#the way nick becomes a cop at the end felt so

[sidsinning]

Not to go too deep into a kids movie but did the cop Judy Hopps in Zootopia break the law and blackmail a citizen to improve her position in her career

Like sure what he was doing was illegal but like

as a cop

that's way more fucked up than selling stolen ice cream right

like,,,do you deserve your position at that point even if you solved the case,,,,

[skylarmoon71]

Josh Porter (Grimm) - Chapter 1

Long Post: 3k+ words.

Being a cop in Philadelphia, you’d gotten used to the crazy. 

There were a lot of things that made sense, but lately, the cases you were closing did not. For a while you pushed it to the back of your mind. Liquified bones, mysterious fly diseases, limbs being ripped from their sockets with no clear explanation and now apparently cannibalism.

It was hard to swallow, but you knew if you let the cases become too close, then the craziness of it all might just eat at your sanity. So you did the job, or tried to.

You’d made very little progress because your most recent case was an accusation of a man eating people. But there was no evidence to that claim and the suspect had a clean record. You weren’t sure what the next steps were. Because you had a victim in the hospital right now who was pleading for people to believe him when he said he saw a monster.

Nothing was making sense, but something in your gut told you that the suspect, Jeffery Adams was indeed no innocent bystander. You just couldn’t prove it.

“He’s a Wendigo!! I’m telling you!! Please! PLEASE BELIEVE ME HE KILLED MY WIFE!!”

That’s what your victim said.

You sighed, dropping your head on the desk in your office. You had enough on your plate. You didn’t need to worry about silly folklore on top of all of that.

The knock on your door pulled your focus. The door opened, an officer peeking in.

“Detective, you have a visitor. He says he can help with the case. “ Your head lifted at the sergeant and you nodded.

“Let him in.”

She nods, ushering him inside. He looked a bit nervous, not that you could blame him. The door closed and you gestured for him to take a seat. He was clutching a book to his chest and even though he sat down, he looked antsy.

“Do you have information about our case?”

He nodded frantically.

“M-My name is Josh Porter. You’re Detective Hotchner right. You closed the murders linked with those robberies. The ones where the victims were dismembered.”

The fact that he’s been following your cases raises a few flags, but you brush it off. He might just be checking to ensure that you’ll take him seriously.

“I did. We were lucky to close the case.”

It was a tough one. Although you’d ultimately ended up killing the murderer, at least he was no longer on the streets. You still couldn’t fathom how he’d killed his victims.

Josh stood, for a second he paced and you just leaned back in your chair with a raised brow.

“Okay, I know this is going to sound crazy, trust me I know. In a way I did ask to be like Nick and Trubel but I didn’t think it would actually happen. I mean I’m the least athletic human being in the world. I can’t fight Wesen, much less cut their heads off. That’s just crazy!”

He kept ranting and you were having a hard time following.

You stood, walking around and taking him by his shoulders to stop him from moving.

“Mr. Porter, please.”

He exhaled and stopped in place. You lowered your hands.

“Do you have something or not?”

He nods, moving to your desk. When he opens the large book, he places it on the desk. You just stare at the images, a bit confused. What does catch your eyes is the heading.

“Wendigo..”

He nodded.

“I know this is going to sound absolutely insane, but the person doing this, he’s not really a person. I saw his face on the news. I thought it was a coincidence, but then I went to the market and I saw him in the meat section and he woge. He didn’t see me luckily, but he’s a Wendigo. He killed that guy’s wife and then tried to kill him. You need to get a judge to search his property. He either has the bones buried under his house or in the backyard.”

He was giving you way too much to keep up with. You just sort of stared at him, because it felt like he was saying that your suspect was some kind of monster.

“Are you saying that Jeffery Adams is some kind of cannibalist monster?”

“Yes! Oh I’m so glad you believe me. I thought it would take longer. The last officer I told thought I was crazy.”

You just sent him a look and he laughed nervously.

“From that expression I get the feeling that you think the same.”

You just shook your head with a frown.

“Mr. Porter, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t bring your fairy tales into my office. This is a serious case. I don’t have time to deal with your delusions. A woman was killed.”

You were agitated as it was, now you have to deal with this nutjob.

“I’m not making this up, I’m telling you the truth! He’s a Wendigo and he’ll keep killing. You have to stop him. Can’t you search his place, you're a cop.”

“Even if I were to believe your story, we need probable cause. He was the one attacked. I can’t just harass a victim.”

“But he killed that man’s wife, that’s why he went back for him. He didn’t have proof, but he wasn’t lying. He must have done a crazy amount of research. He’s not a Grimm so he can’t see what I do but I believe he saw what he did. It’s real!”

This entire conversation was giving you a migraine.

“Mr. Porter, I think it’s time for you to leave.”

His shoulders dropped in defeat. He looked like he wanted to continue.

“Fine, at least do one thing. Search up previous locations. Adams has done this before, even if he wasn’t caught. I guarantee that there’s bodies there. If I’m wrong, then you can just cross me off as another crazy person, but if I’m right, then you’ll be letting a serial killer walk free.”

His words made you stiff. He didn’t seem crazy, not from what you assessed, but nothing about this was making sense. How did he expect you to believe that he could see some monster that no one else had.

Fixing his jacket, he turned to leave.

“Wait, your book.”

He shook his head.

“Keep it, something tells me you’ll need it for this one.”

Nothing else was said, he left the room and you just stared at the door. Your eyes moved back to the text, swallowing as you ran over the somewhat terrifying images. The pictures of skulls and the clawed creature didn’t exactly bode well. You moved back to your desk, tapping on it as you stared at your phone.

The guy could have been a nut, but the feeling in your gut was telling you that taking that chance was risky. With a huff, you grabbed your phone, dialing a number. It rang twice before someone answered.

“Hotch.”

You smiled.

“Hey Aaron, I hope you’re not too busy.”

“I can talk, what do you need?”

“I’m a bit stomped on a case. I was wondering if I could ask you a favor.”

“Of course, how can I help?”

“Jefferey Adams. Do you think you can get that genius analyst of yours to run a search? I’m trying to get some information on any strange occurrences in any of his past residences. Just about anything will help, kidnappings, disappearance, attacks, anything out of the ordinary.”

You heard him scribbling.

“I can. I‘ll have her email whatever she finds to you.”

You smile.

“Thank you Aaron.”

There’s not much you can do but wait for a lead. The entire day you find yourself just reading over the book Josh left. It’s stupid, no good will come from jumping down his rabbit hole, but you’ve learned enough from your brother to understand that any lead can be a good one, even the ones that don’t make sense.

When the day is done, you’re tempted to take the book with you. But the idea of having it in your home makes you a bit uneasy. Sliding open your draw, you close the book, dropping it in. There’s no use overthinking anymore. Your brain hurts from the lack of leads and general insanity of the case.

Your intention is to start fresh tomorrow.

So that’s what you do.

Entering the department the following morning you’re greeted by a few officers. With your coffee in hand, you get to work. You need to follow up with friends and family of your victim in the hospital.

John Reeves.

Maybe he had a record of mental illness, or some prior arrest that could explain why he thought Adams was the person responsible for the death of his wife. For the next few hours you’re fully immersed in your work. Someone knocking seems like a distraction that you need. The screen is starting to give you a headache.

Your eyes lift, surprised at the person there.

“Mr. Porter.”

After yesterday you were certain he’d never stepped foot in the precinct again. He stood by the door awkward and you just waved him inside.

“Hey, I’m back. So umm that book I left, I kind of need it back. I just started putting that one together and it’s kind of important. I was trying to be all tough and mysterious last time but I really can’t like, give it to you.”

His words actually made you smile. Reaching into your desk, you pulled out the book. His eyes lit up and you handed it to him.

“Thanks.”

You nod.

Now that he has it, he lingers. His fingers brush the cover as if running through a memory. There’s a bit of sadness in his expression.

“I’m not crazy.”

You look him over.

“For a long time I thought my dad was delusional. He would tell me these stories and as a kid it was great, but when I got older it just sounded crazy. I watched him die protecting this truth, this secret. I would have never believed it if I didn’t see it myself.”

This time he looks up at you.

“Some part of you must know that there’s more out there that we can explain. I did my research, you’ve closed twelve cases with similar issues. Things that just didn’t add up, didn’t make sense. It’s not a coincidence and this isn’t some fairy tale, there are monsters out there, whether you believe it or not. When you face Adams, you need to be careful. If he thinks for a second that you know what he is, that you can prove it, then he'll kill you. It’s hard to prove a crime when there is no body.”

His words are a bit chilling. You would have thought he was threatening you if not for the clear worry in his eyes.

“Be careful Detective.”

He grips the book, and just like that, he’s walking right out your office again, leaving you wondering if just maybe, there’s some merit to the world he’s trying so desperately to get you to believe in.

There’s an email that pops up on your screen and you smile at the little message.

Sorry for the wait, I hope this helps. Good luck on the case girl Hotch!

-Garcia.

You scroll through, clicking on the attachments. Your eyes scan through all three places of residence along with any unusual deaths or attacks. Your body halts at the number highlighted next to his general area. The more you sift through, the more obvious it is that it can’t be a coincidence. The amount of disappearance in the county at his last two homes alone is concerning. You gulp, eyes immediately moving to the door.

He might have been crazy, but it doesn’t look like he’s completely wrong. You need to pay Jeffery Adams a visit. Before that, you might need to have a word with a judge, if this goes the way you think it is, having a back up plan might come in handy.

~

“So, how can I help you Detective?”

You take notice of the fact that his house is a bit isolated. The next house isn’t for at least three miles by car. That can’t be a coincidence.

“I just wanted to ask you a few questions about John Reeves.”

“I already told the officers that I would not be pressing charges. He already lost his wife. I don’t see a reason to put him through more pain.”

“That’s very noble of you. I’m still a bit confused. Mr. Reeves seems convinced that you were responsible for the death of his wife.”

“He’s a sick man.”

“So you’ve said.”

Jeffery now looks a bit tense, standing in his living room.

“I’ve been very cooperative, but I’m starting to feel like this is an interrogation. Should I have a lawyer present?”

“You shouldn’t need a lawyer unless you have something to hide.”

He laughs, as if it’s a joke.

“Something to hide? I was the one attacked. Why are you grilling me?”

“Because I’ve noticed a pattern that seems to align strangely with Mr. Reeves claims.”

“What, his claims that I’m some kind of monster?”

“He was very specific. He said that you’re a Wendigo.”

His expressions are hard to mask. You catch the subtle twitch of his lips, the small lift of his brows. He collects himself quickly. You probably would have never thought twice, but you know better. Your older brother is a profiler after all.

“The crazy thing is he had these ideals, he kept going on about Wesens and woges and I’m just so lost. I thought for sure this guy is disturbed. Unless he isn’t. “

Jeffery is tense, for good reason.

“You have nothing, I’d suggest that you leave Detective.”

You smile.

“I had a feeling you would say that, that's why I have this warrant.”

You slide the piece of paper out of your coat.

“With the right information you can never tell what a judge will allow. We’re going to search your property top to bottom and find the bodies you have buried here. Then we’re going back to New York and California and try our luck at some of your old houses. Maybe we might get lucky.”

His jaw is clenched. You have him. He knows that.

“If you come in willingly, I’ll probably try to get you a comfortable cell.”

You’re gloating for good reason. The monster theory might have been a stretch, but it’s clear that he’s a sick man. He won’t put up much of a fight.

“You shouldn’t have come alone Detective.”

His threat confuses you, that’s until he rolls his head. Your eyes widen at the shift in skin. Blue eyes are replaced with yellow glowing hues, monstrous teeth and claws. Your instinct is to grab your gun, but he makes a swing and you yell when he slices your arm. The weapon drops and you fall onto the floor. 

You try to scramble for it, and you just barely get a scream out when he lunges for you. Another body tackles him just as fast as they both crash on the ground. You’re breathing heavily, and when they’re both on their feet, Jeffery makes another slash that barely misses his assailant. The man shoves him against the door and when they make eye contact, Jeffery’s eyes widen in fear.

“A GRIMM!!”

Josh punches him across the face and Jeffrey tumbles. You take the chance to get your gun, because Jeffery springs upright in seconds, rushing for Josh. You take one breath, firing multiple shots. He screams an animalistic cry before his body drops. For the longest while you just stare. Because the second he takes his last breath, his skin is shifting as those demonic features disappear as if they were never there. You blink, twice, three times.

“It can’t be..”

You’re positive that you didn’t imagine the whole thing. He was a monster. Just a few seconds ago he had claws, fangs even.

Josh moves to your side slowly, helping you off the floor. He notices the tremble in your hand. Your grip on the gun is tight, almost like you’re waiting for him to just wake up and attack again. It shouldn’t be possible. Not at all, but he was right. You turn to Josh, eyes a bit pleading.

“You saw it, you saw it didn’t you!”

He nods solemnly.

“I saw it, you’re not crazy. It’s real.”

The blood from your wound drips onto the floor, and you should be processing the slight gash, but your hand feels numb.

“I’m sorry.”

You have no idea why he’s apologizing. He just saved your life.

Now that you think about it…

“Why are you here?”

He rubs the back of his neck.

“I..I had a feeling you would try and apprehend him on your own. I was worried so I bugged your car.”

“You what!!”

“I-In my defense I was just looking out for you! You didn’t believe me, and I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if something happened to another innocent person and I didn’t do anything.”

You should be pissed that he’s literally tracking you, but the universe must have known you needed the hand. You laugh, despite the very crazy situation. Josh joins in awkwardly as you hobble over to the wall to lean against it.

“Is that a thank you for saving my life kind of laughter or a I’m going to lock you up type laugh.”

You just shake your head, wincing slightly.

“You’re lucky I’m in shock otherwise I would shoot you too.”

“That’s not very nice considering.”

You roll your eyes, and he moves to walk over to you, but a piece of paper catches his eyes. He picks it up, opening it.

“Is this a flier for a gym membership?”

You nod.

“He thought I had a warrant. I figured the only way to get him to confess was to threaten him. I didn’t have enough to give to the judge to approve one, so I had to improvise.”

You’re laughing again, and Josh can’t help but wear a smile. He moves over, right to your side.

“You’re a good cop.”

“Tell me something I don’t know. “ Using your uninjured arm, you reach into your pocket, calling for help. This whole situation is a bit messy, but at least you know you’re not the only one who saw a monster.

“By the way, what the hell is a Grimm?”

This time he’s the one who laughs.

“Now that’s going to be a long story.”

It’ll be a while before reinforcements get there.

“I’ve got time.” 

[sparklypinkflightsuit]

The Witching Hour: Chapter 9

Pairing: Detective!Bob Floyd x Reader x Sheriff!Bradley Bradshaw

WitchAU

Warnings: Fluff, Angst, Smut, Love Triangle, Drinking, Swearing, Witchcraft, Ritual Sacrifice, Danger

- Chapter 8 Here -

———————————————

18+ Only After this Point

———————————————

You roused awake when the car came to a halt, the morning light barely shifting from darkness but yellow lamplights lit up the cabin of the truck like the sun was high in the sky.

You jolted up in your seat, “Are we here?”

Bradley chuckled, unbuckling his seatbelt and turning to you, “We’ve still got another 7 hours, I just need to get gas, and maybe coffee. You want anything?”

“Mmmm, coffee please.” You hummed with a sleepy grin.

Bradley grinned and left the truck, while you rubbed your eyes and adjusted to the bright lights of the gas station. You watched as early risers filtered in and filled up their cars, looking half as exhausted as you felt, and you had to stifle a yawn.

Bradley returned shortly after with two coffees and a box of doughnuts, you laughed as you took them from him.

“Now this really is a cliche, a cop with doughnuts?” You chuckled.

“Hey, first; I’m Sheriff. Second, I haven’t had a doughnut in 5 years. How do you think I look like this?” He smirked, wiggling his eyebrows.

You rolled your eyes and grinned, opening the box and handing him a doughnut as he pulled away and set back towards your destination.

“So… I really do wanna know more about you.” You mumbled in between bites.

“Where do you want me to start?”

“At the beginning.” You quipped, and Bradley laughed.

“Okay, I was born on June 27th 1984 to Nick and Carole Bradshaw. My dad was Sheriff of our town for as long as I can remember, the best Sheriff, and my mom was the best mom in our town, which in turn… ya know, makes me the best Bradley in the whole town-“

You cut him off with a roll of your eyes, “You’re stalling. I already know you’re the best Bradley in the whole of that town. Tell me things I need to know.” You smiled at him.

Bradley grinned, “Okay fine, but get them tissues ready.” He joked.

Bradley told you about how his dad died on the job when he was just 4, and how it was really hard on his mom. She had to raise him on her own and never remarried, rendering Bradley an only child. He told you how he would have loved to have more family, because his mom passed away from a long standing illness when he was 16.

His godfather took him in, but when he was old enough Bradley moved back to his home town to become a cop, and to walk in his fathers footsteps.

You asked Bradley why he was still single and he’d told you that work mostly took priority and he’d never found the one. When he said that his eyes lingered on your for a long time, until you eventually reminded him to keep his eyes on the road.

“For what it’s worth, any girl would be lucky to have you.” You said softly, as a comfortable lull fell over you.

Bradley was silent for a moment, before he took a deep breath. “Are you going back to him? Once we find him?”

You looked over at Bradley, surprised at his question. “I’m not sure, I’m still mad at him.”

Bradley looked hurt that you hadn’t immediately said no, but he powered through, “Is there… do I stand a chance?”

“I don’t know Bradley.” You said simply.

Bradley cleared his throat and nodded once, refocusing on the road.

You felt bad, you really shouldn’t have dragged him into this. Your feelings for Bradley were growing and so a momentary lapse in judgement could now cause a very complicated love triangle.

Truth was you weren’t sure if you’d forgive Bob for leaving. You understood why he did it, but the way he did it broke you.

Maybe Bradley would stick around and end up being the one, eventually, but you knew deep down that what you had with Bob was different.

Not just a little crush, or a growing feeling. It was instant with Bob… not even that, it was a feeling you had before you had even met him.

It was as old as the earth.

The rest of the drive was awkward, but eventually Bradley said he was tired and you pulled into a Motel. You wanted to get to Boston as quickly as possible so offered to drive, but Bradley pointed out that you’d both need to be clear headed when you got there.

You agreed reluctantly and Bradley stopped the car. You looked around at the grotty Motel, trying to hide your disappointment as the 1 single star dangled limply from the sign, flickering as the frayed wires gradually pulled away from their circuit board.

“I can get us separate rooms if you’d like?” Bradley offered sullenly as he got out of the car.

You shot him a surprised look, “No, I’d rather we stick together. Is that okay with you?” You quirked an eyebrow.

Bradley mumbled an “Mmhmm.” And walked ahead, not bothering to wait for you.

You ran after him, annoyance starting to take over. He was the one who knew you were already involved, he knew what he was getting himself into and now he was acting like a hurt schoolboy.

