stop, okay. He wants the shield but won’t get it.”

“I give it to him if this saves your career and reputation,” Sam offers. “Steve hand the shield to me, believing I’ll do the right thing. He would’ve done the same to save you.”

“No,” you slam your fist onto the table, making Sam jump. “If you don’t want to wield the shield, fine by me but we will not let anyone take it away from you.”

“What about your job?” you don’t give in. Looking at Sam you give him a weak smile. “Y/N?”

“Fury, tell that bastard he can go and leak anything he wants to. I’m an adult and had sex with two men I love. This is not a crime. If he wants to ruin my career, so be it. He can go and shove it up to his ass.”

“I did not expect anything else from you, doctor,” Fury chuckles, admiring you give a shit on John Walker’s threat.

“Just give me an hour to get back home. I don’t want to answer any questions today. Let hell come over me – tomorrow…” your head held up high you walk toward the door, grasping for the door handle before you look over your shoulder. “Are you coming, guys?”

“We can’t let that bastard get away with this,” Bucky points at the TV. An hour after Fury told Walker he can fuck his deal, named man leaked all the videos he took of you and your roommates.

“Hill did her best to take all the videos down. Luckily, she found the server with the original files. She also marked the files and tries to locate any copy,” Sam explains. 

He watches you sit in your favorite armchair, snuggled in a warm blanket you just look at the wall. “She just lost her career only as we couldn’t keep our hands to ourselves and tried to get rid of her, Sam.”

“I know.”

“I will find and kill John Walker. He will pay for hurting Y/N,” Bucky crosses his arms over his chest, watching you brush a single tear off your cheek.

“So, we're partners?”

“Co-workers. Not necessarily a team, but we will team up to avenge, Y/N.”

“Sounds like a good plan,” Bucky holds out his hand. 

“Sounds like a good plan,” shaking Bucky’s hand Sam smirks. “Now let’s find John Walker and show him what happens if he hurts someone we care about.”

“Finally-“ you walk toward your roommates, smiling softly. “Took you long enough to admit you like each other.” you walk toward your bedroom, smiling to yourself. “Did you find all the hidden cameras?” 

“Yes. Why?” cocking his head Sam looks at you. “Y/N?”

“You know, I don’t have to be up early in the morning any longer,” you smirk. “You can keep me awake all night long…”

“Doll,” Bucky purrs, eyes drifting toward your ass. “Ready if you are…”

“Hey, I told you she’s mine,” following you hot on your heels Sam calls Bucky’s name. “Hands off!”

“How did Y/N know it was Walker?” Maria looks at the leaked footage, clenching her jaw. “Director?”

“Do you remember when I told you she quit her last job? I told you that someone made her leave, it was Walker,” Fury explains. 

“Doctor Y/L/N doesn’t seem like someone just giving up on her career for a man,” Maria wonders. “There is more – right?”

“They were a pair for years, even wanted to marry but then, he changed. After the blip happened he became a different man. And since Steve Rogers and the Avengers undid the blip, Walker wanted to become the next Captain and turned into a possessive man on a mission.”

“Sounds like the perfect partner,” nodding thoughtfully Maria looks at her boss. “What happened?”

“Y/N tried to make Walker see he was in the wrong, that the end doesn’t always justify the means. She ended up in hospital with two broken ribs and a concussion.”

“She walked out on him I assume.”

“John Walker doesn’t like rejection in any way. This is the opportunity he was waiting for. He ruined Y/N’s career and aims for his next target—the shield in Sam Wilson’s hands…”

End of Arc 1...

Arc 2 - TBA

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[embrassemoi]

Surrounded by the Moon and Stars ✷ 20

Pairings: Sirius B, Remus L, [F]Reader      Content: Language, possible errors  A/N: Some ppl asked for a playlist... so ofc I made one! 

Series Playlist or Chap 20 Playlist

【 Masterlist: Previous Chapter | Next Chapter 】

Chapter 20: Little Lion Man

━━━━━━━━━༻✩༺━━━━━━━━━

When Regulus was younger, his aunt Andromeda and Sirius were obsessed with Muggle stories. Andromeda would send them loads of books every month to the local Muggle post office to prevent their parents from confiscating them. He remembers the ten minute walks there and back, Sirius holding his hand tight, even stopping to buy ice cream during the warmer seasons. They would greet the delivery men and women, picking up a heavy stack of wrapped books before waddling out, each boy mirroring a large grin.

Every night at twilight, when their parents were asleep, Sirius would crawl into his bed and read to Regulus in a hushed voice. He would read a different story every night, lulling him to sleep. Sirius spent hours gushing about the fantastical tales Muggles wrote; how magical and mystical their minds were despite not having an ounce of magical blood. From Superman to Batman, the Joker to Daleks, Prince Caspian to King Miraz; Regulus quickly learned that they all had one common theme: the good guys and the bad guys.

Regulus often spent his time grappling with the notion; what made someone good? Because the definition changes depending on the person.

Were the good guys good because they were selfless — passionate? Those deemed good never let themselves be seen as selfish. The heroes would sacrifice themselves for the greater good, even going as far as giving up their loved ones. Or maybe it was because they went against the odds. But villains did that too.

So he re-worded the question; what made someone bad? Was it their selfishness or greed? Was it putting themselves above others? Did they know they were on the wrong side of history? Make a mistake, once, twice — but surely, that didn’t make someone bad. Did it?

If virtue is understood by both sides, then the bad guys would immediately cross that line time and time again. They lacked wisdom and truthfulness, filled with too much pride and vanity.

But now as he began to grow up far too quickly for a fourteen-year-old boy, he realized that there was more to people than just being good or evil, a saviour or tormentor, light versus darkness.

The definition of good and bad depended on who told the story and Regulus didn’t know who controlled his; him or his parents. The line was so blurred that he couldn’t objectively make the decision himself anymore. Was he more bad than good?

Laughter — rich and inviting beckoned throughout the library, snapping him out of his thoughts again; but it did nothing but chip away at his heart. Regulus got up, shoving his books and parchment into his bag, making sure to hide his face before they saw him. Today, the Marauders had come earlier than expected and he was caught off guard. He’d been doing everything to avoid them out of pure shame.

Before he went to turn, he eyed Sirius from the shadows. He smiled, carefree and happy, clinging onto Pettigrew, ruffling his hair like he once did to him.

What made them so special, so loved and cherished by Sirius? How were they able to make him laugh so effortlessly, able to brighten his day with a mere glance? What made them more of a family than he ever was to him?

But he knew, it was their family’s values and it had been taunting him every waking moment.

It’s not like he didn’t want to escape that night, but he wasn’t Sirius. He was never as bright or strong or as good as him. Sirius was bold and courageous and certainly had more bravery than he would ever have. Regulus was far too weak, a puppet for his parents to control. Sirius was everything Regulus was too afraid to be — a reminder of what he could have turned into.

Besides, there wasn’t a single doubt in his mind that his parents would have killed Kreacher had he left. And this way with Sirius gone, it left Regulus to be the sole heir. Sirius was free, not being hunted down by his parents now that he bore the title. That was his gift to him, freeing Sirius of all the responsibilities, pain and grief. He owed him that much. Besides, Regulus had already mourned the childhood he never had; that made everything easier.

The day Sirius left was the day before they were set to leave for Hogwarts again and the impact of his absence was massive. He no longer heard the thumping of loud Muggle music nor the clanking of piano keys or doors slamming shut. There wasn’t any screaming aside from his parents shrieking at him for taking his father's wand. The stairs creaked; he could even hear Kreacher padding his way to his room.

It was eerily quiet and lifeless in that damned house, and he was only gone for a day.

Regulus hadn’t been taking it well. Nearly every night, his face was pressed into a pillow muffling his sobs. Sirius had kept his promise, he hadn’t talked to him since.

If only he had a scarlet tie…

Ha! He could laugh; he’d been trying to get his attention in little ways. He’d even gone as far as growing out his hair to match his — coping by writing letters every night with words he wished he could’ve said before storing them in a box under his bed. Forever unsent. Hell, Regulus was a coward, every bit as pathetic as Sirius deemed.

Ever the winter break, his parents were relentless, dumping everything that was meant for Sirius onto him. Letters were sent daily; there were talks about an arranged marriage, lumps of money now being transferred under his name, getting the dark mark… and he was being watched. Every interaction he had, his parents always knew. Especially with Muggleborns; he had to limit his interactions with them to almost nothing, or it wouldn’t end well for either.

His mind reeled back to that night, where his parents and extended family toyed with that blonde Muggle, leaving her half-dead on the dining table, the image branded in his head. It made him sick just thinking about it, he never knew what happened to her, he was too busy trying to muffle out her screams.

Regulus had been questioning everything he was taught. Sirius’ words echoed in his head; was he willing to kill Muggleborns solely because of their blood status? He's a believer in old values and traditions: yes, blood should be kept pure, but to kill Muggles… that was completely different. He’d seen how his dearly beloved aunt was burned off the tapestry, threatened and almost killed for marrying a Muggleborn — a Muggleborn who he’s met and liked and respected. His family tortured them for the sake of it and more. That wasn’t the move of someone good, those were the actions of someone evil; filled with greed, spite and selfishness. But how was he going to stop a whole bloodline from their mania?

Some may call it obedience, the way he’s listened to his parents all these years blindly, but to him, it’s respect. But did he believe that? Did they deserve to be respected? He was miserable and this wasn’t a healthy way to show filial piety.

What did he believe in?

Perhaps there wasn’t such a thing, good or evil, maybe there was only power.

Regulus was lost and confused and most of all, lonely. He remembered Sirius promised him once, before the day he was set to leave for Hogwarts for the first time, that he would never be alone. What a funny thing, promises.

Tears were forming fast and if he didn’t leave then, they would fall any second now. He needed to get out of the library.

Regulus asked himself again; what made someone good or bad — or rather, was he good or bad? He’s veering towards bad.

━━━━━━━━━༻✩༺━━━━━━━━━

After catching word from Mary that Remus’ birthday was approaching, Y/N had been knitting him a sweater in her spare time (or trying to). It was sweet, simple and showed that she’d put effort into it, especially since he taught her. Although, the sweater was lopsided and she hadn’t quite gotten the hang of a certain stitch or how to close sections. Perhaps she should use magic.

Her fingers fiddled with the needle, looping the yarn over the other side. Without looking up, she made a sharp turn into the library before crashing into a hunched-over figure; sniffling and a complete mess.

An apology dangled from her lips before recognizing the figure as Regulus. It had been two months since she’d last seen him and in short, he looked like shit. His skin was grey and lost all sense of a youthful dewy glow. If Sirius had dark eye circles or Remus looked tired, Regulus beat them by miles.

Y/N stood there awkwardly, unsure of what to do before gently patting his shoulder. “Regulus?” She asked softly, nothing more than a whisper.

There was a flash of pure terror as he looked up, his eyes nervous as his head spun around to look around the place like he always did. He looked mad, almost unhinged as his hands gently pushed her away, signalling for her to leave. “I — I can’t be seen around you.”

“Can’t? What are you going on abo —” She cut herself off, ignoring the matter entirely. He clearly wasn’t in the right mindset.

His voice was strained, quiet as he kept on murmuring, he almost sounded angry. “You can’t — we’ll both get in trouble. Y/N, go — please… ”

At this, Y/N felt her skin rise in small goosebumps. She looked back to the library, just making out her friend’s figures before looking down at Regulus again. She wasn’t going to leave him like this: crying and delusional.

She took a deep inhale before bending down, picking up her needles and yarn off the ground and slipped them into her bag. She placed a cautious arm around Regulus to keep him upright. “Come with me.” But Regulus wouldn’t budge, not until she flicked down her hood, obscuring her face.

She led him up to the astronomy tower, walking and twisting around before setting him down on a nearby bench, making sure to lock any entrances. They sat in silence, aside from Regulus attempting to regulate his breathing. The cold whipping wind tossed his hair and sank into her bones. With a few charms, they were both warm again, but still able to breathe in the crisp air.

He remained quiet. Y/N didn’t push. Instead, she began babbling softly about random things to distract him. When she heard a sharp exhale of air, mimicking a half-hearted chuckle was when she knew he had calmed down.

“Thank you,” he muttered. It’s quiet, barely above a whisper. Regulus’ cheeks were pink, colour finally returning to him from either embarrassment or the cold.

“Any time,” she smiled warmly. Her hand reaches into her bag, fishing out the snacks that were meant for the study group: blackberries that were for Remus, a muffin for Marlene, were now shared between them. She tried to encourage him to eat, to regain any sort of energy.

He listened without complaint, a tense yet thankful air engulfed them. It was only until he finished the food, about an hour gone by, was when he spoke again. “Why are you being so nice to me.” It’s not even a question, just an odd accusation.

She thinks for a while, searching for the best answer. “I wished someone was there for me when I was going through a hard time.”

“But you don’t know me.”

Her eyebrows raised, “Well, let’s get to know each other then. I’ll tell you something about myself and then you can go?”

Regulus looked up at her with a calculated expression, cautious and looked uncomfortable but he nodded.

“Let’s start simple. I have an owl named Celeste.”

He gulped, looking back to the entrance. His answer came delayed, strained and she wondered if she had pushed him too far. “I play the violin.”

Y/N smiled largely. “The violin is beautiful! Hmm… I can’t ride a broomstick to save my life, unlike you.”

At this, he smiles — a real genuine smile that causes his eyes to crinkle and sparkle. “Really?” His eyes burned with curiosity before he looked down, “I can’t swim.”

“Swim?” She repeats, chuckling to herself, “Who doesn’t know how to swim?”

“You’re making me feel grand. Terribly uncalled for.”

Her eyes rolled, “You should learn. It can save your life one day. Who wants to drown?”

“Maybe I’ll ask McGonagall — I heard for tougher punishments she’ll throw you into the black lake.”

“You’re the perfect candidate then.”

After a while, way past curfew, Regulus seemed cheerier; his tear-stained cheeks now replaced with a smile and relaxation. That day, Y/N unaware, was a day Regulus would never forget.

━━━━━━━━━༻✩༺━━━━━━━━━

March 8th, 1976

“Sirius, shut up.”

“You’re the one yelling!”

“... Right.”

Excused from their afternoon classes because their Puffskein was about to hatch, the Marauder’s dorm was bustling with panic and bickering. When Y/N partnered with Sirius for their project, she expected fighting (which happened every day) but not for Sirius to be like this. He’d been running around the dorm, grabbing warm towels, bowls of water and taking out his panic on her. He gripped his textbook, flicking through notes to see if they had everything. It was as if he was preparing for the birth of an actual baby.

She silently watched him, her mind thinking about Regulus rather than their project. This was the only time she and Sirius were alone and wondered if she should mention his freakout the other day but stopped — it didn’t take a genius to know they weren’t on friendly terms.

Since that night, she’d seen Regulus almost daily, but only at night before their study group. She would spend an hour or so with him before the Marauder or girls came barraging in; Regulus left before they appeared. The entire situation left her deeply confused, worried and most of all, suspicious.

“We need Kettleburn —”

Annoyance began nipping at her. “Calm down.”

“I’m not going to calm down!”

Sirius paced, both firing snide jabs. Too preoccupied in his panicked state, he didn’t hear the quiet cracking of the white shell, forming the shape of a lightning bolt before cascading over.

“Um, Black?”

“Let’s not start. How are you so —”

“Get your ass over here now!”

Sirius pressed his lips together immediately and rushed over, both huddled side by side near the roaring fireplace. The shell twitched, cracking more and they both gasped in amazement. The process was faster than either expected as they saw the small tuft of cream fur peek out along with a pair of black eyes. Its long pink tongue slipped out, already looking for its first meal. Y/N scrambled to grab a nearby dish of dried spiders to feed it while Sirius cradled it in his hand. His smile was wide, buzzing with excitement as he observed it. His hands gently glided over the soft fur as it emitted a low humming sound.

A deep chuckle erupts from Sirius and she could feel the vibrations from how close they were. His laugh, which once made her cringe, now made her skin feel fuzzy and heart flutter. But, it wasn’t like that, she thinks. Of course not! She still wants to jinx him, maybe even throw him into the fireplace. Yes, that’s it.

She snaps out of her violent thoughts when she finds Sirius already looking at her, a pretty flush to his skin as he observes her softly. Her brows crinkled; instead of a frown or on the cusp on an insult, he smiles.

“Do you want to hold it?” Y/N nods eagerly. Sirius shifts his body, placing the Puffskein in the palms of her hands. It’s incredibly soft, adorable and when it leans into her, falling asleep, she swore she fell in love.

“What do you want to name it?” She mumbled, afraid that if she were any louder it might wake it up. Sirius takes a long time to ponder and Y/N braces herself for an insult, already thinking of a plethora of her own.

“It looks like porridge… Oatmeal!”

“Are you serious?”

“I’d be worried if I wasn’t.”

Y/N tries to suppress her smile but fails. The Puffskein did look like a grain of oatmeal. Plain and simple, she liked it.

“Hello, Oats! You’re so cute — I could just eat you up!”

“Morbid much.”

Hours went by before they ultimately decided to head down to Kettleburn’s office for an examination of Oats’ health. Sirius cradled it in a small blanket, shielding it from the rest of the world. Marlene and Dorcas were standing by the sidelines, joining them as they walked past.

“Yours hatched already? Aw, it looks so cute!” Dorcas squealed. Her hands reached out, giddy as Sirius gently placed it into her arms but not without fretting. Marlene only looked down at her with a soft gaze, her face becoming pink as she wrapped an arm around her.

“Give it a rest. She’s not going to drop it.”  

“Now you, McKinnon?! I’m a father now! Our kid deserves the best care! Right, L/N?”

It catches her off guard. Sirius trying to include her in a conversation? That’s a new milestone. “Of course; the proudest parents.”

━━━━━━━━━༻✩༺━━━━━━━━━

Once done with Kettleburn, Sirius went to bring Oats back to his dorm, parting as Y/N went to find Lily who took her notes for her afternoon classes.

Out in the courtyard, walking around in the snow, both Lily and Snape wandered around before she picked up a snowball, throwing it at him. Snape sent her a deadpanned look as Lily kept hurling snowballs. Most missed him, others hit him before he retaliated and threw some back.

