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reidyoulikeabook · 4 years ago

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Sometimes You Just Don’t Know the Answer

4 times you don’t know the answer, and the 1 time you do

This is the 2nd part to Personal Google! (You don’t have to read it to understand this, but it exists if you want to).

Ship: BAU!reader x Spencer Reid

Summary: You’d call yourself a pretty educated individual, and most people wouldn’t argue with that, given that you’re a member of the BAU at Quantico. There’s just something about your best friend Spencer Reid that gets you all tongue tied.

Warnings: Mentions of cases and case-typical violence, mentions of alcohol, Spencer and Reader being idiots again.

Word count: 3k

A/N: The feedback (in asks and the tag reblogs) for Personal Google was so lovely and encouraging and I am very grateful for it! I only made this account a few days ago and I’m already so glad I did :) I hope this is a satisfactory second part and, requests are open!

(This is the Reid I’m imagining here)

“What is up with you and Reid?” Emily’s volume is unmoderated at the best of times but right now it’s like she’s trying to alert the entirety of Virginia to your dating woes.

Dating woes might be a stretch, actually. Somehow, just her implication that something is happening between you and Spencer (even though it isn’t, unless you count two exhausted idiots falling asleep on each other and being too bashful to ever mention it again), is enough to get you feeling uncharacteristically shy.

“Nothing,” you shrug, “Well. I don’t know, honestly, nothing I guess? We haven’t spoken about that night.”

Emily’s eyes rake over you, and you can tell she’s waiting for you to continue.

“There’s nothing!” you object, “We just, it was accidental, we fell asleep because we were watching a documentary and we were tired and neither of us fell asleep on purpose.”

She laughs, dry and amused, “At this rate, you’ll be lucky to have sorted things out before you’re 50.”

You scowl, but it’s only because you know she’s right.

***

You don’t have much time to think about your situation with Spencer for a few weeks, considering the rate at which the cases come rolling in. This newest one arrives within about two days of the last one you’d just wrapped up. It’s actually kind of rude, you’ve decided, that the serial killers of America have decided to deny you two weekends in a row.

You’re briefed on the case quickly: four women have gone missing over the past 7 months from a small town in Ohio. There’s no distinct pattern that can be discerned among the victims, the oldest is 60 and white, the youngest is 23 and Asian-American. However, the first three have been found dead in the past two weeks, all within a mile of each other and all killed with the same MO: ligature strangulation.

“So we have no idea how he’s choosing them,” you say.

“No,” Hotch replies, with a sigh.

Meaning that this is probably going to take a while. Spencer senses the way you tense up a little as you absorb that fact. So he goes out of his way to sit next to you on the plane. Once the discussion about the case is done, he nudges you gently, “Did you bring a book?”

You shake your head, “I finished the one in my go-bag. Didn’t have a chance to replace it.”

“Would you like to read this with me?”

You place your hand on his wrist, gently turning it so you can see the cover, “Spencer this is written in Greek.”

“I can translate,” he says.

You move closer to him then, your head resting just against his plane seat and your chin almost jutting against his shoulder.

“Is this okay?”

He nods. The remaining 45 minutes of the flight are spent with him reading to you softly, adding in his own thoughts as he translates and sometimes going off on little tangents. By the time you land you’ve entirely forgotten about your ire with the case. You’re focused only on the characters he introduces you to, who are clearly in love even if they’re too stupid to see it, and the way his nose crinkles a little when he reaches a word with no direct English translation.

Whhat you don’t realise, is that you end up folding into him: head pressed against his chest. Somehow, neither of you notice how you naturally gravitate towards each other. Some pair of profilers.

Hotch sends you in different cars to the precinct, and you’re soon reminded of your frustration as you’re caught up in the hub-a-bub of the case. It’s not until you’re leaving the station, after a long and relatively fruitless briefing with the medical examiners and local PD, that you even have time to acknowledge Spencer properly again.

And even then, it’s only when Hotch says.

"You'll be sharing a room with Reid, alright?"

He’s only really asking as a formality. Nobody questions Hotch’s assignments for them. So why, then, do you feel yourself flush a little.

Why then, do you feel so embarassed replying, “Alright.”

***

There was nothing much to be nervous about with sharing a room, as it so happened. The past day and a half had been a whirlwind since the unsub had snatched a fifth victim. You’d been sleeping in shifts, making sure that some of you were awake at all times to keep working.

You were working on the geographical profile with Spencer, and had taken to driving around to look for landmarks at night, when there was nothing much else to do. There were maps but sometimes it helped just to get things embedded in your brain. And now, at 4am, you’re bursting into the conference room occupied by Spencer and Rossi, because you might just have got something.

"I have an idea,” you say, and before anybody can even respond you’re scribbling hurriedly on the whiteboard.

“Slow down kiddo,” Rossi laughs.

“Sorry I’m just,” you cut yourself off, slightly flustered and tapping your foot with frustration as you try to put the last pieces of it together, “Diana Matthews.”

“Yeah?” Spencer responds.

“She was the one who lived on Lakefield right?” Rossi asks.

Annoyingly, you can’t remember off rote. Spencer sees the pinch of frustration in your brow. He senses that you’re heading for the case file.

So, he answers, “Yeah 38 Lakefield Drive.”

Smiling gratefully at him, you breathe a sigh of relief, “There’s three different stores in the area for this local electronic repair company, Gladston Digital, in this area. Two of them aren’t accounted for on the maps because these are from last year, and one of the ones on Google is pinned to the wrong street, there are two Minister Avenues and one’s on the complete opposite side of town.”

Denoting the map with annotations as you go, you continue, “All of the victims had residences within a mile of one of the three stores. And we interviewed the area manager, Paul something, he manages all three stores. He came to speak to me and Hotch while we were scoping the area.”

“Inserting himself into the investigation,” Rossi notes, “Fits the profile. A stalker like that would want to remain an illusion of control.”

“I just need to get Garcia on the phone to see if it checks out.”

Spencer just watches, slightly in awe, as you make the phone call to Garcia. She manages to cross-reference bank statements and emails, showing that all five of the victims had taken something of theirs in for repair sometime in the year before their disappearance. And he feels something in his gut. Pride? Maybe. That’s certainly a part of it.

But there’s something else in there too. Your eyes meet his, with a flicker of recognition. He realises what it is then: marvel. Your brain works so fast, and that’s not novel to him, he knows you’re intelligent but there’s just something about how fast you manage to put it all together. You conjure something out of nothing, a link that he’d missed. And he’s reminded, again, that he has to try and keep up with you sometimes. He wonders if you know that.

Probably not, he thinks. You’re rambling down the phone and gesturing with your hands, in a way you may or may not have picked up from him, and all he can think is how you look so in your element. And beautiful.

He’s a little embarassed about how normal it feels for that last observation to pop into his head.

***

“To _____!” Prentiss cheers.

8pm has rolled around. Since your revelation 16 hours earlier, you managed to confirm your thinking, apprehend Paul Bader, and save the fifth victim. All in all, a pretty good days work. It’s not just down to you, but everyone’s singing your praises so loudly it’s making you a little embarassed.

Even Hotch sets a drink down in front of you, squeezing your shoulder, “Really good work today ____.”

Fair to say you’ve probably peaked there.

Spencer is sat to your left, sipping at a Mai Tai that you know is going to have him giggly in about an hours time.

“I wasn’t trying to keep you out before,” you tell him, “I was going to come and wake you up when I got back but you were in the conference room.”

He smiles, “I know. It was my shift to sleep.”

“Bet you’re paying for that now.”

“A little,” he chuckles, “It’s worth it.”

"I just didn’t want you to think I was hanging you out to dry. You know, to make myself look good,” you decide to press further: mostly just because the team has sung your praises and that kind of attention makes you shirk at the best of times. Let alone when you’re sat with the guy responsible for creating half the damn profile.

His eyebrows furrow. You worry for a minute about what he’s going to say, but then, “I would never think that about you. We’re a team.”

He squeezes your hand. Maybe that’s your favourite thing about Spencer, really. More than the fact he remembers to get your caffeine just how you like it, more than how gentle he is with just about everybody he encounters, more than his relentless enthusiasm for your questions about whatever pops into your mind. No, it’s his modesty. The way he doesn’t even think for a moment to be prideful or arrogant about his intelligence. He genuinely roots for you in every moment, you think.

“Are you okay?” he asks, “You seem a little..quiet.”

It wasn’t until he mentioned it that you realise you’d let your thoughts run away with you, “No. I’m good. Just thinking about how good of a teacher you are.”

“You think so?”

“Of course I think so. You’ve taught me. I didn’t know the first thing about geographical profiling when I got here two years ago. I could barely read a map,” you laugh, keeping your tone sincere, “You’re a really good teacher Spence. I feel like I learn so much from just being around you.”

“I often don’t give you much choice.”

You smile, “I wouldn’t want you to. Really. I’m always interested in everything you have to say. I think you know that. But I wanted to tell you anyway. So you’re sure.”

He’s incredibly grateful you get pulled into a conversation by Morgan, giving him a moment to process.

A lifetime of being insecure. Of feeling like nobody was interested in what he had to say but not being able to really control whether he said it anyway. All this time being insecure in himself, and you liked it. Complimented him on it, even. Considered him a teacher. He doesn’t think he could articulate, in any of the languages he speaks, the sense of peace that brings him.

-----

The Mai Tai’s do make him sleepy. Buzzed, but sleepy. After being bought rounds by Hotch, Morgan, and Spencer, you’re feeling exactly the same. It’s only 10:30pm by the time you decide to make your departure for the night. This is much to the chagrin of Emily, who lolls against Rossi’s side demanding that you stay.

“Some of us have been up since 4 this morning, breaking their backs to keep this country safe,” You tease, putting on a melodramatic air just for affect, “Besides, you’re going to regret this when you have to be up and back on the jet in the morning.”

“You will, especially since you still owe me that report,” Hotch teases, with a smile.

Emily rolls her eyes, “You two are no fun.”

She’s joking, goading you, but unfortunately for her you have a sleepy Spencer nuzzling against you which is a far more pressing matter to deal with.

“Come on Spence, let’s get you to bed,” You say, gently wiggling out from under him and offering him your hand.

He pouts at the momentary loss of contact. It’s subtle. You catch it though. He links his fingers through your own, holding your hand properly, and you try not to read into it too much. He’s tipsy. He’s tired.

Ignoring the deliberately obvious eyebrow-wiggling from Morgan, you make for the lift.

“You didn’t have to come to bed just for me,” Spencer says, “I feel bad for taking you away from the others. I’m not that drunk, I could get myself to bed.”

You shake your head, “I wanted to go to bed with you.”

His eyes snap to you, a grin playing on his lips.

“I mean, I wanted to go to bed. And we’re sharing a room. So I’m going to bed with you. As in we’re going to the place where bed is, together.”

He’s just enough tipsy to be confident enough to jest, “Sure.”

You roll your eyes, “You sound like Morgan.”

“What did Morgan say?”

“Don’t act like you don’t know exactly what Morgan always says whenever anybody goes off together.”

“That they’re having sex,” He giggles, tipsiness shining through again.

“Yes, Spence, that they’re having sex.”

“But we’re not.”

The elevator dings as you arrive at your floor, saving your brain from delving into the implications of what he’s just said. And whether that was a disappointed or netural tone.

He hasn’t let go of your hand. He walks to the door with you, still keeping your hand in his. It’s hard not to let yourself read into it now. How holding hands with him could be such a casual thing. Hard not to imagine walking through bookshops with him, one hand in yours and the other picking books off the shelf he thought you’d like. The domesticity of it sickens you.

Then he lets go to cross to the bed.

“Aren’t you gonna put your pyjama’s on?” You ask.

“I wasn’t gonna sleep yet,” he says, “I was gonna...”

He looks bashful, suddenly, self-consciously licking his lower lip, “I was gonna ask if maybe you wanted to watch something with me. You can pick. I always pick.”

“This an excuse to get me in bed with you again, Spence?” You tease, just past tipsy enough not to care that this is the first time you’ve even acknowledged that night.

"Yeah, the Pearl Harbour ruse doesn’t work twice,” he jokes.

You wish you could find the courage to tease him more. Unfortunately, the liquid courage seems to have run out, and the topic somehow feels too delicate to touch.. Instead, you change quickly into your pyjama’s. Together, you pick something to watch, settling down. You’re suddenly thankful for the single bed, the necessity to be cozied up against him as you watch. To feel his chest, every beat of his heart. You swear it’s beating fast. Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking.

***

Just like last time, you wake up huddled against Spencer. Unlike last time, there’s no Emily banging the door down to drag you to the police station. No, it’s quiet.

You can’t see what time it is because there’s a Spencer between you and the clock. Your phone is in your back pocket but it’s hard to find any motivation whatsoever to move when you’re like this: face pressed into his chest, his head resting atop of yours so a single curl of his hair tickles your nose, his hand on your hip holding you against him.

His eyelashes flutter, “Are you awake?”

“Yeah. I just woke up.”

He smiles, “Me too.”

“Looks like we did it again.”

“Looks like we did,” his voice is quiet.

“Do you want me to move? If I’m...I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

His free hand comes up to your chin, tipping it so you’re looking him directly in the eyes. His pupils are dilated. In the dim light it’s hard to place the look on his face exactly. But it’s soft.

"C-Can I kiss you?” the question spills quickly from his lips, like he’s afraid he’ll change his mind if he doesn’t get it out fast, “I just. I don’t know if that’s what you want too, I’ve just really-”

"Kiss me, Spence. Please kiss me.”

The smile on his face would have made you fall in love with him, if you weren’t already. And then he kisses you. Barely. Your lips are just grazing against one anothers. You tilt yourself upwards, towards him, giving him a better angle. Then he really kisses you, capturing your lips in his. It’s sweet, it’s soft, it’s...it’s everything. It’s everything, how his hands tangle themselves tentatively in your hair, how he kisses you so deeply, drinking you in.

His hand cups your cheek, then he’s pulling back, just a tiny bit, to mumble against your lips, “I’ve wanted to do this for so long.”

The only appropriate way you can think to verbalise your agreement, is closing the gap between your lips again. There’s an urgency to it this time. Your lips move quickly, passionately. He swipes his tongue across your lower lip and you let him in, your tongues delicately dancing together. He’s good. He’s good and you don’t even notice the morning breath or faint taste of rum, it’s just Spencer.