“Brad!” You grabbed his arm to stop him from storming away.

“What!?” He snapped as he whipped around.

You let go in surprise and looked up at him as if you’d just touched an open flame, shock at his sudden outburst.

Bradley’s face softened as he realised what he’d done, “Bree… I’m sorry. I’m just… I just need a minute to clear my head. Please?” He apologised, his voice now soft, gentle.

You nodded, and watched as Bradley turned away from you, rubbing his face with both hands in what was clearly frustration.

You felt a pang of guilt for causing this, just days ago he was the happy-go-lucky, carefree Sheriff, probably not a worry in the world in terms of his emotions, but now…

You grit your teeth at the thought that suddenly popped into your head.

——————————————

Bradley had booked you into a room and asked if you were hungry. When you told him you were fine, he said he was going to try and get some sleep and you should too, he would hit the road once you both felt rested.

“Sleep well.” You gave him a week smile as he turned away from you, and just before he went to sit on the bed, you quickly crossed over to him l, turned him to face you and hugged him. A long hug so tight you could feel his heart racing and his muscles ripple under your hold.

You looked up at him as you let go and kissed him. A lengthy peck at best, but it made your heart race and put a soft smile on Bradley’s plush lips.

“What was that for?” He hummed.

“Nothing,” you grinned, “just wanted to do it.”

Bradley quickly fell asleep, his exhaustion from being awake for well over 24 hours now taking a hold of him, and once you heard the soft snoring noises that emitted from his lips, you decided to make your move.

You were about to pull a Bob.

You knew it was horrible, but you’d leave a note this time.

“Dearest Bradley,

I’m so sorry to do this to you. I feel horrible writing this letter but I know in my heart it’s the right thing.

You’ll be safer this way. You should never have been dragged into this mess in the first place.

I’m taking the truck, and you can have me arrested if you want, but once I get Bob I’ll come back for you and I’ll suffer the consequences then.

I want you to know that I really do have feelings for you, I really, really care about you Bradley, and that’s why I’m doing this. You have a part of my heart, now and forever, but the other part of my heart is in danger and I need to be there for him.

I hope you’ll forgive me.

Love, Bree.”

You left the note on a chair by the door, carefully and quietly grabbing the keys for the truck. Once you’d taken a second to look back at Bradley once more, you left the room quietly and made your way to the truck.

You climbed in and got your bearings before starting the engine and backing out of there.

You drove quickly, over the speed limit more than once, and within a few hours you had arrived.

Boston.

What Bob was doing here you had no idea, the plan was New York, but maybe he’d gotten turned around, or thought Boston was the safer option, you weren’t sure.

As you drove into the city his voice rang around your skull.

“Bree, help! I’m in some sort of warehouse, it… it has a big green door, and I think I can hear seagulls, please, hurry!”

Seagulls, he must be near the harbour. You began to drive towards the water, following the road where you could and keeping an eye out for any buildings with green doors.

Eventually you ran out of unexplored area that connected to a street, so you parked the truck and decided to continue on foot.

You walked and walked, up and down little side streets and alley ways, down by the harbour itself and slightly inland, you walked until your feet screamed at you to stop.

You must have walked for close to 2 hours when something caught your eye.

You turned as a green door creaked open, inviting you in.

Without hesitation you moved towards it and peered inside.

“Bob?” You whispered. It was pitch black inside and you had to adjust your eyes as you edged in.

“Robby, are you here?” You said slightly louder, trying to make out any objects in the warehouse.

“Bree?” You heard a tired, surprised voice croak.

“Bob?” You whimpered, lurching towards his voice.

“No, Bree, stop! It’s a trap!” He croaked out with all of his might.

And the big green door closed behind you, submerging you in total darkness.

You stopped in your tracks and listened, panting and struggling to tune out the rush of blood in your ears.

“Bob.” You said. “Are they in here with you?”

“Bree, Bree help me! Help me! Help me you stupid little cow!” Bobs voice rang out, in your head this time, before a cackling laughter sprang from the corner of the dark room. You couldn’t see her, but you knew it was Gillian.

Bob stifled a sob, “Bree, I’m so sorry, it wasn’t me calling for you. They were luring you here because I wouldn’t.”

Your blood suddenly went cold. It wasn’t the fact that they lured you here, it wasn’t the fact that you’d fallen for a trap, but the fact that had they not lured you here, Bob would likely have died.

“The boy’s right, sweetie. And you know it probably would have been easier to just sacrifice him, I mean he was more than willing to take your place, but after you fucked me over and made me chase you, I figured… maybe it would be more fun this way.” Gillian giggled maniacally.

“Well you got what you wanted, I’m here! Let Bob go and you can have me.”

“No, no… that’s not what I meant. It would be more fun to have you both.”

Suddenly candles flickered to life across the room, and you had to shield your eyes from the sudden brightness.

When you lowered your hand you saw Bob tied to a load bearing beam in the middle of the room, his eyes were pleading for you to leave, to get out as fast as you could.

But you couldn’t, and not because of the fact that your aunts followers were standing around you in a circle, enclosing you and Bob, preventing you from getting to the door, but because there was no way you would leave Bob.

“Bob…” you said calmly, “I’m getting you out of here, okay?”

You weren’t sure how, but you knew you’d die trying.

——————————————

- Final Chapter Here -

[radicalrascals]

@etxrnaleclipse gets a monster of a drabble for he following prompt:

😈 (dark au's for any of your muses based in our universe!)

Gabriel lay awake in the cheap motel room bed, staring at the stained ceiling and asking himself: where had he gone wrong? How did it all spin out of his control? One moment he was Diego Alvarez. He was happy with Steven. It had been perfect. And then? Where had he gone wrong? Had it been just one simple decision which had cost him his happy ending?

If only he hadn't gone back to save the cop in the alley that night! He wouldn't have left his fingerprints all over the car, lost his epipen, held Steven at gunpoint, sent him to hospital in a selfish attempt to flee the scene.

If he hadn't gone back, everything would have been fine. He would be happy. He would be with Steven. If he hadn't gone back. If only he hadn't gone back...

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The day after the botched robbery, Felix arrived at work with an uneasy feeling. Sick to his stomach, unable to eat all morning, unable to shake the sense of foreboding, he'd been seeking council with the man he trusted the most. Yet all of his texts to Theo went unread. Sent into the limbo. Waiting. Foreshadowing.

He tried one last time when he entered the morgue, hearing a prompt vibration but not thinking to much about it. It was as if the analytical part of his brain had shut down completely, prolonging the painful revelation until the pathologist removed the cover from the dead body before him and almost choked on his shock.

Theo.

His Theo.

Felix was shaking all over, dropping his clipboard twice, unable to read the name for his tears clouded his vision.

It must've been an hour later, maybe two, that Steven and Evelyn made their way to the morgue and found Felix on the floor, as pale as his love, and catatonic. The two managed to talk the pathologist back into the realm of the living, urging him to seek professional help, which Felix agreed to, but only after he'd done one last thing;

He knew Nick was most likely to oblige without asking too many questions, so Felix sent him to Rafael's home before joining them. He didn't have to say a word, it was written all over his face, in his reddened eyes, the tragedy, the anguish, the loss.

Rafel went unwontedly, unbearably silent. Even in the following days, weeks, months, he barely spoke. All his words went onto paper as he threw himself into work, numbing his grief with it, and putting a strain on his marriage. Eventually Isabella and him recovered. Barely. But they recovered. And they would adopt Felix into their little family, keeping him close, at least for another year, before Felix' increasing recklessness and hunger for more and more extreme sports and thrills finally reunited him with his lost love.

Nick on the other hand felt incredibly sick. He held his stomach right where the knife had fatally wounded his twin, feeling as though he'd been cut open as well, and he needed to keep in that half of him which was violently torn from his very soul. As the months went by, emptiness was replaced with unfathomable wrath and the desire to bring those to justice which had taken his twin brother from him.

The man who had delivered the fatal blow fled the States, leaving behind his partner in crime who rejoiced in his preserved anonymity for a while, before the guilt got to him eventually. Only in Steven's arms could Gabriel find peace, only when he was Diego Alvarez, could he escape the horrors of that night. And soon he was to become Diego Carlisle. It was almost too perfect, and he deserved none of it.

And fate made sure that justice was served; it was just one mistake, one little mishap, but it was enough to get the ball rolling, until a week away from their wedding, Steven ripped off his mask and everything that Diego had, shattered in an instance. Gabriel fled across the border, wallowing in self-pity and guilt. Whearas Steven, without Gabriel trying to make it up to him, lost himself in work and eventually perished with it.

In Mexico, Gabriel and his once partner in crime reunited, shortly, only to become prey to a vengeful werewolf who'd been led on their trail by his brother and niece's relentless digging. Battered, bleeding, the two criminals waited for the final blow, when Ben managed to talk some sense into Nick at last.

But he wouldn't remain the only hunter trying to save the lives of those unworthy of saving. Carolina and Miguel Guerrero had been lying in wait to slay the beast which had been marked by the same beast that had killed their parents.

With all the blood and the badly beaten criminals, it didn't look all to good for Nick, and no matter the soothing words Ben tried to offer to calm the waves, a fight ensued no less. Leading Carolina to eventually slay the 'monster', whilst her brother made sure Ben would not interfere. They fought relentlessly. They fought dirty. And it only ended, when Miguel's knife was thrust in deep between Ben's ribs.

Ben died in Miguel's arms to the sound of the younger hunter's requiem of regret and weeping. When the police came, they would not only find the American criminals, but two lovers, reunited in death, holding hands; and then there was Miguel, waiting for them, demanding to be arrested for killing his friend. Willingly accepting to be torn away from his sister to repent for his crime.

