#and of course if they go to clearance hell I can take their heads and such

[virtual-idoll]

i saw pictures of these new paper doll like dolls that just play is releasing a few days ago and I though "oh. mermaid high again. so sad." but uhh now i kinda want them to succeed.

[lemonlover1110]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐀𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝟑𝟖𝟏

Toji Fushiguro

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[Chapter 9] Alone

Pairing: Toji Fushiguro x f!Reader

Discord +18 - Twitter - Ko-Fi

You end up walking out of the store empty-handed. There was the perfect coat for you in the clearance section but for some odd reason, you couldn’t stand being in the store for any longer. Not with Momoko there at least. Your eyes kept lingering on her, and you couldn’t even breathe properly with her there. You don’t understand why, you don’t care about Toji– At least not romantically.

Toji can go to any woman he pleases, you don’t care. You were only slightly annoyed that he lied to you about working when he was just going on dates. You really don’t care about Toji… But your blood is boiling, your bottom lip quivering as you think about Toji’s girlfriend.

You stand outside of the store and take a deep breath. You still need your coat but you begin to walk to the bus stop to go back home, you’re not in the mood to go to another store. You’re thinking about a lot at once, and while you’re watching out for people while walking, you don’t really look at them. You don’t care to look at anyone’s face until you hear your name, causing you to come to a stop. You turn to look at the person who called out your name, and you roll your eyes when you see him.

“Satoru… Can I help you?” You look at the man that steps closer to you. The last thing you need is to talk to him of all people but you don’t have the guts to send him to hell, at least not at this moment.

“Just wanted to say hi.” Satoru says, and it doesn’t seem in character for him so you’re able to smell his bullshit quickly. You cross your arms and look him up and down, he doesn’t need to ask what that look means; he grew up with you, he knows. “Don’t you wanna get a cup of coffee? It’s pretty cold.”

“You know what? Might as well.” You tell him, knowing that your bus won’t show up for the next thirty minutes. You’re not waiting for that long in the cold, nor are you walking back home. Satoru gives you an awkward smile before nudging his head in the direction he wants to go. You follow behind him, and luckily, you don’t have to walk much before you’re at the place that Satoru was thinking of.

He offers to get your coffee, and you hum in response since you don’t want to stand in line. While he gets your coffee, you take a seat. You look out the window while you wait for Satoru, thinking about Toji. Not only was he lying about working, but he also has a girlfriend. You’re realizing that you care so much because you… No, you don’t like him. You just feel betrayed– What if they were already dating while you were sleeping together? Granted, you only had sex twice, but that’s still considered cheating.

You get so lost in your own thoughts that you’re startled when Satoru places the cup of coffee in front of you. You mutter a thank you before taking a sip from the cup. Satoru takes a seat, and you sit in silence. Until Satoru clears his throat and says, “How have you been holding up?” 

“Do you actually care or are you asking because of formality?” You respond, and Satoru furrows his brows. He’s confused by your question.

“What kind of question is that?” He asks. He watches you take a sip of your drink before you open your mouth to speak again.

“We both know you don’t care.” You end up shrugging, and he squints, pursing his lips together. He tries to think what you mean, and he ends up sighing when he can’t figure out what you mean by it.

“What do you mean by that? We’ve known each other for years, of course I care.” He questions, and you scoff. You absolutely hate how he’s completely clueless.

“You knew my husband for years and you still refused to help him when he was asking for help. Why do you suddenly care?” You bring up, and it’s as clear as day for Satoru. 

“He was asking for an absurd amount of money, how could I lend that to a dying man?” He argues, and you feel your blood boiling. Your face gets hot with anger, and you have to take a deep breath to calm yourself down. You have to think logically. “You have to see my point of view, would you lend that much money to me if you knew I was dying the very next day?”

“He asked you for a job, and you couldn’t do that to him. Plus, I would’ve paid you back.” You point out, and Satoru ends up sighing in frustration. 

“I’ll write you a check if that’s what you want. You don’t even have to pay me back, I just want to talk to you.” Satoru says, and you roll your eyes. You cross your arms and then cock your brow, slightly tilting your head to the side.

“Why do you want to talk so badly? We were never friends. Your friend was Kento, not me.” You question as he pulls out his wallet. You end up telling him, “I don’t want your money, I just want to know why the hell you want to talk.”

“Well… Um–” It’s harder to get the words out. “I was just thinking that maybe we can spend some time together… I used to like you before you–”

“I’ll stop you right there. You’re unbelievable. I can’t believe those words are leaving your lips. What the hell is wrong with you?” You’re in disbelief, knowing that Satoru was just about to ask you out.

“It’s nothing absurd, we’re both alone– Look, you can’t dwell on it forever. Look around us. Everyone is with someone else, you don’t want to be the odd one out.” He continues, and you’re seething. It takes everything in you to not throw the hot beverage in his face. “If you want to stay alone, that’s fine. But I’m giving you an opportunity.”

“I’d rather be alone for the rest of my life than to be with you.” You respond, rising from your seat. You end up walking away, and Satoru won’t do anything but watch. He has nothing in his head that’ll convince you, other than,

“Fine, be alone then.”

On your way back home, you start to notice something that you’ve never noticed before. Just how many people were with someone else– Whether it’d be a family member, a friend or a lover. Although most people were alone, for some reason, in your eyes it seemed that the pairs and groups outnumbered the lone people. You don’t want to admit that Satoru’s words got to you, but they did.

You accepted that you’d be alone the day your husband died. You never really cared about it, until now. He brought it up, and now you’re not convinced that you want to be alone. Everyone wants to grow old with someone else, or at the very least have someone else they can rely on. You have no one. 

For some odd reason, the thought fills your eyes with tears, and you try your best to hold them back. You manage to contain your tears until you’re at your door. You grab your key to unlock the door, and just as you get the key in, you feel a small pair of arms hug your leg. You’re startled, your heartbeat speeding up. You look down to find little Megumi, and that’s when the first tear sheds.

“Oh, hi, baby. How are you?” You ask him, crouching down on the floor to hug him. You kiss his forehead, and smile at him, wiping away your tears but they keep streaming down your face.

“Are you okay?” Megumi asks and you nod in response. You end up standing up, looking right at Toji, and for some reason, that makes your crying worse.

“Megumi, wait inside.” Toji orders, and Megumi walks back to his father. Toji opens the door for Megumi, and the boy waves at you before walking into the apartment. When Megumi is inside, he shuts the door. You unlock the door to your own apartment, not really wanting to stand outside in the cold for any long, and especially not with him as you cry. You’re not on good terms, so you don’t expect him to ask, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah… Why wouldn’t I be?” You continue to wipe away your tears, and you try to act as if you’re fine. As if you aren’t crying right in front of him. You think that he’ll let go of the matter, but it seems as if someone else has taken over your neighbor’s body.

“Well… You are crying.” He points out the obvious, and yet you still smile. You then look at him and say,

“I’m fine.” Although it’s not convincing. Toji purses his lips together before sighing.

“I know we’re not really talking but you can still talk to me. Even if we’re mad at each other.” Toji says, and you chew on your cheek. You decide if confiding in him is your best option– But then again, you don’t really have many options of people to talk to, unless you dump your feelings on a baby you take care of… They can’t give you advice but it’s alright, you just need to vent. It’ll be nice to have an adult listen to you.

“I guess–” You begin, and he takes that as a yes. He interrupts you before you finish your sentence.

“Let’s go inside, it’s too cold to talk out here.”

“Okay…” You enter the apartment, and he follows behind you. He shuts the door, and you end up walking to the bed and taking a seat. Toji’s hands go to his pockets, and he awkwardly stands around before he asks,

“What’s wrong?” Toji asks, unsure of how to start it off.

“I think I’m almost on my period. It’s nothing serious.” You end up saying, and thankfully your crying has stopped. Toji walks closer toward you until he’s right in front of you. You look up at him. 

“You let me in, we have to talk.” He says as if you’re forced to do it. “I’m a good guy to talk to.”

“I met up with Gojo and he– Well, he just made me realize how lonely I am. I’m not sure… I just– Maybe I don’t want to be alone like I thought. Almost everyone has someone else, but I don’t.” You confide, and it sounds so absurd. “It’s so dumb but it just got to me. I used to have someone but I no longer do, and I doubt I’ll find someone else.”

Toji takes a seat next to you. “You have Megumi. He absolutely adores you.”

Great, you have a three year old. Better than no one, you guess.

“You also have me.” Toji adds, and you bite your tongue. You’re not sure how to respond to that. Maybe you should point out how you haven’t talked in over a week because you’ve been mad at each other.

“Thank you, Toji.” You end up saying. Your hands go to your thighs and your eyes wander around the place. You clear your throat before asking a question that bugs your mind, “How do you move on?”

“Huh?” He questions. He furrows his eyebrows and looks at you, completely confused. “What do you mean by that?”

“You’re the only one I know that’s been through a similar situation.” You comment and he nods in response.

“I get that, but I haven’t really moved on.” He answers.

“Yeah… I get that. I mean, how did you start dating again?” You clarify, and he ends up chuckling.

“I really haven’t started dating, I have another job. I swear.” He responds, and you wish you could just sit and nod in response. Your nails dig into your palms and you take a deep breath. You don’t want to admit that you were snooping, but you can’t hide the information you know forever. It’ll haunt you– At least for a week and that sometimes feels like forever.

“I know about Momoko.” You confess, and his eyes widen as his eyebrows raise. He crosses his arms and he sucks in his bottom lip. “I– While looking for Megumi’s pajamas I found her card, and while I was coat shopping, I sorta bumped into her and I overheard… She was talking about how you’re the best boyfriend and whatnot.”

“Momoko.” He chuckles, scratching the back of his head. “She’s not my girlfriend. I know her because of my job but we’re not together.”

With that confession– What you think is the truth, you rest your head on his shoulder. He fights back a smile as he looks at you.

“I don’t have eyes for anyone anyway.” He ends up confessing. He ends up clearing his throat and then muttering, something that you almost miss but you’re thankful you catch, “Maybe for one person.”

“What was that?” You ask, and he furrows his eyebrows.

“What was what?”

[rainbowsuitcase]

What If... SHIELD found the Winter Soldier first

What If SHIELD wasn't Hydra And by first I mean, what if SHIELD found Bucky before they found Steve. Maybe he broke through the brainwashing for three seconds on a mission and that gave a SHIELD agent the edge they needed to take him down, I don't know. Point is, they get him.

But who they thought was a coldblooded killer turns out to be an empty shell of a man. They transfer him from a cell into a room and it feels a little like giving enclosure enrichment to a sloth - he doesn't really use it.

Of course, they identify him as James Barnes, the best friend of Captain America, but the only difference it makes is that they now know who he's talking about when he screams Steve's name in his sleep. He seems unable to recall the dreams or the man when he wakes up.

He fills the journals they give him with notes they can't really make sense of. Except for the many pages filled with descriptions of a train and chaotic drawings. After all, everyone knows how James Barnes died.

By the time Steve is found, there's probably some secret plan in works to make James back into a ruthless killing machine, for the good side this time.

Except Steve Rogers wakes up.

There are no plans to tell him, but when he's given the files on his dead friends, Natasha secretly swaps the James Barnes file with the one Steve doesn't actually have clearance for.

The one that's a few pages thicker, the one with photos in color and the therapist notes. The one that, instead of Status: Classified, says Status: Alive.

As Natasha predicted, and wanted, hell breaks loose. She has the honor of being right there when Steve Rogers marches into Fury's office and demans an explanation with all his Captain America determination.

"You're not supposed to have that file," is the first thing Fury tells him and it's certainly one of the worst things he could have said.

Steve huffs. "I thought I saw him die," he says slowly. "And you weren't going to tell me?"

"We had no immediate plans to, no." Where's Steve's calm is full of barely held back anger, Fury doesn't seem the least bit thrown off.

Steve's jaw clenches and Natasha braces herself for the moment he explodes. "Where is he?"

"You don't have the clearence for that-"

"I don't give a fuck about your clearence!" There it is. "Where is he?"

"He isn't-"

"I can take you to him, if you want to." Natasha leans forward, to come into the Captain's line of vision, with a friendly smile.

Fury's expression is anything but. "Romanoff," he tries to warn her, but she shrugs.

"What? You really want to try and stop him?"

Rogers looks ready to tear this place apart and Natasha isn't stupid enough to stand in his way - especially not when this is exactly what she wanted.

Fury glances between the two of them and realizes he's been outplayed. He sighs. "We will talk about this later."

"You will not," Steve steps in firmly. It's sweet, Natasha decides when the Captain turns to her and tries to look less pissed off. "Miss Romanoff, shall we?"

They walk out of Fury's office in silence, but as they head towards the elevator, Natasha can see Steve searching for something to say. Not in the mood for small talk, she decides to speak up fist.

"I think you should know, Captain, that your friend isn't exactly doing well."

Steve's eyes widen. "Is he-"

Natasha shakes her head. "No one here has hurt him." She gives him a moment to feel the relief of it, pressing the button to one of the lower floors. "But, before SHIELD found him...."

"I know. I read his file."

Of course he has. Natasha should have known he'd try to find as much as he could on his own before marching in to demand actual answers.

"Good. Then you know not to expect much," she says. "For what it's worth, I do believe that he's still your best friend. Maybe seeing you is just what he needs to remember that."

The elevator door slides open quietly and Steve steps out with determination, but when he notices that Natasha isn't moving with him, he pauses. "Romanoff-"

"Natasha," she insists. She's sure they'll be seeing more of each other.

"Steve." The Captain nods. "Thank you, Natasha."

"I didn't do anything," she corrects him, but she smiles. "Good luck." With that, she pushes the button to close the door. She wouldn't want to intrude on a reunion.

Steve has no trouble finding Bucky's room, because there's a nametag on the door. He doesn't take a deep breath, he doesn't brace himself before knocking and maybe that's why he feels like falling apart the moment his formerly dead best friend open the door.

"Bucky."

Bucky squints at him, like he doesn't trust his eyes. This man in front of him looks so familiar, but that's not possible, is it? Except yes, it is real.

"You're Steve," he whispers.

And suddenly all his dreams make sense.

[spurious]

The Call

(read on AO3)

Rodney gets the call at three in the afternoon on a Tuesday, the phone on his lab desk trilling to life and interrupting his train of thought.

“I swear I’m just going to unplug this thing and make them get me a secretary,” he grumbles—one of the worst things about being back on Earth, working at Area 51 again while various world governments argue about the future of his city, is that he’s so much more reachable now. People who want something from Dr. Rodney McKay no longer have to know someone who knows someone who knows someone at SGC and can get a message into the Atlantis databurst; now every idiot with a minor security clearance can look up Rodney’s goddamn phone number.

“What?” He barks into the phone, scribbling down notations with his other hand.

“Dr. Rodney McKay?” says the voice on the other end, unfamiliar and female.

“Yes, what do you want?”

“I’m calling from Penrose Hospital in Colorado Springs—“

Rodney’s stomach churns at the word “hospital,” and when she says “Colorado Springs” he interrupts, chest tight.

“John? It’s John, isn’t it, he—“

The doctor—or nurse, or receptionist, Rodney’s not listening and frankly doesn’t care, because he’s waving down one of the grunts from the hallway and shouting that he needs to get to Colorado Springs now, is the Daedalus in orbit, or the Hammond?—is saying “yes, Mr. Sheppard indicated you as his next of kin, and…”

About fourteen responses flash through Rodney’s mind then, starting with “It’s Colonel Sheppard,” taking a detour at “I’m his next of kin!?” followed by “Of course I’m his next of kin,” and finally finishing on the important question, which he verbalizes: “Is he alive?”

“Yes,” the woman answers quickly, and Rodney lets out a breath, “he arrived in critical condition, however—“

“I’ll be there in…” Rodney says, snapping his fingers at the frightened Marine he’d flagged down, “fifteen, maybe twenty minutes.”

And then Rodney hangs up the phone and gets on the radio to harangue whoever’s high up enough to make sure he keeps his word; and through a combination of threats, favor-calling, and good old-fashioned shouting, he finds himself running into the ER waiting room at Penrose Hospital.

The whole rigamarole leaves him with only about three uninterrupted minutes to think, during which he works himself into a pretty impressive spiral about what the hell John had gotten himself into—he was supposed to be on leave, for fuck’s sake, and as soon as Rodney’s certain he’s alive he’s going to kill him for making him worry like this.

The anger floods out of him, though, when he’s brought to the little curtained-off area where John is lying in a hospital bed, looking small and exhausted against the stark white sheets.

”Sheppard,” Rodney breathes out, heart hammering in his chest as he crosses the floor and throws himself onto the tiny stool next to the bed. “John.”

John looks wrecked, in a way that’s not wholly unfamiliar to Rodney: there’s gauze and tape across his nose and one cheek, remnants of blood flecked up into his hairline, and the arm that’s laid out over the blanket, IV tucked into the crook of the elbow, is marred by a series of contusions.

Rodney stares, rapt and anxious, as John blinks his eyes open, focusing on Rodney and giving him a dopey little smile.

“You came,” he says, voice soft and raspy.

“Yes, I’m looking forward to the lecture I’ll get from some uniform on not misusing important SGC resources, but what the hell did you expect, that I wouldn’t?”