When you finally come apart, you’re out of breath.

“I didn’t think you’d ever do that,” you say, “I was worried I was reading this whole thing wrong.”

He frowns then, that little nose crinkle appearing again, “I thought I was too obvious.”

“So did I. Maybe it’s best if we don’t tell Hotch how bad we are at profiling each other. He might rethink his decision to take us on.”

He laughs, “Not being able to profile when somebody’s in love with you might be a cause for concern. There are several obvious phyical signs of love, including dilation of pupils when looking at the object of your affection, heart rate synchronisation.”

“How am I supposed to know if our heart rates have synchronised?”

He smiles. Pressing a finger to your lips, he dips his head in the small chasm between your two chests. In the silence, in the early morning quiet, in the absence of all distraction you can hear it. The steady thrum of your hearts, pounding away at identical paces. The sound that told you that some part of you had always known.

--------------

Tagslist: @takeyourleap-of-faith @sassiest-politician (let me know if you’d like to be added/removed from this list)

#spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #imagine spencer reid #reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #imagine criminal minds #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds x you #bau!reader

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mandoalorian · 4 years ago

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I Believe In Love [Maxwell Lord x F!Reader] — Twelve: Family

Summary: When you find your calling to leave Themyscira, you venture out to the World of Man with intentions of helping and healing a very specific person’s relationship with his son. You’ve heard his voice before, but only in dreams. You’ve felt his pain and anguish and you’ve never been able to relate to anything more. But things don’t come easy for you, and they certainly don’t come easy for him either. [This series contains spoilers for WW84 and is my interpretation of what happens after the movie ends].

Warnings: THE FINAL CHAPTER! very emotional, new beginnings, bullying mention, poverty mention, abuse mention, allusions to pregnancy.

Word count: 3000>

REBLOGS APPRECIATED.

Masterlist

Previous - Chapter Twelve - Epilogue [coming soon!]

“I don’t know if I could do it,” Maxwell sighed, pacing around in anxious circles. He looked different, in his denim jeans and khaki-green cable knit sweater. It made a change from the oversized powersuits he once donned. Alistair was sat at the dining room table, colouring in, and Max was having a nervous breakdown about getting his haircut. “I’ve had the blonde in for so long.”

You smiled, running your fingers through his shaggy and unstyled hair. When it wasn’t perfectly coiffed, it was wavy and glossy, and smelled distinctly like the freshest green apples. “It’ll be okay. Think of it as washing away all the terrible things that went on in the past and starting anew. Like… turning over a new leaf.”

You made a very good point. Maxwell knew he had to suck it up and just do it. It would be okay. He didn’t have to be Max Lord anymore, and he didn’t have this television persona to live up to. His main focus now was just being a father, and that’s all that mattered. All he needed to be, was himself. Maxwell Lorenzano.

“Daddy look!” Alistair smiled, waving around the piece of paper he’d spent the morning drawing on. It was stained slightly from his breakfast, and crinkled in the corners for where he’d applied slightly too much pressure when colouring, but all-in-all, it was perfect. Maxwell took the artwork and looked closely at it. Another typical family portrait of you, Alistair and Max. But this time, Maxwell was doting brown hair, and it reminded him of his younger days when he was first starting out as a businessman. “This is how you’ll look when you come home from the salon!”

“Wow Alistair, I love it!” Maxwell praised, unable to contain his grin. He held the portrait to his face and showed it off. “What do you think?” he asked you. “Do you think I’ll look good with the brown hair?”

You giggled and nodded your head, before pressing the palm of your hand flat against Maxwell’s chest and brushing your lips against his. “You’ll look so handsome, I’m sure.”

“Ew!” Alistair cried, pulling the paper from his father’s hand as you kissed him softly on the lips. The curve of Max’s nose nudged against yours and he laughed at his son’s reaction.

“Alright,” you said, pointing your finger. “You better go. Don’t want to miss your appointment.”

Maxwell nodded and took a deep breath. “I’ll see you in a few hours.” he announced.

The second Maxwell left the house, your stomach began to twist. You’d been living at Lord manor for a month now but truthfully, it felt like a lifetime. It felt like you had always been there. You were adjusting to your new life pretty well, but this morning sickness that you had started to get was an unwelcome experience. Amazon’s never got ill, so this was brand new to you, and you weren’t enjoying it one bit.

You rubbed your stomach and took a sip of the glass of water that you’d been nursing. Sliding down to sit next to Alistair, you watched as he finished his drawing, adding a few final perfections. Once it was done, you hung it to the refrigerator and praised him for his hard work.

“Ali, why don’t you grab your shoes and we’ll have a walk down to the Smithsonian?” you smiled, grabbing your jacket that was hanging over the kitchen door.

“Ooh! Is there a new exhibition?” He enquired curiously, hopping onto his feet and fastening his shoe laces.

“I don’t think so,” you admitted sheepishly. “I have to go meet with some friends.”

Taking the bus was a new experience for both you and Alistair. Joe, Maxwell’s driver, would normally drive Alistair around to and from places. But not today. The bus was slightly smelly and the seats were sticky, but by the looks of it, Alistair was having the time of his life. He pointed out the window, grinning, and talked to you about all the different D.C. landmarks the both of you passed as you were driven into the city centre. He might have only been six years old, but that was six years of living in the world of man. You’d only been here for a month, and so Alistair could teach you a lot.

Driving past the park, Alistair gasped, and shuffled into your body. “That’s the park where we first met,” Alistair pointed. You narrowed your eyes as you took in the sight of tall green trees and shrubbery. He was right. “Do you remember that day? You were wearing an awesome superhero costume like something out of my comic books. And you wore a tiara, and I asked if you were a princess. And you scared my bullies away, and helped me look for dad.”

“I remember.” you smiled, ruffling Alistair’s dark hair.

You remembered asking Alistair what his father looked like, and the only thing the boy could say was ‘strong, cool, and the best dad in the world’. Counting your lucky stars, you were so thankful you had found your forever family. You had come so far from that moment.

“Did you ever tell daddy… about those bullies in the park?” Alistair asked you hesitantly, his voice suddenly small and timid.

You pulled off him and looked him in the eyes. “No. Why?”

Alistair paused for a moment and glanced back out the window. “I was afraid he’d be disappointed in me.”

Your heart shattered in your chest. “Ali,” you said quietly, tears threatening to prick your eyes. “Your father could never, ever be disappointed in you. You know that, yes?”

Alistair nodded his head silently.

“He loves you so much,” you continued. “And the whole bullying thing… I think he’d understand better than anyone else.”

You remembered all the visions you had of Maxwell, even seeing him as a child at one point. You remembered him wearing rugged clothes that were too small for him and how he was picked on for his broken shoes.

“Really? You think so?” Alistair asked.

“I know so,” you confirmed, pressing a kiss into Alistair’s hair. “Those bullies will never amount to anything if they continue doing what they’re doing. But you are so much better than them. Stronger. Your power lies in your heart, and in the truth, and in love.”

Alistair smiled. “You’re a real hero, aren’t you?”

“We’re all heroes.”

————

Yourself, Maxwell and Alistair loved trips to the Smithsonian. Diana always organised special access for the three of you, to go after hours when the entire museum was empty. Alistair was admiring the fish in the aquarium, when you noticed Barbara and Diana, and waved them over.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you today.�� Diana smiled.

“It was sort of an impulse thing,” you explained. “Uhm, actually, there’s something I want to talk to you about.”

You pulled Diana to one side and left Barbara with Alistair. “Remember how you said ‘I owe you one’, since I like… got your girlfriend to renounce her wish and kinda helped you save the world by destroying the second dreamstone?” you grinned, trying to hold back a laugh.

Diana rolled her eyes and folded her arms across her chest. “What are you plotting?”

“Max has been… worried, to say the least. We’re going to have to sell Black Gold and it’s a real shame because-- he worked so hard on it. We have some money and well, I haven’t exactly ran this by him yet but I was thinking about investing what we do have into the Smithsonian. Just like what Maxwell promised to do in the first place.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Diana sighed. “The gemology department is doing just fine.”

You shook your head, your smile only growing. “No Di, that’s not what I was getting at. How would you feel about… expanding the gemology department?”

“I’m not quite sure I follow…”

“I’ve heard Barbara talk about how there’s a lack of space to facilitate all the rocks and stones the Smithsonian keeps bringing in. She has a real fear that the entire paleontology department could be shut down and replaced with something else.” You sighed, running your fingers through your hair.

“That’s true…”

“So what if we use the Black Gold building as an extension for the Smithsonian, and have it specialise in all these fancy rocks and gems and stones. We could transport everything over and then we could utilize the leftover funds that Maxwell has, to keep all the palaeontologists and geologists employed. Hell, with a whole new building, we could even create more jobs for people. It would also mean that we wouldn’t have to fire Max’s old employees and-- Oh Di, I just know Max would love it. He really does have a passion for gemology. And his son, Ali… he has an interest too.”

“So I heard,” Diana rolled her eyes, but, to be frank, she liked what you were getting at. An expansion wouldn’t exactly be a bad thing… “It’s a big responsibility though, and it seems you haven’t even spoken to Maxwell about it. You would get funding from the Smithsonian as an institution, yes, but… it would still be Max’s business. Do you really think he could handle that? After what happened to his last business?”

“He’s smart,” you assured her. “And he’s a good businessman. He knows all these things I couldn’t even begin to comprehend. Last time he just got unlucky. But this, this could really be something great. We have the building, and the passion, and enough money to get started. Please Diana… I know you could make this happen. Please.”

Diana spent a moment pondering the possibilities before shrugging her shoulders in defeat. “Alright,” She sighed. “I’ll see what I can do.”

You grinned and squealed excitedly, wrapping your arms around your half sister and squeezing her tight. “Thank you Di!” She laughed and rubbed your back before you pulled off her. “Oh, and Di… there’s one more thing.”

Diana tilted her head and gazed at you with fresh bewilderment. Looking around the museum to make sure no one was around to hear what you had to say, you leaned into the Amazon and whispered a confession you’d been keeping to yourself for the past month.

————

Maxwell sat in the chair and frowned upon seeing his reflection in the mirror. “What can I do for you?” asked the stylist as she smacked her lips on a piece of gum. Max wasn’t sure if he could really bring himself to do this, until he remembered your words. This was ‘turning over a new leaf’-- a new start and fresh beginnings.

“Uh, a trim please,” Maxwell requested before taking a shaky exhale. It was now or never, he just had to take the leap. “No, that’s not everything,” he sighed. “Could you perhaps take the blonde… out of my hair?” The question left his lips with an air of unsurity. Could one even do that? Take the colour out of hair?

“You want the colour stripped?” she asked, folding her arms across her chest. Maxwell supposed that was one way of putting it.

“Yes, I do.” he confirmed.

The stylist processed Maxwell’s words for a moment before shrugging her shoulders. “As you wish.”

As the stylist wrapped Max’s shaggy golden locks into foil, he closed his eyes. He’d come so far since the whole dreamstone debacle. His whole life had been a rollercoaster of up and down events but now, finally, things were evening out for him -- in the best way possible. He’d fallen in love and secured his family and home. The only thing he was mildly worried about, was the issue with Black Gold. But he knew that he’d somehow figure it out, especially now that he had you by his side to help him.

He’d always seen himself as an independent man. He fought hard to be as successful. He escaped his hometown, his abusive father, he ran away from poverty and was discriminated against by upper class white businessmen who told him he could never amount to anything. He proved all of them wrong. Because now, he had everything he could ever want. He didn’t need stacks of money or material possessions when he had you and Alistair. Maybe he wasn’t as independent as he once thought he was. Maybe, just maybe, he liked the company of others. He liked having you and his son around.

In his fight for wealth and success, he’d lost everything that mattered the most. But most importantly, he had lost himself. Maxwell swore that he’d never let that happen again.

As the stylist removed the silver foil from his hair, Maxwell nervously anticipated the result. His once bottle blonde hair was now a chocolate brown colour, and it reminded him distinctly of his youth. Max couldn’t help but feel like he looked younger, and he wasn’t going to complain about that.

He just hoped you liked it as much as he did.

————

“I just don’t understand why mommy is taking so long,” Alistair grumbled as he and Barbara waited outside the ladies restroom. “And why did auntie Diana have to go into the toilet with her?”

Barbara stifled a laugh. “You’re inpatient, just like your dad.”

Impatience must’ve run in the family because you were sitting on the toilet seat, tapping your food as anxiety flooded your body. You didn’t expect to be this nervous. You’d wanted a child for so long -- in fact, your whole life to be exact. But now that there was a chance of it actually happening, you were beyond terrified. Maybe it was the fact Maxwell didn’t know about your symptoms, but you knew better than to feel alone. You were never going to be alone.

“How long left?” you asked Diana, who checked her wristwatch. It was an antique from the early 1900’s, something very special and something she kept very close to her heart.

“It should be ready now.” she told you, handing you the stick you had just peed on.

“I don’t want to look.” you squirmed, covering your face with your hands.

“Wow,” Diana hummed, her jaw parting slightly when she took in the results.

“Wh-- what is it?” you asked, nervously.

“You’re pregnant.”

————

When Maxwell came home, you were shocked to say the least. His brown hair was absolutely gorgeous, and it suited him better than you’d expected. The deep shade was identical to the colour in his sparkling eyes. Jokingly, he tossed his hair and you let out a laugh.

“I was right,” you giggled, running your fingers through his locks. “So handsome.”

“I love it daddy!” Alistair cheered.

“Thanks buddy,” Maxwell grinned. “I like it too.”

Taking a deep breath, you took Max’s hand and pulled him into the living room, shutting the door behind you. It was quiet in there -- the perfect place to tell Maxwell your news. It had been a nostalgic day, and even standing in the living room reminded you of the time Max first brought you home.

“Is everything alright?” he asked you, slightly concerned. But your warm smile soon eased him. You felt the need to wrap your arms around him and envelop him into a hug. Max had taken a big step today, and you were proud of him, but now it was your moment. It was now or never.

Harnessing every ounce of confidence within you, you took his hands and looked him in the eye. “Max, I’m pregnant.”

Max’s brown eyes widened and he was completely lost for words. “I-- you-- you’re--”

“Yes.” you smiled, taking his hands and placing them on your stomach.