If Gabriel hadn't gone back, nothing would've been fine.

~~~~~

Gabriel jerked awake from his nightmare, looking around him with a slight panic. How dare he even think it would've been better to let someone else die to keep his secret! No. The truth was painful, but it was an opportunity.

He wasn't a bad person. If only Steven could see that too.

[amyelevenn]

When Worlds Collide

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Chapter 1 of my series Glimmer in the Eye of the Curious

PAIRING; c!Technoblade x gn!reader

SUMMARY; the introduction 

WARNINGS/TAGS; graphic description of injury/violence

A/N; ahhhhhh first chapter!!! just wanted to get this out so people can get a feel for what this will be about :))) also if this sounds familiar its bc i rewrote one of my oneshots (christmas - sbi) bc i’m lazy so that’s why lol

2.4k words

In your opinion, running had never been a fun task. Whether it was in a race, or from a pursuer, it was never something you seemed to be able to enjoy. The ache of your legs, the burning of your lungs, the pounding of your heart almost as if begging to burst right out of your ribcage -- I mean, who could blame you?

But to you, running was especially invigorating when it was away from mobs. It always terrified you that they were out for your blood, and didn’t help when you had the occasional arrow whiz past your ear, 9/10 times barely nicking the skin and nothing more. At this point, you were surprised you still had ears from all the times you had encountered skeletons.

You understand that the whole point of being an isolationist was to stray from politics and remain as neutral as one can be and that with isolationism came living alone with no possible human contact, but the lack of life you had encountered was outstanding. You knew living in the middle of nowhere was a risk, but you hadn’t quite fully grasped just how far out you resided.

You just wanted to take an innocent stroll outdoors – it had been a nice, sunny day and you hadn’t gone outside in a while due to the recent poor weather – who could blame you? Turns out you had brought the wrong map, and since you didn’t know the area well, it was only a matter of time before you ended up lost. But, you persisted, determined to find your way home – and even after losing track of the time, even with what little weaponry you had and the sun sitting idly on the horizon, ready to turn in for the night.

You had been running for what felt like days, but in reality, would’ve only been a mere few hours, perhaps not even that. You didn’t allow yourself to stop, knowing that if you did you would be well and truly dead in a multitude of seconds. Considering you seemed to have journeyed right into mob-central, you couldn’t see a future where you did stop and made it out alive.

It also didn’t help that your ankle was gradually bleeding out from a creeper blast you gained less than an hour into your journey. With that same explosion, you’re pretty sure that your hearing got screwed up in one of your ears, which wasn’t exactly a part of your ideal scenario. Pure adrenaline was coursing through your veins, which helped you ignore the impending pain.

Your breathing was short, heavy and ragged – easily suffocated by your mask. Your intake of air was limited, not helping the need for immediate oxygen into your panting lungs. The mask covered your nose and mouth, making your face uncomfortably warm and undoubtedly red, cheeks more than flushed.

If you could of, you would have ditched it the second you realised you would be running the long game, but the damn clasp had been broken for so long now that it had just become the new norm. You needed to be stationary and concentrating to be able to get it off on a good day – so despite it ineffectively slowing you down, it would have to stay on for now.

Many – way too many – mobs were still hot on your tail, and it didn’t help that you were running right into a snowy forest. The trees seemed to cop most of the snowfall, but the foliage didn’t collect all of the white powder that managed to pile up to your shins, soaking your already ripped, singed and ruined pants.

You ducked as another arrow flew over your head, aimed straight for the back of your skull. You shuddered at the thought of it piercing through your bones, but kept up your unsteady pace. Weaving in and out of the trees proved much harder in the snow, but you were determined to not die in the middle of nowhere with no one to find you.

You are going to die here! and no one alive knows of your existence! Ha! How’s that for karma? Winding up dead against a tree with your flesh splayed across the ground in front of you. Being left to freeze and rot and be eaten by wild animals and--

You swallowed as that train of thought crashed and died, and almost as if right on cue, light flooded into your vision. Not just any light, no, but that of a torch; a beautiful sign of life. Human life. And you knew that human life could equal help.

Or death.

You felt your adrenaline peak, using what strength you had left to get to the light. It didn’t take long to be surrounded by trees lit by small torches, but you didn’t stop there. They seemed to be lighting a path, one that you didn’t hesitate to follow. Within mere paces, the sounds of your chasers dispersing met your ears, clearly not appealed at your sudden escape.

As the groans of displeasure quietened around you, you noticed yourself slowing down. You willed yourself forward, hyperaware of the fact that if you stopped here, you would more than likely die of hypothermia in the soft snowstorm. Ironic after the whole hours-long cat and mouse that the monsters wouldn’t even be the ones to deal the final killing blow.

The snow was much thinner on the man-made path, which made it so much easier to run through. You were more than grateful for whomever it was that carved the way, hoping to the gods above that they would be showered in their greatest desires. It sounded a bit extreme, but your emotions were working overtime, so who cared for an extra bit of gratitude?

You became aware of the torches thinning out ahead of you but soon realised that was because the forest ended here. Not long after, you were in the middle of a clearing, the moon now being your only source of light and direction. That is, apart from the glowing windows of the house not too far off in the distance.

You were more than ecstatic at the face of civilisation. Mustering what dwindling energy you had left, you trudged through the snow and to the cottage. The outside had a few lanterns at the base of the stairs leading to the patio, but the main source of illumination was from what appeared to be the kitchen window. You couldn’t see anyone behind them, but as you steadily approached, you could make out a faint voice echoing around the house.

Your ankle was starting to ache, the adrenaline wearing off, agony deciding to take its place.

You had made it halfway from where the forest line had broken and where the building was placed when you sensed that you weren’t alone any longer. And by sensed, you meant the fact that an arrow was sent flying mere millimetres past your arm, slicing your shirt but nothing deeper. You had gotten lucky for now, but you knew it wouldn’t last long. It never did in your case.

Just make it to the house, you thought.

Turning back for just a second, you got a glimpse of who was attempting to take your head; two skeletons and a creeper.

With the throbbing of your foot, you were now much slower than before. There wasn’t much you could do but turn and fight. Although, that wasn’t the smartest option either, considering you didn’t have a shield and the only weapon you had on hand was a mangled iron sword. It would have to do.

Taking a few quick deep breaths in a feeble attempt to calm your pounding heart rate, you turned to face the oncoming threats. The first arrow was easy enough to dodge, the second being the same. The third, however, is not so much. The tip managed to skim itself along the inside of your thigh, and it went in mildly deep. An involuntary grunt escaped your lips, loud enough to gain some attention.

With a new bloody hole in your pants, you swung your sword at the closest skeleton, slightly proud of yourself as you watched it turn to dust at your feet. But your victory was short-lived, the all too familiar hiss of a creeper way too close for comfort. Before you had time to register what was happening, you were being thrown away from your position, landing hard on your back.

Hard enough to knock the wind out of your lungs, leaving you spluttering and gasping. Hard enough to easily give you a concussion. Hard enough for something in your shoulder to crack, most likely a broken bone. Hard enough to somehow make you cough up blood, something you should be much more concerned about.

But you weren’t. You couldn’t bring yourself to be, the pain and agony being too fresh to be able to focus on anything else. A harsh wave of anguish washed over you from head to toe, sending unpleasant shivers over your whole body.

You couldn’t move, either. With the blood dripping from the slice along your thigh, your mangled ankle, heaving chest, pounding headache, what feels like a broken shoulder, and the cold snow pulling you under, you just couldn’t find it in yourself to get up and keep going.

At least this wouldn’t be the worst way to die. The snow falling from the sky blended in nicely with the stars, a wonderful blur of white painted across the inky night sky like a Monet portrait. A quiet sigh escaped your lips, and you let yourself close your eyes.

If only for a split second in real time, everything felt slow and sluggish in your head. You could’ve sworn you heard the beautiful sound of the last skeleton meeting its end, but it was most likely just a hallucination. Yet you forced your eyes to snap open again at the crunch of snow underneath the shoes of the person approaching you carefully.

The feeling of cold metal(?) against your throat was enough to keep you living for a little while longer. The tall figure above you blocked the moon and stars from your view, effectively masking themselves in the dark.

“I come in peace,” you mutter, your voice hoarse and unused, muffled by your mask. You weren’t even sure if they had heard you. “Please.” Your whole body was in agony, and you just wanted everything to be over. You were miserable.

If they walked away, you would be dead in under an hour. He couldn’t leave you here, it’d be on his conscience for months, possibly years. And also for the fact that you would most definitely die if he left. Totally not just because of the whole conscience thing.

The blade is taken from your neck, a small breath releasing from your chest you hadn’t realised you had been holding. They had heard you and was beginning to lift you from under the armpits to hoist you up.

“I'll help you,” he murmured softly, “but if you do anythin’ funny, I'll snap your neck an’ toss you out into the snow to freeze, got it?”

Crying out in the burst of pain pulsating through your shoulder at the sudden movement, you make an effort to nod so they know you understand. Your conscience was now ever-wavering, unforgivingly teetering between life and death like an unbalanced acrobat on a wobbly tight rope.

After blacking out for a little, the next thing you remember was calloused hands laying you down on a pillow next to a raging flame whilst scanning you up and down for any major injuries. To their surprise, they were greeted with many more than they had anticipated (and wanted). Five major injuries were what they counted, with heaps of smaller cuts and bruises. How you were still conscious – hell, still alive was beyond a miracle to them.

The same calloused hands began to work away at the wounds, trying their best to keep the blood in and keep the pain out, which proved to be a very difficult task. You barely managed to keep an exhausted and wary eye on them to make sure there wasn’t any funky business going on when it clicked that you recognised them from somewhere.

It was something to do with the pink hair pulled back into a messy braid that screamed a sense of familiarity to you, along with the white boar-ish mask (skull?) that adorned their face. The way they moved – so effortlessly graceful on their feet, practically prancing around the room you were placed in.

Yet none of that fully tipped you off as to how you knew your rescuer before now. No, what did it for you was how he would quietly mutter something to himself, but would almost try to be so quiet you wouldn’t hear.

“Technoblade?” you mumbled, disbelief pushing you to sit up on the wooden floor you had been lying on. Your mask was still pulled taught across your face, which you now realise had never felt more suffocating. Your heart was beating uncontrollably fast and loud in your ears, the thunderous rush enough to make your head spin.

He froze where he stood in the kitchen, but was quick to turn his front to you so he could protect himself if needed. His posture stiffens as he placed a hand on his sheathed sword, his face stony and eyes void of emotion behind his disguise.

“You know me?” he all but growls, a hard, unblinking gaze drilling holes into your head.

His tone was more than enough confirmation for you, along with the fact that he quite literally admitted to being your old pal. Well, more so didn’t not say it wasn’t him. You didn’t know how or even if you were able to process this new piece of information right now, being too busy trying to fight off the crashing waves of nausea washing over you.

Too afraid to use your voice (along with the added idea of vomiting all over his pristine rug and floors), you nod a quick few times. Even that made you feel even worse than you had before. Clasping your hand over your mask, your body began to give up on you. Your eyelids felt like lead; heavy and droopy, along with the rest of your limbs. Everything started shutting down, the whole night way too much for you too quickly.

Technoblade seems to notice your form failing itself, and sat next to your side in seconds. Unbuckling your mask with surprising ease, he coaxes a regeneration potion down your slack jaw and throat, immediately chasing it with that of a healing potion.

He’s also not overly fond of how his thoughts jump straight to how currently vulnerable you were, and the two different demands being screamed at him now.

[the-wild-wolves-around-you]

hear those bells ring: chapter 3 (a deaf!bakugo x reader fic)

Summary: Bakugo wakes up with his hearing and a bunch of questions.

Pairings: Katsuki Bakugo x Reader; Katsuki Bakugo x You

Rating: M(ature)

Warnings: Blood, descriptions of gore, and adult language.

A/N: Sorry for the wait on ch 3, I had to work over the weekend. Anyway, hope you enjoy! 

~*~*~ No spoilers or anything. This is just a self-indulgent AU fic with aged up characters. Everyone’s in their mid-20s. Fic title is from a song called “Achilles Come Down.”

Ao3 Link: Here

Ch 1 Tumblr Link: Here

Ch 2 Tumblr Link: Here

Bakugo woke up confused, disoriented, and pissed off. 

He bolted upright, the taste of smoke and ash still on his tongue, but when he whipped his head from side to side, there was no fire, no burning asphalt, no villain, only the empty, dark expanse of his apartment. 

But something was still tugging at him, fucking incessantly, and it took him a moment to realize it was his phone alarm. 

Red eyes flicked to the device on his bedside table, and even though its continuous siren was like nails on a chalkboard, Bakugo found himself unable to move, unable to stop it. 

Because he could hear the alarm. Clearly. Loudly. 

He hadn’t been able to hear his phone alarm in weeks, not really. It was nothing more than a muffled tone that petered out toward the end as it rose in pitch and frequency. Thankfully, Bakugo’s internal alarm got him up most days around the sun, but he’d been late to morning patrols a handful of times. 

But now… 

Numbly, Bakugo finally reached out and tapped his phone. His ears rang slightly in the ensuing silence, but it was barely perceptible, nothing like the perpetual buzzing he’d been living with, like a hive of bees had taken up residence in his head. 

The quiet, after so long, was almost… unsettling. 

And it was all because of that woman. He was sure of it. 

Bakugo pressed his lips into a thin line as he thought about you, the memories of last night flooding back. The blurry image of your face, crouched over him, splattered in a thin mist of red blood and dusted with white plaster. He couldn’t remember much from right after he blasted that villain into the fucking dirt. He remembered the feel of glass breaking around him, and pain, a lot of fucking pain, but then it was black until you appeared. When he’d opened his eyes and met yours, he recalled thinking he should be in more pain, but then you spoke to him and derailed all coherent thought. 

Because he’d heard you. Clear as fucking day. 

That immediately drew his attention, and so did the blood all over your hands. 

There was a lot of it. Way too fucking much for nicking yourself on some glass or whatever bullshit excuse you gave. And Bakugo knew it was bullshit. You weren’t a convincing liar. Well, maybe to some idiot extras you would be, but not to him. He clocked the way you stuttered, the way you fidgeted and averted your eyes. And when you looked at him… fuck, your face was so goddamn guilty. 

Why, he had no idea. 

But he did know one thing. 

You had a healing quirk. There was no other explanation. 

Even if he hadn’t just miraculously recovered the hearing that a doctor told him he would never get back, there were a lot of other little discrepancies. His left arm, for one. Bakugo remembered how it felt when the villain’s asphalt wrapped around his limb, the burning, scalding agony of it. But now, the skin was just pink and barely blistered in some places. 

Then there was the blood. 

When he’d gotten home after ditching the crime scene, Bakugo had immediately beelined for his bathroom to take a shower. But, when he stripped off his hoodie, he realized it was heavier than it should be right before he noticed it was dripping onto his floor. Dripping blood. Without thinking, he’d wrung the hoodie out on the bathroom floor, and a fuck ton of red liquid seeped out of it. 

He had immediately dropped the jacket and started scanning his body in the bathroom mirror, but besides the shallow gash on his abdomen, the burned arm, and a few other minor scrapes and bruises, he was uninjured. 

But… his back was coated in red, and so were the seat of his dark jeans and boxer briefs. It was almost like… he’d been lying in a pool of blood. 

So, you had to be a healer. You just had to be. 

Unfortunately, he hadn’t been able to confirm this since the cops had been circling you like vultures. He also hadn’t wanted to be bitched at by any more heroes, or the fucking media, so he made himself scarce. 

But he needed to see you again. Needed to hear the truth from your own mouth. 

And maybe he could coax you into a deal. 

The doctor Bakugo spoke to yesterday obviously hadn’t known what the hell he was talking about. He had made it sound impossible to fix the blond’s ears, and yet you’d somehow done it easily, in the middle of a fucking battlefield. 

With that kind of power, Bakugo wouldn’t have to worry about going deaf or designing stupid hearing aids with some company. 

With that kind of power, Dynamight would become Japan’s Number One Hero in no time. 

But first, he had to find you. 

Resolved, Bakugo shoved the covers off and slid out of bed, but before he could make it to his bathroom, someone started knocking on his front door. 

No, not knocking. Banging. It sounded like they were trying to break the fucking door down. 

“Bakubroooooooo!” 

“Gotta be fuckin’ kidding me,” Bakugo grumbled as he padded to his front door. He was only dressed in boxer briefs, but that’s what the idiot got for barging over so early in the damn morning. 

The banging persisted, growing louder and more fervent. 

“I’m fuckin’ comin!” the blond shouted just before he undid the deadbolt and wrenched open the door. 

Eijiro Kirishima, dressed in his Red Riot costume, blinked on the other side of the threshold, his fist still raised to knock. 

“What the fuck, bro?” he asked after a moment of just staring at Bakugo. 

The blond immediately scowled. “That’s my fuckin’ line. What are you doing breaking down my door at six in the damn morning?” 

“Excuse me?” his patrol and agency partner scoffed. “I’m obviously coming to check that you’re not dead since you’ve been MIA for over twenty-four hours.” 

“What?” Bakugo frowned. “I saw you yesterday morning for patrol.” 

“Noooooo,” Kirishima drawled like Bakugo was a particularly stupid child. “That was two days ago, bro. Then that night, I see you all over the damn news, and no one could get ahold of you all day yesterday. I would have come to check on you sooner, but I’ve been having to play damage control with the media because someone decided to blow up a residential neighborhood.” 

“Two days?” Bakugo echoed with a furrowed brow. He’d slept that long? 

“Have you been passed out this whole time, dude?” Kirishima groaned as he shouldered his way into the apartment. “I guess that means you got none of our messages?” 

“Our?” the blond grumbled as he closed the door and followed the redhead to the kitchen bar. 

“Yeah, Denki, Mina, Sero.” Kirishima waved his hand dismissively, marching over to the counter where Bakugo kept the fruit and selecting an apple from the wire basket. “I even asked Izuku to message you, just to see if he’d actually get a rise and response from you.” 

“I don’t need stupid Deku knowing about my problems, Shitty Hair,” Bakugo growled before he stomped over to his fridge to see what he had to eat because he was suddenly starving. 

“Well, that would imply I know your problems, Oh Great Lord Dynamight,” Kirishima snorted and took a bite of apple. “So, what the fuck happened the other night?” 

“I blew up a residential neighborhood,” the blond deadpanned as he turned on his stove, cracking a few eggs into a skillet. 

“Yeah, I saw that. I was more wondering about what led up to it.” 

“What the fuck do you think led up to it?” Bakugo snapped, rummaging through his cupboard for seasonings. “I was walking home from getting a drink, and a damn villain just popped up in front of me.” 

“From what I heard, there were other heroes there, too,” the redhead mumbled around another bite of apple. 

“Yeah, fuckin’ useless extras,” Bakugo sneered as he started to whisk his eggs with a pair of chopsticks, throwing in some leftover white rice and a bit of nori. “They obviously weren’t getting anywhere, and the bastard was tearing up the street, so I stepped in.” 

“To finish destroying the street?” Kirishima cocked an eyebrow, chewing noisily. 

“Fuck off,” the blond said with an eyeroll. 

Internally, though, Bakugo knew the redhead was right. He’d been sloppy, careless, probably still borderline drunk. But he’d just been so angry about the doctor’s appointment, his fucked-up ears, his bleak and silent future. He had just wanted to break something, hurt someone, consequences be damned. 

Except now the consequences were catching up to him. 

Fuck, he didn’t even want to think about what his citizen’s approval rating must be now. 

Silence stretched between the two pro heroes for several long minutes, in which Bakugo finished making his breakfast and Kirishima finished gnawing on his apple core. The blond quickly shoveled a few bites of eggs and rice into his mouth, but his scarlet eyes kept flicking over to the redhead. 