Y/N halted, watching the scene play out and debated whether or not to approach them. But decided to, shouting while striding up to them.

“Petals!”

Lily’s smile grew before her head whipped to her. She stopped her snowball fight, getting up to bounce her way over to her. Snape followed in suit, but as Lily began to babble on and on about what she missed, Snape’s eyes bore into her, vice versa.

“I’ll see you later, Sevy! We need to go,” said Lily, already turning to walk away. Y/N lingered back a pause, just enough to see Snape draw his wand and shoot a spell at her. She had just enough time to block it. Whatever spell it was, it sparkled like a firecracker. If Snape could easily send a hex or jinx her way inboard daylight with Lily just a little ahead, what was he willing to do had they been alone.

His angel persona around her was dropping quickly.

“Whiskers!” Shouted Lily. Her arms raised in question. “Get over here!”

A flurry of thoughts bombarded her before she could process them. She was about to cause a scene, yell and scream until that nasty sneer fell off his face until she felt a tug on her arm. Lily hooked her arm around Y/N, pulling her away. But she still had her wand drawn, ready to block another spell. She tossed one last look at him; he smiled wickedly.

“Are you okay?”

She had enough tip-toeing around Snape. She remained tranquil, gave him the benefit of the doubt and respected their friendship but that was enough.

“No, I’m not actually,” keeping her tone as soft as possible, trying not to sound defensive, “Why do you waste your time around him?”

Lily paused, her eyes going wide. An offended expression crossed her face as she took a moment to digest the remark. “Sev? What are you getting at?” Her tone was guarded which had Y/N debating whether or not to drop the conversation entirely. A fight with Lily was not on her to-do list.

“I just think you should be careful around him.”

“I can look out for myself,” she grumbled, “Severus has been there for me for years. I know how to separate myself from the wrong sorts.”

“I’m only saying this to look out for —”

“I know, but he isn’t like what you’re thinking.” Lily didn’t look mad, just tired as she nodded sharply. Taking a stack of parchment from her bag, Lily handed it to her and walked faster. “You’re around Potter too much. He isn’t like what he says he is.”

Y/N felt annoyance blossom in her chest at the accusation of James but bit her tongue to avoid more conflict. Right now, they trod on dangerous waters.

Neither spoke to each other for the rest of the day.

[ahtsumu]

Hiiii can i request a hcs for akaashi, iwa and oikawa where they secretly have a crush on their childhoodfriend!reader for so long and they panic when the reader got asked out by someone that they can't stand? I hope this makes sense👉🏼👈🏼🥺 ty so much in advance i really love the way you describe things in your writing💓💓💓💓

longtime crush + childhood friend!reader being asked out by another hcs with akaashi, iwaizumi, and oikawa

genre(s): angst oops

warning(s): nope!

a/n: hey so you didn’t specify how you wanted it to end so i just left that open-ended ?? hopefully it meets your expectations haha :D also i may have gone a little ham with akaashi’s im sor ry 

[akaashi]

akaashi tried to accept the fact that you just might slip out of his grasp–– he really did

it’d always made more sense for him to just go with the flow, letting things happen to him instead of making them occur himself, because he trusted that there was a logical explanation for everything that happened

but the insane, paralysing ice that was spreading through his chest at the moment did not make sense

your text had sent five minutes ago and akaashi felt like he hadn’t breathed since. his brain was going haywire

y/n: soooo maeda asked me out today

he started typing out his response for the third time, paused, deleted, started typing again... paused, deleted. was there any way to make “say no and go out with me instead” sound less selfish? less… demanding?

trying to retain even the smallest bit of logic, every possible outcome to his text played vividly through his brain

option a: studying for math tests separately. no more after-practice snacks at the 7/11 near school. he starts mornings a bit later now that he can’t stop by your house first. you tell kinda funny lame jokes to maeda instead. bokuto slings one arm around akaashi’s shoulder and ignores how the other just hangs awkwardly now. your teacher stops calling your mom to complain about how much you talk in class–– she complains about your falling japanese literature grades. no more “good luck akaashi”s before every game. you avert your eyes in the hallways. he misses you every day.

option b: a kiss for every problem you both get right. holding hands as you stroll into the 7/11 near school. he starts mornings even earlier by having breakfast at your house. maeda watches him with envy from afar. bokuto third wheels behind you. your teacher starts calling your mom to complain about akaashi. you wear his jersey and kiss him before saying “good luck akaashi” at every game. you wink in the hallways. you love him back.

the wave of jealousy that had washed over him whispered in his ear that not telling you to say no wasn’t an option–– in fact, seeing you with anyone else but him wasn’t up for discussion

with your conversation a blur through his panicked eyes, his fingers made the decision for him

keiji: you should say no and go out with me instead

if akaashi had been as collected as he typically was, he would have seen that in the time he spent weighing his options, you’d sent a second and third text

y/n: i said no btw

y/n: i like someone else haha

[iwaizumi]

iwaizumi had never been the type to wear his heart on his sleeve–– he preferred his affection to hint at itself through his words and actions, no matter how ambiguous they were

still, the creeping suspicion that all of his affection had been lost in translation burrowed itself in his head when he walked into the cafeteria during lunch and saw you laughing beside another seijoh third year–– some guy he remembered to have heckled oikawa at a game before

discreetly, he walked past your table from behind, trying to gain an idea of what the guy could’ve possibly been saying to make you beam like that

“.... bowling on friday maybe? are you into that?”

iwaizumi blinked as he passed. were you being asked out?

suddenly the only thing he could hear was his own blood pounding against his eardrums— only broken through by his own voice telling him to keep walking, keep walking, keep walking

he felt completely lost. was it too late to start laughing at your jokes instead of merely smirking and rolling his eyes? was it too late to text “sweet dreams y/n” instead of “go to bed it’s late”? was it too late to start greeting you by wrapping you in his arms instead of ruffling your hair? but he’d been doing that since you were both children…

“hajime!” you called out once lunch ended, bouncing over to his side, “you’ll never guess what happened”

“hmm?” he asked, struggling to keep his composure

“i got asked out by yamamoto”

iwaizumi swallowed uncomfortably and crossed his arms over his chest. “oh.” 

“you’re not gonna ask if i said yes?��

he stayed silent, unsure if he even wanted to know

your face fell just a little bit. “y’know, hajime, sometimes i wonder if you even care about me.” you’d meant for it to come out playfully, though he could hear that you were upset

the voice in his head spoke up again— say it. say it. say it.

so he did

[oikawa]

oikawa felt like you’d pulled the rug out from underneath him when your note said that you wouldn’t be walking home with him that day because you were going on a date

with his mortal enemy, not to mention

all his life, he’d grown up with you at his side: from the schoolyard swing set where you’d compete to see who could swing the highest to the middle school gym where he took you to junior high prom to class 6 in aoba johsai where he’d often find his eyes gravitating to you every so often

he’d thought you would, like the earth does with the sun, revolve around him forever and, similarly, he’d also thought that he had forever to tell you that he loved you–– that he’d loved you for so long that he’d forgotten at what point his feelings even began. and until today, he’d thought that you loved him too

but now, as his chestnut eyes scanned over the note again just to make sure he wasn’t imagining anything, it finally registered in his brain that if he didn’t make a move now, oikawa tooru was going to lose you

from the table beside him, you watched as he blinked in shock. a curious look flitted over your face. that was not the reaction you’d anticipated

“lol are you surprised that someone actually finds me attractive??” you wrote on another slip of paper, sliding it on top of the original note on oikawa’s desk

you’d expected a reply seconds later, something along the lines of his usual snark, something like “ofc not even shrek found love”

but his reply never came

in fact, oikawa remained silent for the rest of the class, absent-mindedly fiddling with your first note between his fingers as he stared ahead, mind most definitely lost elsewhere, only returning to the present once the bell rang for lunch

“tooru,” you called out after him in the hallway, “what’s wrong?”

“why?” he asked, gesturing to your note in his hand. “why him?”

you furrowed your brows. “what do you mean? he’s nice”

“and me? am i not nice?”

it became a lot clearer to you that, perhaps, what he was really asking was: why not me?

you’d always had an inkling that there was something that tiptoed between the lines of your friendship with oikawa–– something that surfaced as gazes caught red-handed and then locked, as hugs that lasted a beat longer than most, as rare glances into the hidden universe inside his mind

you were just too afraid to jeopardise your oldest friendship for a feeling that might not have even been returned

but as oikawa stood there in front you with his eyes wide with imploration, knuckles white around your note, it suddenly struck you that maybe–– just maybe, not all was as hopeless as it seemed

[soukokuwu]

Hi I’m really sorry I know you’re probably busy and don’t just do urgent fics for anyone but this one’s quite urgent, um if it’s not triggering for you of course, could you please do Chuuya walking in on his S/O s*lf h*rming? It doesn’t have to be long, just something comforting please, again I completely understand if you can’t it’s just a bit urgent, either way thank you I appreciate it ❤️

in your head.

     genre. angst (fluff at the end ofc)      warnings. self harm, blood      synopsis. all of us have breaking points, but you have a saviour in the form of love.      word count. 1.4k      author notes. no, dw anony <3 i’m perfectly okay with writing this, you gave me a chance to vent a little too so thank you as well, and i hope this is ok!!

some days you think you’re strong enough to take it; all the rage, all the frustration, all the pain. some days you break and let them consume you. it’s natural, you’re only human after all. what’s dangerous about the latter is the possible extent to which it breaks you. because one moment you find yourself completely fine, feeling like you have the strength to take on the entire world.

other days, before you know it, you might already be half a step into the abyss.

today is one of those days.

you can’t explain why; it just is. is it because you’ve spent too long in the light? you’ve spent too long of a time shoving the thoughts into the back of your mind so in the end it all comes spilling out anyway? what’s worse then — breaking every single day a little bit at a time, or just crumbling into ashes all at once?

not that the answer matters. because you still hurt. everything’s screwed up, and no amount of effort will change anything, will it? no amount of trying will ever get rid of the loss, the grief, the guilt you feel. and you’re caught between two lines: to keep living and torturing yourself (which you think you deserve), or to just end it all and return to the beginning of life itself in death? the latter is a form of escape, though. do you really deserve it?

you can’t really explain the turmoil that goes on in your head. but it irritates the heck out of you. it hurts, and it will keep hurting. but it’s not like you can shut off your thoughts just like that.

maybe this is why the razor cuts deeper and deeper as you go. because the more you think, the larger the amount of pain you need to translate from emotional to physical. at least with physical pain, you’re distracted enough not to think.

how long has it been since you’ve done this? way too long. you’ve had your own personal crutch — your boyfriend. and immediately you feel an overwhelming amount of guilt rush over you. it isn’t alleviated when the next moment, you can hear his footsteps rushing over to you, the thumping all you can hear. or is that the drumming of your heart in your ears?

you don’t know. you really don’t know, you barely know anything.

all you can say for sure is that there is an unsightly amount of blood on the bathroom floor. you can’t even remember how long you’ve been sitting here piling slit on top of slit on top of slit. your arm is sore, and your fingers are sore too. you don’t even realise how much you’re crying until you turn to look at your boyfriend and all you can see is his striking orange hair all blurred into one with his face and those cerulean eyes.

and you cry even more because you think he doesn’t deserve this — he’s been so good to you. he doesn’t deserve having to worry over someone so pathetic, right?

but as always, he always seems to know what to do. and no, you don’t mean the fact that he’d thrown the razor aside the minute he got to you, or the fact that he disregards the blood staining his pants as he tries to clean your wounds.

it’s how he doesn’t pile on your guilt. no mention of “what the fuck did you do” or “what happened” because he doesn’t want to make you feel more overwhelmed than you already are. all he does is let you calm down as you nestle against his chest while he wraps your arm in a bandage, slowly, carefully, gently.

“i don’t deserve you, chuuya,” you let slip. you’re a little drowsy, and he knows it. after all, you’d lost a lot of blood. he makes a mental reminder to get the mafia doctor in to see you as soon as possible, but for now he has to put your emotions first. besides, he’s confident enough in his skills that you’d be okay for now, as long as you get some water in you and rest.

he smiles at you, poking your nose with his gloved finger before hoisting you in his arms and carries you to the bed. he doesn’t even care about the stains that get on his sheets. he just wants you comfortable. it’s not chuuya’s first time dealing with difficulties. although, this is the first time he’s seen your harm yourself. don’t get him wrong, though. he’s internally panicking, but he can’t show you that. it’ll make things worse, wouldn’t it?

honestly, he finds it weird how he knows what to do in this situation. how he doesn’t let his fear take over him. not that he lets himself ponder about it. he’s more concerned with what you’re upset about. but you both know — you’re not one to share so easily. even if he is your boyfriend of a year.

you’re amazed, actually, at how patient he is with you. considering he’s not much of it in anything else. never once has he actually pressured you to share anything. he’s asked you about it, but he’s quick to assure you that you don’t have to say a thing you aren’t comfortable with saying.

“you know, i’m so scared,” chuuya confesses as he sets down the glass of water on the nightstand after you take a big gulp. he sits himself next to you, and you allow him to wrap an arm around you, getting under the sheets, making you feel all warm and cosy.

“i’m so scared of losing you,” he explains, fingers now twirling your hair. “and i don’t know what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours, princess, but can i be selfish this one time and ask you to please, let me share that pain with you?”

you don’t miss the slight quiver in his tone. he’s close to cracking, but he’s trying not to — just for you. and maybe he’s not the best person to try and ‘cheer someone up’, but oh god, to you? his patience and understanding is more than enough. and he’s never once failed at it.

chuuya hugs you tighter now. you can smell the faint hint of cigarettes lingering on his skin, and while you’re normally not a fan of it, oddly enough, it smells like home. your home.

no man is an island. and it’ll probably take more than anyone can imagine to make you feel okay again, if it’s even possible at all. but sometimes people lose sight of what’s important. sometimes, some people try — and that’s already more than what you can ask for. because not everyone has the patience for it.

“i love you, baby,” he whispers as he plants a long kiss on your head, “i love you and i would do anything for you. so just — just stay with me as long as you can, okay?”

never any sign of pressure. and you can feel the slight minification of the hurt you thought would never let up. right, that’s right. because in a world where no one owes anyone else a thing, sometimes a simple show of effort is a treasure in itself.

“chuuya, i know i’m not easy to be with —“

“you’re worth it, though.”

you giggle a little at how quick he is to assure you of that. it’s only miniscule, but you do feel your mood lightening a little.

“shut up,” you chide, embarrassed, burying your head in his chest, hearing the slight quickening of his heartbeat. “i know i’m not easy to be with, and i know you never ask anything of me, so i promise, chuuya. i promise you, i’ll try.”

you don’t even have to ask him anything, but you know that even if sometimes you fail at it, if sometimes you just break again and have a similar moment, that he’ll still be there for you, to assure you that you’re never alone.

“it’s you and me against the world, princess.”

tags. @yokelish @gogolparadise @fyowyn-writes @animatedarchives

[sweetaesuga]

in your heart | his fridays

pairing: jungkook x female reader

genre: fluff, angst(?), established relationship, fratboy jk, ex-fuckboy jk, bookworm reader!

warnings: language, implied drinking, these two are crackheads basically

word count: 1.1k 

synopsis: your fridays without jungkook.

timeline: takes place after the events of in your eyes. 

↳ masterlist

a/n: my posts aren’t showing up under the tags :(((( so sorry for posting this many times. i tried linking a card of current issues going but it’ll hide this🥺

Something doesn't feel right.

It's surely the empty seat besides you where your boyfriend would usually reside but not today. He decided to go to a party his fraternity was throwing. He deemed you would hate him if he was to go to one ever since you started dating which is why he hadn't gone to one in so long. Jungkook even took you out for dinner. 

The whole night consisted of him being sweet to you, way too sweet. Not a jokingly insult was hurled your way how you two normally act towards one another. He took the chance to ask you if he could attend the party. 

The question struck you a bit. You didn't want him asking you permission to go somewhere, you never wanted to be that couple. You didn't want to eventually become the girlfriend who hogged all of his attention. You just wished he wouldn't bail out on you all the time like he used to. You assured him that he didn't have to ask you permission to go to such places yet he still felt awkward. 

Jungkook💓: are u sure about this??

Jungkook💓: i can always not go u know

Jungkook💓: if ur not ok with it 

sugar mama🥺: I'm fine with it!!! 

sugar mama🥺: Go have fun just don't do anything stupid without me

Jungkook💓: ok i luv u

His response threw you off. You've only been dating for two months and none of you have ever told each other you love one another. You don't dwell too much on the topic, simply brushing it off as Jungkook just being excited and he didn't genuinely mean it.

You sat on your couch, searching through Hulu. You contemplated whether or not to watch Rick and Morty, the show you two watch together. Knowing your boyfriend, he would whine about you watching it without him. You exited and scrolled through Netflix. Your attention was divided, one on the movie you were watching and the other on Jungkook's text. In the end you selected a random movie, choosing to just have it as background noise to swallow the silence in the room that was normally filled with Jungkook and you. 

You explored through your Instagram. Reloading your page again, your heart stopped. Taehyung had uploaded a picture. He was taking up most of the picture but Jungkook is still seen in the edge, grinning like an idiot with a bottle of beer in his hand. The others are a blur. 

You felt guilty for going ease from the sight of no girl nearby. You were still insecure despite his comfort. 

You liked the picture, reading the caption before going on to the explore page. You find yourself looking at memes, sending the funniest ones to Jungkook. You didn't care that you sent him twenty-two messages and he'll probably respond the next morning as long as he sent you twenty-two texts back instead of a singular response. 

It's around one in the morning when you receive a thread of messages from your boyfriend coming all at once. You were half awake, body threatening to enter slumber. You frowned with squinted eyes when your phone screen shined. Tiredly, you unlocked your phone. 

Jungkook💓: hiiiiiiiii

Jungkook💓: i miss u i'm sorry for not being there with u

Jungkook💓: forgive me🥺🥺

Jungkook💓: i think i'm drunk but not really

Jungkook💓: thank fuck autocorrect gets me cuz i'm like typing the wrong shir rn

Jungkook💓: i'm in my bed rn :((((

Jungkook💓: n i miss u so much like

Jungkook💓: so so sos osos osos odiosos much

Jungkook💓: wtf my keyboard just wrote that

Jungkook💓: is that spanish???

sugar mama🥺: Idk 

sugar mama🥺: R u ok???

sugar mama🥺: How much did u have to drink?? 

