#I already typed this in a LONG review of the chapter but doing it again. I just love him

[lavenderjewels]

I love Higuruma. Not just because he’s so willing to help Yuuji and the others (and because he’s hot), but he’s a character with particular traits that I’ve appreciated throughout JJK. The constant adapting and learning that can be seen with Mahito, strengthening his own capabilities that aren’t inherently offensive or overwhelmingly powerful like Tengen with barriers or Nobara being Mahito’s natural enemy, etc. It’s not like there aren’t interesting aspects to characters that are overwhelmingly powerful like Sukuna or Gojo, but it’s gratifying to see characters who aren’t still find ways to make just as much of an impact and work with others to do so. It’s no wonder Sukuna admires him, while giving far less thought to characters that could arguably be considered more powerful or destructive.

[jolapeno]

20. rainier grey

frankie morales x f!reader | epilogue of do me yourself

summary: a meet-cute in a hardware store? impossible, out of the question. except, that's exactly what happens. a need for screws leads you to a broad-shouldered, brown-eyed man who you're sure is about to change your day, never mind your life.

wordcount: 3.8k chapter warnings: dad!frankie. frankie calls you 'rainy' (paint-related from chp.1) no other descriptions or name used. no use of y/n. flirting. they're no longer idiots. an: the end

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key: frankie is in bold, you are in italics

You sure you got everything from the house, baby? I think so! Does this mean you're giving the keys in?

Unpacking another box, you slide a photograph onto the shelf, right next to his. You smile, shifting it, trying to make your things look like they belong as much as his.

Evidence of you already slotting in. Books sitting with his, plants finding homes in corners that look as though they were made for them.

Yeah. Unless you've changed your mind? Not even a little bit. Good. Because I already handed them in. And what if I had said I thought I’d forgotten something?

The bubbles in the corner appear, fluttering and twitching, until they vanish. You roll your eyes, grabbing a tissue-wrapped small artificial cactus, placing it, and tilting your head as your phone vibrates.

You know I’ve checked the place twice. Did the sex chair go into storage okay, by the way?

Even from here, you know he snorted. A breathy laugh, one that has and will always make your lips press together before sliding up into a smirk. You giggle at it, imagining him trying to suppress it if he's with people. Shaking your head at the image as you see him typing.

You gotta stop calling your office chair a sex chair. Well, the only thing that happened in it was that. Gonna drive now, you menace. Hurry home, baby.

Sighing, you rip the tape from the underside of the box and flatten it, staring at the wasteland of boxes that have taken over his living room. Despite the chaos, you feel like you're finally home, for the time in a long time.

A thing you'd whispered to him when he'd hooked his leg over yours in bed this morning.

Steam billowed, carrying the scent of spices, tomatoes, and herbs blending into the air as you hear the front door open.

It brings a smile, tugging at the corners of your mouth, even though this should feel ordinary by now. A thing you should be used to, it feels like the first day all over again.

No more boxes, all unpacked, places for everything and newly learnt routines that you know to listen for.

Head turned to the doorway, hearing one thing after the other landing in the bowl: Keys, wallet and two thuds of his boots being removed.

It's all a routine now, something normal. Dinner is divided between whoever arrives home first. If he gets home first, he starts it, the two of you relying on the board on the wall to keep track. The one that's a vibrant array of colours—butterscotch orange, dinosaur green, and rainy day blue—highlighting the various shifts, jobs, and school pick-ups your month has in store.

This week, it’s a lot of orange. Things are picking up, with more word getting out about Frankie’s business and what he can do. The reviews are trickling in, and you know he’s already quickly outgrowing the summer house in the back garden. You commented on it when the two of you made the decision, something he assured you would be fine. You still agree that paying for two homes wasn’t a wise choice when he was already taking a risk.

Risky—a word you could never use to describe him. But a word you let him have, relenting, melting into his arms as you bid goodbye to the office he made you, with the promise of a better one in the future.

Now, standing in the kitchen that used to be just his and is now ours, you count in your head the seconds until his arms slide around your middle, his mouth pressing a kiss to your head.

“Smells good.”

Turning your head, fingers sliding under his chin—you steal a kiss, and another, sliding your digits around his jaw before they’re tangling in his hair.

“Could get used to this.” You hum against his mouth, murmuring a what that makes him smile, smirk, right up against yours. “You in our kitchen.”

“Well, it has been months now—I’d hope you’d be used to it.”

Shrugging, running his hands up down your arms, he steps back and leans on the counter. On the days when he beats you home, you bring home stories of Harry, customers and the random paint name you’ve found that you make him guess the shade of until he gets it right. Tonight, you ask him how his day has been. A mundane question, a thing that arises every day and yet the answer is never the same.

He talks about another enquiry, how the photos of your old office space, in the place you once called home, had inspired another couple to get in touch. And you try not to smirk, to wear a knowing smile, but instead nod, stirring and grabbing plates as he folds his arms and keeps his gaze on you.

A thing you thought would have lessened, but hasn’t.

“You need my help with this one, or?”

Shaking his head, folding his arms—looking you up and down as he traces his tongue across his bottom lip.

“What?”

“We said if we did this you wouldn’t try and do it all.”

You might not groan outwardly, but you do inwardly. His brows raise as though knowing so too, a thing which almost drags a laugh out of you. Almost.

“Come here,” he says, hand extended, finding your slides in as he drags you close. “I appreciate you, you know that?”

“I do.”

Good, he whispers, brushing your cheek with his thumb—the roughness of it making liquid heat spark in your stomach as you bite the inside of your cheek.

“You want a hand dishing up?”

Shaking your head, you kiss his wrist. “No. Go change—you can’t do it all.”

His snigger stays in the kitchen with you, long after he’s left to go change.

Luca told me something interesting at drop off.

Not sure I want to know.

Apparently, we’re getting a dog?

Little shit. No. He asked me and I said I’d think about it.

Well, apparently he thinks that Saturday when we pick him up we’re going to get him a dog that lives at our house.

Fuck.

Fuck indeed.

Are we against a dog?

It takes a second for the squeals to calm down.

Your arms may be scratched, and you may have wanted to sob as you tried to build the crate on your own, but the joy thrumming inside you as Frankie wrestles the puppy and Luca screams with laughter makes it all worth it.

It feels right that there are two bowls on the kitchen floor, both sitting on a plastic mat covered with paw prints.

It makes the home feel complete, even with a wet patch on the rug, even with your new shoe marked with tiny teeth marks, and even though you're exhausted beyond words.

Grinning, you lean back on the couch, watching Frankie pretend to bark and growl as the puppy tries to nip at him. The two alternate between rolling around, evading each other, the creased laugh marks on Frankie's nearly enough to make you get on the floor and join him, just to brush your fingers against them.

Instead, you teasingly poke the boy next to you. “Luca, what do you want to call him?”

Mouth sliding from side to side, Luca shuffles and bounces along the sofa before his head comes to rest on your arm. Frankie shifts to playing a version of tug-of-war. “Tyler.”

“Tyler?” Frankie asks, pausing to stroke the retriever's ears.

Luca smiles and then beams. “Like tyrannosaurus.”

Somehow, you suspected you should have seen that coming.

“Okay, well, Tyler needs to go to the toilet. Do you want to try and take him?”

Luca, nodding and smiling, taps your arm. “Will you come with me?”

“Of course I will.”

As you stand, you catch sight of Frankie beaming up at you, warmth flooding your cheeks and ears at the sight of it.

What are you doing for lunch, baby?

Well, I was going to treat myself to a coffee and maybe a sweet treat. But what are you thinking?

I was thinking of letting Tyler out, bringing you fast food and sitting in the office at Harolds?

Oh, it’s been a while since we’ve done that. I like that our roles have reversed here.

I know. Do you know when Harold will let you have lunch?

Delivery is almost away, and then I just have to do a few bits.

I’ll be there in an hour. I’ve missed your face today.

Sounds good. Maybe you should have spent more time with it this morning then, than between my legs.

I have zero regrets about how I started my day.

“Have you seen the yard—I think that’s enough room for Tyler, how much bigger can he even grow after a year, and look here...”

Your fingers loop in between his, tugging him, practically dragging him with you to the kitchen window—the slightly overgrown grass and white fence greeting the two of you.

It’s the eleventh house the two of you have seen. Fingers brush over his thumb as he follows you around the rooms in a house that’s spacious, with three bedrooms, and two-and-a-half baths. It’s airy, light—ridiculously bright.

But it needs work.

A thing you can tell he’d thought on sight, even if the most he’s done is make a snort or a hum.

You suspect Frankie is paying more attention to the things wrong with it, than what is right. Missing some of the things you point out to him, too busy calculating square footage as the two of you walk around it. Ignoring your opinions on floor-to-ceiling bookcases and hallway mirrors, if the two of you could get a bigger bed than you both have now.

You do think he catches that you think Luca should have the largest room—your reasoning dripping from your tongue that he needs space as he grows up, that you both have a bigger closet in the second biggest.

“—And, we'd probably need to get him one of those beds soon, the ones where he has space under for a pull-out or a desk. The closet is decent, but we’ll have to get him some drawers too.”

Your fingers trace along the doors of the closet as he blinks, coming back to you, to the house, to the room.

“Wait—what…”

And you smile. Not just with kindness or joy, but with everything. Push it outwards, hoping it stretches its warmth out over the entire room, hoping it’ll surround him, maybe he’ll allow it to wrap itself around him as you tilt your head.

“I think this should be Luca’s room.”

Walking towards you, the heels on his boot sounding on the wooden flooring. “Baby, you can’t think that. For one, this house is—“

“Perfect,” you finish, palms finding his cheeks, thumb stroking the hair on either side of his lip. “It’s perfect, Frankie.”

You can see it, even if he doesn’t say it: it isn’t.

You’ve suspected for a while that he has an idea of a home the two of you should have. He’d whispered it to you three months ago in bed, head buried in your neck, fingers fanned over your hips as he talked about garden size, a pool, a workshop and even an office.

In some capacity, this house ticks some of those boxes. It has a spacious kitchen, it has a decent yard and a pool that needs a deep clean. There’s a room that could be an office, but would most likely be a spare bedroom for friends, for Benny or one of your own.

And, you’re grinning. Watching him smile in response, all radiant like he thinks you’re the reason the world rotates.

Then he says it, the thing which has been ticking behind the scenes. Unsaid, unspoken—ignored as though it doesn’t have its own pulse. “You deserve better.”

You don’t mean to, but your forehead wrinkles, brows knitting together as your smile fades into a thin line. Feeling it, etched and written across your face as shame works across him. The evidence of a battle he’s having with himself—something churning, twisting as you slide your hands down his neck and loop them at the back.

It’s clear now it’s been needling him—likely making his chest tight, wrapping vines around his chest, all thick and full of spikes, as he rolls his neck and sighs.

Tilting your head, trying to keep your tone level, you whisper, “Baby, what do you mean?”

Because the realtor is downstairs.

Not wanting to cause a fight—a scene. Your skin prickles as you momentarily panic that you’re whisper isn’t a whisper, when his mouth opens, but no sound leaves it. Worry tangles in your head, and in your throat as you move closer. Wanting more words to appear, to conjure, tell me, tell me, tell me, burning a hole in your tongue as you need him.

Your hand brushes his cheek, forehead smoothing out—concern replacing earlier confusion. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

The edges of your mouth twitch. “And, I love this house.”

He snorts, shaking his head as you glare.

“Don’t… don’t do that, Francisco. Don’t think for me because you’ve concocted some image of what I want.”

Letting his eyes hang down, he sighs. “I’m not–I’m not doing that.”

“You are. You… you’re looking at each house as if it has a checklist to meet—like it’s being measured against something.”

“Doesn’t it?”

You sigh, dropping your hands from his face. And you miss touching him the moment you do. Wanting to place them back, have him take your wrists and put them back, but you’re already folding them, shaking your head as you stare out the window.

“You can’t be mad at me for wanting the best for you.”

You snort this time, narrowing your eyes as you shoot him a glare that says you can, and you will.

“If, and I mean if we take this house, I… I want, no, I need to do a lot of work on it. Because you deserve the house of your dreams, and admittedly, I can’t afford to give it to you. Because houses are fucking expensive, but I can make it for you.”

Biting down on your lip, you glance, catching the sight of him running a hand over his face. Fingers pinching the inside of your arm as you try not to let tears bubble, swim and then fall.

“I… I don’t want that.”

“What do you mean?”

You look up, blinking away the tears. Seeing the doubt spread across his face, like he wants to rewind the clock—take back ever saying you deserve better.

And you don’t want to fight, not with him.

“Frankie… I don’t want it to be my dream house, I want it to be ours.”

He takes a step towards you. “I know.”

But you raise your hands, not pushing him back, but not inviting him in either.

“But you don’t. You’re not picturing a doorframe we can keep measuring Luca growing up. You’re not thinking of warm Sundays with our friends around the pool—and you’re not seeing the lick of paint needed so our bedroom is a little dimmer, so your eyes don’t burn from all the off-white.

“I don’t need an office—I like working with you and at Harold’s. And, yes, I’m not walking around thinking you won’t have to do anything to this house, because, of course, you will. You’re good, you have an eye. We wouldn’t even be thinking of buying something bigger if you weren’t. But, you started a business a year ago—we can’t afford perfect. But we can buy good and make it perfect. If, and when you stop thinking of me, and instead us.”

Brushing a hand over his face, he takes a moment. Swallowing a sigh, an annoyed grunt. His fingers itch at his forehead, pushing strands of hair under his hat before he drops it and stares at you.

“You really want this one?”

Nodding, you roll your lips. “What about you?”

And so he looks around. Hands digging into his jacket pockets, walking in slow footsteps around the room—

Hoping you've helped him see it, picture it, with all your earlier ramblings.

Where the wooden trunk he made will go, the bed you just talked about—the prints of stars, spaceships and galaxies. He glances out of the window, spotting the long drive and the trimmed grass—the quiet neighbourhood that he could teach Luca to ride his bike in.

He feels you come up behind him, arms sneaking around his waist, his hands clutching your fingers as he smiles.

“You want to take another tour, Morales?”

He smiles, nodding, before he turns in your arms so he’s facing you, clutching your face as he kisses you. One which is full of sorry’s and love.

He lingers his palms on your face, just for a fraction. “Will you tell me all the other things you picture as we walk around?”

Grinning again, like before. One which would rival the sun and the beauty of the full moon on a clear night sky.

“Sure,” you whisper, taking his hand, leading him out of the room that in several months will be his son’s.

I’ve packed our case and it’s in the shower in our en-suite, so do not turn the water on without looking. Luca’s is half done, but just need you to help me with a few last-minute bits?

Can I ask why our suitcase is in the shower or am I missing something?

Luca is being nosy. He goes into our bathroom but not into the shower. Trying to keep a surprise from him is harder than you think when I apparently “have lying face”.

You do look very suspicious when you lie.

Good job I don’t have to lie for a living.

Is he behaving?

We’ve baked cookies for tomorrow—even if he thinks it's for a movie day. And he’s currently using my iPad to talk to Sam.

I keep hiding in rooms with boxes so he doesn't ask me things.

Rainy, baby.

I know, but it's only a few more hours, right?

Yeah, promise. Sam called me earlier, and said she has managed to get Monday off so she can meet us there on Sunday—says we should pick somewhere in the park so she can surprise him properly.

Do you want me to get to thinking and then text her?

If you don’t mind baby? I should be done here around 7.

Sounds good. Gives me something to focus on until you're home.

You sure you're doing okay?

I’ll be better when we tell him tonight, I’m feeling really bad about lying to him even if it’s for a good reason.

I promise you, the moment he realises we’re going, you’ll see how it’s worth it.

I know. Plus, the promise of you in Mickey Mouse ears is really keeping me going.

The photo of you getting off one of the rides is what is keeping me going.

Mean.

But I love you.

Love you too.

Peaceful—that’s how you’d describe it.

Condensation slips under your fingers, sliding under your wrist, pooling at the watch strap as you hear him shouting something to someone as he makes his way over. The music is quieter over here, the loud voice that attempts to synchronise with the lyrics seems less shrieking, and more full of harmony.

You were only hovering on the outskirts to call to see if Tyler was okay, and then you found yourself lingering. A moment needed, not questioned or protested.

You know that's why he’s been biding his time. Watching, eyes flicking to you just in case you beckon him to come. Now, you smile as he approaches, it pulled from you with so much ease it's reactionary at this point, no thought. Just a-Frankie-smile, all his, hopefully forever his.

The once-warm air has now cooled, whipping the fabric around your frame as he saunters over.

“Wondered how long it would take you.”

Snorting, he takes a sip from his glass—letting it wet his lips, admiring the same view you have been for some time.

Slipping his hand around your waist, you move closer with ease. Hip moving to hip, cheek coming to rest on his shoulder—contentment filling your bones when he brushes his fingers up and down your back.

“You cold?”

“Not now.”

And he smiles, light—it coming with ease now that he has you back by his side.

“Missed you.”

“That’s because you’re a needy boy, Butterscotch.”

Snorting, he buries it in your neck—light, airy—before pressing a kiss to your head and turning to watch those moving on the dance floor. The soft glow of twinkling lights shimmering in his brown, fingers teasing up and down his white shirt.

The moment is only punctuated by a distant sound—a shift in melody embedded into the night breeze. It takes a second, one far too much before you recognise the tune, the song. Smirking to yourself as you remember your passionate rendition in his car the other week. An updated version to the one over a year ago. The look the same, though, all grin, all teeth and almost crinkled eyes.

You feel him turning your head, eyes meeting his.

It’s simple, uncomplicated—a movement that seems rehearsed as you move, leaning, resting your head on his chest as you feel a soft sigh escape his lips.

“When we do this, we’re eloping.”

Brow arching, he smiles. “When?”

“Like you’re not desperate to slip a ring on my finger, Morales.”

Snorting, resting his chin on your head, you take a comforting breath.

Hearing him swallow, you look at him, finding his tongue flicking against his teeth as he stares ahead at the party. “What if I was… desperate?”

Smirking, finding his eyes now on you, even if his head is facing forward. “Well, Frankie, maybe I’d be desperate to say yes.”

Have I told you today you’re beautiful?

Are you texting me from across our hotel room?

I am. I can see your smile in the mirror.

How the roles have reversed. You look good in a suit, have I told you that?

Told me I look good in a different kind of suit today.

Oh baby, you always rock that one very well.

Can’t believe I’m marrying you today.

Can’t believe there’s a chance I’m going to be married by the real Elvis today.

I hope he says uh-huh-a-huh.

If he doesn’t, I say we annul and try again.

You do really look beautiful.

You should take a photo with Will’s camera—I guarantee I’ll get sauce down me.

You and white.

It’s actually rainier grey, but maybe I should have worn butterscotch.

Not sure I’d have survived that. Already pretty close to falling apart at the sight of you now.

Shut up and come here and kiss me.

AN: The End.

God, I was emotional last week, but as much as I am this week, I'm just grateful. Grateful you've all followed, that I got to tell this exactly how I wanted to. But, mainly, that you let this pair into your hearts. I love you, thank you.

[noiriarti]

The Winner Takes it All: Anakin Skywalker x Reader (Enemies-to-Lovers Modern AU) | Chapter 6

NSFW! Minors DNI!!! Summary: The moment the thesis competition was announced, you knew your biggest threat. Anakin Skywalker, golden boy of the engineering department. He's the only other person smart enough to beat you, and the only other person insane enough to stay in the lab until midnight every night. He's also an asshole, but you're starting to think maybe he's not as bad as you thought he was... Pairing: Anakin Skywalker x Fem!Reader CW: a lot of jerking off WC: 8.4k AN: thank you all for your patience!! i started grad school so i got a bit busy, but now i will update about once a week! thank you all for the love :) also i am so sorry about all the angst

Ch. 1, Ch. 2, Ch. 3, Ch. 4, Ch. 5, Ch. 6, Ch. 7

Chapter 6: Tearing

The afternoon sun filtered through his window shade and cast his room in its warm glow, but Anakin was too busy with his notes on his desk to notice. He needed something to do with his hands, just to keep himself focused, to keep his thoughts from wandering to you. To answer a practice problem, he was trying to find a specific case of heat diffusion the class had discussed--somewhere in October, he thought, but he wasn't quite sure. His desk was already messy before he began studying, but he was making it even worse with a paper thrown here, a staple there.

His eyes scanned the paper this way and that, trying to absorb any iota of information, but the words were slippery, wily things that wriggled out of his grasp. In the end, it turned out he had flipped past the page several times without seeing what he needed, and he finally found it on his fifth pass. Subconsciously, he dug his nails into his palms in frustration. Why couldn't he work? Why were you doing this to him?

His phone chimed, a text from his mom. Hey, how are finals? Doing okay?

For a few days, he'd been ducking questions about whether he was sleeping or eating enough, because he knew she'd be disappointed with his answers. He was running out of ways to change the subject in phone calls, and he knew she was catching on. Anakin decided he should probably respond.

yeah, really stressed about one of them, rest are fine. thesis going ok.

A second later, his phone lit up again.

Good luck. I'm so proud of you, Anakin, no matter what. As soon as he read it, he dropped his head into his hands. His forehead was clammy under his fingers. Of course she was proud of him unconditionally. He knew that. But he knew that he would be even prouder if he won. If he got a 4.0 this semester. Once, after he said something like that to Ahsoka, she looked at him with that knowing expression only she could produce, and asked him if his mom had ever said anything like that. Technically, no, he conceded, but he couldn't let her down.