“How bad?” he finally asked. 

Kirishima, to his credit, had learned how to translate Bakugo’s curt grunts years ago. 

“Actually, if I’m being honest, it’s not that bad,” he sighed, tossing the apple core in the trash and scratching at the back of his head. “Could be worse. From the reports I read, most of the damage—besides the road—is superficial. Broken windows, charred and peeling paint, a few busted cars that we’re still trying to figure out if our insurance or the city’s will pay for. It also helped that you saved two people. That definitely softened the blow.” 

“Two?” Bakugo mumbled around one of his last bites. “I just remember the stupid extra on the street that I shoved out of the way.” 

As the memory flashed through his mind, Bakugo frowned. He’d shoved that extra out of the way and got snatched by a giant asphalt hand for his troubles. The blond’s red eyes dropped to his pink and blotchy left arm and then trailed over to his chest. He recalled the sensation of his ribs snapping under pressure, but now only a mild soreness lingered after he took a deep breath. Yet another inconsistency… 

“Yeah, two,” Kirishima said and drew Bakugo out of his thoughts. “Do you seriously not even remember your own heroics? And that girl had such nice things to say about you, too.” 

“Girl?” Bakugo snapped his head up. “The girl whose… apartment I fell into?” 

“Crashed into, dude,” the redhead snorted, but then he narrowed his eyes as a sly smirk tugged at his lips. “But yeah. Sounds like you remember her, huh?” 

Bakugo didn’t like the smug look on his friend’s face. 

“I remember her fuckin’ yellin’ at me.” The blond scowled. “Like I wrecked her place on purpose and didn’t just save her whole block from a lunatic.” 

“I mean, to be fair, if you crashed into my house, bro, I would have yelled at you, too.” Kirishima grinned. “But don’t worry, she’s fine. In fact, when she called the agency yesterday, she asked for you specifically.” 

“She did? Why?” Did she want to confess her healing quirk? Fuck, were there side effects Bakugo didn’t know about? 

“Bro, seriously.” Kirishima rolled his eyes. “You’re Japan’s Number Two Hero, and you saved her life. And, like Mina keeps telling you, you’re not as ugly when you stop scowling.” 

“Shut the fuck up.” Bakugo flipped him off before he went to dump the dishes in the sink. 

“Yes, dear.” The redhead smirked. “But, in all seriousness, she called to figure out how to file a claim with our insurance. Or at least that’s what she said, but she also asked how you were doing, and she actually sounded genuinely worried.” 

Worried that a random side effect was going to kill him? Or worried that he would say something about her quirk? She’d obviously hidden it for a reason, tried to lie for a reason. 

And Bakugo was determined to find out just what that reason was. 

“Yeah, well, I’m fine,” he grunted as he rinsed off his plate and put it on the drying rack. “Just a few scrapes and bruises.” 

“I can see that,” Kirishima said as he eyed the butterfly stitches stretched across the gash on Bakugo’s abdomen. “Well, I’m glad I didn’t find you dead in a pool of your own blood. That woulda been a real bummer way to start the morning.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Bakugo muttered before he averted his eyes to the living room window across from him. “So… what did you tell her?” 

“The girl?” 

“No, you’re fuckin’ mom,” the blond scoffed. 

“Oh, speaking of moms, you might want to text Mitsuki. I called her last night after you ignored my billionth text, so she’s probably going crazy wondering where you are.” Kirishima grinned and then immediately dodged out of the way as Bakugo hurled a fork at him. 

“You bastard!” Bakugo hissed. “Now, I’m going to have to see that hag this weekend or she’s gonna fuckin’ barge over here.” 

“Maybe you should turn the ringer up on your phone.” The other hero shrugged, ducking again when Bakugo chucked an apple in his direction. 

The blond scowled at his friend, but he didn’t reply. 

If you and your quirk were the real deal, Bakugo wouldn’t have to worry about missing a call ever again. 

When Kirishima realized the projectiles had stopped, he popped his head over the back of the couch and smirked. “But to answer your previous question, I told the girl we would handle the insurance claim on our end if she sent us her info. And I didn’t really have anything to tell her about you since, like I’ve said, I thought you were dead. Kinda. I was at least thirty percent sure.” 

“Have you filed the insurance claim?” Bakugo asked. 

“No.” Kirishima shook his head. “She hasn’t sent in the info yet.” 

“Well… we should go get it from her.” 

This caused the redhead’s eyebrows to shoot up into his hairline, and the surprise on his face quickly made Bakugo backtrack. 

“I just… want to get this shitshow over with,” he grumbled as he averted his eyes again, but he could feel a traitorous heat crawling across the bridge of his nose. “The longer her apartment’s all fucked up, the longer the press is gonna rake me over the coals. The hero ranking’s aren’t far off, and I’m not going to lose to Deku again over some stupid broken windows.” 

“Righttttt,” Kirishima drawled, but his tone was mocking. “Okay, well, I know the hotel the police have set her up at. After we swing by the agency, we can head that way… to get her insurance info.” 

He still sounded unconvinced and like he wanted to needle Bakugo more, but the blond changed the subject quickly. 

“Why do we have to go to the agency?” Bakugo asked, and he frowned as he glanced back at his partner. “Even if I lost yesterday, my next scheduled patrol isn’t till tonight.” 

“Oh, I know.” Kirishima nodded solemnly. “But Nao wanted to have… a word with you ASAP, if I confirmed you weren’t dead.” 

“Fuckkkkkkk,” Bakugo groaned as he dropped his head back. If there was anything Bakugo hated more than the press, it was his actual PR manager. That old hag was good at her job, which meant she was always up Bakugo’s ass about something, and he knew she was going to have a field day with this shitfest. 

“Yeah, I’d recommend coffee and preemptive painkillers before we head in,” Kirishima said. “Plus, some putting on clothes. Maybe we can stop on the way and get her something sweet as a bribe.” 

“No amount of sugar is gonna make that bitch nice to me,” Bakugo grumbled before he spun on heel and started marching to his bedroom. 

“Maybe flowers then?” the redhead shouted after him. 

Bakugo slammed the door in response. 

~*~*~*~*~*~ 

“This is fuckin’ ridiculous,” Bakugo growled around his cargo, kicking his foot out at Kirishima. “Why did I listen to you? I’ve had to go shopping twice today now.” 

“Come on,” his friend laughed as he dodged the blow, which made the bags in his arms crinkle. “You can’t deny the flowers and cookies sweetened ole’ Nao up.” 

“To you,” Bakugo muttered, shifting the package in his arms a bit. “She still yelled at me for fifteen minutes.” 

“Well, you kinda deserved i—yow!” Kirishima yelped as Bakugo kicked him squarely in the ass this time. “This isn’t helping your image, bro!” 

“No one even knows it’s us,” the blond hissed. 

“Yeah, I guess the hoodies and sunglasses help,” the other pro hero mused. 

“And the fact that we’re carrying all this stupid shit.” 

“It’s not stupid.” Kirishima frowned in that earnest way of his, which made Bakugo roll his eyes. “It’s thoughtful to bring gifts to people who are having a difficult time. Especially when you made that time difficult. You basically kicked her out of her house, dude, not to mention her shop.” 

A wave of guilt actually washed through the blond, which he didn’t like. It made his throat feel tight and his stomach churn, and he glanced away from the redhead with a scowl. 

“Tch.” He clicked his tongue. “It’s not like we aren’t gonna pay for it.” 

The excuse felt flat, even to him. 

“Still,” Kirishima said as he shifted the bags in his grip, pulled out his phone, and consulted the map. “It must be stressful. So, we’re going to be nice to her, alright? Which starts with the gifts.” 

“And how is a fuckin’ fruit basket supposed to help?” Bakugo asked as he glared around the overflowing mound of crinkling plastic and bright fruit that he held against his chest. 

“Uh, one, it’s practical. Her apartment’s all fucked up, the power’s probably still out if not inconsistent on the street, and she’s been living in a hotel for two days, so she probably hasn’t had some nice fresh fruit in a while. And two, it looks nice!” 

“We coulda just left this shit at the hotel,” Bakugo grumbled. “She has to go back there eventually, right?” 

After old Nao chewed his ass out, Bakugo and Kirishima had gone to the hotel the police said they’d put you up in. Except you weren’t fucking there, and the number you left with Kirishima when you called the agency was going straight to voicemail, so here there were, fucking trekking through the city with a bunch of useless shit. 

Bakugo just kept reminding himself it would be worth it when he got the truth about your quirk out of you. 

“Nope,” Kirishima said and drew the blond out of his thoughts. “The city only pays the first two days after an emergency, unless the villain caused all the damage, but, uh, that’s not the case here, so we’ll be accommodating her until her apartment gets fixed up.” 

“At the agency?” Bakugo asked as his red eyes clicked over to his partner. 

As the Number Two and Three Heroes, the two of them had built a solid agency together. Bakugo still didn’t care for a bunch of extras riding on his tailcoats, so they had few sidekicks, all of whom reported to Kirishima and left him the fuck alone for the most part. But they owned a nice, sleek building in a nicer part of town, and one of the floors was dedicated to individual rooms with beds and other amenities. They were usually used when Bakugo, Kirishima, or the other sidekicks wanted to crash after patrol instead of going home—which Bakugo did more often than not—but they’d never had a civilian stay on the premises. 

Until now. 

“Yessssss, at the agency,” the redhead drawled as a shit-eating smirk crawled across his face. “So, you’ll be seeing a lot of her for the next couple weeks.” 

“Wipe that stupid look off your face.” Bakugo scowled and shouldered past the other hero, who snickered as he jogged to catch up. 

“Take the next left up ahead.” 

“Shut up!” the blond growled, but he followed the instructions. 

This was good news, though. Bakugo wouldn’t have to trek to this shitty part of town more than he had to. 

And he’d have a healer just down the hall. 

They marched along in silence for a few minutes, keeping their heads down, but there wasn’t much foot traffic. Bakugo was lost in his thoughts, planning out the questions he was going to ask you once he could distract Kirishima, but the redhead suddenly stopped in front of him. 

“Hey,” Bakugo grunted as the fruit basket crinkled against the other hero’s back. He hadn’t even notice Kiri get in front of him again. “What’s the damn hold up?” 

“Holy shit, dude,” Kirishima muttered, staring out at the road he’d just turned onto. 

“What?” the blond grumbled, shoving past his friend, but then he stopped, too. “Oh… yeah.” 

The street in front of him looked much worse in the bright light of midday. The road was a torn-up mess, more patches of dirt and gravel than actual asphalt. Most of the large-scale debris had been hauled away, but black scorch marks covered the sidewalks in long, dark smears. The walls of several businesses also bore charring along the facades, but most of the damage was focused in the center of the street. A crater nearly six feet deep was carved into the middle of the road, and the buildings on either side were blackened, their broken windows gaping voids. 

And then there was the hole in what Bakugo remembered as your second-floor apartment. A tarp hung over the wound, but one of the corners had come undone, flapping in the wind and giving split second glimpses into the darkened room beyond. 

Guilt crept up on him again, but Bakugo shoved it down, hunching over the fruit basket and nudging Kirishima. 

“Come on,” he muttered before he started moving forward, and a moment later he heard the crunch of boots on gravel as the redhead followed him. 

There were more people on this street than on the last several, but Bakugo could immediately tell they weren’t customers just passing through. People swept sidewalks, clearing away the last of the rubble and glass in front of their shops. Then a few old ladies stood under one awning shaking their heads, their hands laden with containers of food or gifts. 

Guess Kirishima hadn’t been wrong with this stupid idea. 

Then Bakugo realized some of those people were starting to look back at him, so he ducked his head further behind the fruit basket, grateful for his hoodie and sunglasses. 

But then suddenly he was there, standing in front of your ruined shop. His red eyes immediately flickered upward, but if there was a sign there before, it was gone now, burnt to ash. 

“What kinda shop did you say this was?” the blond asked under his breath as Kirishima paused beside him. 

“I’m… not sure,” the redhead said with a furrowed brow. “I don’t think she said on the phone. No time like the present to ask, though.” 

Before Bakugo could stop him, Kirishima shifted the bags in his arms, lifted one hand, and knocked on the charred metal frame of the front door. 

“Hello?” he called through the broken windows, followed by your name. “Anyone in there?” 

“Shit!” The squeaking voice was followed by a crashing sound somewhere in the shadows of the store. 

Bakugo didn’t speak a lot of English, but he did know curse words, and the sound of it made his lips twitch in amusement. 

“Are you okay?” Kirishima called out. “Can, uh, we come in?” 

“Yes, I’m fine!” the voice answered back in flustered Japanese. The words were fluent, though, with barely the hint of an accent. “And, um, I-I guess you can come in, but—” 

That was good enough for Bakugo. 

The blond shouldered past his partner, boots crunching over glass as he ducked into the darkened shop, and Kirishima sighed as he followed. 

The interior, if possible, looked worse than the outside. The room itself wasn’t very big, but it was a mess. Two metal rods had been embedded in the left and right walls at odd angles, obviously caused from the explosions, though Bakugo couldn’t tell what they used to be. Several pieces of blacked mannequins were scattered through the debris, and one wall was a charred mess of shelving and fabric, spots of color peeking through the black ash here and there. 

In the back, left corner were the remains of a tri-fold standing mirror, the ones where you could see yourself from different angles. Large shards of glass were missing, though, so the image of Bakugo and Kirishima standing backlit against the street was fractured. 

Last but not least, in the rear, right corner of the store was a counter that was half collapsed to the floor, behind which stood an empty doorframe that Bakugo assumed led to the back of the shop and upstairs. 

And it was from behind this broken counter that you popped up with a dustpan in one hand and a tiny, handheld broom in the other. 

The first thought Bakugo had was your face was rather plain… but in a somehow pleasing way. Like if his eyes had scanned over you in a crowd, something about the line of your jaw, the slope of your nose, the delicate quirk of your mouth would give him pause. 

His second thought was that his first one was stupid. You were just some extra, of course you would be plain and unmemorable. 

But his third thought was something about the color of your eyes was captivating, in a way that was damn fucking annoying. 

“Sorry, I was just… cleaning… up,” you said, slowly trailing off as your eyes met Bakugo’s. 

He saw the recognition flare in them immediately, followed by fear, and he couldn’t help the frown that twisted his face. 

Why were you afraid of him? 

“No, we’re sorry for barging in here like this,” Kirishima barreled on, oblivious to the stare off the other two occupants of the room were engaged in. “Didn’t mean to startle you. Oh! I’m being so rude. My name is Eijiro Kirishima, or you might know me as—” 

“Red Riot,” you breathed, finally tearing your eyes from Bakugo’s, and you flashed the redhead a half-smile that trembled along the edges. “We spoke on the phone.” 

“Yes.” Kirishima grinned, pointed teeth flashing in the dim light of the shop, before his gaze flickered over to the blond beside him. “And this is—” 

“Dynamight,” you finished once again, and you looked like you were trying desperately to maintain eye contact with the hardening hero, but then your eyes clicked back to Bakugo. You didn’t flash him a smile. “We’ve met.” 

“Oh, yeah, right,” Kiri chuckled awkwardly, and his arm jerked like he was going to rub the back of his neck, but the bags in his hands crinkled and stopped him. 

“What… do you have there?” you asked, frowning at the bags and the fruit basket the heroes were carrying. 

“Gifts!” the redhead declared as he hefted his arms up, and then he shuffled forward over charred fabric and glass and extended the bags to you. 

You blinked at him for a second, but you set the dustpan and handheld broom on the counter, where they promptly slid to the floor since the whole surface was slanted. You winced at the loud clatter and tried to cover it up by taking the bags from Kirishima, which crinkled loudly again as they transferred hands. 

Bakugo would be annoyed if he wasn’t more grateful that he could actually hear the innocuous little noise. 

“O-Oh, um, you shouldn’t have, really,” you started as you peeked into the bags, and then Bakugo swore he saw your eyebrow twitch once you saw what was inside. 

“It’s not much,” Kirishima said, and he was finally free to rub the back of his head and neck as his smile turned a little sheepish. “But, what with the state of your… apartment, we thought you might need some new clothes! And comfy clothes are the best after stressful days. These especially are super soft, we made sure of it. And, if you don’t like them, you could always sell them for a good chunk of change.” 

The redhead winked at you, not in an overly flirty manner, that was just how he was, but your cheeks flared as crimson as his hair, and your eyes dropped to the floor. 

Bakugo took the split instant to get a better look at you and noted you were wearing patched, faded jeans, solid boots, and a bleach-stained orange sweatshirt with some English writing he couldn’t read. Usually, he didn’t really see what other people wore because he couldn’t give less of a shit, but somehow he found your obvious cleaning clothes… endearing. The orange looked good on you, too. 

Fuck, maybe you didn’t heal him as well as he thought. He had to be hemorrhaging into his brain to be thinking this stupid shit. Or maybe it was a side effect of your quirk? 

He needed to get you alone and get answers. 

“Well… thank you, this was very thoughtf—oh, wow, that is soft,” you murmured as you partially drew a sweatshirt out of the bag. 

Bakugo instantly recognized the forest green and orange color scheme, and apparently so did you, because your face twitched, and you dropped the garment back into the bag and traded it for fuzzy socks with Red Riot’s signature gears stitched into them. 

“These will definitely come in handy, my feet are always cold,” you said with an awkward giggle. Then you cleared your throat to cover up the sound. “Thank you, um, Red Riot.” 

“You can call me Eijiro, or Kirishima, whatever you’re comfortable with,” the redhead said with another easy grin. “We’re going to be seeing a lot of each other, after all. Oh! We also got you a fruit basket, and I think there might be a few other sweets tucked in there.” 

Kirishima nudged Bakugo forward, and your face rippled through a range of emotions, like your brain was taking a second to catch up to everything the pro hero just spewed. First, flustered embarrassment colored your cheeks, then confusion buckled your brow, and your eyes widened before they looked at the fruit basket Bakugo was extending at you. 

“Oh, you can just put it down… um…” you trailed off as you turned to the counter and remembered it was half destroyed. Then your eyes jumped around frantically for some kind of flat surface, but the ruined shop didn’t offer any solutions. 

“Told ya we shouldn’t of brought this shit,” Bakugo grunted, shooting a scowl at Kirishima. 

“Yeahhhhh, we probably could have just delivered it to your room at the agency, my bad,” the redhead laughed. “But don’t worry, we’ll carry it back for you, along with any of your other things.” 

“My… things?” you echoed, sounding out the words like a child, and a frown marred your face. “I-I think I must be misunderstanding you, I’m sorry, I’m American. But did you say my room at the agency? As in… your hero agency?” 

“You’re American?” Kirishima asked with wide red eyes. “I wouldn’t have even guessed! Your accent is almost perfect, I thought you were maybe just from like the countryside or something.” 

“I thought you said we were supposed to be nice to her,” Bakugo snorted at his partner like you weren’t in the room, and he saw you frown at him out of the corner of his eye. 

“Oh, shit, no, that wasn’t what I meant!” Japan’s Number Three Hero immediately began waving his hands in front of his face, his mouth moving twice as fast. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude. I really think your accent sounds nice! It’s very cute!” 

Now, not only did your cheeks flush again, but the red hue traveled down your throat and across your collarbones, peeking out the stretched collar of your orange sweatshirt. 

Bakugo found himself half distracted by the sight, but the other half was wondering why he suddenly felt irritation flare up in his gut. 

“Okay, you don’t have to take her out on a date now,” the blond snapped, shifting his burden of fruit and plastic. 

“I-I think we might have gotten off track,” you stuttered as you clutched the bag of Dynamight and Red Riot merch to your chest. “You said something about your agency.” 

“Yes, right.” Kirishima cleared his throat. “We would have mentioned this in our follow up email after you sent in your insurance info, but—” 

“Oh, no, I’m so sorry!” you cut him off with a grimace, and you actually dipped your head and shoulders into a bow. “I meant to send that yesterday, but my laptop is broken, and my cell service isn’t great—” 

“No, no, it’s fine!” the redhead interrupted this time. “You obviously have a lot on your plate. I just meant that this might seem kind of sudden, but—” 

Fucking hell, this was taking too long. 

“You’re staying at our agency until we can pay for the repairs to your apartment and shop,” Bakugo said bluntly. If he didn’t step in, the two of you were just going to stammer circles around each other all day. “Starting tonight. We have rooms with beds and shit, so pack whatever clothes or crap you need.” 

Your mouth fell open as you gaped at Bakugo. “I… what?” 

“You deaf or something?” The words rocketed from his mouth before he could stop them, before he could even think about what he was saying, and he saw the way the question struck you like a physical blow. You flinched, your cheeks paling, and he saw dawning, guilty horror glint at the back of your eyes. 

He’d been right. You did do something to his ears. 

“Bro, you were just talking about being nice.” Kirishima frowned at Bakugo before he turned back to you. “Ignore him. We’re really sorry about the inconvenience this whole… incident has caused for you, but we’ll take care of everything you need until your shop’s grand reopening, so you don’t have to worry about a thing, okay?” 