His shocked expression turned into an elated grin as he processed the good news. “You’re really--”

“I am.” you confirmed.

You didn’t think you’d ever seen Maxwell so happy in your life. He wrapped his arms around you and held you so tight, like he was afraid to let you go. He swore in that moment he would never leave you, or his growing family, ever again.

This was it for him.

This was the start of Maxwell Lorenzano’s new life.

————

THE END.

————

Author’s Note: “I won’t cry” she says while sobbing into her Google Docs document. Thank you all for reading I Believe In Love. It’s a story I have wanted to share with you since I saw WW84 in the theatre, and I just can’t believe it’s finally over. This fic will always have a special place in my heart. The themes and plot points mean so much to me, but not only that, I’ve had the most amazing feedback on this fic and I will honestly cherish that for the rest of my life. I poured my heart and soul into writing I Believe In Love and it honestly one of my biggest comforts. I want you all to know that an epilogue is coming and if you have any requests for these characters I have created, feel free to send them my way. I adore my Amazon Goddess!Reader and I would absolutely love to continue their story at some point in the future. If you’ve followed me on this journey over the past four months, all I can really say is thank you. I love you so so much.

————

Permanent taglist: @paintballkid711 @supernaturalgirl @phoenixhalliwell @ah-callie @stardust-galaxies @wickedfrsgrl @goth-topic @nerdypinupcrystal @kiwi-the-first @pedroepascal @castiel-barnes @honeymandos @rocketqueen @dybalalover10 @girl-obsessed-with-things @elena-myth @moth-guillotine @pedro-pascal-love @hayley-the-comet @pinkninja200 @maxiarapamaya @autumnleaves1991-blog @artsymaddie @harrys-stan @kennedywxlsh @cripplingmoon @cheekygeek05 @mrschiltoncat @rye-flower @theamuz @persie33 @sleepylunarwolf @martellthemandalor @pedro-pastel @steeevienicks @rrtxcmt @saphic-susperia @ladyjenny19 @readsalot73 @softmedics @jade10077 @dodgerandevans

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#maxwell lord #max lord #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #maxwell lord x reader #max lord x reader #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #ww84 #pedro pascal smut #ibil

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reidscookies · 4 years ago

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All The Things I Could Not Say

More writing is done, because I procrastinate best when doing things that have no deadline. Read it on AO3, or under the cut! Angst with a happy ending!

Summary: When Spencer heard a knock at the door, he thought Derek might have forgotten his keys again.

"Dad? What are you doing here?"

Or, William Reid hears about Spencer's engagement, and wants to know where his invitation is.

TW: Implied Domestic Violence, Implied Child Neglect.

Read it on AO3

When Spencer heard a knock at the door, he thought Derek might have forgotten his keys again. It had been known to happen, and Spencer was already forming some sort of way to tease his fiancé. Opening the door, he started with a small chuckle. “You’re no better than Emily-“

On the doorstep was not his fiancé, but William Reid. His hair was thinner, and he looked tired. His long trench coat practically consumed him, his chest puffed trying to seem bigger than he really was. “Spencer.”

“Dad? What are you doing here?” Spencer asked, mouth going dry.

William motioned his arm towards the foyer. “May I come in?”

Too shocked to say anything else, Spencer stepped aside. “I… Sure, I guess…”

They sat in the living room, Spencer taking his reading chair and curling into it for comfort. His father sat on the sofa, hands nervously wringing. “So, I read the news that you go engaged. It was in the alumni section for your school's old newspaper.”

Spencer groaned internally, recalling Penelope’s efforts to share the news with the entire world. “Yeah, I am. We’re getting married in October.”

William nodded, slightly awkward. “That’s nice, very nice. Um, where, though? And when?”

Spencer raised an eyebrow. “I don’t see how that concerns you, seeing as you haven’t been invited. And I don’t plan for you to be.”

William narrowed his eyes. “Don’t be nasty, Spencer.”

“Screw you, William! Screw you!”

“Don’t be nasty, Diana.”

“Don’t talk to me like a child!”

“Then stop acting like one!”

A crash came from the kitchen. A slap followed directly after. In the morning, Spencer would find his father’s favorite mug shattered on the counter, and the shape of his father’s hand marked red across his mother’s cheek.

Spencer’s expression became hard and cold. “Never say that to me again. Don’t ever speak to me like that. Being honest is not being nasty. While you were busy running away from us, I was a child learning to survive with no father, a mother who grew to need more assistance than her ten-year-old son could provide.”

William crossed his arms. “You know why I left! I’ve explained this to you before.”

“Yes, because you couldn’t bear the idea of Mom getting in trouble about Gary Michaels. See, I’ve thought about this, and I think there’s more to it than that. If you’d been discovered, Lou Jenkins would have gone to jail. Mom would likely have been institutionalized. Both of these have happened anyway, only it’s been 20 years. The only difference now is that Mom has not been charged as an accessory to murder.”

“Spencer, where are you going with this?” William asked, voice shaking slightly.

Spencer paced with ease around the room. “You didn’t really care what would happen to her if she had been discovered back then. Hell, you weren’t even concerned as to how Mom being institutionalized could affect me as a child. No, you only cared about your reputation.” He looked back at his father. “Congratulations, your good name remains intact, not to mention a now relatively successful son who you brag about to your coworkers but never seem to have had the time to return calls to when he was living at home.”

William was red in the face at this point. “You don’t understand. Spencer, I couldn’t stay, I had to get out of there. I kept tabs on you to make sure you were safe, don’t you realize I care about you?”

A cold, barking laugh tore itself from Spencer’s throat. “Care? When have you ever shown me that you cared, genuinely? Was it when you’d tell me to shut up when I was trying to share something I learned about things you liked? Was it when you forced me into little league even though I told you the helmet made my ears hurt? Was it when you sent Mom by herself to pick me up from first grade when you knew that type of social scenario would be too difficult for her? Was it when you left the invitation to my Doctoral Thesis presentation in the mailbox long enough for it to come back to me with “Return to Sender” stamped all over it?” He felt his eyes burn slightly. “Was it when you weren’t there when I had Mom taken to Bennington? God, Dad, I was eighteen! Don’t you understand how scared I was?! How scared I had been for eight years trying to keep both myself and Mom above water?!”

“God, you sound just like your mother, poison tongue and all!” William shouted before thinking. “Spencer-“

Spencer interrupted him. “The thing is, I used to want you to care. I used to hope and dream that you’d come home and help me. But I grew up, despite the bullying and the bills and Mom’s decline, I pulled both of us out to safety. And I have a family now! I have a wonderful family of friends who care, who put up with me despite my facts and lectures, who truly care about what I have to say. I’m engaged, I have a wonderful fiancé who doesn’t ask me to change anything about who I am or how I am. He brings out the best in me when I’m at my worst, he stays despite my “poison tongue” and when I get overly invested in my work. When I write to Mom, he signs the letters too, and a lot of times he’ll even add a few pages of his own. He knows every part of me, he is the person I want to be with for the rest of my life. So no, Dad, I didn’t send you an invitation. Partially because I honestly didn’t think you’d come, but mostly because I don’t need you there. I have who I need, and it’s not you.”

William was stunned into silence. Clearing his throat, he straightened his coat. “Well, then. If that’s how it is.”

“That’s how it is.” Spencer nodded. He looked towards the door where Derek stood quietly with the grocery bags.

Derek had a look of concern on his face, but he kept it relatively masked in front of William. “Everything okay?”

Spencer nodded. “He was just leaving.” He lead William to the door, thinking to himself that his father wasn’t unlike a dog with its tail between its legs. When the front door closed, it was like a note of finality. Something was done, and honestly, it felt good.

Spencer grabbed one of the grocery bags and headed for the kitchen, starting to put items away. “How much did you hear, Derek?”

Derek joined him, putting the milk and juice in the refrigerator. “I only got back a few minutes ago, but probably about the part when you were talking about who your family is now.”

Spencer hummed, folding the reusable bags and placing them in the corner. “He heard about the wedding from the local newspaper announcement Garcia insisted on. He wanted to know why he hadn’t received his invitation.”

“Well, you made it abundantly clear that he isn’t going to be getting one.” Derek said, moving closer. “Need a hug?”

Spencer smiled and let Derek hold him close. “Honestly, love, I really am okay. I was able to say a lot of things I never thought I’d get a chance to. Him leaving is always going to hurt in a lot of ways, but he’s made his choice. I think it’s okay that I get to make mine, too, and that includes who I have in my family.”

Derek gave him a soft kiss on his forehead. “I absolutely think it’s okay for you to make those choices. You’ve got us, baby, no matter what.” He looked at his watch. “You still up for meeting everyone for dinner? Or do you need it to be just us tonight?”

Spencer thought for a moment. “Would you mind if we invited everyone here for pizza instead? I don’t want to go out, but I want my family with me.”

“You’ve got it, pretty boy. I’ll let them know.” Derek gently pulled away and grabbed his phone to reach out to the team. Spencer smiled to himself, letting all traces of his father’s unwelcome visit start to ease off his mind. He had what he needed, and there was no way he would ever change it for anything.

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fandom #criminal minds fic #moreid #moreid fanfic #moreid fic #moreid fanfiction #derek morgan #spencer reid #william reid #diana reid

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silhouetteofacedar · 4 years ago

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When We Drive, Ch. 7: Domestic Disputes, a Highway Reverie, and Nachos

Previous Chapter - AO3 - MSR, rated M

Interstate 15, San Diego County, California

3:02 PM PST

March 1, 1999

Scully is mad at him.

She’s stiff in the passenger seat of their stupid undercover minivan, fiddling with a loose thread on her robin’s egg blue sweater set. She looks beautiful in that color, and he almost wants to tell her, but her mood is so sour that he does’t feel like it. She’d probably just snap at him again.

He got to spend six days being fake-married to Scully, and not once did they get to enjoy any of the perks of the arrangement. It was a long shot, but Mulder is nothing if not a believer in improbable odds. They spent all of one night in the same bed, but Scully banished Mulder to the couch the next morning after he casually mentioned the fact that she snored. She’d insisted it was allergies due to the premature springlike weather in Southern California, but if it bothered him so goddamn much, he was welcome to take the sofa in the living room from then on.

It was all downhill from there.

“I can feel you thinking,” he says, squinting against the glare of the sun bouncing off the bleached concrete of the highway. They’re in a dense block of traffic, inching along under a parched blue sky.

“Hmph,” she replies.

“You’ve been acting kinda prickly lately-”

“Oh have I,” she states, sour amusement in her voice.

“-And I was hesitant to ask you about it while we were on a case, but now that it’s wrapped up… are you okay?”

She lets out a sharp, humorless laugh. “I’m fine. I’m always fine, Mulder, haven’t you heard?”

God, she’s spoiling for a fight, and he’s not sure he has the energy for it right now. “Sorry I asked,” he mutters.

“Not a mistake you’ll make twice,” Scully says under her breath, and he feels heat spike up his back.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he retorts, and he can practically feel the rotation of her eyes in their sockets.

“Do you really want to get into this now?” she asks.

Mulder flings a hand out, gesturing to the vehicles surrounding them. “We’re in a frankly spectacular traffic jam,” he says, “Might as well make use of the time. You have, quite literally, a captive audience.”

She sighs, suddenly sounding tired. “Jesus, are we that pathetic, Mulder? We can’t have an honest conversation unless we’re forced, or under circumstances we can’t easily escape.”

He doesn’t respond, just scratches his bicep under the cuff of his itchy pastel polo shirt and waits for her to gather her words. He knows Scully’s patterns by now, and gives her a tried-and-true nineteen seconds of silence before she continues.

Right on time. “I feel… I feel that lately, there’s an imbalance between us. As partners,” she says. “Maybe it’s always been this way, and I just never took notice of it; but I am acutely aware now that things aren’t right.”

“What things, exactly?” Mulder asks, his tone carefully neutral.

“It’s a matter of trust,” Scully clarifies.

“I trust you,” he says earnestly. He can see Scully’s lips tighten into a thin line.

“It’s not you trusting me,” she says softly. “It’s me wondering if I can trust you. Wondering if you’ll trust the wrong people, and endanger us both.”

Here we go again, he thinks. “Is this about Diana? Scully, I don’t understand. This case had nothing to do with her; she is literally thousands of miles away, and you’re still letting her influence you.”

As soon as he said the words he wanted to scoop them up and shove them back down his own throat. The irritation coming off of Scully has heated up to full-blown anger, and he braces himself for a collision.

“Letting her influence me? Are you fucking serious, Mulder? She’s been leading you around like a dog on a leash, despite information that multiple sources have provided you-”

“It’s not that simple, Scully,” he counters weakly.

“Of course it’s not. Because it’s personal,” she says, and he feels the words stick in his chest like a dart.

“Scully-” he begins, but she holds out a hand to stop him.

“Don’t you dare,” she says in a tight whisper, “Try to pin that shit on me. After all we’ve been through, after - after things we almost did, I thought…” She shakes her head, abandons her sentence. “Don’t insult me, Mulder.”

Things we almost did?

A cold sweat breaks over his skin, and he’s not in the car; he’s in the hallway outside his apartment door, her face in his hands, warm breath mingling between them. He’s curled up in her arms on the spongy forest floor somewhere in the depths of Florida, lulled to sleep by her soft raspy voice. He’s waking up next to her in a scant full bed in Kroner, Kansas, an arm flung across her waist in sleep; pulling her in closer because he can, just this once.

He told her in Bermuda, and she thought he was just high on painkillers. He dug her out of the ice in Antarctica, pulled a tube out of her throat, restarted her heart and filled her lungs with his own breath.

After everything she’s seen, how can she still not believe?

The car behind them honks frantically.

“Mulder, we’re moving again,” Scully prompts him.

He shakes himself out of his daze and steps on the gas. “I don’t know what to say, Scully,” he says softly. “But I don’t want us to go on like this. I agree with you, about things not being right. But I’m too tired to tally up our transgressions against each other, and I’m pretty sure my pile of wrongdoings in this partnership dwarfs yours.”

“That’s just it,” Scully says. “I don’t want to measure, and I certainly don’t want you to flay yourself on my behalf, Mulder. It’s not helpful.”

“Then what do you want?” he asks, glancing at her. “I don’t mean that in a combative way. I’m genuinely asking.”