Jungkook💓: idk they just kept common u know??

Jungkook💓: fuckhdn i meant comming*

Jungkook💓: wait but like did u mist me too🥺🦆🥺

sugar mama🥺: Ofc i did🙄

sugar mama🥺: Now go to bed ur gonna feel like shit in the morning

jungkook💓: bet 

jungkook💓: IMG_3725.JPG

jungkook💓: dont my toes look prettyyyyukjd

sugar mama🥺: Stop we said we weren't into this feet shit n go to mf bed

Jungkook💓: ooooooo someone's mad that i got prettyer feet than them😌

Before you can reply to him, his name flashed over your phone screen. You swiped across the screen, bringing your phone up to your ear. You regret doing so as Jungkook screamed into the phone that he has more beautiful feet than you which you can not deny. There's a hiccup before he continued. "I'm like so fucking drunk right now. I miss you so much, I wish you came," his speech is a little slurred but you don't mind. "But I know you hate being surrounded by a lot of people, claustrophobic bitch."

You laughed into the speaker. Jungkook enjoyed every second of it. "You know what? At least I'm not afraid of a microwave." 

You heard him gasp on the other line. "Microwaves have the potential to blow up and shit! Why the hell are you afraid of a spider that's not even half your size?" Jungkook shook his head, remembering how last week you forced him to kill a spider in the corner of the room. He tried to convince you to leave it alone but you weren't having it. 

"They're fucking spiders! Almost everyone in the world is afraid of them even your mom!" he stayed silent for a second. Right when he was ready to defend himself he suddenly realized his mother does have a fear of spiders. "Aww, cat got your tongue, bubba?" 

Jungkook giggled, laying out on his bed. An empty spot next to him where your body would occupy it. He doesn't say anything else, choosing to listen to your breathing. You call out his name, wondering if he dozed off. Jungkook hummed into the speaker. "I think I'm going to have to cut this short and go to bed. I love you," he smiled only to be met with silence. His cheeks burned in embarrassment and he was ready to open his mouth and drunkenly take everything back. 

"Goodnight, don't think you're going to remember in the morning but I love you too," your voice was quiet. It almost drove Jungkook to tears from how small you sounded, almost as if scared to confess to him. 

He hung up first, falling asleep quickly despite being disturbed by the void place besides him. You don't fall asleep right after. In fact, you don't sleep the whole night. Your mind too focused on your conversation. 

Jungkook💓: HOLY SHIT HOW MUCH DID I DRINK

[rmtndew]

Begin Again

Summary: Walter Marshall is a dedicated homicide detective doing his best to balance his work life with being a single father to a teenage girl. Fiona Sparks is a woman doing her best to take care of everyone and everything around her, except for herself. Neither has had the best luck with relationships, but once they meet, they’re willing to give it another shot, this time with each other. (It’s basically just romantic fluff) 

Pairing: Marshall and OFC.

Rating: PG

Warnings: Mentions of death, cancer.

A/N - This is a sequel to ‘All I’ve Ever Known’. I started writing this because I needed an escape for some personal stuff going on and my coping mechanism included giving Marshall all the love that man needed, and imagining him being the softest boyfriend to me, then passing those details on to Fiona (my OFC).

I also made a Spotify playlist for this story, if anyone is interested - Begin Again Playlist 

 Tag list - @hollydaisy23, @alyxkbrl, @onlyhenrys, @omgkatinka, @speakerforthedead0​, @gearhead66,  @thethirstyarchive, @oddsnendsfanfics, @littlerinoa, @agniavateira, @aaescritora, @justaboringadult, @beenthroughalot, @seriouslygoodlookinggents,  @xxxkatxo

If you want to be added/removed from the tag list, let me know!

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7

The last Wednesday in October was a gray, misty, windy day. It was cold, the kind you felt more in your bones than anywhere else, with the sky occasionally spitting out sleet. I spent the entire twenty-minute drive to my job at Waverly Catering clutching the steering wheel so tightly that my hands were cramping by the time I arrived from white-knuckling it the whole way there. Usually, I would get to work early enough to enjoy the silence and finish off my coffee before officially starting my workday. That day, however, I spent the very little extra time I had trying to get my hands to stop hurting, then chugged down my coffee that had cooled dramatically to a gross lukewarm temperature. 

Before going in, I checked my phone. I always kept it on silent while I drove. My mom had a tendency to text me, make a dozen spelling mistakes because of auto-correct, then correct them one by one, leaving me with about thirteen separate texts to read. It didn’t use to bother me, I thought it was charming and very distinctly Mom. But when she’d gotten sick at the beginning of the year, every text she sent that I couldn’t read immediately made me panic, worrying that something terrible had happened to her, even when I’d just seen her at home a few minutes before. So for my sanity - and hers - I started putting my phone on silent until I got to work, or wherever else I was going. It was a habit I’d kept even after she’d gone into remission because her cancer may have been gone, but my anxiety over her wasn’t. 

That morning when I checked my phone, I saw that I had two texts, but they weren’t from Mom. 

Marshall:  Good morning, Fi. I hope that I get to see you today. I’ll be chained to  my desk with paperwork for a while. This is the first time I’ve not dreaded it. You’re my silver lining.

That was cheesy. I’m sorry. I’m bad at this.

And just like that, all of my stress melted away. The weather didn’t matter, my disappointing coffee didn’t matter, even the cramping in my hands didn’t matter. All that did matter was that Walter Marshall thought of me as his silver lining. Yes it was early days, yes we’d barely known each other a month, yes we’d only gone on two dates, but he made me happier than I’d been in a long time. I felt like I’d been holding my breath for two years, starting when my dad had died in a car crash, followed by my boyfriend Ezra breaking up with me, then losing my job as an interior designer, and capping off with my mom’s cancer diagnoses. Then Walter came along and it was like I could finally breathe again. 

Me:  Please don’t apologize. You have no idea how much I needed to read that this morning. Feel free to be as  cheesy as you want. And I hope I get to see you today, too, even if it  means you’re chained to your desk.

Marshall:  If I don’t see you for some reason,  can I call you tonight? I miss your  voice and you make me want to get better at this talking thing. 

I could feel myself blushing. Even over the phone he made me feel like a teenager with a crush. I had no idea that anyone could make me feel that way as an adult, but he did every time he texted me. 

Me:  Of course you can. Even if we do see  each other, you can still call, if you want? Practice makes perfect, and all that.

Marshall: I’d like that. Talk to you soon.

I sat back in my seat with a sigh as I looked out at the sleet falling from the gray sky, spattering my windshield, blurring out the image of the trees in the park across from me blowing and bending in the wind. 

It was going to be a good day. 

“You look...dare I say it? Happy?” Darcy said as I walked into her office.

I smiled. “You may dare to say it because yes, I am quite happy.”

“And what brings you to such an extreme emotion so early on such a disgusting day?”

I went to her desk and sat in the chair opposite her. “Well, for one, I know that you’re about to do me a big favor that I will forever be grateful for.”

“Fiona Sparks asking for a favor? I’ll mark the day in my calendar,” she joked. “What kind of favor do you need?”

“I need a copy of the peanut butter cookie recipe.”

“For what purpose?” 

“See, that’s where the happiness part comes into play and you, being one of my dearest friends, would love to see me happy.” 

“I would but I’m unsure how a cookie recipe is going to do that.”

“It’s not for me,” I said, smiling wide. “I met this guy -” 

“What? Who?” she asked enthusiastically, her eyes wide with excitement.

“His name is Walter Marshall. He’s our detective who never changes his lunch order.”

“You’re dating one of the homicide detectives? You can feel free to thank me later for giving you that order, by the way. But right now I want details: How long have you been dating and why am I just now finding out about it?”

“We’re not technically dating. I met him a few weeks ago for the first time and we went on two dates last week.” 

“You haven’t dated anyone in over two years, and then you go on two dates in one week?”

“Well, the first was just a coffee date. Saturday we tried having a proper one.” 

“Tried?” she asked, raising her eyebrow. 

“He wanted to take me to dinner, so we went to an Italian place, but before we could order, his daughter called. She was supposed to be at a Halloween party, but some of her friends had lied to her, I guess, and it ended up being a basement party with slightly older boys and she felt uncomfortable, so we went and picked her up. Then we all went for pizza together.”

“He has a daughter, which is some heavy baggage to begin with, but you met her on your second date? That’s a lot, Fiona.” 

“I know it seems like it, but it’s really not. She’s a good kid. And he’s an amazing father, which, oddly, just makes him more attractive,” I said. “But that’s not the point. The point is that his daughter was, understandably, a little iffy about me being with him when he picked her up until she found out that I’m the one who brings the cookies. She apparently loves them and I told her that I might be able to get her a copy of the recipe and that seemed to pave the way for her not hating me instantly. And she’s thirteen, so that’s a pretty big deal.”

“I have so many questions right now but I can’t sort them all out so I’m going to be annoying you with them all day, just be prepared for that. All I want to know right now is if you want the recipe laminated or not?” 

I let out a relieved breath. “Yes, please, if you don’t mind. And thank you so much, Darcy. You have no idea how much this means to me.”

“I do know. You never ask for anything, even simple things, so the fact that you’re willing to ask me for a favor means this is a pretty big deal,” she said. “He must be a good guy.”

I nodded. “He really is.” 

I arrived at the police station that morning a little before eleven. I’d left the shop early, worried the weather might get bad again and didn’t want to be late for my delivery. Thankfully the sleeting had stopped, allowing me to get there a few minutes early. A few minutes that I used up trying to pull my dolly through the parking lot. The lot had been salted, which was good in that at least it wasn’t icy, but the wheels on my dolly didn’t seem to like the brine mixture. They kept locking up on me. Between that and having to fight against the roaring wind, it took me an embarrassingly long time to reach the station door. Before I could push it open, someone opened it from the inside for me. I looked up, expecting to see Officer Bates. He was the security officer that was posted downstairs and always went through the containers full of lunches that I brought to the homicide unit every week. Instead, I saw Marshall.

“Hello,” he said with a smile. 

I immediately felt like giggling. The last time I’d seen him, we’d kissed. And seeing him right then, seeing his beautiful, handsome face, I wanted so badly to kiss him again. Instead, I felt myself grow shy as I blushed so fiercely that my cheeks stung with the new heat that rushed to them. 

“Hi,” I said. He pulled the door open all the way, then stepped back, allowing me to walk in. My stomach fluttered as I looked back at him. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He closed the door behind me. “May I help you with your cart?”

“No, it’s okay.”

“Would you let me help you take it back to your car when you leave, at least?”

I fought every instinct inside of me that insisted I say no. Darcy was right: I hated asking for even simple things. I never wanted to burden anyone. But since I’d met Marshall, I’d learned that his way of showing interest or affection was to do things for me. But he always asked first, wanting my permission. It challenged me, but in a good way. I didn’t need to always go it alone if I didn’t have to. 

“Um, yeah, I’d appreciate that. Thank you,” I said. “The wheels didn’t seem to agree with the salted parking lot. You could probably pull it a lot easier than me.” 

Marshall stayed with me as Officer Bates went through the containers I’d brought in. He wasn’t close enough to make anyone passing by question it, but it was close enough that my hand hanging at my side could feel the heat coming from his hand and forearm, that was visible from the blue henley that was pushed up to his elbows in a way that I found incredibly attractive. My fingers itched to seek out his, but I fought it. Keeping them obediently beside me. Once Officer Bates was done and gave me the all clear to take the food up, Walter walked me to the elevator and pressed the button to call it down. Then he held the door back, letting me in first before following me. After the door slid closed, he fell back half a step, putting him right beside me. His hand bumped mine, his fingers snaking through, gently holding mine. I smiled, knowing I wasn’t the only one itching for contact. 

I turned without a thought and placed a kiss on his shoulder. Then I paused, a moment of panic rising in me that maybe we weren’t at that level yet. But before I could move or feel too worried, he placed a kiss on the top of my head.

“I keep thinking about Saturday,” he whispered. 

“Me, too,” I said. I looked up at him. “It was...pretty amazing.”

He smiled. I could see his sharp canine teeth. They were oddly charming. “Yes, it was.” He laced his fingers with mine more securely, properly holding it. “I know I mentioned calling you tonight, but I hoped that we might have dinner again instead. If you’re not busy?”

“I’m exceptionally not busy tonight.”

“Good.” He pressed a kiss to my forehead before turning his head back to face the elevator door. “I won’t be able to finish all my paperwork today, there’s too much and it keeps multiplying like rabbits, so since I have to do it tomorrow anyway, I’m going to knock off here around five. Could I pick you up after that? Around five-thirty, perhaps?” 

I nodded, smiling. “That sounds great.”

The elevator dinged as we reached the homicide unit floor. He gave my hand a couple of gentle squeezes before letting it go as the door slid open. He stepped out, then held the door for me like he had before, letting me pull my cart out. He walked with me almost all the way to the break room before a shorter man with glasses stopped him. 

“Lieutenant Marshall, can I speak with you in your office for a moment?” he asked. 

“Of course.” Walter touched my shoulder. “Excuse me,” he said to me quietly before leaving for his office. 

I continued on and was met by most of the detectives waiting for me. Like usual, they didn’t talk to me much, just thanking me for the food before taking their box and going. I took my time, hoping that by the time that I was done, the man speaking with Walter would be gone before I brought him his lunch. When I was done, I packed up my cart before taking Marshall’s boxed lunch and walked down the hall, finding the door to his office open. I could hear him talking still and wasn’t sure what to do. I’d made a deal with him a few weeks back to always bring his lunch to his office whenever I delivered - the first time was because a uniformed officer looked like he was going to swipe it, after that, it was to thank him for rescuing me from a pushy creep while I was with my ‘friends’. We’d never discussed if I should interrupt while he was working. I chewed my lip, debating what to do for several seconds before deciding to just take a chance and knock on the door frame. The worst case scenario was that I looked like a very dedicated delivery woman making sure that all of my orders reached their proper owners. 

“Yep. Come in,” Walter called out in response to my knocking.

I entered his office only far enough to be seen and not a step further. I didn’t know if Marshall wanted people to know about us, so I was prepared to make a quick exit if I needed to. “I have a delivery for Detective Marshall,” I said. 

He looked at me and smiled, then waved me in further. “Harper, this is Fiona Sparks. Fiona, this is Commissioner Harper.”

“Hi. It’s nice to meet you, sir,” I said. 

“You, too.” He looked at me over the top of his glasses. “You don’t happen to be related to Rodger Sparks, by any chance?” 

I felt speechless for a moment. I hadn’t heard anyone other than Mom say Dad’s name in months. Finally, I forced myself to nod. “Yes. He was my dad. How - how did you know?” 

“We went to college together. You’re the spitting image of him,” he said. “I was sorry to hear about him passing away. I lost my wife around two years ago as well. A brain aneurysm.” He shook his head. “It doesn’t get any easier.” 

“No, it doesn’t,” I agreed.

He looked at me for a moment longer, then back to Marshall, who was standing patiently with his hands clasped behind his back. He looked back at me briefly before taking the folder he was holding and tapped it against Marshall’s shoulder. “You know what? This can wait until tomorrow,” he said. “I’ll bring it by in the morning.” He left Walter and stopped beside me before leaving the office. “I’m very sorry about your father. Rodger was a horrible sport when he lost at cards, but other than that, he was a great guy. And probably the smartest man I ever met.”

I smiled slightly. “He was a horrible sport at cards.” 

He smiled back. “The worst.” He gave me a wink. “It was a pleasure seeing you.” 

“You, too.”

When he left, he closed the door behind him. I looked at Marshall as he walked towards me. “Did I interrupt something important?” I asked. 

“No. He was just asking about a cold case.”

“I wasn’t sure if you wanted me to come in since he was here. Next time, if you’re talking to someone, would you rather I left your lunch in the break room?”

He stopped in front of me. He was so close. He smelled like coffee and Old Spice. I swallowed thickly, trying to meet his gaze as he looked down at me. He shook his head, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “No. I’d still like you to bring it to me, please. If that’s alright?” 

“Yeah, of course. I just don’t want to get in the way of your job.”

“You won’t,” he said. “But I’ve let my job get in the way of other things for too long, so maybe it’s time someone got in the way of it for a bit.” 

“You have an important job, though. If you were a boat salesman, I might feel a little differently about disrupting your work.” 

His smile grew as he tilted his head at me. “A boat salesman?” 

“I mean a job where it wouldn’t really matter all that much if you were distracted every once in a while. If someone doesn’t sell a boat, it’s not that big of a deal. But if you don’t solve a murder case...that has very real repercussions. I wouldn’t want to be a reason for something slipping by in a case.” 

He put his hand on my cheek, directing my eyes back to his. “That won’t happen,” he said. “I take my job seriously. That’s never been a problem for me. My problem has always been figuring out how to balance it with the rest of my life, which I never could, and I neglected a lot of people because of it. Especially Faye.” He shook his head. “I’m still not good at it. But I had a case back in the winter that...put Faye’s safety in jeopardy, among other things, and it made me realize that I need to put more of an effort in my life outside of this job. Despite how hard that is for me.” He stroked my cheek with his thumb. “You motivate me to slow down a bit. And that’s a good thing.”

I took my free hand and placed it over his, then turned my face slightly and placed a kiss on the inside of his wrist. “I would be happy to slow down with you,” I whispered. 

Marshall had a smile that somehow showed in his eyes more than his mouth, and that’s how he was looking at me right then. “I’d like that.” 

A knock on the door startled me. I took a step back, his hand falling from my cheek. He then ran it over his face, almost like he was trying to scrub the irritation of being interrupted off it. Then he folded his arms across his chest before calling out for whoever it was to come in.

The door opened and a man stepped up to the doorway. He was wearing plain clothes like Walter, so I assumed he was a detective, too. He all but ignored me as he and Walter spoke. Half of what they said was in a jargon I didn’t understand, so I just stood there, head down, waiting. After a few minutes, the guy left, only halfway closing the door as he did. When Marshall finally turned back to me, I could see that he was frustrated. I knew he wouldn’t admit it, but me being at his work right then was only going to cause more irritation with every interruption we had. 