He just felt so stupid right now, looking at the pages blanketing his desk. He'd been sitting over them for too long, but he couldn't bring himself to get up and stretch or take a break. He couldn't bring himself to do anything, really, let alone focus. So he was trapped. All he could do was just sit there, drink his Red Bull, and kind of review until he could destroy this exam next week.

Anakin decided to try another practice problem. Maybe that would make it click.

The surface tension of liquid argon is given by--

His phone buzzed against the desk. Putting it on loud was a bad idea, and he knew it. Maybe he was just looking for an excuse. It was probably his mom, saying something else. Or, he hoped as his heart jumped, maybe you were coming from the lab early and wanted to meet and study. Or hook up. Or just talk. Whatever, as long as it didn't involve his textbook. His phone buzzed again. And again.

He gave in and opened it. It was you, he found, and he grinned like a lunatic, but caught himself. Then again, he was alone, so it didn't matter, really.

But then he read your texts.

Where are you We need to talk Now

He typed back immediately, his fingers flying faster than he thought they could.

in my room is everything ok?

He looked at the screen, saw the bubbles pop up that meant you were typing, then watched as they disappeared. Anakin was frozen, his phone in his hand. We need to talk could just have been a poor phrasing on your part, right? It didn't mean what he thought it did, right? He could deny it only for about five more seconds, when the little bubbles didn't return.

Fuck. Anakin let loose a string of curses and dropped his phone on his desk. He couldn't think of a single thing that would warrant ending… whatever the two of you had. But maybe you'd realized that he was doing a lot more than what fuckbuddies (fuckenemies?) should do, that he was an absolute wreck for you, and had been for a long time.

The caffeine was getting to him, and his leg was bouncing so quickly that he swore his downstairs neighbor would submit a noise complaint. His mind started racing with all the things he never would have told you, the things that would go unsaid if you ended what the two of you were doing. He'd never tell you that he had two dogs growing up, strays, or that his least favorite flavor of Skittles was orange. He'd never tell you that he was pretty sure that he hadn't felt this way about anyone, ever, and that he had laid awake for the past two nights thinking about how, if at all, he would tell you.

Ahsoka's voice echoed in his ears, wisps of sound urging him to just say something. His mind was racing, a million trains of thought all colliding at once. He should just tell you. He'd never learn your favorite kind of cereal. He hadn't responded to his mom, fuck. He regretted having that Red Bull. He'd never tell you that he called you baby during sex because he wanted to say it other times, too. The answer to that thermo question was probably 36 Joules. He'd never tell you that if you called him a pet name he'd melt and let you win any competition because nothing would matter anymore.

But that was precisely why he hadn't told you how he felt. Because if you felt the same way about him, that would be so much better than any amount of money or award. And that wasn't the kind of person he could be.

He'd spent so long training to control that wild hurricane of emotions that pulled him through everyday life. Anakin channeled it into perfectly neat parallelized circuits and technically exquisite poomsae, but around you it all let loose, angry and passionate and just so much.

It was terrifying. You were terrifying. And there was a selfish part of him that said that he deserved to let all those feelings loose for once. To feel as much as he wanted to feel because, goddammit, he was so tired of control.

But Anakin was a lot. A handful, his teachers always said. It was what ended his previous relationship, what drove Padme away. Would it drive you away, too?

If you walked up to him in two minutes and asked him what the two of you were, if it was just casual or something more, would he have the self-control not to blurt out exactly what he was thinking? His stomach flipped at the idea of you leaving the room, leaving his life, without knowing how he felt.

You walking away from him and disappearing into another part of the country after graduation would kill him. He was pretty sure that seeing you at a reunion in five years with someone on your arm, some beautiful person who you had never hated, would smite him on the spot.

He imagined himself six months from now, when the thesis was over. What would that Anakin want for himself? Would he let himself say something? Fuck it all, he would say. And he was right.

If you were going to end things, he was going to get this off his chest. He had to. He wasn't sure he could live with himself if he didn't.

The sound of knuckles on wood cut through the silent room like a dagger through his heart. One, two, three seconds passed as he sat in his desk chair, mind totally blank. He tried to produce a coherent feeling or, if he was lucky, an entire thought, but he came up empty.

Before, it was all something nebulous, something he could just worry about. Something he could stress about. Now, it was real. You were behind that door, and you needed to talk. And there was no escaping that. With heavy legs, he dragged himself to the door.

Anakin pretended not to notice that his hand was shaking when he wrapped it around the doorknob.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

The bus ride back to your dorm had been uneventful, other than the way you were staring daggers into the skull of some poor guy in front of you. He had the good sense to not turn around.

Anakin Skywalker is a thief. You clenched your fists, and you could barely feel the sting of your nails in your palms. Barriss wasn't one to lie, based on the past three years you'd spent with her. She told you the facts right after: she overheard one of the graduate students--probably Obi-Wan, but she didn't know who, just some vaguely hot older guy, she said--telling Anakin his idea for a thesis. And then Anakin ran with it.

If she was right, that changed everything. If Anakin really didn't come up with his own idea, that meant he had rigged the competition. He had a leg up this whole time. He really was exactly what you had thought for years. The golden boy of the department who had everything handed to him. And while you'd labored over choosing the perfect, most viable but impressive idea, he had just skipped right over that step. You'd cried over how hard it was to find a good idea, struggled for weeks on end last year, just trying to make something good, let alone great. And he was already weeks ahead of you in the competition.

All of his sweet gestures--staying with you in bed, holding hands in the library, getting you drinks--were suddenly less sweet. Last year, he was in the thesis lab with you, when he was working on his proposal, watching you go through ideas and get upset when they didn't work, and he knew that. And he never told you about where his idea came from, even when you were getting closer. He probably knew it would piss you off, and he still didn't tell you. He'd hidden it from you.

You didn't know if that hurt more or less than the unfairness of his advantage.

The bus slowed to a stop in front of your dorm, and you hopped off, then dashed to the elevator.

You just wanted him to tell you that Barriss was crazy, or misheard. Or anything. Anything to make it not true.

The elevator ride was agony as it whizzed up to his floor.

At his door, you hesitated. If you entered and fought, that made this real. So, so real. The second you walked through that door, everything between the two of you might change.

But you were too furious not to knock. Silence hung for a few seconds before you could hear the door unlock.

Anakin opened it to you, looking unfairly hot. Rage ripped through you as he looked at you with open affection, gesturing to enter his room, like nothing had changed. Like he wasn't lying to you all this time. You stormed in quickly.

"Anakin, I need you to be honest with me." Your voice came out tighter than you wanted as you searched his face for a reaction. He closed the door, then came to stand in front of you.

"I'm always honest with you," Anakin replied earnestly, keeping his gaze locked on yours as he forced a small smile.

You didn't smile back. "How did you come up with the idea for your project?"

"What?" Anakin blinked, caught off guard. He let out a breathy chuckle. "That--that's what you wanted to talk about?"

"Well?" You pressed, crossing your arms. The edge in your voice was obvious, cutting. You could see Anakin go through the stages of realizing what you might mean, and your stomach started to sink even deeper.

Anakin sighed, ruffling his hair in frustration. "I--Really? Okay, fine. There aren't currently any microsurgery tools that mimic human hands. They're all pincers. So I wanted to make one." Your gaze narrowed.

"And you're saying Obi-Wan had nothing to do with it?"

"What are you talking about?" It was probably supposed to sound confused, but it came out more scared. You knew him well enough to tell. God, he was infuriating.

"Did you or did you not get your idea from Obi-Wan?" The words came out like tiny daggers, sharpened steel that you spat at him. His face fell, and you could see the moment that he knew you knew.

"Look, it's not like that," Anakin said, his arms falling to his sides. His eyes were suddenly avoiding yours, like his desk suddenly contained some information he desperately needed, or, preferably an escape hatch.

"Then what is it like?" You shot back, your heart racing. You stepped closer, trying to find an answer in his furrowed eyebrows. "Why can't you just say no?"

Anakin's jaw clenched, and he was obviously searching for the right words. Words that wouldn't piss you off, probably. "Because Obi-Wan helped, I guess."

"You guess?!" Your voice cracked, incredulous.

"I mean--look." Anakin raised his hands defensively. "Sure, Obi-Wan put me on the path to it. But every second in the lab since then has been me. My design, my coding."

"What do you mean put you on the path? You mean he gave you the idea, don't you?" Your frustration with him was boiling over. Even now, he was defending himself, trying to evade this. Justifying. It drove you crazy.

Anakin hesitated, his words faltering. "I--It's not--"

"Are you seriously about to say that it's not that simple or something?" You interrupted, your voice shaking. You threw your hands up, your fury finally reaching its peak. "Because, from here, it looks simple. Like you stole your whole fucking thesis idea!"

"That's not true!" Anakin snapped, his voice louder now. It wasn't the same kind of anger you were used to seeing from him, it was defensive, almost panicked. "Obi-Wan, he just, he suggested I look at applying an old project of mine to microsurgery. And he was right. So, I guess, technically, if you're looking at it like that--sure. He gave me the idea."

You stared at him, his words sinking in. His admission hung between you like a guillotine, its rope finally snapped. The air felt tight, like you were ten thousand miles above sea level and there wasn't enough oxygen to keep you afloat.

Anakin shifted again, his anger gone, his voice softer, pleading. "It's like… I don't know. I guess I feel guilty about it. But I really needed to submit something that day, or I couldn't enter into the competition at all. It was the rules. If I don't do a thesis… I--I don't know. I just had to. And I figured I'd just use that temporarily, and pivot as soon as it was approved, It was in the end of junior spring, and I just couldn't find a topic that worked. That idea I had about hand prosthetics didn't pan out, and I was telling Obi-Wan about it in the lab, and he told me I should look at microsurgery, 'cause they have a lot of the same issues--calibrating movement to user input, holding up to wear and tear, dealing with friction and joint movement--and that I should do my thesis on it."

His eyes finally met yours again, so deep and blue that it almost made you reconsider. Almost. He was pleading, begging you to understand. "So, yeah, I submitted an early version of the idea Obi-Wan gave me. But every second of design, build, everything was me. It's my work."

You stood frozen, silent. After a few long beats, Anakin started to fidget, his hands wringing so hard that his knuckles turned white.

"If I could go back, I'd do something else. Anything else." Anakin's voice wavered, and his shoulders slumped under the weight of his guilt. "I just--I didn't know what else to do. I needed to submit something, anything. I need to win this," he finished, his voice trailing off.

The anguish over being proven right was something you didn't expect. You should have felt vindicated, that you were actually right all along about him. You should have hated him. But instead, you could feel your heart breaking, like a marionette with its strings cut, slumped over and lifeless. If he had just admitted it to you himself, maybe you could get over this. Maybe. But the fact that he hid it from you cut like a knife. Tears welled in your eyes, and your throat was drier than you'd ever felt it. The words fell from your lips softly, like you could barely get them out.

"How could you?" You felt like you'd never known him, like the person in front of you was a stranger. How could he be both this person, and the one who would keep you warm at night?

Anakin noticed the coldness of your gaze, and it gutted him. Anakin's breath caught, and you could see him shatter in real time. His cheek twitched, right under his scar, and you could swear you saw his eyes start to fill with tears. His hands were shaking where they were clasped together, and you were sure he was leaving indents with his nails. His shoulders shook under his panicked breaths.

He didn't speak for several long seconds, his mouth tugging this way and that as he tried to think of something, anything, to say.

"Do you think I'm a bad person?" He asked as he stepped toward you, trying to seek reassurance to keep him from falling apart. But you couldn't give it. You didn't even know him anymore.

"I--" you opened your mouth, hesitating, before you restarted, "I don't know." Your voice cracked, but you hardened it. "I didn't before, but now I'm not so sure."

Anakin took another step closer, reaching out with his shaking hands as if to touch you, but you backed away. His face flushed even more, hurt and frustration jumping across his features. It made you even more angry. "This is so fucking unfair, and you just--you just let it happen."

He said your name, trying to jump in, but your anger surged, and it drowned him out.

"I spent weeks getting my idea just right." Each words was more brutal than the last. "Weeks. And you got everything spoon-fed to you. Everything I worked for--and you just took it from someone."

Anakin flinched like you had struck him, but you were far from done.

"I thought I knew you, I thought I was wrong about you this whole time," you spat, your fists clenching at your sides, "But I was right all along. You're just a fucking cheater."

A tear slipped down the side of his cheek as you continued. Your voice shook as you admitted to him, and to yourself, what the worst part really was. "And you didn't even have the decency to tell me. And that makes you a fucking asshole."

He shook his head, his eyes stinging as he started to speak. "No, please, it's not--"

"Stop it!" You shouted, your voice cracking with emotion. Anakin stood frozen, his outstretched hand falling limply to his side. Your breath rushed through your nose and your pulse beat in your ears. You couldn't even see him anymore through the tears, but you refused to let them fall. To let him see you cry.

He said your name one more time, begging, pleading. For a moment, you were tempted, but the hurt was too big to ignore.

Your voice was cold, distant. "Get away from me," you ordered. Your back was rigid with anger and hurt. "And leave me the fuck alone."

Without waiting for him to respond, you stormed out of the room and slammed the door behind you.

You stalked down the hall as quickly as you could, ignoring the buzzing in your pocket as the tears you were holding back finally poured down your cheeks. You didn't even have the energy to wipe them away, you just let them fall while you punched the button for the elevator.

Only when the door closed, and you pulled out your phone to call Ahsoka, did you see his messages.

please come back we can talk this out please give me another chance

They were all sent minutes apart. You could hear his voice reading them, desperate and thick with tears. Even though you were angry, angrier than you had ever been at him, the idea of him crying still made your chest ache. And then it made you feel vindicated. But then it made you feel horrible again.

You arrived back to the lobby, then crossed the building to the other elevator bank, trying to avoid the awkward gazes the students passing by gave you. You sniffled wetly, wiping away your tears, as you ran up the two flights of steps that brought you to your room. You unlocked the door as quickly as you could, then hid inside.

Your phone buzzed again.

i understand that you don't want to talk, but the second you're ready, i'll be here. i'll always be here.

The words made you sob loudly, and you were thankful for a moment that Ahsoka wasn't home. Until you saw the text, it hadn't hit you that this was the last time you'd talk for a while. You couldn't even remember the last kiss you two had shared. The library? Was that the kiss you wanted this to end on? You'd never see his half-lidded eyes as he worshipped you, never hear him call you baby again.

Why did he have to go and fuck it all up? You asked yourself, sobs wracking your body as you slid down the door. You couldn't tell if you were more sad or angry, but you were definitely heartbroken. Lately, his casual touches, his affection, the way you slept together every night, it was starting to feel like more. But it was all gone now.

You had been numbed with caffeine and stress, but the past week, you felt like you were soaring every time he touched you. Every time he gave you that intense look he always did.

But the two of you were just hooking up. It wasn't supposed to be anything more, and you never thought you'd feel the pull to be with him when you weren't fucking, but it was like gravity. Even now, you wanted him to comfort you. Not someone, but him.

The realization that you had feelings for him hit you like a truck. All the breath was gone from your lungs, gone to some other dimension.

You liked Anakin Skywalker. Even though he was an asshole. Even though he'd hurt you. But those feelings didn't end just because whatever you were had ended, they didn't leave you alone.

You could have been his girlfriend if he hadn't hidden this from you. And that was the last nail in the coffin that made you break down fully.

You sat there, crying, sobbing, wailing, for at least another half hour before you dragged yourself to the shower. It made you feel the tiniest bit better to have your hair clean, your tears scrubbed off your face until the skin went sensitive and ruddy. When the water turned off, it was cold, and you relished the shock to your system.

And then, you started the process of getting over him. You knew you had to do it eventually, and you only had to get through finals before you could go home and forget all about him. Come January, when you next saw him in the lab, it'd be like seeing any other classmate.

That thought was enough to make you start crying again while you stood in the towel you stole from your house. Your tears mingled with the water from the shower, and it was enough to let you pretend that you weren't crying, that becoming strangers with Anakin didn't kill you inside.

You promised yourself that this would be the last time you cried this semester. That night, if you felt the threat of tears, you just threw yourself harder into whatever you were studying. There was nothing else you could do.

At the thermo exam two days later, you walked in later than you usually would for a final that was this important. When you slipped into the class, two minutes before they started passing out test papers, you spotted Anakin in the corner. Because of course you did. Your eyes hadn't stopped finding him in every photo, in every room. He had always been magnetic, and, just because you weren't together anymore didn't mean that stopped. And he was looking right at you.

His gaze ripped through you with some mix of desperation, affection, and sorrow. Anakin looked, in one word, horrible. His eyes were sunken in, red and swollen from crying. Most people would not have noticed, but you knew him too well. His dark circles had come back with a vengeance, like fresh bruises on his otherwise smooth and clear skin. His mouth twitched when he looked at you, like he was going to say something, but he stayed silent as his eyes followed your path.

Throughout the exam, you could feel his eyes on you a couple of times, but you didn't allow yourself to turn around and look. You let the calm of equations and math wash over you, and soon there was nothing but the test. The questions and the precise way you wrote Greek letters in the blue book lulled you into a state of calm you desperately needed.

When you handed in your exam, you allowed yourself another look at Anakin, and then you left the building. You didn't see him before you went on break two days later.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Two days before break, he saw you again. He hadn't changed his habits, still studied in the dining hall and had meals there, sometimes went to the library, and he secretly hoped, thrummed with anticipation, that maybe, just maybe, you'd be there too. That maybe you'd see him and realize you wanted to talk it out. That, obviously, did not happen. He spent an embarrassing amount of time awake, because you haunted his dreams whenever they came. The disgusted look on your face and the words I was right all along, you're a fucking asshole echoed in the back of his eyelids and his mind's eye whenever he laid down. So, he stayed up. More time to study, right?

He spent most of those 48 hours trying not to cry and failing miserably. Even when he broke up with Padme, it wasn't like this. He was angry, indignant, and, of course, sad, but it was the kind of sadness that settled deep on his shoulders and dulled the world around him. It wasn't the kind of sadness that wrenched sobs from his chest whenever he wasn't careful. It wasn't the kind of sadness that made him regret ever going to this college, ever meeting you.

Ahsoka cast him a funny look at him one night, when he fell asleep in a common room. She gently shook him awake, and noticed the redness rimming his eyes, and the way his hands shook from too much caffeine. She gave him a hug and made him promise to sleep tonight.

He did, and that was the night before the test. Every muscle and joint screamed in protest as he dragged himself from his bed. He arrived fifteen minutes early, just to make sure he got a good seat, and then his head kept swiveling like an owl. Every time the click of the doors opening echoed through the nearly empty lecture hall, he locked onto the person entering. He was pretty sure he'd accidentally given glares to at least four poor souls before you finally entered.

He resigned himself to the fact that he'd probably failed the exam right then.

You were even prettier than he remembered, and the depth of your eyes when you stared at him was enough to make him shudder. Even now, he'd give anything to be with you again. When you sat down and didn't look at him again for the next three hours, he felt bits of his heart break off and get trampled under equations about heat diffusion and air pressure. You turned in your test, and then left, and he looked after you longingly. His eyes snapped back to his paper when he got a weird look from the TA.

He turned in his exam paper, rushed home, and promptly passed out on his bed. You came to him in his dreams, of course. Naked in his arms, lips pliant and wanting under him. The way your tongue peeked out when you were too hard at work, or the shimmer of your eyes when he made you laugh. The betrayal on your face. Get away from me.

He spent the rest of finals in a fugue state, doing tasks and exams because he was supposed to. Then, finally, the last one passed, and he was finally released to go home. He hadn't seen you since the exam, and that was probably better for him, he reasoned.

On day 1 of break, Anakin drove the whole day and listened to absolutely depressing music the whole time. He pulled over once and, in a fit of rage, smacked the steering wheel a few times. How could he be so stupid? How was he this much of an idiot? He sat at the rest stop for another fifteen minutes, his sweaty forehead on the steering wheel. Five hours later, when he arrived home late in the evening, he hugged his mom. Everything felt a little bit better after that. He had dinner with Shmi and Cliegg, even though all he wanted to do was lay in bed and sulk. He fell asleep quickly--he was too exhausted to stay up torturing himself with what could have been.

On day 2 of break, he lay in bed and just generally moped around. He could never be still for long, so that meant getting up to eat snacks, flicking through TV shows listlessly, and trying not to look at the texts you two had exchanged. He only cried twice, once at the thought that you'd never meet his mom, and the other at the memory of your body in his arms as he fell asleep. Both reduced him to hot, silent tears.

On day 3 of break, he did yard work and drove by his old dojang to say hi to his high school coach. He ended up agreeing to teach some lessons over break to avoid having to sit at home alone with his thoughts for three entire weeks. Plus, the money was good. He was pretty sure he wouldn't be getting that thesis prize at all, at this rate. He only cried once, at night, when he thought about having to watch you work in the thesis lab without speaking to you. He wouldn't cross that boundary. You already knew he wanted to talk, and you hadn't texted him back.

On days 4-9, he taught three hours of lessons a day. It was calming, familiar. He only had to splash cold water in his face to avoid getting too upset two or three times per day, but the undercurrent of wondering what you were doing never stopped torturing him. He hadn't touched himself in at least two weeks, and he regularly had to stop his thoughts from drifting away to the last time he was inside you. Every time it happened at home, in bed, he got up and took a cold shower. It served him right. At the end of the week, he went to the mall and bought his mom a Christmas present with the money he earned. Just because he knew his mom wanted to blend their family better, he picked out something small he could afford for Cliegg, Owen, and Beru, too.