Rodney wrings his hands, wanting to reach out and touch, reassure himself that John’s alive, heart beating.

There’s another long, slow blink—like the way that cats show affection, Rodney thinks, half-hysterically—and then John tilts his head, thoughtful.

“You beamed in?”

Rodney rolls his eyes. “Yes, keep up please? How else was I supposed to get here fast enough?”

John grins at him, white teeth and little spray of wrinkles at the corner of his eyes, and Rodney wants to strangle him, Rodney wants to kiss him, Rodney wants to wrap him up in fucking bubble wrap and lock him away somewhere safe.

“What the hell happened, Sheppard?”

John looks away, fiddling with the edge of the sheets, and Rodney suddenly knows this injury is the result of some sort of ridiculous extreme sporting endeavor.

“Well, I was on my skateboard…”

“I’m going to kill you,” Rodney growls, furious fondness fluttering in his stomach. “Did you break any bones? You’re not getting any younger, you know?” He breaks his self-imposed rule of not touching then, palpating across the expanse of John’s body, half self-soothing and half an attempt to catalog the damage. “You obviously hit your head, which, well, I don’t think I need to remind you just how many head injuries you’ve sustained already—or maybe I do, maybe the brain damage has already set in and that’s why you’ve done something so reckless, so idiotic that—“

Quicker than Rodney would expect from a man drugged to the gills on pain meds, John’s hand comes up, fingers tangling with Rodney’s and squeezing, hard.

“Hey, Rodney?” John says, and Rodney raises an eyebrow, waiting.

“‘M glad you came.”

Rodney flattens his mouth, looks down at their joined hands, and shrugs. “I’ll always come, you know that.”

[queenpinesofdomino]

Here’s my theory on this.

Metatron had an argument with angel Crowley before he fell, I feel like angel Crowley actually got to speak with God themselves. That’s why Met doesn’t like him. Now i'm a firm Raphael/ Crowley believer here’s why.

He was “in the meeting room” when they created earth as seen at the gravity and weather comments

He remembers Metatron and has spoke to him

As we seen first episode he made the stars and the universe (big project if you ask me)

Arch-traitor (pretty on the nose)

I think he can “dim” himself as seen when he passed next to Michael and Uriel without understanding him OR he can lighten his aura (farfetched yes but they did mentioned gray shades)

He can recognize lower level angels as seen with Muriel

And the obvious one he, at some point had clearance on classified documents made "for Thrones or Dominios and Higher" 

Now I think that, Heaven can't actually replace an Archangel with anybody, BUT because Michael is a little power hungry Metatron (and maybe God) is trying to bring Raphael back to take the leading position. I think if Crowley went with them Aziraphale would have been cast aside or made Crowley’s assistant or smth.

Of course that could be Gods idea (cuz they’re all forgiving and all) or maybe they are having another bet with Satan. That’s why they showed us the Job sub-plot only this time they want to see what an angel and a demon would do.

 I also feel that Metatron, as a being, wants to lure Crowley in Heaven to punish him somehow I don’t know. Because think about it, he could put Aziraphale on Gabe’s position and ask Crowley to become a Duke that way they could still talk and work together like before but instead he manipulates Aziraphale by making the deal based on Crowley's "redemption".

Crowley fell because he was questioning the status quo. He saw how shitty Heaven was the moment they took down his stars. Then his decision kept being verifying by every step of “ the Great Plan”

That was what he was trying to teach Aziraphale. Whenever he was making him question the Great Plan and Heaven he was trying to make him see how fuck up they are. He himself was already questioning Hell already bc he had learned to question Heaven. That’s why he didn’t take anything seriously other than the End of the world.

He doesn’t want Aziraphale to fall tho cuz he knows he’s good. He never tried to tempt him into becoming a demon. He just wants him to see that they can be on the neutral side together.

I feel that Aziraphale kinda understood that after the finale of the 1st season. But now Metatron comes and tells him to become the boss so he thinks that he’s gonna change the way things are when CLEARLY Heaven wants a puppet to execute orders and also Aziraphale conveniently has experience in the Human world so they think that that is going to give them a head start for the next war.

Crowley clearly knows that but Aziraphale believes that by becoming the boss he can make a diffrence. I mean he could if it was up to him but it's not.

[if only I was this dedicated about my real life thesis]

[mothernatureknows]

"Zephyr. Zephyr! Zephyr!"

Zephyr jolts awake, his cocooned body throwing the blankets haphazardly off his bed. He blinks several times, trying to adjust to the gray light of his room. What time was it? Was it still night time? He feels too groggy for it to be late still. The alarm clock he was gifted from Maddy catches his eye, the electric numbers signaling that it's well before proper sunrise.

He groans softly before a loud pounding of his door makes his whole body jolt again, his fingers tightly clutching the sheets.

"I'm awake!" he croaks out, trying to untangle from his sheets.

"You're due for breakfast, lazy oaf. Don't keep me waiting," a stern voice answers.

"Don't keep me waiting," Zephyr mocks quietly, rising from his bed.

Did his brother always have to be such an ass when waking him up? The least he could do is minimize the digs into Zephyr's character. Maybe then the winged man would actually wake up in good spirits.

And who the hell actually woke up at this hour??

Grabbing the nearest, clean shift, Zephyr changed out of his night clothes and began heading out of his room before pausing in front of his mirror. He quickly ran a hand through is unkempt hair and peels off the acne patch Maddy put on his skin the night before, the skin remarkably less irritated.

It helps reduce the redness!

He sighed fondly as he gazes at the patch, remembering Maddy's soft hands and careful placing. She was so incredibly caring and kind, that it almost made Zephyr forget his irritation from a few seconds ago. He would've preferred a wake up call from her than his hardass brother. She would've probably woken him up with breakfast in bed and a warm hug.

A kiss maybe, too.

He shook his head as he willfully discarded the acne patch, heading down with a bit of pep in his step, slightly less dreading the usual, tedious breakfast that awaited him.

***

"So, can you tell me where you go off to at night?"

Zephyr momentarily paused mid-scoop, the oatmeal trailing from his spoon down to his bowl. Shit. Of course, Sol would just get straight to the point. Not surprising, since Sol is the head of the military for his majesty. He was known to be direct and unrelenting, squeezing out every last drop of information you had. Zephyr knows because he's been the unfortunate victim of his interrogations.

Regardless, Zephyr is actually hesitant to say his whereabouts. Normally, he'd sing like a canary for his brother and get Sol off his back, but something inside him was telling Zephyr otherwise. Maddy was not for Sol's ears to learn about and investigate. She was a dear friend and companion, something that Sol would disavow immediately. Relationships between the lower world and their world were strictly forbidden, possibly resulting in banishment for him...

And death for her.

He took a breath before answering, circling through his oatmeal like usual. "Just hanging out with a friend."

"Who?"

"It's whatever, Sol, don't you have—"

"Who?"

Zephyr sighed heavily, meeting his older brother's gaze. "The. Moon. Prince. That's who." Well, it wasn't a complete lie. Zephyr was hanging out more with the Moon prince, Minjae, and teaching him about Earth. Just a few times last week, Zephyr showed Minjae about first aid for humans and how to distinguish between all the different modes of human transportation.

But he didn't need to divest in that.

Sol looked at him with wide eyes. "T-the moon prince? But how did—why does he—how are you friends with him?"

"Beats me," Zephyr shrugged, taking another spoonful of oatmeal. "We just met and became friends."

"That's it? You have to get high level clearance to even meet him. I had to request an audience for him that took two weeks to get approved!"

"Like I said, we just met one night when I was flying down and we crossed paths."

"...Flying down?"

Shit. "Yeah, flying down for...practice. You know we have to practice more at night to better see, right?"

Sol sighed, massaging his forehead with his hand. "You can't fly at all at night, dumbass, it's dangerous. I'm sure that you can find other ways that won't endanger you and your new friend.

"Plus, it'll keep you safe from all the lower-world brutes, too. Could you imagine what would happen if they get their grubby hands on you or the prince?"

Zephyr clenches his unseen hand into a fist, forcing himself to hold back.

"...No, I can't."

[dontfeeltoohot]

Whumptber 3rd - A Hairs Breadth From Death (Gun to Temple) - Paramedic AU - Eddie + Joyce TW: Mention of Guns, Drugs, Medical Equipment

It’s rare Eddie gets to work with Joyce. It happens, of course, but it’s been months. Chrissy’s out with the flu and Murray got put at Base 3 for the day, so they’ve taken ambulance 13 out of rotation, leaving he and Joyce to be on 12. He loves working with the woman, and he’s pumped when he walks in and she tells him the news. 

“Hell yes! Team Myers for the win!” Eddie holds his hand up for a high five, and Joyce laughs, slapping her palm against his. 

“Don’t sound too excited or I may just ask to switch,” the brunette woman jokes, grabbing them both a cup of coffee as they settle in for the morning. 

“Chrissy could deal,” he shakes his head, but they both know he has a soft spot for the two year younger EMT he’s been partners with for years. 

“I can go start doing inventory,” she pushes herself off of the counter, ponytail swinging back and forth. 

“We can both do it, it’s almost cathartic right?”

They sit in peaceful silence, both taking one half of the inventory checklist. Eddie works on drugs while Joyce works on saline bags and braces. The long haired man thinks of how different this morning is compared to others. Normally, he and Chrissy go back and forth with fake scenarios, or he’ll quiz her on random drug dosages, wanting to help her prepare for her upcoming paramedic class. 

This morning, it’s serene. He looks over at the older woman, watching as she skillfully goes through neck brace sizes, like she’s been doing it her whole life. He wonders if that’s how he looks to his partner. Eddie grabs what they’re missing, thankful they’ve not been interrupted. 

Of course, he drives for the day and lets Joyce be the decision maker. He’s not one to overstep higher authority, and while he may be a paramedic just like her, she’s got years of experience he doesn’t. 

The pair have been napping on the large recliners in the common area when their radios crackle, the familiar base 1 tone coming through, waking them up. 

“Dispatch, Base one, ambulance 12, medical call, first response to 1327 Elmdale Street, for a 35 year old male complaining of chest pain. House is blue with a red door.” 

Both adults groan. Eddie fumbles for his radio and stands

“Ambulance 12 to dispatch, responding to medical call,” Eddie continues as they head out to the truck. 

As Eddie gets more information, he hops into the drivers side and thanks his past self for leaving an unopened energy drink in the cup holder. Joyce flips the lights and sirens on, and Eddie pulls out, giving her a smile. 

“Morning,” he drawls, laughing when she yawns and gives him a tired look. 

“You’re welcome to have my energy drink if you’d like it.” 

Joyce grabs it and pops it open, downing half in one go. He thinks she might be the coolest woman he knows. 

They arrive and Eddie grabs the stretcher and LifePak as Joyce heads up to the door. He hopes they won’t need to do any resuscitation tonight. As he slams the back door shut, he freezes, stomach plummeting. Oh fuck. Oh fuck. 

A man in his thirties is standing near the ambulance with Joyce, a gun to her head. Hands trembling, he goes to reach for his radio and the man walks closer, dragging Joyce with him. 

“Don’t think about it, pretty boy, or I put a bullet in her brain.” 

Eddie instantly takes his hand off of the radio, both hands up, palms open. It’s not uncommon for ambulances to be raided but damn he never thought it would happen to him. 

“Okay man, hey. Take the gun off of her. You wanna shoot someone? How about me, I have more clearance than her,” he lies, licking his lips. 

The man stares at Joyce, who’s looking wide eyed, then looks back at Eddie. 

“I want your drugs. Morphine, Fentanyl, Dilaudid.” 

Eddie nods. Number one objective- keep Joyce safe, which means making the guy keep his attention on him. Fucking scene safety his ass. 

“Alright, I can give it to you. But you gotta get the gun off of her. I’m the one that knows the codes.” He stares at Joyce, trying to communicate, trying to tell her not to radio in anything. Better to make it out of this shit alive and drugless. 

The man holds on to Joyce but points the gun at Eddie. Thank god. 

“Follow me.” His hands shake as he opens the back, feeling like he’s been shot up with far more adrenaline than any epi could carry. 

Walking up and into the cab, the long haired man goes to their drug drawers, typing in the four digit code. The guy is now next to him, gun pressing into his temple. Eddie can feel himself sweating. 

“No funny business. Give me the right shit.” 

“Yeah, I got it,” Eddie snaps, and the barrel digs in harder. 

Carefully, he grabs the bottles of the narcotics and hands them to the man, who shoves them all in his pockets, smiling. Eddie keeps his eyes trained on Joyce, who’s been sat on the bench.

“Syringes,” the man says as if it’s been obvious he’s waiting.

“Right,” Eddie huffs to himself, earning a hard blow to his temple, the guy grabbing his pulled up hair. 

“I didn’t ask for back talk, pretty boy.” 

“And I didn’t ask to be held at gunpoint,” Eddie spits, and fuck he needs to learn to keep his mouth shut, because the man’s eyebrows raise and he once again directs a blow with the butt of his gun to the paramedics temple. 

Eddie thinks he hears Joyce gasp. 

Clenching his jaw, Eddie grabs the package's syringes and then looks back at the guy, temple aching. He wants to ask ‘anything else your highness’ but decides against it. He remembers Joyce is still at the mercy of this prick too. 

The man grabs the syringes and takes off. Eddie swallows and looks at Joyce, before grabbing her and hugging her tight. She lets out a shaky breath and he feels her press herself close. 

“I’m sorry, he grabbed me before I c-“ 

“If you’re apologizing for being held hostage by a drug addict, I’m going to scream,” Eddie looks at her. 

The woman looks shaken, face pale and big eyes wider than usual. She’s shaking, and Eddie moves, grabbing a blanket from the shelf they keep them on, wrapping it around her. He leads her to the passenger seat, then goes and puts the gurney back, shuts the back doors, and walks to the drivers side, getting in. He can feel his adrenaline dropping fast, so he grabs the radio and holds it to his mouth. 

“Dispatch, th-this is ambulance 12, requesting police on scene. Code silver,” Eddie forces himself to talk, and Joyce grabs his hand. 

Two minutes later, they’ve got three police cars, Hopper, Callahan, and others the paramedics only briefly recognize, on scene. Eddie feels bad Hopper and Joyce have to keep their relationship under strict ruling, otherwise he’s sure the woman would be clinging to him.

Head still aching, Eddie runs a hand over his face. 

“Can we sit down for this?” 

Hopper looks at him, frowning. 

“You alright Munson?” 

“Yes, yeah, I’m ok. I just..have a headache, and my adrenaline has just been shot to hell and back.” 

“He hit you?” 

“His gun, he hit it on the side of his head twice,” Joyce interjects before Eddie can assure the Fire and Rescue chief he’s alright. 

They all sit in the back of the ambulance, cramped and tight. The warmth of everyone’s body heat feels oddly nice. Eddie plays with his pen, capping and uncapping it quietly as he talks to the police, and refuses treatment for his head. He’s a paramedic, he knows the signs of a concussion, and he doesn’t have them. 

By the time all is said and done, and they return to the base, it’s almost five am. He and Joyce are told to go home. Eddie can’t help but be grateful. After hugging Joyce tightly and telling her to call if she needs anything, the paramedic walks out to his car and sits there, letting the events soak in. He’s drained, feels like he’s been run over and then thrown into hell and spat back out. 

What if Chrissy had been there? What if Joyce had been shot? What if he had been shot? What would that do to Hopper, to Steve, to everyone? A knock jolts him out of his thoughts, and he turns to see Hopper standing there, a look of concern on his face. Eddie rolls the window down, heat blasting. 

“Do I need to call Harrington to come pick you up?” 

“He’s working, I’ll be fine. I just..needed a minute.” 

“Don’t pull away from us, this isn’t the time to try and do shit by yourself. You’ve got a whole team here for you okay kid?” 

Eddie nods, rubbing his eyes that are burning. 

“Got it Chief. Thanks.” 

He doesn’t drive home. Instead, he drives to the hospital, the only thing on his mind is Steve. Walking in, still in uniform, still looking rattled, he sees Steve, Robin, Nancy and Billy at the nurses desk. 

“Eddie?” 

“Hey, you okay?” 

“What’s going on?“ 

“Munson, if you’re not here with a patient, you need to leave.” 

Eddie walks up to Steve and presses himself into the man, breathing shakily as he hugs him. The nurse wraps his arms around him, hugging back. 

“Hey, what’s wrong? Where’s Joyce?” 

The paramedic shakes his head, so Steve leads them away and into the nurses lounge, thankfully empty. Steve stares at him and waits. 

“We had a druggie take meds from our truck,” Eddie voice is fragile and wobbly, and he feels just about the same. 

“Wait-what?! Are you okay?! Eddie, oh my god!” 

“Made sure Joyce wasn’t the target of the gun. I gave the guy his drugs and he ran. Dealt with the police for hours. Just left the station. Came here, wanted to see you.” 

Getting pulled into another hug, Eddie’s not sure how long they stay like that. He hears the door open, but he doesn’t move. 

“He okay?” 

Nancy. 

“Druggie held him and Joyce at gunpoint. I need to leave early.” 

“No problem. I’ll let Owens know.” 