“As much as I hate it, I should probably get back to the shop. We have a big order going out tomorrow, so there’s quite a lot to do today to prepare for it,” I said. “Plus, I have a date with a very handsome detective tonight that I want to get ready for.”

The frustration on his face seemed to melt away as he looked at me with a smirk. “Is it anyone I know?”

“Possibly. He does work in your unit.” 

“Is that so?” he asked. I nodded. “Well, if I see him around, I might have to have a talk with him.”

“And what would you say?” 

“I’d tell him that he better be good to you because you deserve to be treated well.” 

My stomach fluttered. “You can rest assured that he treats me very well. Better than any man ever has.”

“All those other men were idiots.”

I smiled. “Maybe so.” 

He shook his head. “Definitely so.” He reached out and took his lunch from my hand, then turned and placed it on a filing cabinet behind him. “Will you let me help you to your car now?” 

I nodded. “Yes, please.”

He put on his coat and followed me to the break room. He pulled my dolly for me, moving it like it was as light as a child’s toy. Even when we made it to the parking lot, he didn’t seem to have any issue with the wheels fighting against him. Then he picked it up and placed it in my trunk with ease, despite how I very often fought to get it back in. I thought about telling him that he was welcome to help me anytime he wanted, but I was afraid it wouldn’t come across as a joke and he would feel obligated to actually help. 

“Thank you. You made my morning a lot easier,” I said after I closed the trunk. I looked at him. “I guess I’ll see you around five-thirty?”

He nodded. “I’ll call you when I leave here, but yeah, I should be there by then,” he said. “And I promise it’ll only be the two of us and no cheap pizza.” 

“To be honest, I quite liked the pizza. It didn’t taste cheap. And I really, truly didn’t mind Faye joining us, but it'll be nice to have dinner with just you tonight,” I said. “But that reminds me - I put a copy of our cookie recipe for Faye in your lunch box.” 

He smiled. “Thank you. She’ll be very excited about that.”

“You’re welcome. And let her know if she has any issues with it, she can call or text me.” 

The crease between his eyebrows appeared as he looked at me thoughtfully. “Are you sure?” 

“Yeah. I’ve made them enough times over the last year and a half to make every mistake you can with them. If she has a problem, I can probably diagnose it over the phone.” 

“You don’t mind her having your number?”

I felt my facial expressions mirroring his, but from confusion. “Of course I don’t mind. As long as you’re okay with it,” I said. “Unless you think your ex-wife would mind? I don’t want to step on her toes or anything.”

He shook his head. “I don’t think Angie would mind for that purpose, and I don’t have a problem with it. But I don’t want you to feel obligated.”

“I don’t but I’ll leave it up to you. If you’d feel more comfortable being the middleman you can always call me for her.” I gave him a big smile. “And I can help you practice the whole talking thing. Then it’s a two birds with one stone kind of deal.” 

He smiled back, nodding his head. “And if she doesn’t need help?” 

“You can still call.” I shrugged. “As far as I’m concerned, you don’t have to have a reason for calling. If I’m not at work, I’m usually pretty free. I may be cooking, or watching ‘The Golden Girls’ with Mom, but that’s about it,” I said. “I’m afraid you’re courting quite a socially boring person.”

He laughed. “I’m not sure if you’ve caught on, but I’m not exactly a sociable person, either,” he said. “So perhaps we make a good fit for each other.”

“Perhaps so,” I agreed. “We can be selectively social together.” 

“Sounds good to me.” 

I let out a sigh and watched my breath turn to steam in front of me. “I better let you get back to your paperwork and I need to go help Darcy at the store. We have over fifty loaves of bread to bake before the end of the day, so depending on when I get home, you may have to deal with your date smelling like freshly baked bread.” 

He squinted slightly. “I’m not really opposed to that,” he joked with a smile that showed off the sharp ends of his canine teeth. 

I laughed. “Good to know.” 

He gave me a short hug, kissing my cheek as he pulled back. “I’ll see you this evening.” 

“I’m looking forward to it.

[babeyvenus]

The Wolf Among Us

Bigby x OC

Summary: Sonya Blaze, A.K.A. Hell Rider, is a half fable, half mundy girl who comes to Fabletown to learn more about her side of the folktales. She works alongside Sheriff Bigby Wolf's as his newest partner and together they strive to find out who's behind the unexpected murders in Fabletown.

TW: Mentions of death, gore/blood, alcohol, smoking drugs, sex implications, suicide, guns and ofc language.

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Chapter 9: The Open Arms

Bigby pulls out a cigarette and lights it as he walks into the lobby of the Open Arms hotel. He looked around the gross lobby, trashed and almost like a ghost town. Bigby glances at a soda machine and scoffs at it. 'This shit will kill ya.', he thought as he took a puff out of his cigarette then stomped it.

He tapped the bell to get the attention of whoever was behind the front desk. Behind the desk, he hears a door open and footsteps approaching the front. “Want it by the hour or for the whole night?”, he heard a familiar female voice ask. She leaned over the desk to get a better look then she gasped.

Bigby’s eyes widened as he realized who it was. “Beauty.”, Bigby said, shocked.

Beauty pushes the gate up so he could see her better. “I work here, okay? I work the front desk. It’s to help pay rent. So now you know. I know I should’ve told somebody….But Beast would lose his mind if you knew. Beast is a proud man, Bigby. He wants to do right by me, and he….he just couldn’t handle it if he knew I had to do this so we don’t get evicted.”

As much as he didn’t care, he responded, “Well, your secret’s safe with me, alright? Let’s not make a big thing of it.”, Bigby said, shaking his head.

“Thanks, Bigby. And thanks for covering for me last time, too.”, She said. “So….what are you doing here?” Bigby pulls out the key from his pocket and shows it to her. “Oh….you have a key.” she said, shocked.

Before she came to conclusions, he addressed it quickly, “Someone else was murdered last night.” Her shoulders slumped. “I heard.”, Beauty said, frowning.

“The victim was someone who worked at the Pudding and Pie, Lily. She come around here ever?”, Bigby asked her. “Oh! Oh, yes. The, uh, the troll. I did see her. I mean, you know, we never really spoke, but she came off a tad intimidating.”, Beauty replied.

“Ever see Lily with someone here? Maybe on a job?”, he asked her. “Sometimes, but nobody I’ve recognized. I haven’t worked here that long, though.” Beauty replied. "How about a room register? Or someone named Mr Smith?“

"That’s all we get are Smith’s, Jones’s or Johnson’s. I think the last ones are jokes.”, Beauty said, with a shudder.

“Have you seen Sonya here? Or maybe somebody glamoured as her?”, Bigby asked. “You know, it’s funny. I did see someone who I thought looked a lot like her, but she didn’t say anything when she saw me, even though she knew I saw her. I just assumed it wasn’t her and went about my business.”, Beauty shrugged.

“Ever meet a girl named Faith, or just maybe hear that name?”, he asked her. “I might have. I don’t know.”, Beauty said, as she shakes her head. “By the end of the night, it’s kind of a blur with all the names. Tara, Brandy, Amber, Heather.”, she listed. “….sorry.”

“I talked to Tweedledee earlier today. He mentioned you in passing. Do you know him….or his brother?”, Bigby asked her, crossing his arms. “I took out a loan for backpay. It was like our third notice, and ever since then those annoying freaks have been pestering me for the money plus interest.”, she grumbled.

“Why take out a loan with those two?", Bigby asked her. She hesitantly mutters. "It was from the Crooked Man.”

“Beauty….”, Bigby said with shock and concern. “You don’t know how desperate I was, Bigby! I had nowhere else to go!”, she said, angrily. “Look, if this ever happens again….come to me, Sonya or Snow first, alright?”, Bigby said. Beauty looked down in sadness and replied. “I tried.”

Must’ve been another thing that was pushed back. Bigby shook his head. “That won’t happen again.”

He starts to head up the stairs but Beauty stops him. “Wait. It’ll be better if anyone sees you that they at least see you with me, so they know I didn’t let you just wander around by yourself.” She said as she walked out from behind the desk, and led him. She walked past Bigby and said. “Just five minutes? Please?”

“We’ll see Beauty.”, Bigby said as he followed her up the stairs. “Just be ready to act like I’m trying to kick you out.”, she warned him. “That won’t be hard.”, he mutters.

“Listen, Bigby, I assume you’ll be filling some kind of an official report or something, which is fine, it’s just that, I was wondering, if….I need to be in it?”, Beauty asks nervously. “Trust me, the less I have to write down, the better.”, Bigby replied. “Thanks. I appreciate it.” Beauty said, smiling a bit in relief. “Well, here we are. Which one was it?”

Bigby looks down the hall. There was two doors on the right and two on the left and one down at the very end. His ears twitch to the sounds of loud moans and bed squeaks. He tried his best to ignore it as he passed the rooms and stormed to 207.

He knocked on the door but there was no response. He tried to open it but it was also locked. “You have keys to these rooms?”, he asked, turning to Beauty. “I thought you had a key.”, Beauty said.

He shook his head. “Not to this one.”

“Hold on, Bigby, I can’t just let you go into any room you want. Seriously, what if someone found out? I could get into a lot of trouble.”, Beauty said in a worried tone.

“You have to let me in there. This is the room. 207.”

“But I–”

“This is the room Lily was in.”, Bigby emphasizes. “Fine.”, Beauty said and pulled out her master key, jiggling it in the handle but it didn’t open. “Well that’s weird. This key is supposed to open every room in the building. But it’s not working.”, she said.

“Beauty?!”

“Ah, shit.”, Bigby mutters as he and Beauty turn around to see Beast at the other end of the hall. “Beast.” Beauty said, shocked that he found her. "Bigby? How could you do this to me?“ Beast asked, devastated. “H-Hold on-”, Bigby started.

"No, sweetie, no, wait a minute!” Beauty exclaimed.

“How could you do this? We’ve been together through everything! I took care of you! I lov-”

“It’s not what you think! Please!” Beauty pleads to Beast. “You’re cheating on me! With him?!” Beast exclaims, frantically, pointing at Bigby. “No! No, Beast. I promise! I’m not.” She said as Beast walks up to her. “I’m helping him! That’s all!”

“I’ll bet!” Beast growls, angrily, as his eyes turn red. “I’m sure you help each other just great! I know what this place is!"

"Beast, trust me, this is the last thing I want right now. This is not the way to handle things.”, Bigby said, holding his hand out. “What do you know? You don’t have anybody!”, Beast shouted, making Bigby frown. “What the fuck is wrong with you? She’s my wife!”

“Beast, listen to me, there’s nothing going on!”, Beauty screams, getting in front of Beast but he ignores her and charges at Bigby, grabbing him by the collar. “Bastard! I guess I finally see you for who you are!”, Beast roars. Beauty pulls on his arm. “Stop! Stop this!”

“You told me you hadn’t seen her! You fucking liar! Then you got your partner involved and made her lie for you!”, Beast fusses.

“Will you listen to your wife? Just calm down and–”, Bigby starts to explain but Beast shoves him away, changing into his form. Beast throws a punch at Bigby but he dodges and moves out of the way.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”, Beauty yelled at Beast, angrily. Bigby glares at Beast, who started to change his form as well. “You aren’t even listening to me!”, Beauty shouts at Beast as he swings at Bigby. Bigby grabs Beast’s wrist and throws him against the wall on the right, creating a hole.

“Stop!” Beauty shouts as Bigby grabs Beast by the shirt collar and throws him against the other wall. “Leave him be! This is my fault!”, Beauty pleads to Bigby, pushing him away. Beast roars and grabs onto the pipe from the exposed wall and pulls it out. “Beast, no! You don’t understand!”, Beauty screams. Beast tries to swing it at Bigby, knocking him to the side of the wall.

Beast tried to press the pipe against Bigby’s neck. Bigby raised his claw and poked them into Beast’s eyes, making him scream out in pain. Beast let go of the pipe and backed away a few feet to wipe at his eyes but Bigby tackled him into the ground and punched him.

"Bigby, no! Don’t hurt him!“, Beauty pleads, pulling at Bigby. He stops but Beast grabs a nearby bottle and smacks Bigby off of him. Bigby shakes his head as Beast gets up. "You ruined everything! She’s my fucking wife!”, Beast yells before Bigby shoulder charges him into the 207 door and knocks the door down.

Bigby pants heavily and looked at the scene before him and calmed down. “Shit, Bigby.”, Beast said as Bigby changes back to normal and walks deeper into the room.

“What have you done?!”, Beauty shouts at Beast, who wipes the blood off his eyes and scans the room, too. “W-What is this?”, he asked in shock. “Look what you did to the door!”, Beauty fusses at Beast. “Stand back. Y-You don’t want to see this.”, Beast warns her, trying to block her way.

In the room, candles were set up on tables seemingly blown out recently, a bed that was covered in skulls and blood. Bigby stared at the bed in shock then held his hand out to the couple. “Beauty, stay in the hall.”

“What? Why? What’s going on?”, she asked and walked in the room and saw the bed. “Oh my God!”, she looked away in fear. “Don’t touch anything.”, Bigby says.

“Is this…? Is this…?”

“Lily met her client here, Mr Smith, whoever he is.”, Bigby informed.

“And then…”

“Must’ve happened right here.”, Bigby said, crossing his arms. “Last night?”, Beauty asked. “Yeah.”, he nodded. “I was on shift last night!”, Beauty said, eyes wide. “On shift?”, Beast asked worriedly. “Beauty… you’re not…”

“I’m not a prostitute, you idiot! I work the front desk!”, Beauty growled. “Do you remember who rented this room last night?”, Bigby asked her.

“I don’t think anyone did, not last night. Maybe they have it long term? I don’t know! How am I supposed to know?", she asked, feeling jumbled. "It just seemed like a totally normal night. How is that even possible? There’s so much blood!”, she said as she looked at the bed.

“Just...Go lock the front door. Keep people out of the hallway. I need you to be sure no one comes in here. This is a crime scene. Okay?”, Bigby said to Beast. Beauty turned to him and said. “Just do what he says. I’ll explain later….okay?”

“Bigby, what kind of a person could do something like this?”, Beauty asked him. “That’s exactly what I’m about to find out.”, Bigby says as he looks at the bedside table to see with a built-in cassette player. “Do all these rooms have the same clocks, with a built-in cassette player?”, Bigby asked Beauty.

“I think so, yes.”, Beauty says with a nod.

He looks and sees a smaller table off in the corner next to a dresser in the back of the room. On the small table was a candle and a book. He walked over to the table and looked at the book. It was a black book titled Ghost Rider.

He read a page about the origin of the first Ghost RIder, snorting at the story all up until Sonya’s story, coming up as the next Ghost RIder. “Sonya Terrence…dead father, found out about the first Ghost Rider and named herself after him.” He saw pictures of her on her bike, her being engulfed in fire, etc.

“What is that?”, Beauty asked him. “It’s a book about Sonya. Or, rather her story.”, Bigby says, flipping to another page, seeing her as teen, standing beside a hospital bed in tears and talking to a sickly pale man in black. A sticky note was attached to this image. Grim Reaper? Mephisto?

“The whole book is about her?”, Beauty asked Bigby. “Pretty much...”, he said, flipping to the next page. He saw a picture of Sonya holding a skull in her hands while her entire head was on fire. He could only make out her own skull. Was she speaking to ghosts? Who’s skull is she holding…?

“Why is she on fire?”, Beauty asked him, looking over his shoulder. “I’d assume that’s her power.”, he says, closing the book. He looked over at the dresser and saw an ashtray with a cigarette butt in it. He picks up the cigarette and sniffs it.

“It’s a Huff and Puff.”, he says, narrowing his eyes. “I thought you were the only one that smoked that crap brand.”, Beauty said. Not appreciating her bashing on the brand he smokes, he replies. “Apparently not.” And sets the cigarette back down in the ashtray.

He noticed a bottle of wine next to the tray. “He brought wine.”, he says, picking it up. “Classy.”, Beauty said, rolling her eyes..

Right next to the bottle was a cassette tape. Bigby picked it up and saw a label on it. “For My Arrival”, it said. He put it in his pocket and looked around the room to see that a closet was cracked open. He goes to open it, seeing a black robe with chains wrapped around it, hanging from a hanger with a scythe leaning on the closet wall. It was ragged and dusty looking.

“Someone’s been rough with this dress, it’s torn.”, Bigby said, picking at a sleeve. "Oh no! She must’ve been wearing it! He killed her and then….he took it back off–!“, Beauty rambles, panicking until Bigby shakes his head. “No. There’s no blood. It must’ve been torn some other time.”

The thought just makes him angry. He looks over the dress and hums. “What is it?”, Beauty asked him. “This Mr. Smith was trying to correlate his fantasies with her story.”, Bigby says. “It kinda makes sense.”, she said. “I guess he wanted to get the details right but couldn’t do it completely."

Bigby walks over to the tarnished bed and says, “Looks like she was lying down when she was killed. Some of the skulls are on the floor…”

“How do you know that?”, Beauty asked. "Just look at it. The body had to have been dragged off the foot of the bed, there.“, he said, pointing. ”The body? God! You could say she. Poor girl. I just can’t even imagine….“ Beauty complained, making Bigby roll his eyes. He huffed looking at the bed. "What? What are you thinking?”, she asked.

“Its like he’s doing her theme. She never exactly had an ending to her story since according to her, it just happened a few years ago. I’ve never met the previous hell rider. Crane had mentioned her dad was also a ghost rider, didn’t say he got sick and died.”, Bigby said, shaking his head.

"Poor girl...“, Beauty said. "It actually fits. He’s acting out scenes from the book. That poor girl….she couldn’t have known…..She probably just needed the money. She could have been….anyone. How did she wind up here?”

“It sounds like there was a series of choices involved. I’m sure she would’ve done things differently if she knew where things were headed.”, Bigby said. Bigby looked over at the cassette player and went to put the cassette in, and pressed the play button. It had a piano chord for a little while until beats came on afterward. He hadn't heard the song but thought it was a weird choice for a place like this.

