#mean-stack project training

[skilliqcourse]

SkillIQ, the premier MEAN Stack Training Institute in Ahmedabad, offers comprehensive courses to empower learners with expertise in MongoDB, Express.js, Angular, and Node.js, shaping proficient developers for dynamic web applications.

For More Information:-   https://www.skilliq.co.in/courses/mean-stack-training-institute/

[spookysanta]

Upcoming ideas for Michael (mostly smut, since I’m a heathen)

All of these probably will be written at some point but lmk which y’all are most interested in reading and I’ll work on that idea first!!

Lessons in Chivalry: Michael has to train you to let him spoil you. No doors, no checks, no 50/50.

Filmed: You want one last hurrah before he flies out to film for a new project for a month… but you want to make sure you both go out with a bang.

Old Man: (Younger!Reader) You love to clown Michael about his age. But you quickly learn — again and again — that he might have a couple greys in his beard, but there’s nothing old about him.

Dodging Bullets (Sinners Edition): A secret visit to set for lunch with the girls means hiding from Michael — nay, Stack. And he’s not happy.

Payback (with Interest): Buying a toy while Michael’s away leads to a secret that has you walking on eggshells. When you come clean, you’ve got a debt to pay.

The Bouncer: Tequila + girl’s night + a shoulder check = a code red, sore thighs, and a lecture for the ages.

Adding my tag list babes for y’all to get your dibssss!!

@blackisy2k @hamzahsf4vg1rl @siasoup @heyyimmisunderstood @mirathebookworm @iluvv.angel @blondfortheweekend @Plan3tCh1ld @remcycles @browngirldominion @smokestackenrgy @marvel-dork98 @chaneajoyyy @jackierose902109 @Secretisme4 @marley1773 @wrldfantasy @remcycles @bxrbie1 @pinkprincessluminary @honestlyurslol @bxrbie1 @uhhh-nunyabidniz-heaux @nybearsworld @eclecticblkgirl @corvusmorte @yallsuck-00 @glambyk @Siqeth @omg-mymelaninisbeautiful @xoxo-lai @perfectlyimperfectme @Mea-bby @kianaleani @prettiest1ittleliar @Mejustme06 @kpop-servant @kneelarhmstrung @rossie-things @thatssonani @esachicaa @ajenae @adornn4jadaa @Kindofaintrovert @bigpumpum18 @famousphilosopherwombat @Transparentphantomface @omg-mymelaninisbeautiful @theesmartblonde @-harmonytbh @jiminsjams123 @li-da-savage @Fckwritersblock @christinabae @Tianna-blanche @queenofklonnie22 @marley1773 @Secret89sblog @secretisme4 @nybearsworld @jackierose902109 @spideyxakmighty2 @rossie-things @Sharpaysbestfriend @chrome-edition @Mulanii9 @blackgurlkillinit @soniaangels @pinkprincessluminary @bxunyx @venusesworld  @flipsidefever @dangerouslylunarwind @writingsbytee @sheabutterbabes @c-grace56 @turbulentvoids @Stankface @mimellowdi @vintigepimpzinio @bedstarz @thesmutconnoisseur

[ahqkas]

your work so so beautiful!! i really loved the dick grayson one where he is teasing his s/o and he accidentally hits a nerve and his s/o entire aura just becomes sad and they look at him so sad! can you please write an x jason response? would love to know what you think

♯ CAREFUL WHO YOU ARE TALKING TO

— gn!crush!reader, fluff + a bit of angst, cursing, mention of reader’s hair, i projected myself into this one 🥹

© ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified

JASON PETER TODD WAS IN THIS UNUSUAL MOOD, a playful edge in his voice as he lounged against your kitchen counter. he was wearing a black henley with the sleeves pushed up, showing the faint scars that crisscrossed his forearms—a reminder of how much he’d endured, and how much he tried to shield the people he cared about from the same. his lips curved into a smirk as he watched you shuffle through a stack of mail at the table, muttering something about overdue bills and junk flyers.

you were so fucking pretty like that.

“you’re really going to spend your whole evening worrying about that crap?” he asked, his tone light but teasing.

you glanced up at him with a small smile, though your brows were furrowed in focus. “it’s not crap, jay. some of us have to deal with real-world responsibilities, you know.”

“yeah, yeah,” he said with a wave of his hand, crossing the room to sit across from you. his grin widened as he leaned forward on his elbows, resting his chin on one hand. “you always get this little crinkle in your forehead when you’re stressed. like you’re trying to be a serious adult or something.”

rolling your eyes, a faint warmth dusted your cheeks. “trying? i am a serious adult, thank you very much.”

jason chuckled, voice warm and teasing as he continued in his teasing. “sure you are. except when you get all flustered over stuff that doesn’t even matter. like the time you panicked because your phone case didn’t match your bag, or when you spilled coffee on your shirt and refused to leave the house until you changed—three times.”

his laughter was soft at first, but it gained momentum as he spoke, clearly enjoying himself. he didn’t notice the way your smile faltered, how your hands stilled over the papers you’d been sorting. his words kept rolling out, lighthearted and without malice, but they landed differently this time.

“and let’s not forget the way you freak out when you’re running late. it’s like you think the world’s gonna end if you’re five minutes behind.”

he finally looked up, expecting to see your gentle smirk or the playful eye roll you always gave when he acted this way around and with you. instead, jason saw the way your shoulders had tensed, your posture folding in on itself like you were trying to disappear, make yourself seem as small as possible. your lips were pressed into a thin line, and your eyes looked down at the table, avoiding his.

“hey,” he said, his voice softening immediately. “i was just messing with you.”

you didn’t respond at first, your fingers fidgeting with the corner of one of the crinkled envelopes. when you finally spoke, your voice was quiet, trembling just enough that it shattered jason’s heart. “i know. it’s just . . . i already feel like i’m always messing things up.”

jason froze, the weight of your words hitting him like a freight train. he thought back over what he’d said, how he’d turned your small quirks into a supposed joke without realizing how much they might mean to you. cursing under his breath, jason’s chest tightened as he saw the sadness in your eyes when you finally glanced up at him.

“you’re not messing anything up,” he said firmly, sliding his chair closer to yours. his teasing tone was gone, replaced by something serious and sincere. “i didn’t mean it like that. you know i don’t think that, right?”

you gave a half-hearted shrug, trying to brush it off, but jason wasn’t having it. he reached out, his hand warm and solid as it covered yours, stilling your nervous movements.

“hey,” he said again, his voice low and steady. “look at me.”

reluctantly, you raised your eyes to meet his. the vulnerability there made his heart ache. you looked like a kicked puppy, like you were waiting for the next blow to land, and jason hated himself for being the one who put that look on your face.

“you are not a screw-up,” he continued gently. “you’re the furthest thing from it. you’re . . . you’re the best thing in my life, and i’m an idiot for making you feel like anything less than that.”

your lips parted as if to protest, but jason squeezed your hand, cutting you off.

“no, don’t argue with me,” he said, his tone softening into something almost pleading. “i know i tease you, but it’s because i like the way you get all flustered. i like that you care about the little things, even if i don’t always get it. it’s not a bad thing. it’s what makes you . . . you. and i’m sorry for being an ass about it.”

you stared at him for a long moment, the sadness in your expression slowly giving way to something softer. he was confessing. jason peter todd was practically confessing his feelings for you. he leaned in closer, his free hand brushing a strand of hair away from your face.

“you mean everything to me,” he said quietly. “i never want to make you feel like you’re not enough. because you are. more than enough.”

a tear slipped down your cheek before you could stop it, and jason immediately reached up to brush it away with his thumb. “aw, don’t do that,” he said, his voice laced with guilt. “now i feel like a real jerk.”

you laughed softly and the sound broke the tension in the room. “you’re not a jerk, jay. you’re just . . . you.”

he grinned at that, though it was tinged with relief. “damn right.”

you rolled your eyes, but the warmth in your smile was back, and jason felt like he could finally breathe again.

“come on,” he said, standing and tugging you up with him. “i’m making it up to you. whatever you want—takeout, movies, ice cream, you name it. your call.”

you hesitated for a moment before nodding, leaning into his side as he wrapped an arm around you. “okay,” you agreed softly.

he knew he’d have to be more careful with his teasing in the future, but for now, he was just grateful to have you back in his arms, where you belonged.

[hy6erion]

Can I please- PLEASE request like a fluffy Jayce x reader…. I love this man feral as much as the next person but omg he has such good manners and is such a gentleman. Like obviously he’s popular in the academy but I wouldn’t be surprised if people fawn over like one time they bumped into him and he was super sweet about it. My brain can’t get rid of the idea of reader walking through the halls of the academy holding equipment/books- STRUGGLING. The things they are holding are too heavy or too tall for them to see over. When Jayce sees this he just can’t stand for it. When reader thanks him they comment on how sweet he is for helping and there’s just something about the way they said it that makes him need more. Jayce now finds himself glancing around when he should be paying attention to the important conversation just in case he sees them rounding the corner needing his help again. Wet dog coded man I just UGGHH- Sorry if this is boring as fuck I just can’t cook with prompts-

𝐍𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐚 𝐇𝐚𝐧𝐝?

𝐉𝐚𝐲𝐜𝐞 𝐓𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐬 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

✰⍣..𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐉𝐚𝐲𝐜𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐬, 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐚𝐲 𝐢𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐢𝐦. 𝐍𝐨𝐰 𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐧'𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐩 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐬, 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐥𝐥 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧.

The Academy’s corridors always buzzed with movement, especially around midterms. A storm of students swept between classrooms with stacks of parchment, vials, and gear tucked under arms or magically levitating just inches from their shoulders. But even in that organized chaos, you stood out.

Not for anything dramatic—there were no explosions or golden runes trailing in your wake like some prodigious student of Hextech.

No, it was the way you struggled.

The stack of textbooks and equipment in your arms was too tall, teetering as you shuffled along, eyes completely hidden behind bindings and brass. A rolled schematic slipped a few centimeters out of place with every step. One wrong movement and you’d trigger an academic avalanche across the entire main hallway.

Jayce saw you out of the corner of his eye. He had been half-listening to a conversation about research funding—something he should care about. Professors, student body reps, all of them standing around in a little knot in front of the glass exhibit. But when you passed, laboring under a ridiculous amount of gear, your boot catching slightly on the lip of a stair—

He was gone before he even realized he’d stepped away.

“Woah—hey! Let me help with that” Jayce called, already reaching out to catch the top book before it tumbled.

You froze, startled, and then someone was lifting the stack clean out of your arms. Blessed weightlessness. You blinked through the space that had just been an impenetrable wall of pages and polished metal.

Jayce Talis.

Up close, he was even more golden than rumors suggested. Tousled hair, stupidly symmetrical face, and broad shoulders that made you acutely aware of how lopsided your bag was. He grinned, cocky but warm, holding your mountain of items like it weighed nothing.

“You were about two seconds from being buried alive“ he said, amusement dancing in his voice. “This for a project or are you training for a weightlifting competition?”

Your face flushed. “It’s—uh. Both? I mean—no. It’s for my Hex Design course. We have to submit schematics and physical models, and Professor Ghiren doesn’t believe in carts apparently.”

Jayce’s brow rose. “Ghiren? Yikes. That explains a lot.”

You laughed softly, and the sound tugged at something behind his ribs.

“Thanks“ you said, quieter now, but with a weight behind it that didn’t match the airy words. “You’re really sweet for helping.”

Sweet.

No one ever called Jayce that.

Brilliant? Sure. Talented? Absolutely. Arrogant? Frequently. But the way you said sweet—so genuine, almost in awe, like you weren’t just thanking him for help, but surprised by the kindness itself…

It landed somewhere deep in his chest. Settled there.

Jayce blinked, suddenly unsure of what to say. That wasn’t like him.

He cleared his throat. “Yeah, of course. Uh—want me to walk you to your lab?”

You gave a hesitant nod. “Only if it’s not a bother…”

“Not at all“ he said, already matching pace beside you. “You might need backup if Ghiren has you carting any more cursed prototypes.”

⸻

The whole thing took maybe ten minutes. Ten minutes of small talk, of you fumbling with your badge to open the lab door while Jayce carried your work like some personal bodyguard of academia. Ten minutes where he laughed at your commentary about your finicky prototype, and you—well, you smiled like you hadn’t expected him to understand what you were talking about. Like you were used to being brushed off.

When he handed the last of your equipment onto a cluttered table and left you with a casual wave and a “see you around” he told himself it was over. A nice moment. A good deed.

But—

Later, back at a student council meeting, his eyes flicked toward the door every time it opened.

Just in case it was you again.

Just in case you were overloaded, drowning in heavy boxes, needing a hand and smiling at him like that.

It became a pattern. Jayce would walk the long way to class under the pretense of “clearing his head”—but really, it was the hallway where he’d met you. He started recognizing the way your laugh echoed off stone walls, the exact squeak of your lab shoes. Sometimes you passed him in the halls with your head down, still juggling too many things, and his hand would twitch at his side, aching to take the weight again.

He didn’t even realize how obvious it was until Viktor elbowed him during a lecture.

“You’re doing it again.”

Jayce jerked his head back toward the front. “Doing what?”

“Looking for them“ Viktor said without missing a beat, voice dry. “Should I start building you a radar? Something to track when your favorite hallway gremlin is in distress?”

Jayce flushed. “I’m not—! I mean, I’m just—helping.”

Viktor hummed. “Sure. And I’m a seven-foot enforcer from Zaun.”

Jayce tried to ignore him, but it only got worse after the second time you needed help. He’d been in the courtyard, getting coffee, when he saw you wrestling with a crate of raw materials clearly meant for three people.

He crossed the entire quad in seconds.

“You again” he said, out of breath and smiling.

Your eyes lit up. “Jayce! You really are everywhere.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing” he grinned, taking the crate.

It was dangerous, the way you looked at him after that. Fond. Grateful. You didn’t ask questions, didn’t tease him about being famous, didn’t act like it was some passing favor. Just looked at him, said something like “You’re always so kind to me“ and smiled like he’d done something extraordinary.

Jayce could invent ten new technologies and he still wouldn’t feel as proud as he did in those moments.

⸻

Now, he doesn’t even pretend.

He lingers near the workshop halls when he knows your class is ending. Spends too long “testing” things on the lab floor just in case you walk by.

And when you do—

“Need a hand?”

Every single time, like clockwork. And every time, you let him. Your arms let go of the weight, and he carries it for you like it’s sacred. Like it’s the only thing that matters.

One time, you laugh and say, “You know, I think I’m starting to count on you being there.”

Jayce swallows hard. “Good. I want you to.”

You blink up at him.

“Want me to… what?”

“Count on me,” he says, too soft, too real. “Anytime.”

[thesharktanksdriver]

Devils may love?: MARVEL vs CAPCOM

Thought I’d make this as a fun what if? And addition to devils may love?. Also dedicated to my sincere love of fighting games that I suck at playing

Links: masterlist, part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4

You’d long accepted that working at devil may cry but especially under a boss like Dante meant you’d be in for a lot more than you initially signed up for

From being kidnapped by his evil twin brother

Almost dying via a jester demon

The raccoons in the back

And not to mention the entirety of mallet island

Not much you could say really phased you anymore unless it was Dante related or your parents

But even then, this was plane ridiculous

You think this to yourself staring at a mixture of super hero’s and many other oddballs

Apparently the multiverse exists and it’s in danger or something

And Dante was dragged into it and by extension you

God your life was complicated as it was before this

Now all this multiverse bullshit is just making it worse

Character profile

Weapons: given to them by their friend Lady, Honeypie carries around a steel briefcase that can be both used to attack and carries a variety of weapons they half hazardly packed into it. From Agni and Rudra to Nevan and many more goodies like firearms. They’re armed to the teeth to make up for lack of demon heritage that a certain someone has.

Profile: Honeypie also known as y/n- is the secretary of devil may cry and quote “the person keeping this place from burning down”. They were a normal person who when needing cash turned to the place that would eventually be named “devil may cry”. Though now being a decently trained person due to two devil hunters they prefer not to be involved in the madness unless necessary but keeps getting dragged into it whether due to Dante’s shenanigans or due to an intense worry for their friends safety.

First appearance: devil may cry (2001)

Power grid

Intelligence: 5/7

Strength: 2/7

Speed: 4/7

Stamina: 4/7

Energy projection: huh? Dante what the hell does that mean- 1/7

Fighting ability: 5/7

(Tacked on with a sticky note onto the stat screen is) Effectiveness in making a broom a weapon: 7/7

A few Character interactions

With Phoenix wright

“Can I get your card? With how much trouble Dante gets into I might need a defence attorney on stand by”

With Morrigan

“Oh are you the same Morrigan that Nevan mentioned? She asked me to invite you to movie night if I ran into you, plus she has some gossip that “is so juicy that it’s to die for” apparently”

With rocket raccoon

“Dear god, please tell me you’re not from the same pack behind the shop. I can deal with demons but not that”

Deadpool

“You’re paying for the damages to dmc that you caused this isn’t up for discussion….also please stop calling me a “reader insert” I don’t know what that means nor do I care that apparently god is a shark tanks diver”

Chun-Li

“Would you be up for potentially training me? My friend lady showed me some hand to hand but I’m really lacking in that department still”

Chris redfield

“Redfield? Sorry thought you said Redgrave for a second there. Similar last name to me and Dante’s hometown….Though I guess there is also that journalist Antonio Redgrave”

Jill Valentine

“You and lady would get along, maybe I should hook you two up sometime. I’m sure she’d be up for drinks”

Wesker

“Uhh please stop looking at me like you’re dissecting me…it’s fucking weird”

Professor X

“Since your a mind reader can you confirm for me if Dante has pizza and sundaes on his mind 24/7? Because I don’t know what else could be going on in there anymore”

Mephisto

“Stop trying to rope me into a deal unless you want Dante, Trish and lady on your ass buddy”

Amaterasu

“Aww you’re a good girl! The bestest girl Ammy!”