They get back to their place and Eddie burrows into the bed with Steve, too tired to do anything but sleep. He’ll talk more when he wakes up, but right now, laying with his boyfriend, feeling safe, is all he needs. 

[starwhore-spacetrash]

//idk wut this will be… maybe a series… maybe not… Takes place after Clone Wars S.5 E19 Barrisoka// Ashoka POV

I rolled over again, stretching my arms above my head before slamming them down on either side of me. I’ve been trying to sleep for hours now… but I can’t shake it. How could she do this to me? After everything we’d been through? She could have picked anyone to frame; why me?

Anger boils inside me. “It’s not the Jedi way…” I stop myself; I’m not a Jedi. In a span of 48 hours, I’d lost my Master, my rank, my family, my purpose… my best friend.

The anger melts away and leaves something deep… a dark hole that’s swirling inside me; I feel like I’m being swallowed up.

Oddly, leaving the Jedi provided me with more relief than I anticipated. Barriss’ words have been running in a loop in my mind since her impassioned confession yesterday. She claimed the Jedi were corrupt. “The Jedi have become an army fighting for the Dark side!” I could still see the conviction in her eyes, the desperation in her voice.

If only she would have told me how she felt. How would I have responded? I wasn’t honest with her, why should I expect her to share everything with me? Barriss was always the open one. Always so kind and thoughtful. She knew me better than anyone… so why would would she chose me as her mark? Why set me up? I thought we were friends, many times, I thought we were more.

I feel the tears burning my eyes. A week ago, I would have pushed them back. Emotions are not a friend of the Jedi. They cloud your judgment. They make you weak. But, I am no Jedi, so I let them fall. A tear for every conversation, every smile, every time we fought alongside each other… a tear for every dream I’d had.

“Ahhhhh!” I slam my feet on the ground beneath me. I can’t lie here anymore. I have to see her. I’ll make her explain this to me. I deserve an explanation; it’s the least she could offer me after the hell she’s put me through.

•••

It’s darker here than I expected. I guess keeping the higher profile prisoners hidden deep under the city is a great deterrent for those who would want to break them free. Even with my knowledge of the force, I wouldn’t want to try it. I’m just here to get answers and get out. I don’t think I can bear looking at Barriss any longer than I have too. I’m lost in my thoughts and I barely acknowledge the two guards coming towards me.

Of course there are guards… I knew that going in. What I didn’t consider was my recent lack of clearance.

“Halt,” a guard now has his hand on my wrist, “you aren’t allowed down here.”

“Yes, I am allowed here.” I say as I wave my hand in front of his face. “Yes, you are allowed here,” the two guards echo in unison.

“You will take me to the cell of Barriss Offee, former Padawan and traitor to the Republic.” The words taste bitter leaving my mouth, and I fight the nausea rising in me.

A moment passes, and I almost waiver in my resolve. I’ve always struggled with mind tricks; Master Yoda says it because my mind is never at peace… now is no different. Finally, the guard repeats, “We will take you to the cell of Barriss Offee, former Padawan and traitor to the Republic.” We walk swiftly through the narrow corridors before stopping in front of a black, reflective door.

I waive my hand, “You will give me the key card and go about your day.” They do as I say, and I brace myself for what lies behind the door. I briefly consider walking away. What if what she says only hurts me more? What do I hope to gain from this conversation? An apology? No. She can’t say anything that would change the past, but, part of me (maybe a foolish, naive part) still hopes for a future. I take a breath and raise the card to the door.

“I’ve said all I intend to say. Further interrogation will get you nowhere.” Barriss’ back was to the door, her voice dull and without it’s usual sweetness. “That’s unfortunate,” I said mirroring the chill in her tone, “I risked my freedom to give you the opportunity to explain yourself. Foolish of me to assume my closest friend would have a reason for such betrayal. My mistake.” I knew I was speaking, but when she turned, when her tired eyes met mine, I felt the ice melt away.

“A-Ashoka?” she rasped. Barriss slowly stood up, hands raised in front of her, like she was afraid I would attack. There was fear written across her face, and something more… something deeper etched into the crease of her eyebrow. “Why-why are you here? I have nothing else to tell the Jedi.”

I tried to respond, but my mind was racing. Barriss stared at me wide eyed, awaiting a response. She didn’t wear her normal hood or headpiece, her short brunette waves falling loosely around her face. She wore a grey jumpsuit, and I couldn’t help but note that it was the only time I’d seen her in something other than her normal, baggy robe. Her legs were long, and obviously muscular. How did I never notice how small her waist was? The jumpsuit hugged her body around her hips and chest the material being pulled tight and…“Control yourself, Snips, a Jedi controls their emotions, not the other way around.” I could here Anakins snide voice correcting me for letting my guard down.

I snapped back into the moment, meeting Barriss’ eyes. “I’m not here on behalf of the Jedi. In fact, I won’t be doing anything for them ever again.” I said dryly. I noted the confusion that flooded her face. “What do you mean? As a Padawan, everything you do is on behalf of the Jedi, whether you intend it or not.”

“I left the order, Barriss.” It was the first time I said it out loud, and it didn’t hurt as much as I anticipated. Not when I was telling her.

“You left the order! Why?! Being a Jedi was everything to you! Was it because of what I did? Will they not let you back in?” Tears were pooling in her eyes, and I saw her bottom lip begin to quiver; my eyes were immediately drawn to it and I could think of nothing but making it stop. “My plan failed, Ashoka. I never intended for it to go that far. I wanted you to be out of danger, I never anticipated that you’d run away. I thought you’d be safe in a holding cell while I enacted the rest of the plan. I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry.” She crumpled before me, heaving sobs wracking her small body.

She almost killed me. She caused the Council to turn against me… my own Master doubted me. I lost everything because of her and I should be furious. I should be glad she is rotting in the dark cell, tortured by her guilt. But I’m not.

My feet begin moving before I realize what I’m doing. In one movement, I scoop her from the floor and carry her to the small cot in the corner of the room. Her body relaxes into mine and I hold her tightly as the sobs lessen into muffled whimpers.

Gently, I comb my fingers through her hair, allowing my thumb to graze her temple and ear. I whisper, “I know. I understand. I forgive you.” She releases an exhausted sigh, and I lean my cheek against her forehead. Her breathing slows and I realize she’s asleep. Asleep on my lap, in my arms, in a jail cell, not 48 hours since her lies had me on trial for treason.

I’m not even angry. Actually, this is the closest I’ve felt to peace in months. The war, the council, everything that weighed down my existence for as long as I can remember… none of it exists anymore. Right now, it’s just us. Just Barriss, against my chest, sleeping as if she hasn’t had rest in years, and that’s all that matters to me.

I know this won’t last. The guards will do rounds soon and I’ll have to sneak out. Or worse, Barriss will wake up and I'll be forced to articulate what I feel (something I'm not at all prepared to do at the moment). I push those thoughts away and pull her closer. If being a Jedi Master means I could never have this feeling, then walking away was the best decision I ever made.

•••

To be continued…

[anylady-fics]

Need to know | Jeongin x F Reader (2)

Part 1

*** this work is for adult audiences. Minors DNI ***

Tags: #small age gap #jeonginfanfic #smutfanfic #roughsex more tags below

12,625 words - cross posted on ao3

Ⴡ Masterlist

I ended up moving out two months after my first date with Jeongin, and he was also living by himself already. He helped me to move out, of course. 

And of course that my mom couldn't shut up about me and him, talking about a serious relationship, and even wedding, I mean… what? She started doing that right after seeing me in the morning after the first night that I was out with Jeongin, but I just ignored her.

We kept dating, without saying anything about being serious and I wasn't hanging out with anybody else, and he told me that he was doing the same. I spent a few nights at his place, and he also did the same… and there were a few dinners, too, but we weren’t discussing a serious relationship yet.

“If that's not serious, what else do you need to be?” My friend talked when he came out to have some lunch, the bitch. “Really, you guys are dating exclusively, for almost three months now. Besides, you’re totally into the brat… do you still call him like that? For fuck sake, you have each others keys!”

“No, I don’t call him like that… and shut up!”

My brand new talent was losing discussions with my friends. First I lost my argument about him, because well… he did fucked me right. A lot of times. Now my friends were insisting on a relationship that didn’t exist, and I was losing that, too.

I had a crazy busy week, so I barely saw Jeongin. I worked late almost every day, and if I stopped by his apartment to see him – since it’s on my way to work – I wouldn’t get any rest at all. He worked from home, so he was always much more energetic than I was.

On Friday, my mom made a dish Jeongin likes and asked me to drop it off for him, so I carefully picked out my outfit to meet him early in the morning: a pencil skirt and a blouse. He had mentioned he liked it when I dressed like that, so I figured I should. I’d be going to work looking nicer than usual, plus I was planning a little tease since we already had a date set for the evening.

I drove there having a lot of interesting flashbacks about us, not to mention the photos we’d been exchanging lately. This detail was very important for what I had in mind, I must say.

I already had clearance at the entrance, so when I arrived, he had no idea I was on my way, about to knock on his door. I let myself in with my own key, and when I opened the door, there he was in the living room, apparently doing his morning workout, all sweaty. Now I didn’t need anything else for what I wanted to do.

“Good morning, healthy person. I brought you some food!”

He was shirtless, came over smiling, and gave me a quick kiss before taking the dish and heading to the kitchen, saying he’d message my mom to thank her. I was wondering how the hell he had her number.

“You show up dressed like that and think you’re going to make it to work on time?” He came back with a towel, wiping sweat from his face and neck. “How about you join me for a shower?”

The offer was very tempting, I must admit. But I had other plans, and none of them involved being late for work.

“Hm, we can save that for later…” I got closer, grabbing his shoulders and pulling him in for a kiss. Jeongin held me tight, pulling me against his body and sliding his hands down to my butt, reminding me that he was great at teasing but always lost his cool when I tried to do the same.

“Come on… I’ll be quick. I can take care of you in a few minutes, and if you hurry, you might still make it on time…”

“Very interesting proposal, but I’ll have to decline. I can’t show up at the office the way you leave me after… well, you know. Not happening.” He was rubbing his hard cock against me, wearing those gray sweatpants that I always thought were criminal just for existing. “But I can give you a little gift, how about that?”

I pulled away from him and pushed him back a bit, which took a lot of effort, really. He stood there watching me with his arms crossed, and I couldn’t take my eyes off the bulge in his pants, biting my lip and almost considering being late. He had me thoroughly spoiled, I think.

When I started to lift my skirt, his whole body tensed and his expression completely changed. I had to hold back from laughing. He was incredibly mesmerized by my movements, and I went all the way up to reveal my panties. I had chosen a thin pair, but with enough fabric for him to enjoy since he liked them so much. I ran two fingers over my clit and down, feeling how wet I was, and almost moaned when I touched myself. It must have been torture for him to just watch and do nothing.

“I’ll leave this with you... it’s wet, and has my smell. That way, you can think about me all day.”

I took off my panties and noticed they were really soaked, enough to stick to my folds and create a string of arousal as I slid them down my thighs.

“And you’re going to work like that?”

“Uh-huh, and you can think about that, too.”

“You know you’re going to kill me, right?” He squeezed his erection through his pants, making it even more visible, and for a moment I couldn't stop looking at it.

“I just want to rent some space in your head for a bit.”

“At least let me taste you… please?” He was moving closer again, and I knew I wouldn’t be able to resist if he touched me, so I extended my arm for him to take the panties.

“You can taste it from here. I know you’ll be patient and wait for the rest until later.”

“When did you get so evil?” He took the panties from my hand, staring at the dark stain on the fabric, just that caused a lot of reactions in him. “So go to work, or I’ll grab you, and you’ll lose more than just a few minutes.”

I left the apartment and locked the door, very satisfied with the outcome, though I really should have thought about bringing an extra pair so I wouldn’t have to spend the day commando. Not many people would be in the office since half the team was on vacation, so I probably wouldn’t feel too uncomfortable.

The day was so busy that I barely had time for lunch and didn’t even notice when the workday ended. I was going home with all my tasks completed, ready for another hellish week.

Driving back, I realized how exhausted I was in the traffic. I still needed to get ready for the date, but at least he was going to pick me up this time. I entered my apartment, and as soon as I turned on the lights, I found Jeongin lying on my couch. I thought he was waiting for me to go out, but he wasn’t dressed for that.

“Aren’t we going out anymore?”

“I’ve got better plans for tonight. We can go out tomorrow.”

“But the reservation…”

“I’ll call to reschedule.”

He stood up, wearing an oversized t-shirt and black pants, the sneakers completing the casual look that, unfortunately, I liked more than I wanted to admit.

“Okay, so I’m going to take a shower… and we’re staying in?”

“Well… you really did rent space in my head today, you know?.” He approached me, took my bag, and tossed it onto the couch, quickly grabbing me by the waist and pulling me in for a kiss.

“Jeongin, I need to take a shower first…”

“You spent the whole day without panties, huh?”

“I did, which is why I need to take care of that.”

“No, I want you just like this. I spent the whole day thinking about your pussy, baby.”

“But…”

“No buts.” He started unbuttoning my blouse, pulling it out from my skirt and undressing me, and despite my reluctance about his request, I could feel myself getting excited. “I need to do something with you because I’m going crazy just by thinking about it.”

“And what’s that?”

His nimble fingers quickly unzipped my skirt, letting it fall to my feet, and I took off my bra to be completely naked for him. I still preferred to shower, but the way he was looking at me was already making me forget everything else.

“Your task will be simple…” He sat on the floor, leaning against the couch, and I didn’t understand what he wanted until he made it clear, as direct as he usually was. “Come here and ride my face.”

“I.N!” I shivered, it had been a long time since I’d done that position with anyone, and I felt very insecure for obvious reasons, having spent the whole day without panties and having only showered in the morning.

“Come on, sit down and use me until you cum.”

“Oh my god, Jeongin… are you sure? I…”

“You don’t need to worry so much. I spent the whole day thinking about how you would be tasting when you came home. So do it, come here.”

I was convinced. I climbed onto the couch and got on all fours, his head resting on the seat, and the height was perfect. With him between my legs, I spread them a bit more until I lowered myself enough, going slowly, but he grabbed my ass and pulled me down, his mouth diving into me, his nose brushing against my clit, and his tongue penetrating me. This time, he chose not to tease much, and I was very grateful for that.

Quickly, I forgot everything—the shower, the apartment, the tough week, and anything that wasn’t his tongue on my pussy, the hungry way he was licking me, pushing me to grind even harder against his face. I gripped the back of the couch and leaned my head back, moaning without realizing how loud I was. Jeongin moaned with me, the sounds muffled between my legs. I felt like I was going to lose my mind because I was already so close to coming, and he had barely started.

I felt the muscles in my thighs burning as I held the position, grinding like crazy against his tongue, the orgasm building and starting to weaken me as the sensation took over my body. I screamed into the couch cushion, exhausted and overly sensitive while he kept licking, making sure not to miss a single drop of my arousal.

I got off his face and sat on the couch, still completely high on pleasure. I was panting and craving more of him, who was still fully dressed while he stared at me, sitting on the floor with his face all messy. Pretty, just perfect.

“Why are you still dressed? Now we can shower together…”

“Or…” He leaned on the couch and stood up. When he was standing, I could see his hardness straining against his clothes, and he made a point of pressing it through the fabric to make sure I saw it. “We can shower later… you’ll be sweating more after I’m done.”

“But…”

“Still worried?” He leaned on the couch and lifted my chin before kissing me, my taste still on his lips. “You have no idea how delicious you are. I love your taste.”

I had no more arguments. I pulled him in for another kiss, and one of my hands went to the bulge in his pants, squeezing it through the fabric before pulling down the waistband, eager to feel him. As I started to stroke his cock, he took a deep breath with a moan, and made me stop.

“No, I won’t last if you do that.”

“You went all day without coming?” I honestly thought he would have at least jerked off with the panties.

"Yeah, I saved it for you. You know how much I love seeing your pussy dripping my cum.” I loved feeling him come inside me too, and just thinking about it made my pussy throb.

I pulled his pants down to his feet, and he kicked them off, quickly removing his shirt as well. I paid close attention to the results of his recent intense workouts, and he was getting even hotter, how lucky I was. He pulled me up so I was standing, and we kissed for a while, naked, enjoying the delightful contact of our bodies so close together, feeling the heat of our skin. His hands moved from my ass to my thighs, roughly lifting me off the ground, and I wrapped my legs around his waist, surprised by the sudden movement.

“Are you going to carry me to bed like this, hm?”

“Maybe later...” He carried me to the wall in the living room, pinning me against it and keeping a firm grip on my thighs. I realized he wanted to fuck me right there, and I could barely describe the reactions this caused in me.

I placed one hand between us, slowly stroking his cock and guiding him to my entrance, first getting him wet with my arousal until he slid inside without any trouble, our eyes locking as he gave the first thrust, and I was already clenching around him.

I took a deep breath as his cock filled me, the sensation so familiar yet still so appreciated as if it were the first time. I buried my face in his neck, breathing in his scent and biting his sensitive skin, my nails digging into his back to relieve the pressure I could feel him fucking me so good, going harder and deeper with each movement.

“I won’t last long… I’ve been thinking about you all day.” He whispered in my ear, his hands gripping my ass tightly, and I squeezed my legs around him even more.