You continued to stare at the two heroes in shocked silence, your wide eyes clicking back and forth between the two of them as you clutched the bags to your chest like a lifeline. 

“That is… all so generous,” you finally breathed, your tone rising in pitch like you were growing increasingly flustered. “It’s, um, a lot to take in.” 

“Of course.” Kirishima nodded fervently. “What else can we do to help?” 

“Could you leave?” 

Bakugo blinked in surprise and then had to stifle his snort. 

“Oh, no, I’m sorry!” you quickly followed up when you saw the redhead’s falling expression. “I didn’t mean… I just meant, could I have some time to process this? Um, alone? L-Like Dynamight said, I need to pack a few things, a-and there are some people I need to speak to before, uh… well, is it okay if I tell someone where I’ll be? Like, at your agency?” 

“Yessss?” Kirishima said with a confused frown. “Why wouldn’t that be okay?” 

“O-Oh, I just don’t really know how the whole hero and media thing works here,” you quickly lied, and Bakugo clocked the way you averted your eyes, the way your throat bobbed as you swallowed thickly. “I-I wasn’t going to post on social media or anything, I barely use that stuff anyway, but one of my customers, Mrs. Kojima, would be upset if I disappeared without saying anything.” 

“Aww, that’s sweet.” The redhead grinned before he glanced at the shadowed ruins around him. “What kind of shop is this by the way? I don’t think you mentioned.” 

“A-Alterations,” you said, ducking your face in embarrassment again. “My grandparents were a tailor and seamstress. I inherited this place from them.” 

“I thought you said you were American?” Kirishima asked, but not in an accusatory way. He was just too curious for his own good and didn’t possess much of a filter. 

Bakugo usually didn’t care for small talk, fucking waste of time if you asked him, but he found himself focusing intently on you, awaiting a response. 

“I am.” You nodded. “My parents were both born here, but they moved to the States after they married, and I was born there. After my grandparents passed, my dad was going to sell the shop, but I was looking for something… new, so I decided to move here instead about a year ago.” 

Bakugo pursed his lips at this new information. If you had a healing quirk, why were you patching up clothes in some little shop all the way across the world from your surviving family? Could it be because your quirk was dangerous? 

“Wow, that’s cool,” Kirishima said with an impressed expression that quickly turned sheepish. “Except about your grandparent’s passing. My condolences.” 

“Thank you,” you muttered, a small smile tugging at your lips, but then you quickly shook your head. “I-I’m sorry, didn’t mean to give you my whole life story, I tend to talk when I’m nervous.” 

“You don’t have to be nervous,” Red Riot laughed like he did when he was meeting shy little kids on the street, flashing his sharpened teeth jokingly and winking in an overexaggerated fashion. “I promise, we look scarier than we are.” 

“Speak for yourself, Shitty Hair,” Bakugo scoffed, which made you jump, like you’d forgotten he was there. 

And that rubbed him the wrong way for some reason. 

Kirishima merely smirked before he partially covered his mouth with his hand and lowered his voice into a stage whisper directed at you. “All bark, no bite, I’m telling you.” 

“Stop making me seem lame, you bastard!” the blond growled, but the effect was kind of ruined by the fruit basket crinkling in his hands again. 

This actually seemed to startle a giggle out of you, and the two heroes whipped around, one with a grin and the other a scowl. 

“See, you don’t need to be nervous,” Kirishima said before he slung an arm around Bakugo’s shoulders. “But we’ll get out of your hair for now so you can have some time to pack and everything. Don’t worry about picking up too much, though, we’ll have cleaning crews in here before we start the remodel, and we don’t want you to get hurt in here. If there’s stuff up in your apartment that you don’t want to bring with you to the agency but don’t want thrown out, make a list, and we’ll be sure to keep everything safe.” 

“O-Okay,” you said, still standing there with the hero merch clenched to your chest and a dumbstruck expression on your face. “T-Thank you again, Red--, erm, Kirishima.” 

“Of course!” He grinned. “I have patrol tonight, but we’ll send a car to pick you up—” 

“No,” Bakugo cut in as he locked eyes with you. “I’ll pick you up. What time?” 

The blond could see Kirishima shoot him a look in his peripherals—probably because they both had patrol tonight—but Bakugo ignored his partner, maintaining eye contact with you. 

You, meanwhile, squirmed under the explosive hero’s intense scrutiny, your face paling and flushing in turns. “I… no, you don’t have to do that, I can take the train—” 

“I insist,” he interrupted again, narrowing his eyes so you would realize he wasn’t going to back down. “Like Shitty Hair said, we caused this… inconvenience, so I’ll pick you up. What. Time?” 

You swallowed thickly, your throat audibly clicking. “S-Seven?” 

“I’ll be here at seven sharp,” Bakugo said. “And you better be out front or at least answer your phone this time.” 

You better not run, he didn’t say, but by the look on your face, you understood. 

“Seven sharp.” You nodded, biting your lip as a resigned expression settled over your features. “Got it.” 

“Great. See you then.” 

With that, Bakugo turned on heel and crunched his way out of your store, leaving Kirishima stuttering apologies in his wake. 

But that didn’t matter. 

All that mattered was, tonight, he’d finally get you alone and get to the bottom of your damn quirk.

[itsjustmyfantasyroom]

Unlikely Lovers Chapter Two

It was been so much fun writing this series with @beccabarba​ . Thank you for putting up with my bad grammar and horrible spelling mistakes just to be thirsty with me over this amazing man.

Master List

Warnings: Slightly cranky Nick, Smut: Male receiving.

WC:  2713

Enjoy x

Neither of you were back at work until Monday morning, and you made the most of not working the weekend. Not much sleep was had on Saturday night, as you explored each other’s bodies, revelled in the sweet relief of finally acknowledging how you felt about each other. Nick eventually left your place on Sunday afternoon, with lingering kisses on the doorstep. Both of you were well aware that this wasn’t just a friends-with-benefits hook up, although neither of you were quite ready to admit to any deeper emotions yet. But you ended up messaging most of the evening too.

All of which made seeing him on Monday morning, in the bullpen of the 16th precinct, where you’d seen him so many times before, seem very surreal. He was already there when you arrived, getting his typical early start. He was standing at his desk, in a burgundy shirt and dark suit pants, his thumbs hooked in his belt as he teased Amanda about her taste in movies.

“I can’t help it if y’all are cowards,” Amanda was saying, as you approached. She leaned back in her chair and grinned at you. “Morning, Y/N, Nick was just telling me you couldn’t make it through the movie.” She shook her head good naturedly. “Cops who can deal with a crime scene but not a few zombies…”

You narrowed your eyes at her. “Next time, I’ll pick the movie,” you retorted, looking at her but refusing to meet Nick’s eyes. You didn’t trust yourself to look at him, especially while your movie night was the topic of conversation.

“What’s it gonna be, Dirty Dancing or something?” Amanda smirked.

“Maybe. I haven’t decided yet,” you retorted, going to sit at your desk. If Amanda had noticed that you’d not so much as greeted Nick, she didn’t say anything.

After you’d checked your emails, you watched Amanda get up from her desk to make a call on her personal phone, rolling her eyes as she walked towards the exit. You glanced across at Nick, but he was reading a paper file on his desk and didn’t look up. Probably just as well, since you had no idea how to talk to him in this setting, everything had changed. It was exciting, but it was unnerving too. A pang of nerves hit you in the gut: what if being around you at work made him change his mind? What if the reality of this was too much for him – or for you? What if he wasn’t sure, and just looking for comfort? He’d not dated much since his divorce, after all, and you were an unlikely pairing. Was that why he wasn’t acknowledging you now?

To calm your nerves, and take the edge off your tiredness, you got up to make a cup of coffee. There was a fresh pot ready and waiting. You were just pouring it into your cup when you felt – with your detective’s instincts – someone close behind you. Just before you turned, you felt his hands slide onto your hips, his fingers slipping just under the waistband of your pants. He was very close behind you, but not quite touching.

“Want a coffee, Detective Amaro?” you said, hearing the edge of nerves in your voice.

He leaned forwards, so his quiet words were close to your ear. “I had an amazing time on Saturday night,” he said, his voice warm. All the tension in you melted away at his words, his touch. “What’re you doing after work?”

You put your coffee down and turned on the spot, finding yourself face to face with him, his eyes meeting yours, his desire for you very apparent. “I don’t have any plans…” you told him.

“Would you like some?”

You smirked, your face growing hot. “What kind of plans?”

His mouth twitched into a cheeky smile. “I know what sort of plans you’re thinking about,” he teased. “But join me for a drink first? Maybe dinner?”

“Like a date?” you raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, exactly like a date,” he nodded. He looked so handsome you just wanted to kiss him.

“And after the date…?” you asked.

“We can do whatever it is that’s currently going through your mind,” he winked and turned away before you could reply, heading back to his desk. He stood behind his chair, one hand on his hip, looking back at you. You shook your head, grabbed your coffee and started in his direction.

“Ah good, Y/L/N, Amaro, you’re both here. I need you to go out to Riker’s…” Liv walked through the bullpen, stopping near Nick.

You took a gulp of your coffee and put it on your desk. “Sure thing, Sergeant,” you said, glancing at Nick. “What for?”

“Barba needs you to revisit the confession you got yesterday. Make sure the details still check out. He wants to take it to a Grand Jury, but he’s worried it sounds too good to be true, like he was coached by someone on the inside.”

Nick rolled his eyes. “So Barba doesn’t trust us?”

Liv looked at him, “he just wants to make sure, Nick. It’s not about trust.” Nick nodded, though he was still frowning.

“We’ll get going now,” you said. “Come on Nick, I’ll let you drive…” You saw his face change when he realised he got to spend some time with you this morning, away from prying eyes. He grabbed his suit jacket from the back of his chair and slipped it on, following you towards the doors. You passed Amanda on her way back into the building.

“Where’s the fire?” she demanded, looking at you.

“Liv wants us at Riker’s,” you told her. “Checking the confession.”

Amanda rolled her eyes. “Barba’s being thorough on this one? I suppose it’s fair enough.” She paused. “Hey, are you guys free tonight? My family have finally decided to leave me be – we could catch up since we missed Saturday. Get a beer or something?”

“Oh, er…” you managed.

“Afraid I can’t. I’ve said I’ll go see my mom,” Nick said. Amanda turned to you.

“I’m really sorry,” you added, thinking quickly, “can we make plans for later in the week? I said I’d helped my cousin with his biology homework tonight, I can’t let him down.”

Amanda looked from you to Nick and shook her head. “Sure, guys, just me and my horror movies, I guess. I forget you both have families you actually want to see… See ya when you get back from Riker’s.” She turned and disappeared into the bullpen, as you and Nick hurried to the elevator.

It was usually only a half hour’s drive to Riker’s, but Nick took the Williamsburg Bridge and you hit traffic near Greenpoint that added another thirty minutes to the journey. By the time you arrived, Nick’s jaw had set impatiently. What had been flirty conversation for the first part of the journey had become professional preparations for your visit to Riker’s and then a settled silence as you reached the island. Visits to Riker’s always felt bleak; even hardened detectives weren’t immune to disgust at the conditions of the inmates there, many of them for minor crimes, or remanded awaiting trial.

As luck would have it, you were kept waiting, for reasons the corrections officers didn’t really explain. Nick, already frustrated, only got even more wound up, pacing the floor of the small room you were given to wait in. You already knew well enough that it was better to just leave him be when he was like this, so you sipped a Coke from the vending machine and just watched him walk back and forth, unable to help running your eyes up and down his form, enjoying just how well his clothes fit around that body you now knew intimately.

When you finally got to interview your suspect, he was resentful and much less in the mood for talking than he had been the day before. You let Nick take the lead; interrogation being one of his specialist skills, and one you’d had much less experience in during your time working Cold Case. Even without your attraction to him, you had a lot of admiration for Nick as a detective, one of the most intuitive and hardworking you’d ever met. His gut was usually right; today was no different and he found the holes in the supposed confession that could’ve made Barba’s whole case come tumbling down.

You were just ready to leave when deafening alarms sounded and two corrections officers hurried into the secure interview room. One grabbed your suspect and hauled him off towards the depths of the jail, the other came to talk to you and Nick, a sense of urgency in his words. “We’re going into lockdown, can I ask you both to come with me? I’m afraid you can’t leave the island until we’ve resolved the issue.”

“You’ve got to be kidding,” Nick protested.

“Afraid not, Detective,” the officer said, showing you into the small waiting room you’d been in before. Nick signed and slumped into a plastic chair, taking out his phone to call Liv with an update. You could see how tense his shoulders were, his brow settled into a frown as his call ended. You were frustrated too, but more because you were worried this would lessen his enthusiasm for tonight’s date. You did manage to lure him into conversation, as the time ticked by, but he would keep pacing the room, not happy with the enforced captivity.

Several hours later, it was already dusk as you finally got back in the car, heading back towards Manhattan, Nick muttering something about taking the Robert F Kennedy Bridge and the FDR as you set off. Although he was glad to be leaving, Nick was clearly still on edge. You watched him, driving, looking at his hands on the wheel, remembering what those fingers felt like on your body. Eventually he glanced over at you.

“What’re you looking at?” he said, a tiny smile curling his lips.

“You,” you replied.

“Why?” he asked “See something you like?”

“I think you know the answer to that” you purred reaching over resting your hand on his thigh.

Nick looked over at you for a moment taking his eyes off the road. He reached down grabbing your hand bringing it to his lips kissing the back of it and then moving to thread his fingers into yours, bringing both your hands down to rest on his thigh.

“I do know” he smirked. The car fell silent, the music filling the inside and you both looking out the window at the darkening sky and bright moon. Nick broke the silence first “Sorry about tonight, I was hoping we would have been back in the city way before now. I was looking forward to taking you out,” Nick sighed giving your hand a squeeze.

“It’s ok,” you squeezed his hand back. “But the night isn’t completely lost” you grinned “Around the next bend pull over.”

You saw the big grin pull to Nick’s face and he licked his lips. Nick drove around the bend and signaled to pull over on a small dirt clearing. He let go of your hand throwing the car into park, turning off the engine, and you both unclipped your seatbelts. Nick adjusted himself in his seat spreading his legs wider. You moved in your seat onto your side to face him, your hand resting back on his thigh running it up to his crotch.

Nick’s breathing hitched and he hooked his arm around your neck pulling you into him is lips landing on yours, his tongue slipping into your mouth twisting with yours. You swallowed his groans as your hand came up to cup him through his slacks, his cock instantly hardening at your touch.

Nick pulled back from your kiss and started to kiss along your jaw, down your neck in big wet open mouth kisses, nipping and sucking ever so lightly as he made quick work of undoing a couple of your shirt buttons, your red lace bra on full display. You reached up with both hands undoing Nick’s belt buckle, pants buttons and zipper sliding your hand down into his boxers and your hand wrapped around his long thick cock, pulling it out, his pre-cum covered tip glistening in the moonlight.

You turned your head, your lips ghosting his, Nick’s hot breath fanning your face and his right hand ran around to run up and down your back,

“I told you the night wasn’t completely lost,” you ran your lips against his while your hand lazily jerked him off.

“You’re such a good girl for me. You know how to make things better,” Nick said through hooded eyes, proving he’d remembered how you enjoyed his praise. You felt a hot throb of pleasure.

“Tell me why you were frustrated today Nick,” you purred into his lips as you twisted your wrist, making your way back up from his base.

“I told you,” he moaned bucking his hips up into your hand “I wanted to take you out.”

“And?”

“And-” Nick groaned loud, his head falling back into the seat, biting his bottom lip. “I have wanted you so bad all day”

“Is that so?” Nick nodded, his eyes closing and his mouth going slack. “I have wanted this amazing cock in my mouth all day.”

You pecked Nick’s lips, nipping his bottom lip before leaning down to take his tip into your mouth, your tongue flat, licking around him and taking him fully into your mouth relaxing your throat to take him as deep as you could and then making your way back up to his tip again. He reached over with one hand, pulling out your hair tie letting your hair flow down over your back and shoulders.

Nick rested his hand in the hair on the back of your head, threading his fingers into it, guiding your head up and down on him with no pressure, while his other hand worked its way down your shirt. His big warm hand running along your skin and slipping into your bra, massaging your flesh and toying with your nipple between his fingers,

“Y/N, you take my cock so well- that’s it, baby, just like that,” Nick moaned and groaned, his mouth open and eyes closed.

Nick started to roll his hips up into your mouth when he hit the back of your throat, his hand balling into a fist in your hair and he squeezed your tit, when you reached up cradling his balls, squeezing him lightly. You could feel your panties damping, your body on fire from Nick groping you and the feel of his cock on your tongue.

Nick pulled his hand out of your bra, both his hands going to the back of your head pushing you down on him, his thick curled hair tickling your nose while the car windows completely fogged up from his heavy breathing. Nick guided your head back up to his tip and then pushed you back down, your name, god and Spanish you didn’t understand spilling from his mouth, when his hot salty cum filled your mouth, running down your throat. You sucked him clean and pulled off him with a pop, using your pointer finger to wipe the corner of your mouth dry before sucking the tip of your finger.

You heard a growl rattle through Nick’s chest as he watched you and you gave him a wink. Nick’s hand went to the back of your neck pulling you down to him, pulling your lips onto his, the kiss deepening straight away and Nick groaned into your mouth when he tasted himself on your tongue. You broke the kiss and Nick tucked your hair behind your ear, his thumb brushing over your cheek,

“Let’s go back to mine so I can get a change of clothes and then I’ll take you home.”

“You’re inviting yourself for a sleep over?” you raised an eyebrow at him with a grin and he chuckled back at you.

“I don’t know how much sleeping we will be doing, but I can promise you baby, I will return the favour, hopefully more than once.”

  Tags:  @wanniiieeee​ @lovebishoplosamiguelgalindo​ @randofando-spoonie​  @alwaysachorusgirl​  @amorestevens​  @harryssxnflwr​​ @teamsladsandgents​ @thatesqcrush​ @storiesofsvu​ @skittle479 @bisexual-dreamer02​ @glimmerglittergirl​ @witches-unruly-heart​​ @berniesilvas​

[urbanqhoul]

Coffee For Your Head [Fallout 4- Nick Valentine & John Hancock]

sSOOO

this is is kinda my first attempt at writing short lil fanfiction, I’ve written before for video’s n such but I’m by no means great at it so plz dun stab me I just wanted to write some fluff for my fav ship quq.

This takes place in my prewar AU- aka fallout 4 companions if they existed before the bombs dropped n all that fun stuff

---

“Think ya really need to work on impulse control, kid.” Nick said flatly as he carefully tried to keep John from falling over in his drunken state well they stumbled back home.

“To hell with that...! Those assholes were practically begging for it...” The smaller man grumbled as he almost tripped over his own feet, causing them both to stumble forward before Nick corrected it. 

They’d both had a painfully long week with a particularly bleak case to solve involving a missing spouse. 

It was by no means out of the ordinary but something about this one specifically had stuck with him and he decided to distract his brain from it with a visit to the local pub.

 As always John insisted on tagging along claiming it was “To help him home” afterwards when they both knew full well who was more likely to get passed out drunk. Predictably the night had proceeded with some banter well Hancock sporadically got side tracked by challenging other patrons to drinking games. 

It was during one of these ventures that ended in Hancock roughed up, bruised with a bloody nose followed by getting kicked out of the bar. 

“...You know I’m pretty used to you getting into a tussle or two- But usually it has a reason. Care to tell me why you tried to knock the daylights out of a stranger?” Valentine prompted, raising an eyebrow.

His response was simply an annoyed groan as he wiped blood from his mouth, “Can we just take a fuckin’ bus or something- its too damn cold and I think the cunt fractured my knee…”

Ignoring it then, alright…

“Think they might call the cops if they see you like this, Really don’t need to end the night in the drunk tank with Danse starting us down like a bunch of roaches. Sides we’re almost home.” Nick said tiredly before carefully taking on more of John’s weight to keep him off his bad leg. 

---

“Sign up now and prepare for the futu-”

The television was promptly turned off leaving the only sound in the room, the gentle buzz of the coffee maker, and a snort of irritation from Hancock as he laid flopped over on the couch.