On day 10, it was Christmas Eve, so everything was closed. There was nothing to do, so he answered a few emails from Professor Jinn, cleaned the oven, and helped his mom prepare for Christmas dinner. There were files on his device he had prepared specifically to work on his thesis over break, but his project made him nauseous. He'd give it all back for a chance to start over. He'd get a B on his thesis if it would make this pain stop. He didn't touch the files, and, that night, when he finally gave in to the temptation to see if you'd posted anything on social media, he didn't touch his cock, either, even though just an image of you was enough to drive him wild at that point.

On day 11, it was Christmas, and he woke up at 4am in his bed, as hard as a rock. Anakin spent an hour tossing and turning and begging his body to just let him sleep, but, eventually he gave in. It was Christmas, right? He deserved a present. When he closed his eyes, he didn't even try to think of someone else. It was you. It had been for a while. Your little noises as he kissed up your neck, the scrunch of your eyebrows right as you came, and the tight grip of your pussy around him when he buried himself to the hilt inside you were enough to make him cum all over his hand within a minute. He found it embarrassing, honestly, that you had this effect on him. Anakin fell asleep quickly and tried not to feel too gross about what he'd done.

On day 11, attempt 2, he woke up around 11, right before lunch, and came down to wish his mother and Cliegg a merry Christmas. Beru and Owen were supposed to come for dinner, but, this morning, it was just the three of them. Anakin had no particular yearning for Cliegg to be a father figure, he just wanted his mom to be happy. If Cliegg did that, then he'd watch endless movies with the two of them, or get Cliegg a present. But if she didn't want to be with him anymore, Anakin wasn't sure he'd miss him. Their second anniversary was in three weeks, and it was a shock that it had been that much time already. When dinner rolled around, and he greeted Owen and Beru awkwardly, not sure what a person is supposed to say to a newly-acquired sibling. He'd seen them a sum total of maybe ten times, almost all of which had to do with the wedding, so they were in how-was-school and how's-the-new-job and gosh-the-winter-has-been-brutal territory. When Anakin gave them their presents, they seemed overjoyed. He'd gotten them matching scarves, each with their first initial embroidered onto it. It was a miracle they had them in stock at the mall, he thought, but the present seemed to hit the right spot. Cliegg got the aforementioned fishing pole, something his mom had told him he was prattling on about, and he got his mom a beautiful new winter coat. She had been mending hers for years, and water and snow would soak right through it, but when he saw the beautiful down puffer coat in the store window, he knew she'd love it. He was right.

Cliegg got him a Laser Distance Measure, which must have cost a pretty penny, and Owen and Beru got him various engineering gadgets (a nice mechanical pencil for technical drawings and a cable carrying case, respectively). His mother's gift, though, was something he'd never be able to forgive. She had bought him a beautiful, fresh Raspberry Pi set, with 8 GB of RAM. It wasn't the most expensive thing in the world, but the $150 or $200 that it did cost her was enough to make him tear up. He'd mentioned months ago that he was thinking of getting one for some personal projects, something for his portfolio, and she bought it. He had the good sense not to say anything like You aren't supposed to get me presents for Christmas and crushed her in a hug, the kind that whispered I know how much this is worth, and I'm so lucky you're my mom. For a second, he was worried he would cry when he saw the crow's feet appear by her eyes, and he felt how thin the skin on her hands had gotten. When had she gotten so much older? For a terrifying moment, he realized he'd have to live without her one day, but then Cliegg made some comment about how he'd made hot cocoa, and they all gathered around the living room to chat. As the last tendrils of sunlight fell beneath the swath of trees in their backyard, he laughed at something Owen had said, and he felt the tiniest bit less alone. Like maybe it didn't matter if he got an A in thermo or had the best thesis in his year. The notion left him quickly.

On days 12-17, the warm feeling had subsided, and all he could think about was what you were doing. Whether you were moving on, or if you still felt the same way he did. If you wanted him again. The fantasy of you seeing him again and realizing that, oh, actually, you wanted to work it out, and also kiss him, inevitably ended with his hand on his cock and cum on his stomach, then regret and shame for about an hour afterward. Once the studio had reopened, he kept teaching there, but with more hours this time. Also, Anakin could finally open the folder on his computer named Thesis without cringing at it, but barely. His heart still skipped about four beats when he thought about how he'd have to see you practically every day. He pushed thoughts like that from his mind as much as he could. No point in torturing himself more than the actual semester would.

Day 18 was New Year's Eve. He went to a party hosted by some of his high school friends, some rager at a frat house. He just wanted to get drunk, honestly, and this seemed like a great excuse. It was sticky and hot even right outside the door, but the sweaty blast of steam that hit him when someone opened it turned his stomach. But the beer was free, so he wouldn't complain too much. A couple of times, he noticed a girl checking him out over the bone-shaking bass. He might have made a move, if he were a different person. If any one of them was you, or had your smile, or your eyes. As soon as he noticed something that was too different from you, he averted his gaze. They were all cute, he supposed, but that didn't matter. They weren't you. When the countdown started, Anakin retreated, not interested in being pulled into some kiss that stunk of beer. Instead, despite knowing he'd regret it, he sent you a text. happy new year, it read. He blamed the tequila, and went back into the fray of cheering people.

From days 19-24, Anakin kept on keeping. Dishes, teaching, occasional progress on his thesis. He submitted over 20 job applications. Sometime in the week, in his daily rehashing of all your messages, he noticed the read receipt had popped up on his text from New Year's Eve, and he cursed himself. He was cursing himself a lot lately. Especially when he promised he wouldn't jerk off over you, but it always ended up happening. The subtle rock of his hips against the mattress when he thought of you, grinding the hard flesh against the soft material, then the sticky warmth of release and the rush of regret that always came with it. The heat of the shower made him hard when he thought about how he'd always wanted to try fucking in the shower, more specifically, fucking you in the shower. He really shouldn't, he reasoned while his hand pumped his dick.

Day 25 was spent driving again, after he gave his mom a big hug and threw his suitcase in the car. Despite himself, he realized that he was no more over you than he had been on his drive to his house. The fact that he would see you tomorrow still made him perk up and wilt at the same time. In a short twenty-four hours, you'd be real, three-dimensional in front of him again. He wasn't sure what would happen--would you kiss him? Slap him? Combust? He could never tell with you. He wondered if you'd cut your hair over break, or if you'd talked to Ahsoka about him. Whatever fantasies he'd been nursing, they were all going to be proven or disproven tomorrow. So he had to use the hour before he arrived on campus to imagine, as hard as he could, that you were in the passenger seat. That you were his girlfriend. That you had just come from meeting his mom, who had shown you a bunch of truly humiliating baby pictures and had whispered to him that she liked you when you had gone to the bathroom. For the rest of the night, that was the reality he lived in.

You had compared schedules last semester, before things got weird, and you shared only two classes, both of which were on Mondays and Wednesdays. At 10:30, you'd both be in Unsupervised Learning, then at 2:30, you'd both take Dynamic Systems and Controls. When he woke up at 8:30, he showered, then tried to wipe the tiredness from his eyes. He put on a shirt he knew you loved (you'd remarked on how well it fit him, and he didn't see it, but you did, and that was all that mattered) and his most comfortable jeans and hoodie. He secretly hoped you were doing the same kind of preening at home, trying to look good for him, but he didn't let the thought take up too much room in his mind.

At 10:25, when he walked into the lecture hall, he saw you instantly. Time stopped as he felt like someone had just gotten a particularly good hit to his solar plexus, and his whole body was responding, out of breath and weak and dizzy all at the same time. You were in the third row, to the left-hand side of the seats, and you looked more gorgeous than he remembered. How didn't he spend the whole break fantasizing about the way your hair shone or the curve of your neck? Seconds started ticking by again when he realized he was blocking the path to the seats, much to the anger of the group of people behind him. He walked down the steps to the second row like everything was normal, then positioned himself on the other side of the lecture hall. He kept his eyes firmly not trained on you for as long as he could, and, when the professor started droning, he turned to look at you, really look at you.

You had put on just a touch of makeup, something he'd noticed years ago that you always did on the first day of class. It suited you, and you looked well-rested and happy. Like you didn't miss him at all. It gutted him like a fish on the chopping block. What was wrong with him? How could he let you get away?

He turned back to the professor, pretending to be interested in the syllabus. When class ended, by the time he packed up his things, you had gone.

The second class was a repeat of the first, only in a smaller lecture hall. He tried to keep his cool, he really did, but he snuck glances. He was only human.

He didn't go into the lab for the week, mainly because he was almost done with build and was spending most of his time on securing materials for testing. They had their first practice that Monday, so he got dressed and headed over to the Athletic Center, where he grounded himself in the ritual, the calming power of it all. It was amazing to see Rex and Ahsoka again. They always made him smile, something he'd been missing over the break.

Later that week, Ahsoka invited him to your room to talk about that semester's competitions. He hesitated the appropriate amount of time before he accepted. The hallway to your room was achingly familiar, just like he'd seen it in his dreams. Only Ahsoka was home, so she wasted no time before interrogating him about what happened with the two of you.

When he told her the general gist, she had the good decency to be honest and tell him that he was kind of being an asshole by not mentioning it, but that it was normal to get advice from professors and other students. It wasn't ideal for it to be as explicitly grabbed, sure, but the point still stood.

By the time the door opened and you came in (his mind raced--from a date? from class? from some other part of your life that he would never come to know?), Anakin and Ahsoka were discussing taekwondo logistics. You looked gorgeous in the cozy cable-knit sweater you had on, and he hoped against all hope that he wasn't staring the way he thought he was.

You looked shocked for a good second before smiling awkwardly with a little "hey." You retreated to your room almost instantly, and Anakin felt a pit open up, wondering if he'd made you uncomfortable. It wasn't his fault, honestly, but he still felt guilty. He left an hour afterward.

Was this his fate? To watch you from a middle distance as you lived your life? He was trapped, pinned down like a bug, reading into everything he saw. If you were in a four-block radius, his eyes would find you. They always would. In class, he had to stop himself from turning toward you, from studying your features and trying to read anything from them. He never could.

Anakin was still fucking haunted by you, especially now that he was on campus. Everything reminded him of you. The boba place, every inch of your dorm, the emptiness in his mattress. He knew he was hallucinating when he thought he spied you at practice one day, just a wisp of hair in the corner of the room, but, by the time he did a double take, there was only empty floor there.

On Thursday, he got a text from Ahsoka.

Party tomorrow at Cody's. You should come, she had written. He didn't really, actually feel like partying. But he went anyway. Maybe he could spend enough time with his friends to forget about you.

He threw on a nice shirt, some kind of button-up his mom had gotten him, cuffed the sleeves, and set off.

It was a standard-issue party. He'd been to plenty of them, so he figured was ready and prepared for what he'd see and feel. Bass in his eardrums so loud it shook the blood in his veins. Having to scream basic conversation over music. Cheap beer and a sticky floor. Enough heat that his hair would start curling more.

It felt like home. He entered, found Cody and Ahsoka quickly, promising to return after he grabbed a drink. Anakin made his way to the folding table crammed full of bottles, as well as some kind of vile jungle juice, and took two shots. Just enough to stop thinking about you, he hoped.

By the time he fought his way back to Cody and Ahsoka, he was feeling it. Rex had joined them in the meantime, and Anakin joined the little huddle. They were talking (read: yelling "what did you say?" over the music) about one of Cody's dates that week, and Anakin let himself slip into the familiar rhythm of his friends. It was nice, honestly. He only thought of you five or six times, which was a record low.

Then Ahsoka suggested they go get another drink, and, as the four of them pushed back toward the drinks station, he saw you.

You were fucking radiant, and the breath stalled in his chest. You had always been the only thing he ever wanted to look at in a room, even from sophomore year, when you began to piss him off more than anything, but right now, you were a supernova. And he was a moth. He felt his wings get burned off as he traced the curve of your jaw and acknowledged to himself that, yeah, he probably wasn't going to get over you until you were across state lines.

You were wearing some sinfully short, tight dress, which crept higher and higher up your thighs. He could tell you weren't wearing a bra, and something stirred inside of him.

But then he saw the guy standing next to you, leaning in to tell something to your ear. Anakin hated himself for the thought, but he instantly started comparing himself to the guy. What was Mr. Boat Shoes saying to you that made you tip your head back and laugh like that? He remembered when he used to do that, when he would make you throw your head back to do more than just laugh.

Anakin felt his jaw clench and his body start to shake with the same energy that he always had before competitions, coiled like a snake about to strike.

He knew it was a bad idea, he really did. But he was never one to resist bad ideas. He blamed the alcohol. It wasn't that you were his, or some misguided attempt at owning you, but he just couldn't watch this. He couldn't let this feeling tear him apart anymore. When you swatted the guy's chest playfully, Anakin felt his eye twitch, right under his scar. Oh hell no. But he shouldn't. It was your business.

Fuck it.

Anakin started pushing through the crowd, and then he saw the guy lean in, and he saw red.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Tag list (lmk if you'd like to be added!):

@skywalkercinema @throughparisallthroughrome @anak1ns-wife @radiantvader @eloquenceinpurple @rosekillerdaughter @doblasftcisco @rhiannonhippiegirl @mistress-amidala @johnbassplayercutie @mortalheartache @xorilixx @sunnytotheend @olivia091108 @aniiuv @sotal3rsa @springnaiad @bettysgardenswift @ursogorgeous13 @avalovesjoe1 @anibeaar @anisluvrgirl @mcdonaldshelppage @usuck @sythethecarrot @lovrsm @ann4zw @gimmefood

[mrs-barnes-rogers-writes]

The Fate Of A Fae - Part 7

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader x Steve Rogers

Soulmate Match: You know on sight. Friends also know when they meet you if you're a match for one of their friends.

Summary: Natasha Romanoff is a meddling, pain in the ass Sprite, who you wrongly thought would leave you alone once you introduced her to your best friend, Darcy. News flash, she doesn’t and she won’t. Not when she thinks you’re a perfect match for two of her best friends. Could she be right? Maybe. Just don’t tell her that.

“Never tell Natasha Romanoff she was right” - Clint Barton

Chapter Summary: Tony explains what he knows about your medication.

Chapter Warning: Mention of arsehole parents, past trauma and being medicated.

It’s an hour later when Bucky tucks you into bed. You’re exhausted and emotional drained so the fight you put up is minimal. He sits with you a moment, noticing how you’ve automatically laid in the middle of the bed. A spot he hopes you’ll soon take in his own bed. Steve one side and him the other. As you snuggle down into the sheets and let out a soft sigh, he fixes the sheets around you again and softly strokes your face, humming a Russian lullaby to you.

Natasha smiles when she hears it, remembering the sound of Winnie humming it to Bucky in the hospital after he’d been found. A tortured prisoner of war cannot be made comfortable by medication but by the soft hum and voice of his mother. She gravitated towards the screen that separated your bedroom from the rest of the studio apartment. A vintage store find that you and Clint had found when you could only leave the apartment with him, Nat or an appointed guard from Happy’s team. Peeking around it, she’s joined by Tony, who can’t help but feel his heart warm at the sight. He types on his phone that he needs to speak to Barnes and shows it Nat, she nods and knows this is probably about your medication and what it really is.

“Yasha.” She whispers. Bucky sighs and gets up from the bed, placing a kiss to your temple before meeting them at the screen.

“Can’t this wait?” He whispers back harshly. Tony walks back to the kitchen and flicks his head for Bucky to follow him. Natasha follows but positions herself so she can keep an eye on you through the gap between the screen and the wall.

Tony pushes your boxed medication towards him.

“Do you know what this is?” He asks him.

“No, she said it was a muscle relaxant.” Bucky replied.

“Well, it’s not. Do you remember the trouble at the shareholders meeting? A couple of them had ideas about a pharmaceutical company using our factories for production and I refused.”

“Well it didn’t make any sense. Plus you said the ethics didn’t line up so I backed you.”

Tony nodded.

“It’s because they make this. It’s not a muscle relaxant James. It’s a species suppressant. Those arseholes must have put her on them as a kid. Stop her wings and ears growing back.”

Bucky growled deep in his chest and clenched his fists.

You stirred in the bed and Natasha gestured at him to be quiet. He took some deep breaths and made his way to the screen to check on you.

“So what do we do?” He asked, eyes fixed on you.

“You get her off them as soon as possible before there’s any long term damage.”

“Long term? She said herself she’s been on them since she was a kid!!” He whispered harshly.

“But these are worse Yasha.” Natasha replied. “They’re highly addictive, she’s gonna have to detox.”

“You’ll need a plan from Banner and Cho. There on their way back from DC now. They’ll give her a full review tomorrow, results the following day. I’m going to warn you Barnes it won’t be pretty. The fact her ears look like they’re growing back could mean the her body is already fighting against them and the meds, well they’ll fight right back.”

“How are her ears growing back if she’s on them?”

“Wild guess?” Tony replied “And personally I’d even ask Shuri’s advice on this one, Cho’s too, it could be because of you.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“How’s your shoulder?”

“Excuse me?”

“How is it? Where the scales, skin and metal meet?”

Bucky huffed and moved away from the screen, dropping himself on a stool at the kitchen island in a huff.

“It’s better isn’t it?” Tony asked. Bucky nodded.

“There’s lots written about our kind, all of us, changing when we meet our soulmates. Wounds being healed, forced transfers switching back. It’s so we’re at our best for them. Your shoulders have gotten broader, your eyes are brighter gold when your dragon shows and your shoulder is improving. Her ears will likely be the first thing to right themselves. They’re smaller, less to grow back. Her wings will take longer and from what I remember her telling me, there’s a lot of scarring. This won’t be easy James.”

Bucky nodded.

“There was a lot written post war, as well as Shuri’s recent stuff, people recovering in their soulmates company. I’ll send you somethings over.”

Bucky nodded again.

“Romanoff walk me out?” Tony asked, Nat nodding and following him out to the hallway.

Bucky zoned out their whispering, as he thought of you and what your childhood could have been like. You were missing all the things that made you appear fae and for them to put you on those drugs? Why had nobody ever told you what they were? Were you willingly on them? He was brought back to himself as Natasha slid into the seat beside him.

“She didn’t know Yasha.”

Bucky shook his head.

“How’d you know that’s what I’m thinking?”

“Because I know you.”

“You’re sure?”

Natasha nodded.

“The first time I saw her scars we were in a dressing room, she refused to try on the dress I’d picked out for her, I pulled back the curtain as we were arguing and I saw them. She shutdown completely so I took her to a bar. Four drinks in she told me about her parents being arseholes. Six in and she’s telling me what they did. All she’s over wanted is to be a true fae again.”

“She is a fae!”

“That’s not how she sees it.”

Bucky leaned back on the stool and ran his hand over his face. Natasha moved from his side, returning with two shot glasses and a bottle of vodka, quickly pouring one for each of them. Bucky took the shot and without looking at Natasha asked a favour.

“Find out where her parents live.”

Fancy a cuppa? My Ko-Fi.

TAGLIST

@calwitch @animegirlgeeky @jenniferpendragon @sebastians-love

[senorabond]

Rumor Has It: Chapter 2 (Peña x f!reader x Pike)

Pairings: Javier Pena x f!reader; Marcus Pike x f!reader; future Pena x f!reader x Pike

Chapter 2 Summary: You’re reviewing the case file Javi gave you when a memory of your last night in D.C. distracts you. After a bit of a brainstorm, you decide it’s finally time to call Marcus back and get his opinion. He always has the right words.

Rating: 18+ (Minors DNI), Explicit sexual content, additional warnings may be added for future chapters

Chapter Warnings: masturbation (f!reader), flashback, thigh riding, oral sex (f receiving), semi-public/workplace sex (evidence locker after hours), hand on throat for control, Dom/sub dynamic, soft Dom!Marcus, praise kink, you are such a good girl

Reader/Character notes: Reader is fem/afab. Marcus is strong enough to lift Reader up onto the edge of a table (no mention of Reader’s body size, shape, composition, or skin color), Reader has hair long enough for Marcus to brush away from face, Marcus is super thoughtful and thorough when planning for sexy times

Words: ~4.5k

Author's Notes: A huge thank you again to @kilamonster for being my wonderful beta, talking me through my fear of posting dirty talk, and letting me bounce random porny ideas off her. <3

Again, there’s no specific time/setting, I just really wanted to get both Javi and Marcus together in the same story. In my mind, Javi is post-s3 of Narcos, and Marcus is somewhere around/after s7ep1 of The Mentalist.

I learned basically everything I know about the court system from true crime TV and podcasts, so the legalese here is purposefully vague. I have no idea what it would take to prosecute a federal case, lol. However, I did find some interesting information while researching art fraud/money laundering! I’m happy to share links to my sources if anybody is interested.

Masterlist || Previous Chapter

Chapter 2

Later that night, you sit cross-legged on your bed, the various photos and documents from Peña spread out around you. You can see why he was so adamant about Customs involvement – there was enough circumstantial evidence in front of you for some lower-level courts to convict. Peña doesn’t strike you as the type to take chances though, not at this point in his career. If he’s making an arrest, he wants a case airtight, no room for technicalities or sympathetic juries. He’ll have worked with enough federal prosecutors to know what he needs to put bastards away and keep them there.