“Come for me… fill me up, baby.” My voice came out almost pleading, the position driving me wild as he hit spots inside that were making my mind go blank. “I thought about you a lot today, too…”

His pace was already frantic, and he came almost immediately after I asked, letting me hear his moans as he held me tightly, our bodies pressed against that wall, hurting me a little, just the way I liked, while I felt myself already dripping his cum.

“Okay, now we can go to bed.”

Without pulling out, he carried me to the bedroom and sat on the bed with me in his lap, kissing me intensely. We were so horny yet, it was crazy. As soon as he started to slip out, I lay back on the bed, and his fingers quickly went to work on my pussy, using all his cum that was dripping from me to slide his fingers between my folds and driving me crazy, my legs spreading instinctively to beg for more.

“Totally worth the wait…” He was mesmerized as he let his fingers move in and out of me, sometimes pushing his cum deeper, other times pulling it out, just playing and teasing me. “So pretty like this.”

“How long are you going to keep teasing me? You should be ready to fuck me again by now…”

“I am, but you have to understand how satisfying this is!”

I couldn’t help but laugh because he continued teasing me with his fingers, doing it on purpose now and making me frustrated because it wasn’t going to go any further for a while. So, I had to do something: I pushed him to lie down and climbed on top of him.

“This is satisfying too…” I held his cock and rubbed it against my wet pussy, closing my eyes at the delightful friction against my clit, which was still sensitive and slightly burning from the last orgasm. I moved my hips back and forth, holding him to fit better, feeling like I could easily come if I kept going, and the best part was watching how impatient he was becoming.

“It’s not as fun when you’re not the one teasing, huh?”

“You’ve teased me enough today.” He gripped my hips, making me stop my movements, then removed my hand from him, holding himself at the base and starting to stroke slowly, spreading the pre-cum on the head, fully aware that I was weakened when I saw him doing this.  “Now ride my cock.”

First his face, then his cock… Yeah, I was pretty good with that.

I lifted my body slightly and positioned him, he held himself to help me lower down, mounting him slowly and being filled, inch by inch as he stretched me. I could feel how tight I was, intentionally squeezing him even more. I didn’t expect it to have more effect on me than on him, though. The angle I positioned myself and the strong clenchings caused some different sensations, and he noticed. Jeongin had really become skilled at reading my reactions, knowing my body, and intensifying everything, and I was really, really happy about that.

“Your pussy is so tight…” I looked at him, his eyebrows furrowed and his expression of pleasure deepened as I began to ride him faster, grinding with shorter, quicker movements, intensely focused on the  sweet spots he hit inside me.

In a few minutes, I started to slow down, beginning to feel a bit tired and sensing the sweat on my back, chest, and forehead. He was also sweating a lot, I noticed his wet abdomen and neck, and wanted to lick him. Just when I thought of asking to switch positions, he pulled me down to lie on top of him and hugged me tightly.

“I love feeling your body like this…” he whispered in my ear, his hips lifting so he could take over the movements. “Your smell, your taste…”

I opened my mouth to respond, but he started fucking me hard, and all I could do was moan, loving the way he slammed into me, pulling my hair to make me look into his eyes as he fucked me so well.

"Just like that, baby… don’t stop.” I was really starting to feel like I was going to come, the occasional friction on my clit was more than enough. I was already so stimulated and desperate for him, it was crazy.  Hi fucked me harder, and we didn’t break eye contact for a second. Our orgasms happened simultaneously. As I began to tighten around him, I felt his hot spurts inside me, our sounds mixing and echoing through the room. His body eventually slowed and collapsed back onto the bed, and I fell on top of him.

“Can we take a shower now?” I was so weak that I didn’t even want to get out of bed, but I really needed to clean up, and I was starting to feel hungry since our reservation was for dinner. “And what are we going to eat? It’s your job to feed me, you know?”

“Hm… I need to call and move our reservation to tomorrow first. Give me a minute.”

Jeongin reached for his phone as I rolled off him, feeling like a complete dead weight on the bed. I started to feel drowsy until I heard him talking on the phone.

“Yes, my girlfriend and I had a reservation for tonight, but we need to reschedule. Is it possible to move it to tomorrow? Same time.”

I opened my eyes as soon as I heard the word ‘girlfriend.’ What? I propped myself up on my elbows, looking at him as he confirmed the new time and then hung up the phone.

“Girlfriend?”

“What about it?”

“You just said…”

Jeongin burst out laughing, and I didn’t understand anything. I blinked a few times, waiting for him to catch his breath and speak.

“Do you need me to ask? I thought it was clear when we exchanged apartment keys.”

“But…”

“Don’t play dumb! Do you need me to ask for you to be my girlfriend?”

“No… I just… wow.”

“Let’s shower, then you can pick dinner.”

We took a long shower, he helped wash my hair and back, and we started kissing again. We didn’t fuck again only because I was starting to get cold and wanted to go to bed—I was really tired.

Jeongin ordered the food, and after we ate, he took me to bed. I could barely stay awake as I lay on my stomach. I felt his hands massaging my shoulders, neck, and back, and I drifted off to sleep from the relaxation. When I woke up, it was still a bit dark, and he was sleeping beautifully naked beside me, making me very tempted to wake him up with a blowjob, but I held back. I grabbed my phone and had to text my friends that they were right—I now had a boyfriend. Was I the last to know, or just unwilling to see it? I’d rather not answer that question anymore, now I have something to do.

That was the last thought I had before spooning my boyfriend, who was sleeping with his back to me. He pulled my hand to feel his erection, and I just thought that by the end of the night, we might end up at least starving ourselves to death from how much sex we would have. At least we’d make it to dinner on time.

[2dmansimp]

Going Shopping

Ran Haitani

CW: swearing, ran being a little shit, a little feature of Rindou at the end :)

The second we stepped onto the escalator, the number of complaints coming from the man next to me was overflowing.

“Can we please get some lunch? I’m starving!”

“Can we sit down? My feet are killing me!”

“I can barely take the heat anymore, I’m going to faint!”

“Do you have any hair ties? I can’t find mine…”

“I swear to god, if one more complaint comes out of your mouth, I’m going to smack you!” My voice boomed. The conversations quieted around us, eyes staring, and then eventually going back to their own business.

However, Ran’s smile only widened. He knows what he’s doing. His constant remarks and complaints are only stirring up negative emotions within me: anger, frustration, annoyance.

It was a mistake bringing him on this shopping trip.

While my goal was to get some shopping done, his goal was to get home as soon as possible.

“I wouldn’t mind if you smacked me.” Ran leans down, his face inches from mine, his hands stuffed into his pockets. “If you smacked me and put an end to my misery now, we would both be at peace.”

“As much as I want to kill you, I can’t.” I walk into the first store, and head straight for the back, the clearance section.

“And why’s that?” His smirk grows as I make my way through the different racks.

“I would end up in jail, that’s why.” I find what I’m looking for and purchase them. Ran takes the bag and we make our way out of the store.

“Also, I knew it! You were going to make me your bag carrier and be mean to me for the entire day.” His mouth begins to tremble; fake tears and puppy eyes start to show.

“You were the one who took the bag when I was paying! Here, give it to me…” When I try to take the bag from him, his arm goes up and the bag is over his head, out of reach. “What the fuck, Ran! You were just complaining about carrying the bag a second ago!”

A smile peaks through his charade and a laugh tumbles through his lips. His tall figure overpowers mine naturally, but with his arm stretched upward as well, I stood no chance against the tall freak. When I finally gave up trying to get the bag, he leans down, placing a kiss on my cheek.

“I’m just playing with you babes. I’m a gentleman so of course, I would carry your bags.” He snakes an arm around my waist, allowing me to lead him to the next store.

“You weren’t acting like a gentleman a minute ago,” I mumble as I look through the store, arms crossed.

Ran grabs my arm, causing me to stop in my tracks. I sigh, trying to get out of his grasp, but his grip is too strong. I tilt my head away only for him to use his free hand and tilt my chin back to look at him.

“Come on, you know I was just joking, right? You know I love you.” His voice gets lower and lower as he places small kisses on my face.

Heat begins to travel up my neck and settle in my cheeks. He eventually let's go when he spots the red tint and I bury my face in his t-shirt.

“Who knew I had that effect on you, babe! Come on, let me see that cherry red blush again.” His voice ignites a giggle out of me.

“God, you’re… such an… asshole. Let go… of… me!” The words came out of me in chunks, each interrupted by laughs and shrieks. We pay no mind to the people who pass us by, looking at us in horror.

“Not until you say you love me back!”

“Fine… fine! I love you, you gangly… bastard, now get off… of me!”

The laughs continue out of us as he lets go of my arm. “See that wasn’t so hard was it?”

I roll my eyes, hoping that’s the last of his antics for the day, and loop my arm through his as we continue to explore the store.

................................................................................................

Bonus :D

Eventually, we stop for some food, only to end up with frozen yogurt. We sit, laughing and joking with one another until we hear a voice and angry footsteps approaching us.

“Where the hell have you two been?” We look up to see an angry Rindou. He has a bag in one hand and a soda in another.

“What do you mean?” I ask, “Weren’t you behind us the whole time?” He was behind us the whole time… right?

“No, I told you guys to wait as I checked out a store and when I came back out, you two were gone! No, where to be found. I’ve been looking for you guys for hours!” He takes a seat across from us, his arms crossed, and stress written all over his face.

“Did you notice he went into a store?” I turned to Ran.

His face lights up, before laughing and wrapping his arm around my shoulder. “Of course I did, I just wanted a little alone time with you, with my little brother out of the way.” He nuzzles his head in the crook of my neck, followed by kisses and more giggles.

“Ran! You can’t… just do that! Hey, stop… I’m trying to… have a… conversation with you!” And yet again, my words cut in and out, all replaced by my laughs and my arms trying to push him away.

“Ugh, you two need to get a room,” Rindou states, taking out his phone and ignoring the two idiots seated across from him.

master list ; reblogs and comments are appreciated :)

[daisybeewrites]

safe from the world, though the world will try

requested? yes! (see end notes for asks)

word count: .7k

ship: dousy (daisy johnson x daniel sousa)

Daisy fumbled with the keys, sighing in frustration and exhaustion. Normally, she loved work; training new recruits, working on various cutting edge computer programs, finding excuses to skip boring meetings with top brass. It was great!

But today was literal hell.

Finally getting the door unlocked, Daisy trudged inside her cosy apartment, kicking off her shoes and dropping her stuff on the floor. She collapsed onto the couch, fully content to curl up and sleep for ages instead of doing the responsible, adult thing and getting ready for bed. Daisy closed her eyes as it started to drizzle outside, the warm fairy lights strung around the living room calming her headache.

“Hey, sweetheart.”

Daisy slowly opened her eyes, smiling slowly at the familiar voice.

“Hey, Danny,” She replied. Daniel sat on the couch next to her, brushing hair out of her face.

“Bad day?” He asked. Daisy nodded, leaning into the touch.

“Yeah. Bad day.”

Daniel hummed. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“You sure you want to hear about it?” She snorted, going quiet at his concerned expression. “Okay, well…”

“…One of my recruits shot a superior officer in the chest.”

Daniel’s jaw dropped. He spluttered, “Wh- Uhm, Why? Are they- What? Are they okay?”

Daisy laughed quietly. “The kid’s fine. Apparently Agent Kosach has some… opinions on how I do my job. It was only an ICER.”

Sousa frowned. “Did you put in a report?”

“I went straight to Mack. He said he’d handle it, but I still had to have words with the kid. I’ll talk to Kosach tomorrow,” She explained tiredly.

“Good,” Daniel said, taking Daisy’s hand and helping her sit up. “Technically aren’t you his boss?”

Daisy smiled. “Technically, yes. I have higher clearance. But we have equa authority.”

He nodded, watching Daisy rub her temples.

“Headache?”

“Yes,” She groaned. Then, “Will you make me tea?”

Daniel held in a laugh, smiling softly at his girlfriend.

“Yes, of course. Any preference?” He asked, standing to go to the kitchen. Daisy grabbed his hand, weaving their fingers together.

“Don’t leave,” She whispered, aware of how tired she sounded. Daniel laughed.

“Come on, we’ll make tea together.”

Daisy stood, immediately latching herself to Daniel’s side, head on his shoulder and arms around his waist. They shuffled awkwardly to the kitchen together. Daniel put the kettle on as Daisy sifted through the fancy tea that Jemma and May sent. She settled on Jasmine green for her and the Earl grey for Daniel. Daniel got the milk from the fridge for himself and some honey from the cabinet for Daisy. Daisy hopped onto the cabinet, pulling Daniel between her legs and resting her head on his shoulder.

“Can we watch Netflix cartoons?” She asked. Daniel kissed her temple, humming the ’She-ra’ intro. “I knew I picked a good one.”

Daniel pulled away as the kettle whistled, quickly turning off the stove and pouring the water into two large mugs.

“Daisy, are you going to sleep in your work clothes?” He asked, pouring milk into his cup and handing Daisy a spoon for her honey.

She hummed, bringing the tea up to her face to smell the jasmine. “I probably shouldn’t.”

She set her tea on the counter, slowly sliding off and stretching. “I’ll be right back.”

Daisy leaned up to press a kiss to his cheek, heading off to put on a comfy t-shirt (yes, it was Daniel’s) and a pair of lounge shorts. By the time she was back, Daniel had moved to the living room with their teas and started up Netflix.

Daisy carefully sat, accepting her tea from Daniel. She took a slow sip, savouring the warmth. Daniel clicked on She-ra, the bright colours of the animation flashing across the screen.

Daisy shifted, throwing her legs over his lap and draping his arm over her shoulders. Daniel smirked.

“Comfy?”

“Yes,” Daisy smiled, taking an innocent sip of her tea.

“By all means, forget the definition of personal space,” He teased lightly, poking her shoulder.

Daisy stuck her tongue out, turning to the screen. “You love me.”

Daniel squeezed her arm in response, whispering, “I do.”

As Daisy drifted off to sleep a couple episodes later, a soft blanket thrown over the both of them, Daniel took her mostly empty mug from her hands.

“I really do.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

hiiii guyssss!! i’m back to writing sort of regularly?? anyway. this was really short, but i hope you like it <3

requests: <3 they aren’t quite the same but hopefully this is good enough? xx @destroyrofwrlds

[apocalypticgargoyle]

Hi I need to ask a favor of you... Can we get like,,, the reader trying to set cc!dream up with a friend of theirs and he actually likes the reader so we get like dream trying to say that he likes the reader. Idk if this makes sense but I just want a dramatic like "ARE YOU DUMB" moment. Thank u, I'll exit the stage.

Okay so long story short, I had a series about Dre that I was going to write (like a million years ago even before e!k) and I tuned up the confession scene because it fit with the request. Idk idk. It was back when I was having my romance novel phase. N E WAY. happy reading :) ♡ g

𝐄𝐆𝐎 & 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍. ♘ 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

± warnings: language, angst, being so overdramatic, mentions of rivals to lovers, being in a shower, kinda cringe ngl

Dream eyed you over his glass from across the table, his legs long enough that he was invading your space beneath the surface. His green eyes burned into you, which you attempted to let roll off your shoulders innocently. Your friend was talking up Sapnap, completely destroying your plan put in place. It seemed like Dream could tell what you were up to as well, and by the look he was sending your way and the tension in his shoulders, you could tell he wasn’t in the mood for it. Sapnap asked the girl beside you how she was doing in her classes and before he could boast about his own achievements, you butted in. “You know, Clay’s ranked fourth in our sociology class.” Dream rolled his eyes as your friend’s brow perked at your statement.

She cracked a grin in his direction. “Oh really? You some kind of a genius?” She joked, tucking a piece of her hair behind her ear.

Dream chewed the inside of his cheek and folded his hands together on the table, uncomfortable now that you had shifted the subject matter to him. “Uh, I wouldn’t say that. It’s an intro course so…” he mumbled. She hummed in response and he wet his lips.

You jumped into the small bit of silence. “Come on, don’t downplay! He’s also helped me pass calculus last year,” you boasted. Dream shut his eyes briefly as if it were taking every ounce of his being not to scold you. You didn’t care.

“That’s awesome! I’m actually a mathematics major,” your friend eased. “Maybe if you are some kind of genius you could help me figure out homeomorphically irreducible trees sometime,” she jousted with a small wink. Dream chuckled and you thought maybe… finally… they were clicking. You knew you were right, you knew they were a perfect match. Dream just had to put forth a bit more effort.

Dream’s eyes flashed to you again briefly, as if a symbol of telling you he’d kill you for pushing this. “Oh, I don’t know anything about math really, but Sapnap knows a lot of the math professors,” he turned over with a soft smile, sending your friend back into Sapnap’s metaphorical tract. The two started rambling to each other and Dream shot you a dirty look. “Cut it out,” he bit, barely loud enough for you to even hear. You took this as a challenge.

Another round of drinks came to the table, Dream had yet to completely finish his first as it seemed like something was weighing on his mind. You had gotten into the habit of picking up every subtle tick he had and picking at it. You silently listened to the conversation between Nick and your friend as it wound down, giving you the opportunity to strike up something else about Dream. “So Clay, what was your beer pong average last semester?” You asked, taking a sip from your straw innocently.