“Bigby, this, I think I heard this music. Last night. It was playing really loudly for awhile, then stopped in the middle. I didn’t think twice about it, at the time, I mean you hear all kinds of things around here and I guess I’ve already gotten used to blocking them out.”, Beauty said, shrugging.

“Could have covered up the sound of the murder. It is kinda loud.”, he said, picking up a skull. He held it in his hands for a moment. “It's a prop.” Beauty’s eyes widened a bit. “How can you tell?” He looked at her. “From what we’ve seen so far, he doesn’t seem like the type to clean out multiple skulls. Plus, real skulls are heavier.”

“Oh, God. This creep put that girl in a reaper robe and recreated his fantasy only to kill her… who could be that obsessed with death…?”, Beauty asked.

“Are you almost finished? I don’t want to be here any longer.”, Beauty said, hugging herself. “Yeah…”, he said but something caught his eye. He noticed a small envelope. He picked it up, walked over to the dresser and opened it up.

He pulls out a picture. It was a picture of Sonya leaning on her bike and looking at her phone. He set the picture down on the dresser and pulled out another one. “Are those pictures of the dead girl?", Beauty asked, walking up to him.

Bigby shook his head. "Not exactly.”, he mutters, looking over another one.

“How do you know?”, she asked.

Bigby pointed at the picture he pulled out. “Snow's in this one.” It was a picture of Sonya and Snow discussing something in the Woodlands lobby. “Oh no. Bigby….this kind of stalking, it doesn’t just stop by itself. Trust me, I know about this, first hand. He’ll keep trying to get closer and closer.”, Beauty said.

“His stand in for Sonya is gone now, so…”, Bigby trailed off, reaching in the envelope. “The next step closer...”, Beauty mumbled to herself. Bigby pulls out another picture, the next made his heart drop. He looked between the picture and the bed. “What is it?”, Beauty asked him, seeing the horror on his face.

In the picture, Lily, glamoured to look like Sonya, was laying on a bed in the black tattered robe, her eyes closed. The man hovering above the glamoured Sonya, his left hand caressing her cheek while his right hand was up inside of the robe between her legs and smiling fondly was…

“It’s Crane.”, Bigby said in disgust.

However, watching through the Magic Mirror, Crane saw the entire investigation at the Open Arms. He clenched his fist, walked over to the Magic Lamp, raised it to slam it down on the Mirror, shattering the Magic Mirror.

[rustchickadee]

my brain is fucking with me. last night i had a dream about M when she was at her softest. When she was kind and gentle and calming and compassionate.

we were somewhere, doing something -- honestly now that i'm awake the actual plot is a blur. i do remember the way i felt about her tho -- a way i don't allow myself to feel about her when i'm conscious because it's ultimately not productive or real.

I felt loved. I felt cared for. I felt like she was proud of me, and god that felt good. i felt like she saw me -- and i know many people "see" me now...but she was the first i guess. the most meaningful.

i want her to be proud of me so badly. i kept sleeping through my alarm to stay in the dream, to feel that way, to be with her in the way i want her to be and not, i guess, who she is.

the M in the dream is not fictional and that is the hardest, fucked up part. is that there were times when she was soft, wholesome, kind, and patient. when she did sit with me in my pain and it didn't lead to frustration on her end, when she knew i needed her to be gentle and she really really was.

ofc, that wasn't always her. most of the time my pain did end up with her asserting authority/power, most of the time she was sharp edged and sarcastic and hard to read and scary.

but i want her to be that soft person. and i need to stop pretending that she is. that she is something different than her -- the dream i had, the idealized version of her, the "best parts" of her are not all of her.

and they aren't especially who she is today. and there's no going back on what she knows about how i feel now. there is no ending to this story where she is kind -- and that is understandable and i know it's not on me.

i am so guilty tho and so scared to be hurt. i need to accept that she is not who i need(ed) her to be. if i don't it will just make everything so much worse.

[chuckaf]

this is me trying | a chuck/sarah fic

summary: Set not long post-series. After leaving to find herself, Sarah returns home, realizing that all the answers she sought were in a little apartment in Echo Park all along.

i know i've already posted a few anniversary things today lol, but since i just posted this fic over on ffn and it's short enough to post in full here which is rare for me lol, i figured i'd share it too. just a little post-series thought or two, inspired by taylor swift, ofc.

ffn link

I've been having a hard time adjusting I had the shiniest wheels, now they're rusting I didn't know if you'd care if I came back I have a lot of regrets about that Pulled the car off the road to the lookout Could've followed my fears all the way down And maybe I don't quite know what to say But I'm here in your doorway

I just wanted you to know That this is me trying I just wanted you to know That this is me trying

The courtyard is familiar to her, somehow. Safe. The only memories she has of it are from the brief, painful time she was here those months ago, but there's an inherent sense within her mind, a comfort, as she steps onto the stone. The fountain, the trellises, the flowers all around- they are known, to her.

Something being known is a sensation she's very unfamiliar with, after all this time.

Months ago, she'd kissed her husband on a cold January day, on a very important beach, the wind whipping around them with all their desperate hopes. She'd felt him pour everything into the embrace, try with all his might to pass his memories onto her through just his lips, all his softness and his heat and his love. And despite every logical rational thought within her, as Chuck had tried out his friend's silly, thoughtful idea, a tiny bit of hope had sparked in Sarah's chest that maybe, maybe the kiss would work.

It hadn't.

And, more hurt by that than she'd wanted to admit, she'd repeated to Chuck that she needed to go. To find herself, to readjust, work out who she is, was, what her place could be in this world. A world she barely knew. She'd had the perfect, complicated, real and loving life, and Sarah Walker, assassin, enforcer, couldn't figure out how she was meant to be in it anymore. The square peg did not fit.

Chuck didn't even ask her to stay. He didn't plea, didn't beg, didn't soothe her with platitudes they both knew would be false and left wanting. He just nodded, broken and understanding as ever, and he let her go, to maybe see her again, maybe never. At the time, she wasn't sure which of those it would be, either.

With recent memories torn from her, she'd followed the things she could recall, from before all this. She suppresses a snort as she rounds the courtyard fountain, thinking on her woefully unsuccessful travels.

First, she'd gone to Paris, for scattered thoughts about her Red Test as well as the knowledge Chuck had given her about the new memories there. The same street as that awful night she can at least recall, the gun in her hand, jewelry on the ground. The bridge by the cathedral where one Agent Shaw had fallen to what they'd thought was his death. Chuck had killed him: his first kill, first true shot with a real bullet. And it had been to save her. They'd fallen in love years before, Chuck had told her, but they'd fallen once more in that city.

Then to Saint-Tropez, with a call to an old friend always game for a party. They'd danced and drank and reminisced, but Sarah had seen throughout it all the sadness in her friend's eyes, the sympathy. She'd felt like she was some blatant, visible scar, something someone can't help but look on with sad acknowledgement, even from her lightest, eternally easy-going friend. She hadn't known Carina had been a bridesmaid at her wedding until the other woman had admitted it, in the middle of a club, and said she couldn't pretend things were fine any longer.

To Lisbon, next, and thoughts of Bryce. Bryce, the cause of all this, the lynchpin of the last five years. Or perhaps the fulcrum. The center of it, the key piece in both her and Chuck's lives that brought them together, those years ago. Bryce, who thought of others but always through himself, never consulting those he made choices for. He didn't trust her- she'd thought he'd gone rogue. Chuck had told her it had been an assignment, told her how Bryce truly died just a few years later. How his old friend had once more been the reason Chuck had downloaded the Intersect, a second time, because Bryce simply couldn't. He'd bled out on a white room floor.

To D.C., home of headquarters, secret offices and bland boardrooms, home of the apartment she'd once owned and tried to live in between missions, never able to settle, always waiting for a call from Graham to send her god knows where. Graham, who recruited her as a child. Graham, killed in another white room. The same kind of room she'd pulled a gun on her husband in, threatened Morgan in, almost killed them all in.

Sarah doesn't think she'll trust the color white again.

And then to her mother, her arms soft and comforting. To the baby, Molly, a whole person now, a bright, wonderful child with a wicked skill at Mario Kart. And to yet more sadness behind the eyes, the sympathy at all Sarah has lost. Her mother sent her best regards for Chuck, muttered an off-hand thought that she must visit him soon, that Molly misses him.

In every place, every stop, every desperate attempt to find who she is, what her life is, was, could be, all Sarah thought about was Chuck. And as her mother offered her thoughts to her son-in-law, the spy, the enforcer, the wife, had realized something; after all the travelling, all the searching, it had hit her.

She was wrong.

Finding herself, trying to work out who she is, that was simply running from the problem, the real issue at hand. The real hurt. Which is her husband, still in LA, in the same old apartment, with the same old courtyard and the same old fountain, holding all those missing memories.

After leaving her Mom, Sarah had gotten a car, driven straight to Echo Park. While she felt the pull to lose herself in all this, drown herself in sorrow, in questions, in self-doubt and self-flagellation for her actions, she'd known one thing above all. She needs to see Chuck.

And so here she is.

Swallowing, she finishes the walk up to the door. Once more, it's familiar, somehow. Known. Just a regular old door, behind which waits her whole world.

She raises a hand. Knocks. Thinks absentmindedly that she should've called.

But then the door is opening and there he stands. In jeans, a t-shirt, a striped hoodie over it, Converse on his feet. His hair's a little longer than she last saw it, curling at the edges at the front. That sort of sight is known, too, a distant hazy recollection. Maybe she once brushed a curl from his forehead in this very courtyard.

"Sarah..." he breathes, and she meets his eyes, sees the disbelief there, the grief, the shock. "I... Your mom called and said you might come here, I- I didn't know..."

"I should've called." she says, repeating the thought, that she shouldn't have let her mother be an early-warning for them both, but Chuck shakes his head quickly, roughly, taking a step closer.

"No, no, it's okay."

She swallows, nods a little, and he lifts the corners of his lips in what she can tell is a desperate try at a smile. The sight simply makes her fold her arms over her chest, tug on the cuffs of the sleeves of her shirt.

"I..." Although she's here, although she's started, she suddenly realizes she has no idea what to say. "I... was wrong."

It's a start. Chuck raises an eyebrow, says nothing, and his still-listening silence encourages her more than she thinks he knows.

"I didn't... I thought that leaving would let me find myself, but... Being out there, it felt just as foreign to me as being here did. I can't- I don't know who I am, anywhere, anymore."

He frowns, brow furrowing, but she sees his eyes glisten more, his lip tremble a little. It tugs on something innate within her, a need to comfort him. She holds back, for now.

"Okay." he says, accepting her admission. She keeps going.

"I traveled, a lot. Went to some places you'd told me about, some others I remembered. I'd hoped something would feel like home. But nothing..." Shaking her head, she takes a deep breath. Forces herself to look at him, really look at him, take him in. Her husband. "I realized that I wouldn't find home out there. Because I know now that, no matter where I go, if it's not with you it's never going to be home. It took me months to figure it out, but you're my home, Chuck."

He blinks. And then his face crumbles, stray tears falling from his eyes; she feels the tug again. Watching, she sees him pull himself together, bark out a wet laugh and brush the tears away swiftly with the backs of his hands.

"You've, uh, you've said that before," he murmurs, and she frowns. That he'd remember it so strongly, just four words, lets her know it was something important. She can't help but wonder what led her to realize and say such a thing once, after it took so long to dawn on her, to muster up the courage this time around. But before she can ask, he keeps going. "So... what are you doing here, what are you gonna do, now you know that?"

And that is the real question. The whole reason she's here. She tugs on her sleeve cuffs again, straightens her spine.

"I don't know if you would even want me here, but-" Tears bloom in her own eyes, suddenly, thickening her throat, blurring her vision, and she forces herself to keep going. "But I'm trying. This, here, me being here right now, this is me trying, for us. For me to be here, home, with you."

In front of her, on his doorstep, he simply looks at her. She is laid bare, her soul out there before him. She knows she's asking a lot, asking everything. To try, for him to let her try, with them. She may never remember. They may always have this pain hanging over them. She may mess up, hurt him, struggle relying so completely on him, being so constantly open and married and real- she's sure she will, even. It's a huge ask.

But she's trying.

She waits, wondering what he'll say, god, if he'll just tell her no, it's too hard, it's been too long, and she'll have to walk back out of this familiar courtyard and return to a strange, blurred world, with eyes of sympathy and sadness and a mind always thinking of him. But then he nods, lip trembling once more.

"Of course I want you," he presses out, sounding so choked, like he can't say much else, but he manages one more thing. "C'mere."

He opens his arms.

And she falls into him, falls into his love and embrace and his grace, and she lets him hold her as they weep, in their doorway. Just being there in his arms, she knows she's home.

[justasparkwritings]

Codename Cupid: Chapter 24

Previous: Codename Black Panther Meets Codename Cupid

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x OFC

Genre: Secret AgentAU, Government AgentAU, Angst, Some Fluff

Rating: PG17

Word Count: 3.2K

Warnings: Swearing, Mentions of Consensual Sex, Mentions of Rape (as in, wait, she raped him?) 

Summary: Black Panther is onboard and Cricket & Bunny make an important decision regarding the trajectory of their relationship. 

Penultimate Chapter

OT8 

Present Day 

         The sunlight streaks through my window, blurring my vision with its shine. I’m fairly exhausted, and sore, and dare I say, happy? I’m pulled away from my restorative slumber as my phone rings, Earth, Wind & Fire blaring. I’ve had the same ringtone since I was 19, and I’m never going to change it.

         “Fuck,” I whisper, taking it from the charger and rolling my eyes at the caller ID. “Hello?”

         “Hey, did you get kidnapped?” C asks.

         “Um, sort of? Why?” I slip out of the bedroom, tossing my robe over my barely clothed body and sit on the couch.

         “It came across my desk and I was wondering if there was something you needed to tell me,” C informs me.

         “Oh?”

         “Is there?” She pushes.

         “No, everything is fine,”

         “Okay, are you sure?”

         “Are you tapping my phone?” I ask.

         “No,”

         “Do you know someone who is?”

         “Depends, do you?” Her words are delicate, leading without being forthcoming.

         “Perhaps,” My voice pitches up at the last syllable, a hold over, a question that I refuse to ask.

         “Hmm,” That’s her tell.

         “You knew, this whole time?” I accuse.

         “Well, sort of. I was clued in a bit ago,” She tells me.

         “Did everyone know about this before me?”

         “What have they told you?” She’s trying to toe the line.

         “A little, I go back in today,” She probably knows this already.

         “Keep Jungkook close, he’ll be helpful,” C advices.

         “How did you –

         “Your onboarding will you go smoothly if you don’t fight RM and Suga,”  

         “Seriously?” I snap.

         “Seriously, trust me,” Her older sibling reeks, doling out advice I didn’t ask for.  

         “Fine,” I huff, how is it that everyone knows about this organization besides me?

         “Love you,” She says.

         “Mean it,” I respond before I hang up.

          I look towards my bedroom, where Jungkook lays, and am beyond upset. How is it possible that everyone knew about OT7, that I was being followed, except me? My own sister? Jungkook is one thing, he works for them, but her? Why didn’t she say anything sooner? That’s truly what’s making me so upset and frustrated, that I was working 14-16 hour days, beating myself up for not finding Cupid answers sooner, and my fucking sister was sitting on all the information I needed. What’s worse? She didn’t let on that she knew. She didn’t drop a hint, a breadcrumb, a wink or knowing glance. All she wanted to ask about was Jungkook, in a year, all she ever asked… Fuck sisters.

         “Cricks, do you want coffee?” Jungkook stands in the door frame to the bedroom, chest bare, ink spread across his arm and up his right peck. His hand tattoos, and the one on his upper shoulder, are my absolutely favorite. They’re sentimental, meaningful, powerful. Black with minimal color, they’re staggering against his honeyed skin. While his model status is never lost on me, it’s his thoughtfulness that gets me every time.

         “Yes please,” I reply.

         “You thinking about last night?” He moves with ease towards the small kitchen, pulling my favorite mugs from the cabinet.

         “Which part?” I ask.

         “Any part,” He shrugs, his muscles moving up and down seamlessly.

         “Yeah, a little,” I tell him.

         “What’s on your mind?” He turns, arms crossing, I swear he tries to look tough, but he just looks like a pissed off Thumper.

         “My sister knows,”

         “Knows?”

         “About you, about OT7,” I clarify.

         “How?”

         “No fucking clue, she said not to piss off Namjoon and Yoongi, though.”

         Jungkook snorts before nodding his head, “Watch out for Jimin and well, you saw Seokjin. He bottles it up and then explodes. Jimin’s just a hot head. Namjoon, is ruthless, but no one is as ruthless as Yoongi-hyung.”

         “That leaves you and Tae? And Hoseok, I don’t know much about Hoseok,”

         “You’ll really like him, you’ll like all of them. They aren’t as rough around the edges as they seem,” He pours the coffee into our mugs, reaching into the kitchen to grab the oat milk to pour into mine.

         “Did you put caramel in it?” I question, sniffing the liquid.

         “Mm, three pumps right?”

         “Yeah, what, a 1/5 of what it took you last night?” I wink. Jungkook hates when I’m blatantly sexual, murmuring a simple ‘stop’ as his cheeks become a deep crimson.

         “That’s really what you think of me?” He questions, moving to stand in front of me. I spread my legs to let him stand between, and he leans down, hands on my thighs. “After last night?”

         “You know that’s not what I think, Bunny,” I reply. “You know how highly I think of you and your sexual prowess.”

         “Then don’t fucking tease me about it,” Jungkook leans down to place a kiss on my cheek.

         “Can I ask one work question?”

         “Yes,” He grabs his cup and sits on the stool next to me.

         “What happened between Taehyung and Cupid? She says it was a difference in opinion, a misunderstanding that led to an abortion? That’s not Taehyung though, and OT7 wouldn’t make her abort anything, would they?” I sip my coffee. Fuck me if he doesn’t make it better than I do.

         “She wasn’t pregnant,” Jungkook answers.

         “She wasn’t? Why did she lie?”

         “She’s full of lies, Cricket,”

         “Okay, then what actually happened?”

         “She took advantage of him,” Jungkook’s eyes stare into his coffee, the blackness reflected in his irises.

         I nearly choke on my coffee. “Of Tae?”