Dante interactions

Intro 1 (when equipped with Honeypie as a teamate)

“Cmon! say it please”

“Really?”

“I’ll finish the stack of stuff on my desk when we get back”

“ugh fine…..Featuring Dante from devil may cry”

Intro 2 (when equipped with Honeypie as a teamate)

“Hey! Stay back this time! I don’t want you hurt again!”

“I’ll be fine Dante, just get this over with already”

Intro 3 (when equipped with Honeypie as a teamate)

“Oi! Get back here Dante! You still have the bills to pay!”

“Sorry but Duty calls Honeypie!”

“Duty my ass! You can wipe the floor with them any day! Now finish this quick”

“Aww I’m touched honey~”

Victory (with Honeypie as a teammate)

“Say it with me honey!”

“….fine”

“Jackpot”

Loss (with Honeypie as a teammate)

“Ughhhhh Honeypie can you kiss my wounds better?”

“Dante your already healing”

“My heart isn’t healed though”

“Seems like your brain hasn’t either”

Intro 1 (when fighting Honeypie)

“Cmon honey! No need to be so upset”

“Dante I’m going to make hell look like a cakewalk unless you pay the electricity”

“Uh…so about that, I may or may not have spent that money on pizza-“

“I’m going to kill you”

Intro 2 (when fighting Honeypie)

“Don’t worry honeypie~ I’ll be gentle with ya”

“That’s it! Get over here!!”

“Woah hey copyright-“

Intro 3 (when fighting Honeypie)

“Is this about the raccoons?! I swear I didn’t mean to teach them how to use guns”

“What?!? No!! This is about you tracking blood on the carpet and now apparently i have more than just one reason to be mad at you!!”

“Oops”

Victory (against Honeypie)

“I wasn’t too rough with you, was I?”

“You better give me a bonus asshole…”

“Ok that’s pretty fair. I did try to be gent-”

“Dante stop talking right now”

Loss (against Honeypie)

“That was a dirty trick bringing out the broom and spritzing me”

“Alls fair in love and war Dante”

“God I wish that were true”

“Huh?”

Vergil interactions

Intro 1 (with Honeypie as a teammate)

“Next time can you please just ask instead of grabbing me and dragging me here? I would’ve said yes”

“I shall…keep that in mind for my next encounter”

“Thanks, that might be sooner rather than later considering I already hear Dante”

Intro 2 (with Honeypie as a teammate)

“Stay back, I shall handle this quickly”

“Uhh ok? That doesn’t answer why you brought me here though-“

Intro 3 (with Honeypie as a teammate)

“Show me how you’ve gotten stronger than when we last met, I’m curious the devil arms you’d acquired”

“I’ll do my best, but a quick warning is that I’m not on your level”

“You have more power than most other humans”

“Thanks, I can’t tell if I should take that as a compliment since your saying this knowing there are a bunch of superhero’s around us or a jab about humanity…I’ll choose the first option”

“Wise choice”

Victory (with Honeypie as a teammate)

“The arrows of almighty god are drawn, angels of death louring in the heaven”

“Thousands of souls must seek the realms of light, and walk together on the clouds of heaven”

“Prepare, prepare”

Loss (with Honeypie as a teammate)

“Don’t look at me with such pity”

“There’s a difference between pity and sympathy Vergil. Now, Heal your wounds instead of throwing yourself into another battle let alone hell again”

Intro 1 (when fighting Honeypie)

“Would you stop with repeatedly kidnapping me?!?”

“Must you be so difficult and just follow me?”

“Why you can’t you just ask like a normal person?!?”

Intro 2 (when fighting Honeypie)

“Please don’t slice my arm off or something in this kind of friendly practice fight”

“I’d never harm you in such a way…”

“That was both ominous and reassuring”

Intro 3 (when fighting Honeypie)

“Please don’t be too rough with me, I can’t walk off being impaled like Dante”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle”

“Wow…you two really are twins”

Victory (against Honeypie)

“Come now, I’ll show you the true power I’d attained”

“You really could have just taken a minute to ask Vergil”

Loss (against Honeypie)

“What?! How!”

“Wow even I’m surprised here. I guess the broom and spraying water trick works well against demons like their disgruntled cats”

Trish interactions

Intro 1 (when equipped with Honeypie as a teamate)

“Good to see you honey~ things certainly got more interesting”

“I’d say it’s good to see you too before I heard that nickname”

“If you help me win I’ll stop calling you it-“

“Deal!”

“-For the day”

“Damn it, I forget your real devil sometimes”

Intro 2 (when equipped with Honeypie as a teamate)

“Be sure to wear something rubber, things might get a bit electrifying”

“Uhh I’m in leather right now,”

“Even better”

“Huh? Well Uh, I’m gonna keep at least 5 feet away”

Intro 3 (when equipped with Honeypie as a teamate)

“I like the new pants Trish!“

“I dress to impress. I’ll take you shopping when this is over and show you where”

Victory (with Honeypie as a teamate)

“Wah~ hey! You shocked me on purpose there!”

“I plead the fifth honey-”

“What about our agreement!”

“Fine, Darling…doesn’t have the same ring to it though”

“What is with all of you and that god awful nickname?”

Loss (with Honeypie as a teammate)

“Well looks like your still my sweet Honeypie for now”

“Nooooo! Damn it!”

“Better luck next time honey. Now let’s go shopping to feel better”

Intro 1 (against Honeypie)

“Uh, you won’t fry me too bad right? I’d rather not have electrical burns on me”

“As if I could ever burn that pretty face of yours”

“Uh we sure that I’m the pretty face here?”

“As sure as I am that hell will freeze over when Dante settles his tab”

Intro 2 (against Honeypie)

“Don’t look so nervous honey, I won’t spark you too hard”

“I’m Moreso worried about having a motorcycle chucked at me”

Intro 3 (against Honeypie)

“This is reminding me a bit of mallet island”

“Don’t worry Trish, *ahem* I’ll fill Your dark soul with light!”

“Pfft- I’m gonna tell Dante you quoted that”

“Oh please don’t-“

Victory (against Honeypie)

“ you good there Honeypie?”

“Note to self…I’m never taking the risk of pissing you off in any way possible”

“Don’t worry, I’ll rub some salve on your wounds”

Loss (against Honeypie)

“Colour me impressed, you’ve gotten a lot better”

“I just still can’t believe broom worked”

“I’ve seen Dante use much worse as a weapon and succeed, anything is possible”

@galaxylibella @dragon-lord-lysander @idleviewer @rosvaline @superbfuryfest @localegdealer @mellophoned @justanotherweeb666 @her-majesty-horiko @treelogirl @angstylittleb1tch @coinduck @living-my-best-life5

[nelkey]

It's really late right now, so I'll make a reblog with the proper explanation tomorrow, but google still has to respect privacy laws so no, they can't do that. Plus I live in Europe and we have even more specific privacy laws against that like the GDPR (General Data Protection Regulation), which would not allow that.

Hey guys! Since ao3 is down and we're all craving fics, would anybody want to join a shared drive folder and upload their downloaded ao3 fics to it with folders divided by fandoms/ships/gen etc for anyone to read?

But please, anyone who uses it has to go give kudos and thank the writers in the comments after the attacks are over, we can get through this!

[nubiawrites]

chapter five

Pairing: Aaron Pierre x Black Original Character

Warnings: Slow burn. 18+. Smut. oral (giving and receiving). alcohol. talks of safe sex.

Summary: Aaron and Iriye have a nightcap, tensions being released as new connections are formed.

Notes: Everyone say thank you to GQ and Aaron's sleeve. I told you all the next chapter would be worth it. Enjoy and let me know what you think

MASTERLIST

Aaron's fingers drummed steadily against the wheel as he drove Iriye and himself back to his place. The Bluetooth in his card played some Sade as Aaron drove them in comfortable silence. 

This was not Iriye's first one-night stand, but it was with someone like Aaron—a collaborator, an artist, an actor. As they inched closer to his place, her anxiety got the best of her.

"I've never done this before," Iriye blurted out. Aaron had parked the car in the parking garage of his apartment, and he paused.

"Like had sex?" Aaron raised both eyebrows, and Iriye swatted his arm. 

"I've had sex. Trust me," Iriye sighed. "I don't sleep with talent. I never have,"

"Okay," He nodded.

"Because I respect you. And I love my job. And I love this project. And I don't make this a habit," Iriye rambled.

Aaron just smirked as she kept talking, seeing the defenses fall. She was always so sharp and on it, and he liked that, but this made her more endearing.

"What are you thinking?" Iriye asked. "Because if it is and I'm crazy, I will happily Uber home, and we can just—" He cut her off by leaning in for a kiss. The movement took her aback, but she ultimately relaxed into the gentle and sweet kiss. 

Iriye pulled back once fully relaxed and hummed, her eyes opening to look at Aaron's face. 

"Well, if you're wondering what I'm thinking, I don't care if you've never done this or have done this a million times," Aaron stated. "As Nelly and many other women I know would say, you're a grown-ass woman,"

"Please say that again. I need to hear it with your accent and all," Iriye teased. Aaron rolled his eyes before leaning in. 

"Grown-ass woman," Aaron repeated, and Iriye giggled. "Let's just see what happens. No pressure,"

Iriye nodded, and Aaron got out of the car. Iriye would do the same when he rushed to her side to open the door, holding his hand out for her. She took it and got out of the car.

"Thank you," Iriye said. Locking up his car, his hand never left hers as he guided her inside the apartment building.

They entered his apartment, and Aaron let her step inside first. She smiled at the place once he switched on the light, which matched Aaron's energy. 

"Your place is nice. Very homey," She moved to sit on the couch.

“Thank you,” He said before stepping into the kitchen. “You want anything?”

“I’ll have whatever you are having,” Iriye said, looking around at the record collections under the TV. She saw a few books stacked neatly on his coffee table, her eyes peeping at a familiar title. She smiled to herself when Aaron came back with two glasses.

“My whiskey sours may not be as great as yours,” he said, placing the glass in her hand. She chuckled. 

“I’ll be the judge,” Iriye sipped the drink and hummed. “Just a little bit more lemon,” She moved to pull the book on the top of his stack. “How are you liking the Last Days of Ptolemy Grey,” 

“Interestingly enough, I like it. I figured I would read it first before watching. Someone has great taste in literature,” Aaron tilted his head towards her.

“I mean, I do know some things about writing,” Iriye shrugged playfully. Turning to him, she moved to make herself more comfortable but realized her boots were still on. She was about to reach down and take them off, not wanting to seem like she didn’t have any home training.

"I got you,"  Aaron said, his British accent with that deep timber of a voice. Her stomach clenched deliciously, trying to be demure. He moved to lift her legs into his lap. “May I?” Iriye was too distracted by how smooth he was, nodding her head along.

Aaron kept his eyes on her before unzipping the first boot, his thumb smoothing over the revealed skin along the way. Iriye let out a soft breath, feeling him pull the boot off. He did the other, and she kept her legs over his lap.

“Was that an excuse to keep me close?” Iriye raised a brow at him, Aaron rubbing her legs.

“Would that be so bad? To want you close, love,” Aaron questioned.

“No,” Iriye felt his hand moved to her cheek. 

“Come here,” Aaron stated, pulling her closer by her chin. She leaned in and kissed him softly for a moment. Getting reacquainted with the soft, full lips on hers, the feel of his trimmed mustache near her face. When she pulled back, he leaned his head against hers. “I’m taking this however you want to,”

“That might be the hottest thing I ever heard,” Iriye admitted, pulling him close again and kissing him. His hand moved to stroke her legs as they were on his lap. She hummed, his fingertips sending shivers up her spine. They fell into a comfortable rhythm, her hands moving to his neck and cheek. His tongue looked for permission to lick into her mouth, and she gave it to him gladly.

They continued kissing that way, tongues clashing as they moved in sync. Aaron pulled away, moving his hands to pull her closer. But Iriye stopped him, lying back on the couch.

“You look so good like this,” Aaron stated.

“I’m still in my clothes,” Iriye stated.

“Imagine what you would look like splayed here without them,” His words made her press her legs together. 

“Then get me out of them,” With those words, Aaron advanced on her, legs falling apart to fit his hips against hers. Her jean dress pushed up some, and she let her hands fall to his neck as she connected their lips again.

Aaron placed one hand by her head, not wanting to settle too much weight on her as they made out. She felt his hand trail to her thigh, and she pressed herself closer to his chest as she arched her back. 

“Aaron,” Iriye moaned against his lips, her clothes feeling too suffocating. He pulled back, and his hand went to the zipper on the front of her dress, pulling it down till the dark brown bra she wore came into view. Iriye sat up to shimmy out of her sleeves, sitting confidently as she felt Aaron’s eyes take her in.

“You’re so beautiful,” Aaron’s eyes trailed over her breast. 

“I know,” Iriye giggled. She had soft curves from pilates, and her body had changed over the years, but under his eyes, she felt even sexier. “Your turn,” She pulled at his black shirt. Aaron smirked before lifting his shirt. Iriye was trying to stop herself from watching her eyes pop out at his muscular body. His broad chest, the tiny speckle of hair leading into the dark corduroy pants he wore. It didn’t help his left arm was covered in tattoos, and Iriye needed to know how it would look around her neck in the worst way.

Aaron moved to lean down and kiss her as he pulled her closer. Her hand went between them, and she found the button to his pants. He pulled back to give her some space, her fingers quick to get the button off and his zipper down, her hand brushing against his length through his boxer briefs.

“Shit,” Aaron breathed, a grin appearing on Iriye’s face. Hearing him curse was all she needed. She brushed her hand against him again, feeling his length twitch a little. 

“You want me to touch you?” Iriye teased. Aaron kissed her again, Iriye moaning softly into his mouth. She teased her hand against him, and he pressed into it.

“Fuck yes,” Aaron stated, his resolve slowly slipping. Iriye tried to wiggle her hands into his pants, but she needed them out of the way. Aaron moved off the couch to remove his pants, the bulge even more apparent in his briefs. Before she could even marvel at it more, his hands were on her dress, pulling it down her body.

Aaron groaned as he saw how her boyshorts had a wet spot, a telltale sign of how turned on Iriye was for him. He was about to take them off when Iriye stopped him. 

“Last time, it was about me. This time, it’s about you,” Iriye stated. “Do you have condoms?”

As much as Aaron was a giver, a woman being straightforward and dominant with him was attractive. It made him want to just bend Iriye over and fuck her into the couch. But patience was key. So was protection.

“Let me go check,” Aaron got up, kissing her deeply and letting his tongue slide into her mouth, needing to after taking her whole body in. She let her nails drag against his neck, and he groaned before moving away and heading towards a door.

Iriye laid back against the couch, trying her best not to let her hand slip down between her legs and keep working herself up. But the way her clit throbbed in anticipation, she rubbed her legs together to try and calm herself down, only making it worse.

After a few minutes, she heard Aaron come back into the living room, sitting up at the frown on his face.

“I don’t have any…” Aaron rubbed his hand over his chin.

“None,” Iriye asked again.

“None,” 

Aaron gauged her face for her reaction, seeing her chuckle. 

“I don’t know if I should be happy you have none or nervous because you used them up,” Iriye shook her head. A grin went to Aaron’s face.

“I’ve been busy with work. Plus, when it comes to matters of the heart, it takes me a bit to open up,” He said as he moved to sit by her. Iriye leaned into his side. “I can go run for some,”

“It’s too late to be driving around for protection,” Iriye scratched at her scalp softly. “Honestly, maybe this is just what we needed. Let us think straight for a minute,” She said.

“Right,” Aaron agreed, even if he was looking at her lips. He leaned in to kiss her, and she let her hands slip to his neck. “There are other things we can do that don’t need condoms if you want to,”

Iriye purred at the temptation. “And what’s that?” She teased. Aaron’s hands moved to cup her ass with one big hand, and the other slipped between her legs. 

“Open up for me,” Aaron stated, and Iriye slipped her legs open as he asked. He let his hand tease the hem of her panties. 

“I was trying to take care of you first,” Iriye moaned as she felt him toying with her panties. 

“There’s this thing called doing it simultaneously,” Aaron said cheekily, and Iriye gasped at him, slapping his chest playfully. “Some even say the same time or mutual,” Iriye grasped him through his boxer briefs, and he groaned. “Shit,”

“What were you saying?” Iriye asked as she got a hold of his length and stroked him. She felt his head go on her shoulder, and then she was pushed back onto the couch. 

Aaron crawled over her till he was right between her legs, and she kept her eyes on him as she felt him finally slip his hand into her panties, his middle finger already slipping past her folds and her back arching into his hand. 

“That’s it,” Aaron moaned, slipping the finger to press against her entrance before he dipped it in, Iriye rolling her hips toward his hand. “Oh god, Aaron,” Iriye whined. She felt him thrust a single digit into her a few more times, going slow as her body worked itself up. She was getting even wetter as he watched her face, moving to kiss him deeply.

"I wanted to get you off," Iriye gasped against his lips, his finger sinking into the fleshy spot inside of her.