You think back to your conversation with Peña for what must be the twelfth time since that afternoon. It’s still difficult to reconcile the reputation with the man. Javier Peña, the senior DEA agent, was by reputation a force of nature; women and men alike wanted him and wanted to be him. He is unapologetically brash, arrogant, and always gets his way. If he believes something is worth getting, he’ll do whatever it takes, even if he has to use less than savory channels. 

Javier Peña, the man, is intense, focused, driven, and has some of the saddest, most beautiful, big brown eyes you’d ever seen. He has a level of self-awareness you hadn’t expected. He struggles with asking for help, even if he can recognize his own limitations. 

With a sigh, you take the wire transcript in hand and lean back against the pillows propped up against the headboard. The conversation had thankfully already been translated from Spanish with the original attached for reference. You had basic Spanish under your belt from high school and learned some choice slang from friends and exes, but you didn’t know nearly enough to comprehend the entire conversation on paper in front of you. 

The men were discussing various works of art and their estimated values at auction and on the black market. One of the men, Castano, was insisting he could simply forge a copy of a famous painting since it was “just a bunch of splattered paint” that “didn’t look like anything anyway.” You chuckled to yourself. 

You used to think the same thing about the abstract expressionism paintings you’d seen until somebody actually took the time to explain the meaning behind the movement. Agent Marcus Pike knew a lot about art – it was his job, after all, as head of the FBI’s art crimes unit in D.C. You worked closely with Pike and his squad to close a major case before you put in for the transfer to Texas. The two of you had spent a lot of time together and grown close, developing a mutual professional respect before things had ever gotten personal. 

Your thoughts travel back to the last time Pike taught you something about art. It’s a bittersweet thought, since that was also your last night in D.C., and the last time you saw him. You’d come so close to saying more than you were ready to admit, and certainly more than you were ready to hear in return. 

With a sigh, you drop the transcript on the bed and fall back onto your pillows. That last night in D.C. was also the last time you experienced an orgasm you didn’t give yourself. More than one, actually. 

Your mind floods with images and sensations from that night and, rather unconsciously, your hands begin to retrace the parts of your body Marcus had touched. Fingertips ghost over the crook of your neck and across your collarbone to the collar of your worn t-shirt. Marcus’ t-shirt, actually. You’d stolen it unapologetically when he’d forgotten it at your place and told him it looked better on you anyway. Marcus had agreed, and then shown just how much better he liked it on you.

While your one hand is occupied at your breast, the other busies itself at the waistband of your panties. Eyes closed, you slide a finger over your dampening slit, remembering the path Marcus’ tongue traveled as your breath hitches. God, that man could use his mouth. And he loved to use it on you. You let the memory of that night wash over you…

Washington, D.C. 6 months ago

“There is one thing I need right now.” You feel a bit giddy at your recklessness, but any nerves you might have are quelled when Marcus runs the tip of his nose up your jawline to your ear. 

“And what’s that? Hm?” He inhales your scent and hums with pleasure. Before you can stop yourself, you shift the hand at Marcus’ hip to his crotch. When you feel how hard he already is you release a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. 

Marcus inhales sharply through his nose at your touch, then lets out a groan in your ear at your gentle squeeze. “Tell me what you need.” His five o’clock shadow rasps against your sensitive skin as he sucks your earlobe into his mouth. 