 Nick had just finished tending to his injuries and left him in the kitchen, well he prepared something to combat the inevitable hangover.

“Can’t tell you how sick I am of seeing vault tecs trash everywhere. Like hiding away in a hole in the ground is an amazing alternative and not a slower, more boring death.” He shuffled through the endtable’s drawer before pulling out a thin can of mentats- only to have it promptly snatched away by Nick and replaced with a warm coffee.

“Really looking to just lose every last bit of grey matter you have left tonight aren't you?” The detective chided as he sat next to him, paying no mind to the glare he received before John reluctantly sipped his drink.

After a moment of silence he spoke up again, “...Are you ready to talk about it?”  He asked slowly. “It isn’t like you to pick fights with folks who didn’t earn it.” “He did.”  Came the sharp reply before being cut off by an irritatingly loud slurp as he chugged the rest of the coffee. “Piece of shit- he was talking a load of garbage about you.” John muttered quietly, indignation clear in his tone. “About Winters and...Jen…”

At the mention of his long passed fiance, Nick felt his heart drop into his stomach. A familiar emptiness that came anytime her and the bastard that took her away were brought back to the forefront of his mind. 

John avoided eye contact, gripping the coffee cup with such force it was a wonder it didn’t shatter. “...He went on and on about how you must’ve been so traumatized by everything to have taken up with some street rat druggie. I can deal with that type of shit towards me- it's basically my entire life but using...everything you went through as some petty fucking insult- You don’t deserve that.” 

Nick started to say something before cutting himself off, his half hungover brain trying to process everything he’d said. 

Thanks to the high publicity of the Eddie Winters case, he’d become well known within diamond city. 

Though he took the high road and ignored it, he knew how much people loved to talk about him. About the broken man who’d lost everything trying to catch Winters only for him to get away scot-free. 

It’d been several years since all of this transpired but the moment he was found to be in a relationship with Mayor Mcdonough’s brother- everyone of course started to talk again. 

A stoic old private eye who lost to a crime boss, taking up with a drugged up vigilante was far too ironic for the public to resist. It baffled him how much free time the tabloids had to waste on him, exploiting the tragedy of his past and ‘scandal’ of his present.  

 Hancock had a way of hiding how much things bothered him. Most who were unfamiliar with him would say he was an overly confident arrogant jackass. And well there was a certain truth to that, those who knew him better would find that it was a façade. 

Nick could see it slipping out right now. The brash part of him that was quick to fight a judgmental prick fading away, revealing the hurt man underneath. The part of him that became tough because life didn’t give him any other choice. The part that needed him right now.

Unsure of what to say, Val reached over and pulled him into a tight hug that seemed to have caught him by surprise. 

“...You know I don’t give a damn about what anyone else thinks right?” John tensed up before relaxing in his embrace, nuzzling tiredly into his shoulder. “I know...It's just- Feel like I’m makin’ life harder for you. You’ve already gotten more than your fair share of bullshit from the world.”

“Doll they can talk all they want. I’m lucky to have you, Mayhem n’ all~ ” Nick couldn’t help a faint smile when Hancock’s hold on him tightened followed by a snort as he peeked up. “Ya need to give yourself more credit, you’ve been the best thing to happen to me in a long time…” 

“You’re real fuckin’ cheesy you know that?” John teased planting a soft kiss on his neck, “Do me a favor and take me to bed already, I need to sleep for at least the next year. That asshole was a shit fighter but he did manage to get a few decent bruises in on my legs.” He insisted, letting himself fall over into Nick's arms. “Think you just might be lookin’ for an excuse to not walk a few feet.” With a tired chuckle, Nick lifted Hancock up with what seemed like no effort at all.

“Ya know you’re surprisingly strong for being such an old fuck~” 

“Mm, think it might have more to do with you having the body weight of a starving cat, but that's just an educated guess.. “ 

[fablesrose]

Tell Me a Story 1

Description: The local mafia has served Y/n well previously, but with the way things are going now, enough is enough. Instead of getting out, why not take everything down? So she makes a few calls, but things don’t always go to plan.

Word count: 2,205

Pairing: cop!Dean x mafia!reader

Square filled: fake dating

Warnings: none this chapter

Masterlist ~ Bingo Masterlist

Remaining parts will be in the Bingo Masterlist

A/n: This is for @girl-next-door-writes‘s Make Me Feel Bingo. I wanted to write a specific scene and then made a whole AU in order for this to work and it became infinitely more complicated than it needed to be. Enjoy! 

“Tell me a story.”

Chuck was a dangerous man. He didn’t look it, but he had an eye and a leash where you would never expect it all over the city. No one knew what he wanted, what his end goal was, maybe that was what made him dangerous.

Those words made me nervous. Chuck loved a good story and if the man next to me didn’t tell one up to his standard, then it wouldn’t end well for either of us.

This was all my idea. It was me who got the cops involved. I couldn’t take it anymore.

“Sam, I know you don’t want to hear from me, but-”

“What do you need?”

“The Fallen isn’t doing too hot right now.”

“I can help you get out Y-”

“It’s not as simple as when you slipped between the cracks Sam,” I hissed at him through the phone. I don’t know why I even tracked him down, he had a good life now, but I needed to do something.

“Simple? You know it wasn’t simple.” Sam sounded offended.

“Exactly. It wasn’t when you did it, and like Hell is it simple now. It’s a thousand times worse in every way since you left. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know where to go.”

“Okay, fine, we’ll figure something out.”

“Thanks- Someone’s coming, don’t contact me in any way for at least four days. You know the drill.” I hung up the phone and went on my daily business.

Four days later I received a text with a phone number in it, “He’s clean. He’ll help.”

I saved the number in my phone and deleted the conversation. I had to tread lightly.

I tried to control my anxiety. If I was found out I wouldn’t be surprised if Chuck burned the whole city to the ground.

So needless to say I did a fantastic job of hiding my anxiety.

Eventually, when I was sure that I was alone I pulled up the number Sam gave me. I guess it was now or never.

The phone rang a couple of times before a man picked up and rattled off his law enforcement credentials and his name. Okay, maybe this guy could help me.

I took a deep breath and spoke out loud the sentence I had been practicing in my head for the last few days which was a risk in and of itself, “I’m a high ranking member of The Fallen and would like to be of assistance in taking down the current, highly wanted, leader of said… organization.”

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line, “Pardon?”

I sighed, my anxiety creeping back in, but what came out was an annoyed clip, “I said I’d like to snitch on my boss, a highly wanted individual, now can you help me get rid of him, or did Sam lie to me?”

“You know Sam?”

“Well, no der.” I tried to calm my beating heart, but the more I thought about it, the more it seemed like a mistake, “I’m sorry for wasting your time, this was a mistake.”

“No no, wait.” I heard him swallow, “I’m going to talk to some people, let me see what I can do okay?”

My voice cracked, “Okay.”

The call ended, and all I could think was, Well there’s no backing out now.

Never before had I felt like I was in a dystopian novel more than this chapter of my life. I was nervous, like even the TVs were watching my every move to see if I was thinking traitorous thoughts, straight out of “1984.”

Every meeting, every glance in my direction, every moment of silence, and I swore everyone there already knew what I had done. But I kept a straight face in the serious moments, laughed when it was polite, and I wasn’t dead yet.

The day came when I met him in person. The safest place I could think of was my apartment. I paced back and forth for the whole afternoon constantly watching the clock, then it seemed like ten minutes after four it was six o’clock already. He was due to my doorstep any minute now.

A knock came to the door and I felt stone cold.

Slow steps took me to the sound. I opened the door a crack to see who it was. A tall man stood on the other side, in casual clothes thank goodness. He was casually looking around, but to the trained eye, I could tell he was watching to see if anyone was paying special attention.

“Yes?” Don’t give too much away, don’t volunteer any information. Yet.

He finally focused on me and I took into account the strong structure to his face, one could either call him intimidating or handsome, depending on his mood. Right now he was walking the line while leaning towards the former.

“I believe you’ve been expecting me,” he spoke quietly, his voice sounded very similar to the one I heard on the phone, but one could never be too careful.

“Oh? And what’s the connection between us?” I hoped my face was perfect innocence, but I knew my eyes were calculating and cautious.

“Sam.”

I closed the door to unlock the chain. I quickly let him in.

“I assume it’s safe here?” His eyes scanned the room, looking for anything that could be a problem.

I locked the door behind him, “As safe a place as any. I personally had soundproofing installed. Not many people come here, less chance for bugs. Neighbors are friendly, mostly elderly couples.”

“I was going to say, pretty small apartment for someone in the mob,” he extended a hand for me to shake, “Dean Winchester.”

I huffed, “Yeah, it’s kinda my job to blend in. Not all of us have Hollywood mansions. I glanced at him from the kitchen as I grabbed two glasses, “I see height runs in the family.”

“Somethin’ like that,” Dean sat on the couch in the living room.

I handed him a drink, “So...”

“So indeed,” he swirled the liquid in the glass before setting it on the side table, “I’m currently being transferred from the my current department a couple hours away to the local PD. Once that’s done I will be going under cover. You will be my in. Does that work?”

I drained my own drink, “Swimmingly.” I set my own glass on the floor by the feet of the chair I was sitting in, “I honestly can’t believe I’m doing this.” I spoke it mostly to myself, but he heard it all the same.

“Yeah, why are you doing this? What made you join in the first place only to try and tear it all down?”

I closed my eyes and leaned my head against the chair. I guess I should have seen the question coming. “I joined The Fallen when I was a lot younger. Why does anyone join the mafia?”

“Protection, a safe place to do illegal things, they’re desperate?”

I chuckled, “And usually somewhere to belong, but yeah, you hit the nail on the head. I was desperate. Nowhere to go. And let’s leave it at that.” I started cleaning my fingernails, my hands needing something to do. “It was a classic mafia back then. Don’t mess with us, we don’t mess with you. If you do, you better watch your back. It was okay. It was safe. That was under this guy named Nick. He’s in prison now, but you probably knew that already.”

Dean nodded his head.

“In the power vacuum he left behind, I helped get your brother out. Covered his tracks, but there wasn’t anyone to follow them. Sounds like he’s got a nice life now.”

“Why didn’t you get out with him?”

“Still didn’t have anywhere to go. Sam, he’s smart. Got back into school, had a nice girl waiting for him on the other side. I didn’t have any of that.  The Fallen was all I had, figured this was better than being on the run from myself.” I sighed, “Anyway, Crowley comes in. He’s a businessman at heart. He  made the community safer. Kept local businesses afloat. It felt like we were doing something good.”

I smiled to myself. Happier times.

“I guess I got soft.” I looked up from my hands into his serious face, “Now Chuck has the whole city wrapped around his twisted finger. No one knows what he wants. He’s got no honor system-”

Dean scoffed.

“Hey, it might not have been much, but Crowley and Nick? They had their own code that if you knew what it was, then nothing surprised you. Chuck’s a wild card. He’s destroying everything good about this place, and like it or not, I don’t. And if I can do something about it, I’m going to. Okay?”

Dean set his jaw and nodded.

“So how do you wanna play this mister hot shot cop?”

“That’s a good question, one that you are gonna answer.”

I raised my eyebrows, “Oh?”

He shifted to a more relaxed position on the couch, “Yup. You’re the expert, so how are you gonna bring me in? I’ve got to observe, gather information and evidence, and hopefully set him up so we can catch him in the act of doing something ‘life in prison’ worthy.”

“Can we get a death sentence?”

Dean slowly gained a more guarded posture, “And why would you want that?” As Dean relaxed he seemed more personable, but with that one statement he looked suspicious of me and my motives. His eyes gained that hard look that could break steel and I was terrified to see him angry.

I curled in on myself, “Past experience.”

“I’m gonna need to know this kind of stuff sweetheart.”

“Look, we both know life in prison isn’t a guarantee. Nick was supposed to get a life sentence, but he got out. Now Crowley’s dead and Chuck is in power.” There was a pause where neither of us spoke. “There’s always something. You’re in law enforcement. You should know that.”

He sighed before nodding once again, “Fine, we’ll see what we can do and what we can get, okay?”

“Okay.”

“How are you going to get me in?”

I rubbed my temples. How was I going to get him in? “I think our best option is for me to just bring you in as a new recruit. No deals, tell him the least information possible. Whoever brings someone new in becomes their mentor so that’ll work out...” This was going to be hard. Chuck was a difficult target. “We’ll say you’re new in town. You desperately need some extra cash, so you’re willing to join. You don’t really care what you have to do. The trick is to lie the least amount as possible. Chuck doesn’t like liars, and he can always find out information. So I hope there aren’t many people who know you’re doing this.” I locked eyes with him.

“No, not many at all.”

“I hope you’re right, or we’re both dead.”

This conversation ran through my head as we stood in front of Chuck. It was the monthly meeting, where everything you could think of was discussed, including new members.

“So, there’s a new face.” Chuck was looking at the pair of us, a passive invitation.

I stepped forward with as much confidence as I could muster, “Yes, this is new recruit-”

“Officer Dean Winchester, yes I know.”

I nearly choked as my eyes widened in fear and surprise. I glanced at Dean and all I could think was, “We’re dead.”

“Now the question is, why does the new cop in town want to join the local mob?” Chuck stood from his chair and walked around, “Little short on cash, need a little excitement?”

Dean chuckled, but I could tell he was hiding his nervousness, “Yeah, something like that.”

“Good, what’s one more cop on the payroll? You’re in.” Chuck finally looked back at the two of us, and my heart was still pounding out of my chest despite how impossibly well this was going, “Oh, you didn’t know he was a cop did you? Looks like some couples therapy material.”

I swallowed, but couldn’t hide my confusion, couples therapy?

“Oh come on! It’s obvious!” Chuck hesitated, “Well maybe not obvious, but Y/n’s not the hook-up type.”

I blushed, this was getting out of hand, but as long as Chuck wasn’t going to kill me, I would put up with it the best I could.

Chuck clapped and rubbed his hands together, “Oh I love a good romance. So how did you guys meet?”

Dean seemed to snap into it, or maybe it was me who was out of it, I’m not sure, but Dean grabbed my hand and intertwined our fingers.

“I don’t know, sir, I’m not much of a story teller.”

“Come on Dean.” Chuck smiled, a little too eagerly.

I tightened my grip on Dean’s hand, mostly out of anxiousness. I was out of options and stocked up on fear. It was up to him to get us the hell out of here.

“Tell me a story.”

Best Buds Taglist: @kitkatd7 @snarky--starky @confetti-its-an-imagine-blog @kaogasm

Dean: @akshi8278 @msmarvelouswinchester

[mason-knight-retired]

this is so self-indulgent I want to crawl out of my own skin with second hand embarassment rn (happy father’s day, mase)

+++

It’s only by virtue of his phoenix reflexes that Mason manages to snatch the potato flying at his head out of the air a split second before it connects with this face.

He stares down at it in his hand in the middle of the Morrisini villa’s sprawling kitchen. “What the hell do you want me to do with this, Zeus?”

Nico shoves a small contraption at him, as well as a large bowl and a bulging hessian bag. “Peel it.”

“Peel…? What?”

“Peel it,” Nico repeats. He gestures to the bag. “And all those too.”

“Uh, no. These hands were not made for manual labour.”

“Mase,” Marie huffs, her hands on hips on the other side of the sprawling island bench. “I expect that from Sinclair, but not from you.”

“He’s become too accustomed to the good life. Too pampered,” Maddox says from his perch on a stool nearby. He pops something into his mouth and crunches loudly as he smirks in Mason’s direction.

Mason snorts. “Like you can talk, Ajax.”

Outside, the sun shines across the villa’s grounds and the wind carries in the excited squeals of the children as they race over the lawn and splash in the villa’s pool. It was another one of Nico’s family gatherings, one of the many he insisted on each year and that everyone knew better than to argue about. One year, before they had the twins, Mason and Ethan had been off world and the earful they’d copped had them immediately hightailing it back to Earth from Citadel space to make it in the nick of time.

They all know better than to argue when Nico puts the call out now.

Mason peers through the large windows overlooking the vineyards. It was beautiful here, he couldn’t deny it, and the twins loved catching up with the Morrisini brood but being put to work by Nico in the kitchen was more than what Mason was prepared to take.

“Actually, you know what, I’m just going to go see if Ethan needs any help with the ki-“

“Sit your ass down and start peeling, Huntsman.”

“Better do as he says,” Archer says. He rests on a stool, one leg out in front of him and a lethal looking blade in one hand. There are slabs of red meat on the chopping board in front of him. “Or you might end up having to do something worse.” “Is that what you’re doing?”

“Just putting some long dormant skills to good use.”

“Well, we didn’t all marry celebrity chefs in our youth, Rose,” Mason chuckles just as Luca comes tumbling through the doorway.

“Nic! Marie! I need potassium hydroxide and ethanoic acid and um, like a really big stick.”

Marie frowns. “Well, I can give you two out of those things but what do you need them for?”

“No time to explain, have you got it- never mind, this will do!” he’s gone again in a flurry of wild curls.

Silence drags around the room and there’s a distant squeal and a pop that has them all tensing suddenly. Mason waits with bated breath for inevitable wail of tears that will send them all rushing outside but it doesn’t eventuate.

“What is he doing out there?”

Marie takes a calming breath and pinches her nose. “I… I don’t want to know.”

Nico slides his arm around her and kisses her temple, whispering something into her ear Mason can’t (and probably doesn’t want) to hear. She seems more tired than usual and it’s not lost on Mason that her glass is only sparkling water and not wine. He wonders if baby number five might be on their way for them.

Five. Mason shudders inwardly at the thought. The twins were a handful on their own and that was with help. There had been a long, long period there that Mason wondered if his and Ethan’s sex life would ever recover.

“You’re still not peeling, Huntsman,” Nico warns, turning his attention back to him.

“Make Rose do it,” Mason grumbles, only for Archer to swirl that lethal looking knife over the chopping board in front of him.

“He’s already put me to work, as you can see.”

“Seriously, Mase,” Marie huffs as she busies herself with slicing up the fresh bread. The spread of food was insane, much of it grown on the villa grounds, more of it transported from Cerillo’s farm on Nova Terra. “Who does the cooking in your household if you won’t even peel a potato then?”

“The... Ah… Help…”

Marie’s knife pauses as she looks up at him suspiciously. Maddox goes to swipe an olive from the tray but she swats him away without taking her eyes off him. “How many do you have now?”

Mason doesn’t like where this is going. “Three?”

“Three?!” Marie splutters but he’s pretty sure that might be jealousy in her eyes. He shrugs, nonchalant. “Oh my god, well, aren’t you living the good life.”

“What do you expect? Pampered wardog over here,” Maddox comments, pilfering another olive. Nico snatches his wrist.

“Next time you go for another one, I’m gonna stab you.”

Maddox growls. “Fine. Hurry up already then. I’m going to go check on Mini in the nursery then check on the kids. Who knows what Sinclair has got them up to.”

He exchanges a filthy kiss with Archer before he leaves that has Mason rolling his eyes.

“It’s not Ethan you should be worried about,” he mutters as Archer snorts.

“Huntsman!” Nico barks. “Potatoes!”

--

The evening is balmy with summer and it’s well into the twilight by the time they all come to eat at the long trestle table piled high with food under the trees of the Morrisni villa. Fairy lights drape overhead, shedding a sparkle over glasses and kids squeal and thread among the adults as they enjoy the meal.

Mason does his best to balance Max on his knee they eat and the entire affair is noisy and chaotic, full of laughter and warmth and old friendships forged in blood and fire. Nico reigns supreme at the head of the table like some kind of benevolent god and he might as well be. It’s Nico that has been the one to draw them all together, year after year, no matter how far they spread across the galaxy. Familiar faces they’ve fought alongside of, faces they love now gone their separate ways now that the war was over. Their time on the Berlin felt like another life, a long ago memory that might have happened to someone else.

Mason never thought he’d miss it, but it’s long been regulated to a portion of his past alongside his early childhood in Sydney and Phoenix One.

He juggles his wine glass over Max’s head and listens in to the conversation around him. He presses his leg against Ethan’s under the table, needing the contact suddenly. Ethan catches his eye and wordless smile graces his lips as he leans in to brush a kiss to Mason’s cheek and lightly ruffles Max’s hair.

“Want me to take him for a bit?”

“No, he’s fine, as long as he stops squirm-“ Mason rescues his wine glass just before it goes flying. Max was almost getting too big for this, but Mason didn’t like to think about that. “Whoa, easy there.”