“Trust me, watching you get off turns me on,” He moved to kiss down the side of her neck. Those words went straight to her core, gasping as she felt him pressing a second finger inside of her, and she tried her best to recover. She loved how his fingers and hands were so big, remembering how he gripped her ass.

Iriye needed a bit more control, so she slipped her hand into his boxer briefs and was met with the leaking head of his length. She let her hand wrap around him, stroking him slowly, trying to keep up with the rhythm he was setting inside of her. She stroked her hand up upward towards the head, feeling a vein against her palm, and he groaned, his fingers stopping. Iriye giggled, seeing Aaron, who was very calm and collected, lose his cool.

“You good?” Iriye smirked. Aaron’s eyes grew darker, groaning into her mouth as he kissed her deeply. “Please Aaron… I wanna make you come,” She had ground her way to bliss, and god damn it, she needed to see what he looked like when he came. He heard her pleading and pulled his fingers out of her. 

“Afterwards, I’m tasting you,” Aaron stated matter-of-factly. “I’m clean. I can show you,” 

“Aaron…” Iriye giggled as she pushed his chest so she could get up. She moved to her knees, taking the pillow he handed her. She got herself adjusted and caught sight of him licking his fingers that had been inside of her. So, of course, she leaned up to kiss him, moaning as she tasted herself on his lips.

Iriye adjusted herself until she was comfortable, her hands going to his boxer briefs and pulling them down till his length popped up, her seeing the heavy length twitch against his stomach. She leaned forward and licked the tip, hearing the breathy moan that left his mouth as she teased the tip.

Iriye wouldn’t say she was a dick-sucking enthusiast for just anyone. She had to be comfortable with the person before she would show them how much she loved sucking dick. And it should have freaked her out that she hadn’t let Aaron take her on a proper date before she was on her knees, teasing the tip and tasting the pre cum his tip pushed out. 

Iriye played with the tip, realizing Aaron was very sensitive there quickly. She allowed herself to take the tip further into her mouth, sucking softly as she didn’t want the moment to end. There was a sweetness to his taste, and she hummed as she bobbed her head on his length.

“Fuck,” Aaron breathed, feeling her beginning to slide deeper. He knew he was slightly above average, but he didn’t want to hurt Iriye even then. His hands squeezed the couch respectfully, wishing he could grip her head. But he groaned as Iriye pulled from the tip, him looking down at her eyes as one hand focused on the tips as she began to mouth at the sides, tongue licking him like a popsicle that she wanted to melt. He saw that sparkle in her eyes as she licked back up his length. He let his hands move to the goddess locs, carefully grabbing some in his hand and guiding her when she took his length back in her mouth. He felt her trying to tease the tip again, and he tightened on her hair, not wanting to pull too hard.  

Iriye’s eyes met his, preening at how Aaron was looking. 

“Take that cock deeper, Iriye,” Aaron spoke, that South London boy coming out. She bobbed her head again, working him deeper and using her hand to stroke whatever she couldn’t fit in her mouth. She moaned around him, feeling his length twitch at the sensations. “Fuck, love,” He said. “You look so good sucking my cock,” He breathed, his eyes focused on her.

Iriye could feel her panties soaking through as she continued sucking Aaron’s dick. Hearing him groan and moan, his words turned her on as she worked herself up to relax around his length. She let the tip hit the back of her throat some, finding when she gagged on his length, his hips thrust up as he wanted to get deeper. She gagged a few more times, the gaps and moans coming out more, his fingers tightening and flexing in her hair.

Iriye pulled back, a string of saliva attaching to her lip from his length. She stroked him, looking up into Aaron’s eyes.

“Don’t hold back. Take what you want from me,” She playfully winked before moving to suck his length back in, gagging twice around his length before she swallowed him, sucking on him. Aaron let off grunts and whines as he thrusts up into her mouth a few times, gasps coming with every movement until she felt the warm cum spill down her throat. As much as she wanted to choke on his cock, Aaron pulled up, his length twitching and coming a little on her lips as she stroked him. 

“Iriye,” He moaned as she attempted to clean off the tip of his cock, Aaron still sensitive. She let her tongue out, hoping to catch some more spurts of cum on her lips before she swallowed.

Aaron watched on as the woman who was so confident and could command a room swallowed his cum, feeling so satisfied as she did so. It was so fucking nasty and hot.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” Aaron breathed before kissing her, licking into her mouth to catch a taste of her and his cum on her tongue.

Iriye moaned into the kiss, whining as she was so turned on for more. 

“Come up here,” Iriye felt him manhandle her up off her knees and turn her to suit up against the couch. She couldn’t help but giggle as Aaron had to push the coffee table back across the floor so he would have more room on the ground. “Something funny?”

“Not at all,” Iriye said, the man a giant in his home. He grinned up at her before kissing the inside of her right thigh, playfully biting at her. She let out a moan. He kissed down till he made it to her center. He then moved onto the next thigh, kissing up till he pulled back, his hands tucked into her panties.

“Yeah, you’re not gonna need these,” Aaron chuckled, moving to pull them off. Iriye’s most delicate parts of herself were revealed, and she moved to lift her legs so she could take her socks off. 

“I’m not gonna need these either,” She teased. But she quickly shut up as Aaron sniffed her panties.

“You smell so good,” Aaron chuckled, throwing her panties into his pants. Iriye figured she wasn’t getting them back, and honestly, she wasn’t mad at it. Panties were replaceable, but Aaron smelling hers was not.

Iriye let Aaron hook his hands under the back of her knees, propping her open for him like a feast.

“Let me know what feels good,” Aaron said as he looked at her. Iriye nodded. He kept her eyes on her as he swiped his tongue slowly through her lower lips, collecting the sweet juices, a moan rolling out of her.  He repeated the motion a few more times, every swipe causing her back to arch and her moans to float in the air, but it wasn’t enough.

“Aaron,” She whined softly. “I need more,” He heard her words, and she felt the two fingers he used inside of her teasing her slit. She pressed her hips down, wanting to slide onto them, but Aaron held her thighs back.

“I let you have your fun. Now let me have mine, sweetheart,” Aaron spoke. She saw his smile and let him get away with talking to her like that. His fingers slipped into her pussy, and she arched her back, almost shutting her legs around him. “Nah, keep them open for me,” He said. 

Iriye was holding them, but Aaron guided one leg to his shoulder and then the other, caging him in. His fingers began searching for that fleshy spot inside of her; Iriye whined as she felt him hitting spots along the way.

“Oh my god,” Iriye moaned as she realized he wasn’t going to stop, especially as he found her g spot again. She rolled her hips against his fingers, hearing how wet and gushy he was making her pussy for him.

“That feels good to you, Iriye,” Aaron asked, his lips kissing her thighs. Her moans were enough answers for him, the tiny twitches in her thighs. But he knew she needed more. “Tell me, baby,”

“Your mouth,” She cried. “I need your mouth… this is not enough to make me come… please,” She said between breathy moans and gasps.

Aaron obliged her, his lips sealing around her swollen clit and sucking it to find the proper pressure. It took him a few moments to try to see what Iriye wanted. What sent her hips surging to his face or gave him nothing, but he loved discovering a lover’s body.

“Oh shit,” Iriye knew when she cursed during sex, something was being done right. She moved to look down, seeing his lips sucking her clit as his fingers rubbed a path inside of her. She moved to let her hands run over his scalp, her nails dragging up and down his scalp.

“Aaron,” She cried, his name a mantra she would repeat if it meant he never stopped. She felt him stop sucking her clit before she caught a peek of his tongue beginning to flick at her clit; short cries left her body as he moved his tongue with precision, almost pornstar levels even. “Oh fuck!” She whined, more words falling out as he moved his fingers in tandem with his tongue. She would gladly pay the toll if this were payback for the teasing.

Iriye continued to roll her hips toward his hand as he fucked her with his fingers, tongue flicking and sucking at her clit. He pulled back for a moment.

“You’re gonna come for me?” He asked her, almost a plea for her. She looked into the darkening hazel eyes and nodded. 

“I will! I will!” She wanted to scream. She would do anything for him.

“Good,” Aaron moved his to flick and suck at her clit as his fingers moved to usher her orgasm forward. At first, it felt like a tug-o-war, a push and pull for it to come forward. She let herself fall into it, the first crescendo warning her of what was to come, quite literally. She threw her head back before focusing on him, licking her lips and whining out as another thrust of his fingers and the gates flooded. Short cries became gasps and moans as her orgasm rushed in, and she came, her juices flowing down her pussy, and she felt her walls sporadically tightening around Aaron. 

Instead of letting her enjoy the fall, Aaron continued to work her through it, seeing how good she tasted and how she reacted to being overstimulated. It was almost too much as he sucked her clit, rubbing at her g-spot. She wanted to close her legs, but Aaron had her spread and locked in with his shoulders.

Iriye whined as he prolonged her orgasm, her nails scratching at his bare shoulders until she tapped him.

“Aaron,” She whined, feeling him finally let up off of her clit, and she felt him work her down with his fingers, her juices sliding down his fingers and wrist. She sighed as she slumped against the couch, his fingers sliding out of her. Aaron trailed his hand, wet with her juices, up her body until he teased her lips with them. She grinned and opened her mouth, letting him slide them in so she could suck her juices off of him, mimicking how she suckled his dick before. 

Aaron straightened up, their lips connected passionately as Iriye let her hands wrap around his neck, him leaning into her. She giggled as she could feel him and her pussy clenched, 

“How you feel, love?” Aaron asked her, pushing one of her goddess locs behind her ear.

“Good,” Iriye hated that she had no words except that, but he gave her the feeling. She couldn’t wipe the grin from her face. 

“You sure you’re a writer cause good,” Iriye swiped at Aaron’s face. 

“You play too much. To think I wanted to give you morning head,” Iriye leaned back, and he followed her, his head leaving between her clothed breast.

“You want to give me morning head?” Aaron questioned her.

“I did, but that’s only if we head to sleep,” Iriye challenged him. Aaron moved to hoist her in his arms, Iriye giggling as she wrapped her arms and legs around him, letting him carry her towards his room.

After cleaning themselves up in his bathroom, Iriye was currently in one of his shirts; her five foot eight stature and curvy waist had his shirt hitting right at the top of her thighs and giving a little peek at the bottom of her ass. She forgone her underwear as Aaron repeated that he wouldn’t give them back. She threatened to take his underwear but knew if she took them off of him again, the snake between his legs would not be going to bed. Tangled up in each other arms in his bed, both talking about whatever came to mind

“I honestly haven’t had a reason to need condoms,” Aaron mentioned, Iriye looking up at him. 

“Really?” Iriye said. “I would think it was being thrown at you,”

“It is,” Aaron admitted, and Iriye raised a brow. “But that’s not me,” He stated honestly.  Iriye propped herself up on his chest some. 

“Pussy being thrown at you doesn’t suit you,” Iriye teased, hoping a red flag popped up. Because he was so unreal. “You have an arm tattoo, Jamaican, and a Gemini. You could have anyone dropping the draws with just one look,” Iriye joked, and Aaron looked at her.

“I could have anyone, but at the end of the day, I want someone who wants me. Who chooses me. Not just anyone,” Aaron stated. There was a truth and a depth there that she loved seeing. Iriye leaned forward and kissed him softly.

“I’m sure you’ll find that,” Iriye yawned. 

“What are you looking for?” Aaron asked her. She thought about it for a moment. 

“Someone who can love my ugly parts,” Iriye explained. “Someone who can be around me not only during the good times but the bad times,” 

“Well, I hope you get that,” Aaron stated, his hand rubbing her back some. They lay in comfortable silence, Iriye hoping that what he said was true. That she would ge tit. She hoped for a second… she would have it with Aaron. @wildwomanalereyia @teenage-aria @skvrpion @absentmindeddreamer @blackpinup22 @liv10002 @styleismyaddiction @jungwonsgfs @hooliemooliedonutshawp @hippiesandpeacesigns @blowmymbackout @justagirlwho-believes13 @caribbeangyalsworld @melovedorks @moihasarrived @ashanti-notthesinger @xx-mintyxx @iluvchrisbrown @ash-ketchumzzz @deijalee @pyramidlight @xosharieee @kaylaahisthebestest- @chaniceandrea @kimmivlixx @saveadanc @kaylalb @queenbritbrat @kceeee @naughtynolly-blog @myawesome56 @chainingxday @nononoks-blog @kinginwithbreezy-blog @apple123cg @jazziejax @lauren1000000 @withoutmusiclifewouldbflat @venusincleo @loveschrisbrown20 @brwnskingirlll @iamfredtina @cozyashhh @modelmemoirs @kimiasinterlude @rpayn22 @mscarter123 @lolola22267 @thesweetestdrug @valarghoulis @nyifly22 @zimsilandela @teheeboo @blveeeeeee @5starsirl @yassbishimvintage @23jammy @prettiegal @vadeadiugularis @gabbywontlose @pinkkycherrish @slashervalley @aqueenwasmadehere @lee-jennie @wuzzzgoood

[inky-writing]

Hi there! I was wondering if you would consider writing about a petite reader, similar to violet but not quite as frail x Garrick. Maybe like he helps train her for challenges or something like that?

Thank you :)

Of course!! Here it is!!! I hope you like it :)

Garrick Tavis x reader

Warnings: some typos maybe

Word count: 719

The training grounds hummed with the sound of clashing weapons and heavy breaths, but Garrick Tavis’s attention was focused on the figure in front of him. She moved with a surprising fluidity, her small frame deceptive. She was no Violet Sorrengail, less prone to injury, more determined to prove herself despite the odds stacked against her, but still, a fragile thing compared to the towering giants who filled the Riders Quadrant.

“Keep your feet apart,” Garrick said, his voice rough as he stepped behind her, adjusting the grip of the sword in her hands. “If you lose your footing, you’re dead.”

She nodded, her face a full of concentration as her fingers tightened around the hilt. Her name escaped his lips far too often these days, softly spoken in encouragement or barked as a command. She wasn’t a natural at combat, but she had heart. Every time she fell, she got back up, bruised and determined.

At first, he’d thought her tenacity was foolish. But now? It was something he couldn’t help but admire.

“You’re doing better,” he found himself saying after she executed a clean strike, her blade cutting through the air. The small smile she shot him in response caught him off guard, warmth blooming in his chest.

“Better doesn’t mean good,” she replied, her voice light but self-deprecating.

Garrick huffed, crossing his arms. “Good is a long way off, but you’ll get there.”

As the days blurred together, Garrick saw her transform. She learned to fight with more precision, more grit. She listened, adapted, and, against all odds, thrived in the chaos of the gauntlet. Watching her climb the walls and dodge the deadly traps with the agility of someone twice her strength had been both nerve-wracking and exhilarating. When she crossed the finish line, battered but victorious and alive, Garrick had felt a pride that he wasn’t sure he’d earned.

Somewhere along the way, he’d stopped thinking of her as just another cadet. She wasn’t a burden or a project anymore. She was her. Her determination, her quiet resilience, her sharp wit, it was impossible not to be drawn to her. And now, as the Threshing approached, Garrick found himself in a state of constant anxiety.

Dragons didn’t care about heart or determination. They cared about strength and power. And as much as she had grown, Garrick feared it wouldn’t be enough.

He wasn’t there when it happened, and the waiting nearly drove him mad. Every moment stretched into an eternity, his imagination filling in the gaps with horrors. What if all the dragons rejected her? What if they killed her? Or worse, what if she failed to survive the bonding itself?

When the bell tolled, Garrick bolted for the arena. His heart thundered in his chest as the first bonded riders began returning, their dragons’ massive forms filling the sky with shadow and fire. He scanned the horizon frantically, barely breathing until he saw her.

She was alive.

She dismounted a sleek, cobalt-blue dragon with grace, but he didn’t care about her poise. She was there, whole, breathing, alive. Relief slammed into him like a physical force, and before he could stop himself, he was running.

“Garrick?” Her voice was soft, tinted with disbelief, but he didn’t let her say anything more.

He cupped her face with calloused hands and kissed her. It was desperate and raw, a culmination of weeks of worry and unspoken feelings. She froze for a moment, and then she melted into him, her hands gripping his tunic as if to anchor herself.

When he finally pulled away, their foreheads touched, both of them breathing hard.

“You made it,” he said hoarsely, his voice breaking under the weight of his emotions.

“I told you I would,” she whispered, her lips curving into a soft smile that stole the breath from his lungs.

Garrick shook his head, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“And you’re dramatic,” she shot back, but there was no heat in her words, just warmth.

He pulled her into his arms, holding her close as the chaos of the arena swirled around them. For the first time in weeks, he felt something other than fear. Hope. Maybe, just maybe, they’d make it through this war together.

[mrchiipchrome]

You Always Go To The Parties

W.C. - 5.7 k

okay so this is the project i've been working on for a little, hope y'all like it:) (also listen to American Wedding by Frank Ocean while y'all read this.)

To clarify, this is a lionesses x r series too, but this is literally just the chapter of introduction so that we can get to know the characters.

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“Do I really have to go? I can’t even drink legally here.” You groan, there was nothing stopping you from collecting your things and getting the hell out of that apartment in Boston, well except the manners instilled in you from an early age. There was nothing you’d like more than to crawl up in bed and sleep for the next few weeks.

No way Emma would let you do that. 

The sophomore defender had been one of the only people that had come back to college early, having been asked to show you around the campus and the facilities. She had quickly taken you under her wing, which meant that she wouldn’t let you sulk in bed the rest of August.

Brown cardboard boxes filled to the brim with different things, ranging from clothes to knick knacks, were stacked to the ceiling in the otherwise empty apartment. You didn’t mind, clearly, but it bothered Em.