He sent you a deadpan expression, but Sapnap answered for him. “Oh, trust me, Clay’s the one you want on your team at every frat party,” he praised. You knew how much your friend liked the whole idea of winning pointless party games.

“I think it’s time I walk you home,” Dream mumbled after standing before you could answer. You followed him out of the restaurant, sending your friend and Sapnap an awkward grin. They had barely noticed anyway; too caught up in their own conversation. You jogged a bit to catch up to Dream as he shoved his fists in his pockets. “What the hell is wrong with you?” He grumbled.

You furrowed your brows, nudging his arm playfully. “What do you mean? I’m trying to get you laid!” You chided. He rolled his eyes again. “Loosen up! Come on, she’s pretty isn’t she.”

Dream sighed deeply. “Of course she’s pretty. Just quit with meddling in my sex life,” he hissed.

You laughed mockingly. “You are so tightly wound!” He pushed the door open to your building. You could tell you were pushing his buttons as he pursed his lips instead of firing something back at you. “You’re such a killjoy,” you joshed, pinching his side.

He swatted your hand away, attempting to ignore you. “Quit.”

“Fine, whatever. Go home and make fast with your hand.” That was it---the last push.

Dream grabbed your arm and yanked you down the hall behind him. You could practically see the steam rolling off his shoulders as he turned a corner and you began to grow tense. You knew he'd never hurt you but the sheer anxiety of what he was going to do next weighed on your conscience. Had you gone too far this time? You'd pushed him past his limit before, but he'd never taken you with him when he needed to remove himself from the situation.

You were shocked as he threw open the door to the communal showers, your brows knitting together in confusion as you began to claw at his hand. "Clay, stop! What are you doing?" You gritted, struggling against his grip. He threw open one of the stall doors and tossed you inside, your back hit the linoleum tiling with a quiet thump and you glared at him with scolding eyes as if to bite ‘don't you dare touch me’ into his skin.

He pursed his lips as if his anger was threatening to boil over and he turned the knob behind you, instantly soaking you and your clothes in freezing water. You painstakingly jumped for the dial and he grabbed your arm again, pulling you inches from his face. "You need to cool the fuck down. I'm serious!" He snapped.

Your eyes felt like they were going to pop out of your head in disbelief at the audacity he had. His jaw tensed as he glared at your features and you drew his arm closer, turning on your heel so he replaced you in the water. His reaction was subtle to the dowsing; instead, he released his grip on you. "What the hell is your problem!" You yelled. This was unknowingly becoming your breaking point. You hadn't woken up that day and realized today is the day I choose violence but Dream's medieval form of communicating with you was striking a hidden nerve.

"My problem? MY PROBLEM?" He let out an exasperated sigh, turning slightly to twist the knob for hot water before laying into you. Why he didn't just turn off the water was unbeknownst to you. "My problem is you!"

You rolled your eyes heavily. "Me?" You tsked at him. "Why don't you get a fucking life-"

"Are you really that fucking stupid?" He bit. Your disgusted look you made sure to exaggerate twisted something behind his eyes. The shower began to produce steam over his shoulders. Dream's hair had begun hanging in short ringlets around his ears. His long-sleeved t-shirt clung to his body enough that you could see every dip in his chest. Every breath he drew in to calm himself down rippled through his silhouette. In the slightest way, it seemed as if the dragon was finally baring his soft underbelly to you.

His hands balled into fists at your look of disbelief at him calling you dumb. He groaned deeply, bringing his palms to his eyes and gritting his teeth. He then pushed his fingers into his wet hair, plastering it back from framing his face. Dream's bright eyes studied you with his features set in stone. "How could you not realize?" He let out a short exhale, his hands seemingly gripping for his own thoughts as they moved with his search of words. "I know you aren't as aloof as you put off. I know you know that I-" he stopped himself short with an aggressive shrug of his shoulders. It was almost humoring to see him standing like a wet dog in front of you and at a loss for words. That big head of his was proving to be a difficult landscape for him to form sentences. "... That I-" he bit into his lip, frustration settling into his brow.

You rolled your eyes again, your wet clothes feeling uncomfortable as they began to shrink against certain parts of your body. The steam from the water was enveloping the two of you in the small space, but your close stance kept a breath of clearance in your visions. "Spit it out, Clay. Obviously, I'm too dumb to put two and two together. You're gonna have to man up and get over it," you snapped and his eyes flashed up to the ceiling.

He gritted his teeth again. "Fuck. What am I trying to say?" He hissed. The gears in his head were beginning to rust with overstimulation, and you could tell. He was hesitant as if debating what would be his next move. The tall man before you was slowly unraveling into unarticulated emotions. The minuscule thought tugged at your mind that Dream was attempting to tell you he felt something for you. It was oddly satisfying to juxtapose your ill-fated seven minutes in heaven experience when you had met him with the close, wet atmosphere you were in now. Even back then Dream couldn't figure out what to say.

He swallowed, his anger had melded into something less aggressive and more inwardly scorning. "I care about you," he blurted, his voice coming out uneven. He wasn't nervous and it seemed as if he'd practiced this in the mirror yet was crumbling under the pressure of you actually standing before him. "I care about you," he repeated, his face still tense and severe.

You were taken aback by his simple statement, awaiting his next move. You didn't dare arrest your eyes from his, your mind blurring about what to say to his confession. You knew that was big coming from him at the way it tugged at your heartstrings, making you blush in the ferocity of the steaming stall. The beat of silence was broken as he took a step toward you, taking your face into his large hands in a gentle gesture. His fingers threatened to snake into your hair as his thumb traced the bend in your jaw. Droplets of water fell off of him to splash against your sopping wet clothing, the warmth of his figure nearly pressed against yours sending rushes of goosebumps across the plain of your skin.

His eyes searched yours as he hesitated, as if savoring being close enough to taste you, yet the anticipation of sealing the fated and quarrelsome air between the two of you with his kiss was nearly too unrealistic for his mind to comprehend. The pad of his thumb brushed lightly against the flesh of your bottom lip as if he were wondering if the shade was their true color, all of his movements completely foiling the way he'd always handled you.

His look of desire and unsteadiness gave him the appearance of an explorer wandering around a foreign planet with the consistency of practice but restraint. You'd heard other girls talking about being with Dream---a fumbling night of drunken fun or a quick use and jading---but the Dream standing before you now seemed to be his own breed. You let your mind flicker to the fantasy that maybe the boy itching to mark you was a figment of him reserved and stocked only for you.

You found yourself leaning on your toes as his eyes began to close, drawing you in with his subtle caress. The water thundered down against him as his towering frame shielded you from the shower, the sound of its stream bouncing off the floor and your matted articles of clothing mixing with Dream's soft breath. As he pressed his lips against yours, it seemed like he was hesitant as if you'd snatch yourself away from his cradling like you always had, but sure enough, your sneakers were glued to the floor beneath you. Wherever you were going in the next few minutes would be to follow his lead.

His fingers dipped into your locks, bringing you deeper into his gesture of passion. Your mind clicked into the reality of the situation as your shoulders sank into a sense of calmness. Your hands found purchase around his waist, wanting to reassure him that you were reading his actions as your fingers traced the lines and dips in his back.

He kissed you with a needy passiveness that bled into the echoing taste of mint, bitter coffee, and the soft embrace of his mildly chapped lips. You'd been close enough to him in the past to dig your nose into his clean scent, but as he pressed against you, it was all you could focus on. He kissed you as if his lips were studying to be experts on your own; a kneading of exploratory gentleness met with a keen sense of wanting to pour everything unsaid between the two of you into this action. It was like he hungrily wanted to know the curvature of your mouth like the back of his hand.

He broke away from you breathlessly and your floating sense of calm clouded and compacted your words. You hesitated to open your eyes as you felt him settle his forehead against yours, not wanting to extract himself from you yet. You subtly enjoyed the fact of sharing air with him as you drew in a deep breath, the taste of him still lingering in your mouth. You wanted that taste to live on your tongue.

Clay stepped back, shrugging out of your hold reluctantly. His hand moved to settle over his mouth as if he was silently apologizing for the suddenness of that action. Your mind was running wild with the thought of him. You parted your lips, stunned enough that you could barely remember how to stand on your own let alone string together a sentence.

He swallowed, rubbing the back of his neck and avoiding your eyes. "I- um," his tongue darted across his lips and you yearned at the fact that you wanted to be pressed against him again, selfishly needing to be tangled among his long limbs or you'd surely die. "I'll see you around," he stated, undoubtedly noticing how verklempt you were and what kind of effect he'd had on you.

He moved to step around you and your eyes glued to where he was standing before. He halted when his shoulder brushed against yours, his gaze turning to trace against your features as you struggled to meet his eyes. You knew he was biting back a smirk as he went on his way again, leaving you to decompose at the mental imagery of him.

You heard the door swing shut behind him and you pushed your wet hair away from your face, turning off the water. As you stepped from the stall, you met eyes with a girl who perked an eyebrow in your direction. She froze in the middle of brushing her teeth, having obviously seen Clay leave, and at the sight of you, she smirked. “Alright, alright. I see you, Elizabeth Bennett,” she winked, swaying a bit before continuing on with her routine.

Dream Tag List: (follow this link to be added ;))

@karlkitten @pluto-dizzz @more-like-reyna @honk-izzie-was-taken @marrymetheonott @froggyy06 @ghoulandghost @savingpluto @marshmallow-babe @drunkpumpkincake @unstableye @tinyegg @behzzyboo @darphobic @twist3dtinkerbell @sparkletash @lindsayhunz @shroomieissmall @mintmochiii @clubfairy

[sisterspooky1013]

I Loved You, Guinevere: Chapter 2

Rated X | Read it here on AO3

See AO3 for content and relationship tags

“You sure you don’t need me to accompany you, sir? I really don’t mind,” Mulder says as Walter straightens the papers on his desk in preparation for his absence. 

“No, you stay here this time, Mulder. When’s the last time you had a day off, anyway?”

Walter lifts his head and gives him an expectant look, and Mulder realizes the question wasn’t rhetorical. 

“Um, Independence Day, I think,” he answers with a nervous creak in his voice. 

“That was almost two months ago. Take the week, relax, see a movie, get laid. Hell, just stay away from federal grounds, would you?” Walter demands, and Mulder nods in acceptance of these orders. 

His apartment is warm, too warm, but he always regrets running the A/C when the electric bill comes. Instead he strips down to basketball shorts and nothing else, cooling a wet rag in the freezer and draping it around his neck. He keeps his beer in the fridge, retrieving it when he wants to take a sip so it will stay cool, which means he’s up and down from the couch every five minutes. He’s thinking about ordering a burger for dinner when there’s a knock at the door. 

Frowning, he trots to the front door under the assumption it will be a solicitor or a wrong address, but when he pulls it open he finds Phil, Scully’s dedicated Secret Service agent, standing on the other side. 

“Fox Mulder?” he confirms, and Mulder nods. “May I enter the premises, sir?” Mulder steps aside, allowing Phil to enter the hallway that serves as his foyer. “The First Lady has requested to visit you at your residence. Before that can happen, I need to do a visual check of the area and secure it. Do you consent to that?”

Mulder nods again, confusion and exhilaration dueling for control as Phil starts to walk through each room, closing blinds and curtains and examining his sparse furniture. 

“Any firearms on the premises, Mr. Mulder?” Phil asks as he returns to the front hallway, to which Mulder shakes his head. “Is this the only entrance?” Mulder nods again. “No one comes in, no one goes out. You have Top Secret Security Clearance so I’m operating under the assumption that you understand the risks that come with having the First Lady in your residence. Is that a fair assumption?”

“Absolutely, of course,” Mulder answers emphatically, and Phil wordlessly walks out the door. A moment later, there is another knock, and this time he finds Scully there, a broad-brimmed sun hat and wide sunglasses obscuring her face, her hair wrapped up in a scarf. Phil stands just behind her, ramrod straight with opaque Ray Bans wrapped around his head. Mulder’s belly drops to his knees but a smile blooms on his mouth at her disguise. 

“Carmen Sandiego, I’ve been expecting you,” he says lightly, and the corner of her mouth quirks. 

“Can I come in?” she asks gently, and Mulder opens the door wider to admit her. 

“I’ll be right outside, Mrs. Skinner. I’m going to call you every thirty minutes. If you don’t answer, this door comes down,” Phil says sternly. 

Scully nods, unaffected by his dramatics, and they watch as he leaves, Mulder following behind him to lock the door. When he returns to the living room, Scully has shed her hat, scarf and glasses, and is fluffing her hair. She’s wearing a knee-length A-line dress and sandals, the tops of her shoulders kissed with freckles. When he enters the room, her eyes flit briefly over his bare chest and belly before she quickly looks away. 

“Phil lets me wander sometimes, as long as I keep him close,” she explains. “Walter would flip if he knew.”

He nods and gestures to the couch, offering her a seat. She perches on the very edge, fanning her face with her hand. 

“It’s hot as hell in here, do you not have A/C?” she asks, and he grimaces and runs over to switch on the window unit. 

“Sorry, I’m a cheapskate. Would you like something to drink? I have water, beer, and….I have water and beer,” he finishes with an embarrassed smile. “Sorry, I wasn’t expecting to be hosting the First Lady.”

She shakes her head dismissively. 

“A beer would be perfect, thank you.”

He grabs his open can and retrieves one for her as well, and then sits on the opposite end of the couch. She cracks open her beer and takes a sip, then sets it on the coffee table with a resigned sigh. 

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” he says carefully, “but are you allowed to be here? And how do you even know where I live?”

She looks over at him sharply and if not for her already flushed cheeks, he might detect a blush. 

“I looked up your information in Walter’s rolodex. I probably shouldn’t be here, but I’m not very good at following first lady rules. I like to keep my security team minimal and have some semblance of a private life. I’m here because…I wanted to apologize,” she says with formality befitting a State of the Union address. “Both for my behavior as well as how I’ve treated you since. Obviously, it was inappropriate and unfair, not to mention an abuse of power. I just wanted you to know that.”

He shifts nervously and takes a sip of his already-warming beer. 

“You don’t need to apologize,” he says emphatically, not meeting her eye. “I was responsible just as much as you were. I don’t feel in any way taken advantage of, so please don’t think that’s the case.”

She heaves a relieved sigh and looks at him with wet eyes. 

“I’m glad to hear that. And to be honest, I’ve been devastated by the loss of your friendship. I didn't realize how much of a difference it made for me until I couldn’t talk to you anymore. I’m not saying that we can just go back to how things were, but I wanted you to know that it meant a lot to me, being able to talk to you, and being able to share some of the things that I can’t share with anyone else.”

She looks so raw and earnest, vulnerable in a way that feels like she’s sharing a deeply-held secret. As much as he knows that the right thing to do would be to keep his distance, he once again finds that he’s incapable of making the best choice. 

“I don’t see why we can’t be friends,” he offers with a one-shouldered shrug, and her pained little smile makes his heart clutch in his chest. 

“I’d like that,” she replies softly. 

Her cell phone starts wailing loudly from inside her purse, and she retrieves it with a great deal of urgency. 

“Hello?” she answers, giving him a furtive glance. “Okay, give me five minues.”

She stands, re-donning her scarf, glasses, and hat, and he walks her to the door. 

“Will you be on-site tomorrow?” she asks hopefully.

“No, I’m on mandatory vacation,” he answers. “Walter’s orders. I’ll just be bumming around here all week. Too hot to do anything else.”

“Well, you could turn your A/C on,” she suggests coyly, and he smirks at her. “Would it be okay if I stopped by again sometime this week?”

He’s surprised by her proposition and a little alarm bell goes off in his head, but he nods. 

“Bye,” she says with a smile and a brief squeeze of his bicep, and then she is gone.

&

When she appears on his doorstep again, a cloud cover has rolled in and left the city warm and gray at the same time, giving it an oddly dystopian feeling. She is wearing jeans and a ribbed white undershirt, and he finds himself caught off guard by how casual she looks, how normal. She could be any woman on the street, but she’s not. She’s the First Lady of the United States of America, and she’s come to his apartment to shed that title and all the expectations that come along with it. 

“I told Phil I’d be here for a while, I hope that’s okay,” she says as she pushes past him and into the living room as though she’s been here a hundred times. “He’ll worry less if his expectation is that it’s not a quick visit.”

“Uh, yeah,” he replies as he smiles thinly at Phil and closes the door, then follows her to the couch where she’s kicked off her flip flops and folded her legs up underneath her. “Is that a problem? I mean, with Walter…?”

“Phil won’t say anything,” she assures him, and Mulder cringes. 

“That doesn’t feel right, to keep it from him,” he says regretfully. 

“I won’t, I’ll tell him when he’s home,” she replies, but she won’t meet his eye. 

They order pizza, drink beer, and talk about their wild days in college before politics defined their lives. Mulder shows her pictures of his niece and nephews, and she cradles them in her hands like they are precious treasures. He sees in her again that longing look, the one that wants to run away from state dinners and press conferences and just be a typical person living a typical life. Phil calls twice to check on her, but she doesn’t seem to be in any hurry to leave. 

“Why are you single, Mulder?” she asks gently, lying on her back on his living room floor. She’s stretched out with her hands over her head and her toes pointed like a sunbathing cat, and he spots a little gold hoop in her belly button. 