“Sorry, Dad.”

“You’re okay, mate. Where’s your sister anyway?”

Max shrugs, leaning back against Mason and chewing on a piece of bread but Ethan motions with his head to look down the table. He spies Ben at the other end with Lexi’s arms tight around his neck and she’s giggling as Luca attempts to juggle spoons beside them. Mason smiles then stabs the gnocchi on his plate and lifts it up to show his husband proudly.

“Hey so while you were outside with the kids, I made these.”

Marie pauses her conversation with Isaac and Archer on the other side of the table to laugh. “Mase, you peeled one potato.”

He waves his fork dismissively. “Still counts.”

They all chuckle, Archer’s more muted on account of the small bundle on his chest. It doesn’t feel that long ago that Lexi and Max were that tiny and Mason is about to mention as much to Archer before their conversation is interrupted by Ciara crashing into her mother’s side. Her gold eyes wide as she gushes excitedly about fireflies.

Mason glances back at his own daughter. She’s on Ben’s lap now, trying to feel him with all the grace of a five year old’s giggling and over exuberant enthusiasm. “Does Lex need anything?” he says to his husband.

Ethan smirks as they watch on. Ben has a smear of sauce down one side of his mouth and across his chin. “It looks like Uncle Scoots has it covered.”

Max scrambles off Mason’s lap and latches himself straight to Ciara’s side. Mason protests softly. “Hey, where are you going?”

“Ci says she knows where the fireflies are!”

“Oh, no you don’t. Finish eating first. Then fireflies.”

“Aw, dad!” Max’s whine is joined by Marcello and Enzo’s as they materialize out of the dark and they all groan dramatically. “But fireflies!”

“You’re not allowed to go running around in the dark by yourselves. Someone might get hurt.”

There are more protests before Eva climbs to her feet. “I can take them, if you like?”

Mason looks up at the Fury. If they’re safe with anyone, they’ll be safe with her but he slides a questioning glance at Ethan anyway. “Are you sure?”

Eva shrugs, a small smile on her lips. “Sure. Luca and Ben will want to come too.”

“We’ll all go,” Marie announces. She stands up and motions for everyone else to as well. “It’s about time for the bonfire anyway.”

“Bonfire?!” The kids squeal and take off running into the darkness.

“Wait, kids-“

There’s a wink of blue in the distance when Eva appears in front of them, sending the kids all shrieking in excitement. Mason downs the rest of his wine for fortitude then pulls his husband in for a kiss in case he can’t steal any later.

“Come on, Sabre, let’s go.”

--

If they find fireflies, Mason doesn’t see them.

The excitement of time spent with their adoptive family and the bonfire have both kids melting down from too much over stimulation and it’s touch and go for a while until they both crash in his arms. Mason watches the flames dance and listens to Luca’s voice as he strums his guitar, Lexi’s head tucked under his chin while Ethan sits beside him with Max asleep against his chest.

They should probably get the kids back to the villa, tuck them into their beds, but he’s reluctant to move and spoil the moment.

Luca sings, his voice carrying clearly over the crackle of the fire, first upbeat songs with words half substituted thanks to the buzz of Nico’s homemade grappa he insisted they all sample. Ciara twirls barefoot, hair streaming out behind her as Maddox takes her on a makeshift waltz around the bonfire and Nico hands out mugs of mulled wine as Isaac and Eva sit with heads bent together roasting marshmallows in the flames. On their other side, Marie is flanked by each one of her sons, both slumped against her, not quite asleep but dangerously close. And Archer, cane discarded by his chair and a baby on his chest, sits quietly beside Ben, staring thoughtfully into the fire.

“You know, if anyone had told me on P1 this is how our life would end up, I’m pretty sure I would have laughed myself out an airlock,” Mason says to Ethan. “Sometimes I can’t believe it.”

“We’re the lucky ones,” Ethan agrees quietly. The firelight catches the line of his jaw and sends his hair shining gold. He’s still the most beautiful man Mason has ever met and he’s all Mason’s.

After ten years, it still hasn’t got old.

“Any regrets?”

Ethan turns to him and leans in. Mason meets him halfway, pressing a kiss to his mouth, mindful of the dual weights on their chests and careful not to wake them. Then Ethan draws back. “Not a single one.”

“Me neither,” Mason murmurs but then the moment is interrupted when Nico shows up. 

“Here,” he grunts, handing them each a metallic mug. Something spicy Mason doesn’t recognize wafts up.

Mason takes the mug hesitantly and looks up at Nico with a silent lift of his eyebrow. “Am I going to have to peel anymore potatoes if I take this?”

“No,” Nico rumbles. “Tomorrow we’re going to slaughter a pig and make sausages.”

“We’re gonna what?”

“You heard me. And you can do the honors. Time to earn your keep, Huntsman.”

Nico moves away and Mason stares into his mug. “This is payback, isn’t it?” he says miserably to Ethan. “For giving him all those shitty ops back in the day?”

Ethan’s lips twitch. Mason thinks he might be laughing. “It might be, babe.”

“Well, Fu… Fudge.. me,” he slumps against Ethan’s shoulder as Luca plays his songs and the stars continue to wheel overhead.

[strawberrywritings]

Meant to be

A/N: Nick is back, per @thesandbeneathmytoes​ request (I’m SORRY I took this long to write it), and I gotta say: I missed him😭 I’m gonna turn this into a small drabble because writer’s block is a bitch okay. Hope you like it anyways💓🍓

Warnings: protected sexual intercourse, dirty talk, shitty ending

/ Masterlist

He looked down at you as he tapped the head of his hard on onto you, the wetness of your core transferring onto his skin. He never thought he’d get to see you like this again, mainly because he had moved, and he had to leave everything behind, including you. It was hard, being high school sweethearts and all, but he wanted to become a cop, and you would never hold him back. You had graduated a couple years after him, moving on with your life, not expecting to bump into Nick nearly 10 years later. And now there you were, on his bed, completely naked as he pushed himself into you over and over.

The alcohol you had both consumed at the bar only fueling you on, every touch felt like fire, every kiss left you breathless, and feeling him so deep inside you made you want to scream in pleasure. He kept rocking back and forth in a slow pace, wanting to savor the moment. It was like it was always meant to be, but life had pulled your relationship apart back then. He was not letting you get away again, he had to have you.

He spit on you, his saliva landing right where your bodies were joined, helping the already existing lubrication. “Look at this pretty pussy – he smirked, holding your legs open wide to allow him more room to move – I missed her so much, do you think she missed me?”, his tone was teasing, he had a small smirk on his face and you were, deep down, loving it. You nodded vigorously, your toes curling at his slow pace and the way he felt inside you.

He slowly started to pick up the pace, groaning and throwing his head back when he felt you squeeze him. He got lost in the moment, but then his focus was back on you, biting his lip when he saw your eyes squeezed shut and your mouth hanging open. “Open your mouth, baby – he said, bringing his thumb to your mouth for you to lick it – get it wet, I’m gonna make you cum”, the confidence in his voice turned you on even more. He wasn’t a teenager anymore, he was a grown man and he knew exactly what he was doing. He confirmed it when he pressed the pad of his thumb against your clit, stroking it to stimulate it.

Your whines turned louder and higher pitched, pieces and bits of words escaping your mouth, not really finding the strength to voice what you needed, the pleasure invading your whole body and making your mind fuzzy. Your hands gripped his bedsheets tighter, your eyes shutting and your head thrown back. “I’m- holy shit, I’m gonna cum-”, you gasped, and then you felt it: hot and so good inside you, spreading through your whole body, it even made you black out for a second, and when you opened your eyes, you saw Nick with his brows furrowed and biting his lip, thrusting into you to reach his own orgasm. “So g-good, fuck”, he moaned, and then he moved so that his hands were resting on the mattress, at your sides. With this new position, he started going deeper and faster, his eyes closing and his hips stuttering, until he pushed all the way in and dropped his head on your shoulder. One of your hands was on his back, stroking the skin, and the other was at the nape of his neck, tugging at his short hair while whispering praises in his ear, as his cum filled the condom.

When he raised his head from your skin, your eyes met and he leaned in to kiss you softly. he put some of his weight on you so that he could bring his right hand on the side of your face, not wanting the kiss to be over just yet. You had no idea what the future held for you and him, but with the way he was kissing you, you couldn’t help but hope that you could be together again.

[brownskinsugarplum76]

@ellietheace here's the story about the scary winter drive, from Mick Wall's When Giants Walked the Earth:

Cole "tells of a harrowing drive from Spokane to Seattle, where they were due to catch a flight to Los Angeles. An arctic blizzard meant that Spokane Airport was temporarily closed. It was New Year’s Eve and the band was keen to celebrate it: not under eight inches of snow, but in the warmth of LA. They also had an important show to do at the Whisky A Go Go on 2 January. So Cole took the enormously risky decision to drive the band through the snowstorm to Seattle Airport, where he had been told planes were still being allowed to take-off: a two-hundred-mile journey through knee-high slush and towering snow-banks that ‘started out bad’ and quickly got worse. ‘As we slipped and slid, the visibility became worse,’ he wrote. ‘And I was becoming more anxious. To try to calm myself, I reached into the backseat and grabbed a bottle of whisky. I handed it to Bonzo and said, “Open it! Quick! I need something to relax me!” We passed the bottle around, and everyone had a few swigs.’ Brimful of Dutch courage and his own bloody-mindedness, when they came across a roadblock patrolled by state police who ordered them to turn back, Cole simply ignored them, driving back onto the highway at the next turn-off and continuing unabated to Seattle. ‘I felt victorious,’ he declared. ‘But after just a few minutes, I realised that maybe the cops had been right. Sheets of snow alternated with torrents of rain and hail. The winds were ferocious. We were the only car on the highway. Parts of the road were caked with ice, and the car was skidding from lane to lane. If conditions got any worse, I could have turned off the ignition and just let the car slide all the way to Seattle.’ Page, who was huddled in the backseat suffering with Hong Kong ’flu ‘didn’t have much energy to complain about anything’. Everyone else in the car, however, including Cole, ‘was absolutely terrified’. Crossing a narrow suspension bridge they found themselves swaying sickeningly in the wind. ‘We were so close to the edge – and to a drop of about 100 feet – that Bonzo and Robert became absolutely frantic. “Richard, you fuckin’ asshole, you’re about to get us killed!” Robert shrieked, grabbing the bottle of whisky from John Paul's hands. “Oh, my God!” screamed Bonzo. “Can’t you pull over until this storm ends?” I shouted back, “Shut up, you fuckers, just drink some more whisky”. In fear and frustration, I pressed the accelerator to the floor and the car bolted ahead. Within another minute, we were safely on the other side of the bridge.’ But the nightmare wasn’t over yet. When Cole made a piss stop a mile or so further up the road, the car slowly began to slide backwards off the road towards a precipice. Diving back into the car, Cole turned the steering wheel in the nick of time, bringing it to a halt as the occupants all screamed at him at once. They eventually made it to the airport all in one piece."

[heresathreebee]

Dirty Water

Benny 'Borracho' Magalon x Robyn Banks (Black!OC)

Summary: Robb met a couple of shady characters calling themselves cops. Well it just so happens they are, and they're worse than she first thought.

Masterlist

Word count: 2.5k words

Rating/Warning(s): +16 Mature | kidnapping, mild torture, tied up, wanna be clear: IRL I do not condone hooking up with a person who kidnapped you or was complicit in kidnapping you, it just don't work out like that in reality

AN: so basically I'm gonna write and post this in whatever order I please, then go back and figure it out later. Since my brain has jumped back on the Pascal bandwagon, it's hard to focus outside of his body of work but I'm still coming back to this story with relative ease.

Just when she'd started to warm up again, a another shower of ice cold mop water was pitched over her head. Robyn sputtered and coughed, trying not to swallow the suds in her mouth or let them see her cry to keep the dirt out of her eyes. From the shadows that danced beyond her eyelids, she could tell the alleged cop who called himself Nick was crouching in front of her. 

"Last chance, sweetheart," the dirty cop said. "Tell me how you know Tony D'Onofrio." 

Fuck. 

Seven years ago, two federal agents walked in on officer Robyn Banks being sentenced to traffic duty. She didn't mind– she was fed up with the secrets her colleagues were forcing her to keep anyways. Maybe stepping down could help her clear her head, maybe give her time to compartmentalize those events and feelings. Only now could she say that the rest of her career was already out of her hands. 

"Those agents on that file? They approached me about D'Onofrio. Said he was my moby dick. Made a big deal about 'justice' and 'law and order' and 'the sanctity of the badge." Robyn spit more mop water onto the floor and continued, "I told them I didn't know what the fuck it had to do with me and they just sorta looked at each other." 

The blond man– Nick called him Z, she thinks– crossed his arms. "Quit jerkin us around, Banks, get to the fucking point." 

Nick held up a hand. "Easy, tiger. I asked for a story and that's what I'm hearing. Keep going, Robbie." 

Robyn scowled on the inside. "They told me he was my father. More like a sperm donor than anything, he probably didn't even know I was alive." 

"Now that is interesting," Nick purred. 

He cut the zip tie binding her arm to the rolly chair and handed her a towelette to wipe her eyes. She dared not reach for the tie on her other arm, lest her captors think she's pulling a move to escape. Instead she dabbed the sweat and mop water that soaked into the skin of her neck and face to pause and think about her next words. 

"That was the basis of the deal. I join their investigation undercover, see if I can get somewhere with my connection, and help them put one of the biggest crime bosses on this side of the coast away for good. In exchange, I get to call the shots, they'd put in a good word with my CO and elevate me to detective status instead of beat cop." 

"Thought you liked being a beat cop," the one in the silk flamingo shirt said. 

"Apparently nobody believes that." 

"So," Nick steepled his fingers beneath his aquiline nose in thought, "your end of the deal wasn't even your idea? How does that work?" 

"Sounds like she got something else out of it," the bald man in the white polo accused. 

Robyn glared at him, but she didn't contradict him. If she wanted to be listened to, she needed to stay calm. Stay calm, stay alive. Go home with the minimal amount of PTSD. 

"Do you want me to tell you what happened or not?" When nobody raised any more objections, she continued. "I agreed to their terms. Next I know, I'm climbing the criminal ladder, dropping bread crumbs about my parentage, two years goes by, yada yada yada, and then bam. I have a meeting with the heir apparent to the Italian mafia. 

"At that meeting I told Tony D'Onofrio he knew my mother and that I knew they had been dating around the time I was born–" 

"Conceived–" 

"Yeah that– he stared at me for so long I forgot how to breathe and then… he… believed me." 

A pin dropped somewhere in the empty parking garage. A dog barked wildly a mile away but could still be heard in the silence that followed. Robyn still couldn't believe he'd bought it either. 

"He just… believed you," Nick said skeptically. 

Robyn could do nothing but shrug. "I never got the details, I couldn't ask my mom about it and Tony never gave me any indication that he knew about me before that meeting. He just asked me what I wanted and did it." 

Nick dragged his eyes over her form, shivering and glistening, and then-- "what did you ask him?" 

Robyn felt her eyes gloss over as she tried to remember what mysterious force compelled her to say the exact right words. "I told him all I wanted was for him to know, to see him with my own eyes and know he was real. I said I didn't need any favors or special treatment. I just needed some closure." 

That was all. And the agents had been fucking furious with her. They had accused her of using them, of being a traitor and a spy for D'Onofrio or a mastermind cat-woman type villain and all manner of other terrible things. They were ready to pull the plug on the whole operation when Tony had offered her a better job. A job where she would come face- to- face with every schmoe on Tony's payroll. 

"Tony offered me a job 'running errands.' Not quite in his inner circle but higher in his ranks than I had any business being," Robyn said. "Most of the people doing these jobs were kids, easy to get around the city undetected and reliable. Now he knew I wasn't a kid but I guess he wanted to see more from me, put his best eyes on me to see if I was legit." 

Nick nodded and stood up (his knees popping like broken branches). He walked over to Murphy in the flamingo shirt and passed a few inaudible words between them. Robyn wasn't skilled in the art of lip reading, and failed to catch anything from Murphy except the word 'pointless.' It rubbed her the wrong way, sending a spark of fear through her that quickly dulled back into the numbness of being helplessly bound to a chair. She needed to finish this soon before she completely cracked. 

Nick returned to her side, chasing some pepto bismol with a flask of what smelled like tequila in it. "That's a very sweet story, Robbie, really it is. But… what I wanna know is why you're not in this file." 

"That's not what you asked me," she griped, then backpedaled into, "I'm trying to tell you why I'm not in the file. But in order to tell you that, I have to tell you what was left out of the file first. I'm getting to the point, I just… there's a lot of shit to sift through." 

Nick nodded like a patient father (yeah, right). "Just the good parts then." 

"Yeah," she nodded quickly, "just the good parts..." 

"The good parts, uhm. Well he did learn to trust me. I barely had to do anything just… let him try to kindle a relationship between us. I started calling him dad at his request, nobody bothered me or questioned me after that and I didn't abuse it, expect on the downlow giving info to the feds. He liked that about me– he liked me. We'd talk about my mom and he'd let his guard slip, started taking me to his meetings and asking me to deliver his important paperwork." 

"I let him think I was with him and documented everything I could for six more years." In truth, she had had some doubts. About putting him away and the vacuum of power it would create, about the dichotomy of good versus evil, about her career. In that last year, she had actually warmed to the idea of becoming a detective and getting to do work with her own moral backbone and not someone else's. "We made the arrest January 19th and put him away for a dime." 

Nick leaned so far forward in his chair Rob had to lean back. "This is the part where you wrap it up, sweetcheeks." 

Robyn gulped. "Gomer and Valentine pushed me out. They'd been acting really strange at the end, wearing these shit eating grins and looking at each other, and then they iced me out. Had me fired on the grounds that I was too close to the perp, used a fucking Christmas photo for evidence. There went the Italian mob's heir and seven years of hardwork, and I wouldn't even be mentioned by name in the case file. No testimony, no credit, just a dishonorable discharge and dumped on my ass in the streets." 

"Wow." Nick rubbed a hand down his face like he was the exhausted one. "That's quite the story, princess." 

He looked at each of his mates, every face stonier than the last. Especially the silent one's, the latino guy. Then he looked back at Robyn and smiled with a lot of teeth. 

"I do have some questions though, if you'll let me." Sure like I have a choice. "Now it wasn't public knowledge you were in on the investigation, but I find it hard to believe your dad's lackeys didn't know it was you who turned him in. And what I find even harder to believe is that they'd let you live for it." 

Robyn said nothing. There was a part of her that didn't quite grasp it either. When she had arrested him, when she'd slapped the cuffs on him herself and read him his Miranda rights, after the shock of her betrayal wore off, Tony had congratulated her. 

"I'm proud of you, kid. You may be a narc but at least you got your head straight. You got guts, kid." 

As far as she understood it, his last order as the leader of the mafia was not to harm her in any way. Nobody bothered her. They still knew her face on the streets, sent glares her way but never touched her. One of his underlings had come to her place and suggested she skip town permanently just to be safe. It was not a courtesy she ever expected from anyone let alone a man with a reputation for high profile robbery and murder. 

She didn't know what to expect. "I guess he really did love me." And Nick left it at that. 

~

Robyn was unbound, blindfolded, and dumped right back onto the street those so called cops had snatched her from. Her legs shook as she walked the last block to her place, utterly miserable and in desperate need of some sleep. Maybe tomorrow she could figure out what the fuck her life had come to. She showered (and cried) and picked up the half drunk beer from her fridge and brought it out on her front steps, taking a sip of the flat beverage and wishing it was something stronger. 

People passed below her on the streets, never once looking up. The traffic never disappeared but it did lull this time of night. She didn't mean to– barely noticed she was doing it– but she found a pack of cigarettes in her overcoat and lit one up. 

"Next time," she promised herself. I'll try to quit next time. 

Just as she was beginning to ease the tension that had been weighing on her all night, a man climbed the steps to her building and pointedly slowed down to a stop a few feet away from her. She chanced a glare at him and found him no stranger which was somehow infinitely worse. 

"Fuck off," her nerves got the better of her, "I told you everything, can't I at least get some sleep first?!" 

The man lifted his hands in defense, carrying a bottle in a brown bag in one of them. He was, well, he was the handsome one. The Cuban with the neck tattoo and broad shoulders. His eyes seemed a lot softer now Despite the dark setting. 