You tuck your hands behind your head, staring up at the ceiling from your mattress that was placed directly on the floor. Your button up had the first few buttons undone, the top of your chest displayed for Em to see, you had even put your fancy trousers on for the stupid party you didn’t even want to attend.

“Yes, you really have to. How else do you expect to make friends, your cute British accent will only get you that far, you actually need to put in some effort okay?” Rolling your eyes at her words, you were quickly made to get up off the makeshift bed, getting pushed towards the door.

“But-” 

“No buts, you are going because I need someone to drive me home when I’m black out drunk tonight, you don’t want me to drink and drive right?” You can’t help but contemplate over her words, feeling the girl’s hand come down on your shoulder harshly. 

Clearly she didn’t like that.

“I mean you could just, I don't know…not drink?” She looks at you like she’s disgusted you’d even think about saying something like that, like she has to drink.

“Wow, it really is obvious your parents are rich.” You lock the door up as you look at her through the corner of your eye, a slightly judgemental look in your eyes.

Your parents were rich, but they didn’t spoil you so you weren’t one of those snobby rich kids, you were just like anyone else. Only you had access to more money than most.

“Shut up.” Emma puts her hands up in the air, like she’s surrendering to you, but you see the way she’s smiling slyly at you. Note to self; don’t get defensive when Em brings up your rich parents.

“You know, I could use a new Gucci bag if you want to contact daddy dear.” She looks up at you pleadingly as you make your way to her car, there was no way you’d use your car, it was far too expensive to be left outside a frat house. You really had to get a more beat up one.

Maybe you’d sell it, and donate the money you got for it to charity. 

“Aw, we’re taking my car?” Em whines, clearly she wanted to take your cool car.

“Aw, I’m not leaving my really expensive car outside of a frat house for hours.” You roll your eyes at her almost like she’s stupid, throwing her the keys so that she could drive, you didn’t even know where it was you were going.

“You know, you are really sassy for being a rich kid.” Em pulls out of the garage, the apartment complex you were living in was just off campus, so near that you walked there every day for pre-pre-season training (absolutely destroying Em every single time without fail).

“Yeah well, I grew up in the public education system in London, so that’s where I get it from.” You look on as the girl in the driver’s seat taps her fingers against the steering wheel, waiting for the red light to turn green.

“Really, I would’ve thought that they had you in private school from the second you popped out.” The green light stands out against the quickly darkening sky, starless and rather bleak, but that’s what you get for living in a big city.

“Nope, they wanted me to have a normal childhood, so here I am.” You motion to yourself, feeling the bumps and dips of the road beneath you, damn potholes.

“I mean fair enough right.” A certain quietness envelops the space between the two of you, it wasn’t uncomfortable, just present without any real purpose.

Your eyes slip shut, with Em turning the radio on, playing soft instrumental music like you weren’t in the middle of Boston where most people prefer hip hop and bubblegum pop. That was probably the biggest culture shock you'd been given so far, the music.

At home it was different, in a neutral way. It was neither better nor was it worse, but it was simply different.

You sink into your seat, the cool air blasting across your skin in that refreshing way, the summer’s heat canceled out by the air coming from the car. Slowly, sleep starts to take over your body in that calming sort of way that you’d wished for earlier.

It had only felt like moments since you’d fallen asleep as Em shakes your shoulders to get you to wake up, the pulsing music coming from the frat house a walking distance away already making your ears hurt. You look around at the surrounding nature, it wasn’t familiar to you, not the trees you’d found yourself memorizing nor the architecture present in Boston.

Even the people looked different, shirts with the printing of a dog on the front instead of the three books representing Harvard. Stupid of you to assume that Em would be rational for once.

“Where are we Em?” You ask, voice riddled with a sleepy kind of innocence that suggested that not everything had registered yet.

“We are in Connecticut, home of the huskies and what might be the best parties you’ll ever experience.” Your eyes shoot open wide, a more than flabbergasted look on your face at her naïve words.

“You kidnapped me and then drove me all the way to Connecticut for a party we could just as well have found in Boston?!” You ask her incredulously, like you couldn’t really believe her. And you couldn’t.

“Yeah, technically I did but you’ll also get to experience the party of your lifetime, so I think that it’s fine.” She tries to justify her actions by trying to reason with you, and whilst it doesn’t work in the way she wishes, Emma’s just happy you’re not totally freaking out.

“Come on grumpy, let’s go. Who knows, you might even have some fun.” Em pulls you along towards the house spewing flashing lights in a hundred different colors.

You let your eyes adjust to the blinking lights as you enter through the open front door, seeing the entire bottom floor of the mansion-like house covered with hundreds of students, packed together tightly like a sweaty sardine can.

The house reeks of bad body wash, moldy pits and strong cheap alcohol, and in a sense of the word Em really did tell the truth, you’d never seen anything like it before. It was almost like those frat boys couldn’t afford to buy deodorant.

If your arm wasn’t as firmly attached to your body as it was, you were sure that Emma would’ve torn it off by now, the resistance of the sweaty bodies pushing against your own as she leads you to the kitchen proving to be a difficult task for her weak arms.

Reaching the entrance of the large kitchen, the first thing you notice is that it’s not as tightly packed as the living room, only a few stragglers here and there with the stereotypical red solo cups can be found in every single person’s hand. Future alcoholists.

 “Okay, base rules since you’ve never been to a college party before, don’t take a drink from anyone you don’t know, don’t accept anyone’s request to go upstairs or somewhere private, you’ll most likely get robbed, don’t be too snarky, people don’t appreciate that and… I think that’s all. Have a nice night!” And with that she’s off to the living room, plucking a cup from a random man’s hand and taking a sip before leading him to the dance floor.

Yeah, base rules or whatever.

Standing alone in the kitchen, you suddenly feel so awkward. The only real parties you’d been to were the one’s your friends threw when your parents were away on their stupidly long business trips, just the chaotic friend group drinking together.

So this, college parties, was something that was totally out of your comfort zone and you’d never hated anyone as much as you hated Em right at that moment.

Spotting a boy out of the corner of your eye, you approach him with confident, yet still relatively hesitant steps, a question at the tip of your tongue. He looks up at you when you’re close enough to smell the odor of old spice deodorant and way too much sweat, his hat turned backwards on his head to hide the greasy hair still somehow poking its way through.

You almost feel bad for the poor thing, well that is until his mouth opens and you’re staring into the hell that is a frat boy’s gob. 

“‘Sup dude, what can I do for you?” His eyes run all along your body, from your ankles up to your face where he notices the annoyed expression.

“I was wondering if you had anything non alcoholic.” You smile staley, eyebrows furrowing together when his eyes light up like a kid on christmas. His laugh feels slightly insulting, especially when his hand comes up to point at you, but there’s really not a lot you could do.

“Dude totally, say the thing though.” You look at him confused, like you didn’t know what he meant. Spoiler alert; you did. “Y’know bo'ohw'o'wo'er.” 

He laughs again when you roll your eyes, and even if all you desire is to punch his stupid face in, you still say the phrase. Was it worth it for a coke? Eh, debatable.

He opens the fridge and throws you the can and laughs once more at your dirty look.

Sipping the drink slowly as you make your way around the house, the UConn students around you stare unashamedly at you, like they knew your face from somewhere, but you weren’t familiar per se. 

Your face scrunches up at the metallic taste of the American coke, much preferring the Mexican one they had in the canteen. You couldn’t complain too much though, you were the one who actually let yourself get dragged to the party.

It’s sudden, the way her eyes catch yours. Deep pools of endearing brown that capture your entire soul in a single second. The girl was mesmerizing as she stood leaning against the wall across from you, her long brown hair falling so effortlessly down her back.

Her gaze is just focussed on you for a second or two, her attention soon being stolen by the man standing in front of her, a sleazy smirk on his face as his eyes ran all along her body. It was clear that she was uncomfortable purely by the way her lips were turned downwards and the way her hands fiddled with the hem of her crop top.

There seems to be a lull in their one sided conversation as she looks to you almost pleadingly, getting the hint almost immediately, you walk over with confident steps, dropping the now empty can on the floor on the way.

The man is almost as tall as you, his burly shoulders disproportionate to the rest of his awkward body, his meaty hands gripping the red cup tightly like he was afraid someone would steal it from him. His hooded eyes do a once over when he spots you nearing them, almost turning a green pale at the sight of you.

You don’t understand why, there was no way you knew him and being recognised as Harvard’s newest addition would be unlikely. Especially in Connecticut.

“Everything alright here?” The girl seems startled by your accent, but she quickly schools her features so as to not show her surprise. Her hands wrap around your waist, and when you look down at her she looks back up at you with pleading eyes, asking you to just go along with it for the time being.

Your arm wraps around her shoulders and she leans into your body almost subconsciously, like you’ve known each other for much longer than you have.

“Yeah, everything’s going good.” He says, not backing down despite having been nervous at your mere presence only seconds before.

“Really? Because from where I stood it looked like you were flirting with my girlfriend.” You don’t even get the satisfaction of watching his gummy smile fade from his thin lips as he takes in your words, because he walks away from you before you can see it.

It makes you chuckle, especially since he walks up to another girl almost immediately, getting turned down in the same second.

“You okay?” You question the girl in your arms, her hand still resting on your waist as you take her in. You can feel her hair against your arm, her nails digging into your skin ever so slightly and the rest of her body pressed so tightly against your own.

“Yeah, he just wouldn’t leave me alone, thank you for the help.” She smiles at you sweetly, her brown eyes shining under the flashing lights. You smile back at her softly, noticing the way her grip loosens, you quickly let up on your grip of her shoulders.

Her unsure steps catch your attention as she takes your hand in her soft one, just like Em had done earlier in the evening.

“Where are you taking me?” You laugh through the sentence as she tries to pull you through the crowd of people, stumbling over her feet clumsily every so often.

“Do you like burgers?” She questions hastily, nearly having pulled you all the way to the front door already, she was a lot stronger than Em that’s for sure.

"Doesn't everyone?” You smile goofily when she looks back at you, her eyes narrowed playfully when you send her a wink. It’s only when you’re already out the door that you realize that Em is still in there, with people you don't know. Strangers.

You stop walking, the girl’s hand still in yours as she too stops, looking back at you confused.

“I’m sorry but my friend, Em, is still in there and I don’t want to leave her alone with strangers.” Her eyes light up again and you look at her weirdly, not understanding why she looked so happy that you had to leave.

“Em Whitmore?” She giggles at the shocked look on your face, clearly you didn’t know much about Em, the girl thinks to herself. You look at her suspiciously, how did she know Em?

“Yeah…how’d you know?” You ask her, still suspicious of her pretty intoxicated form. Her laugh carries all throughout the empty night, no one out and about except you and the mystery girl who’s soft hand is still in yours.

“I know her brother, she comes to a lot of parties here, because she knows she’ll be safe.” The brunette starts pulling you along again and you let yourself follow her, no longer worried about your Harvard counterpart. Her brother wouldn’t let anything bad happen to her.

By the time you reach the 50’s themed diner, you’ve already walked for ten minutes, side by side with the dark haired girl. You’re lucky that it wasn’t too far away, the half stumbling girl beside you probably wouldn’t have been able to walk that far without falling over.

The bell at the top of the door chimes when she pushes it open, the bored looking cashier perking up when he sees your companion. It was empty in the diner and you couldn’t imagine that keeping it open for this long wasn’t only for the drunk college students looking for a quick snack.

She drags you over to a booth in the corner, decorated in red and white stripes, a glass with straws standing in the middle of the table with a napkin holder beside it.

“Welcome to Donna’s Diner, what can I get for you?” The boy from the counter comes up to the booth after you’ve both settled, handing the two of you plastic menus. The dark haired girl smiles up at him, that fantastic glint in her eye once more.

“Come on now Alex, no need to be all professional.” You look up at him from where you’re sitting, his blonde hair curling around his ears, green eyes staring into yours kindly, thin fingers clasping the small notebook in his hands.

“Alex, this is my new friend, she knows Callum’s little sister, mystery friend, this is Alex and he’s in one of my classes.” You smile at him softly, sticking your hand out for him to shake, and he does take it in a confident grip, sending you a smile of his own.

“I’m Y/n.” Now the mystery girl looks up at you, finally a name attached to your face.

“Nika, I already know what you want, but how about you?” He looks to you when he speaks, obviously you wouldn’t know what to order, it being your first time there and all.

“I’ll just have whatever she’s having with a chocolate milkshake.” Alex disappears behind the counter again, your eyes following his retreating form. Looking away from the kitchen door, your eyes quickly meet the ones of the girl you now know as Nika.

One of her hands was tucked under her chin, keeping her head up in order to look at you. Relaxing into the cushions behind you, the small smile slowly taking over your face suddenly becomes full blown.

“What is it?” She giggles under her breath at your inquisitive look, and despite not knowing much more than her name, you already felt like she knew your soul inside and out.

“Nothing…it’s just that this is the last place I would’ve thought that you would bring me to.” The furrow in her brow is frankly quite adorable, her head turning to the side just in time to catch Alex walking out the kitchen with your food. 

You see the way her eyes light up again, the platter of pure greasy goodness at the center of her attention right at that moment. All you could think about at that second was how thankful you were that the season hadn’t started yet, because everything there broke every single diet you could think of.

Looking to the brunette, the laugh bubbling up from the pit of your stomach is almost one of wonder, because the beautiful girl had already managed to get through half the burger that was in front of her. It seemed like her intoxicated brain only was focussed on one thing, satiating her hunger.

It isn’t long until you follow her lead, picking up the burger and just trying to get the most you could of it in your mouth. You can’t help the groan that escapes you when the exquisite flavours hit your taste buds all at once, having to lean back into the cushions of the booth to be able to take it all in, closing your eyes fully to enhance the experience even further.

It’s only when she laughs that you finally open your eyes again, only to see her looking right at you like you were made of glass, like she could read you like a book and then play you like a fiddle.

“I understand, I had the exact same reaction when I tried it.” She continues to giggle at you when you start to eat like a poor man starved. It was a funny sight to be fair, the way your fancy act completely disappears when in contact with amazing food.

“How’d you even find this place?” You question her when you’ve swallowed and wiped your mouth off with a napkin, you still had manners after all. She smiles at you, gesturing at your surroundings, at the tables and the booths, the chairs and the ketchup bottles, at everything.

“I was drunk after a party once in freshman year and I just stumbled across it.” You nod in response, completely understanding the randomness of how she’d found the place. When you’re drunk, all you want is some greasy food.

“So it’s a well guarded secret between the students then? I assume there’s usually more people here at this time of night.” You take a sip of the milkshake when the last word has fallen from your lips, heat spreading across your face at the intense look you’re getting from the brunette in front of you.

It’s probably just because she’s drunk, you think quietly to yourself, almost trying to convince your mind that the stupidly attractive smile on her face was just one of momentary value, that it was only because it was late and you were tired that it affected you in the way it did.

“Yeah, something like that.” She responds, a comfortable silence enveloping you two as you continue to eat.

The only thing that could be heard was the murmur of the fan across the room, the patting of the fingers of the boy, Alex, at the counter and the sound of shallow breathing. Well that was until her accented voice breaks it with a question.

“So, how’d you manage to befriend the girl with the scariest brother ever?” Nika asks you, her fingers playing with the napkin she’d taken only moments before. Her teeth capture her bottom lip softly as she looks at you tentatively, she’s positively driving you nuts with her pure unfiltered beauty.

“Well, for starters we both play football for Harvard, but she was the first one there to greet me, to help me pack up the necessities and all that. She never did mention a brother though.” You relish in the way she looks at you, all flustered and sweet despite you not having done anything in particular. It was adorable. Pause.

She nods absentmindedly, opening her mouth to speak before closing it and then opening it again, resembling a fish out of water more than anything.

“Were you going to say something love?” You ask the now blushing girl, and she hides her face in her hands at the embarrassment, clearly having zoned out for a little while there.

Reaching over, you pat her shoulder comfortingly before you ask her your next question.

“How about you? How do you know Em’s brother?” Nika reaches over the table to steal a few of your fries, laughing at the betrayed look on your face.

Maybe it was the drinks or maybe you were just funnier than you’d originally thought, either way the angelic sound of her laughing had graced your ears many times that evening. Not that you minded, you didn’t even mind a little bit.

“He plays basketball, I play basketball, and sometimes we train together.” You can’t help the feeling taking over you, the burning feeling that makes you question everything you’d ever known about yourself. Just the thought of your friend’s brother getting to enjoy her company makes the feeling inside you that much worse.

 It seems like she sees the way your expression changes just that little bit before it goes back to normal.

“So, you’re like…close?” You ask the basketball player timidly, rolling your eyes only seconds later when the brunette decides to take a sip of your milkshake.

“No, not especially close. I mean, we talk when we have to at the shared training sessions, but not outside of it. But realistically though, who in the world of college sports doesn’t know Callum Whitmore?” Looking at her cluelessly, you sarcastically shrug as if to say you, because you truly hadn’t known a single thing about the man before she had told you.

By the third time Nika reaches for your fries, you decide to just push them towards her and let her have them, you weren’t even hungry after the monster burger you’d just consumed. It wasn’t at all just because she was too pretty not to get whatever she wanted. Pause.

“You want to switch?” She gestures to your drinks, she’d gotten a strawberry milkshake that she didn’t seem to fancy all that much right at that moment. Sighing goodnaturedly, you give her a nod and allow her to take whatever was left of your shake, smiling softly as you sip absentmindedly at the pink shake she’d given you. 