“Just… hear me,” she says, voice thin and tired. “Please just hear me. Have my back. Be my partner. That’s all.”

Mulder reaches out and lays a hand on hers, squeezing so gently he barely feels it himself. His hands return to the steering wheel a second later, and the moment passes by like a roadside landmark at seventy miles per hour.

“You want Taco Bell?” Mulder asks, gesturing to the next offramp. “Nachos BellGrande, on me.”

“Taco Bell isn’t real food,” Scully points out. “I’m honestly surprised you don’t have an X-File dedicated to the chain.”

“I don’t yet,” Mulder replies, hazarding a grin at her.

They stop anyway.

#my fic #txf fic #msr #xfiles #when we drive #Arcadia #mulder and scully fight then go to taco bell #that’s it that’s the chapter

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heart-strong · 4 years ago

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Are you Miserable?

Summary: Spencers out of jail, Scratch has been caught and Aaron and Jack are back. Spencer's boys are back, so when Penelope offers to take Jack for the night they cannot resist, but the night does not go as anticipated.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x enby Spencer Reid , hurt/ comfort

CW/TW: Sexual Assult, Childhood Sexual Assult (mentioned) prison arc (mentioned), Aaron in witsec (mentioned), intrusive thoughts flashbacks

WC: 2.3k

———

Spencer Reid was in love desperately and since they got out of prison their next goal to get their boys back. Aaron and Jack were now seconds away from them.

“They haven't arrived yet genius?" Penelope scurries through the double doors with JJ and Dave in tow.

"Em went down without me, she said they wouldn't get up here if I went down there." they bounced on the balls of their feet.

"I agree with Emily," Dave added.

With that, the elevator dings, and the three people are reviled to the team. Aaron and Jack Hotchner’s smiles matching inch for inch. Suddenly Jack is throwing his full weight into Spencer’s arms. Aaron's then squishing the boy to their chest and is kissing Spencer’s mouth in front of everyone on the level six FBI floor.

"How have you gotten hotter?" Aaron whispered.

"Prison roughed me up, babe. "Spencer answers, squatting down to talk to Jack. "What do you think, have I changed too much Jackie?"

"I think you look tough like daddy, Spencie. I'm glad we're back though daddy’s been miserable."

"Jack you weren't supposed to tell them that.” Emily giggles at the young boy.

"Sorry, dad. "Jack blushes.

"Okay, I need hugs." Penelope runs up. "I missed you boys." she scoops Jack up." Now, Jackie, you and I are going to have a sleepover. We can’t have daddy and Spence miserable for any longer."

"That sounds so fun!" Jack hugs Penelope tight as Aaron hugs Dave hello. Falling quickly back to the rhythm of the BAU and rejoining the team before he and Spencer head to dinner for the first time in a year.

---

"Ahhh Aaron," Spencer moans in complete pleasure and basking in the presence of Aaron on top of them.

"God, fuck Spence-," Aaron moans into Spencer’s neck while the pair’s legs are intertwined and Aaron works on his partner’s shirt, kissing lower to make a new hickey on Spencer’s pale collar bones. "My Pretty Spencer.” he punctuates with a bite.

While feeling Aaron once again in such a needy way after him being gone for so long, Spencer can't help being overwhelmed. 'I'm just out of practice’ Spencer thinks as they card their hands through Aaron’s hair.

"Mmm Ar, your hairs so long with a year of me not pulling on it." they laugh opening their eyes and looks to the ceiling.

"I hate it, love." Aaron breaths.

Spencer smiles at the comment but knows it won't happen tonight. They hold to the man on top of them because maybe finally having him back in Spencer’s arms it will make the inmate’s words they yelled at them lessen. From the nightmares and intrusive thoughts that Spencer has dealt with since the early days in the prison. But now they’re thinking about it and Aaron's hands are not Aaron’s hands. Aaron’s body is not Aaron’s body. And more of the air leaves Spencer’s lungs. The hips lips legs begin to envelop their body as they gasp for anything. 'But Aarons home, he needs this'.

"God fuck," Aaron wines rolling his body above them. "You are so lovely. I missed you, Spence." His hands force Spencers shirt to move up their chest.

‘This is Aaron, this is my boyfriend.’ they repeat in their mind. ‘The men are still in prison, I am here with Aaron.’ But as Aaron’s other hand is going for his belt. The jumpsuit buttons and they can feel of the stiff mattress as it floods back to them when Milo, no Aaron, unbuckles their belt.

"No," Spencer stiffens and Aaron is off their body, at the other end of the couch in the blink of the eye.

"Baby?" Aaron asks.

Spencer gasps as their chest feels the calloused fingers of Milos on their body. And as they look up to Aaron’s face, 'he'll still love you, you've watched him for years supporting victims.' they think.

"Spencer, Spence can you breath a bit better?" Aaron asks. “Darling in through your nose, out through your mouth baby."

Spencer listens to Aaron and scratches the tears off their faces. When did they start crying? After they start breathing better Aaron goes to the kitchen and gets glasses of water. Spencer accepts it and drinks the entire glass before they look back at their boyfriend.

"Spencer do you want to talk about this now?"

"I was sexually assaulted again, in prison."

"Okay first I love you and this doesn't change that, second may I hug you, you can say no if you don't want me to." Aaron is standing hesitant.

"No, I mean, yes you can. Please Aaron, can you hold me?"Aaron sits down next to Spencer placing his glass next to the empty one and envelope Spencer’s shoulders for a few seconds and then leans back continuing. "Just like before, when you told me about your father, I do not care darling. Now I do care because you should not have had to experience that, I wish I could get your father in jail Spencer."

"Aaron don't you don't,"

"No Spencer Reid, your father touched you when you were five. You knew Jack at five imagine someone touching Jack then, that anger you feel is the same I would feel and do feel. I think about killing him."

"Aaron, you can't say that," Spencer says.

"Why not? I do, if I had known at the time and met your father, I would have killed him during the Riley Jenkins case, I would have stayed."

"Aaron, it not that I don't appreciate the thought, because I do. I really do, you cannot imagine 5-year-old me realizing that what William was doing to me was abusive and not what fathers did to their children how used and unloveable I thought I was,"

"Spencer Diana Reid, you are so very loved." They both smiled at the name. Six months after the two got together Aaron and Jack accompanied Spencer to the courthouse to change their middle name. Spencer had told the team and their boyfriend about their father, then all the hospital visits happened. And every time Spencer had to say 'Spencer William Reid’ they had to hold down bile. Aaron caught onto their discomfort and brought up the idea of changing their name.

"I know that now, but I have you and Jack and the team and Henry and Michael. Aaron, I do not feel loveless now. But, god, okay I have my boys back, and I could not let you not know that it happened again."

"And I assume the guards did nothing."

"The guards did shit, believe it or not, Calvin Shaw found me and brought me to the infirmary."

"Spencer, baby I'm so fucking sorry.” Aaron grabbed their hand and Spencer could feel his shaking. “I do have to ask, have you gotten checked?"

"Aaron,” Spencer scoffed. “Do you think I would have been rolling around with you for the last hour if I hadn't or it came out positive!? No, I would have told you immediately."

"Spencer I had to fucking ask." This is not what Aaron wanted. He honestly wanted, when the elevators opened and he laid eyes on 'roughed up' Spencer, to take the love of his life to the bathroom and ravish them. But then Spencer seemed to be a melancholy aura. And then less than 30 minutes ago they stiffened like the dead bodies they see with the job. "Baby, can we step back please."

"Yes sorry I just, Aaron I wouldn't risk your health babe, sorry I got angry there, I just want your body." Spencer blushes. "I thought, it’s you, and I've been abused and scared almost every year since joining the bureau. Like I should be fine, but that's not how this," they point to their brain, "Works."

"Spencer you do not have to justify yourself to me. How about I make some popcorn, get some tea, you get some jammies on. I will too and we just watch a movie."

"That would be very nice." Spencer grabs Aarons’s thighs and kisses their boyfriend. "I missed you and your use of 'jammies' is beyond adorable.”

"Spencer, have I introduced you to my son Jack Hotchner he's 13?” They both laugh and Aaron kisses Spencer back, carding his hand through their unruly curls.

"Mmm hum, "Spencer hums from the feeling "Touche handsome. I'll be back."

After Spencer leaves Aaron goes to the kitchen preparing the hot water and snacks, knowing how to navigate Spencer’s apartment after years of movie nights with his partner. Some time passes, he has dumped the popcorn in a bowl and two cups of tea are steeping when he hears bare feet padding into the kitchen.

"You still like peppermint and apple mixed? I saw you had them and made it without asking."

"Do you know who you're talking to, yes, may I hug you?"

"Please." before he has the chance Spencer presses their body to his back and nuzzles their nose to Aaron’s hairline. After years after real-life jump scars, the pair did not hug from behind without permission. Spencer’s slender arms wrap around Aaron’s middle.

"Did you pick out something to watch baby?"

"There's a documentary about Polar Bears that looks nice," Spencer says.

"Sounds good, "Aaron rubs Spencer’s arm as they tighten their grip." Do you want to bring these to the coffee table and I'll go change?"

"Sure babe, I missed you so much," Spencer says as he started kissing Aaron’s back.

Aaron turns in Spencer’s arms and finds them in an FBI Acadamy t-shirt too big and too worn out for it to be Spencer's. His FBI shirt.

"Did you miss me or my clothes baby?" Aaron laughs as his partner.

"Your clothes that smell like you.” Spencer blushes. “You see, I have some of your clothes but,"

"They don’t smell like me anymore?" Aaron nods as Spencer’s fluffy hair robs his neck. "If I just hold you you don't have to wear my clothes and I never plan on letting you go."

"Aaron Hotchner you are going to spoil me to death."

"No I will spoil you till the day you die, that's different." Aaron brushed Spencer’s curls out of their eyes. "I'm going to go change baby."

While Aaron is changing Spencer turns on Netflix and pulls up the documentary and bundling up in a blanket. Aaron joins them letting Spencer curl to his body as if the two were magnets to the other. This is what Aaron needed when he saw Spencer, his partner at his side and warm on his body. Over the years after the two got together Spencer would fold to Aaron’s body and sometimes Jack would sit in between them. While the loss of Hailey was painful for everyone on the team, Aaron was happy with Spencer and it made it easier to love them when Jack was also with the two, having fun and calling Spencer ‘Spencie’. Jack would explain to his teachers that ‘My Spencie is picking me up today’ and while it was confusing at first they quickly came to realize that Jack’s father’s partner was nonbinary. And Aaron of course did not care, just about having Spencer at his side and being able to love them.

Spencer ends up falling asleep, their fist clutching Aaron’s shirt and it has been years since Aaron could carry Spencer to bed. So he runs his hand through the beautiful curls atop their head and stops once Spencer's eyes flutter open.

"Hey," Spencer rubs their eyes." Did I fall asleep?"

"Yes, baby. You are so pretty you know, my pretty Spencer." Aaron smiles down at the crinkles in Spencer's cheeks.

"And you, my darling boyfriend, are comfortable."

"Okay my pretty one, brush teeth and bed."

"Aaron you know I am your partner, not your son?"

"Give me a break, the past year I have mostly only hung out with my son."

- - -

Aaron exits the restroom and finds Spencer with a book and their glasses on. "Hey Spencer before we go to bed can we chat?"

"Yes of course, but also I am quite sleepy you know."

"yes, I'll be quick," Aaron laughs and sits at Spencer’s feet. "I know we started that conversation and I feel like we dropped it quickly."

"Babe, you don't need to," Spencer sits up grabbing Aaron’s hands.

"Spence, for my brain I do need to, so can I?"

"Of course Aaron go ahead.” Spencer closes his book. "Can I snug while?"

"Come here baby," Aaron reaches out for them, and Spencer crawls into his lap and wraps their legs around Aaron’s hips. "Okay seriously though, you are my everything and your father did not deserve having you. And I hate thinking about if he had stayed. I love you so much and the shit that happened to you in there doesn't change a thing."

"Thank you for saying that babe." Spencer blushed. "I can't imagine not having my boys back."

"I'm very glad having you back too, I really was fucking miserable."

"Are you miserable now?"

"No."

"Then can we snuggle for the rest of our lives?"

"That sounds fantastic baby.”

Spencer kisses Aaron with a nod." I will say Ar, I want Jack back and I want us to move in together, we've been together for years and I love Jack. Jack loves me. Not to toot my own horn, but like I get to love and receive love from the Hotchner boys."

"Spencer Reid, you fucking beat me to the question.” Aaron fakes disappointed hitting his forehead on Spencer’s shoulder. “Jack asked if we could move in when we came back. But I think it’s a bit too late to go get him tonight though. So for now, snuggles?"

"I like snuggles!"

Spencer pulls Aaron on top of them and catches his mouth. Aaron Hotchner was the person or man for them. Aaron thought the same for Spencer, Spencer loved his kid and his kid was the person Aaron loved them most in his life. The pair fell asleep intertwined in the sheets. And when the sun rose the first thing out of Aaron’s mouth was, "Hey my pretty Spencer, do you want to go get our boy?"

"Our boy? God, I love the sound of that, yes."

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shadowdianne · 4 years ago

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Fic writer review [Or a fic writer tag game if you prefer]

I was tagged by @naralanis and I can already see her grin all the way from where I am xd Thank you, dear, for the tag, let’s see what are my answers, shall we.

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

*bursts out laughing* Adding both pseuds I have… 535 according to the account info but by counting them all I’m reaching 541 so I’m guessing it’s counting some drafts I need to re-find.

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

I seriously hated you for this one xd I was going to do it by hand by I decided one-third there that I value my mental stability a little bit more xd according to the stats page back at a03 that number would be 1257884. It may be wrong. I think there should be a few more numbers up there but the majority of my works are one-shots so *shrugs* There’s also the fact that counting my ao3 things only is shaving off like half of it Xd Anyway, can we laugh at the fact that I’m a pain in the ass and that I’ve written a lot? More than I should have, that’s for sure

3. How many fandoms have you written for?

Trick question because I haven’t crossposted everything I wrote back in ffnet and I actually erased some fics from my account back there so the numbers are a little blurry there.