“I’m not very good at dating,” he admits before taking a swig of his beer and sitting on the floor near her. 

She rolls onto her side, propping her head on her fist and giving him an expectant look. 

“I think I’m a little intense, or so I’ve been told,” he elaborates. “Somebody asks me what my favorite color is and I start talking about studies regarding the psycho-social effects of the color red.”

“I think you just don’t like to engage in meaningless conversation,” she suggests. “Death by small talk.” He nods in agreement. “I like talking to you,” she continues. “You’re interesting.”

“Am I?” he asks in a disbelieving tone. “You’re married to the President, how am I possibly interesting by comparison?” he says self-deprecatingly, and she smiles softly at him. 

“Walter is just a man with a unique job,” she says with a shrug. “His position doesn’t make him any more or less interesting than anyone else, or any more or less flawed.”

He senses that she wants to say more and he sits quietly, creating space. She scrunches her mouth to one side in contemplation, and he feels a little chill run down his spine. 

“We were considering separating before he decided to run for office,” she admits, her eyes on the area rug. “We just want different things from life. But the odds of a single man winning the presidency are low…”

She trails off and glances at him, and he smiles sadly at her. 

“I do love him,” she insists. “He’s a good man. But I think maybe sometimes love isn’t enough.”

The room feels heavy and sad, and he is scanning his brain for some joke he can crack to break the tension when her phone rings. She rolls onto her belly, retrieving it from her purse and answering with a “Yeah?” 

He moves closer to examine a sliver of ink visible between her shirt and pants, and sees his opening for a change in topic.

“Yes, all good,” she says to the person on the other end of the line before flipping the phone closed.  

“Is that a tattoo?” he asks, though not with judgment, and she tugs her shirt higher so he can see. It’s a snake, arranged in a circle such that it’s eating its own tail. “What does it mean?” he asks, reaching out and tracing it lightly with his finger. She shivers at the contact. 

“I wish I knew,” she replies. “As far as I’m concerned it means ‘don’t drink tequila.’”

“Is that your only one?” he asks, and she pushes up onto her knees. 

“No, I have this one, too. But I actually like it.”

To his surprise she unbuttons her jeans and tugs them halfway down her thighs, exposing white lace panties. He can easily see her pubic hair through the fabric, as red as the hair on her head, and his heart leaps and then begins pounding in his ears. 

“It’s for my grandmother,” she explains, and he realizes he’s supposed to be looking elsewhere. He moves his eyes to a spot high on her outer thigh where there is a black and gray gardenia etched into her lily-white skin, the leaves filled in with green. “They were her favorite flower.”

There is a beat of silence, and he realizes that his eyes have wandered back over to that place he’s not supposed to be looking. The one that is sheer white lace and red, trimmed hair, and a gold hoop dancing above it. Hesitantly, he lifts his eyes to hers and finds her staring back at him intensely. She saw him looking. She doesn’t appear offended. If anything, she looks aroused.  

“Mulder,” she says softly, and it sounds like a warning. 

He would have sworn that she was pushed, the way she falls against him, crashing over him with her jeans around her knees. He catches her, falling backwards, and her mouth is on his before his shoulders hit the floor. His hands find her ass cheeks, and those little white panties are a thong, and every single rational thought leaves his brain. 

He rolls them over and rips her jeans off her legs, pushing his pelvis between her thighs as she latches on to his lower lip. Her fingers scrape through his hair and her ankles lock behind his ass and he cannot believe this is happening. He pushes up her shirt, and then the cotton bra she has on underneath, and hums hungrily around her perfect, sweet little breasts. He’s so hard it hurts, but she has to be in charge here. She has to call the shots. 

Her fingers are at his fly, snap and zip, and then river rock fingers gliding over his shaft and she fucking groans when she feels him. Her feet push at his jeans and he helps her get them down just far enough that he springs free and brushes across the soft skin of her belly. 

“Oh god, please,” she breathes into his ear, and he couldn’t deny her if the house was on fire. 

White lace is tugged to the side, his fingers getting a fleeting idea of how incredibly wet she is, and then it’s nothing but velvet heat. Stars behind his eyes, her hands on his jaw, rugburn on his knees and he has never had sex like this. He feels like he can’t get deep enough, even as his balls slap against her with each staccato thrust. He wants to lick every square inch of her, fuck her in every position, he wants to do it again and they aren’t even done yet. 

“Oh, I’m gonna come,” she whimpers, and it hits him like a mack truck. They gasp and groan and hold their open mouths against each other, unable to shape kisses around their euphoric release. He comes forever, and even as he knows he’s getting soft she still feels so good. 

Their ragged breaths calm, and the stalwart tick of the kitchen clock becomes louder and louder. Finally, he lifts his head and is struck when he sees her wide, wet eyes. 

“Oh, hey,” he says hurriedly, and she chokes out a sob, bringing one hand up to cover her face. 

“Oh, god,” she says in a harsh whisper, regret not even waiting until he’s withdrawn from her to set in.  

“Hey, it’s okay,” he says tenderly, though he knows it’s not. It’s not even a little bit okay. Not for her and not for him. But she already knows that. 

He moves off her, pulling up his pants and grabbing a blanket off the back of the couch to drape over her lap for modesty. She sits up, her face in her hands and her shoulders shaking with her sobs. He sits beside her, one arm across her shoulders, and holds her as she cries over what they just did, the two of them, together. 

Her phone rings, and she sniffs hard and clears her throat, composing herself before she answers. 

“Hello? Yes, I’m okay. I’ll be out in a few minutes,” she says, and then stands to find and re-don her jeans. 

“Scully?” he asks fearfully as he watches her collect her purse, slip on her shoes, and make for the door. 

She turns to look at him, guilt crumpling her face. 

“I’m really sorry,” she says regretfully, putting on a hat and sunglasses. 

The door clicks closed behind her. He sits on the living room floor, fly unbuttoned, blanket in a heap to his left. In every practical sense, his whole world just ended. So why does he feel like it’s only just begun?

&

Friday. Two days since the Big Mistake, the Royal Fuckup, the Life Ending Decision. Two days since the best sex he’s ever had in his life. Two days since he ruined her life and his. Two days and he can’t stop thinking about it, and all the consequences it will bring. 

She should not be here, but here she is again. She’s here in a white sheath dress and he feels like a bum in his T-shirt and shorts. She’s here and he’s folding her up in his arms as she sighs with relief. He doesn’t need to ask why; he knows. He knows that even the very worst thing, the most wrong and awful thing, can feel so right that you need it like oxygen. Her nose is tucked into his neck and she’s pulling in big lungfuls of him, and he knows. 

His bed is unmade and he feels embarrassed, but she doesn’t seem to notice. She pulls her dress over her head and he sees her in full: sloping waist and gentle hips, rose petal nipples and that little auburn patch of hair. She peels off his T-shirt, pushes his shorts off his hips. She tells him he’s beautiful, and he’s surprised by how much it touches him to be described so sweetly. 

They kiss for an eternity. Touch with curiosity and desire. He asks for her permission before he buries his face between her legs, but she does not ask for his before she climbs into his lap and rides him gently. She smiles and laughs with his cock tucked inside her, the sound bouncing off the bare walls the most joyful echo. He never bothered to decorate, and now he sees why; her playful giggles are the most precious art available. 

They nap, then wake to the trilling of her phone and make love again. He’s curled up behind her, her leg pulled back over his thigh so he can touch her. He feels like he’s known her forever, like their bodies are two missing pieces of a puzzle. He wants to tell her he loves her, but he knows that’s crazy. And even if it were true, it’s not possible; she is not his to love. 

She whimpers his name when she comes and he feels tears prick his eyes. How can the worst thing, the most objectively bad and awful thing, feel so fucking good? He’s either the luckiest man in the world, or the unluckiest. It’s too soon yet to tell. 

&

“I’m trusting you on this one, Mulder,” Walter says with a warning tone. “Don’t leave me with my dick out here.”

“I would never…leave you with your dick out, sir,” Mulder assures him. “I’ve done my homework, and I’m confident it’s the right choice.”

Walter nods, assessing him.

“You’re a smart man, Mulder. I know you make careful decisions, so I’m going to follow your direction.”

Mulder suppresses the smile that tugs at his lips, not wanting to show how much he’s moved by the President's praise. Walter leans forward, propping his elbows on the desk. 

“I’m sharing this with you in confidence, but we had to let Seth Linden go today.”

“Oh,” Mulder says, surprised. “Am I at liberty to ask why?”

“I won’t go into too much detail, but I will say that he proved himself not to be trustworthy enough to hold such a high position on my team. Now, his vacancy leaves the opportunity for another advisor to step into a more senior role, and I’d like to offer that position to you, if you’re interested.”

Mulder is struck and elated, rooting for words as he loses the battle to keep his mouth from smiling. 

“I’d be honored, sir,” he says emphatically. “Truly. I won’t let you down.”

“I sure as shit hope not,” Walter replies, leaning back in his chair with a disgruntled frown. “I need people I can trust on my team. People who won’t fuck me over the first chance they get. You seem like good people, Mulder. I hope I don’t turn out to be wrong about that.”

Mulder swallows hard, guilt forming a lump in his throat. 

&

There are several unoccupied bedrooms in the residential area of The White House. Rooms that have housed children of presidents past, hosted visiting dignitaries, and even royalty. The residential area is the only place where the first family can find some semblance of privacy, with Secret Service agents standing guard outside every point of entry but unable to enter unless they are given cause to believe that the safety of their protectees is at risk. 

Mulder soon learns that the presence of an agent named Milton outside the door of the rear staircase is a signal from Scully, one that means the coast is clear. Milton will not acknowledge Mulder as he approaches the door, but he will also make no attempt to stop him from pushing through and climbing three floors to where Phil stands guard. 

He was dubious when Scully insisted that there was no risk of her security detail exposing them. She spoke to NDAs and oaths regarding keeping what they see and hear to themselves, but it was hard for him to imagine that the same men who walked alongside The President prepared to take a bullet for him would not immediately report that his wife was having an affair with his most senior advisor. But the first time he reached the door that would lead him to the private quarters of the first family and Phil not only allowed him in, but held the door open for him, he started to believe that it was true. 

They do not speak directly to what it is that they are doing. They discuss logistics, when and where and how they can steal away precious moments alone, which risks they are willing to take and which they are not. She’s made clear that her marriage, while not abjectly miserable, isn’t an entirely happy one, but that she has made a commitment that she intends to see through at least until the end of Walter’s term. As their relationship deepens, Mulder sets aside the knowledge that he is hopelessly in love with her and tries to stop himself from imagining a life for them that does not include deception and broken vows. 

They christen each of the sixteen guest bedrooms over the course of as many weeks. Mulder never steps beyond the threshold of the master bedroom, but he takes her from behind in the Lincoln bedroom, the historical significance of the space concurrently gauche and exciting. The Queen’s bedroom becomes his favorite spot after he sits in an antique upholstered chair in the corner with Scully kneeling before him, the head of his cock slipping down the back of her throat as he fights to stifle his groans. 

They don’t always have sex. Sometimes they just kiss and cuddle, and he listens to her talk about her dreams for her life after this. Dreams that will likely not come to fruition now that she has held a position whose title she can never shake, but he still encourages her as she talks about a private pediatric practice and a quiet country home. 

The future is so uncertain, and so he tries to live in the now. He stays in these secret, stolen moments, in the feel of her waist beneath his fingertips and her alabaster skin under his lips. He stays in the joyful bark of her laugh and the hesitant bloom of her smile. He doesn’t allow himself to think about later, about after. He doesn’t allow himself to face the truth that these secret stolen moments are likely all they will ever have. 

&

The cracking cold of January bites at his nose and the tips of his ears, but he’s outside on the West Court nonetheless. He understands that Scully cannot publicly snub Walter, that their displays of affection are a part of the facade, but it still makes his stomach roll to see her brush her painted lips over his cheek, and watch his hand settle on her lower back. He feels possessive, unrightly so, and the brisk air is bringing him back to earth. 

He’d asked her once if she and Walter still have sex, and she’d averted her eyes, immediately making him regret the question. In the end, she told him only that they always use condoms to avoid pregnancy, and while he gathered that this information was meant to make him feel better, it only made him feel sick. He and Scully have never used protection, though she assures him she’s on reliable birth control. After that conversation he’s found that he feels territorial as he comes inside her, like he’s marking her as his property. He hates himself for thinking of her as any kind of object to be claimed, but at the same time he desperately wants her to belong to only him.

“Jesus, Fox, you’ll catch your death out here,” Diana admonishes as she steps through the balcony doors, wrapped up in a heavy fur coat. 

“I’d rather die of hypothermia than be subjected to more hobnobbing,” he replies through chattering teeth, his shoulders scrunched up around his ears to try and keep the chill off his neck. 

“Do you have plans after this?” she asks, standing a little closer than is entirely necessary. 

“Probably a hot shower and a strong drink,” he replies, a single shiver running down his spine. 

“I was thinking about checking out that new bar on L Street,” she says hopefully, “if you’d care for some company.”

“I don’t think so Diana,” he says gently. “Maybe some other time.”

She huffs a frustrated sigh. 

“I don’t mean to be too forward,” she says curtly, “but you’ve been saying ‘some other time’ for nearly a year. If you’re not interested, just say so. I’m a big girl, I can handle it.”

Suddenly the party isn’t sounding so bad, in terms of uncomfortable social situations. He looks longingly at the balcony doors, hoping for someone to pop out and say that she is urgently needed inside. 

“I’m sorry, Diana, I never intended to string you along. I’m flattered, but not interested,” he says, looking over her shoulder to the frozen lawn. 

“You’re seeing someone?” she asks, and his eyes snap over to hers to gauge whether there is something behind the question. She looks wounded, but not suspicious. 

“Would it make you feel better if I say that I am?” he offers, and she sets her jaw, nodding. 

“Point taken. Enjoy the rest of your evening, Fox.”

She turns on her heel and struts back inside. If he’d known it would be that easy to shake her, he would have done it months ago.    

Walter boards Air Force One that night, en route to Guatemala, and Phil ushers Scully through Mulder’s front door just before midnight. He coaxes her into the shower, which he jokes probably pales in comparison to her typical accommodations, but with her back pressed against the cool tile wall and his hips nestled between her thighs, she doesn’t seem to mind the lack of luxury. 

“I want you,” he says, even as he’s thrusting into her with the spray of the shower bouncing off his back. 

“You have me,” she answers on a gasp. “I’m right here.”

“I want you to be mine,” he confesses, his wet lips on her neck. 

“I want to be yours,” she whimpers into his ear. 

“Tell me you are,” he begs, pinning his body tightly against hers as he drives into her. 

“I’m yours,” she says breathlessly, clutching around him as she nears release. “I’m all yours.”

He falls apart, his knees nearly buckling and sending them both crashing to the shower floor. He pours into her with his love, and his want, and his cum. He clings to her as though he can hold her tight enough that she won’t have to let go. 

She leaves before sunup, and he is left alone in his bed with cooling sheets on her side and an ache in his chest that won’t let up. 

Tagging @today-in-fic

[cerastes]

What do you make of Specter's operator record? Personally I liked it, but that's with the knowledge we're getting more Specter backstory soon.

Ok, so! Just as you pointed out, I went into it with the knowledge that:

We're getting Under TIDES soon.

Specter gets a second Operator Record later, some time after Under TIDES.

And with that in mind, I'm fine with it, but if I was a CN player and all we got was Specter's first Operator Record without any knowledge of the future, I would be pretty pissed, lmao. In fact, CN players were pretty pissed, the reception to her Operator Record was pretty bad. Specter is a popular character both in terms of gameplay and character (the latter more so in China, she gets a steady influx of cosplayers, fanart and fanfic in Weibo, Lofter, and such). It's believed that Hypergryph announced her second Operator Record because of this backlash.

Now, with the context and preamble on the table, I want to say: Great idea, not so great execution. Overall, I enjoyed it, but again, that's only with knowledge of the future. Despite that, I sincerely praise Hypergryph for actually having the balls to try a narrative approach like this one on a mobile game. The thing is, just because an idea is interesting doesn't mean it's good, and I think a lot of aspiring writers and designers need to hammer that in their head, especially armchair game designers that like to theorize oh so much about how cool it would be to have a game that did this or that. I don't care if it's cool or not, is it enjoyable to experience?

And that's just the thing with Specter's Operator Record: It felt lackluster in many regards. The approach was definitely interesting, bold, I'd even say, but that doesn't really matter too much if the result isn't a success, now, does it? Let's immediately address the Originium Slug in the room: Specter doesn't even appear in it. Now, is that an interesting approach to an Operator Record? Sure! Is it good? I don't really think so, especially with a character that fans really have been clamoring to see more of in actual cutscenes, given the wealth of clues they've put regarding Specter in other places:

Blue Poison' Files -> We learn that Blue Poison knew Specter personally before her descent to madness, addressing her with her real name.

Skadi's Dialogue -> Skadi implies that Specter was on a very important mission, and more or less confirms she knew her before she went crazy.

Several pieces of official art -> Specter is associated with the phrase "All seas are singing your name".

Ceobe's Fungimist -> It's implied the cursed painting depicting the end times is the same confusing painting Specter painted in her Token.