“I need you to show me that evidence locker you haven’t shut up about since we met.” 

~~~

Pike stands behind you in the elevator in case you happen upon anybody else working late at the office. The odds are low, except for the contracted private security officers, but you didn’t think they’d want to see Pike’s hardon either. He’s so close, he’s almost pressed against your back while caressing a palm over your ass. You try to keep a straight face, but are practically panting through parted lips.

“You’ve been wanting this for a long time, haven’t you?” Marcus asks, his voice low in your ear as he leans over to push the button for the correct floor. His tone is almost conversational, but you can feel the thread of excitement pulling taut between your bodies. He’d been teasing you with the idea of fucking you in the art squad’s evidence locker for months now, going into great detail about what he was going to do to you – you only had to ask. 

You nod silently in response as the elevator doors close, and Pike grips your waist, grinding his erection into your lower back. “Yes,” your breath huffs out. He likes you to use your words, and strokes your arm with an approving hum. 

“Are you going to be a good girl for me?” Your nipples harden at his words and your breath comes out shakily. 

Marcus was the first person you’d ever been with to call you a good girl. You never thought you’d be into the kind of gentle dominance and steady stream of praise Marcus employed with you, but it made all the right synapses fire in your brain and took the experience to an entirely different level. 

You nod again, playing the game, knowing what he wants to hear.

Marcus’ hand splays across your lower belly, the other sweeping gently across your throat and brushing your hair away from your face. He’s pressing into you, the energy coming off him in waves, leaving you feeling heady. 

“Say it for me.” It’s spoken softly, coaxing, but still an unmistakable command. 

“I’ll be a good girl for you.” Your voice has the slightest waver, but ends strong.

Marcus’ hand on your belly inches lower and heat radiates between your thighs. “I know you will.”

The doors of the elevator open with a ding that makes you jump, and Marcus moves back with a reassuring squeeze on your shoulder. Gently, he guides you with a hand between your shoulder blades. You’re on one of the underground levels, where the low ceilings and fluorescent lights are stark reminders that you’re both still in a government building and cameras are watching your every move. 

A security guard rounds a corner and Marcus clears his throat, then moves to button his suit jacket, presumably to hide his erection. How he manages to walk with that thing when it’s hard, you’ll never know. 

The guard waves amiably. “Good evening, Agent Pike. What’re you still doing here so late?” Of course Pike knows the guard; probably knows his kids’ names too. 

“Just had something to finish off first.” Biting your tongue to keep from laughing, the two of you pass the guard. “Oh yeah, tell Rosie good luck at her big match this weekend.” You nearly snort. The men share a brief handshake and you and Marcus round the corner, the door to the evidence lockup just ahead.

The two of you share a heated look and Marcus smirks. He swipes his badge and the door unlocks with a small snick. You’re guided inside a dark room that could be the size of a storage closet for all you can see. Marcus flips one of the light switches, and sturdy floor-to-ceiling shelving units are illuminated on either side, hedging you in like a maze. So far, it looks like any other evidence room, except with mood lighting.

“I don’t know what I was expecting,” you mutter, and Marcus chuckles. As he leads you along the shelves towards some unknown destination, long shadows from the meager overhead light throw the long rows and corners into darkness.

He takes your hand and explains, “The lighting, temperature, and humidity are all controlled by a central system. Same kind as in the National Gallery.” You nod, genuinely impressed. 

“You don’t keep all your evidence here, right?” The room was large, but most of the shelving space was taken up by various sized crates and archival boxes. Marcus shakes his head.

“Just the very valuable pieces that need to be kept under special conditions. Any other evidence is kept in a regular lockup.” Marcus stops and you come up short, nearly colliding with his broad back. “Oh,” you breathe, peering around him and knowing this is what he wanted to show you.

The maze of shelving units opens up onto what looks like a miniature museum exhibit. Paintings are hung on the walls or staged on easels and covered with drop cloths. Sculptures are on pedestals in glass cases along one wall, and to your right are a few chairs next to an expansive table. 

Marcus approaches the paintings and proceeds to carefully remove the drop cloths from each work of art. They vary in style, color, expression, and movement. Some of them are encased in elaborate frames, while others are plain, or bare. Now this is what you’d hoped for after all these months hearing Marcus speak of this place in near reverent tones. This evidence lockup could rival most well-funded galleries and museums. 

“Are these all forgeries?” You take a step closer to the nearest painting and inspect it – for what, you’re not sure. “Stolen?” 

“A bit of both.” Marcus sidles up behind you. Your voices remain hushed, private, intimate.

Hands casually in his pockets, he takes you on a tour of the evidence on display, telling you a bit about each piece – what made the art valuable enough to forge or steal, and a few particulars about each case. He is in his element here, the picture of quiet confidence. Passion laces his every word and brings a spark to his eyes that you’d only seen a few times before when you were about to crack a case.

You have never felt more attracted to him.

Coming up to the last painting, you cock your head to the side and give it a quizzical stare. It’s abstract, composed of a muted yet warm palette. The paint is blended with no discernable lines or shapes.

“What is it?” you ask, looking up in time to see Marcus’ dimple appear next to his gentle smile. 

“What do you see?” Marcus steps behind you again, and runs the tips of his fingers up and down your arms.

“I… I’m not sure. What am I supposed to see?” The texture of the paint is layered in some spaces, and there’s almost an ethereal glow emanating from its contrast of light and dark. You feel a bit embarrassed and uncultured. Maybe if you squint or let your vision blur, like it’s one of those magic eye puzzles that give you headaches.

“What I love about abstract art is that there’s no right or wrong answer. I hated it until we studied it in school. I always thought I was missing something, and got frustrated that I couldn’t see what was right in front of me.” 

You let out a soft hmm of agreement, but are distracted by Marcus’ voice, hot on your ear, lips close enough to graze the sensitive shell. “It was this quote by an artist, Arshile Gorky, that helped me appreciate it more. To paraphrase, abstraction frees the mind and allows it to explore the unknown. Whatever you see is what you’re meant to see.”

You let your mind rest on his words, buzzing from the energy between you. With a smirk, you say, “I bet you got laid a lot in school.” 

Marcus gives a surprised chuckle. “I did alright,” he admits, and you hear the grin in his voice.

Turning to face him, you run your hands up his chest and under the lapels of his jacket to his shoulders. Marcus sighs, placing his hands on your waist and pulling you closer. That spark in his eye is trained on you now, his pupils blown while they skate over your face under hooded lids. 

“What’s next on the tour?” Your voice comes out a bit hoarse, his gaze almost overwhelming in its intensity. 

Marcus smiles, somewhat mischievously. “Just one more thing. C’mon,” he takes your hand and starts leading you to the large table and chairs. “I think you’re going to like this part.” 

Leaving you at the edge of the table, Marcus goes to one of the nearby shelves and pulls out a large cardboard envelope from a box, nearly the size of one of the paintings. With the flip of a switch, the entire surface of the table illuminates, humming gently from the internal fan. He pulls out what looks to be a sheet of dark plastic film and lays it on top of the table, revealing an x-ray image.

Marcus’ face is like a kid’s on Christmas morning. “This is an x-ray of that painting over here,” he points to the abstract work you’d been standing at a moment before. The x-ray on the table is a ghostly, black-and-white rendering of the muted swaths of paint. “And here,” he lays a second image down on the table, “is another x-ray taken of the same painting at different settings.” 

You nearly gasp. It’s virtually a different image entirely. The abstract painting has been reduced to a haze, overlaying a distinct pastoral landscape. Leaning over the table for a closer look, you feel a pleasantly warm glow on your face from the lit surface. “What the…” Your eyes snap back to Marcus’ face, which is lit up with what you can only describe as glee. 

“So you like it?” His eyes are sparkling and that dimple you love so much has reappeared. “‘Like it?’” You scoff. “I love it, Marcus, this is incredible. But…” you gesture at the images, “What exactly does that mean in terms of evidence?” Marcus comes around to your side of the table.

“The first one is a radiographic image of that painting we looked at, which could have told us if there were any traces of minerals or other elements within the paint used. Modern paint pigments are synthetic,” Marcus pulls the first image closer and gestures to the different shades of gray. “But–” he slides the second image next to the first, with its outlines of rolling hills and fluffy clouds, “Historically, heavy metals were frequently used, like lead and cobalt.” 

Nodding along with the lesson, you put two and two together. “So the heavy metals in old paint would show through on an x-ray, even if somebody has painted over it.” Marcus is beaming at you, clearly happy that you made the connection. 

“Exactly. And then the synthetic paint could be removed later.” Turning to face you, he rests a hip on the edge of the table. The surface light casts dramatic shadows across the contours of his jaw and nose. You mirror his body language and reach out to poke him playfully in the chest. 

“No fair; the FBI gets all the fun toys.” The cool satin of his tie slips deftly between your fingers, and you give it a gentle tug. His gaze is alert and hungry as he takes a step closer, and you can feel your body responding to his proximity once again. Marcus trails a finger across your clavicle that sends a chill down your spine and tingles straight to your nipples. 

“Yeah, but if you ask nicely, maybe I’ll share.” Threading his fingers into the hair at the base of your skull, he pulls gently but purposefully until your head tilts back and you’re forced to meet his eyes. A shuddering breath escapes your parted lips. Marcus leans in and grazes his lips against yours, barely a whisper of a kiss. His tongue traces the sensitive inner edge of your top lip and you nearly let out a whimper.

“Go on, then. Ask me.” He nips at your bottom lip. “Nicely.”

“Please,” you breathe. Marcus’ arm encircles your waist, while the hand in your hair grips a bit tighter. He uses a tight hold on your ass to grind you against the firm thigh he places between your own. Your hands grasp desperately onto his shoulders as your knees feel like they’re about to buckle from the delicious pressure. 

“‘Please’ what?” Marcus prompts gently. You’re pressing back against his thigh now, too lost in the sensation to respond. He withdraws it suddenly and you’re left clenching, all too aware of how badly you need that pressure back. 

“‘Please’ what?” He repeats, more firmly this time. 

“Please, Sir.” You correct yourself quickly, and are rewarded with Marcus’ lips against yours and the blessed return of his thigh. He’s a man possessed, and you whimper into his mouth as his tongue licks inside. The next thing you know, he’s got you sandwiched between the table and his thigh now, your skirt hiked up, juices leaking through your panties as you ride the firm muscles of his leg. 

“Look at you, just beautiful. You’re so hot like this, I love seeing you lose yourself. Does that feel good? Hm?” Marcus presses his hard cock into your hip and groans. “Jesus, I can feel how fucking wet you are through my pants. Are you going to leave your pussy juices on me, so anybody we walk past can see what a good girl you are for me?” 

Your eyes are squeezed shut tight, arms gripping to Marcus for dear life as you continue rutting against him, breath becoming ragged. The friction and pressure are almost too much, you’ll practically give yourself rug burn at this rate. But the onslaught of Marcus’ filthy praise in your ear, his hot, steamy breath against your neck, his tongue on your pulse point – you’re already careening out of control and he knows it.

“Are you going to cum for me, baby?” Nodding, wordless, you scramble to hold onto him as Marcus scoops up one of your thighs and hooks it over his hip with a grunt. “Then you better ask first.” 

“P-please,” you gasp out, “Please, Sir. Please can I cum?” You’re on the precipice, Marcus’ cock almost painfully hard in your hip. 

You gasp when he pulls his thigh away, eyes flying open in shock. “Not yet, sweet girl, hold on for me just a little bit longer. You’re going to cum on my tongue first.” Before you have a chance to protest, Marcus hoists you up fully onto the edge of the light table and pulls up a chair to feast on you. 

You’re immediately aware of the warmth the lit surface of the table infuses into every part of your body it’s touching. The table itself feels sturdy and solid beneath you, but you can’t fight an initial moment of panic. “Um, Marcus…I don’t know if–” It’s a struggle to concentrate as Marcus noses at your clothed pussy. A gentle double tap to the crown of his head is all the signal he needs to check in.

“You okay? Do you want to stop?” Marcus’ face is flushed, but his eyes are clear and laser focused on you. 

“Is this, uh…safe?” You rap gently on the table with a forced air of nonchalance. 

Marcus smiles and strokes the outside of your hip and thigh with his hand. “Totally safe. I triple-checked the specs and tested it out already.” 

You lift an amused eyebrow at that. “Tested it out?”

Marcus’ eyes go round at the implication, his dominant persona dropped. “Not like that! I mean I stacked a shitload of evidence boxes on it and did a– well, ah– a simulation, I guess you could call it.” His self-effacing chuckle is endearing.  He always knows how to make you feel safe and secure during your more adventurous times together. You smile and stroke his hair as he rubs his cheek against your inner thigh, the rasp of his five o’clock shadow sending shockwaves to your pussy.

“I’m very interested in finding out more about this simulation…Sir.” His honorific on your lips is your signal that you’re ready to continue and his grin turns wolfish. With a playful, smacking kiss to the tender flesh of your inner thigh, Marcus slips his fingers into the waistband of your panties. Bracing your calves on his broad shoulders, you lift your ass a little to help Marcus slide the panties the rest of the way off. 

“Open up for me, sweetheart.” Gently, he applies pressure to your knees until you’re completely spread out before him. You might be a little embarrassed being on display if you didn’t know how much he loved you like this: open, vulnerable, and completely at his mercy. The expression on Marcus’ face is practically one of reverence. 

“This is exactly why I wanted to bring you here,” Marcus places open-mouthed kisses up your thighs, sucking and nibbling his way to your center. It’s difficult not to squirm, he’s got you feeling antsy and impatient. “I wanted to see you lit up and on exhibit for me, like the work of art you are.”

You must be quite a sight to behold with the bright light of the table shining from beneath you. To drive his point home, Marcus dips his tongue to your core and collects your gathering slick on his tongue, spreading it and his saliva up to your clit in a broad swipe. Riding his thigh earlier has left you swollen and sensitive; your back arches off the table and you gasp at the sudden contact. 

Marcus holds you open with one hand so his tongue can more freely explore the full length of your slit, while the other alternates between massaging your breasts and rolling a peaked nipple through your blouse. Desperate for more, you unbutton your top enough to pull the cups of your bra down and leave yourself exposed to Marcus’ roaming fingers. 

Your whimpers and shuddering breaths combine with the sounds of Marcus lapping at your seeping cunt. His nose bumps against your engorged clit and you gasp, hips spasming. The hand on your breast disappears, and a finger gently nudges your entrance. 

“I’m going to get you ready for my cock, baby. Are you ready?” You nod wordlessly, and Marcus eases a digit inside you, watching your expression. “Oh, pretty girl, you’re so good, so wet. So tight, fuck.” 

Marcus laves his tongue over your clit and you clench around his finger. “Mmm, you’re going to take me so good, aren’t you?” Soon, he adds a second, working it rhythmically in and out, sucking and flicking his tongue against your clit until you’re panting.

The wet noises made by Marcus’ fingers inside you are practically obscene. When he crooks them at just the right spot, you lose all sense and writhe against him. You can hear a question in his inflection, but the twist and pull of his fingers are distracting, to say the least. He’s leaning over you now, the heel of his palm applying pressure over your clit to replace his mouth. 

“You’re doing so well, I know you can do it. You just need to ask me first.” His fingers inside you are relentless, and you can feel the pressure building inside, pulling taut like a rubber band about to snap. Marcus can tell how close you are and stops with his two fingers buried deep inside and applies his other hand to each side of your neck with just enough pressure to get your attention.

“C’mon, sweetheart, focus for me, otherwise I’ll have to stop.” His fingers are barely moving inside of you, just enough to keep you right on the edge. “You know what to do.”

A sob practically escapes your throat. “Please, Sir. I need to cum. Please can I? I want to be good for you.” It’s impossible to keep the pleading from your tone, you’re so close. Your hips are gyrating of their own accord, feebly fucking yourself on his fingers.

Marcus moves his hand off your throat to cup the side of your face and tangle his fingers in your hair. “Mm, do it. Be my good girl and cum.” Marcus leans down for a final taste where you’re stretched around his curling fingers, then settles his lips around your clit. With a cry, you break and see stars behind your eyelids as your orgasm crashes over you.

“Fuck yes, that’s my good girl. So beautiful like this, so perfect. I can feel you dripping into my hand, baby, you’re so wet. Did that feel good? Is that what you needed?” Marcus praises you through it all, stroking your neck, your breasts, peppering kisses over your mound and belly. His fingers retreat, leaving you fluttering in aftershocks, and you watch him lick your cum from his palm and fingers.

“Thank you for being such a good girl for me, sweetheart. I had to taste you at least one more time before you leave...” Reality falls over the room like a weighted blanket, and you let your engaged muscles go slack against the lit surface of the table, suddenly harsh and blinding. You feel exposed instead of exhibited and you squeeze your thighs together as the final flutters of your orgasm subside.

“Hey, come back to me,” you hear Marcus murmur, and feel him turn your face to meet his. He kisses you slowly and deeply, and you taste your tang on his plump bottom lip. He presses his forehead against yours and you share a couple of breaths. 

“I’m not done with you yet.”

Additional Author's Note: Thank you so much for reading! There is plenty more to come (had to). I'd love to know what you thought -- any and all feedback is welcome! I just want to become a better writer. :)

Chapter 3 || SeñoraBond's Masterlist

[tervaneula]

Okay i got an emil notification about your NQK update before your tumblr post?! Now that surprised me!

It's like 1 AM and i don't think leo is the only one with Insomnia - ngl i felt that am getting called out 😂 - So we start and i think because it's been a long time friend the previous NQK chapter i really forgot that F!Donnie is now " Donatello " whil F!Mikey js "Michaelangelo" and brain was flipping between "huh? Is that the youngest or the eldest?!"

So we start right off with with F!Dee getting jealous and boy oh boy i believe little ol' Donnie will find this exciting and more of a "parent figure approval" 😂

The talk goes to the bandana and i kid you not i remembered previous fics where some F!Leo/s had either put the other masks as a nice accessory ir put it on his sword and just hung it there as a memory (forgot the fic).

So this makes me think of "How F!Leo would make of the bandanas AFTER he make peace with decades of war?" It really makes me excited thinking about it 🤩

Also it made me think - don't know if i asked before but - does F!Leo still can open his portals and travel? (I know in other fic he can but what about the Canon fic NQK?).

It's kinda sad how Leo's still holding on to the masks but still understandable because well... It's been decades of WAR! That can't be just brushed under the rug with a nice few months in the lair. So until F!Leo finally decided when he can " move on " he deserves to keep the masks with him...

F!Leo hugging ghost!F!Dee was so sad and somewhat... Bittersweet? Because he's glad he can see/talk and almost hug his twin but that's about it, he wants to be greedy and have the two of them, april, his dad back home but that would be too much (And am sure he would be worried about 'Don't push your luck' type of quote or he may lose everything).

But AHHHHHHHHH AM SCREAMING FOR THE ART PIECE YOU MADE! SURE IT'S SAD BUT THE COLORS AND ART STYLE IS REALLY WARMING ME UP AS IF IT'S - again - A BLANKET!! I LOVE THIS FEELING 🩷🩷🩷🩷

Then que F!Mikey entering the chat (lmao ngl thought that was little mikey) and took a pic lol!! I don't know if he can take picture of ghosts but imagine if you can use mystic power or ninpo to see ghosts in the picture?! That would be awesome, F!Dee & F!Raph would mess with so many people.

And then here comes Dracum entering the chat 🐐😂 MF i can imagine him entering the room with sandal in hand ready to beat F!Mikey up especially after hearing "I used it to lift a blanket up" 😂😂😂

But it was so surprising to me when be gave him a "therapist" card, from the color purple i thought it was from either Donnie or 🤢 Big mama 🤢

But god i love a soft carrying dad draxum like my next door neighbour! Always welcomed 🩷

That's all for my review for the chapter! It was such a great treat since it's been a while! Am still gonna keep my eyes - and phone - open for any updates because LORD I LOVE NQK🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷

LMAO YEAH that's because I really wanted to publish the chapter that day but was already crashing when I posted it, so couldn't make a Tumblr post until the next day 😂

Hehe we'll see what Leonardo will do with the masks! First of all, wash them, probably :D He has a weird relationship with all of his keepsakes, re: the Raph-like prosthetic arm. He doesn't want to get rid of them but seeing them also still hurts, despite everything :')

Yes NQK Leonardo can use his portals!! He just hasn't had a reason to do that in the main fic (yet 😎)

God. Fug. Dang dude. "Don't push your luck or you may lose everything" legitimately made me tear up. That whole paragraph contributed, actually. "HE WANTS TO BE GREEDY" like ajkhjdsfhj how dare you (/aff) hit me with an emotional bomb like this all of a sudden. He does. He wants all of his family, he doesn't think it's fair that only three of them survived, and this brings us back to the enormous guilt he feels for not being able to save everyone.

Donatello is there with him, not in flesh but literally in spirit, he can be hugged and talked to, but Leonardo wants him to live. It's so freaking heartbreaking. I as the author have the power to bring him his family back, in flesh and blood and bone, but like I said ages ago, that's not what NQK is about. It's about accepting loss and healing and finding happiness, and about family and love. They can't change the past any more than what they've already been graciously given, the only way is forward. ;_;

BUT THANK YOUUU for liking the drawing, it makes me go 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 so bad jdfhj (and to make it worse, I made a different version which I'll post here later)

Ninpo ghosts show up in photos normally!! At least in NQK universe they do 😂 Too bad for Donatello, can't do all the crime if he can be caught in 4K

Soft caring dad Draxum ftw<333

THE THERAPIST CARD. Oh my gosh Draxum does NOT trust Big Mama one bit, rest assured, and Donnie has no such connections. No, the light purple colour is actually referencing... drum roll... THIS GUY

Yes Tev is now a yokai and a part of NQK universe but no, she won't show up in the fic so no worries about me actually bringing in non-canon characters. "Leonardo Goes To Therapy" is not a chapter I want to write, nor sprinkle in the appointments in detail, so it all happens off-screen 😂

Thank you SO SO SO MUCH again for reading and spending your precious time writing this comment!!!! It made me so happy but I'm a little sorry that this reply got so long and rambly XD ANYWAY ILYSM

[maria-of-the-waves]

Reviews TCF the Manhwa ＼(٥⁀▽⁀ )／(1-10)

I'm waiting for enough chapters of book 2 to be uploaded to start a marathon and while I wait I've been reading the manhwa.

And I'm going to say it honestly, I was a little disappointed (-ω-、), I'm going to do little reviews for the chapters I read from now on so here's my review of the first ten chapters.

The first thing I noticed is that they skipped the scene where KRS woke up in Cale's body and I'm a little disappointed that Ron's first appearance isn't the same, but the bathroom scene makes up for it a bit (＾〃＾)b, its design is charming and I loved the fox eyes that seem to have eyeliner in Cale's design, after all they demonstrate his cunning, plus as another publication mentions, he is the only character with white pupils instead of black, if we add the knowledge That his eyes are the same as when he was KRS is a very good omen ⸜( ´ ꒳ ` )⸝

The face Cale made when he declared that the key to fashion is the face gave me a lot of tenderness so there are no complaints on that part ┐(￣∀￣)┌

The first appearance of the Henituse family was very similar to the one in the novel and the panels were very interesting, I liked it, that's all I'll say (︶‿︺)

I really liked Billos's design, I feel that it correctly captures his character and description (￣ ▽ ￣)

Continuing to talk about the design, for some reason I really liked Ohn's shoes in their first appearance, they reminded me of ballet slippers and now I have the headcanon that that is the type of shoe he likes to wear, something comfortable and soft but It is perfect for stealth missions and easy to obtain regardless of your socioeconomic level (─‿‿─)

The first appearance of the man-eating tree was not as shocking as I expected, I feel like it still had a lot of color for a dead mana-infected tree, in fact, I didn't like its appearance either once I obtained the Indestructible Shield, where are the blue leaves? ? because that's green! not blue! (；￣Д￣)

The design of the gluttonous priestess seemed a little too similar to Egyptian clothing for someone who lived in the jungle, although it is acceptable if that is Cale's imagination (ᓀ ᓀ)

In the bar scene I saw a ruffian with a long blue braid and my first thought was, Why didn't they give that design to, I don't know, Bud? He's too handsome for an extra (`皿´＃)

When Cale and Choi Han meet Cale seemed a little awkward to me and he is perfect for this type of scene plus Ohn and Hong were super cute (´ ∀ ` *)

I liked Choi Han's design, they made all the black of the clothes work and although I would have liked the cape to be brown instead of gray, the magenta highlights in the hair and the large number of buckles on his boots made me like it. I would like the design (´▽`)b

The first mention of how those who give you food are good people hit my heart when remembering Cale's past, it was perfect ヽ(⌒▽⌒)ﾉ

The first appearance of Hans and Beacrox is not very memorable but I loved their designs, I imagined Hans as a thirty-something with a beard but I loved the fact that they presented him as a cute twenty-something, and just looking at Beacrox gives that enhanced mysterious and terrifying vibe because of the dark circles under his eyes, but he looks incredible and the resemblance to Ron is noticeable.

Cale's imagination with the bowling pins-Ron and Beacrox being hit by a ball-Choi Han was very cute highlighting Cale's way of thinking and demonstrating it again with the matryoshkas-Ron, Beacrox and Choi Han (≧◡≦)

Deruth's reflections on Cale's change reminded me that no matter how bad a father he is, he is still one.

The first appearance of the dreaded lemons was iconic and Cale's expressions are beautiful (￣ω￣)

Choi Han's transformation from mad dog to puppy has already begun and it is beautiful ٩(◕‿◕｡)۶

The Henituse family crest was shown for the first time that I have noticed it and it is perfect.

Rosalyn and Lock's silhouettes with their shadows were incredible and gave us a good idea of what they will look like.

Besides Cale's imagination of what Raon looked like was hilarious, is that perhaps a foreshadowing of his adult form? Or is Cale just underestimating things? (°▽°)?

I really liked the first appearance of the Indestructible Shield, but I was left wondering where the wings were (¯ . ¯٥)?

Ohn and Hong's adoption was very sweet and Hans' reaction to "the cute nim-kitties" was hilarious and lived up to his name as a cat lover, plus the faces they made when they found out they were Discovered I loved them (´ ε `)♡

I really liked the conversation between Cale and Billos, plus the face Billos makes is very cool (✧ω✧)

And this is everything that caught my attention from the manhwa so far＼(٥⁀▽⁀ )／

See you later! (^０^)ノ

[indigosunsetao3]

Would It Be Enough?

Chapter 12 - Sketches and Dresses

Masterlist of Chapters

Warnings: 18+ - No minors Rated E - Please read the tags on A03 for any of your triggers

Johnny "Soap" MacTavish x Original FMC 8.9k words - AO3 Link