When I had the entirety of my work posted both in ffnet and a03 I had written for: Twilight (Bella/Alice) Glee (Faberry and there were a couple Pezberry and I don’t fucking remember the pairing name for Santana and Quinn), Harry Potter (Hermione/Ginny, Hermione/Narcissa, Hermione/Bellatrix) OUAT (SwanQueen and several oneshots focusing on the mad hatter and the blue fairy solely back at ffnet that were written in Spanish and never translated), I actually had a veeeery old au prompt of Frozen (Elsanna in where I wrote them as non sibilings), Rizzoli and Isles (Rizzles), Dishonored 2 (Emily Kaldwin/Alexi Mayhew), Lara Croft and Wonder Woman, Supergirl (SuperCorp/Supercat) I had a 100 one -or maybe two??- (Clexa), The Shannara Chronicles (Amberle/Eretreia [Or Princess Rover], Rwby [Blake Belladona/Yang], The Worst Witch (Hecate Hardbroom and Pippa Pentangle), The Half of it, Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (Madam Satan/Zelda Spellman) and… I think that’s it(?) I may be forgetting some but probably nothing important if I’m not remembering it lol.

4. Top 5 fics by kudos?

Ah, we are going to go there, uh? Xd My works are not the kudos and comment getting type Xd So I was quite surprised when I went to check this.

1: Cracked it I wrote this one back in 2017, it was a prompt done by an anon: Lena is nerding with one of her projects at home, mumbling mostly to herself because she’s stuck and Kara casually mentions how to solve the problem like it’s nothing. I really had some fun with this. It was back when some us, SQeeners were fully doing the jump between OUAT and SuperGirl (I mean, there had already been some crossover as for fandom is related but this when the girls were actually getting their conjoined voice within the fandom)

2: Dateless I honestly needed to check what this one was about but I think I can see why this one shot has the amount of kudos it has. It’s a short and sweet idea and responds to the Teachers Au that went SO well with SQ. Everyone thinks they hate each other and try to set them up with other people whilst they, in truth, are dating. I don’t remember if I wrote them as married rather than dating but despite being from 2017 as well is one cheeky enough to be cool Xd I probably would edit some lines now *shudders*

3: After you I truly didn’t expect this one to be top 3. Makes me think of a lot of things, if I’m being honest Xd. After you was a one shot written almost feverishly as an answer to the fabulous drawings that Sejic did of both Lara Croft and Wonder Woman back at 2018 or something. It’s just Lara and Diana being himbos but not at all with each other.

4: How about… How about is one I remember perfectly, it was my answer to the ending of the Half of it film. I had SOME thoughts about it, let’s just stop there Xd I really liked the film itself but I think and I thought at the time that my response to wishing for a final scene at the very end of the credits responds to me being in a different personal moment than the characters. I really wanted to explore my feelings about it and so I wrote about them finding each other again after some time passes. It was also something I wrote after quite the hiatus so I took it as something I could write about without focusing too much on the why.

5: Come to me

Ahh, SuperCorp Xd I remember this one actually. A friend of mine and I were talking about descriptions, and she mentioned quite off-handedly how she wanted a fic in where Kara’s back was described. I complied… more or less.

Fun tidbit, despite the big volume of my work is obviously set in ouat there’s only 1 SQ fic there as you can see, the others are either SuperCorp or the random one shots I created for Wonderwoman/Lara Croft and The half of it. *sighs in deep thought* I’m also not going to look too much into how almost all of the fics were posted and written back in 2017. Nope, not at all.

*Small voice screaming you peaked in 2017 and everything else is garbage jumps back and forth*

5. Do you respond to comments? Why/why not?

I tend to always respond, yup. I truly value comments. I might have gone for spells of time in where I didn’t have the mental capacity to check in old fics because I truly didn’t know what to answer but I treasure every single comment and you all who comment know that I can start to ramble in the answers xd -sorry about that- I really really REALLY love interaction.

6. A fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending:

Ok, Nara, come on, this one is a catch for me. I’ve written angst in far too many fics to remember the angstiest one :P I have the most recent one, though, that is the easy one to think about: Goodbye.Written for @delirious-comfort. I’m just going to say “Kisses with their last dying breath” as an idea of what awaits inside but I’ve written about death and loss and angst quite a lot. There were some I wrote back to SQ with Regina needing to kill Emma during the Dark Swan arc that, to this day, I still love and some others in where Regina is the one that dies, again and again, trapped by magic while Emma watches. I have the loss in mental destruction form and… I REALLY like my angst y’know xd

7. Do you write crossovers?

Not counting Lara and Wonder Woman not really! I think it comes from the fact that I loooove worldbuilding as a whole and some pairings would require all my focus into making the world perfect which in turn would make me self conscious on the OOCness of it all.

8. Ever received hate on a fic?

*snorts* I’ve received hate due to the pairing I’ve written about, how I’ve written about it, the amount I’ve written, how slow or quick I can be, the usage of some tropes, the lack of usage of those same tropes… Let’s just go with: yuuuup.

9. Do you write smut?

I’ve written smut, yeah! But I can already see the pointed looks of some so let’s elaborate Xd I write smut when asked and sometimes when not asked but there’s a part of me I like to call a terrible tease that prefers writing the beginning of a scene, taunt it, focus on what happens before the sex scene per se as I find it more enjoyable to write. The process of escalation is always the best for me to see what can I do it by using both dialogue and descriptors tbh, so I tend to tease more than show.

9. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

A few weeks ago I’d have said: Maybe(?) But trying to follow the trail of some other fics that had been stolen from some friends -I think it was me trying to find more about the page that stole something from your Nara!- I found some pages in where my fics had been reposted. In some it was stated that the person posting the fic wasn’t the author but I had never been contacted in order to see if I’d say yes to such a thing and in some others the page was locked up but I could still see someone was pretending to be the author. I did the thing and got some of those down.

Pointed note: Ask me if you want to post or translate or anything. I will look into you and answer you if you seem honest about the thing. But despite every joke and self-deprecating comment those 500 and then some fics represent MY time so very kindly I say fuck off to those who wish to steal from me and if I catch you… you don’t really want to see me angry, trust me.

10. Ever had a fic translated?

I’ve given permission to some, yeah, but never heard it back from them so I’m guessing it didn’t stick.

12. Have you ever co-written a fic?

I’ve written series alongside other authors as @stregaomega for example. And some others that are unpublished -looking at you @carsonnieve - I’ve also done collabs… but fics co-written in the sense of two authors same chapters I don’t have anything posted I’m afraid :P

13. All-time favourite ship?

*snorts*, I guess the obvious answer is SQ uh? And I do think they were the ones that allowed me to read and write SO much. The one I feel more strongly about, however, is Bering and Wells from Warehouse 13.

14. WIP you want to finish, but don’t think you ever will?

All of them counts as a valid answer? But if I only could finish one that would be Arcadia. With A forgotten Promise second and the one I did as an Assassins Creed AU third. (I don’t remember the name so there’s no link, sorry xd)

15. Writing strengths?

Uhhhh, you REALLY want me to say that? I don’t fucking know!! To me everything I write is garbage. I always try to go for the feelings so I guess. Dunno xd I’ve been told I’m good at worldbuilding and to be honest is what I enjoy the most.

16. Writing weaknesses?

Everything Xd Pacing? What I hate the most sometimes is dialogue, I would count it as a weakness but I’m always far too focused on description rather than dialogue. I don’t think it’s a bad thing per se but it’s something that I don’t do as much.

17. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in a fic?

I’m conflicted. Always. Majorly because I think that having bilingual characters in fanfiction is portrayed and expected in a way that I don’t feel it’s honest with how bilingual people -us- talk. So if I go by what I know I do I think it’s not what readers hope to see when it comes to that and if I go for how canonically is hoped to be found I don’t think it’s logical. But that’s me and my overthinking Xd If I have the option I like to do it.

18. First fandom you ever wrote for?

Belice! Or Bella/Alice. Worst first fic ever but oh, well, I’m always saying that :P

19. What’s your fav fic you’ve written so far?

Uhh… Don’t make me do this XD Agh, I don’t know. I’ve always been very vocal about Metallic Ink because I let myself enjoy the process of creating a magic system almost out of zero and that was fun. Despite hating some of the writing process and that I’d do it differently now I think I’m going to stick with that answer. Or anything that had any steampunk-based undertone. To be honest I like more thinking of concepts, I had one in where Emma was a thief and it involved the robbery of a ring that was Regina’s one way ticket to freedom I then later repurposed that I adored thinking about so let’s go with…. Yeah, I love having the option of changing things up a little and focus on how characters would fit in different aesthetics for this one Xd

Annnd… these are four pages, gods. I’m just going to tag @waknatious @carsonnieve @stregaomega here and see what they do- Enjoy the questionnaire ladies :P

#taggie thingie #this was a monster

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otonymous · 5 years ago

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Kissed By The Baddest CEO (MLQC Victor x KBTBB - NSFW)

Description: Old flames and prospective lovers threaten to derail your budding romance with Victor before it even begins. How will you extricate yourselves from a web of misunderstandings?

Warnings:

NSFW/18+: Explicit/graphic language — reader discretion is advised. Potential Trigger Warnings: profanity, jealousy, angst, exes, mentions of alcohol, bone fetishes, rough sex, 69 sex position (oral sex), mirror sex, vaginal intercourse, swallowing, size kink

Mild spoilers for Victor’s family history (MLQC); slight bending of MLQC & KBTBB canon universes via creation of original side character

Word Count: ~10K words (please set aside a good chunk of time for some fluff, angst and smut 🤣)

Author’s Notes:

First of all, a GIANT thank you to the super gracious @lin-ful for commissioning this Victor piece from me. You are an absolute joy to work with and I really appreciate the fact that you gave me carte blanche to basically do whatever I wanted 🤣 I really hope you enjoy the read! (P.S. I would never be so sadistic as to ever make you choose between Victor and Eisuke, so please rest easy 😆)

This story is especially significant to me as a writer because it represents the culmination of a number of milestones: the first time I’ve created an original character, my first attempt at writing a crossover story, the first time I’ve written in both first- and second-person perspectives. It is also the longest single piece I’ve ever written. That being said, please note the warnings listed above and happy reading! 😊

Nb. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and incidents are used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Chapter 1: Hello Diana

“Really Vic, I thought you were beyond name calling by now.”

Her voice is sultry and low, smooth in your ears like the whiskey in her tumbler. Completely at ease in a couture Givenchy pantsuit that likely cost more than one of your production budgets, she sat with her legs elegantly crossed in a leather armchair, tipping her glass to vermillion lips. And as the flames danced in the imposing marble fireplace of one of Shanghai’s oldest and most exclusive supper clubs, they reflected off an enormous ruby ring gracing her middle finger.

Victor scoffs, taking a sip of his own whisky and glancing at you as you follow suit with the virgin cocktail he ordered on your behalf while you were in the restroom.

He was so infuriating at times, but at least it wasn’t warmed milk.

“First of all, you weren’t meant to hear that. Secondly, I hardly consider ‘dummy’ name calling. Far worse exists when it comes to options, as I'm sure you can attest to, Diana. You’ve used quite a few in your day.”

Amusement spreads across her fine features as she throws her head back in laughter, the sound enticing even as it disrupts the low chatter in the room. However, none of the men looking her way seemed to mind. She was brimming with so much joie de vivre that even you weren’t immune to her charms, smiling despite the anxiety that sat heavy in your chest from the very moment Victor introduced you to Diana Shum that evening.

You didn’t quite know why you felt ill at ease, especially towards someone who was doing you a favour by brokering a major deal on behalf of your company. Well, more like doing Victor a favour, since he was the one who made the request. Perhaps this was how all men felt in the presence of such a woman: elegantly confident and unapologetically vivacious, drawing attention everywhere she went.

“Are you still dredging up stories from our Oxford days, Victor? Not very gentlemanly of you. How do you put up with him?” Diana turns to wink at you and the spotlight of her attention makes you feel like the only other person in the room. “Let me assure you those boys deserved every insult in the book; one-track minds and transparent to boot. They should consider themselves lucky I even acknowledged their sad existence.”

“Di, you made the Prime Minister’s son cry. You should’ve seen those puffy eyes the next morning at the swim meet against Cambridge."

Victor raises his brows, subtle amusement colouring his expression. And simple though it was, the sight of his handsome face so transformed by the faint smile on his lips made your heart race.

No, there’s no way. It’s probably just the fatigue catching up to you. The flight to Shanghai from Loveland City must’ve been more taxing than you initially thought, even though Victor had graciously offered to let you hitch a ride on his private jet. You place a hand on your chest, trying to calm the frenzied rhythm of your heart. The gesture goes unnoticed by Diana but Victor throws a worried glance in your direction. You smile to ease his concerns. He furrows his brows.

“Oh please, I should’ve ripped him a new one with the way he tried to get frisky on our date. He’s lucky I didn’t call Soryu to deal with him and his wandering hands.”

A sudden change seeps into Victor’s eyes, dark irises softening as if focused on something miles away. “Soryu. How is your cousin doing, by the way?”

Diana leans back, taking another sip of her drink. “You’ll see for yourself soon enough. I take it you are accompanying this lovely producer to Tokyo to meet with Eisuke and wherever the Ichinomiya heir is, Soryu isn’t far behind. In all honesty though, Vic, surely you would know better than I. Weren’t the three of you thick as thieves during prep school?”

You perk up at the topic of Victor’s childhood. It was a rare chance to learn about the formative years of this stone-faced man before he became the slave driver of Loveland Financial Group.

“I was only there for a year and a half with Soryu and Eisuke before…before my mother passed. My father sent for me shortly afterwards. I haven't seen them since.”

Deep voice trailing off, Victor’s gaze shifts to the fireplace where it remains, as if hypnotized by the flicker of orange flames. And as the silence stretches on, you become disconcerted to see him so uncharacteristically lost in his thoughts. You reach out to touch him but Diana beats you to it, laying a delicate hand on top of his much larger one as it rests on the leather armrest.

The gesture is ridiculously small for how much it blindsides you — the sight of her hand on Victor’s dazzling like the light reflecting off her ruby ring.

He blinks at the touch, long lashes fluttering in the split-second it takes for him to compose himself and suddenly, the unflappable CEO is back again.

“I’m sorry, it’s been a long day and we should probably call it a night. But you have my thanks, Diana, for setting up this meeting with the Ichinomiya Group.”