Soon enough, the only thing that could be heard over the natural noise of the diner was the slight slurping every so often.

“I just got to go wash up, then I’ll walk you home, okay?” The brunette nods as she looks at you leaving, pulling out her phone to seemingly start to text someone not long after.

You walk up to Alex, who’s still standing at the counter and he smiles in your direction when you near, only seeing you out of the corner of his eye. Pulling out your wallet, you hold out your card to him.

“Could you do a to go order? God knows she’ll need that in the morning.” You nod your head in Nika’s direction, Alex smiling widely at you.

“You know, I’ve never seen her with you before…” His voice trails off, as if to tell you to fill in the blanks.

“Yeah, we only met tonight.” You smile at him staley, not understanding why the timeline of events was so important.

“You must be special then if she brought you here, it’s not often she brings anyone other than her friends here after a night out. Nico, drop me two burgers on the grill, one choc milkshake and a strawberry one.” As you walked towards the bathroom of the establishment, putting your card back in your wallet, you started to think about his words, wasn’t this place well known? What made it so special to Nika that the server had to point out how she never brought strangers there?

Wiping your hands off on your trousers, you go up to your table to collect Nika before swinging by the counter to pick up your to-go order, the brown paper bag looking out of place next to the two of you. It seems like she’s sobered up at least a little as she looks at you questioningly, her eyes soon falling to the bag in your hands and then back up at your face.

The bell chimes again when the two of you exit the diner, the cooling air of the late night a contrast to the warm atmosphere of the diner.

“What’s that for?” The furrow in her brow is so endearing that you almost feel the skip in your heartbeat, her eyes narrowing at you ever so slightly. Her arm threads through yours, one of your hands in the pocket of your trousers, creating the perfect space for her arm to go through.

You sneak a glance at her, flyaways being highlighted by the streetlights you were passing. Her head meets your shoulder as you start to walk back to the party, her apartment couldn’t be too far from it considering she hadn’t mentioned anything when you offered to walk her home.

“It’s for you, I just know that hungover Nika is going to crave Donna’s diner’s milkshakes to calm her raging headache.” You tease her softly, but there was definite truth there either way.

If there was one thing you knew about being hungover, then it was that good food usually helped at least a little (well, after the spells of throwing up everything from the previous night.) You give her a cheeky smile as you near the party once more, the booming music being heard from miles away. 

“Thank you, you didn’t have to do that.” She speaks sincerely, you just smile at her in response, did you have to do it? No, but she’d kept you company all night so you did it anyway.

“Hey, can I just stop by my friend’s car before I walk you home? I just have to get something.” You were so thankful that you’d stolen the keys from Em before you went into the party only hours before. Leading her to the beat up truck, unlocking it and opening the door, you place the bag on the ground before you look through the glove compartment.

Finding the cartridge of painkillers and the pen that you were searching for with a small ‘aha’. The post-it notes Em always kept in her car finally came to use when you stole one, writing a quick message on it before sticking it to the plastic of the painkillers and dropping it down the brown paper bag.

You lock the car up, despite it being a piece of shit that no one would ever steal, Em always insisted on you locking it. 

Walking up to her side once more, you open your mouth to speak.

“So, lead the way home love.” You gesture for her to take the lead, it was her apartment after all. Taking your free hand in hers, the girl starts to lead you towards her apartment building, walking calmly side by side with your hands swinging between your bodies.

After passing countless trees, and even more cars, you suddenly find yourselves at the bottom of the slanted hill leading up to where she lives, and when you actually start to walk up the long walkway, it’s slowly almost like you’re both resisting the natural order of events.

But you had to leave her, both Em and Harvard were waiting for you and no matter how much you tried to resist, you knew that’s ultimately where you had to go, it was your life even if the girl you’d just met seemed far more interesting than anything.

When you reach the top, just meters away from the door, you hand her the bag, smiling timidly when she reached out to hug you, her inviting perfume enveloping you in a blanket of warmth. When she pulls away, she thanks you one last time for your kindness.

“Really, it’s no problem.” You reassure her, smiling softly when she turns back towards you one last time before the distance between you becomes larger and larger, her fingers soon punching in the code to open the door.

“Wait!” You call out for her right as she’s about to enter the building, her head turning back to you questioningly. “Don’t forget to put it in the fridge when you get in.” She smiles and nods before disappearing behind the door.

You start your walk back to the party a few minutes after the door has closed, something just keeping you rooted to the ground. It wasn't until you heard your name get called by that familiar voice that you turned around, seeing Nika through her open window, waving at you as you walked away.

It almost felt like you were in some cheesy romance movie as you waved back, turning to walk away after she closed her window. 

Truth be told, the evening had felt like something straight out of a romcom and some part deep down loved it. It loved the cheesy moments of pure unbridled love, the ability to express yourself freely, to dance in the rain, be your true authentic self in front of someone else was something you didn’t even know you longed for before you met Nika.

You shove your hands into the pockets of your trousers, every step you take moving you closer and closer to the frat house, closer to Em and closer to getting back to Boston.

Seeing Em sitting out on the steps of the house has you confused, why was she out there?

“Em? What are you doing out here?” You ask the clearly incredibly intoxicated Emma, your loud voice not even startling her, her slow movements showing just how drunk she is. The squeal she lets out when she sees you has you covering your ears, the intrusive sound killing your tired head.

She tries to stand up, but it just looks like Bambi on ice, stumbling and falling at every second. You come up and sling her arm around your shoulder, bringing her over to her car and sitting her down in the passenger seat.

“I’m not cleaning up if you throw up in here, just so you know.” She nods drunkenly, clearly not understanding a word you were saying.

“The reason why I was sitting outside is a long story.” She leans her head against the window, and knowing Em, she was probably imagining herself in a music video right at that moment.

“You can tell me tomorrow.” The car starts with a rumble and you pull out of the parking space on the side of the road, quickly pulling out and starting to drive on the main road.

It’s quiet for a while and you almost believe that Emma’s asleep, well almost since her feet move back and forth against the floor every so often.

“Where were you huh? What were you doing?” Her words are incredibly slurred and you can barely make out what it is she’s trying to say.

“None of your business mate.” She snickers at you, reading way too much into your response than she should have.

“You got some.” The way your face turns red doesn’t help your case even in the slightest, especially when she herself points out your reddening cheeks.

“Shut up and go to sleep, Em.” Your voice cracks in the middle of the sentence, still embarrassed by her insinuation.

“Mhm, you totally got some pussy.” You sigh as she laughs again, she was clearly getting a lot more joy from the situation than you were.

“Go to sleep Em.”

“Mhm.”

Maybe she had been right after all, maybe you had fun and maybe, just maybe the decision to go to the party was a good one. Not that you’d ever let her know that.

[gravebirds0dmnk]

Respawn and Damian interaction except they're being brothers.

(short)

...

Damian: "You’re a clone but still my brother."

Respawn (deadpan):

> "You’re right. I’m your older brother. I came out the Lazarus womb first. Bow down, fetus." (He didn't come first but he's still older [I'll explain later])

..

Damian: "I will drown you in the Batcave pool."

Respawn: "Sounds like you’re projecting, baby shark."

..

They have to share a room for a mission. Damian’s side? Perfectly clean. Respawn’s side? Looks like a cursed Hot Topic exploded.

Damian: "Clean your side before I bury your corpse under your own clothes."

Respawn: "Oh sorry, forgot we’re roommates in your twisted little monk fantasy. Get used to the mess, freak."

Damian: "I am this close to stuffing you back in the cloning vat."

..

Damian

>: "I was trained to kill since birth."

Respawn:

> "Since birth? Aw, poor thing. I didn’t even get a birth. I woke up in a tank. Imagine skipping diapers and going straight to stabbing."

Damian:

>"That explains your mental decay."

Respawn:

>"At least I wasn’t raised by a man named ‘Ra’s’. Like, that’s not even a full name. Was your next mentor named ‘Blergh’?"

...

They’re forced to fight side-by-side during a stealth mission. Respawn gets cocky.

Respawn (over comms): "Okay short-stack, I’ll take left, you take right. Don’t die, I don’t feel like dragging your bleeding ego back."

Damian: "Just stick to the plan, organ failure."

Respawn: "Aw, don’t be mean. I like it when you rely on me. Makes me feel wanted. Almost."

...

(TW! Head canons)

Okay the reason why Respawn is older than Damian is (at least in my head cannon)

Even though Damian was born first, he died at 10 (classic Robin move 💀), and was dead for almost a year.

Meanwhile, Respawn was alive during that whole time.

So if we’re talking “time spent alive without dying”, Respawn wins by like... few months..

[skilliqcourse]

The Essential Role of MEAN Stack Training in Web Development

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Conclusion 

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[apoptoses]

“What was Christmas like when you were alive?” Daniel asks.

Across the table Armand drags a piping bag down the length of a cookie. He’s been at it for hours now. Or at least that’s how it feels after going to the store, baking the gingerbread. Laying out all the shit Armand had brought to decorate the house- sprinkles and icing and piping bags and piping tips. The table looks like a holiday war zone.

Daniel rests his chin on his hand and lets his eyes wander.

The fingers squeezing the bag are almost as white as the icing within it, and Daniel wonders if that’s what Armand’s hands look like when they’re squeezing his bicep, his throat. If his skin is as malleable as the frosting, yielding into dimples for Armand’s marble-strong fingers. Amazing that he doesn’t burst the bag with his power.

Armand raises his gaze from the table to Daniel’s face. Daniel clears his throat and fumbles for his cigarettes.

“Are you certain that’s what you want to know?” Armand asks.

Daniel rolls his eyes. His ears burn pink. “Why else would I have asked?”

The thoughtful hum Armand makes is more for his reassurance than anything. A little sound of acknowledgement that normally would be inaudible to the mortal ear made loud so that Daniel is aware he’s thinking; a habit he’d developed not long after Pompeii.

That was three years ago now. Sometimes Daniel thinks he knows just as little about Armand now as he did then. He’s never met someone who lives so thoroughly in the now. Who seems so disinterested in his own past.

Who’s such a miser about letting Daniel help with his craft projects. No touching the cookies, no decorating anything of his own. Just sit back and assist when told. Hungry and bored, Daniel reaches for a gum drop. A foot slams into his shin and he yelps.

“What? You won’t let me help,” Daniel says.

“Because I wish for the result to be a surprise.”

“Then don’t be surprised if I help myself to the supplies,” Daniel insists. “Maybe if you’d answered my question I wouldn’t be eating your stuff.”

Armand gives him a dry look. Daniel pops the gum drop in his mouth.

“I fail to see how the two are related. Anyhow, it was different,” Armand says, and Daniel has to swallow down the ‘obviously’ rising in his throat to keep from starting an argument. “A period centered more around merriment. Christmas of the past had more in common with Roman Saturnalia than it does with the holiday of the modern age.”

“What do you mean?”

“Gifts are the focus now, are they not? Worshipping at the altar of the child and not at that of god. It’s a season of performance and consumption.”

“Mm. Consumption wrapped in the guise of family. Go home for the holidays, if you don’t there must be something pathologically wrong with you.”

Daniel ashes his cigarette. One of Armand’s curls slips out of place, falls across his forehead and into his eyes.

He thinks of his mother. The way she’d sweat and curse over the hot stove. Pearls around her neck, hair in curlers as she rushed to get everything ready before Daniel’s grandparents and uncles and cousins stormed the house. She’d be half drunk before they even got there, off nips of whiskey Daniel now realizes was to take the edge off the pressure she felt to impress everyone.

The windows on the gingerbread house at the Molloy’s had always been built from crooked lines, giving the whole thing the appearance it was liable to fall in on itself. Margaret Molloy would have never tolerated the stack of dirty dishes like they’ve got in the sink. The evidence of her having created anything would have been swept away long before any relatives arrived.

Daniel drags his finger through the powdered sugar that litters the table. He thinks his mom would have a heart attack if she saw the state of their place. The mess Armand has made in his search to try modern traditions.

Armand has never asked if he misses his family. Whether he’d rather be back in Pennsylvania with them than here in New York. If he left now he’d catch the last train. Be there by eleven or twelve. Aunt Linda would probably cry seeing him at the door.

The tip of the piping bag oozes white frosting onto the table when Armand sets it down. He squints at the cookie.

Daniel lifts off his chair, tries to lean across the table and get a look at the front of the gingerbread house. Armand shoos him away.

“Wait. It requires something else.” He picks through the mess of supplies on the table. Icing in all colors, sprinkles, chocolate chips. They’d bought it all and then some. Armand never does anything by halves and Daniel can’t imagine where they’ll keep it all when he’s done. The cabinets are about overflowing as it is. “I’d allow to go, you know. To visit your family.”

Armand says it quiet enough he almost misses it. Daniel’s eyebrows shoot up. He stifles his surprised laugh, choked off noise coming out more like a snort.

“You’d ‘allow me’? Generous of you.”

“Don’t be sarcastic. Family is an ephemeral thing. You have it and then one day, you don’t,” Armand murmurs. “And one evening is- how do you say it? A drop in the bucket for one such as myself.”

“And where would you go if I went?”

Outside the house, probably. Daniel can picture him lingering in the street, watching through the window like in Venice. Even if he can’t see him Daniel’s always been able to feel his presence the way some people say they can feel ghosts. 

Armand shrugs. “I would find something to do, just as I’ve done for centuries now. I’m capable of entertaining myself.”

“Mm.”

Armand’s nails are like glass. Smooth, slick. Just long enough to be sharp at the edges on the nights he doesn’t file them down, and he hasn’t filed them tonight. Daniel can tell by the way he uses them like tweezers to pluck a single sprinkle from the jar.

He could go back and let his mom fuss over his plate, listen to his dad try to make excuses for why his prodigal son spends all of his time far from home, why he doesn’t have a respectable job like his cousin Sean. He could sleep in his childhood bed and feel his mortality in a whole other way. Sit beside the tree his mother never, ever let him help decorate as a child because it had to be just right.

Armand places the sprinkle on the cookie. His fingertip comes away smeared with icing and he stares at it, then reaches across the table and holds it out in front of Daniel’s face.

He doesn’t taste like anything. Vampires don’t secrete bodily oils, and so when Daniel licks his finger clean it reminds him more of licking the plastic spoon his mom used to stir batter with. Smooth and cool and tasteless, except for the sugar that bursts on his tongue.

He wonders if she still has that spoon. If Armand will let him lick frosting from somewhere else when he’s done building- whatever the hell it is.

Armand doesn’t wipe his saliva off when he retracts his hand. Doesn’t comment on Daniel’s wandering thoughts either, or the way his pupils have dilated with them, just stares at his gingerbread house with all the seriousness of an architect. He adjusts a peppermint on the roof then nods.

“There. You may come see it now.”

The legs of Daniel’s chair squeal against the floor. He grinds out his cigarette before he circles the table, comes around to Armand’s side.

The linework on the gingerbread house is unnaturally straight, a carbon copy of the design pictured in the recipe book. Icing drips from the eaves, swirls in graceful arches over the windows and around the door. There’s even a wreath drawn just above the door. And in the powdered sugar snow on the ground stands a figure. A gingerbread man with a sprinkle cigarette dangling from his mouth.

“It’s you.”

Armand’s fangs peek out just above his lower lip when he grins up at him. He’s got powdered sugar on his sweater, in his curls. Daniel rolls his eyes. He rests his hand on the back of Armand’s chair and leans down to kiss the mischief from his mouth.

There’s people who miss him just a hundred miles away. A house so tidy you could eat off the floor, probably even a present under the tree for him on the off chance he comes back. Hell, they could go together. He could introduce Armand as a friend from the city with no family to go home to of his own. It wouldn’t even be a lie.

But Daniel’s got a crooked tree here that they’d decorated together with the mess of ornaments Armand bought at Saks. A sink filled with dishes and enough cookies to last him until Easter at least. And Armand-

Armand’s fingers curl around the back of his neck, pressing little valleys into his flesh with their strength, holding him there as his tongue slips into Daniel’s mouth. Licks some of the sweetness from it and leaves the hair on Daniel’s arms standing on end. Daniel angles his head to the side, opens his mouth a bit more. Kisses a little harder and feels the scrape of fangs on his lip like a threat. Or maybe a promise. Daniel’s too dizzy to know. His hand is busy working its way into Armand’s hair, as though he could actually tug him out of his chair and into the living room. He’ll crawl into his lap right here in the kitchen if he has to.

Then quick as it began it ends. Armand breaks away and pushes Daniel back toward his chair.

“There are more gingerbread people on the tray. You may make one of me to add to our house,” Armand says.

Daniel snorts but it comes out all wrong, like the huff of air someone lets out when they’ve been stabbed. His hands tremble as he picks up the piping bag. One kiss and Armand’s got him this fucked up. “I ‘may’ make one, like it’s a choice and not an order.”

“Yes. And then should it pass my inspection you may help me find something to do with the icing that’s unused.”

“And if it doesn’t?”

Armand dusts the powdered sugar from his sweater. He shakes his hair back into place. The lights of the Christmas tree reflect off his auburn curls, make them glow all colors on the one side of his head, and when he looks at Daniel through his lashes Daniel’s heart races. His lips are parted just enough his fangs peek out from behind them, sharp and white.

“Then I suppose I should have to find some other form of consumption to indulge in. After all, that’s what the holiday is about now, isn’t it?”

It’s a shitty pun. But it makes Daniel’s blood pump hot beneath his skin anyways.