Rosmontis' Files -> It's confirmed that Specter's spinal cord is filed to the brim with originium fluid, and the Medical Team theorizes that, just like Rosmontis, her infection was artificially induced. It also confirms that they have no idea how Specter is able to fight such an insanely high level of infection.

So, see, this has been a character that fans have really been clamoring to see again. The only cutscene Specter's ever been is the secret cutscene of Grani and the Knight's Treasure AKA the very first event in the game. Understandably, after two years of the game existing, people were a bit miffed that once again we just get breadcrumbs and a non-participation 'appearance', to say the least, in what's supposed to be her day in the limelight.

Now, personally, I kind of get how they are handling her, and the Operator Records are a very faithful reflection of this: Specter is meant to be this mysterious force that we don't have clearance to know about, as Kal'tsit herself is the only one authorized to treat her or even enter her containment quarters. And, in this regard, I think the Records succeed:

It all starts innocently with Suzuran drawing Specter in a Secret Santa and then having to start deep diving to find out who the hell even IS Specter, because absolutely no one knows of her. Eventually, Suzuran lucks out by asking Meteorite, who did participate in a mission with Specter once, to which Suzuran immediately reacts: "Hey hold on, don't they send you on pretty dangerous missions all the time?", and Meteorite's answer is, "Yeah, and she's right at home there."

Now, this is really interesting because we, as Doctor, have some level of clearance: We know things about Specter and can even converse with her to a certain degree, because Doctor is a high authority in Rhodes Island, but the average Operator, like Suzuran, Aosta and Chiave, doesn't even know of her existence. She's one of Rhodes Island's well kept secrets, even within Rhodes Island. Even Meteorite, a veteran Sarkaz mercenary and a bombardment expert, only knows about Specter in a need-to-know basis (because they deployed once together). More telling is the fact that Meteorite doesn't think she'd get along with Specter, simply based on the fact that, just on that one operation, the level of violence and carnage brought upon by Specter unnerved even her, a Kazdel Sarkaz veteran. Well, to be precise, it's not the sheer level of destruction that Specter is capable of that unnerved Meteorite, it's the fact that she does it all seemingly without a care in the world, expressionless, soundless, simply following orders to the letter without showing or taking in a single emotion. To paraphrase Meteorite, "someone that can unleash such destruction and violence upon others so easily, and that can then just not mind it in the slightest, has something wrong and concerning going on with them, no doubt".

Next up, we also learn that Folinic has very restricted, also on a need-to-know basis access to Specter. Keep in mind that Folinic is extremely competent and not at all a stranger to danger: She handles Phantom. So this is a huge hint: There's perhaps more to the secrecy regarding Specter than just her being a dangerous, unstable element. Folinic could reasonably handle Specter professionally, but it's not about whether she can or not, it's about information, and this brings us back to Grani and the Knight's Treasure: Kal'tsit makes it clear to Skadi that Specter is, as a whole, inaccessible to everyone but her, that only she has clearance to access Specter's quarters. Keep in mind that Skadi does not operate in the same conditions, despite also being an Abyssal Hunter. In fact, it's well known that Skadi is infamous among other Operators for being unreasonable and obstructive in operations, as well as unapproachable outside of them (unless you are Grani, who managed to successfully befriend Skadi and vouches for her). There's things about Specter that are so sensitive, so important, that Kal'tsit can't risk them getting out, and even using her as an Operator is something reserved for very dangerous operations. Not even Warfarin, senior staff and Operator that's been with Rhodes Island for a very long time, has full access to Specter, but she clearly knows the importance of keeping her under curtains, given she immediately diffused the Folinic-Suzuran situation by coming up with a compromise on the spot.

There's another interesting contrast between Files and the Operator Record: Meteorite describes Specter as "dead silent". Mind you, we knew from before, thanks to Specter's Files, that the shark is completely silent in battle, but we also do know that she incoherently rambles quite a lot. Folinic sheds some light onto this, explaining that Specter intentionally stays silent most of the time so as to not say anything that could be misunderstood when around others. When she's in a more private setting, however, she does let loose with the insane talk. This is confirmation of something that had been hinted at before: Even though she's insane, there's a fervent part of her clinging onto sanity for dear life with bloodied, splintered fingers, and it manifests itself in how she'll never harm an ally, and how Specter is, to a certain degree, aware of how far gone she is, and thus keeps her mouth shut around others that aren't Doctor or Kal'tsit, so as to not spook them out or accidentally threaten them with her insane rambling.

Then, at the very end, after Suzuran managed to get her present to her, Specter does in fact deliver a thank you present back to Suzuran: A music box, consistent with Specter's love for the arts. Of course, the gift might have been chosen by a proxy of hers (Skadi or Blue Poison, both known to also enjoy music), but the message is all the same: Specter clearly appreciated the gift, and was mentioned to see an improvement in her condition after receiving the doll Suzuran gave her.

So, in paper? All of this? I love it. Of course I do, she's my favorite character, and it was such a bold way to present her Record, too, I respect them trying out new things, it managed to capture the essence of "the mysterious, terrifying fighting machine Operator they don't want us to know about that's actually a pretty sweet and decent person, just going through some really hard stuff" that they've been going for with Specter, it's just, I can also understand (and agree with) fans because... It's been two years, bwahaha, let us see her again, you know? It's her Operator Record, we've gotten some VERY good insights into the lives and days of other Operators through those, like with Angelina's or Kroos'! Of course we also wanted something like that, bwahaha.

What I would've loved, and what I think would've made it all better with fans, is if the final scene had Specter actually show up in Suzuran's room like the cryptid she is, with Suzuran noting the security door had just sort of been casually pried open, Specter's perpetual smile on her face as she's holding her thank you gift before Warfarin and Folinic just sort of storm into the room like "DUDE, WE SAID YOU CAN'T--", she thanks Suzuran wordlessly, gently hands her the music box, and then she calmly turns back and walks back to her confinement quarters.

But, yeah, I've gone on for long enough. I appreciate it overall, knowing what's coming, and I appreciate the idea, I just think they could've handled it better, but the whole essence and message of it, I think lands pretty nicely.

[just-my-fandom]

Rocky Road P1 (JJ Maybank x Routeledge! Reader)

This is a test chapter. If it gets the attention I want it to, we’ll continue. If not, this will be the only chapter, mainly because of the time each chapter takes since each episode ranges between 40 to 50 minutes.

Chapter 1

Word count: 3,538

Summary; After a hurricane, John B, Y/N, JJ, Pope, and Kiara plunge headlong into danger and adventure when they find a mysterious sunken wreck.

Pairing(s); John B Routledge x Twin Sister! Reader, JJ Maybank x Girlfriend! Reader, Pope and Kiara x Best Friend! Reader

Tag list; Currently None.

“We’re the Pogues, and our misson this summer is to have a good time, all the time,”

“That’s what, a three-story fall to the deck?” The dark male at the bottom of the house, Pope Heyward, looks up at the brunette boy balancing on the roof before him, “I give you a one-in-three chance of survival,”

John B hums in thought, licking his finger before raising it to the sky, allowing the wind to hit said finger, “Should I do it?”

“Yeah,” A girl with (hair/color) locks and warm, (skin/tone) skin dangles her legs from the roof next to her twin brother, body leant up against the blonde male beside her, “You should definitely jump,”

“I’ll shoot you on the way down,” Pope promises, raising the staple gun in his hand so John B raised his eyebrows, pointing two fingers in a gun motion,

“They’re gonna have Japanese toilets with towe warmers,” A female with dark hair and dark skin climbs out of the unfinished home, looking up at her group of friends, “This used to be a turtle habitat, but, who cares about the turtles, I guess?”

“I care about the turtles, Kiara,” You fake a small pout to your best friend, reaching a hand over the railing to grab her fingers and squeeze,

“Can you please not kill yourself?” Kiara looks up and squints at your brother,

“Don’t spill that beer!” JJ calls up, one arm draped at your shoulders as the other raises his can to his lips, “I’m not giving you another one,”

On cue, John B lets out a curse as the beer can slips from his fingers, dropping and clashing onto the porch of the unfinished home beneath him,

“Smooth,” Kiara mumbles, looking over at a distant shout,

“Hey, uh, security’s here,” Pope states, and you clap your hands, sliding beneath the railing to jump down next to Kiara, JJs hand tapping your back thigh in a motion for you to start running,

“Boys are early today,” John B hops down, feet taking off into a sprint,

Your lips pull into a grin as you follow after your twin brother, pushing past shelves and jumping over paint cans through the constructed house,

“Hey, Gary!” You call, skidding past the older, bigger man, “No hugs for you today!”

You giggle as JJs hands lift your hips to raise you above the gate, his body dropping next to you before his hand takes yours and squeezes, allowing you to hop into the van before he follows after you, laughing,

“Hey, there’s Gary!” Pope calls, JJ leaning out the vans door to hold out a beer can to Gary’s running figure,

“You’re so close! You can do it, there you go!” With a toss, JJ watches the can hit Gary upside the head, “They don’t pay you enough, bro,”

“Okay, that’s enough,” You snort, tugging JJ into the van so the door shut, JJs body dropping next to yours with an excited breath of rushed adrenaline.

“The Outer Banks, Paradise on Earth. It’s the sort of place you either have two jobs or two houses. Two tribes, one island,”

“Alright, this is Figure Eight, the rich side of the island. Home of the Kooks. So guess where we don’t live. And then this is the South Side, or the Cut. Home of the working class who make a living busing tables, natural habit of, drumroll please,”

“The Pogues,”

You lift up the hook to the HMS Pogue, turning to shield the sun from your eyes with your hand. Moving across the boat, you move into where the steering wheel took place, JJ looking at you past his sunglasses and sliding a hand to your bare back,

“That’s Y/N,” John B introduces, “My twin sister and my pain in the ass. Or, blue bird as our father used to call her. Y/N is our mom of the group, somehow keeps us stable and in check from getting arrested three or four times a day,”

“And that’s JJ. My best friend since the third grade. He’s about as local as they come. Latest in a long line of fishing, drinking, smuggling, vendetta-holding salt-lifers who made their living off the water. Best surfer I know. Just, don’t tell him I said that,”

You yelp as your body drops into the water, awaiting for the wave above you to settle before rising above the surface. You snort, JJ stepping off his board playfully so he landed beside you with a hard splash,

“Together they’re known as Outer Banks’ OTP, as Kiara puts it. Been together since seventh grade and still going strong. Of course even with JJ as my best friend, I still gotta hand his ass to himself sometimes,”

“Don’t even get me started on micro plastic,” Sitting at the bonfire, Kiara is quick to shove John B away from the choke hold he puts her in,

“And that’s Kiara, or Kie, as we call her. When she’s not saving turtles or getting a dolphin tattoo with Y/N, she hangs out with us. I’m not really sure why, though. Pope thinks she’s secretly madly in love with my sister and uses us to get to her, but, I can’t see Y/N leaving JJ for even Chris Hemsworth, and that’s saying something,”

“And that’s Pope, the brains of the operation, finalist for the Lucas T. Vanderhorst Merit Scholarship, and the smartest person I know. His fathers this legendary character, Heyward. Anything you wanted on the island, Heyward could get for you,”

“So, that’s my crew,”

“John, Y/N, it’s come to our attention that you both are unemancipated minors living on your own,” The social worker in front of you at her desk sighs,

“No,” You and John B instantly respond, sharing glances before you grimace, “No,”

“I need honesty to help you,” The woman responds, eyebrow raised, “That’s what we want, right?”

“Yeah,” You nod, shrugging, “But we’re being honest,”

“Okay,” The woman leans back, “When was the last time either of you spoke to your uncle,”

You look at your wrist- with no watch- glancing at John B who shifts in his seat, “Uh, thirty-four minutes ago,”

“When was the last time you saw him?”

John B looks at you this time. “Two hours and,” You pause, “Fourty-three minutes ago?”

“Kids, we’re gonna come out there tomorrow to talk to your uncle,” The worker sighs, again, “If he’s not there, we’re gonna move forward with foster care,”

You exhale a sharp breath, hand running down your face.

“Keep an eye for Hurricane Agatha. She’s coming hard and heavy tonight,”

“No phone service?” John B groans as he raises to his feet, body heavy with sleep. His finger flicks the light switch. Nothing. “No power?”

John B exits his bedroom to depart to the living area. On the pull out couch, laid his sister and best friend. While you laid on your back, breaths even, JJ laid on his stomach, arm draped across your tank-top covered chest with his head beside yours,

“Yo, JJ,” John B calls, hand smacking JJs upper back so JJs head snapped up, his movement startling you to lift your own head, “You been outside?”

“I have polio, bro,” JJ mumbles, lips pressed to your shoulder, “I can’t walk,”

You heave a laugh, turning to curl into JJ so his arm slid around your hip and pulled you closer. You finally heave a breath, pulling away from JJ so he moaned in protest, your grin tired as you grab his hand and pull him up with you,

“Agatha did some work, huh?” JJ calls out to John B in the front yard, leaning against the open screen door with a found beer in his hand, and looking at the time, you choose not to scold him for his choice of drink as soon as he woke up,

“Yeah she did,” John B hums, tossing a branch off the boat that was brought out to shore.

“C’mon,” You call, pulling your tank top off so you were left in the bikini you fell asleep in, “Gods telling us to fish,”

“What do we have here?” You lift a hand to shield your eyes, watching Pope turn to look at you from his deck,

“We have a safety meeting,” John B calls, hand at his shoulder in a fake walkie-talkie, “Attendance mandatory,”

“Cant, Pops got me on lockdown,” Pope frowns, JJ scoffing,

“Your dads a pussy, over,”

“Oh I heard that, you little bastard,” Heyward snaps, and you raise your chin with a smile,

“We need your son,”

“And hurricane days a free day,” JJ reminds,

“Who the hell made that up?” Heyward questions, and you furrow your brows in pretend thought,

“Pentagon, I think,” You grin, “We have security clearance,”

“You think I’m stupid?” Heyward questions, stepping forward when Pope drops the hose in his hand and lunges off the porch, landing on the HMS boat with a stumble so your arm wrapped around his shoulders, laughing,

“When you get back, you gonna clean your dirty ass room!” Heyward demands, as you wave, “And I don’t like your friends!”

“Hello, princess,” You lean on the edge of the boat, smiling dreamily at Kiara as she moves to the edge of her boat deck. You extend a hand, helping her step down before turning to look at JJ,

“One day, she’s going to take you from me, I know it,” JJ pouts, and you smirk, leaning sideways so your lips pecked his,

“Nah, I like blondes more,” You grin against his mouth, JJs hand coming up to cup the back of your neck,

“Take your beer before I barf,” Kiara cuts, shoving two beer bottles between you so you leaned back and took one, narrowing your eyes,

“Okay, okay,” JJ stands up, popping the top to his bottle and moving to stand on the edge, “I got this,”

“No, you tried this six thousand times and you failed every time,” You remind, leaning back so the beer that missed his mouth flew past you, John B groaning in disgust.

You reach up to tug at JJs shorts in an attempt to pull him back down, the sudden jerk of the boat forcing JJ off the ledge, your body lurching forward so you hit the edge of the boat- hard- groaning at the pain in your muscles,

“Pope, what the hell?” John B calls, as you lift you head, watching JJ resurface from the water,

“J, you okay?”

“I think my heels touched the back of my head,”

Pope snorts, stepping up, face dropping as he looks down into the water, “Guys,”

“What?” You finally sit up, following your gaze so you cursed, “Holy shit, there’s a boat,”

“No way,” Kiara moves next to you, “Holy shit,” She repeats, “There is,”

John B tugs off his shirt, your legs leading you off the edge so you dropped into the water beside JJ, hand over your nose.

Sure as shit, a boat. An expensive one, that is. Rising for air, you watch your friends talk all at once in hysterics for your finding,

“Did you see that?” JJ calls to everyone, Kiara nodding with a short, “Yeah, I did,”

“That’s a Grady White,” JJ swims up to the HMS boat, heaving himself up before twisting and taking your hand, “A new one of those is like five hundred Gs, easy,”

“That’s the boat I saw when I surfed the surge,” John B states, as you twist the water out of your hair, “Maybe it hit the jetty or something,”

“You surfed the surge?” Kiara asks, roughly, and you squint your eyes with a grin

“You didn’t?”

“Do we know whose boat that is?” Pope asks, heaving a breath of air from how long he held it underwater,

“No, but we’re about to find out,” John B picks up the anchor, saluting you before he jumps back off the boat, allowing the weight of the anchor to pull him down.

He comes back up in short time, hand raising to show you the yellow key in his hand, “I found this motel key,”

“A key,” Your smile drops into irritation, pushing away from the edge to sit down, the adrenaline quick to leave your system,

“Yes, a key, Y/N,” John B lifts himself up,

“Guys, we should report the wreck to the coast guard,” Kiara states, as the boat begins to speed off, “Maybe we’ll get a finders fee,”

“Yeah and not work all summer,” You hum, letting the wind blow dry your hair, “Maybe we should just go find out ourselves. Go to this motel, does it have a name?”