The issue with only being able to bring so many things on your contract job was Emma had only packed for one type of weather; hot. Ukraine this time of year rarely saw temperatures above forty and it could get well below freezing at night. Emma had packed all the warmest things she had and also dug her credit cards out from her long-forgotten wallet. She’d have to make time to stop and buy a few things, a jacket, and a long-sleeved shirt at a minimum. After one last review of everything, hoping it would be enough because it wasn’t specified how long they would be gone, Emma clipped her pistol into her thigh holster and tossed it in the bag with a few magazines then walked out of her room with her duffle bag swung over her shoulder.

Even though it was only six almost everyone else was already up and out of their rooms, coffee cups were lined up on the counter and Gaz was busy digging out sugar and milk. Moving to deposit her duffel with the rest in a pile by the door Emma walked over gratefully grabbed herself a cup and made up the drink before leaning on the counter. “How was movie night?” She asked as she cupped her hands to hold her drink, “sorry I couldn’t join just after everything that happened yesterday, I needed to be alone for a bit.”

“No need to apologize, I get it,” Gaz answered. At least he wasn’t being awkward around her, hopefully, that would stay the same when Soap and Ghost joined them. Their doors were still shut and they hadn’t made an appearance yet. “Alex fell asleep halfway through,” Gaz replied as he worked on his own drink. “But Price joined us toward the end. Not sure when Ghost and Soap got in, we all went to bed and they still weren’t back yet,” he shrugged. “Plenty of time to sleep on the plane if you can block out the noise. It’s almost a six-hour flight, hope you have a book or something to do,” Gaz finished with a grin.

“You know, I brought a book series with me when I came over here and I still haven’t even finished book one,” Emma confessed. “I just never have the time to read anymore. Too busy or too tired when I’m not busy. I value sleep over stories I guess,” she grinned, “I’ll probably have to start book one over.”

“Is that where Sleeper comes from then?” A familiar voice asked from behind Emma. Soap was standing there and prepping his coffee, black with heavy sugar, as he eavesdropped on their conversation. Emma hadn’t even heard him emerge from his room but both he and Ghost were there, Ghost depositing both his and Soap’s bags onto the growing pile of items.

“Sort of,” Emma answered, her eyes darting between Ghost and Soap before landing back on Soap again. She had so many questions as to what happened between them but that moment was not the time to ask. “I’m a heavy sleeper,” she began to explain, which earned a smirk and nod from Soap, he would know after that first night. “And I can fall asleep pretty much anywhere too, and quickly. I would catch catnaps between training or classes. You could find me against walls, on benches, behind boxes, one time even up on a catwalk,” she laughed a little bit before taking a sip of her coffee. “I pretty much slept anywhere I could even if it were for only five minutes. If I went missing at group gatherings, my friends knew they could find me holed up somewhere.”

“You and Alex are peas in a pod,” Gaz answered. “Man falls asleep if he sits still for longer than five minutes. I don’t think he’s ever made it through a movie.”

“Not true,” Alex chimed in from the couch, “I just don’t make it through movies you pick, and you never let anyone else pick. Your British stuff could put anyone to sleep.”

“I’m not watching some American action movie. All you Americans like to do is blow things up and look like models while doing it,” Gaz shot back with a roll of his eyes.

“So, you do think I’m pretty then. I see the way you look at me,” Alex teased before catching the breakfast bar that Gaz lobbed at his head. Gaz quickly went over to the couch with his own breakfast and took a heavy seat on the couch next to Alex, throwing his feet up on the table while he ate.

“I mean, he’s not wrong,” Emma said as she looked over at Soap. She noticed that he had a butterfly stitch on his eyebrow and his lip was split and still a bit swollen in the corner. So, he had gone to the hospital at some point the evening before. She couldn’t see Ghost’s nose under his mask but it had been bleeding pretty good the night before so hopefully he had gotten it looked at. “But action movies are supposed to be blowing things up, impossible scenarios, and good-looking men and women,” she finished. Alex pointed at her over the back of the couch in an exclamation that said ‘see, he wasn’t the only one that enjoyed those types of movies.’

“I’m not disagreeing,” Soap answered with a grin, “you already know my opinion on British television, too dry.” Gaz turned his head over the back of the couch at that and narrowed his eyes at Soap, but didn’t say anything as he turned back around again.

Ghost and Price had made their way over to the counter now to grab their own coffee and Emma sidestepped closer to Soap. She didn’t want to say anything out loud but instead just raised her eyebrow in a questioning look, darting her eyes over at Ghost to ask the question quietly. Things seemed okay between the two of them, considering Ghost had carried Soap’s bag out for him and Ghost himself was having a casual conversation with Price and Crane. Soap caught her look and just mouthed the words ‘later’. Fair enough, she didn’t really want to discuss any of that with an audience and even though Ghost was talking to others she was certain he’d listen in.

By the time everyone had finished eating and cleaned up, it was time to head out on their ride to the airfield which was about thirty minutes away. Price informed them all that they would be traveling with transport of personnel and supplies to a base in Ukraine about two hours outside of Kiev then they would be driving the rest of the way. Their cover was they were embassy workers, specifically coming for humanitarian relief from the recent civil unrest. They would head to the safe house that afternoon to set up and debrief before beginning work that evening.

It was odd, to say the least, to see everyone dressed in such a casual way as they piled out of the truck that was full of other military personnel in their uniforms. The whole 141 had jeans and sneakers on, pistols that were usually strapped to their legs nowhere to be seen, and t-shirts. Price had even left his usual hat at the base, or in his bag, and the rest of the men had actually styled their hair. None of them looked the part of a lethal killer at first glance, though their size and mere presence in the area gave the air of it. People at the base even opted to give them a bit of space, obviously sensing that maybe the group wasn’t exactly what they said they were.

Emma was even treated the same for her association with them, though one brave solider offered to help her with her bags as the team moved off to go check in. Price had informed her she had a full bag of medical supplies at her disposal that he had commandeered from the hospital. The bag itself was almost as large as her and when she hefted it out of the truck when they got to the airstrip, she almost dropped it from the weight and everything shifting inside. “Did they pack me the whole emergency room,” she muttered as she moved to swing it up on her back.

“Let me help you ma’am,” the man offered and he swooped in to grab the medical bag before Emma could answer. He was young, a fresh recruit from the looks of him and how he carried himself. “Shouldn’t leave a lady to lug all of this,” he said with a small smile as he swung the pack onto his back, his eyes darting over to where the team had walked away. “I take it you’re the embassy crew headed to Ukraine?”

“Ah, yes actually,” Emma answered as she bent down picked up her much lighter bag, and draped the strap across her body. “Are you stationed there?” She asked as they started to walk toward the plane. She had no need to go join the men checking in, they had her fake identification papers, but she did glance over to where the rest of the taskforce was talking to the pilots. She was expecting to see them exchanging papers, maybe having a casual conversation, but what she found instead was Soap staring at her. He wasn’t subtle, he wasn’t even trying to hide it, as he crossed his arms across his chest and just watched her with head slightly cocked. Emma swallowed, daring to give him a small smirk, before turning her attention back to the man helping her. Soap could have helped her with the bag if he had wanted, but he didn’t and now he’d get to watch someone else assist her.

“I am, my first deployment actually,” he said sounding a bit proud, but Emma could see he was also nervous. “Before I joined, I never even left the country and now I’ve been to three different ones in less than a week,” he grinned before gesturing for her to step up the ramp first. “Have you traveled much? I mean, I guess with the embassy you must have,” he was rambling a bit as they sidestepped some crates to head further into the plane for their seats.

“I have,” Emma answered, “I’ve been to quite a few places actually. I was in the Air Force when I was younger, I was a medic,” she explained, careful to not shed too much information about herself since she was there under a false background. “Helped me join the embassy when I got out,” she finished before they stopped at some seats. The man, whose last name was Newman by the patch on his uniform, lowered her medical bag and stuck it under a row of seats, tucking it safely behind the cargo nets. Emma bent down and dug her book and large ear-covering headphones to help block out the plane noise, out of her bag before shoving it next to the medical bag. “Any idea what you’d like to do once you get out? Or are you a career man?” She inquired as she pulled the headphones around her neck and took a seat.

“Oh, I’m not sure yet,” he replied taking the seat right next to her, Soap was going to love this. “My whole family has been in the service, that’s actually how my parents met,” he grinned. “My sister just finished eight years and is in school now working on her master's. I may make a career out of it, school’s never been my thing. My dad was the same.”

“Nothing wrong with that,” Emma answered with a smile before she looked back toward the plane entrance to see if the team was boarded yet. She couldn’t see down the ramp, there were crates and other items in the way, but more and more people were filing on and taking up the seats. If they didn’t hurry, they were all going to be sitting separately, there weren’t many seats set up for this flight and they were filling up rather quickly. “What’s your name?” Emma asked after a moment, “I’m Emma by the way.”

“Sam,” the man replied before his eyes darted up over Emma’s head to take in the people that had just arrived. Emma turned to find Soap leading the group past the crates, his bag gripped tight in his right hand as he held it over his shoulder. He was continuing to stare, though he now had a mischievous grin on his face as he walked over to where Emma and Sam sat. Emma was determined to not let him ruin the nice conversation she was having with an obviously anxious young man.

“Don’t mind them,” she stated quickly turning back to Sam, “they’re all bark and no bite,” she continued, giving a small eye-roll for emphasis. Sam still hadn’t looked away from the group though and his eyes had widened a bit before Soap spoke.

“I don’t bite because you haven’t asked Lass,” Soap said as he sat down in the seat right next to Emma, shoving his own bag underneath right next to hers. “I’m always willing to try anything,” he winked at her before looking over at Sam and extending his hand. “John,” he stated as a way of introduction, they weren’t using call signs here being that they weren’t supposed to be military.

Emma felt the butterflies in her stomach at Soap’s words and she bit the inside of her cheek to keep from biting her lip. He knew exactly what he was doing and she was going to have to sit here with that thought for the duration of the flight.

“Sam,” Sam replied, taking his hand and shaking it. At that point the rest of the group lined up down the row, each taking up a seat and digging out their own inflight entertainment. Gaz had brought his music and headphones; the rest had a combo of music or books as well. Sam was watching all of them carefully, “you’re all embassy workers?” His voice was a little disbelieving as he took them all in, especially Ghost in his face mask. While it didn’t have the signature skull markings on it and was just plain black, it still stuck out.

“Aye,” Soap answered, letting his accent roll off his tongue heavily. “That one there’s our translator,” he pointed to Alex who gave a friendly wave, “boss down on the end. The mask is, well, he’s our security,” Soap smirked to himself enjoying his little game. “Rest of us are just regular old workers, except this lady,” he patted Emma lightly on the thigh, but then never removed his hand, the weight of his palm sent a wave of heat through Emma but she didn’t betray anything on her face. “With all the civil unrest and some emergency situations, they needed some more medical personnel.”

“She was saying she was a medic in the Air Force,” Sam explained with a small nod, his eyes darting to where Soap still hadn’t removed his hand from Emma’s leg. Catching the look Soap squeezed his hand lightly, as if showing Sam exactly what was going on here.

“Yes, well, I continued outside of the Air Force and got my degree. I’ve been working for the embassy since as a medical consultant,” Emma answered, her eyes cutting to Soap in the corners, but she kept her focus on Sam. “I go where they send me. I just finished a job down in Africa a few months ago, thought I would be home for a little while but here we are. So, if you enjoy traveling and decide not to make a career out of the military, it’s always an option.” She smiled nicely at Sam but kept her hands firmly curled around the book in her lap, the fingers digging into the spine as Soap dared to slide his hand about an inch up her thigh.

Sam opened his mouth to say something else when someone called out to him a row over. It looked like all of his friends were staring at the situation and one of them quickly gestured for him to come join them. Without even looking Emma knew Soap was smirking from ear to ear at the situation he had caused. “I should go,” Sam said then suddenly stood up, straightening out his shirt. “It was nice talking with you,” he added looking at Emma and barely glancing at Soap.

“Bye Sam,” Soap called and Emma nudged him hard in the side with her elbow after Sam had turned and hustled away. She could feel Soap holding in his laugh and Emma rounded on him once Sam was out of earshot.

“That was incredibly rude,” she hissed, “he was only being polite. He carried my bag on which none of you offered to help,” she leaned and glared at the rest of the group who also looked like they were busting to laugh.

“He was being polite because you’re the prettiest thing he’s probably seen in a month,” Soap answered her. “And he was hoping you’d find him just as cute and nice,” he taunted before finally laughing. “I know, I was that boy at one point,” he added, “any girl stepped onto the base and we were all fighting for their attention.”

“You still didn’t need to run him off, I can hold my own,” Emma answered before she batted his hand away from her leg. “He’s nervous about his first deployment, he didn’t say it but I could tell. And none of you helped that,” she leaned around Soap again to give them all a look before sitting back in her chair.

“Ah, it’s all in good fun,” Soap said as he looked up to see Sam and his friends looking over at them. Soap gave them a little wave and they suddenly were all looking around at something else having been caught in their staring. “He’ll learn to be smoother about talking to women over time, he’s still green.”

“Oh yes, and you are so smooth yourself,” Emma answered as she moved to crack open her book. The ramp on the plane was shutting now and the propellers were starting up so it was beginning to get loud.

“I won you over, didn’t I?” Soap asked though he leaned over to say it in her ear. Emma wasn’t sure if he did that because it was getting loud inside the cargo area or if he wanted to tease her. Either way, it worked and she felt goosebumps breakout down the back of her neck at his breath on her ear.

She didn’t answer him as she moved to pull her headphones on to block out the sound of the engine and everything starting to rattle. Even with the headphones on she could still hear how loud it was and she saw as other people were breaking out their own ear covers, including Soap. Determined to read Emma lifted her book into her eyesight and crossed one leg over the other as the plane began its taxi. It wasn’t long before she felt them lift into the air and while she had flown plenty of times the sudden lurch always made her uneasy for a moment. She glanced over at Soap who was leaning back in his own seat with his arms crossed over his chest and his head back completely at ease. He was apparently opting to sleep for the flight as was Ghost.

Emma made it a few chapters before the hum of the plane and the light vibrations started to rock her to sleep. It was just like driving in a car, if she was a passenger she was out within the hour of the drive starting. Telling herself she was just going to rest her eyes she pressed her thumb into the book and flipped it shut, leaning her head back on the seat. She saw out of the corner of her eye the rest of the guys had done the same, Price’s head hanging so far forward on his chest she didn’t know how he could breathe like that. Scooting herself down a bit Emma shut her eyes and felt herself drift off before she could even really comprehend what was happening.

Sometime later she was awoken as the plane took a dip, they had hit turbulence. Emma felt her head loll off what it was resting on and a hand gently pushed her shoulder back so she stayed in her seat. Blinking a few times she took in her surroundings, a bit disoriented, to find she was leaning over to the side and her head was resting on Soap’s shoulder. Her forgotten book was tucked safely under his thigh and he had draped his repaired jacket over her lap.

“How long was I out?” Emma asked before realizing there was no way he could hear her over his headphones. He probably didn’t even realize she was awake yet because he hadn’t looked over at her as he absentmindedly secured her back in her seat when she had slipped. Instead, his concentration was on the sketch he was currently working on in the journal-sized notebook in his hands. She had seen the notebook before, seen him taking notes in meetings with it, or had it out on the couch when they were relaxing in the evening.

She never pried into what he was doing but she dared to look now to find the page on the left was full of little sketches. The page he was currently working on had a drawing of her, asleep on his shoulder and how she looked from his angle. Her hair was obstructing most of her face, the overly large headphones setting it all askew. He had been able to see her parted lips as she breathed though and how her face was perfectly relaxed in her slumber. He thankfully hadn’t added on the drool that she was suddenly very self-consciously afraid was there. Emma adjusted a little bit as she watched his hands work the pencil over the finishing touches of the shading of her lips when he peered down to find her eyes open.

Soap grinned before reaching over to pull one of her headphones off her ear, “go back to sleep. We’ve still got about two hours to go,” he explained before setting the earpiece gently back down on her. He didn’t give her a chance to protest before he went back to work, glancing over at her every once in a while, to make sure he was getting the piece right. Emma didn’t close her eyes though; she was too busy watching and grinning to herself at the fact he had chosen to draw her. It was a simple gesture but it seemed extremely intimate at the same time. His drawing skills were a bit surprising, she never picked up on the fact he would draw she assumed it was just notes or doodling during meetings.

When he finished, he tucked his pencil into the small loop in the book to hold it there before he pushed the notebook into her hands. Emma sat up at that and gave him a questioning look to which he leaned over and pulled the headphone back again. “Take a look if you’re interested, nothing to hide in there,” he stated before letting go of the earpiece and stood up. Emma watched him stretch before he sidestepped down the aisle to walk toward the front of the plane to probably find a bathroom or just move around a bit. They had been sitting for hours now and Emma knew her back was going to be stiff by the time they landed.

Looking around to see if anyone else was watching, they weren’t, she finally dared to crack open the well-worn leather journal. She found that the leather outside was just a cover, he must have had it for years, transferring it from notebook to notebook as they filled up. Inside the pages were stuffed with small notes, scribbles, numbers that made no sense to her, dates and times, or random words. But there were also drawings, tons of drawings. Some were quick basic sketches of people or animals, sometimes buildings or even plants. He had a few schematics of what she was guessing were buildings he worked in but as she flipped through, she spotted familiar things. There were a few of the 141 in there, their faces so lifelike Emma looked up at their sleeping forms to compare them before she continued to flip through.

As she got further along, she found the first sketch of her. She faced sideways to him, her face turned to look ahead of her with her hair pulled back into a tight bun. He had captured the tight look in her eyes, she was concentrating on something, and her hand was on a table taking notes. It must have been during a meeting or some sort of intel training that Alex was putting on, something that Soap didn’t need to concentrate on so he decided to draw instead. Emma grinned as she ran her fingers over it before flipping the page to find another sketch of her at the gun range from behind. Her hair was tied in a braid down her back and Gaz was there as well instructing her, she was in a shooting stance and the gun holster on her thigh was snapped open as if she had just pulled her gun from it.

She continued to flip through and as she got further along sketches of her started to make more frequent appearances. Her lounging on the couch after a long day, working in the gym, standing with her oversized helmet on glaring at him from behind her scarf, curled up asleep in a lounge chair. But mixed in were other sketches from Soap’s life. Ghost’s mask, the symbol for the 141, a random military truck, some sort of gun, and finally she found a self-portrait. It was rough, like he had started on it then never went back to smooth everything out. She sat and stared at it for a while, her eyes taking in all the angles and shadows, how his mohawk laid to one side and curled slightly at the ends, he had a cut on his cheek when he had done it and the scar by his eyebrow was prominently outlined. She was engrossed in it when Soap finally came back and took his seat next to her, leaning over to see what she was looking at.

Emma pulled her headphones off and looked at Soap, obviously portraying a look of surprise and awe. “That’s not even my best work,” Soap scoffed at her reaction, “it’s not even finished.” He moved to flip the page so she would move on from it but Emma stopped him and held the page down with her fingers gently.

“I think it’s my favorite,” Emma stated and she saw the look on his face, “I’m serious. It’s raw but just something about it,” she ran her finger down the jaw before looking back up at Soap. She had never seen him blush, and she doubted she would, but the look on his face was very close. “You’re really talented Johnny,” she stated knowing no one could hear her use his name, “I mean it. These are incredible,” she flipped back to the one of her on the shooting range pointing out the shading and shadows.

“I’ll show you my favorite. And it’s actually a good one compared to your favorite,” Soap teased after a moment before gently taking the book from her hand and flipping forward a few pages. He stopped and looked over it for a second before handing the book back to her. This sketch took up both pages and Emma gasped a bit as she took it in. It was of her again. She was lying on the couch on her stomach with her chin resting on her hands, which were laid flat on the cushions, her gaze looking up at him. She had a smile on her lips that reached her eyes and her hair was hanging loose around her face and down her shoulders. It was nighttime because she had her pajamas on and her socked feet were dangling over the couch arm.

“It’s beautiful,” Emma stated after a moment of looking it over before looking back at Soap again. He had a genuine smile on his face, one that someone had when they were full of pride in their own work and enjoyed the praise. “When did you draw this?” She asked turning back to look at it again.

“I’ve worked on it for a while,” he shrugged, “but I started it about a week after you signed your contract and agreed to stay on.” He gestured for her to continue, willing to share this intimate part of him with her. It was enough to give Emma a pleasurable squirm in her stomach, making her wish they were alone before she sat back and continued to flip through the pages slowly. She leaned up against his arm a bit as she admired everything and Soap peered over looking between the work and her face before shutting his eyes peacefully and settling into a nap. Going through the artwork had taken up the rest of the trip and Soap awoke when the pilot came over the intercom to announce their descent.

Price was the first off the plane to get their transport to Kiev. It was a plain black van that could fit them all, albeit tightly, so they wouldn’t get separated. Emma took advantage of the few minutes they had before they piled into the van and stretched herself out. Her back was tight and she could feel the discomfort in her hips as she pushed herself into runner stretch, groaning a bit at the tug in her thighs. Soap had carried her medical bag for her and when Price rolled around with the van, he tossed it in the trunk as did everyone else with their stuff.

“Couldn’t have sprung for anything bigger?” Gaz asked as he peered into the very tight quarters. The van wasn’t much bigger than something you would take as quick transport to the airport. Ghost had taken the front passenger seat without anyone trying to fight him for it and Price was driving, so that left the rest of them to figure it out.

“Biggest they had,” Price said as he turned around to look at them all climbing in. Emma immediately went to the back row, being the shortest on the team she could curl herself in a bit tighter. Soap immediately joined her, his body barely fitting into the tight space but he made it work. Gaz had the row in front of them to himself, a smirk on his face as he stretched out with his legs on the seat, then Alex and Crane each took up a captain’s chair behind Price and Ghost. “All set?” Price asked and everyone gave their confirmation before he drove off.

The Ukraine landscape was vastly different than what she had been looking at for the past few months, it was a nice change. The land was lush and green with rolling hills and mountains in the distance covered in snow and Emma leaned her arm on the window to look out as they drove. She missed the fresh crisp air, it reminded her of home, and it was nice to not be sweating from the moment you woke up until you went to sleep.

Emma shifted a bit to better lean her head against the window when Soap’s hand gently slid into hers, threading their fingers together. Emma grinned and squeezed his hand, looking over at him to find him watching her before he glanced off at a window on his other side. Price had asked for them to be inconspicuous and Emma knew Ghost was not pleased with their situation, so she was okay with being lowkey like this. Enjoying one another’s company and touch without being obvious, like it was their own little secret tucked all the way in the back of the van. After a while Soap rubbed his thumb gently over her knuckles and Emma shifted her leg to rest against his for the duration of the ride.

As they got closer to Kiev everyone seemed to be a little more alert, Soap slipping his hand out of Emma’s to sit up straighter and watch the area around them. While the city itself looked okay in the distance, driving up was another story. There were destroyed houses, people in the streets cleaning and other people watching them closely as they drove through. The political landscape had been a mess for years and Russian interference was not helping. Emma listened as Price explained everything that was happening and as the men around her asked questions. They didn’t venture too far into what they were doing there, waiting for the safety of the safe house just in case there were any bugs.

The safe house itself was a very small two-story house on the outskirts of the city. It looked rundown on the outside and when they all climbed out a feral cat darted under the back porch that was sagging on one side. Price ushered them all in and once inside he locked the door and peered out the windows to make sure they weren’t followed but the streets were empty. The inside of the house wasn’t much better than the outside, the kitchen tiles and walls were tinged yellow from years of someone smoking inside, and the carpet had very questionable stains and was missing in some spots as if someone just cut chunks out of it. The furniture was dingy and Emma toed at an old-looking cardboard box, afraid something may be alive inside of it.

“It’s not much but it’s secure,” Price stated before pointing at the bookshelf. Alex immediately went over and pulled it off the wall like a door, and once opened the inside revealed a bunch of surveillance equipment, monitors, and gear. Alex pulled over a chair that had seen better days before he started working on logging in and starting everything up. “Gear is upstairs,” Price stated and Crane and Gaz bolted for the steps, shoving one another playfully as they went to check out what they had. “You can go through and set up all your medical stuff in the spare room over there,” Price gestured to what must have been the dining room at some point.

“Do you think I’m going to need it? I thought this was just information gathering,” Emma inquired as Soap grabbed the bag for her to lug it into the next room.

“Always be prepared,” Ghost said simply, “best to know what you have to work with just in case something doesn’t go to plan” It was the first words he had spoken to her since the night before, they weren’t clipped or angry either. It was fairly civil for him and it was jarring enough that Emma just turned around and walked into her area to start sorting through everything.

It took her well over an hour to pull everything out and get it in some sort of semblance of order, making a mental inventory and checking the packing list. They had provided her with pretty much everything she would need in an emergency situation to keep someone alive until they got to the hospital. It even went as far as a small portable AED and quick set cast for a broken bone. She was zipping all of the pockets shut now that the bag was empty when Price called them all back into the living room to start handing out files for all of their marks and discussing tactics.