There’s a brick house with a wreath on the door that says ‘Molloy Family’ two states over. The train would only take a couple hours to get there. Here in New York Daniel’s got a piping bag in his hand and Armand sitting across the table swinging his feet like a child. His lips are still stinging-aching-tingling from the kiss. His blood races with the promise of more to come.

“Yeah. I guess it is.”

Armand nods. He rests his chin on his hand and it makes him look so innocent. Thoughtful in a way that's disarming. “Now tell me about Christmas when you were a child, Daniel.”

Daniel takes a deep breath. He drags a crooked line of ricing down the cookie and tries to think back. “Well, what do you want to know?”

[find all my other fics here]

[pleasured-ambrosia]

hi!! could you do a drabble of miguel protecting fem!reader from an ex or something like that? also i love your work !!

((Might get put on Ao3. Have not decided. College is hard. This was also written to be like pre-ASTV, back when Miguel wasn’t so sad and grumpy.))

The sound of your back popping breaks the long silence in Miguel’s office, your arms stretching to the ceiling as you let out a yawn. You had begun the long process of cataloging the many anomalies faced by fellow Spider-People that morning. However, even as the little clock at the bottom of your laptop screen flashes the late hour of the night, your stack of encounters is still tall enough to wobble at the slightest bump against your desk. The reports—if one could even call them that—are a mix of typed and written sheets of paper, as well as the stray napkin blobbed with ketchup or more mysterious substances.

Although it had been your idea to keep a database of anomaly encounters, you couldn’t have predicted that Spider-People had such . . . diverse forms of keeping track of their adventures.

A mug appears in your peripheral, breaking you from your thoughts. Your eyes follow the large hand wrapped around its handle, landing on the vague shape of Miguel O’Hara’s face, lit only by the orange hues of his computers. At one point, he had offered to teach you how to use them, but the process only put off your project’s completion further.

“I’m just taking a break,” you half-defend, half-yawn.

“Nah,” replies Miguel, nudging the mug closer to you. “You’re done for the night. Get some sleep.”

You sipped from the mug, letting the taste of herbal tea drown out your complaints. Your eyes take in Miguel’s form, noting that his usual blue and red suit was replaced with a gray jogging suit better-suited for your dimension than his. “No patrolling tonight?”

“I will after I take you home.”

You raise a brow with a small grin. “I can work a portal just fine, you know.”

“It’s not that.” Miguel’s stance shifts as he shoves his large hands into his pockets. “I just want to make sure you get home safe.”

Your grin widens. “So I can’t take care of myself, is that it?”

Miguel lets out a frustrated noise from the back of his throat. “No, I didn’t mean it like that . . . Por Dios, I just mean—“

“Miguel, relax. I’m messing with you. Walk me home if you want, but I have to stop by the store on the way home. Sound good?”

“As long as it’s quick.” Yet Miguel didn’t seem to mean it, watching as you pack up your laptop and roll up its charging cable. The two of you look almost normal standing in Miguel’s office, with him dressed in sweats and you opting out of your Spider-ensemble for an oversized sweater and a pair of jeans. You sling your laptop bag over your shoulder, imagining what it would be like for Miguel to walk you to a train or a bus rather than busting out a portal. You could probably make a decent living off data entry, but what would Miguel do? Maybe he would be a scientist, and despite working in two different departments, maybe he would become your friend.

“What’re you thinking about?” Miguel asks. He taps a button on his watch (which he would insist is, in fact, way cooler than a watch.) A portal of geometric shapes in red, orange, and yellow opens in the middle of Miguel’s lab, swirling with anticipation.

The vision of Miguel in a white coat and a button-up makes you snort. “Nothing.”

Before Miguel can press further, you grab his forearm and drag him through the portal.

Miguel has more practice at inter-dimensional than you, so it wasn’t much of a surprise that he remained calm as the portal thrusted the two of you through time and space. You, however, are less professional, waving your arms and resisting the urge to scream as your stomach turns into knots.

Landing on his feet, Miguel catches you before you can face plant onto the pavement of Earth-575, otherwise known as home. Your face burns with embarrassment as it hits the center of his chest and your arms wrap around Miguel’s middle. He’s warm, you think. And soft!

It was obvious to everyone in the Spider-Society that Miguel was in great shape. After all, most of the Spider training regiments had come from some of his own workouts. The man could probably rearrange your apartment without breaking a sweat, which was why it came as such a shock that despite Miguel’s muscles, you feel ready to snuggle into him like a pillow.

“You should really work on sticking that landing.”

You push Miguel away to glare up at his smug face. “You’ll get humbled real fast when I knock your ass to the ground.”

At that, Miguel roars with laughter. “I’d like to see you try.”

You huff, spinning around to take a look at the nearest street sign. The nearest convenience store is only two blocks away, making your apartment only an extra two. “Let’s move it, O’Hara. If you’re nice, I’ll buy you a snack.”

Although Miguel could very well buy his own snacks, he follows you anyways, taking extra care to shorten his strides so that he can walk by your side. Most of the residents of your city are tucked in bed by now, although a handful of lights accompany the sporadic streetlights. Besides the occasional rat or partygoer, you and Miguel are the only ones still out.

“Did you think the college kids were going to kidnap me in the middle of the night?” you tease.

“Absolutely,” Miguel deadpans. “They’d lock you in the basement of their frat house, and you’d starve because they haven’t gone grocery shopping since the semester started.”

“Is that what you did in college? Lure people into your frat house of doom?”

“Absolutely not.” Miguel beams with pride, his chest puffing out. “I was on the quiz bowl team.”

Your cackles bounce off the tall buildings lining the streets. Tears spring from the corners of your eyes as you clutch your stomach to keep it from aching. You can picture it now: a scrawny, awkward Miguel with thick glasses frantically consulting his team for the championship-winning answer.

“And when did you become all of this?” you ask, gesturing at Miguel.

He ponders this for a moment. “I didn’t become Spider-Man until I joined Alchemax, but I guess I branched out a little more towards the end of undergrad. Got more into working out, making connections.”

You turn around a corner, finding the entrance to a small convenience store. A small bell rings as you pull open the door, Miguel propping his arm over your head so that you can enter first.

“I’ll just be a second,” you assure him.

“One,” Miguel starts.

“Real mature, O’Hara.”

“Two.”

“Seriously, I’m going to web your mouth shut.”

“Three.”

“I swear to God—“

“Four—“

You make a beeline for the coolers towards the back, tuning out Miguel’s chuckling. By the time you pick out a half-gallon of milk, he’s perusing the long aisles of chips. You never really stopped to ask what kind of brands and flavors Miguel has in his dimension. They banned cigarettes and absurdly large sodas at gas stations, but that was all you heard. You make a mental note to ask, maybe even to buy Miguel something new to try.

You load up on a mishmash of items that hardly pass for a late-night dinner, filling your arms with small plastic bowls of cereal, styrofoam cups of ramen, and an overpriced bag of beef jerky. It’s not until you start weighing the pros and cons of ice cream over chocolate that you notice him.

His hair is longer than when you saw him last, curling around his ears in dark tufts. His guitar case is slung over his shoulder, and judging by the heavy eyeshadow and leather pants, he must’ve had a gig earlier.

You decide to skip grabbing something sweet, spinning around to make a beeline for the cashier when he calls out your name.

Shit.

You turn around slowly, heart hammering in your throat. It takes everything in you to force a smile. “Kasey, hey.”

“Long time no see. Haven’t seen you at The Clover lately.”

“Oh, you know,” you’re thankful that the bundle of snacks in your arms gives you something to hold, “just been busy. Haven’t had time to go out.”

You used to rehearse this moment in the bathroom. You had a whole script where you laid everything out on the table—gave Kasey the verbal beat down he deserved. Yet as you stand across from him, the words won’t come out. Is it my Spidey-sense? you wonder, but this feels different. Your Spidey-sense always led you to action. Whatever this was . . . it was paralyzing.

“I tried texting you,” Kasey continues.

I changed my number, you want to say.

“I haven’t been checking my messages lately.” Your voice cracks at the end, and you can tell Kasey noticed. Kasey always noticed.

“We should grab a drink, then. I actually just finished up tonight if you want to—“

“Are you ready to go?”

A large arm wraps around the small of your back and pulls you close, prompting a small oomf. You tilt your head back to look at Miguel. “Oh, uh, yeah. I’m ready.”

Kasey says your name again and smiles, sending a shiver down your spine. “Aren’t you going to introduce us?”

Miguel smiles down at Kasey, who barely reaches his chest. The expression looks more like a test than one out of sincerity. “I’m Miguel, and you are interrupting our date.”

Before you can reply, Miguel steers you to the cashier. He sets a bag of chips you didn’t even realize he was holding onto the counter and waits for you to do the same. You reach for your wallet, but Miguel’s faster, handing the cashier a twenty and not bothering to wait for the change as he takes the plastic grocery bags. As he escorts you out of the convenience store, you catch one last glimpse of Kasey’s slack-jawed face.

“I can’t believe you just did that,” you moan halfway down the block.

“I have paid for your snacks plenty of times.”

“No, not that. You shut him up just like that!” You snap your fingers for emphasis. “And you said we were on a date. And you put your arm around me!”

“It was the first thing that came to mind!” argues Miguel. “I didn’t need your Spider-sense—“

“Spidey-sense.”

“Lo que sea—to tell that you needed a little help.”

A beat of silence passes.

“Some great hero I am,” you grumble. “Can’t even handle an ex-boyfriend on my own.”

“We all have people that get under our skin. And sometimes no matter how hard we try to get them out, we can’t.”

Miguel’s gaze focuses on the street ahead, his face contemplative.

“You know, a convenience store would be a pretty lame first date.”

Miguel shrugs. “Well, if you’re going to be so ungrateful, I guess I’ll just eat all of this junk food myself.”

You did not tease Miguel for the rest of the night.

[shiorimakibawrites]

Two Ships Passing in the Night (The Phantom #3)

Word Count: ~4600 words Pairing: Matt Murdock x Project Beagle! Reader Summary: You and Matt each go about your respective week. Warnings: Religion, Bible quote, referenced child abuse, referenced injuries, guilt, swearing, drinking The Phantom Matt Murdock/Daredevil Masterlist My Masterlist A03 link

Chapter 3: Two Ships Passing in the Night

Matt expected you to be gone when he returned from work but the empty apartment still stung a little. At least you didn't bolt the second you thought I was too far to give chase, he thought ruefully, shedding his suit jacket.

In fact, he observed as he loosened his tie, it seemed like you had remained here for several hours. Your scent trail leading away from the apartment indicated you had left…maybe in the afternoon? A conclusion supported by his apartment was clean as a whistle with the scent of his cleaning products lingering in the air. It wasn't quite enough to cover the lingering scent of hair dye but at least you had been courteous enough not to leave the used bottle and gloves here to stink up the place…

Courtesy or paranoia. Deposing of the gloves off-site and the cleaning also eradicated the bulk of your fingerprints from his apartment. But is it really paranoia when someone really is out to get you?

Matt filed that away as a potential clue about your hunter. Someone with access to fingerprint databases wasn't exactly a smoking gun but that's how cases were built. A little piece here, another little piece there until he had a target. Finding your hunter wasn't all that different from his own investigation into the shadowy figure crouched like a spider at the center of a web of crime.

Less attributable to paranoia was that you had done his laundry along with your own clothes, leaving the clothes folded and stacked on his bed in orderly piles. Another courtesy, perhaps, showing that you hadn't tried to snoop? Or just being polite enough not to mess with his organizational system? Impossible to know but it was nice knowing he didn't need to carve out time for laundry.

He opened the fridge to retrieve a beer and discovered yet another parting gift. A casserole? He trained his senses on it — eggs, cheese, herbs…potatoes and spinach? When had he bought spinach? He couldn't remember. Wasn't entirely certain when he had last gone grocery shopping either. He knew, logically, that eating in was cheaper than take out. Making his own food meant he got to control exactly what was going into his meals.

But he hated grocery shopping. Nothing was labeled in braille. Sometimes the shelves got completely rearranged so he ended with ten cans of dog food instead of black beans…or people just left things where they didn't belong. Add in the buzz of fluorescent lights, carts with squeaky wheels, lots of voices within a small space that often seemed designed to be as echoy as possible. Then there was the smells - bodies, perfumes, cleaning supplies, food….

By the time he got home, he often had a migraine pounding through his temples. Which killed any desire he had to eat, let alone cook anything.

Furthermore, between his long hours at Landman & Zack and his night job, Matt was often too tired to cook. Sometimes he managed breakfast but that was about it.

He didn't normally eat eggs for dinner but he wasn't fool enough to turn down a home-cooked meal. He cut out a square. It already smelled good cold but as it warmed up? Matt's mouth started watering. It was a simple meal, perhaps, but simple didn't mean. A simple meal well made went a long way in his book.

He had to hold back a moan at the first mouthful. It tasted as good as it smelled. As good as Mama Nelson's egg-bakes. He'd have to take Foggy some tomorrow. It was their last day at Landman & Zack and his best friend deserved a treat for that. Normally that would mean going to Josie's after work but Foggy had volunteered to watch his cousins Lori and Tori this weekend while their parents were out of town.

One more day, Matt reminded himself. Just one more day. Then he and Foggy would be taking cases that they could be proud of. Represent clients who needed their help far more than some large corporation or the wealthy did. No more clients or partners who made his teeth clench and his fists itch…

Just one more day…

Later, as he prepared to head out, he wondered if you had found his real name while you were here. And if he would run into you again tonight.

<scene break>

Your momentary bed wasn't nearly as fluffy as the Devil's. Which wasn't all that surprising considering the later was full-sized beast with a mattress topper while this was a simple cot. But it wasn't uncomfortable and it was clean. Both of which went a long way in your books. A little cot with a single mattress beat the hell out of a cold, hard floor.

Snuggled under a blanket, listening to the distant rumble of the streets, you fell asleep.

<scene break>

You were woken by footsteps. Brisk but soft enough that the walker was clearly trying to be quiet. Not sneaky quiet but more like respectful that someone nearby might still be asleep kind of quiet. Someone less paranoid than you might have slept through it. However you were that paranoid. So within seconds, you were awake but playing possum until you had a better idea of who was down here. Father Lantom might be a good egg but your paranoia was too well rooted.

The walker made a beeline for the washing machines. It wasn't hard to figure out why. Even from here, you could smell the faint but distinctive sour odor of vomit and sweat. Someone was sick? Luckily you were facing in the direction of the washing machines so carefully cracked open your eyes. A woman dressed in a black nun's habit was transferring sheets and child-sized pajamas from a laundry bag into the machine.

Seemed like a lot of laundry bags at her feet. Shouldn't someone be helping her?

Accepting that you were unlikely to go back asleep anytime soon — and this nun almost certainly knew you were here — you stopped pretending to be asleep and sat up in the bed.

It didn't take the nun very long to notice. She paused in her work, turning to face you. She was an older woman, somewhere between your age and Father Lantom, with dark eyes.

"Good morning," she said. "Ms.Smith, was it?"

"Yes, Mary Smith," you said. Maybe it was the habit or the nun thing in general, but the woman had air of strict sternness. "Good Morning Sister?"

"Maggie Grace."

"Nice to meet you, Sister Maggie," you said. You gestured to the pile of laundry bags. "Lots of laundry you've got there."

Sister Maggie shrugged. "Ora et labora, prayer and work, is the life of a nun. There is always a lot of laundry to do. We have many children under our care."

"And that means one person has to do all those kiddos laundry all by their little lonesome?" You asked, arching an eyebrow. That would expect the why Sister Maggie looked so tired.

"Well no," she said. "Normally we tackle it in pairs but some of my sisters are ill."

"Along with some of the kids, I'm guessing?" you asked, reaching for your shoes.

Sister Maggie seem to hesitate, studying you with sharp eyes. There was something vaguely familiar about that look but you couldn't put your finger on what. Maybe Father Lantom? He gave you the same kind of searching look yesterday…You didn't press her for an answer. But even your pre-coffee brain could appreciate someone who seemed to respect her charges' privacy enough to answer random questions about them from a stranger. Even if that question was something as innocuous as whether they had a cold.

"If you can point in the direction of coffee," you said. "I can give you a hand with that laundry, if you like?"

The nun looked surprised at your offer. But you made it for much the same reason that you had cleaned up the Devil's apartment and did his laundry — to keep the books balanced. Father Lantom might be a good person and Sister Maggie seemed like one but it was still better not to get into anyone's debt.

Besides, unless you were too sick to move or too exhausted to do anything but sleep, you weren't good at doing nothing. You always got restless sooner or later. Then you'd have to move, have to do something. Helping out was more productive than pacing around the basement like a caged tiger.

And, to be completely pragmatic about it, being helpful was beneficial for you. It tended to leave people with the impression of you as hardworking and nice, which often deposed them to find armed, shady men sniffing around or asking odd questions about you extremely suspicious. A reaction that had alerted you to trouble in time to escape more than once.

"We have a drip machine in the office," said Sister Maggie, before a mischievous grin spread across her face. "But if you want something fancier, Father Lantom is always looking for the chance to show off his latte skills."

<scene break>

One sip and you understand why Father Lantom wanted to show off. This was a top notch latte. And you would know – you had worked as a barista several times.

“If this Jesus thing ever gets boring for you,” you said. “You’ve got a bright future as a barista.”

"And you haven't even tried my mocha," said Lantom.

"You also do mocha?"