         “Mm, of Tae, more than once,”

         “Did you-

         “We didn’t know, I didn’t know until I was onboarded fully. Tae went to Joon-hyung, and then it was handled.”

         “Oh my god,” I whisper. “Oh my god.”

         “Mm,” Jungkook’s signature sound is muttered, a delicate whisper against my raging anxiety.

         “She raped him?” I question.

         “Yes,” He refuses to look at me, but the clench of his jaw is unmistakable.

         “But... wow,” Is all I can say.

         “Wow?”

         “I just, if I had known, I wouldn’t have worked with her,”

         “You didn’t know,” Jungkook’s hand engulfs mine in that familiar embrace.

         “Is Tae alright?”

         “Yes, he went to a lot of therapy and was pulled from field work,”

         “The mission was terminated, fuck that’s a loaded word, but he didn’t have to –

         “No, the second Namjoon knew, he ended it. That’s one of our rules, no one engages in behavior they are not comfortable with,” He informs me, another piece of information I’m sure Namjoon will be telling me during onboarding. God, days spent listening to Namjoon go over rules? I’d rather suffer through another one of Cupid’s family dinners than sit through him. Is he like, fun? Now’s not the time to ask… but fuck me if I’m not curious.

         “She, Cupid, she said he made her abort the baby, which didn’t match up with the Taehyung I was seeing or with any evidence but then again she never gave me any records to check it with and I wasn’t allowed to look into her health record at all,” I ramble.

         “That tracks. There’s a lot you’ll find out about Cupid, and her family… there’s a lot you don’t know, Cricket. But, for right now, you need to know that there was no baby, she was never pregnant, just wanted to trick Taehyung into sticking around. It began with Yoongi, and just escalated.”

         We sip our coffee in silence. The tension is dissipating, but I’m still nervous and scared. I consorted with a known rapist, worked months with her, took her money. What will Taehyung think of me now? Do I apologize? I should apologize, when I see him. Though, that’s not the responsibility of the victim to accept an apology. I didn’t know. Like I told Yoongi, I’m not Nixon, this isn’t Watergate. No one will ask what I know and when I knew it, no one will back date and check my sources to confirm. But I will always know that I engaged with her after she committed various offenses against someone I know I will care deeply for, someone who cares deeply for the one I love.

         I know it’s not in my place to feel guilty, or maybe it is. Isn’t part of being an ally sitting in your own privilege, your own ability to feel grateful that it wasn’t you, and recognizing you have leaps and bounds in order to support those who have gone through whatever it is? I’m an ally to Jungkook, though I’m not Korean or first generation, and he’s an ally to me, though he isn’t biracial or a descendant of slaves. We both work towards the same cause though. Doesn’t sexual assault, rape, harassment, fall under the same umbrella?

         “Cricket?” Jungkook’s hand has moved to rub circles on my back.

         “Bunny?” I glance at him, bottom lip between my teeth again, though I’ve already gnawed off every dead skin cell.

         “Hm?”

         I always smile when he makes that sweet sound, or its derivative, mm.

         “Do you still want to move in, or was last night an over correction for the fight?” I question.

         “You’re really doubting me today, aren’t you?” His brows slope against his eyes, his ministrations against my back freeze. Those furrowed little lines on the flesh where the slope of his nose meets his forehead mark his deep concentration.

         “I’m not doubting you. I just want to make sure. You know, we’re in our twenties. We are prone to fall for the cohabitation effect.”

         “The what?”

         “Couples who move in together as a reaction to fear their relationship will dissolve, often move in to preserve something. Then when they realize they aren’t compatible or don’t want to continue being together, they don’t break up because they live together,” I inform him.

         “Is this one of your theories?”

         “No, it’s Dr. Meg Jay, The Defining Decade. I have two copies, you should read it,”

         “Okay, put it on my bedside table and I will,”

         “Oh, so you’re, in?” I smile.

         “Oh, I’m in, completely,” Jungkook kisses me soundly, hand creeping under my shirt to caress the bare skin.

         “We have to get ready,” I tell him, tilting my head to grant him access to my neck, which has thoroughly missed his touch in the last eight hours.

         “Fuck it,” He murmurs, the vibration of his tenor voice echoing through my skin.

         “Bunny, they’re going to be so mad, and I know Namjoon already hates me,” My hands gently ghost down his chest, drawing shapes against his abs before resting on the hem of his boxer briefs. He’s so tempting, all skin and muscle, sweeping bleached locks and soulful eyes. I was right for driving into them.

         “He doesn’t hate you,”

         “Yoongi at least-

         “They don’t hate you, we’re just a unit and you bring new energy to the entire group, that’s all it is.” He confirms.

         Pulling the inner flesh of my lip between my teeth, I exhale. “What if they hate me?”

         “They won’t,”

         “Jungkook,”

         “Y/N”

         “Will that change your opinion of me?” I ask.

         “Oh honey, of course not,” He assures. I don’t know what it is, blind faith and trust I guess, but I always believe him on the first go.

         “Okay, do you want to shower before we go?”

         “Together?” He asks. His hands are still under my shirt, gently palming my latte skin until it burns with desire. I hate how good he is, how seductive, sensual, misleading his bunny smile and endearing eyes are. I want him always.