Emma took her folder and flipped it open to find the left side was full of pictures of a man and the right had all his information. Mikhail Lebedev, heir to a very wealthy Russian family that owned an arms dealing factory that had exclusive contracts with the Russian military. He was a single businessman, almost a decade older than her, known for being a playboy that liked to flash his money. He was suspected with helping push Russian agendas among the rebels in Ukraine and even supplying them with money and weapons. Emma pulled a face as she flipped through the pictures, he wasn’t bad looking at all with his broad shoulders and head of dark curly hair, but she could tell by just looking at his body language he was full of himself. He knew he could get what he wanted when he wanted it and he never took no for an answer.

“I hope you slept on the plane,” Price stated as he looked at Emma while everyone flipped through their files. Alex had a pile of all of them since he was staying behind to coordinate and keep tabs. “There’s a big meet-up this evening hosted by Mikhail. Laswell secured us an in to get into the club,” Price stated before pointing at Gaz, Soap, and Crane, “they will be going in with you, their own marks will be in attendance but we’re mostly concerned about Mikhail tonight, we think there may be a deal going down in the next few days. Gaz will be playing your security guard, Soap and Crane are your close friends,” all of them nodded though Emma was confused about what role she would be playing if she needed security.

“You’re a wealthy American heiress on a tour of Europe before your marriage,” Price explained and Emma’s eyebrows shot straight up, this was news to her. Since when was she going to be playing the bait and interacting with her mark. “He likes money and things he can’t have,” Price continued before he dug around in his jacket pocket and tossed a bank deposit bag onto the table in front of Emma. “You don’t have to do anything you are uncomfortable with,” he stated as Emma pulled the bag toward her and opened it up to reveal a large stack of cash in Ukrainian currency as well as jewelry, a different passport, and other various documents. “We just need you to keep him sufficiently distracted while the rest of them work the room, see if you can get anything out of him. Ghost is going to work on trying to get into his penthouse to plant a few bugs while Mikhail’s…busy.”

“What am I going to do with this?” Emma asked as she held up a few of the bills, “I don’t think he would want my money if he’s as rich as you say,” she continued though she had a feeling where this was going.

“You need to look and dress the part,” Price answered simply and Emma finally dared a glance at Soap. His face was unreadable as he took in his instructions but she could see his hands were curled into loose fists on the table. This was part of the job though; this is what they both signed up for and Price had made it very clear that the job could not be affected by their feelings. “There are some clothes upstairs in the master bedroom already, Laswell had them sent. I have no idea what she picked for you, but hopefully, they are warm. There’s a chance it’ll snow tonight,” Price looked pointedly at Ghost who merely nodded. Snow meant footprints so he would have to cover his tracks.

“If I’m supposed to catch his eye, I doubt the clothes will be very warm,” Emma muttered as she pulled out a very expensive looking diamond bracelet and ran it through her fingers. This was probably worth more than what she made on a single contract job. “I suppose I’ll go get ready?” Emma asked, sounding braver than she felt. She couldn’t back down now, she had been training for months for this and they were depending on her to get the work done. She could flirt and flash a little skin to keep Mikhail busy while the guys worked their own marks. Plus, she was due to be ‘married’ so there shouldn’t be any expectation from Mikhail of her, though Price’s comment about him liking things he couldn’t have stuck out in her mind.

When no one said anything to her Emma pushed out from her chair, tucking the file and bank deposit bag of items under her arm, and headed up the creaky stairs with her personal bag. The house was cold as she made her way to the master, which mercifully was actually nice and clean compared to the rest of the house though Emma wouldn’t be surprised if there were still a few mice or roaches lurking in the corners. Finding the closet Emma pulled it open and stared at the clothes Laswell had sent for all of them, a mix of dresses for her and formal wear for the men. There were a bunch and she had an uncomfortable feeling she was going to be playing this heiress for more than one night.

“For fucks sake,” Emma breathed as her fingers danced over the satin and silk of the dresses. None of them left much to the imagination and she picked a bright pink one off the hanger and held it up before quickly putting it back with a solid ‘no’ muttered under her breath. Some of the dresses were short cut and tight, obviously meant for the club scene but others were floor length and elegant, meant for nice dinners or galas. The only formal dresses she had worn in her life were for school dances or the Air Force ball. All of her dresses were off the rack from local department stores but these just oozed designer made, custom. “I’m going to feel so out of place,” she stated to herself as she tried to choose what to wear that night.

Overwhelmed by the dresses, Emma decided to get her hair and makeup done first, which she could do while she mused over in her mind what to wear that night. In the bathroom, she found stacks of different makeup and hair products and she groaned looking over all of it. It had been so long since she put on a full face of makeup or even curled her hair, she would be surprised she’d remember how but she needed to look like she did this effortlessly every day. So, she got to work. Emma used the foundation she found to cover up bruises and marks she thought would be seen under her clothes, though she decided that maybe a few wouldn’t be a bad idea to leave a bit visible. Maybe Mikhail liked women who could take a few hits or acted like they enjoyed that type of thing. He looked like he would, the smug bastard.

It took her a while to primp and clean herself, lotioning up her skin, pulling her hair this way and that to get it to curl just right then spraying everything to set. If it weren’t for the circumstances, she may have been happy with how she looked, it did look like she was going out on a very fancy date. Even the undergarments she had found felt luxurious under the bathrobe that she had plucked off the bathroom door and pulled on. At least Laswell appreciated the work that went into getting ready and made sure she was comfortable while doing it.

One more pause in the mirror Emma stared at her reflection, barely recognizing herself as she twisted a curl back and pinned it to frame her face. Hearing someone outside of the bathroom door in the bedroom Emma paused and tightened the belt around her robe before walking out. She found Soap sitting on the bed and he gave a low whistle as he took her in, his hands finishing up the buttons of his shirt.

“Lass…Gaz is going to have his hands full keeping everyone off of you,” he stated as he moved to roll up the sleeves of his shirt, folding the cuffs in a slow deliberate manner. He was dressed nicely as well; black slacks and a simple dark blue button-down shirt that he had left the collar undone. His shoes were shined dress shoes, forgoing the usual boots or sneakers, and he had trimmed up his beard and was freshly shaved as well. Seeing him like that took everything Emma had to just not drop the robe there and jump him, especially with the way his eyes ran over her in an almost possessive manner.

“I’m more worried about all the women with you,” Emma noted as she turned to the closet to finally pick out a dress. “I’ll at least have Gaz running interference but you’ll be thrown to the wolves,” she said as she mused between the red and black number, turning them this way and that on their hangers. She would have felt much more comfortable in the floor-length numbers but she knew that wasn’t practical tonight, and not the point of it either. She needed to show some skin, catch eyes, and keep those eyes distracted.

“I’ll be watching you all night, no one else is going to hold my gaze like you,” Soap said quietly as he came to stand behind her with one hand on her hip, the other reaching around to look at the dresses himself. “I won’t be able to concentrate,” he breathed into her ear which made her shiver slightly and lean back into him. He ran his forefinger and thumb over the different materials before pulling the short dark blue dress out, similar to the color shirt he was wearing. “This one,” he stated, deciding for her and handing her the dress. Emma nodded took it from him and moved to head to the bathroom to change but Soap grabbed her wrist and gently pulled her back to him.

Emma felt her breath catch as he twisted her back around to face him again. She tilted her head up to him, arms hung loosely at her sides, waiting for him to continue. Soap didn’t say a word as he undid the belt of her robe, never breaking eye contact with her, and let the fabric fall open slowly to reveal her dark lingerie underneath. She caught the eye flare as he pushed the robe off her shoulders and Emma let the fabric fall until it caught in her elbows.

“Did Laswell do this to torture me?” Soap groaned as his fingers trailed lightly over the material covering her breasts. The lace wasn’t doing much as far as coverage but undergarments that went under these types of dresses weren’t meant to be modest. Soap's fingers splayed against one breast and squeezed gently, causing Emma to gasp, before he slid his fingers down her bare stomach to toy with the elastic band of her underwear on her hip. “Fucking hell,” he muttered as he glanced down to the garters on her thighs that were holding up her stockings with delicate little clips. He swallowed hard, as if to restrain himself, before grabbing her hips with both hands and pulling her tight against him.

“If you weren’t all done up already, I’d have you bent over that bed right now,” he stated, leaning down to nuzzle the side of his face against hers so he could whisper in her ear. “Test out how quiet you can be as I fucked you in this lingerie,” he bit at her ear lobe which caused her to gasp and her hands shot out to grab at his forearms. “Well…until I ripped all the pretty lace into shreds,” he continued, pressing a kiss over her racing pulse on her neck. His hands slid around to her bare ass and his fingertips squeezed into the skin there as he pulled her even tighter against him so Emma could feel how badly he wanted her.

“How fast can you be?” Emma asked, almost pleading with him to do everything he had just stated and more. It was a risk with everyone here but her brain was so clouded with lust for the man standing in front of her she was willing to take it. She had been wanting to jump him for two days now but things kept getting in the way. She’d even take a heavy make-out session at this point, she just wanted him to keep touching her. “Makeup can always be touched up,” she continued, her hand drifting to press up against the seam of his pants which was incredibly tight at the moment.

“I can do fast and dirty,” Soap ground out as his fingers slipped between her legs from behind, pushing the thin strip of underwear to the side to feel the wetness there. He huffed and slid his fingers away, earning a whine of disappointment from Emma who had opened her legs a bit wider to give him better access. “But I’m not that fast and Price is waiting,” he ground out before unwrapping his arms from around her reluctantly.

Emma felt like she was going to combust as she looked at him and almost grabbed his wrist and dragged his hand back to her body but he was right, they needed to get going. Soap took the dress that was draped over her arm and gestured to help her into it, twisting her around by the hips to do up the back. His hands were nimble as they pulled up the zipper and slid the diamond necklace around her neck, though he kept running his hands over her body as he worked; especially as he helped her strap on the heels, his fingers gently massaging her calves and kissing the inside of her knee.

“When you’re busy flirting with Mikhail I want you to think of me undressing you later,” he said as he slowly rose from the floor where he had knelt in front of the bed to lean over her instead. “And when he talks a big game to you,” his hand slid up her skirt and he grabbed one of her garters between two fingers. He picked the material up a few inches from her skin before letting the elastic snap back on her thigh with a sharp sting, “I want you to think of how you felt screaming my name in that warehouse.” He smirked and dared a quick kiss to her lips, not wanting to smear her lipstick, “and if he tries anything with you, I want you to know I’ll break his fucking skull.” The last sentence was a lethal promise and Soap locked eyes with Emma to emphasize it. Emma felt the shiver of fear, but also comfort, shoot down her back from his words before he pulled away to stand up straight and offer her his arm.

“You better stick to that promise of undressing me later Johnny,” Emma stated as she loosed a breath she didn’t realize she was holding before she smoothed her skirt back out and grabbed her small clutch. She had stuffed some cash in the little black purse along with her lipstick, a burner phone, her fake passport, and a small knife in the zipper pocket. “Or I may just get Mikhail’s number and call him up if you can’t satisfy me. He looks like he knows his way around a woman,” she smirked and Soap all but growled his displeasure at her words but he moved to help her out of the room and down the stairs.

“Well don’t you look cute,” Gaz stated as he buttoned the cuffs on his suit jacket and stuck the earpiece in his ear. Emma rolled her eyes at him but he just laughed. His cover as her security would allow him to have a direct line with Alex where they could talk back and forth without issue. Emma was handed a small earpiece that went so far into her ear canal it was barely visible and in the dark lighting of a club behind her hair, no one would see it. The microphone piece was a small button that clipped right onto her bra strap and she tested it with Alex before heading out to the car. It was an actual car this time, not the van, a sleek black Cadillac looking thing. Gaz walked to the front to drive, shoving his second pistol into the glove box, his first one was on a chest holster under his jacket.

Emma, Crane, and Soap slid into the back, the two men were dressed the same in button-down shirts and black slacks, large watches on their wrists, and rings on their fingers. Emma jiggled her foot the whole ride over and Soap gently patted her knee as they rode in relative silence. The closer they got to the club the more nervous she became and when Gaz pulled up to the valet, she took a deep breath and waited for the door to open. Time to put on the act.

[stressedlawsecretary]

Today's Focus

ft. the ad that has been all over my local news for two days now. Our quarterback is the new face of Gatorade.

09.19.24 - Out of touch Thursday has never been more accurate; in some ways it's a harder day to get through than Monday. I'm tired, the day drags; the only good thing is that I still have the food trucks to visit for another couple of weeks. After that I'm going to use Thursday as my day to go out for lunch instead of eating at my desk; I need an excuse to get up and move around gd it.

Work - SJC asked me yesterday to pull the casefiles for a case going to trial from the storage room, but I stored them at my desk in preparation for this so all I need to do is move those files to the library for her. Then I gotta send a cloud link out to the defendants in the case so they can access the videos the plaintiff is also reviewing. Other than that, I have whatever is asked of me, probably a mailing or an efile at some point today.

Background Noise - Back in the office means I'm back to binging YT. I got off like six hours on the DVR yesterday, along with 17 other YT videos. Again, not meeting the number from the day before, but this number includes a couple of streams over 2 hrs long, at least one stream over an hr long, and a few reaction videos that were nearly an hr long. So that's a good number for the type of content I'm getting off. I got halfway through another stream as well, but that one is seven hours long so 'halfway' means 4+ hrs in.

Study - Thursday is book day and if I do a couple of chapters of Twin Terror I will feel accomplished. There's a hell of a lot else I could also be reading but I'm not feeling very motivated today.

Though yesterday I did good on the 'visual study' front; of the six hrs I got off the DVR, the number included an hr of Jeopardy, and an episode each of my news programs.

Extras - Thursday means I have to take the garbage out of the house and to the curb; dinner is a classic comfort food - baked ziti. Then I settle in for some more Kamen Rider W and season 19 of Whose Line. I did the mini-essay already today, because I'm incredibly mad that the rhetoric surrounding Kamala Harris ignores the fact that she's a stepmom, and that kinda says a lot about how these ppl feel when it comes to non-traditional families including children without a biological connection. Consider it another piece in my series of how we as a society see children as property and not people. Idk if I'll write more today or do anything productively creative; I feel a little bit like arguing with TDIMDMs on my page. We'll see if I can reign my brain in.

[nekoannie-chan]

Secrets chapter 4: The Beginning or the End of Everything? Part III

Pairing: Steve Rogers X OFC, Brock Rumlow X OFC.

Word count: 1052 words.

Summary: Sometimes keeping secrets can be dangerous or a heavy burden, which is what Kathleen has been doing for years. She will also be in charge of guiding Steve Rogers into this century; meanwhile, S.H.I.E.L.D. will be looking for a way to kick-start the Avengers Initiative by integrating her as one of the superheroes, but that won't be the only danger they face.

Warnings: None

A/N: After long time working on this longfic, I finally post it. If you wanna be added to the taglist, let me know.

My native language is Spanish so I wanna improve my writing skills in English if you notice any mistakes, please let me know and I will correct them.

I don’t give any kind of permission that my fics to be posted on other platforms or languages (I translate myself my work) or the use of my graphics (my dividers are included in this), I did them exclusively for my fics, please respect my work and don't steal it. There are some people here who make dividers that anyone can use, mine is not this type, please look for the other's people. The only exception is the ones I gifted 'cuz now belong to someone else. If you find any of my works on a different platform and are not one of my accounts, please let me know. Reblogs and comments are always welcome.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Marvel's characters (unfortunately), except for the original characters and the story.

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If you like it, please vote, comment, and give me feedback to improve my skills and reblog.

You can read it on Wattpad and Ao3 too. Secrets masterlist. Previous chapter. Next chapter.

𝟸 𝓂𝑜𝓃𝓉𝒽𝓈 𝓁𝒶𝓉𝑒𝓇

 It had already been two years since she joined S.H.I.E.L.D., and her missions so far have been successful. At the moment she was in her office reviewing the proposal for the Insight Project, the board of Directors had rejected it. She didn’t understand the reasons. Everything seemed in order. She sincerely preferred to do that over the other missions. He knew she helped people by stopping those criminals, but that didn't mean she liked being on some missions. She preferred to do office work or go on some missions with Brock.

Despite everything, she was still checking everything related to the project. According to the manuals and protocols, everything was in order; therefore, it didn't make sense that it had been rejected... Unless it was for monetary reasons.

Fury entered the office with a folder, and without saying a single word, she turned to see it. She knew that it could only be something too important, so much so that the rest of the missions would be postponed until further notice and the personnel would participate more. She took it and began to leaf through the content, but she didn’t understand well what it meant. In truth, she began to believe that it was a joke by Nick, although she was no longer a little girl to laugh at the jokes that Nick used to make.

"An hour ago, some Russian tankers sent us these photos; I need you to analyze them; you have less than two hours; it's urgent, as it can't fall into the wrong hands," Nick ordered her.

Kathleen nodded and got to work. She also called Cameron; she would need some help. Together they managed to get the results in less time than she required, but she could not believe it. He was most likely dead; no one would resist even those conditions and probably not even the magnitude of the impact; it was the ship, but she was not so sure if he would be in there. The best thing to do was to send someone to check and, if possible, get what was left and try to recover it because if any of the enemies did it before them, they could try again to replicate the serum or use it for some experiment, and that meant more problems.

Now more questions popped into her head. How would they break the news to the world? What would happen now? Would they examine the discovery? Should she worry?

Probably, there would be a memorial or some ceremony to thank him for his service or something, she didn't even know why she was worrying about the situation, she just had to do her job.

It was three in the morning when Nick Fury's phone rang, and he immediately answered to receive the news that Captain America had been found, or at least his frozen body. Under those conditions, they could not be sure if he was alive or not, so he gave precise instructions: they had to get him out of there and take him to the S.H.I.E.L.D. facilities in New York so that the doctors could take care of him and he would be submitted to some tests before telling anyone else since he didn’t want rumors to spread to the population.

He knew who was the perfect person for what was coming, plus it would be easier to know what was really going on, although he was sure she would not give any statements to the media, so they could prepare whatever was necessary.

A few minutes later, he spoke to Kathleen to assign her to the mission, which was simple: to be present while they took the Captain out of the ice to try to read his mind and thus be able to corroborate if he was alive, as well as to be by his side during the transfer and the doctor's examination, and in case he was alive, she would have to help him adapt to the present time.

Kath's mobile phone rang, she mumbled something unintelligible, and she wanted to continue sleeping, but if Nick was talking directly to her on his personal mobile phone instead of his work one, it was really something exaggeratedly important. She moved Brock so she could answer; she had lost count of the times they had been together.

Although they weren't in a romantic relationship as they had agreed, they had repeated that night of the mission several times, sometimes at her place, sometimes at his apartment. Although neither of their feelings had changed.

Even Brock was thinking of trying to have a relationship after a while, to convince her, although first, he had to find a way to keep her safe.

She got up and dressed as quickly as possible to arrive on time as soon as she heard the news. She left a note with a vague explanation for Brock to see when he woke up; she still had to go through some documents with Fury so they wouldn't have any problems since it was something secret and no one could find out that they had found it to prevent it from falling into enemy hands.

She opened a portal to get to the place where they found him as quickly as possible. She gave the documents to the Lieutenant, they had already taken him out of the ship and were preparing everything to take him to the S.H.I.E.L.D. facilities, although Kath didn't know which ones, so she had to hurry, otherwise, she would have to give explanations to Fury.

Someone tried to stop her, but she practically threw the document Nick had given her and went up to the ship with them. She couldn't perceive much, not counting the noise of the others' minds; she had to concentrate. She couldn't have Cerebro with her; she didn't want anyone to know she had him, so she had to think of something different to see if she could catch any thoughts.

She reached over and put a hand in Steve's hair; it still had some ice in it; however, she had no idea how they had gotten it out of there, and since it wasn't completely thawed, she started to pick up some slow and vague thoughts that meant he was alive.

Ꭲꭺꮐꮮꮖꮪꭲ:

@saiyanprincessswanie  @sinceimetyou @unnuevosoltransformalarealidad

@navybrat817 @angrythingstarlight @shield-agent78 @charmed-asylum @pandaxnienke  @real-fbi @smokeandnailz @white-wolf1940  @tenaciousperfectionunknown  @xoxonotme @bluemusickid @leyannrae  @harrysthiccthighss @marvelatthisone @caplanbuckybarnes  @sapphire-rogers​ @lizzieolseniskinda @notyourtypicalrose​ @hallecarey1​  @nana1000night​ @talia-rumlow​ @mylifeispainandiloveit​  @writingshae​ @alexxavicry​ @azulatodoryuga​ @daemonslittlebitch​  @sweater-daddiesdumbdork​ @jtargaryen18​  @chaoticcollectivenightmare​ @endlesstwanted​

[mrs-johansson]

Strangers in the night - Scarlett Johansson x Fem!Reader

Part 12:

As Monday rolled around, Scarlett and I made plans to go out for lunch. We chose a smaller restaurant in the city, it wasn’t very crowded and there was outdoor seating.

We arrived separately, not trying to draw unnecessary attention. As I saw her car pull up, I got out of the car and waited for her to step out.

As soon as we made eye contact, I had a smile on my face. Scarlett looked amazing as always, wearing a simple black long-sleeve shirt with a pair of light jeans.

“Hey,” I said as we finally got close enough. “Hi love,” we shared a quick hug but the lingering touch of her hand on my back was more than friendly. “Did you wait a lot?” Asked Scarlett. “I just got here like five minutes ago.”

Got to our table, and the waitress quickly gave us the menu before leaving us to choose. “How was your day so far? Anything interesting?” She asked as her eyes ran through the different types of food.

“I was writing all night and morning not gonna lie. I’ve written 3 chapters so at least I’ve got some work done,” I said and her eyes quickly shot up from the menu. “You need to sleep honey, jet lag is gonna be hell.” “I know but I had a lot of ideas and I just couldn’t put it down.” “But it’s almost done isn’t it?” Asked Scarlett. “I have one chapter left, I really want to give it a good end.” “I’m sure you’ll do great. And so that means I can read it soon?” She asked with hopeful eyes and a cheeky smile. “I’ll send you the already finished chapters, then the last one. Please, give me your honest review at the end. I need to know if it’s worth the work to put it out,” I sighed and the next second her hand was over mine, on top of the table.

Subtly looked around and I saw no one alarming, so I gently brushed my thumb over the back of her hand before pulling it away. “I’m pretty sure you did an amazing job and I can’t wait to read it,” Scarlett’s smile was genuine and sweet.

“Can I ask you something?” I asked quietly hoping nobody would hear the next part of our conversation. “Yeah, anything.” “I’m sure you’ve seen the articles and stuff, and I just wanted to know if your agent’s had any concerns or mentioned something about us. Because mine had and I just… I don’t know. You have a daughter and I know that you don’t want a short-term relationship and I totally agree with that, and I know it’s too soon to talk about being in a committed relationship or you know something like that. Gosh, I’m rambling, sorry,” I took a deep breath and waited a minute till I spoke again but before I could, I looked at Scarlett who had the biggest smile on her face.

“What?” I murmured and she just chuckled. “Can I say something?” “Please do,” I said pleadingly. “Yes, my agent asked about us. And I told him the truth, we’ve been talking for a while and enjoying our time together and that you were such a plot twist in my life and that uhm… I wanted to ask you to be my girlfriend before you left for LA.” As she said the last words I leaned back in my seat and let out a shaky breath.

“Oh god did I ruin the whole thing?” I asked and she shook her head with a cute smile. “I was honestly so nervous that I couldn’t think of anything, so I decided I was gonna buy flowers and a bottle of wine. So no, you didn’t ruin anything.” “I love both of those things very much,” I said with a shy smile. Is she gonna ask me or that was it? Gosh, I’m so fucked.

“Can we take our food to go? I want this to be our thing, not everyone else’s,” said Scarlett, her eyes motioning to the two photographers gathered at the other side of the road. “Very good idea.”

***

Once Scarlett brought some flowers and we successfully got a wine that we both liked we met up at her place.

I had our boxed food and bottle of wine in my hands while Scarlett unlocked her front door. She smoothly opened the locks and then let me in first before closing the door behind herself.

“We could watch a movie or something,” Scarlett suggested as we started to unpack the food and pour wine for the both of us.

“Mhm, anything in mind?” I asked, putting the flowers in some water until I leave. “The devil wears Prada? I haven’t seen that in a while.” “Ooh that’s good, love it.”

***

We settled down on the couch, put the movie on, and with the boxes in our hands and the two glasses of wine patiently sitting on the coffee table, it was the most perfect amount I could wish for.

It has been about half an hour into the movie, when we both finished our dishes and were just cuddled up on the couch, sharing a blanket.

But then Scarlett leaned forward for both of our glasses, handing me mine. She paused the movie and then turned toward me with an adorable smile.

“I have never done this before so please be patient with me,” chuckled the older woman. I took a hold of her free hand and gently squeezed it. “I genuinely don’t know how to express myself without sounding like a complete idiot. But basically what I want to say is that since I’ve known about relationships and everything, I thought I’d end up with a man and when I met you my whole thinking just changed. And you make all of this look so easy and amazing. I have the best time with you, my daughter loves you so much and I see how much you care about her and it makes my heart burst out with happiness. And I like you so so much and you make me feel things I’ve never felt before which is crazy and makes me question every relationship I’ve ever been in. But the point is that I want us to be real and together because I love what we have and want this to be the best and most genuine thing we could have.”