You reach out, taking the key from John B and reading the name before handing it back, “Let’s go lady and gents,”

A sharp whistle, and you look up at the damaged motel, “I thought the Chateau looked bad,” You raise to stand up, waiting for the boat to stop on the edge of the grass before hopping off, “Kie, Pope, keep a lookout,”

“Shouldn’t you stay here?” Kiara asks, eyes glancing to JJ jumping beside you,

“Are you kidding?” You grin, JJs arm sliding around your shoulders before he points up to the motel,

“Let me take you on a tour, sweetheart,” He teases, pulling you towards the steps with John B quick behind you,

“Just be so careful, John B,” JJ turns to grab John Bs jaw, mocking Kiaras demand to your twin brother,

“God, you’re so weird,” John B shoved him away, JJ scoffing as he looks at you,

“What was that about?” He asks your brother,

“I don’t know, maybe she wants us to be careful,” John B protests, and you roll your eyes,

“Or maybe Kiara loves you,” You tease, sliding your own arm around JJs torso as you walked in sync, “Come on, big brother, Kiara totally likes you,”

“If Kiara likes anyone it’s you, babe,” JJ states, “C’mon, we all know she’s secretly gay for you,”

“Maybe,” You hum, grinning as he removes his arm to send a light knock to the door on the key,

“Housekeeping,” He speaks in a high-pitch voice, receiving no answer,

John B unlocks the door, and you pear over JJs shoulder, body slumping in disappointment at the empty, boring hotel room,

“Check the bag,” John B orders, JJ unzipping it, “See if there’s a name on there somewhere,”

“Nope,” You lift the jacket on the stool, “No name,”

John B kneels down, your eyes watching as he pressed random buttons on the safe, “John, try this,” You hold out the sticky note with numbers, and he hums in thanks,

The safe opens with a short hiss, John B cheering out a small “yay” as he pulls it wide,

“Whoa,” You mutter, watching John B pull out a wad of cash and a small hand gun, “Holy shit,”

“What?” JJ steps up, instantly taking the gun and grinning,

“Put the gun back,” John B hisses, raising to his feet, “JJ, seriously!”

“This is a fucking spend gatt, man. Just... bam! Bam!” JJ pretends to shoot, your eyes snapping to the door upon hearing keys,

“Guys- cops!” You hiss, JJ looking at you before following John B to the window,

“Get it open,” John B presses, and the window opens wide, “Go,” You move out and onto the small roof under the window. JJ is quick to follow after, body pressing you against the side of the motel beside the window,

“Can they see us?” You whisper yell, JJs head barely shaking as he turns his head, silently staring at John B on the other side of the window,

A moments pause, JJs hand suddenly dropping the gun in his grip so it clattered off the roof and into the grass. Your jaw clenched as JJ presses himself harder against you, arms tight around your waist so you were nearly invisible to the window,

“You should have forgotten the stupid gun,” You hiss, lowly, JJ shushing you as his eyes flick between yours, then tilts his head to look at John B again. Your head leans forward into JJs chest, eyes watching in terror as Chief Shoupe peered out the window, then leaned away back into the motel room,

Your eyes flutter shut in relief, JJs hands loosening at your hips as your head leans back against the wall, looking back up to meet his gaze, “You’re an idiot,”

“Well that was fun,” JJ comments fifteen minutes later, your body laid across the front of the HMS Pogue, “Could have warned us sooner though,”

“We would have, except Pope was on the math team,” Kiara comments, showing Pope had failed to throw a rock at the window to alarm you,

“You were on the math team?” You glance at Pope, who rolls his eyes,

“The cops took everything like it was a crime scene,” John B speaks up,

“Did you guys find anything?” Pope questions, JJ raising his head before his hands, showing off the gun and the wad of cash,

“Dude, why take that from a crime scene?” Kiara hisses, and your eyes squint as Pope begins to panic about losing his scholarship,

“So it turns out, Scooter is the Grady White owner,” Pope shows up at the Chateau an hour later, pacing in front of you curled in the corner chair, JJ in the recline beside you, “We need to have total and complete amnesia,”

“For once, Popes right,” JJ speaks up, hand leaving your thigh to stand up, “See, I agree with you sometimes, deny, deny, deny,”

“Guys, we can’t keep that money,” Kiara speaks, and you lift your head off your hand,

“I agree with Kiara,” You nod, “We have to pass that off to Lana Grubbs,”

“I agree,” John B echoes, and you raise your eyebrows at your twin brother, “This dude has never had more than forty bucks in his pocket, and all of a sudden he has a Grady White?” John B raises his hands, stepping into the house, “Just sayin’,”

Keggers. A party that brings Tourons, Pogues, and Kooks all together, somehow. They always seem to end with a fight, though. The one thing you looked forward to.

Except when it’s your own idiots who start the fight.

“Did I offer this to you?” JJ raises his eyebrows along with the red solo cup, blue eyes harsh on Topper, the Kook princess’ boyfriend, “Didn’t think so, run along,”

In swift motions, Topper has smacked the beer into JJs face, JJ has lunged at Topper, and within seconds, Topper is drowning John B in the ocean and JJ is shooting a gun into the air.

“That’s enough!” Your shout silences the group. Huh. Okay. “Kooks, onto your side, Pogues!” You jab a finger towards Pope pulling John B up, “Let’s fucking go,”

“Youre not still mad at me, are you?”

Your eyes shift over to the blonde next to you. Hair blowing in the wind, your mind runs over last night events. Today’s event- John B searching the Grady White using stolen scuba gear,

“You brought out a gun, at a party,” You remind, head tilted to look at him,

“Okay, I was saving your brothers ass, just so you know,” JJ leans back, and your eyes run over his face, wide,

“My brother wouldn’t have almost been drowned if you weren’t arguing with Topper,” You protest, voice snipping, “So don’t bring this around on him,”

“Guys,” Kiara cuts, your eyes narrowing in irritation as you look at her, “Someone’s following us,”

“There’s two of them,” Pope squints, staring at the two figures on the boat behind, “And one of thems got a gun- holy shit!”

JJ is quick to grab your arm and tug you into him, free hand grabbing the edge of the boat as you drop onto the floor of said boat, your eyes wide in alert,

“Holy shit guys!” Kiara panics, your eyes pinching shut as JJs hand slid up to your head, his own lifting to look over at the two men shooting constant bullets,

“Damn it, move,” Kiara steps over Pope, picking up the fishing next piled at your feet,

“Kiara, get down!” You squeak, eyes tearing as she threw the net, cutting the second boats engine so John B is able to steer away,

“Oh my god,” You panic, sitting up as JJ follows, his hand sliding from your shoulder to your hip to check for any injuries,

“Okay okay okay. Can you please open the bag? We almost died over this shit,”

You kneel down in front of John B opening the bag, pulling out a container that held a compass,

“Great,” Pope steps back, shaking his head, “We found a compass,”

Your brows furrow as you take the compass, flicking it open so your eyes widened and looked up at John B,

“Dude, what?” JJ asks, “It’s not worth anything,”

“This was dads,” You exhale, throat suddenly tight as JJs face fell and his eyes searched your face, “This- this is dads compass, John B,”

John Bs eyes raise to yours, then up to the group behind you.

Could Big John still be alive?

[babyjamiebarnes]

Build-A-Bear

Part One

Featuring: Bucky x Stark!reader, dad!Tony, Peter Parker (platonic), background MCU characters

Warnings: [chapter] language; [series] language, smut, violence

Summary: The only people who knew she was actually a Stark were her dad, her step-mom Pepper, and her “uncles” Happy and Rhodey. A promotion within Stark Industries takes her from an already-sought after position in the Weapons Anaylsis Unit straight to the Avengers as a Weapons Enhancement Specialist... which means her dad is her new boss. There’s only one rule at work: no fraternizing with coworkers. There’s one more rule at home: no dating any Avengers. So what is she supposed to do when a grumpy super soldier becomes not-so-grumpy around her? At 25, do her dad’s rules still apply? Or is her entire livelihood at risk?

Author’s Note: I’ve written a decent portion of this but know I won’t keep writing it or post it unless I hold myself accountable and get it out there in the first place 🙈 I haven’t written much for Marvel yet but I’ve read plenty and have written for other fandoms in the past (not to mention the writing degree on my wall lol). I’ll try to post every 2-3 days to keep this moving! And if you like it and want to, buy me a coffee!

No one knew Tony Stark had a daughter. No one but Tony Stark and his daughter. Well, and her step-mom Pepper. And her godfather Rhodey. And her uncle-not-uncle Happy. But no one in their everyday lives knew. She was given her mother’s maiden name and kept a secret, even when she turned 17 and moved to a small apartment near NYU’s campus (with Happy stationed right next door, of course) to start life as a truly normal adult, or as close to normal as an undercover Stark could be. When she graduated with her PhDs in robotics and electrical engineering at 25 — proving brains really do run in the family — she moved into her own apartment in Manhattan, funded by her father under the pseudonym “Michael Myers.” Subtlety was never his strong suit.

Fortunately for you, growing up without the Stark name let you live a relatively normal life. It also allowed you to apply for a position within Stark Industries without being ushered past any red tape because of who your father is. Outside of the financial advantage you had, you worked for your spot in a STEM career. You suffered through every man in your field belittling your work despite knowing less than you. You dealt with the constant interruptions and “well, actually” because of your gender. You powered through late nights and early mornings when your mind was flowing too smoothly to quit.

The last thing you wanted to do was have all that work disregarded because you shared a name with genius billionaire playboy philanthropist Tony Stark. So you filled out the application, sent in your resume and cover letter, and attached three letters of recommendation from your professors. You went through hours of interviews, background checks (conveniently redacting your father’s name), and polygraph tests until that offer letter showed up in your email. You even had to sign the Non-Disclosure Agreements that would bar you from discussing *anything* work-related with anyone outside of your department.

You spent your first year in the weapons analysis department, evaluating alien weaponry and determining how it worked and how to disable it. You had your fair share of mishaps, of course. Holes blasted into walls, fried robot dummies, even burnt animal carcasses. By the end of your first year, your supervisor sent a commendation and proposal for you for an undisclosed promotion. After Pepper Potts “thoroughly examined your resume, cover letter, and accomplishments during your tenure with Stark Industries,” as the letter read, you were awarded a position working on the Avengers’ weapons as a Weapons Enhancement Specialist. You’d never see a fight in-person, but you were assigned to work on advancements and post-battle repairs for everyone, from the Winter Soldier’s arm to the Falcon’s wings to Vision’s... everything. The only heroes you wouldn’t work on were Iron Man and War Machine (those were your dad’s territory) and Spider-Man.

On your first day in your new position, the one and only Pepper Potts showed you to your new lab on the 47th floor. It took all your willpower to look your step-mother in the eye and say, “Wow, Miss Potts. This is amazing. It’s such an honor to meet you,” with a straight face to convince any passerby that you had no outside affiliation with her. Even if her eyes stayed steady on you, you could see her mentally rolling them.

Once you were alone behind the doors of the elevator, conversation changed course.

“You’re going to be sharing a lab with someone else,” Pepper said.

“Sweet. As long as they’re competent, that’s fine by me,” you shrugged. Part of earning your degrees was learning to share a workspace with others, even those who bumbled and fumbled with no idea what they were doing. You’d had more hair singed by nearby explosions than you’d like to admit.

“He’s still in college so he’s not here as often as the others. Most of his work will be on Spider-Man’s gadgets and suit, but you can use him for any help you need.”

Walking past the familiar faces of Dr. Banner and Dr. Cho in their respective labs, Pepper ushered you into your lab, where you were met by your father and put on the same excited facade you did with Pepper.

“Oh my god, you’re Tony Stark! This is incredible! It’s such an honor to meet you, sir!”

He shook his head at you and reluctantly accepted your outstretched hand. Oh, the jokes you’d be making at family dinners.

“Yeah, anyway, this is your new lab, Miss [Y/L/N]. Make yourself at home. This lab rat over here is mister Parker. If you have any questions, he can at least bullshit an answer for you.”

The young man on the other side of the lab perked up at the sound of his name. He tugged the goggles off his face and set down his soldering rod to rush over to you.

“Hi. Hi, I’m Peter,” he said, reaching his hand out to you.

“I’m [Y/N]. It’s nice to meet you, lab partner.”

He looked to be a bit younger than you and at least relatively smart, if the MIT sweatshirt peeking out from under his lab coat said anything. If your dad gave him an internship like this, you knew you shouldn’t question it. He had to be a genius.

The kid just smiled at you, continuing to shake your hand past what most would deem socially acceptable.

“Okay, enough of that,” Tony said, pushing on your joined hands to separate you two. “Mister Parker might be in and out of the lab from time to time. He joins the Avengers on the occasional recon mission for immediate repairs but since he’s on break from classes, you’ll see him more often than not. Play nice.”

When he noticed you surreptitiously looking Peter up and down, he added, “Remember, no fraternizing with coworkers.” He pointed a finger directly at you before he spun and pointed to your fellow lab mate, realizing he should warn Peter too to save face.

“All the blueprints you need for the Tin Man’s arm are in the system. We’ll have you start on that and see what you can do about minimizing the sound that thing makes. Any other questions, give Pep a call.”

“Thank you, mister Stark. I really do appreciate everything,” you said genuinely.

“Yeah, well… don’t let me down,” he replied, patting you on the shoulder on his way out. Pepper followed close behind, leaving you alone with Peter Parker.

“So Peter,” you started, sliding onto the lab chair next to where he remained standing, “tell me about yourself.”

“Uh… what do you want to know?” he asked as he shoved his hands into his coat pockets.

“How old are you?” you asked immediately.

“I’m 21.”

Only four years younger than you. So you’d probably get along just fine.

“I assume you’re at MIT?” He nodded. “What are you studying?”

“Biomolecular and mechanical engineering.” He said it so casually, you’d think he was talking about the last song he heard on the radio.

“Damn,” you responded, eyes wide. “I thought robotics and electrical engineering was wild but fuck, that sounds like hell.”

He laughed and nodded, letting a bit of the tension in his shoulders fall. “Yeah, it’s not easy. But it’s worth it.”

He shot you a small smile before gesturing back at his project. “I should probably get back to work and let you get started.”

For the rest of the day, you familiarized yourself with the Winter Soldier’s arm to figure out how to… turn the volume down? You assumed it was the gears inside causing the noise, but part of you wanted to outfit an audio jack and speaker just to fuck with your dad.

You and Peter worked in relative silence, aside from the playlist he had quietly playing through the lab sound system. When lunch rolled around, however, you finally spoke up.

“Hey Peter,” you called, his eyes flicking from the chemical beakers in front of him up to you. “First of all, what are you doing?”

“Um, it’s Spider-Man’s web fluid. Just trying to find more durable combinations.”

“Interesting.” As much as you wanted to touch the stringy substance, you knew better than to fiddle with someone else’s lab work. “Okay so second thing, in my last position, I’d just order food and have it brought to my floor but now that I’m on an exclusive floor, what do you do for lunch?”

“Oh, there are a couple security guys who have clearance to come into this floor. They just can’t get into any rooms so you’d have to meet them at the elevator. But I usually find something in the kitchen down the hall.”

“Oh, sweet. Thanks!” you said as you made your way out the door. Before you could fully exit, you turned back to see if Peter wanted you to grab anything. Once he promised he’d take his own break ‘once I get this one thing figured out,’ you continued to make your way to the kitchen.

As you drew closer to the doorway, you could hear three voices speaking over each other. They didn’t sound angry, but they were definitely arguing. You opened the door anyway and almost immediately froze in your tracks. The Falcon stood with one hand on his own head and one on the Winter Soldier’s head while Captain America rolled his eyes before those same eyes landed on you, along with the rest of the room.

“Perfect,” Sam started. “Hey new girl, between the three of us,” he said, pointing to himself, the Soldier, and the Captain, “who has the best hair?”

“First of all, my name is [Y/N]. Second,” you continued, making your way past them to the fridge you hoped your dad kept stocked with goodies, “that’s an unfair question.”

You grabbed a soda and popped it open before turning back to the three men. “Your hair suits each of you. Cap wouldn’t look good with Winter Soldier hair and Falcon wouldn’t look good with Cap’s hair.” You took a few steps closer, leaning against the island counter between you and eyeing each of them. Your eyes settled on the Winter Soldier, unashamedly flitting across his face and admiring the sharpness of his features. “You,” pointing at him, “could probably pull off either of their looks, though.”

Bucky smirked at you, but his rosy cheeks gave away a hint of embarrassment at your compliment. Steve and Sam, on the other hand, weren’t taking it quite as gracefully.

“What?!” Sam shouted. “Okay, now I know you’re lying. I could pull off Cap’s hair for sure.”

“You know, I think shaggy hair would really suit me,” Cap said, only half sarcastically.

You giggled to yourself as the three of them started talking over each other again, all dead set on their own hair being the best of them and positive they could pull off the others’ looks. While they bickered, you searched the pantry until you found a snack to at least get you through the remainder of the day.

“Alright boys, it’s been fun but I have work to do,” you said as you walked past them again. “Actually, wait. Bucky — can I call you Bucky?” He nodded even though you continued anyway. “If you could stop by lab six today, I’d love to check out your arm in person. The digital renderings aren’t quite the same.”

“Uh, okay. Sure. I’ll find you,” he said quietly.

“Sweet, thanks!” And with that, you skedaddled back to your lab.