         “Why else would I’ve skipped the underwear?” I move his hand under the hem of my night shirt. He growls ever so softly at the feeling of my bare ass in is hand. “And to think, you thought I was kidding about your work last night! Sore or night, I think we’ve got enough time for me to prove you wrong.”

~~~~~

         “Here’s my question,” I start, directing OT7’s focus to me. It’s been three hours of listening to Namjoon go over protocols and procedures. I haven’t smiled once, well, Jungkook did walk by and wink at me, which I’ll admit, made me blush. This is my second time in the large conference room, and together we’re discussing the case, my knowledge of the Lee’s, and where we stand now. It feels like a scene out of Be More Chill, but instead of data dumping everything I’ve learned, they’re painstakingly pulling it from me. Yoongi’s got my hard drives, all my notes, he’s cracked every password and firewall defense I set up. Of course he is, he’s Min Yoongi.

         “Yoongi, how the fuck did you become so off the grid? I couldn’t find you, period.”

         “That’s part of my job, Black Panther,” He smirks.

         “Your work on Enterprises was under Park Yoongi, and you left no visible trace on the company. You don’t show up in alum magazines or columns, no birth certificate, anything of public record is gone. What the fuck did you do?”

         “That’s for me to know,” Yoongi winks at me.

         “And Namjoon, what the fuck happened when you turned 16?”

         “What do you mean?” He asks, puzzled by the question.

         “You are everywhere, every magazine, every scholarly article, on every universities formal lecture docket, and then poof. Like you didn’t exist,” I stare at him, he’s far less of a dick than I previously thought. We have some similarities too, actually, OT7 and I are far more alike than I realized.

         “I did exist, I was just busy training,” He shrugs.

         “You started training at 16?”

         “A little before that, has JK not told you?”

         “He’s hardly told me anything,”

         “Even after you found out?” Jimin asks.

         “Even then, what was it you said?”

         “They’re not my stories to tell,” Jungkook shrugs. He’s across the table, in his designated spot next to Taehyung and I desperately wish I could hold his hand. Who. Have. I. Become?

         “Mm,” Namjoon nods, “I was brought on from an early age, trained and then helped shape this group into what it is today.”

         “Namjoon’s the reason we exist,” Hoseok says.

         “He helped select all of us, leads us, makes the decisions,” Jungkook says.

         “So your stunted upbringings trace back to him?” I ask.

         “They trace back to the people above him, Black Panther,” Yoongi corrects.

         “Right, the mythical beings above Namjoon. Do they exist? Have you seen them?”

         “They exist, and they’re a little terrifying,” Seokjin adds.

         “So Namjoon isn’t the end all be all? He’s not even the oldest!”

         “True, he does have to listen to Seokjin,” Jimin laughs. “Sometimes, when hyung is mad, he just launches at Joonie, it’s so funny.”

         “You have to listen to him too,” Yoongi’s glare cuts through him.

         “So do you, Yoongi-hyung,” Jimin doesn’t back down.

         “Anyway, Namjoon-hyung had to go through everything first, that’s why he disappeared from the worlds stage.” Seokjin finishes the tale, bringing us back together.

         “Yoongi joined shortly after,” Namjoon continues, “The rest fell into place, well, except Golden Maknae,”

         “Jungkook?” I turn to face my boyfriend, his nose is scrunched, and his hand is behind his head, scratching his neck.

         “He nearly left, luckily, Joonie always knows what to say,” Taehyung says. “I was what, technically last?”

         “Technically, yes,”

         “Which is why we were in training together,” Jungkook reminds him.

         “So you’re one big happy family?” I ask.

         “We fight, but it’s been a decade, we know each other too well,” Yoongi speaks. “which is why when Jungkookie fell in love, we were caught off guard.”

         “Mm,” I nod, mimicking his gesture. “Though you left him off my romantic partners,”

         “Well, that was his request,” Namjoon says.

         “We’ve all experienced heartbreak and fallen out of love. We all hoped that JK wouldn’t be stunted because of our work,” Seokjin explains.

         “Can we not?” Jungkook asks his hyungs. They all turn to him, sensing his discomfort, and laugh.

         “Fine, fine. Back to work,” Namjoon advises.

         “What exactly is the next phase of the plan?” I wonder. “I mean, Cupid doesn’t want to work with me anymore, so what’s next?”

         “Good you asked, Black Panther,” Namjoon changes the slide and passes me another file. “The next phase requires little work from you, aside from ensuring we have all your evidence. The case moves up the line to the Feds and the other countries who are indicting them.”

         “Who all is getting indicted?” I ask.

         “Hopefully the entire board, the entire Codename Valentine family, minus Cupid,”

         “What will be left for her?”

         “Depends on what they take,” Yoongi sips his coffee. He’s much easier to read in person, his features, however angelic, are deeply expressive.

         “What about their investors?”

         Seokjin doesn’t hesitate to respond, “Their money will be frozen for a while, then returned to them.”

         “Do you find it deeply romantic that you’re citing their financial downfall when that’s how you met Cupid?” I ask him.

         “I prefer a slight twist of fate,” Seokjin nods, the bob of his head accompanying the pout. “When will this go down?”

         “The Feds and a few other groups move in on Lee Enterprises early next week,” Jungkook answers. I remain confused as to what he exactly does within this group, it seems like a little of everything but what is everything?

         “So, that’s it? I did my part?”

         “Yes, you did, exceptionally well,” Namjoon answers.

         “You kept her snooping for over a year, all of which we used to nab the rest of her family,” Yoongi starts, “Sure, you were an unexpected parasite for a minute, but you’ve done good work.”

         “First of all, rude, secondly, what will you do now?” I glance at each of their expressions, they’ve mastered the slightly inquisitive yet passively uninterested poker face. It’s impressive, their collective shift in attitude, the quiet “hmm” Yoongi hums, the eyes widening on Jimin, the unmistakable panic within Hoseok, all gone within seconds, like a musician losing an award in real time.

         “What do you mean?” Hoseok asks.

         “When this is over, what will you do? You��ve worked on this for nearly a decade? Who will OT7 be after this?”

         “Wow, ask the horrifying existential questions,” Jimin attempts a chuckle, but it comes out as a strained cough.

         “We’ll move onto our next mission,” Namjoon responds confidently.

         “Which is?”

         “You will not know unless we need your services,” He snips.

         “Okay but why onboard me? Doesn’t that already make me like an honorary member? No longer OT7 but OT8?”

         “No,” The unison chorus of voices that radiates off the glass is chilling. Accompanying the harsh put down, a chorus of laughs.

         “Cult vibes,” I mutter.

         “We’ll be fine, Black Panther. The question remains, what will you do?” Namjoon asks.

         I don’t have an answer, I don’t have a response, all I have is the panicked look on my face. They know I haven’t got a fucking clue what my next career move is. Will I become a member of their team, or a part of the larger organization? Will I go back to aiding depraved housewives in their mission to defame their cheating husbands? I have enough money to hold me over for a month or two, but I guess the question isn’t whether or not I will go back to cheating husbands and slutty mistresses, but do I want to?

         I don’t know.

Next: To Have Loved and Lost

[strawberriestyles]

Chapter 7

(Banner made by sweet sunshine @harry-nofookingway-styles​)

Harry X OFC (AU)

Sequel to Brutality: In which Melody and Harry must relearn how to navigate one another among a flurry of changes.

Read previous parts here.

Author’s note: When you’re done with this chapter, here is information about Elijah McClain, whose murderers are back on the job. I hope you are all well, and that you’re not losing momentum. I know it’s exhausting learning about the endless violence, but imagine the exhaustion black people feel. Change is happening. Stay healthy, stay safe. Xx

Harry was snoring when Melody woke up. Not heavily, just a whisper in the back of his throat. His shoulder was beneath her cheek, his fingers resting atop her thigh, just above where her knee met his hip. And his face was turned toward her, his lips parted, his hair spilling across his forehead.

Melody felt like she was dreaming at first. It wouldn’t have been unusual. She had dreamed about waking up to Harry countless times since the last time she actually had, before he’d even been shot. But he never snored in her dreams.

She felt like everything after the bath with Harry the afternoon before was just a hazy blur, like she had stumbled drunkenly through the rest of the day. She’d washed Harry’s hair for him, scrubbing at his scalp with her fingertips until his head smelled the way she remembered his pillowcases. She’d avoided the round scars, one just above his temple, the other behind his ear. Then she’d rinsed and conditioned, and stole a kiss or two while she let his hair soak in the moisture it was probably craving.

They’d watched some films on the couch while sharing a sub and some fries. At least, they’d tried to watch the films. Melody had fallen asleep during the opening sequence of the second one. She wasn’t sure how long Harry had lasted, but he was asleep when she woke up and she’d had to stir him before she helped him to the bedroom, where neither of them had had the energy to strip out of their clothes.

Now, she pushed back the hair from his face and slipped her hand down to the side of his neck, where she could feel his slow, strong pulse. Her lips found his collar bone, and then she lifted herself forward and they found his chin, his cheekbone, the tip of his nose, his eyelid.

Harry grumbled beneath her as he woke. His eyes split open just enough to see her lower her cheek back onto his shoulder.

“What’re yeh doin’?” he murmured.

“Sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

He took a deep breath as he turned toward the ceiling. Sunlight fell across his face, into his eyes, bright even when he closed them. He really hated that.

“What time is it?”

Melody rolled away from him to check the clock by her bedside. “Almost ten.”

Harry grunted. “Feel like I’ve been hit by a movin’ vehicle,” he muttered.

“Really?”

The bed creaked beneath him, jostling his sore limbs and pulsing through his aching head. He groaned.

“What hurts?” Melody asked. He felt her hands on his shoulders, running down the length of his torso, sliding back up to cup his chin. “Harry?”

“I dunno. All of it. ‘M just sore, Mel. ’S not a big deal. Did a lot of movin’ yesterday.”

“Okay,” she conceded, but her voice didn’t sound nearly as calm as the word. “Do you want some meds?”

“What? No, my head is fine.”

“I was just making sure.” She laid back down beside him and pulled the sheets up to her chin. Her nose was pressed up against the edge of Harry’s pillow, and it smelled like the bedding at his apartment. She let her eyes drift back shut.

Harry didn’t feel nearly as comfortable as she did. Not just because her bed was a bit smaller than his was—though that was part of it—but because he’d only slept here a handful of times, and this was usually about the time that he would be leaving, when Melody would be off to her classes.

He frowned. “Yeh have classes today?”

Melody shifted closer to him and hummed. “No, I’m not taking any this semester.”

“Why?”

“I needed some time off.”

Harry shook his head almost imperceptibly and then pushed himself up.

“Why are you sitting up?” Melody grumbled into his empty pillow. “Lay down.”

“’S morning,” he told her. “Tha’s typically when people get out of bed, yeah? Unless I missed somethin’.”

“You don’t have to get out of bed unless you have something to do,” she countered.

“Great. I wanna go through my stuff.”

Melody groaned. They never did start opening up the boxes of his things that she’d stacked up in the corner of her room, right next to her sunlit shelf of succulents. A few of the boxes she’d sifted through occasionally over the past few months, but some she hadn’t opened since she’d moved them out of Harry’s apartment.

“Right now?” she asked.

“Well, not at this exact second. We could eat first, yeh know. And maybe I could brush my teeth.”

“Maybe?”

“Unless yeh wanna kiss me right now.”

“No, thank you.” Melody grinned against Harry’s still-warm pillow and then finally sat up, combing her fingers through the knots in her hair.

“What the fuck was that?” Harry shouted as something white skittered into the room and across the floor before disappearing beneath the bed.

Melody laughed. “That’s Bea’s cat, Queenie.”

“Cat?”

“Yes. Four legs, whiskers, meows.”

“I know what a fuckin’ cat is.” He tilted forward to peek over the edge of the bed, but there was no sign of the kitten.

“What do you want to eat?” Melody asked.

Harry sighed, still staring down at the floor. “Fruit, a bagel, cereal. ‘M not picky.”

“I need to go grocery shopping.”

Harry heard footsteps out in the living room before he could respond. The door to Melody’s room wasn’t closed. Bea appeared there moments later, snuggled into a robe and her hair wrapped meticulously. Her eyes were squinted when she first peeked around the corner, as if she was preparing to clamp them shut, and she seemed relieved that both Melody and Harry were fully-clothed.

“Mel, your smoothie’s all ready,” she said.

“Thank you.” Melody grinned at Bea and then slid her feet down to meet the rug beneath her bed.

“I have a screening in an hour but then I thought maybe I could cut your hair?”

It took Harry a few moments to realize that Bea was speaking to him. He blinked, dazed, and then frowned. “What?”

“Oh, that’s a great idea,” Melody interjected. She reached up pointedly to run her fingers over the shorter side of Harry’s hair. “You know, even it out.”

“Yeh won’ mess it up?” he asked, and he was more than apprehensive. Harry didn’t like his hair cut. Hated getting trims, even when it was at its longest, and now there was so much room for error.

Bea grinned, and for a moment he thought her teeth looked sharper than the average person’s, like she could tear into skin with very little pressure. “We’ll see,” she said as she turned and left the doorway.

Harry pressed his tongue to the back of his teeth. He looked at Melody out of the corner of his eye. “Screening?”

“She’s a film major,” she answered. “Also women and gender studies, but mainly film. They watch one as a class every Friday.”

He added this to his very short list of facts about Bea. Really, he had no interest in growing that list, but it was inevitable when he would be living with the girl. At least Melody would be there to watch when she came at him with a pair of scissors.

“So, breakfast.”

Melody helped Harry to the bathroom, which he found uncomfortable, although it wasn’t the first time she helped him and it wouldn’t be the last. Then she led him to the dining table, where he ate toast and bananas and she drank a large green smoothie that she blended up. And he hated it. He felt like an ornament while she toasted bread for him and poured him coffee and talked to him about a paper Bea had written that analyzed Blue Velvet. He couldn’t have been more relieved when they finished eating and Bea left. They moved back into Melody’s bedroom to open up his things.

“This top one is just clothes,” she said, laying her hand atop the ripped tape. There were a few nights over the past few months when she’d slipped a t-shirt out to curl up in. All of his clothes still smelled like him, though he hadn’t touched any of the fabric in nearly half a year. But she’d left most of the clothes in their boxes in case he woke up and still wanted nothing to do with her. She was incredibly thankful that he hadn’t said anything of the sort. “Do you want me to put them away while you open the next box?”

“Sure.” Harry watched her from where he sat on the floor as she slid the cardboard onto the ground by the closet doors. He peeled back the tape from the box that had been beneath it. This was a collection of random items—coffee mugs and bottles of pills and the painting Melody had gifted him. And a hand-carved rectangular box, rich chestnut, with a large A etched into the lid. Harry knew what it contained, and he hated the thought of Melody touching it when he wasn’t around, let alone looking inside. He wanted to ask her if she’d opened it, but it wasn’t fair for him to be angry.

Actually, he was relieved that it wasn’t still hiding in his flat, where he’d tucked it away beneath his bed. So, he thanked her instead.

“For what?”

“For findin’ this.” He held the box up, smoothing dust from the lid with his thumbs. And, God, he really wanted to know if she looked inside, but he didn’t want to ask.

“Oh.” She seemed surprised. “You’re welcome.” She was distracted, her hands busy folding up jeans and tucking them into a drawer.

“Did yeh open it?” It slipped out. He blinked in surprise at himself.

Melody glanced at him again, and when she saw how intensely he was watching her, she pressed the pair of jeans she was holding to her chest. When she’d found the box tucked far into the recesses of his closet, her first thought was that it would be another gun—there had been many guns in his apartment. But it wasn’t. There were bracelets and rings, a pair of cross earrings that looked to match the necklace that he always wore—the one that hung at his chest even now—and underneath them she’d glimpsed a battered greeting card. The box was deep and there were surely more things packed inside, but it had all felt too personal for her to pick through without his permission.

“I mean, I took the lid off,” she said, “but I didn’t go through it. What’s the 'A' for?”

Harry set the box aside and pulled at his lower lip with his fingers. He didn’t know where he would keep something so precious in this apartment, in a place that he shared, that wasn’t his. Here, nothing was private.

“My mum, Anne.”

“Oh.” She left it at that. If he wanted to add anything else, he would, and she wouldn’t press him, not when he already seemed on edge. But he didn’t say anything more, only stared at the closed box for another few moments and then continued pulling out more of his things.

“Sean told me Goodman’s been payin’ her bills. That true?”

Melody’s lips twitched. “Yes, actually.”

Harry didn’t like this. He didn’t like to owe anyone, and if he made a list of people he could tolerate being indebted to, Goodman would be very, very close to the bottom. But there wasn’t much he could do about it, now.

“Yeh have room for these?” Harry asked as he unpacked the last of the mugs.

“Yeah,” Melody assured him, “we have an entire empty cupboard.”

He nodded. Melody closed her drawer and began hanging up some of his sweatshirts. She watched him from her periphery as he opened up the next box and pulled out the photograph that he’d received on his birthday earlier that year—the one of him and Melody, where she had her hand clamped around his chin and was pressing a hard kiss to his cheek, when he’d been trying desperately to claw his way out of her hold but still he’d been grinning between her fingers. But the glass pane that protected the photo was shattered. Cracks spidered out from a large fissure right down the middle, and shards of glass were missing.

“I didn’ do this, did I?” He still couldn’t remember anything that had occurred between the Tuesday when Melody had come to talk to him at training and the day that Colton had found him home alone. He would probably believe anything, if someone were to tell him what he’d done during that missing week. The anger and—admittedly—sharp pain that he’d felt when he broke up with Melody was still poignant in his memory, although somehow distant. A bandaged wound that still smarted. It was strange, the way that they’d ended up.

“No,” Melody answered finally, shaking her head. She hung up the last of Harry’s sweatshirts and then folded her arms across her chest, lounging up against the corner of her dresser. “I think it broke when you and Colton were…”

“Oh.” He pressed his thumb to the corner of the photo, where the glass was still intact. “It needs a new frame.”

Melody hadn’t known it before, but she was waiting to see how Harry would react to that object in particular. Perhaps he’d been planning to tear the picture into shreds the day that Colton had shown up and spoiled all of his plans. Now, she’d never know, and he might never know, but this was better. Her chest constricted painfully in relief.

“I can look for one when I go to get groceries.” She smiled at the way his fingers gripped the edges so gently. And then she pressed her lips together, nervous. “Also, when I’m done,” she began, “I have a match tonight, so I have to meet Sean. Will you come?”

Harry lifted his head to stare at her, at the defensive cage that she’d made of her arms, at the way she held his eye contact, but twitched as if she’d like to break it. She knew that he wouldn’t say yes, and still she’d asked. And he felt himself coil up.

“No, Melody,” he said firmly. “‘M not goin’ to your match.”

“I wish you would just—“

“I am not going.”

Bea chose that moment to burst into the apartment, rambling about how much she’d hated the film they’d been forced to watch today. She reached the edge of the couch, where she could see into Melody’s room, and then stopped abruptly. Harry and Melody were staring daggers at each other, stock-still, their bodies tense.

“Everything okay?”

Melody broke that uncomfortable eye contact, finally, and looked up at Bea.

“Yeah, I was just about to go grab some groceries. Do you want anything?” She was already slipping her head into a hoodie, stepping around Harry, pointedly not asking him for any food requests.

“Uh, I need flour and raspberries for this muffin recipe I wanted to try.”

“Great, see you in a bit,” Melody said. "Oh, why don’t you cut his hair while I’m gone? In fact, shave his whole head while you’re at it.” She shot Bea a sarcastic grin as she pulled open the apartment door, and then she slammed it shut behind her, leaving Harry and Bea alone again.

Chapter 8

[lillianfromaccounting]

Step by Step

author: lillianfromaccounting characters: Matt Murdock x OFC Katie word count: ~2000 warnings: someone gets shot (no deaths), hurt/comfort, implied sexy times

Summary: Katie is assigned a new operative and he operates out of a dumpster.

A/N: This is a birthday fic for @katiekeysburg. Yes, it’s funnier if you know the words to the song (just the refrain).

Step by Step

Step One

Katie thought Coulson was joking when he sent her to meet her next operative at a dumpster. She was no stranger to missions in dark alleys, but he specifically told her to wait at a particular dumpster. She’s heard of stories of agents going off world, dealing with aliens that looked like raccoons, but she never thought she would possibly have to engage with one in their natural habitat.

Coulson said to be flexible. The operative was probably finishing up a mission and could be running late. Katie was impatient. This better be worth the wait, she thought to herself. She contemplated if she should switch out of Coulson’s division. Tomorrow, she’ll message Hill to see if she’s got more interesting work.

At precisely 10:28 pm, she heard footsteps above her, then a black blur fell from the roof. CRASH! A human being just landed inside the dumpster. At least she thought it was human. Human looking enough.

She peeked in, with trepidation, not knowing whether this person was friend or foe.

“Coulson sent you?” a deep voice came from inside the dumpster. “You’re the operative?” Katie replied. “I can hear you rolling your eyes,” he said. “You can hear--of course you can,” she said. “You’re doing it again,” he replied. “A little help here?” Katie climbed up the side of the dumpster and reached in, grabbing his arm. He pulled himself out and then leaned against the brick wall of the building behind them.

“So you’re my new handler, huh?” he said with a bloody grin. “I do not handle people. I manage information, thank you very much,” Katie replied. “And you, sir, are a mess. What is that scarf thing that you’re wearing on your head? How do you even see with that covering your eyes?” “Oh, you didn’t read my file?” he said, almost with a laugh. “Coulson really needs to stop blindly sending agents to me.” “What file? I was supposed to meet you here to get the deets on the drop,” Katie said. “Oh, you and me. We’re gonna have lots of fun,” he said with a smirk. “Sure, we can have lots of fun, if you would just let me do my job and give me the info,” Katie insisted. “You’re rolling your eyes again,” he said. “You have no idea,” she said, crossing her arms across her chest.

Step Two

It had been a week since that dumpster meeting and Katie decided she might seriously maim Coulson. She can easily make it look like an accident. What person in their right mind would pair her up with this lunatic vigilante? What person in their right mind would work with this lunatic vigilante. A blind lunatic vigilante who has no regard for protocols. She’s convinced that this is some sort of demotion. Maybe Coulson was upset that she single-handedly caused a re-org to their division of SHIELD when she discovered and reported the inefficiency and ineffectiveness of SHIELD Team Six. Coulson was spending too much time at Stark Tower and shit was just falling through the cracks. Coulson said he welcomed the change, but Katie wasn’t sure she completely believed him.

Now, she’s perched on the rooftop of a brownstone in Hell’s Kitchen, hoping dumpster diving wasn’t in her future tonight.

“So, what are we doing tonight?” she asked, scanning the horizon through her nighttime binoculars. “There’s so much we can do,” Matt replied. “Are we being philosophical?” she quipped. “Look, you want to know where The Hand will strike next,” he said. “I want to know the same thing. However, finding information requires--” Matt cocked his head. In a split second, he was off. Katie cursed under her breath, knowing he was about to jump to the next building. The only thing that made following him bearable was the SHIELD hover tech. Katie glided over to the rooftop of the next building, where she found Matt scratching the chin of a tabby.

“You jumped across the building to rescue a cat?” Katie questioned, raising an eyebrow. “Not just any cat,” Matt replied, turning the tags on the cat’s collar out. It was small, but there was no mistaking the logo of The Hand. “So, what, we put a tracking device on him?” Katie asked. “We just follow him,” Matt scoffed. “Find their base.”

Step Three

A month into this cat sting operation and it finally happened. The two of them found The Hand’s base and Matt eavesdropped on enough of the conversation to figure out where the drop was happening. Unfortunately, the cat gave their position away. The two of them fought their way out of the dilapidated apartment building, but not before Katie took a bullet in the arm for Matt.

“I always thought I would just let them kill you,” Katie said. “You know I would have dodged that right?” Matt replied. “I’m not sure you would have,” Katie admitted. “Do I detect a hint of concern?” Matt smirked. “In your dreams, Murdock,” Katie replied. “Let’s get you cleaned up,” he said. “I know someone.” “Of course you do,” Katie said. “I could just go to a SHIELD outpost, you know.” “The place I know doesn’t require filing paperwork,” Matt said. She almost detested that he was getting to know her enough to know what made her tick.

Matt helped Katie to a rooftop a few blocks away, and then gently got her down a fire escape. She wasn’t sure if it was the blood loss or the searing pain, but she swore her life flashed before her eyes. She told herself to get it together. It was a mere flesh wound compared to other missions.

Matt knocked on a window. Katie heard him call out the name Claire before everything went dark.