Brownie points for you, you managed to make that sound casual and mildly curious. Your last identity was a person who stopped by the coffee shop everyday for their sugary, extremely specific coffee order. Mary Smith, however, was mostly a drip coffee machine at home girlie. She'd take the occasional latte (or mocha) as a treat, especially if someone else was paying, but otherwise didn't see the point of the expense. After all, she had perfectly good coffee right here at home…

<scene break>

Matt felt a relief that he couldn't quite put into words. A tension, a tightness between his shoulder blades had been there for so long that he had almost forgotten about it, had eased. Besides him, he could sense the same release from Foggy. There was a spring in his step that hadn't been there in a long time, despite the late hour and that he was burdened with the box with their personal items.

"All on our own now, buddy," Foggy said with pretend mournfulness. "No more free bagels."

"There's more to life than free bagels, Fog."

"That's an easy thing to say when you've got a girlfriend making you delicious egg-bakes," Foggy retorted. "And why haven't you introduced me?"

"Mary's not my girlfriend."

Matt didn't need eyesight to know Foggy was leveling a skeptical look at him right now. "Sure, she isn't."

"We're just friends."

If we're even that much, Matt thought. He didn't even know your real name. And despite being obviously lonely, you had been very guarded. For a good reason, he reminded himself. She's being hunted. By someone you obviously considered powerful and dangerous. The fear had come through just as strongly as the loneliness and despair.

Foggy huffed. "Whatever you say, Matt. And you still haven't answered my question. Why haven't you introduced your bestest friend to your friend who just happens to be a girl?"

Despite Foggy's joking tone, Matt could hear the underlying hurt in those words. The fear that Matt would, like some of Foggy's so-called friends between middle and high school, decide that Foggy was too silly or otherwise embarrassing to be his friend anymore. Which was never going to happen. If anything, Foggy was going to realize that Matt wasn't good enough…

"Mary's skittish of new people," Matt explained, picking his words carefully. "And is dealing with some trouble right now that's eating up a lot of her energy."

Foggy made a sympathetic noise. "Well, let me know if there is anything I can do to help."

Matt had to smile. Foggy liked to tease him for being a bleeding heart but Foggy wasn't much better in that regard. "I will, thanks Fog."

"No problem," he said, all hurt gone from his voice and all was forgiven. Matt really didn't deserve him.

"Any fun plans with Lori and Tori?" Matt asked, changing the subject away from Mary. He knew being Uncle Foggy to the littles in the Nelson clan was one of Foggy's favorite things, something he could talk about for hours. And sure enough, he immediately took the bait.

"Oh loads! I'm taking them to the zoo tomorrow…"

<scene break>

You were in a holding pattern, waiting for your bank cards to arrive and for potential employers to call you back for interviews. You had spent what time you hadn't been helping Sister Maggie yesterday applying for what you could but you needed a break from entering the same information again and again. You needed time outside. And since Sister Maggie was taking the kids to confession, it seemed like a good time as any to skedaddle for a while.

You could have simply wandered around but you had learned the hard way that your powers had to be regularly used or you lost control over them. So you decided to give your abilities a workout by tackling some of the missing pet notices pinned to the church's bulletin board. Twenty was better at tracking — your thread abilities seem to gravitate more toward reconnaissance — but you weren't a complete slouch in that department.

And yes, the mention of a reward on some of them was a motivating factor. You couldn't depend on the charity of Father Lantom and the sisters at St. Agnes forever.

<scene break>

Matt stood in front of Clinton Church, arguing with himself.

He should go inside. Father Lantom was hearing confession. Matt didn't have to listen in to know that. The priest had been taken confession from parishioners on Saturday afternoon for as long as Matt could remember. It had been…far too long since Matt's last confession.

He had been using the excuse of being too busy. He had to study. He had to work. Neither had been a lie, exactly. His professors at Columbia loved catching students out on Monday for not doing any of the assigned readings. Professor Briggs, his Crim Law Prof, was especially good at sniffing out whoever had come into her classroom unprepared. One class and Matt knew that he never wanted to be that person. Ever.

As a very junior associate at Landman & Zack, he was expected to work late, on weekends, and any holidays deemed necessary. When the opposing council filed a motion at 11: 58 pm, it certainly wasn't going to be the senior associates or partners coming in on Thanksgiving or Christmas Eve to write the response. Matt had offered to do it himself so Foggy didn't miss time with his family.

"Buddy, you seem to forget that Mama Nelson adopted you the moment she laid eyes on your scrawny ass so it's your family time too. Besides if we work together, we can get it done faster and get home in time for pie."

Matt shook his head. Deep down, he knew those were just excuses. He could have made time and sometimes he had. But ever since he started wearing the mask, he had been avoiding it along with Mass. And Matt knew exactly why.

Father Lantom would know. Somehow, someway, he'd know that Matt was the Man in Black. The priest always knew when Matt was doing something he wasn't supposed to be like sneaking out or getting into fights. He always heard what Matt left unsaid during confession. He had never pressured Matt to tell him the truth but always made it clear that he knew and when Matt was ready for his guidance, he would be there to give it.

He wouldn't say that he's disappointed, Matt thought as he once again gave into cowardice and slunk away from the church. But I know he will be.

And Matt wasn't ready to hear that.

<scene break>

"Mary?"

"Yes, Father Lantom?" you asked, looking up from your laptop where you were writing some code. You were a little surprised to see him. Shouldn't he be getting ready for Mass? He seemed like he had been doing that — he was wearing the fancier version of his day-to-day wear with the green smock-scarf thing over top.

"May I ask you for a favor?"

"That depends," you said. If there was one thing, besides 'keep your mouth shut', that the lawyers you had previously hired had drilled into your head was to never agree to something without clearly defined terms. "What exactly is the favor?"

Father Lantom smiled. It was a fond smile with a slightly distant look in his eyes. Like you had just reminded him of someone.

"Reverend Kirk, the pastor at St. Luke's Lutheran church on 46th Street, has a small problem this morning. His cats Pumpkin and Snickerdoodle got into the cabinet with the communion wafers and made a mess of them. So he's a little short this week and asked if I had any I could spare."

"And you'd like me to run them over so you can keep getting ready for your thing?"

"Yes, if you would," Father Lantom answered. Then, as was apparently his custom, waited for you to make up your mind.

"No problem," you said, saving your work. His timing had been excellent — you were at a good stopping point. "46th Street?"

"Yes," Father Lantom said. "Thank you Mary."

<scene break>

"Blessed are the merciful, for they will be shown mercy. Blessed are—"

This is probably cheating, Matt thought as he listened to Father Lantom's familiar voice recite the Beatitudes. Not while seated in the pew as he ought to be but standing on the roof of his building. He could have slipped inside and sat in the back, then slipping back out before the priest saw him. He had even walked toward the church with that goal in mind but once again, cowardice won out.

As he slinked off, he thought he caught your scent but then a tourist a foot away from him dropped their bag. This had shattered a bottle of perfume. Very strong perfume that sent his head reeling and fighting not to gag. He couldn't get away from the smell fast enough.

His head was threatening him with a migraine but Matt still extended his hearing out far enough to hear Mass. His discomfort was unimportant. This was his penance. Both for what he had done and what he would continue to do.

<scene break>

His bruised ribs couldn't wipe the grin off of Matt's face. They had finally done it. After years of planning and saving, Nelson & Murdock was real. Yes, until their appointment with the realtor of Friday, their office was the backroom of Nelson's Meats. And yes, their sign was a piece of paper tapped to the door. But it was theirs, all theirs, and nothing could dim his joy over that.

The feeling was entirely mutual. Foggy might be grumbling a little that their only clients all day had been either his relatives or friends of the family but Matt wasn't fooled. He knew perfectly well that Foggy was just as happy as he was.

They were returning from lunch, having a good-natured debate about the Mets when Foggy abruptly stopped talking and jerked him bodily to the right. It was so unexpected that Matt stumbled a little and momentarily lost track of a bag of garbage. That moment was enough. He tripped over it and banged into the pedestrian traffic signal on his left side, right where his bruised ribs were.

For a heartbeat, sharp pain ate his world. Breathing hurt but Matt pushed through it. He was aware, in a distant sort of way, of Foggy shouting something extremely vulgar and possibly anatomically impossible at someone.

"You kiss your mother with that mouth?" he asked.

"My mother would be telling that fucking bike messenger the same thing," Foggy retorted. "He nearly plowed right into you!"

Foggy took a deep breath, clearly trying to reign in his temper. His best friend generally had a long fuse that Matt did but for certain things that fuse was significantly shorter.

"Sorry about yanking you like that buddy. It happened too fast to warn you."

Matt waved it off. "It's okay."

If anything Matt was more upset with himself than Foggy. He should have been aware of the bike messenger's approach long before he became a problem. Shouldn't have let himself get so distracted. Shouldn't have let his guard down just because he trusted Foggy to guide him.

"Dickhead should have been paying more attention," Foggy grumbled, stooping down to pick something off the ground. "Doesn't look like your cane got damaged. Here you go."

Oh. I hadn't realized that I dropped it, Matt thought, accepting the cane. "It's fine, Foggy. No harm, no foul."

"This time," Foggy huffed. "Looked like you smacked into the doohickey pretty hard. You okay?"

"I'm fine." That answer came out more terse than he meant. He forced himself to smile. "Probably just gonna be a bruise."

Bruises and one of those ribs is now cracked, part of his brain snidely corrected. But since Foggy trusted him, he accepted that answer without question. Which, as they resumed walking, brought about the usual pang of guilt. He hated lying to Foggy. It might be necessary but it didn't feel good. Didn't feel right, like putting a shoe on the wrong foot. He had been ignoring this discomfort for years now but it never got any easier.

Logically, he knew Foggy wouldn't hate him for being enhanced. He knew Foggy wasn't like that. But every time he opened his mouth to tell him, it was like something was choking him and he couldn't say the words. He could not convince that irrational part of his mind that he wouldn't hear a disgusted 'freak' spat at him before Foggy walked out the door.

It didn't help loosen his tongue that both his logical and irrational mind were in complete agreement about how Foggy would react to the knowledge that he was a vigilante: anger, fear, hurt, doubts .

And he'd have every right, Matt reminded himself.

But Matt couldn't keep listening to that little girl cry and beg her father to stop…couldn't just keep standing by while the system failed her night after night… And now he couldn't just listen. He couldn't ignore the pain and the blood in these streets anymore. He just couldn't.

The toll it took on his body didn't matter. The growing list of people who would like him dead didn't matter.

What mattered was making one less scream in the night. What mattered was making his streets, his people, just a little bit safer.

Even if that meant continuing to lie to his best friend.

It's too dangerous, he reminded himself as he settled back into his desk. It's safer for him if he doesn't know.

If Matt was ever discovered…if Foggy was genuinely shocked and horrified by this revelation, then maybe, just maybe, everyone would believe the truth. That he hadn't known. And maybe, just maybe, they'd leave him be.

He ignored the twinges of doubt like he did the guilt. He had a lot of practice.

<scene break>

You perused the clothing on the rack. You had job interviews scheduled but you needed something that looked more professional than the clothes in your go bag which was mostly a pair of jeans with a couple tee shirts. The blouse you had fled Tampa in was the right kind of dressy but it didn't match your current persona.

Besides three months on the run had a little rough on that blouse. The hem had come loose and half the buttons were…somewhere. When things got more settled, you'd fix it. Just because you couldn't wear it anymore didn't mean it couldn't be worn by someone else with a little TLC.

So far, you had pulled out a small collection of colorful blouses that would mix and match with neutral-colored slacks and a skirt that you had already picked out. If your mental tally was correct, you should have funds to get one more blouse here. The benefits of shopping for clothes in a thrift store.

Even if your bank card had arrived today, you still would have gone to this store. Mary Smith, you had decided, was a frugal gal. The kind of person who preferred to buy things second-hand and attempt to fix things before replacing them. Very different from the last Mary Smith you had been, the little rich girl who turned up her nose at anything that wasn't brand new and often expensive.

The bank had said your card should arrive after two to five business days. Today was a little optimistic but you had gone over to Matthew…the Devil's apartment to check anyway. In the middle of the day when — knock on wood — he'd be at work and — hopefully — unable to investigate any tugging on his threads he noticed. He had put on a suit before he left the apartment so he probably had an office job. They frowned on people taking off in the middle of the work day.

It seemed to have worked. You were able to get in and out without any Devil appearing.

I wonder if the Devil has realized his set of spare keys is missing, you wondered idly. Probably not. Surely he would have paid you a visit if he had. It wasn't like you had left Hell's Kitchen. And if your guess about his enhancement was correct…why hadn't you returned to the church basement to find an irritated Devil waiting for you?

Too much respect for the Church? You idly wondered as you made your final choice and headed toward the check-out counter. He did say he was Catholic.

Well, it wasn't like you were going to keep the keys. As soon as you had your card, you'd put the set back where they belonged. And the Devil of Hell's Kitchen would be none the wiser.

<scene break>

"To Nelson & Murdock!" Foggy said. "The best damn avocados in the world!"

"To Nelson & Murdock," Matt agreed as their glasses clinked together. He ignored the whiskey sloshing over the lip and getting on his fingers in favor of the happy little beat of Foggy's heart, the warmth in the hand on his shoulder. "The best damn avocados in the world."

<scene break>

He needed to get off the couch. Suit up and protect his city. But he had drunk more with Foggy than he had planned to. That or Josie's rotgut was stronger than usual. That would explain why the room kept spinning…and might be why he thought your scent was by the mailboxes. Which it couldn't be. It had been almost four days and he had yet to run into you once.

Granted Hell's Kitchen had a lot of people in it…

Or maybe, a nasty voice whispered. You ran her off. Just like you do everyone else.

You had made me food, he argued with himself. You hadn't taken off as fast as you could. The brief whiff he caught on Sunday hadn't smelled fearful… Neither did the maybe-you smell by the mail boxes…

Maybe he should go to bed. It was late. He had drank too much. He had clients to see tomorrow….

And maybe, if crime was slow tomorrow night, he'd see if he could find you. Just to make sure you were okay.

Notes

In this verse, Foggy and Matt have worked at Landsman & Zack for a couple of years, a combination of needing to pay rent between taking the bar (in late July) and getting the results / actually getting admitted to the bar (late October or early November at the earliest), internship, as well as building up a start-up fund & supplies for Nelson & Murdock. Matt hated every second of it.

Reader is worryingly used to referring to herself in the third person, an artifact from being unable to be herself because being herself has seldom been safe.

Ever seen Legally Blonde? Remember Elle's first day of class where the professor immediately picks one student and drills in on him? Imagine that but the kid hadn't even tried to be prepared so ten times worse. Matt witnessed it and went 'nope, nope, nope'.

The smock-scarf thing is the vestments. The smock part is a alb or surplice - a long over tunic that kinda looks like a smock — the scarf thing over over that garment is called a stole. Since it is currently Ordinary Time (not Easter or Christmas season or other special day/time), those vestments are green.

St. Luke's Lutheran on 46th is a real church in Hell's Kitchen, according to the internet.

The Beatitudes is part of the Sermon on the Mount, Matthew 5: 3-10

I'm told that bike messengers in NYC can be a hazard.

Yes, you did swipe Matt's spare set of keys. And no, Matt hasn't noticed yet.

Taglist: @loves0phelia, @nowheredreamer, @beezusvreeland, @pastafossa, @yarrystyleeza, @justvalkyrie, @xoxabs88xox, @flynnethenerd, @spn-reader

[biblicallyaccuratemeat]

Necessary Evil

MDNI!!

1

A/N: Hi, here is the long overdue second chapter, I am so sorry babes :'( I'm trying to feel out/tweak my writing style and diction so this chapter I feel is totally different vibes than the first. Anyway, my mental health is on the uptick (thanks ketamine therapy) so I will be updating this fic more frequently, thanks for sticking around! Reblogs & comments are always appreciated <3 Bucky Barnes x female reader, fluffy chapter, date night and board games, some heavy petting...

Word count:

Chapter Two: Nadja

“Do you get, like, that phantom limb thingy?”

Bucky blinks, completely thrown by your sudden question. Out of all the things you could have asked, this is what you landed on? When you invited him over for a board game date night, he expected lighthearted fun, some playful competition, not unpacking his layers upon layers of trauma. So, he looks up from the scrabble board, clearing his throat awkwardly, “Uh, what?”

You smile apologetically, cheeks flushing in embarrassment, “Sorry, that came out all wrong,” you laugh sheepishly, and Bucky’s initial shock gives way to admiring how beautiful you look in this moment. Hell, he’ll throw you a bone. After all, he wants so much for this relationship to be a meaningful, real thing. Something that’ll last. If he has to talk about his fucking arm and the train and HYDRA, so be it, he’ll do it for you.

He takes a moment to collect his thoughts, glacial eyes flicking around the surroundings of your apartment. It’s one of those shitty, too-small units that everyone has as their first or second or third apartment, god knows in this economy who can actually afford a better, bigger space. This is one of those apartments where you have one good closet that you’ll try to jam everything into, boxes of shit stacked up like Tetris. It feels like a space bag commercial— too much stuff, not enough space. There’s a variety of houseplants sitting on a windowsill that overlooks the parking lot, not the best view in the world but it’s better than a brick wall. A few dirty mugs litter the kitchen counter, you’re an avid tea drinker and Bucky plans to gift you a few boxes of your favorite blends when he gets around to it. He stretches his legs out under the coffee table. Like everything else in your apartment, it’s secondhand, with more scratches and dents and chipped wood than it’s probably worth. But you fixed it up, gave it a new paint job, a cheap deep blue acrylic paint. It fits you, it fits the apartment. He likes that about you, the way you find beauty in the abandoned. Collecting thrown away furniture and mismatched plates. Giving it a new home, new life. You like fixer uppers, you like having a project. Bucky can only assume he’s included in that, not that he really minds. No, it’s an honor to be chosen by you, to have you look at him and decide there’s still something there worth putting effort in. You can give him a new paint job, patch up the chips and holes, smooth out his dents. You sit across from him, playfully wiggling your toes against his beneath the old, beat up oak table. You’re wearing these godawful off-white knee high socks with a silly little hole in one toe. Maybe he’ll need to buy a new pair. 