It was Diana’s turn to scoff. “Can we please dispense with the formalities, Victor? Soryu mentioned Eisuke was having difficulty finding the right people to make this documentary on the anniversary of his Tres Spades Tokyo hotel, so it was serendipity that we bumped into each while on business in London. It’s a win-win situation. Meant to be.”

Meant to be.

There is a spark of something in Diana’s eyes when she makes that last statement. It stays with you long after you part ways with Victor for the night, lying awake in your hotel room as you wondered whether the LFG CEO was already asleep in his.

Chapter 2: SOS

“You’re awfully quiet. Should I take this to mean that you already know everything about Eisuke Ichinomiya and his chain of luxury hotels?"

Victor speaks without raising his head, leafing through the documents on his lap and stopping periodically to leave his signature with the same gold pen that marked up your reports. Its barrel glowed warm, reflecting the soft lights of the cabin of his private jet, en route to Tokyo from Shanghai.

Letting out a shaky breath, you try to steel yourself despite the rising heat in your cheeks. Because after a night spent tossing and turning in your hotel room, you arrived at a conclusion so absurd it could only be true:

You were in love with Victor Li.

Against all odds, the bane of your life had become your biggest ally and mentor. All the pieces of the square puzzle that was the LFG CEO had fallen into place to form one coherent and beautiful picture:

His exacting demands transformed into standards of excellence, his workaholism a paragon of commitment and dedication.

And though you were loathe to admit it, each soft utterance of “dummy” leaving his lips made the corners of yours turn up in the goofiest of grins.

Oh god, how did it ever come to this?! Where and when along the rocky path of your working relationship with the slave driver did you fall in love with him? But that wasn’t even the worst of it. If your intuition about the previous night’s events served you well, the beautiful Diana Shum was also enamoured of him.

You turn to Victor, meaning to inform him with utmost confidence that you had already conducted extensive research on the Ichinomiya Group’s charismatic CEO and his chain of casino hotels. You even thought to throw in a snarky reminder that he himself had been marginally impressed with the presentation you gave on the topic back in Loveland City.

“Are you close to Diana Shum?”

Was NOT what had you meant to ask. Especially in a voice that cracked like a 12 year old pubescent boy’s. And if there was a way by which you could’ve drowned in a bottle of water, you would’ve gladly done so. Instead, you settle for gulping it down, trying to keep your stupid mouth from spewing more nonsense in front of the man who was your de facto boss.

“Ahem.” Victor clears his throat, long legs uncrossing as he shifts in his seat. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch the muscles of that chiseled jaw settling firm.

“I-I’m so sorry. It’s none of my business. You don’t have to answer-"

“I’ve known her for a while, if that’s what you’re asking. She’s a classmate from university and also a cousin of a friend of mine from prep school, as you’ve probably gathered from yesterday’s conversation. Since graduation, she’s taken over her father’s role as CEO of Shum Property Developments and we’ve partnered periodically on various business ventures…”

He continues and you nod at the appropriate times, half listening as a million thoughts filtered through your head: your surprise at how unusually verbose Victor was being, the relief you felt to see that he was as determined to avoid your gaze as you were his. Because the truth was that the longer he went on about Diana — so beautiful, polished and charming that you couldn’t find it in yourself to hate her even if you tried — the harder it was to keep the clouds from darkening your face. And when Victor says,

“Not like it has any bearing on anything now, but we also dated for a short period of time…”

…It hurts to breathe.

Finally turning in your direction, Victor fixes you with a scrutinizing gaze. “Why do you ask?”

“Oh, um, I just…wanted to know a bit more about the person who helped me and my company. So I can better thank her later.”

You speak without meeting his eyes, hoping to placate him with a quick smile as you pretend to rummage through your purse. Thankfully, he drops the topic, returning to his documents. And though the rest of the plane ride is spent in near silence, the thoughts in your head have never been so loud.

Chapter 3: Sexy Bones [Victor]

She wore that dress today. The same one she had on when she impudently stormed my office to insist that I give her company a final chance before pulling funding:

Fitted to conform to every curve, yet formal enough to be professional. Beautifully sensual in her usual understated way. My favourite shade of red.

“It’s my go-to outfit when I need a confidence boost,” she told me once in between bites of pudding at Souvenir. “It makes me feel like a queen, like I can do no wrong. Perfect for business meetings I just have to nail, you know?”

“Dummy,” I had said then, feigning dismissiveness so she wouldn’t pick up on the way my eyes kept drifting towards her lips, so soft and plush I couldn’t help but wonder if her kisses would carry a hint of caramel sweetness.

It was true that the girl could be incredibly dense at times, playing at being queen when she already ruled my heart. Or how oblivious she was to the fact that the British doctor was completely smitten with her during today’s meeting at the Tres Spades Tokyo hotel.

Dr. Luke Foster.

Completely absorbed in reading through what looked to be like a stack of medical journals, Dr. Foster had largely ignored us while Eisuke and Soryu made quick work of introducing the eclectic mix of other associates in the room:

Ota Kisaki, the so-called “Angelic Artist” whose work I was well-acquainted with, having previously spent a small fortune on his painting, Koro of My Kokoro.

Baba Mitsunari, a charming man whose handsome features were made all the more striking by the black fedora and red suit he wore. The girl pointed out that he bore an uncanny resemblance to the cashier we saw at a convenience store earlier that day and I had to agree.

They glossed over a man named Mamoru Kishi, apparently sound asleep in one corner of the room with his face covered by a newspaper and a full ashtray by his side.

Finally, they came to Luke Foster, a blond-haired man with the air of an English gentleman. Eisuke explained that Dr. Foster was the hotel’s on-site physician as well as a fellow alumnus of our prep school, apparently having left for reasons no one wanted to articulate the year before I transferred in.

And when the doctor finally looked up at us from his readings, his eyes took on an almost maniacal quality to see the girl standing by my side.

“Those proportions, those angles….perfect…absolutely perfect!” He exclaimed as if in a daze, standing up suddenly and causing the reading materials to spill from his lap in the process.

He looked completely unhinged, almost like a zombie as he reached out a pale hand towards her collarbones of all places. I stepped in front of her on reflex, only to have the doctor fix me with a piercing gaze as if he had just become aware of my existence and found it thoroughly offensive.

“Annnnd there he goes again,” Ota’s tone was one of exasperation, but there was no mistaking the amusement in the smirk that spread wide across his face.

“Ooh, Lu’s got a new victim! Maybe now he can finally stop staring at the Boss’s girl every time she comes in to clean the penthouse!” Baba chimes in, fingers stroking at his chin as if hatching some mischievous plan.

“Will the lot of ya shaddup!? I’m tryin’ to sleep over here…zzz…” The man with the papers over his head gave a muffled shout before promptly rolling over onto his side.

Soryu just sighed, running a hand over his face. And just when I began to worry that the girl was scared out of her wits, having wandered into this strange den of wolves, she surprised me by chuckling under her breath.

Did the dummy find this funny?

“Tch, ignore them, Victor. Let’s just get on with the presentation,” Eisuke said as he took his seat at the head of a long table. The girl straightened up and immediately got to work, transforming into the consummate professional she always was when it came down to business. I couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride as I watched her nail her pitch.

Taking a surreptitious glance around at her rapt audience, I stopped at Luke. The intensity of the doctor's stare made me uneasy, the way those blue-grey eyes hovered above the scooped neckline of her red dress, tracing along her collarbones as if he were caressing them with his gaze alone. I mentally berated myself for not putting my suit jacket over her shoulders before she got up there.

And though it was spoken under his breath, Dr. Foster’s murmur of “sexy bones” rang loud and clear in my ears.

Chapter 4: In A (Traffic) Jam [Victor]

“Victor, you won’t believe my luck! Not only did we cinch the Ichinomiya account, I also found the perfect candidate to appear on our Mystery Finder show!”

The girl was practically breathless on the other end of the line, words jumbling together as they came a mile a minute. And though her enthusiasm is as infectious as it is adorable, I remind myself to play it cool. “Really. And who might that be?”

“Dr. Foster!”

HONK!

I swerve back into my lane on reflex, narrowly avoiding an accident as the driver next to me flips me the bird before speeding away. My heart raced, beating fiercely against the cage of my chest, but it had little to do with my near brush with death.

At this moment, I was more concerned with a man who looked like Death himself.

“Oh my god, Victor, what was that? Are you okay?” The concern in her voice is palpable and it makes me think of how kind and tenderhearted she is, of how easily someone could exploit that to their advantage. “This is a bad time, isn’t it? I’m so sorry, I’ll call you ba-”

“Don’t worry about it, just some idiot not paying attention on the road. And what's this about, ahem, Dr. Foster?" The name itself was unsavoury, sticking in my throat until I spat it out. I hoped the vitriol escaped her notice.

“Okay Victor, get this: it’s like the man has X-ray vision!”

She whispers for dramatic effect, and my grip tightens on the steering wheel as I picture those slate grey eyes sweeping over the curves of her body, a lewd expression falling over the doctor’s features. He was a handsome enough man, that much was true; intelligent and a first-rate surgeon according to Eisuke and Soryu. Goldman confirmed as much when I had him dig up all available information on Luke Foster. On that basis alone, many women would find him to be an extremely attractive suitor and ludicrous though it is, I can’t help but think the worst. Luke had been quite open in his admiration of her, especially her collarbones. What if she returned the sentiment?

In retrospect, it was a horrible idea to leave her to her work (and that wolf) in Tokyo while I returned to mine in Loveland City. While she had the company of her coworkers, clearly none of them sensed the danger in Luke Foster that I did. I no longer had the right to call her a dummy when I was obviously the idiot here.

“I’m telling you Victor, he can just look at somebody and tell you everything about their bone structure. It’s too accurate to just be guesswork! Apparently, he can remember anyone he's ever laid eyes on based on their bones. It’s incredible. I’d love for Professor Lucien to meet him. If only he had the time to fly out to Tokyo…”

The girl continues and I catch sight of my furrowed brows in the rear-view mirror, deepening the longer she goes on and on about men who weren’t me.

“…He’s already agreed to be a guest on the show! But…he did make a rather strange request."

For a moment, I can barely breathe. The skin over my knuckles blanches as it stretches tight, my grip on the wheel growing harder as I brace for unwelcome news. God knows what she would’ve agreed to in my absence. Filled with a sense of dread, I had to know all the same. “Which was?…”

She pauses, the hitch in her breath subtle but speaking volumes nonetheless.

“Just say it, dummy.” I soften my tone in encouragement though my mind was already racing, thinking of all the ways my legal team could dissolve a contract should the girl have already signed papers.

“Well, he…he asked if he could examine my body in lieu of payment for appearing on the show. You should’ve seen him! He was so desperate he was practically begging and I…I just couldn't say no."

MOTHERFUCK!

Chapter 5: Role Model

“STUPID VICTOR LI!”

You had meant to throw the rolled-up magazine in dramatic rock star fashion, sending it flying across your suite at the Tres Spades Tokyo hotel to give at least a resounding smack as it hits the wall. Instead, it flutters to the carpeted floor, barely a few feet from where you lay sprawled out on a bed much too large for a single person.

And from the surface of that glossy cover, Victor’s handsome face — all sharp eyes and chiseled jaw - staring up at you from beneath a headline that read: "Man On Top: How Victor Li Conquered The Business World.”

Man on top. What a tease if there ever was one — especially since you’ve developed the recent habit of falling asleep to the fantasy of having the broad expanse of Victor’s muscular chest hovering over you.

“The only thing he should be on top of is ME!”

Your voice echoes in the room, empty save for you. Even still, your cheeks burned from embarrassment over the absurdity of your current situation. Victor Li didn’t belong to you. Not when he had someone like Diana in his life.

Victor and Diana. Diana and Victor. A perfect match regardless of how the pieces fit. And for an instant, your anger flares to remember the nonchalance in Victor’s voice when he told you that their past history as lovers had no bearing on the present, as if they didn’t look like they belonged together when you saw them just now in the lobby of the hotel, moments after you purchased the magazine with Victor’s face gracing the cover from one of the shops.

Practically ecstatic in your surprise to see him there at the Tres Spades, you were just about to call out to him when his name died in your throat, choked by the sight of the woman at his side. Victor was escorting Diana to a limo waiting just beyond the revolving doors. And the last thing you saw before the chauffeur pulled away was the two of them slipping into the vehicle together.

He hadn’t even told you he was coming to Tokyo.

It was only after you became aware of the fact that you were blocking the entrance to the shop that you recovered from the shock, murmuring apologies as you pulled yourself together just enough to make your way back to the safety of your hotel room.

Rising up off the bed, your feet sink into the lush carpeting as you pad over to where the magazine lay. You pick it up and smooth out the crinkles, fingers tracing the outline of Victor’s profile as you do — gentle, as if you were touching the man himself. And when your nose begins to tingle, you know it won’t be long before you feel the familiar sting of tears behind your eyes.

“Think you could stop being so nice to me, Victor? You’ll give a girl the wrong impression.”

Heaving a sigh, you slip the magazine beneath a pillow on the bed. A quick glance at the clock on the bedside table told you it was almost time for your dinner date with Dr. Foster. Sitting around moping wasn’t an option, at least not tonight. Lightly slapping your cheeks, you push the image of Victor and Diana out of your head and get ready to step into the shower.

Chapter 6: Hard To Swallow [Victor]

“I’m glad you remembered that you owe me a dinner, Victor Li. And though I practically had to drag you to this restaurant, I guess the means don’t really matter if the end result is the same. But still, what a lucky coincidence that we bumped into each other again at the Tres Spades of all places. Now that’s something to drink to.”

Diana holds up her glass, Cabernet Sauvignon swirling as it meets mine with a delicate clink. Under the table, the tip of her stiletto pushes against my oxfords before sliding past my ankle, inching its way up my leg. I pull away, watching those red lips spread into a smile as I do.

“You might be the first man who’s ever been able to resist me. Has anyone ever told you you’re one stubborn asshole?”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

She laughs at that, taking another sip of her wine before setting it down. “So, tell me about her.”

“Her?” I focus on cutting into my Kobe beef, already aware that Diana will see through my bluff. She always did.

“Surely there must be another woman if you keep turning me down over and over again, Victor. A girl has her pride too, you know.”

“We are not getting back together, Diana.”