Listening to her words and feelings made me a little teary-eyed because no one expressed their feelings to me like this. So honest and vulnerable. And I quickly realized how fast I started to catch feelings for this woman.

“I’m trying really hard not to burst into tears right now, so I’m gonna say this really quickly,” I said with an embarrassed chuckle.

“I know that we’re gonna get shit from the media and the public for every little detail of our relationship but I honestly don’t care as long as I have you because you are a dream. And I want this just as much as you do. You make me all giddy and stuff which doesn’t happen very often. So I just want to say I’m all in with you, with Rose because you guys are amazing and just… ugh I don’t know, I don’t have words, just come here,” I rambled the last few words before I pulled her close and kissed her with so many feelings and passion.

Her. That’s all I want and to fight for her love and just to be with her.

I had my hand on the side of her cheek while hers was on my side.

Getting rid of the glasses in our hands, Scarlett pulled me onto her lap and we were quick to get rid of every piece of clothing that was separating us.

“So all in?” Asked Scarlett as she pulled away to take a breath.

With a heaving chest and pink cheeks, I smiled widely with a nod. “All in.”

***

Instagram post:

y/ncole

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Y/ncole: with you all the time🤍💐

Limited comments

[zushigirl]

Fall (Aka The Repairman WIP)

Continuing @ninzied tag game! It took me a while to find this one in my WIPs…then I decided to finish the story 😆 Enjoy!

“It’s only eighty degrees!” Karen rolls her eyes playfully at Foggy.

“Only eighty degrees!?! Only eighty! Karen -” Foggy holds up a limp piece of paper from the copier. “It’s so hot in here the paper is molting!”

“Alright! Alright! I’ll call the air conditioning guy back.” She spins on her black heels as if she can’t escape the break room fast enough.

Foggy sighs, wiping the sheen of sweat off his brow. He wishes Matt hadn’t stayed on vacation in LA after that swanky legal conference was over. He needs those super senses right now.

Something is going on with Karen and he can’t figure out what it is…

…Or why the air conditioner is such a point of contention.

When the AC went out in mid-June, Karen jumped on the task of getting it repaired.

Combed through Yelp and Google reviews like she was their office manager again - not the firm’s PI. After she’d narrowed it down to her top choice, Karen did what any self-respecting millennial would do: She made an appointment with the AC company online.

Foggy was sure he’d return from LA to a cool and comfy office - not a humid, oppressive Amazon jungle.

It was…weird. Karen’s not the type of person to let things fall by the wayside.

(Though he was impressed with the indoor plants Karen bought to decorate Nelson, Murdock, & Page in his absence. There’s a tall fiddle leaf fig tree in the waiting area, some pathos hanging from the bookshelf, and the vase of white roses on Karen’s desk is a nice touch.)

“Thank you,” he calls out to her closing office door. Silence except the sound of Karen rummaging through her purse for her cell phone. Then…

“Hey…”

He can hear her talking to someone, but the tone sounds…odd. How he wishes Matt was here to eavesdrop.

Two days later, Foggy walks into the office at 7am and practically dies of shock. Karen is already there: She’s leaning against the break room counter watering the nearby spider plant. An iced coffee and a single white rose are shielded by her purse – as though she tucked them away in hopes he wouldn’t notice.

***

He pretends not to; he has more important things to discuss…like the state-of-the-art Dyson Pure Cool fan in the corner.

“Where did that…Why…Why are you here so early?”

“The air conditioning guy came by. He needs a part to fix our unit. Left us the fan in the meantime.”

“But it’s seven in the morning.”

“He had a full schedule.”

She says it so matter-of-factly that Foggy decides to drop his interrogation. He just nods and goes over to the filing cabinet to look up the notes for his upcoming deposition. It isn’t until an hour later – as he’s basking in the blessedly cool breeze of the Dyson – that he realizes how early the repairman must have stopped by.

“Karen…?”

“Hmmm?” She’s sipping her iced coffee, scanning through a stack of files.

“Nothing.”

He returns to his case preparation. So what if his friend flirts to get the AC fixed. Who is he to judge.

***

It isn’t until later that evening – when he pops in the bodega by Marci’s apartment to get some tomatoes for the spaghetti sauce he’s making her – that Foggy begins to suspect the cause of Karen’s absentmindedness.

Whatever Happened to the Punisher?

The New York Bulletin headline glares up at Foggy from beside the register.

Suddenly he remembers that summer day Frank Castle’s face was all over the news for escaping Metro General. He remembers Karen walking into the office half a day late with no shoes on. It’s been…however long it’s been since then doesn’t matter. The day still holds significance for Karen.

***

Two nights later, he runs three blocks back to the office; he almost forgot his apartment key in his desk drawer. Foggy can feel the humidity sticking to his skin and it makes him irritable. The new silk shirt Marci bought him will need to be cleaned and not even stepping back into the office will provide relief.

When the hell is that air conditioning guy going to…

-

-

-

Foggy stops short as he opens the door to the lobby. The first thing that hits him is the cold feeling of circulating air. The second thing is the sight of tools strewn by the AC unit. The third thing…is the realization that a broad-shouldered man in a black t-shirt and jeans is cradling Karen’s hand to his cheek.

Upon hearing the door open, Karen and the man both jump up from the couch.

“Foggy! I…this…our AC is fixed!” Karen’s face is so red she might as well have been at the beach all day.

He bobs his head, eyes blinking at the air conditioning guy.

“Counselor. Good to see you.” Frank Castle’s deep voice is still as scary as ever, but the slight pink blush of his neck helps Foggy relax some.

“I…you. The papers said you’re dead. But you’re not…You’re…here…with Karen.” And now Foggy wants to die.

Castle gives a small chuckle. “I made a…big career change…couple months back. Buddy of mine who's good with tech stuff help me set up my website…And…yeah. I’m with her as long as she’ll let me be.”

Foggy doesn’t miss the hopeful look the former vigilante shoots Karen.

Karen – composure regained – smiles. “Give me a ten percent discount and you’ve got yourself a deal.”

To his surprise they both laugh. He smiles at Karen – happy to see her happy – as pulls up a chair.

There’s a story behind all this and at least Foggy has a cool, comfy spot to listen as his friend shares.

[fimproda]

Anotha question

Whats a fond memory you have from your time as a writer, either this Acotar fics or the previous ones? Has there been any reader comment you liked specially? Can you name some top 5 good experiences?

These asks are getting better and better, this is so interesting!

I have many, many fond memories of my time as a writer. Let me give a top 5 on this topic as well, and then I'll list my best experiences with readers.

It was the Year of the Lord 2020, November 5th if I recall correctly. I had started my first year of university on September 30th, and for my very first semester, the only subjects I had were General and Inorganic Chemistry I, General and Inorganic Chemistry Laboratory, and Maths I. It was a Wednesday. Usually, we would've had two hours of GenChem in the morning and two hours of Maths in the afternoon, but the professors had decided to switch for that day, so our lesson of GenChem started at 3 PM and should've gone on until 5 PM. Now, our GenChem professor was quite old and nearing retirement, and it had already happened that he'd cut lessons short because he'd gotten tired. That day, he ended the lesson after only one hour had passed, and I found myself staring at my computer screen at 4 in the afternoon without nothing to do. I don't know what drove me to open a document and type 4k words in one sitting, but I did it. I finished House of Cards that day, one year and a half since my latest update.

Speaking of House of Cards, I won the 2019 Wattys with that story. I remember that I was doing my homework, around 3 or 4 PM, and I either got an email from Wattpad or a message from one of my acquantainces that I'd met on Wattpad (I don't recall which one of these happened first) telling me that I'd won. I just smiled, texted my friends, told my readers and followers, and got back to my homework. The Wattys had never been a great deal for me, to be honest, but I dare anyone not to be happy when you've won something.

In 2022, watching Bridgerton season 2 and reading Tower of Dawn inspired me a great deal to write Daisy, chapter... 4? 5? Let's see if @zoyalannister has a clearer memory; I believe it was chapter 4.

Speaking of Zoya, I wrote from scratch a huge chunk of one chapter of her story How (not) to end a feud, which I was only supposed to edit. It was either chapter 6 or 7 (or maybe even 5, I truly don't recall), and I worked on it from the afternoon all the way into the night, until like 3 AM. Everyone who knows me well, including Zoya, knows that I am not a night owl by any means and I'm usually asleep by 11 PM, so me being awake at that late hour was quite unique, and in fact hasn't happened since.

Last year, I watched the last episode of Queen Charlotte, cried, and wrote a good 70% of Constellations, chapter 3 all at once.

And now for the reader experiences:

Let's start with House of Cards again. During my time on Wattpad, my friends bore witness to the many, many, truly dumb comments and/or reviews I got on my story. We were so used to it that, when the time came that I finally got a decent one, we full-on celebrated. If I had to number the actually good reviews I received, I'd say 5: one from Caterina, one from Rebecca, one from Elisa F., one from Elisa S. (who is one of my best friends now), and one from Giulia. Their comments and reviews are my Roman Empire; I think about them every day.

My grandma read all my old stories, the ones I wrote in Italian, and we used to have hour-long conversations about them. I don't know what else to say about this, I think it's enough. Pity that she doesn't know a single English word; it's been too long since I heard her opinion on one of my works.

The second comment I got on Hydrangea, soon after posting it on AO3: survivegladers said "A very well written story! I was able to really feel and understand Grace's feeling through the events! It's indeed an incredibly deep narrative that was handled in an assertive way." @zoyalannister and I were shitting ourselves in fear over that story, so when we got this comment, we were able to finally release the breath we'd been holding for days.

Literally every comment I got on In the shadow of a dream. I'd written it without much care or thought, in no more than 3/4 hours, when barely a day had passed since its conception. I was not expecting the overwhelming (and overwhelmingly positive) response from the public, and I'll always be grateful to the ACoTaR fandom for being so active and engaging.

Again, literally every comment on Constellations, chapter 3. I took a gigantic leap of faith with that chapter, choosing to voice some thoughts and ideas that I knew much of the fandom would consider wrong or at least controversial. I remember I'd just returned home from pilates when I got the first comment, which was a simple "Wow", and I couldn't bring myself to read it in a positive light: I kept thinking it meant something like "Wow, this is a load of bullshit". Thanfully, that reader then did me the favor to write something more and elaborate, and it did end up being a positive opinion. Another reader then kept answering my answers to her comments, so we struck up a conversation in the comment section. But to be fair, all my Constellations readers are wonderful people, @panaryn and @generalnesta above all others.

[lavenderwhirls]

hi its polyshipper anon here with more headcanons of my polyship sodhsk

so i like to imagine that my ovenist is an absolute simp for the other four but he’s not as obvious about it bc like he’s a very affectionate person towards friends so before the polycule is formed the lovers dont pick up on the fact that he would do ANYTHING for them

HOWEVER the lovers are soooo incredibly obvious that Terry (my ovenist) is like ‘wait. wait do they like me like that. all four of them ???? my love is reciprocated?!?!?!’ and very casually freaks out about this realization to his friends (his friends that consist of other gpgp characters and some characters from another game cuz the brainrot is strong LOLOL)

ive mentioned before that Keh becomes a massive simp when he realizes that he fell in love w the ovenist, he is the most obvious

like he’s always giving gifts to them and complimenting the ovenist cuz Keh noticed that the ovenist’s love language is words of affirmation and also he’d do anything for the ovenist

and like. Terry notices the sudden 180 in attitude n is like 👀🤔 until one day he’s hanging out w his friends and Keh is there, and he’s being a lil mean and Terry just looks at him like >:( and tells him to not be mean and Keh actually listens and stops

and Terry’s like ‘oh he’s in love with me’ cue screaming into pillow after everyone leaves

Alicante is the second most obvious cuz of his whole tsundere type behavior

i like to think Alicante falls in love during the mother’s day event when Terry helps him reconnect w his mom (in this universe takes place before chapter 4 and 5, which is why Alicante helps with going against Bechamel)

but Alicante just acts in the same way as before so it takes a little longer for the ovenist to notice until Alicante does the whole ‘it’s not like i like you or anything!’ and some teasing from Plant Lady (Alicante n Plant Lady are roommates in this story) which is when Terry connects the dots and cue screaming into his pillow again

3rd most obvious is Bechamel, similar to Keh in that there was a noticeable change in attitude towards the ovenist

its more of a slow-burn enemies-to-lovers story with Bechamel and the ovenist cuz yk. he literally shut her business down (but didnt reveal it to the public) so she’s like upset abt it ofc

but when she does fall in love w Terry, she starts doing stuff for him (her love language is acts of service imo) but she’s not like loud abt it yk? its only when Terry asks Bechamel to help him w a thing and she does it w/o question or complaint that he’s like ‘wait. wait what’ and starts reviewing their interactions over the last few months (cue screaming into pillow LMAOO)

and last but not least, the least obvious (but still pretty obvious) of the bunch, Dr. Price!

he’s the least obvious because like he exudes chadm and charisma, and after they become friends he regularly jokingly flirts w the ovenist and the ovenist is flustered but flirts back

thats their whole dynamic and Dr Price like slowly falls in love with the ovenist, and when he realizes it he suddenly gets shy about the flirting

he still flirts but its not as confidently as before and the ovenist notices and at first he thinks ‘oh no he doesn’t like me DD:’ but when Dr Price starts visiting more often and staying for longer does he have the realization ‘oh he’s just in love with me’ cue screaming into pillow ODHSKDH

so yeah a few weeks before the polycule is formed Terry is just like ‘oh my god. all my crushes like me back. oh my god.’ and he freaks out abt it to his friends but theyre all like ‘just confess ?? u already know they like u??? whats the problem??’ and he answers to that with vague panicky hand gestures, monotone screaming and keysmash LOLOLOL

ofc eventually he confesses n happy ending for everyone <333

skdhsk sorry for the long ask i just saw ur post saying to tell u ovenist x gpgp character headcanons and i needed to share this

anyways what do u think of this crazy story i concocted in my head LOL

you ship ur ovenist with Keh right? does ur ovenist notice that Keh has fallen in love w her? is he obvious abt it or no lolol

THIS IS AMAZING! The screaming on the pillow is a very canonical event for everyone I think—

Yup I ship Dr. Keh x Ovenist :D

The thing is Dr. Keh was in denial at first but the ovenist eventually notice the small change of his behavior. He's suddenly a bit more stern with her when he finds out about my ovenist's prone to getting hospitalized due to exhaustion. It began to forcing the ovenist to change into a different and better hospital to insisting he accompany her every check up. But he still annoys her (affectionately —)

[forkaround]

Classic BL Watch: MasterPost

Namaste besties. @waitmyturtles started a challenge watching Older Thai BLs and it got me thinking as well. I've seen a few, I've DNF-ed a few, but I wanted to see the progression with my own eyes. Thus we be here.

The basic premise is to watch and review Thai BLs from Love Sick 2014 (which I believe is the first Thai BL) to present time.

I'm going to make a few changes to the format and include BLs from other countries as well, including China (if I can find it).

This is a long post so I divided it into chapters: - Some History - The Method to Potential Madness - List - Rating System I've made individual posts about each under #org: subcategory

I've been fascinated with BLs for over two years. To find that there was an entire world of queer content out there which A) existed and B) didn't queerbait or bury the gay, was a revelation. How could this be? I'd watched Yuri!!! on Ice in 2017 and I guess assumed that BLs would be the same (E7 blocked kiss). So while BLs were on my radar for a while before I started I didn't get into them until relatively recently. I got so into them that I started a YouTube Channel about it.

See I'm a writer and watching art transform in front of your eyes is a relatively recent phenomena and it makes my brain go brrr...

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Some History:

I'm Indian. I'm queer. We didn't have any rights until 2018 when the ban on homosexuality was lifted. We've had queer movies but they were your traditional Oscar-bait type things until very, very recently. By that I mean until last year where we had Maja Ma, a Madhuri Dixit starrer movie about a mom coming out as a lesbian which shocks the family and makes trouble for the son's marriage. It's a brilliant movie with one of India's best actresses as the lead. But it was a Netflix Original. Before that there was Subh Mangal Zyada Savdhan and Badhaai Do, which are both good queer movies which aired in cinemas from 2020 and 2022 respectively. All to say, queer media is very very very new in India. As such, what was a young queer to do but follow the Indian Dream and go to America. Which I did, in a literary sense. In fact watching Nyssa Al Ghul kiss Sara Lance was my queer awakening. (I love Ava but this ship was really something.) Between the good writing and queer chars being present, I wasn't coming back to India like any typical NRI.

I've mentioned before about how for the story I started writing at 15 there was no other love interest for the female lead except for another girl. It just won't make sense. This was before 2018, mind you, so not a chance in hell this would be published in India. I consoled myself with 'We'll publish in America. It takes place in space anyway, so it's fine.' But then came a story that just won't work in America. Think: what if Succession's terrible people protags were queer and Indian but it's written from a 'truly believes in romance' pov. Confused already right? I'd already given up hope. I love this, but it won't be anything more than a webnovel.

Par kahte hai -

(It is said, if you love something with all your heart then the entire universe will conspire to get it to you.)

And somehow I found BLs. A world of queer stories the likes of which I'd never seen before, brimming with love and support and honest and real and queer. The Bollywood fan in me lived again after a decade 6 feet under.

I love BLs. There's no two ways about it. I love them for the love they give, the hope they have, the cringe, the drama, the stupidity, the honesty, the realness. It's everything I ever wanted queer media to be. To start it from 0 and learn what made them what they are would be an amazing learning experience and to share that with other people... well how can I not?

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The Method to potential Madness:

My tastes are a little peculiar. I have seen media from all over the world, the good and the bad, what it has taught me is nothing is every going to be perfect and I will miss things that are important to other people but what else I've learned is that I don't really care about something being good. If it's broken, a little difficult, a little cheap but made with love. I am all in.

See when I was young during Janmasthami every year these guys from an organization called Yogeshwar would come in white kurtas and perform nataks(plays) in our society. They didn't have sets, 2-3 props, just that white kurta and pants as outfits and yet it was entertaining. It was fun. I loved it. So money and pure intentions have never been barriers for me.

(an example of Janmasthami natak)

What I do care about is competence. That the writer understands what they are writing about. The best actor can't pull off a bad script but a bad actor can be tolerated in a good script.

To get you an idea of my tastes some of my favorite medias are Legends of Tomorrow, Guardian (Cdrama), Supernatural, Agents of Shield, Agent Carter, Chains of Heart, Kinnporsche, LITA, The Eclipse, The Devil Judge, Crash Course in Romance, SRK movies from '00 like Kuch Kuch Hota Hai, Main Hoon Na, Kabhi Khushsi Kabhi Gham, etc. As you can see, very widely ranging. I love competence and I love heart. Everything else I can live without. To that end some shows I didn't like/DNF-ed: Bed Friend, Step by Step, Big Mouth, Eve, Game of Thrones, most Netflix things, Mr. Robot, Supergirl, The Flash, Elite, Witcher, Coffee Melody, War of Y. If you get too PC without the narrative backup I'll leave; If it's too nihilistic, I'll leave; If it's too monotonous, I'll leave. I have Psychotic Depression, I don't have the time to deal with this shit.

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List:

To borrow from @waitmyturtles, a list of shows I'll cover:

ThaiBL: 1) Love Sick and Love Sick 2 2) Make It Right + Make It Right 2 3) SOTUS + SOTUS S 4) Together With Me 5) Love By Chance 6) He’s Coming To Me 7) Dark Blue Kiss 8) TharnType 9) Puppy Honey 10) Theory of Love 11) Until We Meet Again 12) 2gether + Still 2gether 13) I Told Sunset About You + I Promised You the Moon 14) Manner of Death 15) A Tale of Thousand Stars 16) Lovely Writer I will group these into either productions i.e. all GMMTV or by writer i.e. all MAME, all Jittiran, all Sammon, etc

Korean BL: 1) Where Your Eyes Linger 2) Color Rush 3) To My Star 4) You Make Me Dance 5) Nobleman's Ryu's Wedding 6) Light On Me 7) Peach of Time 8) Kissable Lips 9) Long Time No See 10) Cherry Blossoms After Winter 11) Blueming 12) Our Dating Sim 13) The Eighth Sense Others like The Tasty Florida, Where Your Eyes Linger, Semantic Error, etc. I've already seen and don't include on this list.

Japanese BL: (from @absolutebl's recs) 1) Seven Days 2) My Love Mix-up 3) Restart after Come back Home 4) Mr. Unlucky Has No Choice but to Kiss! 5) Life: Love on the line 6) Man who defies the world of BL 7) Takumi kun 8) Boys Love 9) Cornered Mouse Dream of Cheese 10) Eternal Yesterday 11) Ossan's Love 12) Given Others like Cherry Magic, Old Fashion Cupcake, Minato Coin Laundry, etc. I've already seen and don't include on this list.

Taiwanese BL: 1 - 5) HIStory Series 6) Be Loved in this House: I Do 7) See you after Quarantine? 8) DNA says I love you 9) We are Gamily 10) Your Name Engraved Herein 11) Papa & Daddy 12) Plus Minus 13) Love is Science Others like We Best Love, About Youth I've already seen and don't include on this list.

Chinese BL: (If I can find them) 1) Addicted Heroin 2) The Untamed 3) Advance Bravely 4) My Esport Genius Brother 5) Like Love: I love you as a man 6) Mr. CEO is falling in Love with him 7) S.C.I 8) Irresistible Love 9) Mr. X and I Others like Guardian and Word of Honor I've already seen and don't include on this list

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Rating System:

Range: 3 Wonderland to 3 Wasteland. Wonderland = Good. Wasteland = Bad. 3 Wonderland = Best Ever. 3 Wasteland = Worst Ever. Categories: Writing/Script (character work, world building, pacing, etc.); Production (technical stuff, camera work, visuals, etc.); Acting; Joy Levels (how much I enjoyed it); Feeling (satisfied, confused, angry, etc.)(totally subjective, grain of salt metric) and a Final Rank.

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Tags: classic BL watch; [show]; fork watches; fork report;

[16/06/2023]

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

Hello! I'm back for another review on the recent chapters I have read on your dark! Aemond Fanfiction (this might be a bit long so I do apologize for the long read 😵‍💫)

So far I am loving where this is going, the dark themes, the psychological in depth dive into both love interests is making me sit at the edge of my seat!

Chapter 3: "Just like her heart, the clouds had descended over King’s Landing, covering the sky with a thick blanket of grey."

That starting sentence alone was such a good hook and vivid. Just a few words and a whole picture was already painted for the reader, already set the tone for how this would pan out. Amazing, gave me chills the first time I read it.

"A heavy weight swayed in her chest like a pendulum, striking back and forth against her ribs as if her heart were so weighed down with despair, that it ticked out of rhythm."

Again another amazing description, you have such a way with words that just know how to make the heart ache and the mind comprehend and sympathize with that pain you are describing. The sorta personification of what the MC is feeling deep inside just further deepens just how heavily this whole situation is weighing on her both mentally and physically.

Overall, the situation with her siblings and the neighbor is still a heavy drive for her to keep pushing and doing better. However, it's the part that mentions how she wishes to be a child once more that stuck to me. The Mc is so selfless that she hardly ever expresses or thinks to herself much of what SHE wants and yet when we finally do see a glimpse of what she desires it is so innocent and wholesome it only hurts more when the reality of her situation sinks in.

I also have to say I am enjoying how this seems to be interlaced with the main Canon story of Hotd, it only adds fuel to the fire on aemond's motive to do what he is doing to her. And it's all not just sadistic evil from his end, especially on the next chapter on how this is emphasized on his part later on!

Chapter 4:  "She remembered scrubbing Aemond's bedsheets for an hour straight after that night, using the hard bristled brush to rid the white fabric of her blood, which in reaction to the air had blackened." "  It was a stain difficult to remove. But she felt it more so in her heart than anywhere else."

This alone was so good I felt that stain in my own heart. You truly feel for, especially with how she is trying to find some normalcy in her life by doing what she always does in her day to day chores but even that doesn't wash away the guilt and self loathing she is slowly being consumed by the longer these transactions go by.

It just makes me want to be able to reach through the screen and hug her tightly, it's so hard to swallow her pain and I think you showed that beautiful so far through your story.

We also finally see how much further aemond has gone to his cruelty from her point of view. How he resulted to a more sadistic approach the longer the situation has gone and how he seems to enjoy that he can do anything to her because she ultimately has become his own little stress ball to find relief from. It further villainizes him in the eyes of the MC but it all quickly got scrambled when he started to be gentle and THAT was when we got a peak from behind the curtain for proper moment.

The truth behind his actions, and it all can be summed to one sentence , "Nothing is scarier than a humiliated man" (yes, I stole that from AHS) and I can't explain the satisfaction it brings to be able to see this unfold the more I read.

We see aemond struggle with wanting to be tender, in a sense, the type of love he always craves want to come out and give but so much has been taken from him that he feels like he is owed and so he takes and takes and who else would he take from if not from someone so much weaker than him in not just physical appearance but even in life. We see time and time again how hard and draining the MC's life is because eof her statues in life and gender alone and how aemond's struggles are internal the majority of the time.

Her struggles are easier to sympathize with when compared to his therefore its easier for him to target her since she basically is already a victim in the game called life.

 "The dragon inside there had started to breathe its fire into her, burning her from the inside out."

This line has me screaming into the abyss, I am off to read what happens next and I'll be sure to give my full review on this as well, amazing work! 👏🏻

eeeee this ask made me all giddy, so glad you're enjoying the series so far! <3

However, it's the part that mentions how she wishes to be a child once more that stuck to me. The Mc is so selfless that she hardly ever expresses or thinks to herself much of what SHE wants and yet when we finally do see a glimpse of what she desires it is so innocent and wholesome it only hurts more when the reality of her situation sinks in.

Yeah I just like to make myself sad ksksksk 💀 I think a lot of us can relate to wanting to be a child again!

You truly feel for, especially with how she is trying to find some normalcy in her life by doing what she always does in her day to day chores but even that doesn't wash away the guilt and self loathing she is slowly being consumed by the longer these transactions go by.

can i just say I LOVE how you describe these as transactions? cos that's just so kdvdsofbkjlaOdbak ACCURATE

I'd die for her, body and soul

Nothing is scarier than a humiliated man

Aemond that u ? 👀

i love your deep dives on this <3 thank you so much for sending this in 🥰🥰🥰 you're so sweeeet xxxx