“Phantom limb thingy?” He echoes, sighing out his nose, “Yeah, I guess I experience something like that, doll. Sometimes I have dreams that it’s still there, it feels like I’m moving it and grabbing shit.”

Your expression turns thoughtful, mulling over his words silently with a nod, “What’re you doing in the dreams?”

Bucky chuckles softly, smiling down at his lap, “Sometimes I’m just goin’ through the motions of my day. Brushing my teeth, pouring a bowl of cereal…you know the gist. Sometimes I dream of you, I’m…I touch you with both my hands.” He smiles sadly, “I mean, I can feel shit with the vibranium but it’s limited, honey. I know what the real thing feels like and it doesn’t come close.”

“Wow…that’s really fucking depressing,” you huff, cracking a wry grin. 

Your eyes crinkle in this way, that's the cutest thing Bucky has ever seen. A surprised, delighted chuckle escapes Bucky’s lips and he hums in agreement, “Yeah, that’s one way to put it. My life is one big tragedy. They could write a play about me.”

“Or a cautionary tale,” you pipe up, gnawing your bottom lip, eyes glued to the board as you silently strategize your next move. It’s a shit assortment of tiles, you know fuck all about forming a word out of B, two H’s, Q, X, Y, and E. Bexy? No, that’s not right.

Bucky snorts, “A cautionary tale? How about a source of inspiration for the masses? 105 year old handicapped veteran with PTSD finds love with a twenty-something year old after decades of shit.” He gestures his hands as if it’s some grand plot, grinning mischievously.

You’re not going to get many points this round, so you play ‘PIE’ off Bucky’s ‘GRAVITY’. 5 points, it could be worse you suppose. “Really? Pie? That's the best you got, sweetheart?” Bucky goads, eyes glued to his word rack.

“Unless bexy or queh have miraculously become words in the English dictionary, yes pie is the best I have this round, old fart,” You stick your tongue, playfully scowling, “What about you? A few rounds ago, you played ‘ate’. Real phenomenal wordsmithing there, Sergeant.”

Bucky acts scandalized, gasping for dramatic affect, “Excuse me? You should see the tiles I’m getting! This game is obviously rigged, you’re probably cheating for all I know. Distracting me with your angelic features and sweet voice… Honestly, sweetheart, I lost before we even began.”

“God were you this dramatic in the army?” You tease, smiling wide and goofy at his words, “How did you ever make it through boot camp, you dork?”

“Well, doll, there’s this thing called mastur-“ You cut him off, leaning over the table and pressing your lips to his. A surprised grunt leaves Bucky’s lips before he’s all but clabbering over the offending piece of furniture.

You shriek in a mixture of horror and giddiness, the carefully arranged words on the board scattering across the ratty carpet. “Hey! Okay, Mister, I so won that game.”

“You absolutely did not, young lady!” Bucky scoffs, clutching a hand to his chest, “According to our trusty post-it note,” he snatches the offending neon pink scrap of paper that’s stuck to your elbow. Adorable. “I am twelve points ahead of you.” 

You let out an indignant little huff, there it is again, adorable. Unfairly and utterly adorable. How could he not adore you?

“You climbed over the board like a buffoon, attacked me, and obviously cheated by giving me very shitty letters,” You prattle off a list of his alleged offenses, a finger sticking out to number each one. “So, you have to let me win. I’m sorry,” You shrug, flippant and admonishing in the same breath, “Spoils of war.”

Bucky realizes in this moment, he’s fucked. Completely and utterly fucked, because he can’t fend it off anymore. The realization that he’s rapidly and helplessly falling in love with you. If he were being honest, and really, truly honest, he was enamored with you from the start. Even when you damaged his baby, crying in the parking lot like you shot his puppy. 

“Spoils of war, huh?” Bucky murmurs, dragging the tip of his nose down the length of yours. He could count the lashes framing your eyes right now, if he really wanted to. “You know, I’ve actually been to war, right? I mean, if I count as American property, which I’m sure I do, I am spoils of war.”

The joke lands with a splat, like a rotten tomato on a brick wall. Your expression falters and Bucky punches himself mentally. He doesn’t talk about HYDRA, or the fact that he was born in 1917, because he didn’t see a need to bring it up and he doesn’t want to poison this new, fragile thing between you two. He knows you know, to some degree, what went on and how it panned out. He never really thought to ask your opinion on the matter either. 

So, he offers a tentative, crooked grin, “Don’t look at me like that, doll.” He murmurs, comforting you as if you’re the prisoner of war, brainwashed, who lost over half a century of your life. “It’s fine, I’m fine. We’re all fine.”

He can see the inner turmoil in your eyes, the way you chew your lip, you don’t believe him. He doesn’t blame you, even on his good days, he doesn’t really present as a fully functioning member of society. And Bucky knows, he can’t keep avoiding spending the night with you, you’ll see his nightmares, the way he jolts awake like he’s bursting out of a coffin. 

“Fine,” you mutter, pecking Bucky’s lips once, “I’m fine, if you’re fine.”

He grins, leaning toward you, always chasing the ghost of your lips, “Good. Now,” he claps his hands together, “Can we please stop playing Scrabble and play something more manly?”

You groan, flopping onto your back, “No, James, we are not playing Battleship.”

Bucky pouts, cheeks heating up at the use of his given name, “Why the hell not? It’s a classic! It combines all the best things; strategy, ships, me definitely winning.”

He watches as you roll your eyes so hard, he’s shocked they don’t get stuck in your skull on the way back. You push up onto your elbows, sprawled out on the floor next to him amongst the wreckage of your Scrabble game, “See? That’s exactly why we’re not playing. You’re absolutely going to win, and that’s not fair.”

Bucky, ever the smug asshole, crawls over to you, looming over your body, a knee planting on either side of your hips, “All’s fair in love and war, sweetheart,” he purrs before leaning down to capture your lips in a positively filthy kiss.

Your indignation melts into a puddle between your legs as you return the kiss with equal, if not more fervor. Your arms wind around Bucky’s neck, arching off the floor to press your body deliciously against his. Bucky groans deep in his throat, his organic hand sliding up your belly to cup one of your breasts, squeezing the fat in his fingers. The way Bucky massages your tit pulls a needy whine from you, as you squirm desperate for more, more, more. You can feel the way Bucky is smiling into the kiss, pleased with the way he’s able to transform you into this whiny, wet thing beneath him. You shift, tilting your head to deepen the kiss, sliding your tongue into his waiting mouth. Bucky welcomes the slick muscle, tangling it with his own, his hand switching breasts to tweak the nipple of the neglected one through the thin fabric of your shirt.

“Fuck,” you gasp, voice warbled from the sticky mixture of yours and Bucky’s spit mingling in your throat. If you arch any deeper into Bucky’s hands, you’re sure to break your spine, so you opt to squirm, wriggling against him like an anxious worm.

Bucky’s lips part from yours to trail down your chin, along your jawline, peppering every available inch of flushed skin with worshipful kisses. You tilt your head back, baring the smooth expanse of your throat to him. He wastes no time in latching onto the junction where your shoulder meets your neck, spending a moment to suckle a deep purple mark into your delicate flesh. You can’t help but moan wantonly, you’re in raptures, lost to the slick, maddening heat of Bucky’s mouth on you. A twin mark is sucked an inch or two higher, and then another and another until you’re a canvas for Bucky’s devotion. He feels heavenly pressing you into the carpet, all muscle and man honed from years of fighting.

Shakespeare was correct when he said parting is such sweet sorrow because the moment Bucky’s hand leaves your breasts, you feel like you might burst into tears. When his lips depart from your shoulder, you know for certain you’re going to burst into tears. You stare up at Bucky, breathless and flushed, utterly besotted and confused as to why he stopped his sweet torture. Bucky is faring no better, eyes wide and wild, shirt askew and hair sticking up at odd angles.

“Why’d you stop?” you ask breathlessly, too far gone to feel embarrassed by how desperate you sound. Your chest rises and falls rapidly, heart galloping as you try to regain some sense of stability.

Bucky sits back on his haunches, running his vibranium hand through his hair, “I don’t want to rush this,” he mutters, sounding as if saying those very words actually pains him, “I think we should wait.”

“Wait until what? Marriage?” you ask incredulously, sitting up, tugging the hem of your t-shirt down, “I don’t want to wait,” you whine like a child who just got told they can’t have dessert.

“I know, sweetheart, neither do I,” Bucky lets out a tired sigh, refusing to look at your pouty face because he knows if he does, he’ll cave instantly, “But, I think we need to. I promise you, I’ll make it so good for you once we finally do.”

“When you say ‘finally’ it makes it sound like this is years away,” you mutter, crossing your arms and huffing.

Bucky chuckles, pulling you into his arms, kissing the crown of your head, “I’ve been alive for over one hundred years, sweetheart. Waiting a month or two to make love to you is no time at all to me.” 

He runs his fingers soothingly through your hair and you melt into his embrace, curling up in his lap like a content housecat. The two of you sit there for a moment, simply enjoying the warmth and safety of being in each other’s arms. You’re the one to break the silence, whispering, “Fine, we can play Battleship, but you need to give a fair chance to win. Or just let me win.”

Bucky pats your butt once, nudging you towards the bookshelf that houses your collection of boardgames, “Fine, maybe I’ll let you sink one or two of my ships. I am a gentleman, after all.”

“I don’t think a gentleman sucks on a lady’s neck the way you just did,” you chirp, haughty as ever, tossing a roguish grin over your shoulder as you swipe Battleship off the shelf. You shriek as Bucky swats your ass again, admonishing, “Hey!”

Bucky throws his head back, laughing, carefree and unburdened, “That’s it, young lady. I’m only letting you sink one ship.”

“Grumpy old fart,” you huff under your breath, setting up the game.

“Infuriatingly beautiful woman,” Bucky shoots back, winking once before he settles in, prepping his expert strategy.

He ends up letting you win anyway. 

[paigesbasketball]

Echos of The Fallen

Chapter 4: Calculated Risks Shadow the Hedgehog x reader Warnings: swearing

3:45 AM – Warehouse Hideout

The stolen G.U.N. assets lay sprawled across the table, stacks of high-value data drives, encrypted documents, and access credentials that were worth more than gold on the black market. Avia leaned back against the cool metal wall, arms crossed, eyes flickering across the team. They had pulled it off, but it had been too close. Shadow had nearly caught them.

Scar paced near the table, cracking her knuckles. “I still can’t believe we got out of there in one piece. You really had to go and flirt with him mid-fight, huh?”

Avia rolled her eyes. “It was a distraction. And it worked.”

Scar smirked. “Yeah, but now he’s going to remember you. Maybe even hunt you.”

Zero, still typing away at his laptop, barely glanced up. “We should assume he’s already started.”

Avia exhaled sharply. She knew that better than anyone. Shadow wasn’t one to let things slide. If anything, her stunt back at the bank would make him dig even deeper. But the important part was that he had no idea who she was.

Scar plopped onto the couch, tossing a data chip between her fingers. “The real question is—what now? We got their money, but G.U.N. isn’t just gonna take this lying down.”

Zero’s fingers didn’t stop moving. “They’re already sweeping the city. My feeds are picking up multiple strike teams mobilizing.” He finally looked up, eyes sharp. “And they’re not just looking for the stolen goods. They’re looking for us.”

Avia tensed. “Then we go dark for a while. Let the heat die down.”

Scar raised a brow. “And what about Prototype X-09?”

That was the real issue, the real reason they had made a move against G.U.N. The money was just a means to an end. The real prize was understanding what G.U.N. was hiding—what kind of weapon they were planning to unleash.

Avia tapped the table thoughtfully. “We intercepted their funds, which means delays. But we still don’t know what X-09 is.” She turned toward Zero. “How much were you able to pull before we had to bail?”

Zero plugged in one of the stolen drives, his screen filling with lines of code and heavily encrypted files. “Not much. G.U.N. really doesn’t want people knowing about this project.” He narrowed his eyes, fingers gliding over the keys. “But… there’s something. I can break through it, but it’ll take time.”

Scar sighed, leaning her head back. “Great. More waiting.”

Avia wasn’t convinced they had that luxury. Shadow wouldn’t stop, not until he figured out who they were. She had seen the look in his eyes before they escaped—the calculation, the intensity. He knew she wasn’t just another mercenary.

And that was a problem.

4:15 AM – G.U.N. Headquarters

Shadow stood before the monitor in the war room, arms crossed, crimson eyes locked onto the surveillance footage from the bank. The fight replayed in slow motion—every movement, every detail, every split-second decision. His opponent was skilled. Too skilled.

Rouge sat on the edge of the table, arms folded. “You keep watching that, and you’re gonna burn a hole through the screen.”

Shadow didn’t answer, his focus unwavering. The way she moved… precise, calculated. She had known how to disable Omega. Had known exactly how to bait him into a vulnerable position. And then there was her escape. Efficient. No hesitation. It all pointed to training—elite training.

But who was she?

Rouge smirked. “Still thinking about your little mystery girl?”

Shadow turned to her, unamused. “She’s not ‘mine.’”

Rouge waved a hand. “Relax, I’m just saying—it’s obvious she’s not some common thief. She knew what she was doing.”

Shadow’s eyes flickered back to the screen. “She’s ex-G.U.N. or something close to it.”

Rouge tilted her head. “You really think so?”

Shadow nodded. “She was too precise. Knew how to counter Omega. Knew how I would react.” He exhaled. “This wasn’t her first time going up against our tactics.”

Omega’s mechanical voice rumbled from across the room. “RECOMMEND IMMEDIATE TERMINATION OF ALL SUSPICIOUS INDIVIDUALS.”

Rouge rolled her eyes. “Real subtle, Omega.”

Shadow rewound the footage to the moment she had spoken to him, her words still lingering in his mind. You gonna kiss me or something, handsome?

It had been a taunt. A distraction. But in that moment, her expression had been unreadable—playful, but measured. She had calculated her next move before he had even reacted. That level of control wasn’t common.

Rouge noticed his silence and smirked. “She really got under your skin, didn’t she?”

Shadow ignored her, his fingers tightening into a fist. “We find her. And when we do, I’ll make sure she tells me everything.”

3:55 AM – Rooftop Overlook

The city stretched out below Avia, neon lights flickering in the distance as the early morning air bit at her skin. The team was still back at the hideout, resting, but she needed space to think.

Shadow was going to come for them. That much was certain. But as long as he didn’t know her identity, they had the upper hand. For now.

She pulled out a small, old photograph from her pocket. The edges were worn, the image slightly faded—a glimpse of a past life. One she had walked away from long ago.

G.U.N. thought they could bury their secrets. That they could erase the past. But Avia wasn’t done yet.

She clenched the photo in her fist before tucking it away. Shadow would chase her, but he was missing the most important piece of the puzzle.

He didn’t know who she was.

And as long as she kept it that way, she still had the advantage.

6:30 AM – Warehouse Hideout

The sun had barely risen, casting an orange glow over the hideout as I stepped into the main room. The rest of the team was scattered around, still groggy from sleep. Viper sat at the table, sipping coffee with a lazy expression. Zero leaned against the wall, arms crossed, and Nova was fiddling with a small vial of something that probably shouldn’t be spilled.

I clapped my hands together. “Alright, guys, I have our next move.”

A few tired eyes turned toward me, some more interested than others. Zero raised an eyebrow. “I thought you wanted us to stay hidden until shit calmed down?”

“Well, change of plans,” I said, smirking.

I let the tension build for a moment before finally saying, “Our next mission is to kidnap Shadow the Hedgehog.” I smiled, hoping for agreement.

A beat of silence. Then—

“WHAT?!”

Scar walked in, stretching her arms above her head as she let out a yawn. “Good morning, people.”

Without missing a beat, Zero smirked and said, “Scar, Avia wants us to kidnap Shadow.” he says snickering while eating a piece of bacon.

Scar froze mid-step, eyes going wide. Then, without hesitation, she spun back around and started walking toward her room. “Good night, everyone.”

I blinked in confusion and sassily said, “Where are you going?”

Scar’s voice called from inside her room. “Back to sleep! I’m not gonna help you kidnap a man to get dick—there are other ways for this!”

Rolling my eyes, I marched over and dragged her back out.

Scar groaned, rubbing her eyes. “I blame Nova. Did you sniff one of her weird potions again and start hallucinating?”

Nova blinked. “Um… no? I wasn’t making any illusion potions this time… I think.”

Viper groaned and rubbed her temples. “Maybe we should stop letting her go up to the roof. The smoke fumes from the chimney's are making her crazy.”

Zero, suddenly burst into laughter. “There is no way you are this down bad for a man, or maybe its just him who caught your eye” he says wiggling his eyebrows.

I rolled my eyes. “Listen, he may have information that can help us.”

Viper leaned over and whispered to Scar, barely holding in a snicker, “Yeah, like his phone number.”

The two of them erupted into laughter.

I shot them an annoyed glare. “Guys, just huddle up.”