“Tsk, you’re no fun, Vic. All work and no play, all the time. I’ll have to remind myself of that the next time I start entertaining thoughts of calling you up again.”

She pouts, but it isn’t long before her eyes take on that familiar spark of mischief as she continues.

“But seriously, tell me about your cute little producer. That is the girl you keep rejecting me for, I presume. I need to know about the woman who’s finally managed to infiltrate the entirety of Victor Li’s notoriously impenetrable heart. She must be quite the lover if she’s got you wrapped around her little finger like that, pulling strings with all your friends left, right and centre.”

It annoys me to no end that the mere mention of the girl is enough to reduce me to a swooning idiot. I fight to keep the smile off my face.

“You’ve got the wrong idea. She’s not my lover.”

Diana begins to protest, but her words are lost on me because I’ve stopped listening. In fact, the only thing I can hear is the blood rushing in my ears, propelled by the adrenaline racing through my veins to see him enter the restaurant.

Dr. Luke Foster.

WITH MY DUMMY, NO LESS.

And my dummy looks…absolutely gorgeous. Her hair is done up, leaving her graceful neck and collarbones exposed in a little black dress I’ve never seen her wear before, I realize with not an insignificant amount of jealousy.

But wait…collarbones?!

Sure enough, that surgeon is staring at her clavicle like some kind of pervert. The sight alone incites the beginnings of a dull throbbing in my temples, no doubt exacerbated by the vice-like clench of my jaws.

I follow them with my gaze as they are led to a table for two; fixate on Luke’s face even as the sommelier arrives to make his recommendations to the pair. The doctor stares at my girl like he couldn’t care less about the meal, as if the only thing he hungered for was precisely what I myself had desired for so long: the woman. And she—

Just looked my way.

Surprise etches itself onto her beautiful features — the brows I had dreamt of one day lightly running a fingertip over while she sleeps lifting into a delicate arch. And why shouldn’t she be surprised? I had given her no indication that I had rushed over to Tokyo from Loveland City as soon as I heard what Luke had requested of her.

But there is no nod of acknowledgement, no smile in greeting. Just her, looking away as if she hadn’t seen me at all, her smile apologetic when she retrains her attention on the doctor. And while it was only for a fraction of a second, I could have sworn her eyes carried a hint of sorrow.

Or perhaps I’m projecting.

Because her obvious avoidance feels like a rebuff, a sucker punch to the gut. She’s never blatantly ignored me like that, no matter how wound up she was even during those times when I verbally tore her sub-par proposals to shreds. The feeling of rejection sits heavy on my chest, the tie around my neck much too tight.

“Victor, are you all right?”

Diana’s voice cuts through my thoughts. She is looking at me curiously. I reach for my glass of wine, suddenly feeling like I was on the verge of choking. “Of course, what could possibly be wrong?”

“ ‘What’s wrong’ is the fact that you haven’t listened to a single word I’ve said for the past ten minutes. Even if there’s no chance we’ll ever get back together again as you so adamantly insist, the least you could do is pay attention to the person you’re sharing a meal with.”

I take a deep breath, more than a little disconcerted by the girl’s ability to affect me. “Of course. My apologies, you’re absolutely right. Please, continue.”

Across the candlelit table, I look Diana in the eye, resolved to keep up at least the pretence of being interested in what she had to say when all I wanted to do was storm the table where Luke sat with my girl. With each sideways glance in their direction, my grip tightened on my utensils to see them chatting, seemingly engrossed in the world’s most interesting conversation.

And when she hands over a manila envelope to the doctor, my heart skips a beat.

Could it be…marriage documents?!

One tiny corner of my brain berates me for how ridiculous I am being but when it comes to her, I simply can’t help it, and the fantasy in which I casually stroll over, flip the table onto Luke Foster and steal my girl away in a bridal carry becomes so vivid in my mind’s eye, it almost seems like a good idea.

Diana excuses herself to use the restroom and I pounce on the opportunity to send the dummy a text:

“MEET ME AT THE BAR IN THE TRES SPADES HOTEL IN AN HOUR. DON’T BE LATE.”

Chapter 7: Choked Up

“Is there something wrong, Dr. Foster? You haven’t touched your meal.”

You do your best to school your expression into one of polite neutrality as you take in the strange sight of the pale, blond-haired man shaking out an alarming number of pills onto the palm of his hand, tapping loudly on a bottle seemingly produced out of nowhere. He pops them all into his mouth at once and you pray you won’t have to perform the Heimlich maneuver as he chases them down with a few gulps of water.

A smile spreads across the doctor’s lips as his eyes fall upon your collarbones once more. You were used to feeling like a third wheel by now, even when alone with Luke Foster, given his penchant for carrying on conversations while staring intently at your bones. But you took no offence at his behaviour, especially after Baba’s attempts to give you insight into Luke’s peculiar mannerisms:

“Try not to take it personal, Miss. Lu will look at anyone who’s got beautiful collarbones. It’s a well-known fact that he’s obsessed with the boss’s - he's even framed the X-ray films of Eisuke’s bones. He likely just wants yours to add to his collection.”

Strange though it was, the request that Luke be allowed to have X-rays films of your collarbones in exchange for appearing on Miracle Finder was innocent enough. Certainly nothing that warranted the stony silence you received on the other end of the line when you called Victor the other day to tell him that Dr. Foster wanted to examine you. After a brusque “I have to go,” he had hung up. No goodbyes, not even a mutter of “dummy.”

But Luke Foster had been nothing short of a perfect gentleman, never once laying a hand on you. Moreover, he even insisted on paying for tonight’s meal despite the fact that you had invited him as thanks for appearing on the show.

“Please, just call me Luke. Vitamins and water are all I need to survive. I only ordered because Eisuke said it might be awkward if you seemed to be the only one dining.”

“I-I see.” You smile, taking another bite of wagyu. And for a moment, you are too wrapped up in the blissful way it seemed to melt on your tongue to be disconcerted by the strange events of the evening.

You weren’t, however, too distracted to continue throwing surreptitious glances in Victor’s direction, fighting to keep composed each time Diana’s laughter carried over to your table. What were the chances that you’d find yourselves at the same restaurant in all of Tokyo? You know that he knows you are here; even Chik couldn’t put on a performance convincing enough for the LFG CEO to believe for a second that you didn’t see him.

With your dismal acting skills, you definitely didn’t stand a chance.

“You’re in love with him.”

COUGH, COUGH!

You clear the steak lodged in the back of your throat with a few hacking coughs, half of your face hidden behind your napkin as you tried to be as discreet as possible, the words “Death by Wagyu” flashing through your mind. After soothing your throat with a sip of wine, you ask:

“I beg your pardon?”

“You’re in love with that man sitting just over there with the woman dressed in red. That Victor fellow who accompanied you to that first meeting with Eisuke.”

For someone who seemed to pay very little attention to matters that didn’t concern bones, Luke Foster was surprisingly perceptive. Or maybe you weren’t as discrete as you thought you were and it was obvious to all but yourself that you were staring at the golden couple.

“I…how did you...what makes you—”

“Please pass this message on to him for me. If he doesn’t treat your collarbones with the respect they deserve, he can’t blame me for swooping in to take his place.”

Then, for the very first time that night, Luke Foster looks you in the eye, the intensity in blue-grey irises making your breath hitch when he says: “Until then, I hope you find happiness with him, Sexy Bones — especially since he also seems to be exceedingly fond of you. Quite the annoyance, really.”

And for the very first time that night, you smile freely, naturally, at Luke, blushing hard as you contemplate his words. Suddenly bashful, you drop your gaze only to catch sight of the manila envelope you brought with you. You pass it across the table to him.

“Here. Your payment for agreeing to appear on Miracle Finder.”

The expression on Luke’s face can best be described as euphoric when he takes the films from you, momentarily excusing himself from the table as he murmurs something about requiring brighter lighting to examine them.

That is when you hear the buzz of your phone from inside your purse. And when you finally fish it out, you see a single text from Victor, commanding as always:

“MEET ME AT THE BAR IN THE TRES SPADES HOTEL IN AN HOUR. DON’T BE LATE.”

Chapter 8: Green-Eyed Monsters [Victor]

“Another whiskey on the rocks for you, Sir?”

I nod to the bartender, watching as he chips away at a block of ice to produce a perfect crystalline sphere — still spinning in the glass when he pours the amber spirit over it like a libation. It almost takes my mind off the fact that the girl is late. By exactly ten minutes, according to my watch. And for a moment, I’m gripped by a sense of panic when I consider the possibility that she might not come.

She never did answer my text though I knew she saw it — having witnessed her reaching into her purse to pull out her phone seconds after I sent the message. And while the logical part of my brain is telling me I’m being an absolute idiot, worst-case scenarios are already running through my head: the girl is side-swiped by a car while crossing the street, or somehow managed to fall into an open manhole and is currently standing knee-deep in sewage.

Or maybe she is pinned to the wall in a dark corner somewhere, hemmed in on either side by the gifted hands of a world-class surgeon by the name of Luke Foster.

I lift the glass to my lips, too impatient to even savour the smooth burn of the drink as I reach for my phone to send her another text. That is when I see her:

Cheeks flushed and chest gently heaving as if she had rushed to get here. An errant lock of hair falling from her up-do, framing that beautiful face like I had dreamt so many times of doing with the palm of my hand.

She makes her way towards me in that dimly lit bar, and though I’m aware of the faint ticking of the second hand of my watch, time may as well have stood still. Because I could have lived in that moment forever, gazing upon the light in her eyes as if they held every last star in the sky, as if those heavenly bodies had fallen just for her in precisely the same way I had: deeply, irrevocably.

And I know there is no turning back.

“Victor, sorry I’m late! What are you doing here in Tok—”

“Why did you ignore me?” My voice comes out stern, even to my ears, and I curse myself for losing my cool around her yet again. The girl furrows her brows, eyes dropping from my face to the half-empty glass of whiskey sitting on the counter. And when she looks up again, something in her countenance has changed — soft surprise giving way to a hardened expression.

“If it’s the text you’re referring to, I’m here now, aren’t I?”

“That’s not what I’m talking about.”

She looks away, refusing to meet my gaze as she perches on the stool beside me. “Surely you wouldn’t have wanted me to interrupt your dinner date, especially when you and Ms. Shum seemed so intimate.”

Intimate?

The bartender approaches, interrupting our conversation before I get the chance to formulate a reply. “What can I get for you, Miss?”

“She’ll have a glass of warmed milk—”

“Whiskey. On the rocks, please.”

She speaks over me, turning slightly in my direction as she does. I ignore the murmur of “Ladies’ choice” from the bartender as well as the smirk on his face as he begins preparing her drink. The thinly veiled challenge in the girl’s expression — elbow propped up on the counter with her chin resting atop a loose fist — only serves to highlight how incredibly alluring it is when she pushes back.

“Hmm. Bold. Since when did you start drinking whiskey? I don’t think you need me to remind you of your non-existent alcohol tolerance. Besides, didn’t you already have enough to drink at dinner?”

“There’s a lot of things you don’t know about me, Victor Li,” she says, reaching for the glass the bartender sets down before her. She takes a moment, staring at the rich, golden hues before finally taking a sip. I fight to keep the smile off my face when hers pulls into a grimace from the sting of the alcohol she clearly wasn’t familiar with. Dummy.

“I’m surprised you even noticed me at all, not with the lovely Diana there. But I guess old wounds really do have difficulty closing, no matter how much we say they’ve healed.”

“You’d have to ask for the expert opinion of your overly friendly doctor about that.”

“Excuse me?” She sets her drink down a bit harder than likely intended, sending the liquid sloshing about the glass to kiss the pink of her lipstick imprinted on its edge.

I don’t like where this conversation is going, the ill-disguised barbs only serving to increase the tension between us. It was foolish to have what should’ve been a very private discussion in a public space but, as always, the thought of her and Luke together is enough to make me forget my place and position, throwing caution to the wind and behaving with reckless abandon.

And still, the heat beneath my collar goads me on.

“Luke Foster. The one you’re so enthralled with that your manners seem to have been completely swept from memory. I presume that’s the reason why you didn’t acknowledge my existence when you saw me in the restaurant.”

Her eyes widen in disbelief as she leans in close, voice dripping with sarcasm: “Just like how you didn’t remember to tell me you were coming to Tokyo? Or maybe you weren’t planning on telling me at all, since it clearly looked like you weren’t here on business. But then again, I guess your business is none of mine.”

I don’t know whether I want to push back or kiss her senseless.

Instead, I settle for a deep breath, trying to keep my frustration in check. Having a heated argument with her was not how I had intended my evening to go. In fact, my entire day had not proceeded as planned, and if I hadn’t been accosted by Diana as soon as I stepped foot in the Tres Spades hotel, I would have been having dinner with the woman who occupied all my thoughts, all the time. At the very least, I could’ve saved her from the clutches of a pervert doctor.

I glance in her direction, study the beautiful melancholy of her silent profile as she watches the ball of ice slowly melt into her drink. Then I take another sip of mine, steeling myself for reparations I desperately needed to make.

“I am only going to say this once, so listen closely. Diana Shum and I dated shortly after graduation for all of two months before we decided to part ways on amicable terms. We make for much better business partners than we ever did romantically, and while she has expressed occasional interest in rekindling our relationship, I have never been of the same mind. I can assure you this will never change.

“The reason I came to Tokyo is not because of her — professional or otherwise — but because I was in a rush to prevent a certain dummy from doing anything she’d regret later on. But…”

I knock back the rest of my whiskey, emptying the glass.

“…I’m afraid I’m too late.”

She looks at me now, eyes wide as if she were still processing the words. Her next question comes on a whisper: “Why would you be too late?”

And it is my turn to look away.

“Well, you seemed to be pretty intimate yourself with Dr. Foster during your dinner date. I can only presume that…”

The girl moves closer and I can’t help the way my eyes are drawn to her mouth — the tremble of her lower lip, full and pink and lush. Without thought, I allow my gaze to trace along the graceful column of her neck, settling at the delicate notch between her collarbones and in that instant, I come to a visceral understanding of the extent of Luke Foster’s obsession, for mine was magnified a million times over:

I yearned for the entirety of this woman before me — needed her for myself, now and forever.

“Presume what?” Her voice is low, shaking.

“I can only presume that you’ve already allowed him to…examine your body.”