"Swear on my life, I'm not here for Nick." He took a single step up, waiting to see how she'd react, and when she didn't run, he took another and set the covered bottle down next to her before backing off. Still skeptical, Robyn carefully unwrapped the thing, revealing an expensive looking wine label. Dark red. "It's an apology," he explained with his hands in his pockets, "Nick thinks he's this big, clever actor but he can be a real bully when he drinks." 

Robyn gave him the 'do I look like an idiot' eyebrow and he had the decency to look at his feet. "We could really use your help with this, Banks. Nick forgot to mention the part where Tony was put on parole for good behavior. He'll be out tomorrow." 

"He what." That's just the thing isn't it? The case that ended her career permanently and he just got to walk off after only serving two years of his sentence. That was the real crime here. Robyn gritted her teeth, gripped the neck of the bottle and squeezed. She started shaking it like it was her criminal father, or the weasel federal agents who took her credit, or the dirty cops who kidnapped her tonight. 

Borracho looked concerned. "Do you need a corkscrew or– " 

Robyn shrugged off her jacket and looked him dead in the eye as she wrapped it around the base of the bottle and gently banged it on the porch step until the cork exploded into the air (along with a third of the bottle's contents but whatever). Borracho raised a hand to protect his face from the spray, and turned away to hide a silly grin. 

"Nevermind," he said, shaking the excess drink off his hand. "Listen, if he calls you about anything, please let us know." 

He pointed to the bag, which had a phone number on it. "Don't let your work be in vain." 

"You try that line on everybody?" Rob was feeling a little facetious in the face of mercy, over tired from the revelations, and pissed off by these fucking pigs. "Your good cop, bad cop routine needs some balance. Did you know I was kidnapped today? Now this wine is a start but you'd better step it up, good cop." 

He started to walk away but she called out, "I got Nick, Z, and Murphy. Clocked 'Gus' by the name written on his underwear. Which one are you?" 

"Benny," he threw back, and disappeared into the nighttime traffic. 

"Benny," Rob scoffed. "Cute ass." 

Robb drank the equivalent of two glasses, then passed out from exhaustion. She slept dreamlessly and tried to forget last night had ever happened. Benny, in the meantime, returned to the office where his crew was huddled around a phone receiver. 

"Don't appreciate you throwing me under the bus, B," Nick growled from his seat. 

"Shup up and drink this," Benny pushed the glass of raw eggs closer to his boss' hand, a so called 'hangover cure'. Nick shrunk back a little.

"Told you she'd be sweet on him," Z elbowed Murphy in the ribs and ignored his protesting 'um actually I said that.' 

"Wouldn't call her sweet," Benny said, grunting as he took up residence at his own desk. "She looked like a feral cat." 

Nick laughed. "Yeah well don't go getting mixed up with that pussy, B, we've got work to do." 

It was gonna be another long night for everybody. 

[lavellane]

2, 7, 11 + on what, 18, 21, and 29 for miss gracie AND ! 3, 8, 9, 13, 18, and 30 for mr rhys !

THANKS BESTIE <3 <3 <3 <3

18. Kissing: tongue or no tongue?

heheh :) definitely tongue <3 I MEAN IT REALLY DEPENDS like gracie doesnt care much for pda unless its Tasteful, plus in her few relationships prior to ambrose i dont thik she wouldnt felt comfortable enough to let loose lmao, but with ambrose specifically, and in private? ya she’d definitely feel safe enough to get a lot more intense and like. hm. Win i suppose JKJDKJKDFJ 

21. What would it take for them to break up with someone? What would be the last straw?

hmmm more than anything i think she never wants to feel held back? so, in the nicest way possible, if someone consistently got in the way of her ambitions she would cut them loose. alternatively just people who dont Try, or ppl who make HER feel bad or stupid for trying !!!!

I FEEL BAD BC I KEEP THINKING OF MORE LAST STRAWS LOL shes a very high effort gorl !!!! but i also dont think she’s a fan of clinginess. it doesn’t irritate her so much as make her feel guilty and awkward bc she just shows her love in very different ways than that? i dont think she’d be able to handle a relationship without very clear boundaries and personal space (since she so desperately values both of those things)

29. What recurring dreams do they have?

tbh i dont think she remembers a lot of her dreams BUT i do have an Extremely Iconic headcanon ive never shared before where like. on occasion gracie and nick end up sharing the same dreams??? either because nick subconsciously reaches out to gracie in his sleep, or gracie’s thoughts are projected into his head - either way they sometimes wake up like 👀 girl we both need therapy So bad huh <3

and for rhys !

3. Ask them to describe their love interest.

“Describe de la Cruz?” Rhys glares at you suspiciously before his demeanor suddenly shifts. You watch him mull over the question with a frown and a dramatic sigh. “Let’s see . . . pale, six-two, bright red hair. Speaks with a distinguished Czechian accent. Partial to cashmere sweaters and flare jeans. The last I heard from her, she was boarding a cruise ship to Madrid. This is about the warrant for her arrest in Colorado, yes? The . . . the car incident?” He winces. “Because those charges are completely unfounded, for the record. Absurd. Ridiculous. The ones in Boston, too.”

(hi the joke is he’s talking to a cop or smth idk i finished writing this and realized it wasnt funny JKDFJKDFJKFDJ)

8. Do complex puzzles intrigue or frustrate them?

BOTH <3 rhys likes the ego boost of being the smartest person in the room and really enjoys Figuring Things Out for his own satisfaction but also. while he is v smart he’s also not a genius by a long shot, so his success rate is um. a little all over the place lmao. he’s the type of person who gets SO pissed off trying to figure something out/fix a problem and will become 100% consumed by the issue until its solved. v much the definition of IT MAKES NO DAMN SENSE >:( compels me tho :( only 6000000000000% more melodramatic

9. Do they empathize with non-sentient things (dolls, plants, books…)?

hmmm he doesn’t assign them human traits or anything like that but he does get attatched to certain objects ! books and artifacts and antiques usually, plus his car! mostly it’s just to the meaning he personally derives from them though, or how they remind him of other people!

13. Name one thing their parents taught them.

I WAS GOING TO OPEN WITH A DARK DADDY ISSUES JOKE BUT IVE PUT HIM THROUGH ENOUGH LOL. so despite the rocky relationship with his father, he definitely got his talent for history/writing/reading from him.  whereas from his late mother, he inherited her sense of humour and introspection/sensitivity (which arguably arent skills to be taught but. yes they literally are so shush)

18. Kissing: tongue or no tongue?

both !!!!!!!!!!! like gracie it really depends on the circumstances, but rhys is a very Intense partner and tends to get a little carried away/lost in his feelings. he does prefer to take the other persons lead though so he wouldn’t go too overboard if the other person wasnt matching that same energy

What would they do if they knew it would be forgiven?

rhys, at least prior to meeting zelda, doesn’t care much about if people forgive him, so forgiveness doesn’t hold much value unless its someone he really loves (and hes certain loves him back) i think if anything he mightve told liam how he rly felt, which he never Actually did because it was (at the time) the one relationship he was afraid of screwing up :(  

[bunnylouisegrimes]

Happy New Years Eve! I’m hoping this next year will be brighter and healthier than the last has been! Ily all sm! 💖💞

It’s been a while since I’ve done or posted a traditional drawing. Here are the pony versions of Maggie, Charlie, and Vic: Scrabble Tiles, Candy Cane Fangs, and Lost n’ Found.

In this MLP/NOS4A2 crossover, ponies, like humans, can be born as Strong Creatives. They exhibit all of the same abilities and the like. The only notable difference is that Creative ponies earn their cutie marks at a later rate than most ponies. Once they unlock their abilities, they earn their cutie marks.

Scrabble Tiles is a book loving unicorn who once lived with her mom, who was crazy about religion. She earned her name because when she was first brought home from the hospital, she loved to play with the Scrabble tiles on the board game. This love stuck with her even as she matured. She liked to carry them with her in a pretty purple bag. Scrabble also loved to try to find the truth when it came to the world, as she was restricted to religion as answers thanks to her mother. Throughout her life, she’s avoided her mother to the best of her ability, especially since she isn’t accepting of Scrabble being a lesbian. When she realized she was a Strong Creative, Scrabble was playing with her tiles when she decided to try something new: ask them if they could help her find her purpose in the world. She randomly moved them around to form words, but that’s when something sparked in her magic, something she never felt before... her Creative abilities unlocked and words spelling out, “Creative” were just beneath her hooves. She noticed a sensation on her flank, and that’s when she earned her cutie mark. Her drawback to using her abilities is her stutter. Scrabble Tiles lives in her library, where one can often find her reading or being with her cop girlfriend, a Pegasus named Justice Wings, or Lost n’ Found, her best friend.

Lost n’ Found is a tough Pegasus with a rough family. Her dad, a Pegasus named Gritty Nails, and her mom, an Earth pony named Stone Hooves, didn’t get along the best and had many issues. She earned her name because she liked to wander away a lot, especially when her parents fought, so she was always “Lost n’ Found.” This name would take on a whole other meaning when she discovered her Creative abilities. Like her dad, she loved flying fast on her wings, and she used it as an escape. One day, when she was flying fast, she found a bridge that wasn’t there in the real world, but it projected from her mind. Through this bridge, she could find lost things. The first object she ever found was a lost watch. When she came back from the bridge, she earned her cutie mark. This is known as The Shorter Way bridge. Her drawback is her one eye bleeding and feeling sick. Her wings also feel painful for a bit. Later on in her life, she falls for an Earth pony named Warm Heart, and has an Earth pony son named Bats. You can usually find her flying fast, finding lost objects, reading comics, and spending time with Warm Heart, Bats, or Scrabble Tiles, her best friend. She tries her best to work out the rough relationship she has with her parents.

Candy Cane Fangs was born an Earth pony in a small town in Coltorado... 135 years ago. He earned his name when his abusive whore mother described his growing teeth as “sweet little candy canes to some, but fangs to me, the little vamp pony.” His father left when he was a few days born and was found in bed with another mare. Her stallion came home and shot him dead, where he died in his new girlfriend’s arms. Candy Cane Fangs was left on his own a lot and slept in a coffin bed in the back of the inn and mortuary he lived in with his mother. Candy Cane’s greatest Christmas gift was the Fantom Sled he bought with his own money he saved up from drawing the hearses in funeral processions. As he grew older, the pony often noticed an odd static in the sky, and as he played on his sled, odder and odder things would happen. One day, when Candy Cane was playing, a stallion, unsatisfied with Candy Cane’s mother’s “services,” decided he would do unspeakable things to the poor colt. When Candy Cane managed to escape, he hit a tree, and his powers unlocked for the first time (but not to their fullest extent, hence why he didn’t earn his cutie mark yet). He snapped and killed the stallion who hurt him, the owners of the inn and mortuary, and his mother, with the blades of his sled. He left Coltorado and ended up in Dodge Junction, where he worked as a chauffeur pony.

During the 1920’s, he met Golden Princess, a richer Earth pony. To celebrate her birthday, her family took her to see the Wonderbolts show and to go see a movie. Since her father was too scared to go on an airplane to “fly” with the Wonderbolts, Candy Cane volunteered to go with Golden Princess. He realized that he was in love with her, and she realized she was in love with him. Their first date was that same day, when the two of them and her family went to see a movie about a vampire pony named Nosferatu. Within the next year, they got married and had two Earth pony fillies, Nutcracker and Silver Bell. They lived a comfortable life thanks to Golden Princess’s father’s money, but once the stock market crashed, he lost everything. Their family especially lost everything thanks to her father falling down the stairs in a daze when he found out the news about losing everything.

Forced to live on a farm, Candy Cane did his best to work hard for his family, but Golden Princess grew to despise him, becoming abusive. She even hated the fillies and would sometimes mistreat them. One day, Candy Cane Fangs was conned into believing a place called Christmasland existed through a tricky pony named Nick LeMark. He spent a bunch of money to own two-and-a-half percent of it, and even bought a fancy black carriage known as The Wraith. He convinced Golden Princess everything would be okay, but while he was traveling back to Coltorado where Christmasland supposedly was, Golden Princess began to grow mean again. Slowly, Candy Cane’s attachment to the Wraith sparked something inside of him, and his Creative powers were starting to spark up again, and this time, they were stronger. He was beginning to transform into a vampire pony, alongside Nutcracker and Silver Bell, who turned on Golden Princess and ate her. When Candy Cane found out Christmasland was fake, his mind snapped beyond his control. Completely by instinct, he ran with all his might, anticipating to end himself and his fillies by running into a mountain, but instead they were teleported to... Christmasland. It became real through Candy Cane’s mind! He realized he and the fillies became vampire ponies, and he had earned his cutie mark! When he discovered the Graveyard of What Might Be, he discovered a way to find foals who are abused by their parents that he can save, make vampire ponies, and take to Christmasland. This is what Candy Cane has been doing for many years.

Candy Cane Fangs, also the strongest Strong Creative there is, enjoys reading books, celebrating Christmas, spending time with his vamp foals, and searching for the perfect mare to be his Mother Christmas to his Father Christmas. His relationship with a Creative Earth pony named Jazzie July, who’s abilities were harbored through her roller skates, failed miserably. His best friend is a unicorn named Brewski Trots, the second most powerful Creative. Sandy Hooves, another Strong Creative unicorn nicknamed “The Hourglass,” looks up to him and wishes to be just like him.

Welcome to My Little Strong Creative: Imagination is Magic.

Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed and have a (better and healthier) New Year!

[whockeywhore]

Between Two 18

I sat up at the sound of glass breaking and reached out for Jamie. His side of the bed was cool and empty and I called out for him. He appeared in the doorway a moment later, a dark patch of sweat blooming under the collar of his shirt. 

“Baby, that vase with the naked ladies, were you gonna bring that back to the Burgh or donate it?” 

“Donate.” 

“Sweet.” He turned to leave and I heard him yell down the hall. “It’s all good guys, she didn’t want to keep it.” 

I slipped out of bed and pulled a pair of leggings on, tiptoeing into the hall. 

“Well look who’s finally up!” 

“And right after all the heavy lifting is done. Typical Grace.” 

Braden and Alex shared a laugh between themselves before heading down the stairs, each carrying the end of a coffee table. I watched them go and turned into the kitchen to find Jake and Michael wrapping plates in old newspaper. Nicke was sitting at the head of the table with his nose buried in one. 

“When was the last time the Kings won the cup?” 

“2014.” 

“You need to throw stuff away more Grace. Are you familiar with the teachings of Marie Kondo?” 

“Cal never liked to toss anything. I’m pretty sure he still has my prom dress somewhere in here.” 

“Yeah, Jake tried it on. Very provocative for a high school prom.” 

I leaned back against the counter and watched the scene unfold, pouring myself a cup of coffee and taking a big sip before I spoke. 

“What are you guys doing here?” 

Jake held up a covered plate before tossing it into an open box. “Helping you pack.” 

“But-” 

“Tom called us. He said you were packing up your dad’s place and needed some help.” 

Nicke dropped his paper and nodded. “He promised dinner. And beer.” 

I nodded and left the room, bounding downstairs to find Jamie. He was kneeling next to a giant oak desk in the den and had a strip of measuring tape lining the edge, his brow furrowed in confusion. 

“How the hell did Cal get this in here?” 

“He built it when we moved in.” He let out a long groan and stood, rubbing his lower back gingerly. “You guys have gotten a lot of work done. When did they get here?” 

“Around seven.” My watch read eleven-thirty and a bit of guilt crept over me. “You were sacked out.” 

"You should have woken me up. I feel bad, I haven’t done anything.” 

“But you’re so cute when you’re sleeping- aside from the snoring. If you wanna help, you can start by taking this apart.” He tapped the desktop with a screwdriver and I nodded. 

“Aye-aye captain. And I don’t snore.” 

“Liar!” 

I swatted at him as he leaned down to kiss me, pressing his lips to my forehead for a few seconds. He caught my hand and shook his head before leaving me to my job. The desk was impossibly heavy and I ran my fingers over the divots in it, noting the notches Cal had carved into the edge during phone calls. It was a bad habit developed after I’d gotten him a pocket knife for Christmas one year. I’d caught him whittling away during one of his conference calls a few days later. 

“You know you look just like your mother when you do that.” 

“Do what?” 

“Cross your arms and tap your toe like that. You have her eyes.” He motioned for me to come stand next to him and I did, studying the paperwork on his desk. He’d doodled a crude horse on the side and I couldn’t help but laugh. “What? What’s so funny?” 

“You can’t draw, daddy.” 

“Now you sound just like her!” 

“You alright?” Tom was leaning against the door frame watching me and I nodded, dropping my head to wipe my eyes. 

“Yeah, just thinking.” 

“About what?” 

“My dad.” Tom pulled an armchair across the room and dropped into it, leaning forward on his elbows. “You know he built this desk.” 

“Really?” 

“Mhmm. A few weeks after my mom passed, I came home to a huge pile of wood on the front porch. Had to climb through a window just to get in. Worked on it nonstop for a month, round the clock. Our neighbors called the cops twice because he was using a table saw at midnight.”

“Sounds like Cal.” 

“He was so proud of it,” I reached out and pushed it a bit, nodding to the short leg on my side, “Never would admit it wobbled.” 

“He was a good guy, Grace. A great guy.” 

“He carved their initials into it.” I tugged the center drawer out and felt blindly for the heart he’d drawn, closing my eyes as I found the CD+MJ. Calvin Dillard and Marie Johannsen.

“Grace-” He came around the desk and knelt down, pulling me into a tight hug as my emotions got the best of me. The weight of the weekend, going through my father’s whole life and deciding what was worth keeping from the house I’d grown up in, sat heavy on my shoulders and I collapsed against him with a sob. 

Tom stroked my back gently and I curled into his lap. “I don’t wanna leave, Tom. I don’t want to move to Pittsburgh.” 

“You do, Gracie. I know you do.” 

“I don’t. I want to stay here and I want everything to go back to the way it was a-and I... I want my dad back. I miss him so much.” 

“I miss him too. But look, look at me for a minute.” He lifted my chin until I met his eyes. “You can’t bring him back Gracie. Staying here won’t bring him back. You have a life waiting for you in Pittsburgh.”

I sniffed and he reached for a tissue from the desk, letting me wipe my nose before he pressed on. 

“You’ve got your wedding and your new job. You’ve got Jamie. Everything is waiting up there for you and keeping this house, staying in Washington, isn’t going to change that.” 

He let me fall apart for a few minutes and I balled my hands into fists in his t-shirt, angry and sad and drowning in nostalgia. I pulled myself back together and sat up, retying my ponytail and wiping my face.  

“I got mascara on your shirt.”

“Don’t worry about it. I borrowed it from Braden this morning after he picked me up last night. I spent your cab money on beer.” 

“That’s my boy.” 

He wrapped an arm around me and I fell against him, taking a minute to savor the feeling of being wrapped in his arms again. My eyes burned with more tears and I realized what made all of this sting so badly. In the past few years, through all the trips I’d taken and games I’d gone to, he’d become home to me. Tom was the constant I had clung to after my dad’s diagnosis. He’d come to appointments and gone to visit Cal with me, even on his own sometimes. 

Every time things had gotten bad, every shitty prognosis or rough night, Tom had been there. For me.

“I’m gonna miss you. So much.” 

His voice was heavy with emotion as he agreed. “We’ll see each other. At games, on holidays. We’ll spend by-week together come January.” 

I bit back the urge to argue that it wouldn’t be the same and opted for taking his hand in mine and squeezing it. He returned the gesture before clearing his throat and standing up. He held out a hand to help me to my feet and I took it, falling into him again as soon as we were upright. 

“Hey guys, we were thinking about heading out for some lunch. Are you-” Braden stopped as he saw us and I turned my head to look as he stepped into the den. “What’s going on?” 

“Just hashing some shit out.” 

“So we’re... all good?” We both nodded and he came closer, wrapping his arms around the two of us with a sigh of relief. “Thank god. I hate it when you two fight.” 

I weaseled my way out of his grasp when I began sweating and he laughed. 

“What were you saying about lunch?” 

“We were going to order some pizza. Just about done upstairs.” 

“Why don’t we go out? There’s nothing in the fridge and no place to sit anyway. There’s a great parlor a few blocks away.” 

He nodded and mumbled about going to tell everyone else, leaving Tom and I alone once again. 

“So you and I are good?” 

“You tell me.” I wiped at the mascara stains on his shirt and frowned. “You should soak this before it sets.” 

“Gracie Lou, if you want to see me shirtless, all you have to do is ask.” He pulled the t-shirt off and tossed it in my direction. “You know I’ve got love for you.” 

He ran his fingers over his abs and gave me a wink. “You like what you see?” 

"Shut up, Tom.” I started towards the laundry room with a smile on my face. “I can’t believe I missed you.”