When she came to, she was on a bed. The room was dimly lit, but she made out that they were in a loft. The place was lightly furnished and definitely not where they went to meet Claire.

“Hey,” Matt whispered. “You’re awake.” He turned and picked up a glass with a straw from the table behind him. “Here, you’re parched.” He brought the straw to Katie’s lips.

The water was cold but welcomed.

“Please, promise me you will never do that again,” Matt said. “You don’t take a bullet, a knife, anything for me. I can handle it. I can’t handle you--you lost a lot of blood.”

“Just a flesh wound,” Katie said. “You almost died,” Matt’s tone was firm. “Where are we? Where’s Claire?” Katie asked. “It’s just you and me,” he replied, taking her hand in his. “But Foggy is on his way with some Thai takeout.” “Where are we?” Katie asked again. “This is my place,” Matt replied.

Step Four

Another week later and Katie was ready to go back into the field. The info they had gotten last time was a bust. The Hand had made them pretty early and the cat was just there to string them along. Katie felt betrayed by the cat, whom she had fed out of her hand many times to gain his trust. Deep down she knew it wasn’t his fault though. He was just being himself.

The same couldn’t be said for Matt. After the night of the ambush, he became both more nurturing and more difficult to read at the same time. She really wasn’t in any condition to be moved, so they decided that his apartment was the best spot to lay low at until she got better. She insisted Matt stop coddling her, because she would rather die than admit that she enjoyed his attention. But the truth was, he was really sweet.

“You should really heal some more before going back out there,” he said. “What, you can sense how my wound is healing?” she snarked. “As a matter of fact, I can,” he said. “As a matter of fact, you should stop that,” Katie mocked. “I feel fine. I’m ready to go back out there.”

She put up a good show, but deep down, she knew he meant well. She hated herself for caring about his opinion. Feelings, it was a slippery slope. Never get involved with people at work. That was her own law. Why did her heart decide it needed to catch feelings, and why this dumpster disaster of a human being?

Surely it wasn’t because he made sure she ate three meals a day since the shooting. Or that he gave up his own bed so that she could heal in comfort. Or that he was gentle with that traitor cat. Or that he’s constantly working for the underserved population, both at his day and night jobs. Or that he can be just as stubborn as she is.

It didn’t hurt that he drew her a hot bath in his clawfoot tub the second night she was there. It didn’t hurt that he offered to shampoo and condition her hair because she couldn’t raise her arm (and he did a lovely job at that). It definitely didn’t hurt when he changed her dressings every night. She could tell he was a pro and part of her heart ached knowing that he had probably changed his own dressings too many times to count.

Katie didn’t hear Matt’s reply because she was focusing on her breathing. She knew it was only a matter of time before her own body betrayed her. She knew he could hear her heart racing and he probably sensed her getting flushed. She knew that she could only blame it on the gunshot for so long.

Katie snapped out of her thoughts when she felt Matt’s hand on her chin. “What was that?” she said. She couldn’t help but notice how warm his hand was. “I said, I can give you more,” Matt said, his hand cupping her jawline. “More?” she said, inhaling sharply. Something about his calloused fingers on her skin made her spine tingle. He chuckled and bit his lower lip. He leaned in closer, his nose practically touching hers.

The door flung open.

“You’ll never guess what the special at the bodega was today!” Foggy barged into the loft holding two large bags. Matt jumped back and Katie sat upright. Foggy looked at Matt, then at Katie, then back at Matt. “Well?” Foggy demanded. “Aren’t you going to guess?” “I have no idea,” Matt said. “What was the special?” “Avocado toast!” Foggy beamed. “Who’s hungry?” “I could use a drink,” Katie said. “A tall glass of water for you!” Foggy prescribed. “I was thinking more like whiskey,” Katie retorted. “Not until you’re off the pain meds,” Foggy said. “Claire’s orders.”

Step Five

It was another week before they collectively deemed that Katie was fit to be released. Matt even got a SHIELD team to come and get her cleared.

“I want you to know that your work was not in vain,” Coulson said. “We were able to infiltrate The Hand based on you finding their location, and we prevented the unspeakable weapon from being launched. You did an excellent job.”

“I don’t feel like I did anything,” Katie replied.

“Well, you did. Director Fury and I decided that you deserve this,” Coulson said, handing Katie a new ID card.

“Level seven?” Katie read the card. “You’re promoting me? I mean, if I knew all I had to do was get shot to get promoted, I would have done that years ago.”

“It wasn’t because you got shot. You earned it based on your selfless actions and dedication to the team. Plus, we caught the big bad thanks to you,” he said.

“Thank you. I’m not sure what to say,” Katie said.

“Don’t you know? The time has arrived for a new mission,” Coulson said, dropping an inch thick case file onto the table in front of them. “I expect the first check in from you two within forty-eight hours.”

“Us...two?” Katie looked at Matt. “You’re kidding right?”

“Do I look like I’m kidding?” Coulson retorted. “Don’t answer that. You two make a great team, and we can use Mr. Murdock’s expertise with this one. I have a quinjet to catch. If you have any questions, you know how to find me.”

Coulson left as quickly as he came.

“Did you know about this?” Katie asked, searching Matt’s face for any tells. “Truth be told,” he said, “I requested it.” “Why?” she asked. “You know why,” he replied, taking her hand. “As much fun as it is to bicker with you, we should stop fighting this.” “Stop fighting what?” she said, holding back a smile. Matt intertwined one hand with hers, his other hand cupping her cheek. “Huh,” she said, her heart racing. “Huh,” he whispered, closing the distance between them.

She had imagined this moment many times, but nothing quite prepared her for the sensation of Matt’s soft, firm lips finally meeting hers. He didn’t hold back, each passing moment hungrier than the last. It felt like they were moving in slow motion but everything happened in a blur. One moment they were on the couch, the next they were in his bed. Day turned to night and then turned to day again. He took his time, sensing and fulfilling her body’s every want and need. Katie felt Matt letting his guard down, allowing himself to be vulnerable for once. Twice. Three...four...she stopped counting after six. At some point, she woke up in his arms. He wasn’t quite asleep, but he looked content and relaxed. She pressed her face against his chest, falling back asleep to the sound of his heartbeat.

[dlwritings]

Firecracker Soul | Dean Winchester

Chapter 22 - Sorry

pairing - mob!Dean x teacher!ofc

word count - 3,950

warnings - language, oral (f receiving), fingering, unprotected sex (cover your stump before you hump), daddy kink

additional notes at the end

(previous)

Alice didn't sleep at all the night after the Ben Platt concert. Part of her wished she hadn't blown up at Dean, but another part of her was still frustrated and hurt. Why did Dean have to be so complicated? Why did she have to get involved with someone who made such simple things so difficult?

She made herself a cup of tea and headed out to her balcony. It was small -nothing compared to Dean's- but it was hers, and she liked it. She wrapped a blanket around her shoulders and sat on the outdoor chair. With her legs tucked under her, she brought her mug to her lips. She wasn't even slightly tired, and it was after midnight. She was usually fast asleep by then. Her mind just kept running in circles. She liked Dean. She really did. She just couldn't stay in a relationship with someone who didn't understand how relationships worked. Was it her job to teach him? Was she making all of this more complicated than she needed to?

Naturally, when she met Christine for breakfast, she asked her.

"He thinks I overuse the word normal," she told her. "Like there's no such thing as normal. But there is. I think I deserve to be in a normal relationship at least once in my life. Greg definitely wasn't normal, and I guess I thought Dean was."

"You thought he would be normal even after he told you he was a mob boss?" Christine asked. "You still thought he might be normal?"

"I guess I did," she said with a sigh. She yawned and took another sip of her coffee.

"No offense," Christine said, "but you look awful."

"I didn't sleep last night," she answered.

"At all?"

"No," Alice said with another sigh. "Just couldn't. Couldn't turn my mind off."

"Alice," Christine sighed. "Don't start this."

"Start what?" she said.

"You gotta take care of yourself," she said. "When everything started with Greg, you did this same thing. You would call me constantly at, like, 2AM."

"I know," she said. "It's just hard."

Christine nodded. "Do you want to forgive him?"

"Of course I do," she said. "I just want him to be sorry. To actually be sorry. You know, I don't even think he said the words yesterday. He just, like, paid me off." Christine was quiet. She licked her lips and looked down at her coffee cup. "What're you thinking?" Alice asked. "You have that look."

Christine sighed. "I know I only met him once, but from what you say of him, it really seems like he cares about you. I think he just doesn't know how to express it."

"God," Alice mumbled, rubbing her temples. "Jess said the same thing."

"Do you not agree?" Christine asked.

"I don't know," she groaned. "I'm just trying to weigh if he's worth the effort I'm putting into this."

"What's your gut telling you?" she asked. Alice raised her eyebrows.

"My gut?" she repeated.

"Yeah," she said. "You know, you've got to feel this in your stomach. Is he worth it, or is he not?"

"I don't know," Alice said, shaking her head. "I don't know, okay?"

"It's because you're thinking too much," Christine said. "Don't think, just say it. Is he worth it, yes or no?"

"Yes!" she blurted out. Christine smirked and folded her arms across her chest, leaning back in her seat. "Wow," Alice said, impressed. "Where'd you learn that?"

"The Office," Christine said.

"Of course," Alice said. "Of course that's where you learned it."

-

Family dinner was at Cas and Hannah's on Saturday, and Dean wished he could skip it. Still, he knew the rules. Only sickness could excuse a family dinner absence, and he couldn't fake that. He supposed he just had too much of a conscience. So, he showed up to dinner with store bought cookies and greeted everyone half heartedly.

As Dean made his way to the alcohol, he missed the looks everyone shared behind his back. Everyone expected things to have been better between Dean and Alice by then. Hannah even got a plate out for her. They knew he planned to apologize to her on Friday, so what had gone so wrong?

Dean avoided the topic of Alice all throughout dinner, and he had no intention of sticking around for the usual after-meal drinks to talk it out. The others, of course, noticed, and weren't going to let him go that easy.

"Nah, nah," Sam said, waving his hand at Dean. "Sit down."

"I've got things to do," Dean said.

"Bullshit," Sam said. "Talk to your family about your problems."

"You can't not bring her and not expect us to ask why," Cas said.

"You guys were hot and heavy for, like, two months straight," Jess said. "And now you're not talking? I thought you were apologizing yesterday."

"I did!" he said, plopping back down on the seat in annoyance. "You know what I did? I got her favorite singer to come perform for us on the terrace. Do you know how much that cost me? A lot. It cost me a lot. And the whole time, I thought things were better, but she was still mad. What more could I have done?"

"Wait, are you being serious?" Hannah asked. Dean furrowed his eyebrows, shook his head, and shrugged.

"Yeah?" he said.

"Dean," Jess said with a laugh of disbelief, "you're really shit at problem solving, you know that?" He was genuinely confused as he looked at her. "You can't just buy her things and expect everything to be better," she said. "Not everything needs a big, grand gesture. Sometimes, all she wants is for you to say I'm sorry."

"I did say I'm sorry," he said.

"Did you?" Sam asked. Dean opened his mouth, but no words came out.

"Yes?" he finally said.

"Dude," Sam said with a laugh. "Come on."

"I'm sure I apologized after our fight when she fell in the pool," he said. "And that was after I brought flowers to her work. So what did I do wrong there? She was mad about that too."

"It's like I said," Jess said, "not everything needs a grand gesture. Apologies like that seem like they're more about you looking good than you actually being sorry."

"They look ingenuine," Hannah simplified.

"What, so you think she doesn't even think I'm sorry?" he asked. The others were quiet, and Jess shrugged. Dean groaned in annoyance and ran his hands through his hair. "Fuck," he muttered. "Why are relationships so complicated? Nothing was this hard with Lisa."

"You can't compare relationships," Sam said as the others made various expressions of agreement.

"That's a rabbit hole you cannot go down," Jess said. "No two relationships are the same because no two women are the same." Dean groaned and downed the rest of his whiskey.

"So how the fuck am I suppose to fix this?" he said.

"Do you want to fix this?" Sam asked.

"Of course I do," Dean said. "I like her. It's just that every time I do anything, it only makes everything worse. It's not that I'm not trying. I just don't think I know how to do this right."

"Well," Cas said, "there's this thing called talking. That might be a good way to start."

"Fuck off," Dean said, rubbing his temples.

"He's right," Hannah said. "Just talk to her."

"How?" Dean said. "It's not like she's gonna answer my calls." Everyone was quiet for a moment.

"Okay," Jess said with a sigh, "normally I wouldn't condone this, but there is a way to balance a grand gesture and a normal conversation."

"And you think that's what I should do?" he said. Jess looked at the others as if searching for their agreement. She must've gotten the response she wanted.

"Here's what I think you should do."

-

A few weeks passed, and Alice was on her way to her eight-week prenatal appointment. It was a Friday, so she decided to take the whole day off, even though the appointment was in the late afternoon. She knew she wouldn't be able to have a good day or do anything productive when she'd be thinking about the appointment all day.

She met up with Jess before the appointment for lunch at Panera. "How're you doing?" Jess asked as soon as they sat at their table.

"Nervous," she admitted. "But kind of excited too."

"Good," Jess said. "You should be. This is an exciting time. They'll even do an ultrasound today. You'll get your first little glimpse at the baby."

"I know," Alice said. "I googled a bunch of stuff."

When they got to the appointment, everything went as she expected: a general health exam, urine test, bloodwork, genetic carrier screening, STD tests, pap smear, and a blood sugar test. Based on the information Alice shared with Dr. Montgomery, she was able to estimate a due date. "So, this little kiddo is going to be due on June 30, 2021."

"That feels so far away," Alice said, putting her hands on her stomach.

"It'll go by before you know it," Dr. Montgomery said. "Should we do an ultrasound?"

Alice nodded, and Jess squeezed her hand as Dr. Montgomery began the process. The jelly was cold on her stomach, and she couldn't help but jump. Everyone chuckled, and Alice sighed and laid her head back on the medical chair. A few minutes went by, and Dr. Montgomery turned the screen to face Alice and Jess. "That right there," she said, pointing to the blurry blob in the middle of her uterus, "is little Baby Berkley."

"Really?" Alice whispered, tears blurring her eyes.

"Yup," Dr. Montgomery said. "It's about half an inch long. No bigger than a raspberry."

"It's perfect," she said, tears flowing from her eyes. "It's so beautiful."

"Beautiful and healthy," Dr. Montgomery added. "Things are looking good."

They chatted for a while more about what Alice was to expect during the pregnancy and after. By the time the appointment was done, Alice was exhausted. Her brain was overloaded with information, and she felt like every time she exhaled she would lose some of it. Once again, she was glad she had Jess. "Thank you for coming," Alice said, "again."

"Of course," Jess said. "Like I told you, I'll be with you this whole way."

"I appreciate it," she said. "Do you want to come over for a bit? Hannah and Christine can come too. We can watch some movies or-"

"Oh, I would love to," Jess said, "but Sam and I already made dinner plans."

"Oh," Alice said, trying not to sound too disappointed. "Of course."

"Seriously though," Jess said quickly, "we should do that sometime. That sounds like fun." Alice nodded, and the two got into their cars and parted ways.

Alice walked into her apartment and kicked her shoes off. Her feet were killing her, and she was hungry, but she didn't want to take the time to make anything. Seemed like it'd be a night of ramen noodles and whatever cheap wine she had on hand. She hadn't had a night like that since she started dating Dean. God. What had her life become?

When she got into her room, she let out a shriek and covered her mouth with her hand.

"Dean," she breathed out. "You scared the crap out of me."

Once the shock wore off, she took in the scene in front of her. Dean was wearing sweats and a t-shirt and was sitting on a blanket that he laid out on the floor. There was a box of pizza from her favorite pizza place and a plate of chocolate covered strawberries. She could feel tears pooling in her eyes. "What's all this?" she asked.

"Shit, shit," Dean said, standing up and stepping over to her. "Fuck, you're crying. Did I get the wrong pizza? Is it-"

"No, no," she said, wiping the tears from her eyes. "I just-" She let out a soft laugh. "What's going on?" Dean scratched the back of his neck.

"I wanted to say I'm sorry," he said. "For everything. For getting that man killed, for when I blew up about Lisa, for dealing with Brent without talking to you first, and for what I did at the party. And I'm sorry I try to make things better with money and sex and violence instead of with words. You're right. I'm not good at this, and I'm not normal. I don't know how to be in a real relationship, because I haven't been in one in a really long time. I know I can be possessive and disrespectful, and I am so sorry. I do stupid shit because I don't know how to handle the way I feel about you sometimes, and I just worry. I-" He hesitated. "I lost my cool at the party. And I'm honestly, truly sorry."

"S'okay," she mumbled, hanging her head. Dean sighed, shook his head, and closed the space between them in a few steps. He looked down at her and lifted her chin.

"I know I've been hurting you," he said. "And I know I scared you at the party. And I'm so, so sorry for that. I need to learn to talk instead of just act on all my feelings. But I'm gonna learn, okay? I'm gonna make this better." She smiled at him, and he wiped away a tear that had fallen from her eye. "You know, I may not be wise," he said, "and I won't always save the day."

She couldn't help but giggle at the way he managed to fit a Ben Platt lyric into the conversation like a dork. He smiled softly. God, he missed that sound.

"But I won't run away," he whispered. "And I won't let you run away either."

"I don't want to run away," she said, putting her hands on his cheeks. "I really like you, Dean. And I appreciate all of this. It means so, so much."

"Yeah?" he said.

"Yeah," she repeated. "Thank you for this."

"Of course," he said. He pinched her chin lightly. "Can I kiss you?"

Alice giggled. "Yeah. Yeah, you can kiss me."

Dean smiled, tilted his head down, and pressed his lips to hers. She kissed him softly back. The kiss didn't last very long, and when they pulled away, Alice looked down at the mini picnic Dean had set up. "This looks great," she said. "You got my favorite pizza."

"Yeah," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "I was hoping I got it right."

"You did," she said. "I want to change out of this outfit first." Dean nodded, so she went into her drawers to get some comfier clothes. She grabbed a pair of pajama bottoms and the Zeppelin t-shirt she stole from Dean and didn't bother going into the bathroom to change. Dean swallowed thickly and forced himself to look away from her. Not everything was about sex.

When she sat down beside him, she reached for a slice of pizza. Dean smiled and did the same. "So," she said, turning to face him and crossing her legs, "what's up?"

"What's up?" he repeated with a chuckle.

"Yeah," she said. "I miss you."

"I'm right here," he said.

"Shut up," she giggled, rolling her eyes at him. "I just mean we didn't talk for a while, and I want to know how you are. How's Jack doing? Or can you not talk about it?"

He shrugged and took another bite of his pizza. "I don't get to talk to him that much," he said, "for obvious reasons. He calls from a payphone to a different burner phone of mine as often as he can. So far, he's just trying to blend in. We have the location of his base -like, his equivalent to our bunker- which is awesome."

"Seriously?" she said.

"Mhm," he hummed, wiping his mouth on a napkin.

"Are you gonna go there?" she asked.

"No," Dean said. "We don't want to ambush the whole place. We just want to get him."

"If you get him, does his family fall apart?" she asked.

"No," Dean said again, this time with a sigh. "His underboss will take over."

"So why don't you just take out his whole family?" she said.

Dean chuckled. "Because then we'd be talking mass murder, and I don't think we really want to do that."

"So what's the point of taking out Lucifer?" she asked. "If someone else takes over, don't you just think the next boss will have it out for you? If you take out a boss, you'll start a war." He looked at her in amusement.

"Where'd you hear that?" he asked.

She shrugged. "I might've watched Goodfellas to learn about your career."

"Alice!" Dean laughed.

"It was very violent!"

"Yeah, it is," he said, shaking his head in disbelief. "You're such a dork. You could've just asked me, you know."

"I know," she said. "But I wanted to randomly share some mob knowledge and impress you." She paused and fluttered her eyelashes. "Did it work?"

"Oh yeah," Dean said. "I'm very impressed." Alice giggled and reached out to scratch her nails across his beard. Dean hummed and leaned into her touch. He grabbed her hand and kissed her palm. "I missed you," he muttered against her hand.

She smiled. "I missed you too, Dean." When he smiled back at her, she stood up from the ground and stuck her hand out to him. He furrowed his eyebrows but took it and got up from the ground. Barely giving him a chance to get his balance, Alice stood on her tip-toes and pressed her lips to his. He wrapped his arms around her and held her close, then lifted her thighs and wrapped them around his waist. He walked them over to the bed and dropped her onto it. She giggled as she bounced on the mattress, and he laughed as well and pulled his shirt over his head.

Dean licked his lips and scratched his beard, letting his eyes rake over Alice's body. Her cheeks flushed, and she held her arms out to him. "C'mere," she said. He smiled and crawled over to her, and she moved her hands to his cheeks to bring him down for a kiss. She kissed across his cheek and to his ear, nibbling his earlobe.

Alright, if Dean was going to try and communicate better in their relationship, so could she.

"I want you inside me, Dean," she whispered.

"Fuck," he breathed out, hanging his head with a smile of disbelief. "I think that's the hottest thing you've ever said to me." She smiled as she kissed his neck.

"Please, daddy," she whispered. He groaned as she sucked a mark onto his skin. He pulled away and made her sit up so he could pull her shirt over her head. She had taken off her bra when she came home, so her tits were bare to him.

"I could look at you all day," he muttered, licking his lips and running his hands up her torso to her tits, gripping them in his hands and pinching her nipples. A whine rose up the back of her throat as she arched her back against his hands.

"Dean," she whispered.

"I'm gonna eat your pretty pussy first, okay?" he said, kissing down her neck and across her chest. He trapped her nipple between his lips, sucking it until it was hard, then he moved onto the other. He kissed down her torso and to the waistband of her pajama pants. Once they were off, he captured her panties between his teeth and tugged them down her legs. He tossed them aside and pushed her legs apart, then kissed up her thighs. "God," he muttered, "I missed this pussy." She put her arms over her face when he spoke, and then sighed when he dipped his tongue past her folds.

He always knew exactly what ways to move to make her toes curl. Between slow, kitten licks and swirling circles around her clit, she was gripping his hair in her fists in no time. When his finger started teasing her opening, she lifted her hips to get closer to him. "So needy for daddy," he teased. She just nodded, and he smiled and pushed his finger inside her. He moved it in and out of her slowly, bringing his mouth to her clit. He sucked it between his lips, letting his tongue flick at it as he eased another finger inside her.

"Dean," she said for the second time. "I wanna cum."

"I know, sweetheart," he said. "You're right there. Let go. Cum for daddy." She nodded and felt her breath catch in her throat as she tilted her head into the pillow and came around Dean's fingers. He kept moving them, slowing down so she could come down from her high. "So pretty when you cum," he said, kissing up her body again until he reached her lips. She kissed him back, her teeth clashing with his. "Hey, hey, slow down," Dean said with a chuckle, pulling away. She kept her eyes closed until Dean put his hand on her chin. "I'm not going anywhere, sweetheart," he said. "We can take this nice and slow."

"I know," she whispered. "I know. I just-" She sighed and licked her lips. "Dean, I missed you. I want you."

A smile grew on his lips again. "Okay."

He sat back on his heels and tugged his sweats off, letting his boxers follow. When his cock sprang up, Alice bit her lip, which made Dean smile as he gripped his cock. He pumped it before rubbing the head across her folds. Every time it brushed against her clit, she would jump and dig her nails into his shoulder. Dean took the not-so-subtle hint and slid into her. He hesitated a moment, giving her time to adjust before moving his hips back and thrusting into her again. Her lips parted as she tilted her head back into the pillow again. He grabbed her hand and laced his fingers with hers before leaning down to kiss her lips. He was always able to maintain a steady, back-arching rhythm with her that hit in all the right places. He was so big, and the drag of his cock against her walls made her whimper against his lips. She wrapped her legs around his waist and pressed her heels into his lower back. She wanted him closer. Deeper.

So she decided to take control.

She used all her strength to turn her and Dean over so he was on his back. He sat up, and she situated herself on his cock, wrapping her whole body around his. She could feel his cock in the deepest part of her, and his pelvic bone brushed against her clit. She gripped onto him like her life depended on it, burying her face in his shoulder. Dean put his hands on her waist and helped her move against his cock, grinding in the most pleasurable motion. Her breath caught in her throat as her nails ran deep scratches up his back. When his cock hit her g-spot one final time, she came around him with a loud moan, only slightly muffled by her mouth resting against his skin. Dean came right after, shooting his load inside her.

They stayed wrapped in each other's arms again, Alice kissing his shoulder. "I'm glad you're back, sweetheart," Dean whispered.

"Mm," she hummed, kissing his skin again. "I'm glad you're back."

Dean chuckled. "And I'm not going anywhere ever again."

----- ----- ----- -----

(next)

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