There is a moment of silence — each torturous second seeming to stretch into eternity to smother the last embers of hope.

“I have…”

Oh god.

“…given him X-ray films of my collarbones as he requested. That is all. He’s never touched me, not even once. I took him out to dinner tonight so I could give them to him as thanks for appearing on the show.”

Petty. Sheepish. I felt all these things, but none so powerful as the staggering sense of relief that washes over me to hear her say these words. Closing my eyes, I let the revelation sink in, finally feeling like I can breathe for the very first time that night.

Chapter 9: The Big Bang

You don’t quite know what made you do it.

The ambience of the bar, perhaps: sultry jazz and flickering candles purposefully placed to create just enough shadows for a veil of privacy.

Or maybe it was the crestfallen uncertainty that painted the handsome features of Victor Li’s face, his sudden display of vulnerability both novel and endearing.

Most likely however, it was the way in which his downcast expression morphed into one of ecstatic relief when you told him that Luke Foster had not laid a single finger on you.

Because when Victor tilts his head back, eyes closed and sighing deeply as if some unfathomable burden had been lifted, you cannot help but bring your lips to the Adam’s apple bobbing along the length of that strong, thick neck.

Cedar wood and pine.

The notes of his cologne are so familiar you didn’t realize how much you missed his scent until you literally came face to face with it. Victor is warm, so very warm beneath the skin of your lips. And under your touch, you become vaguely aware of the fact that the rise and fall of his chest has stilled.

At any other time, you would’ve questioned your sanity for how boldly you were behaving, especially towards someone who was your boss. You had never been one to put yourself out there when it came to matters of the heart. Something about the moment however, about Victor, made you feel like the one thing you could not do was let this chance pass you by.

So when you hear that shuddering breath, feel the faint scratch of his five o’clock shadow when he nuzzles against you in return, you know you’ve made the right gamble. Being with Victor Li feels right. And the surreal sense of belonging you find within the embrace of his muscular arms gives you the courage to say, “You must really believe I’m a dummy if you think I’d let any man other than you touch me.”

He slides a finger beneath your chin, gently lifting until all you can see are those jet black eyes, swimming with heat and emotion. The sudden silence of your surroundings sinks in: no more music, no idle chatter. Not even the rustle of limbs moving about in the dimly lit bar. And there, in the strange privacy of suspended time…

...Victor kisses you.

* * *

“Are you sure…this is…what you want?”

The deep timbre of Victor’s voice sends a thrill vibrating along the surface of your skin as he questions you between kisses — laid on your mouth, the line of your jaw, the pulse of your neck. His firm body presses you into a corner of the elevator, empty save for the two of you writhing in unison against a mirrored wall.

Each movement of his soft lips against yours is purposeful, imbued with meaning: longing in the gentle teeth that nibbled on your lower lip before drawing it into his mouth, in the sensual slide of the tongue that sought yours. Affection obvious in the hands that rose to cup your face, thumbs tracing circles on the apples of reddened cheeks to tell you in no uncertain terms that Victor Li belonged to you as much as you yearned to belong to him.

So you had no qualms about answering in the affirmative, nodding your head because the press of Victor’s muscular thigh between your legs already left you breathless and wondering whether he could feel your wet heat seeping through your panties.

And all he really did was kiss you.

Ding.

The elevator stops at your floor and even before the doors slide open, Victor has hoisted you up, wrapping your legs tightly about his tapered waist and whispering into your ear, “Which room?”

You knew Victor was fit, had seen him move fast and effortlessly through the waters of his Olympic-sized swimming pool that one time he had you deliver a report to his mansion on a Sunday. And yet, you could not help but admire the sheer perfection of his physique — the bulk of his biceps, flexed beneath strained layers of clothing; the ease with which he carries you all the way to your suite.

And when he sits you down upon the king-sized bed, you wonder if it is, in fact, too small for all the things you cared to do with him.

The LFG CEO shrugs off his suit jacket, loosening his tie just enough to pull it over his head before dropping to kneel at your feet. You watch him reach for you, shiver when he caresses the sensitive skin behind your knee with a light graze of gentle fingertips. Large hands trail down your calf — touch barely there and teasing — until his palm finally cups the heel of your stiletto to slide it off your foot.

He looks up at you then, the intensity in ebony irises rendering you still and mute as you patiently await his next move despite the frenzied pounding in your chest. There is a stroke of something almost feral in the dark depths of the gaze that falls heavy upon you — searching your eyes, lingering on your lips…tracing the neckline of your dress.

“I’ve never seen you wear this dress before.” Victor says, taking the same amount of care to remove the shoe from your other foot.

And if you were able to think straight under the influence of his touch — the hands that pushed back the hem of your dress as they roamed higher and higher up your thighs towards your heat — you might have found it strange that Victor was choosing now, of all times, to comment on your wardrobe choices. As it was, you answered without second thought: “It’s new. I bought it especially for tonight’s dinner.”

Victor stills and when he speaks again, there is a faint tremble in that voice, as if fighting to contain some unfathomable emotion.

“The doctor couldn’t stop staring at you. I know because I was the same way. I couldn’t look away from the moment you stepped foot in that restaurant.”

The revelation leaves you silent, waiting with bated breath for Victor to continue.

“Forgive me…”

Fingers entwine with fabric, gripping tight.

“…but I can’t stand the thought of you looking so beautiful for anyone else.”

RRRIIIIPPPP!

You fall back, wincing at the sound even as you feel your body respond to the sudden shock of having your dress torn right down the middle. Victor’s display of brute strength was so at odds with the façade of composure he was synonymous with and yet, there was no denying that you were incredibly aroused by this show of power — by the fact that he was now straddling you on all fours like some wild beast, tearing away the rest of your undergarments to leave you completely bare.

You’ve never been so desperate to feel him inside you, deep and rough and untamed. The thought throws you into a frenzy of lust.

Digging your fingers into the front of his dress shirt, you yank it open to send buttons flying in haphazard directions, but the only thing that concerned you was the sight of that broad chest and muscular torso, so impressive it actually elicits a moan from your lips and a smile from his in return.

Propping yourself up onto your knees, you press against him, flesh to flesh — one hand running over the burning surface of his skin even as the other tugs at the buckle of his leather belt, impatiently moving to palm him when his dress pants fall and gasping to finally see and feel the full extent of the LFG CEO:

Victor Li is rock hard and intimidatingly large.

And the sight makes your mouth water.

Sinking onto your heels, you trail your lips along Victor’s chiseled body, tongue teasing at his nipples as you do and relishing the catch of his breath in his throat.

But just as you begin to lay kisses along the deep V of his abdomen with the intent of tracing lower and lower, Victor stops you, puling you up for a kiss before laying back on the bed and positioning you above him…

…with his face between your legs.

“This way,” he says, voice muffled, and you might have commented on his inability to relinquish control even in the bedroom were it not for the sensation of his flattened tongue sweeping hot and wet along the seam of your already dripping pussy, teasing from end to end.

The sensation is so intense it’s almost unbearable. You throw your head back, mouth dropping in a silent scream as you sink onto Victor’s face, fighting the instinct to grinder lower onto that talented tongue despite the encouraging grip of Victor’s hands, strong on your hips and thighs.

“I’ve wanted to taste you…for so long,” he murmurs, sucking the swell of your clit into his mouth and humming in approval against moist flesh to hear you moan above him. “Your flavour is absolutely exquisite.”

Gathering your wits, you fold forward — intent on giving just as much pleasure as you were receiving. Victor twitches once within your grip, not quite contained by the circumference of your palm and fingers, running up and down the sizeable length of his cock, hot in your hand like his breath on your slit. And after placing a few wet kisses on the smooth, hard head, you open your mouth to taste him.

The tepid salt of his arousal. The groans originating from deep within Victor’s chest each time your lip brushed past the tender underside of his cock. The subtle rhythm of his pelvis, lifting in time to your mouth swallowing more of that solid shaft, quickly becoming slick with your saliva.

And then you catch sight of your reflection in the mirrored closet. See the bulge of Victor’s bicep as he grips your hip, the flex in the muscles of his neck when he lifts to bury his face deeper into your folds. See yourself: hair disheveled and eyes half-lidded, drunk on sex. Observe the messy smear of your lipstick as your mouth stretches to accommodate more and more of your boss’s cock. And when the tip of Victor’s tongue begins its relentless tease of your clit, you watch as a most debauched expression falls over your features, the tension in your body breaking as you find release on his lips.

You are still shaking when he enters you, sensitized by an orgasm that left tiny sparks of electricity running along every nerve, priming you for second helpings. A true paragon of patience, Victor Li takes his time, deliberately slow as he pushes — savouring the sensation of drenched, swollen flesh parting just for him.

It was almost unfathomable that you could experience such extreme pleasure, each powerful swing of Victor’s hips driving him deeper into your body — hitting just the right angles until your very senses were extracted along with your second release of the night, running slick between your legs to ease the slippery slide of your bodies.

It draws out Victor’s own, your lover moving to pull out moments before you surprise him by taking him once more into your mouth — gaze locked onto those dark eyes from below as you taste him on your tongue, euphoric to see him bite his lips when your lick yours to swallow every last drop.

Chapter 10: Pillow Talk

Beep Beep Beep Beep.

You roll over, eyes still closed as you reach out to hit the snooze button on the alarm clock.

Except your palm comes down on warm flesh with a resounding smack, echoing throughout your hotel room and accompanied by a deep voice that says, “Are you finally awake, Dummy?”

Your eyes shoot open to see Victor lying naked in bed next to you, a splotch of red blooming on his chest where he had been attacked. He sets his phone down to hand you a glass of water from the bedside table, and even though memories of the previous night come rushing back to burn your cheeks, you cannot help but notice how glorious he looks bathed in morning light. You hope he doesn’t see the way your hand shakes when you accept the glass from him with a meek “Thanks.”

Victor clears his throat, waiting for you to finish drinking before he says, “That was the fourth time you slept through the alarm. I’ve already informed your colleagues you’ll be taking the day off. We didn’t get much sleep last night and I think you’ll need some time to…recover.”

You bite your lip, turning sideways to feign a sudden interest in the curtains so he wouldn’t see the giant smile spreading onto your face. It was almost surreal that Victor Li was your lover, and if it weren’t for the exquisite soreness you felt between your legs, you would’ve been hard pressed to believe it for yourself.

The sheets rustle and before you know it, Victor has his chest pressed up against your bare back, laying a soft kiss on your shoulder before he rests his chin on it.

“How are you feeling?” He asks.

“Okay. Pretty good, actually.” It was too early in the game to tell him you were already doing cartwheels in your mind.

“Good. I’m glad to hear that because I found this under your pillow…”

He places something in your hands. Your eyes widen when you recognize the magazine with his face on the cover.

“…And this ‘man on top’ wants to know what it feels like to have this woman on top of him for the rest of the day.”

You’ve made it to the end! 🤩 Thank you so much for reading! Check out more of my work here! 📚

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night-eagle-flight · 4 years ago

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Hidden Gem Chapter 6

When you arrived at the homestead with Connor you were greeted with chores galore. Cooking, cleaning, and some nursing mixed in throughout the day. You learned a lot from Diana and she taught you even more the following days.

One night you hummed happily as you stirred the soup in the pot for dinner.

“Something smells good.” Connor said as he leaned against the door frame.

You looked over your shoulder and smiled, ��I hope you and Achilles like it.” You turned back to the pot, “It’s my first time making this recipe on my own.”

“Diana said you caught on to cooking quickly.” Connor continued the conversation.

“Well... I used to cook every now and again for Haytham and his special guests...” You said looking behind you.

Connor’s eye twitched slightly and a small frown appeared at the mention of his dad’s name, “I will help you set the table.”

He walked away leaving you a bit confused as to why the topic of Haytham would cause him to react in that way but you made a mental note and continued cooking.

“I see you haven’t burned down the kitchen yet.” Achilles said with slight humor.

You turned around and smiled, “Diana made sure I wouldn’t.” you turned to the pot before you, “The food is ready. I’ll have the bowls served in a moment.”

The dinner went on with idle chats and you were glad that the conversations were never really about business. While talking with Achilles however you noticed that Connor had finished his bowl. You bit your lip for a second before asking,

“Would you like seconds Connor?”

Connor nodded but both of you stood up at the same time.

“I can get it for you.” You said as you reached for the bowl.

“It is alright. I can get it myself.” He smiled.

“I insist.” You reached once more for his bowl but he side stepped you and made his way to the kitchen.

“He wants to give you a small break.” Achilles sipped his coffee, “Says you’ve been working nonstop all day.”

“Oh! Um.... T-thank you.” You stuttered as you nodded at Connor and sat back down.

When Connor came back you noticed he had served himself another full bowl of soup. You looked away when you realized you were staring. A small blush creeping on your face as you smiled and internally cheered, “He likes it.”

Achilles couldn’t help but roll his eyes slightly with a small grin when he noticed Connor glimpsing at you from time to time.

Meanwhile....

“Master Kenway,” Shay looked up from his drawn map, “This is the lay out of the homestead from what I remember it.”

Haytham looked at it but didn’t seem to pleased, “I’ve heard Connor has since done modifications to the homestead.”

“Shouldn’t be a problem. The homesteaders don’t know who I am so walking in when Connor or the others aren’t arou--” Shay was interrupted.

“No. I heard a few weeks ago that a group of red coats were chased away while trying to detain a man who refused to serve in their forces. They even lost a few of their comrades.” Haytham looked at Shay, “The homesteaders take care of their own and killing them would most likely cause a rise from the Assassins.”

“Do you believe she’ll fight back?” Shay asked quietly.

“There’s a good chance, yes.” Haytham sighed.

“Is it worth the trouble then?”

Haytham glared, “I did not spend all that effort grooming her to have her run from what she is meant to do.”

Haytham stood up abruptly and began to pace.

“Perhaps...” Shay sighed, “I can take a look around the Homestead. See how many villagers there are.”

Haytham hummed, “I will join you-”

“With all due respect sir,” Shay interrupted, “If you’re spotted the Assassins will be on you in a heart beat.”

“Which is why I will be staying at the port of the frontier with the ship until I’m needed. You need to head back to your business as soon as possible along with (y/n).” Haytham looked at Shay, “Understood?”

“Aye sir.” Shay said, “I must be headed off then. Gist has sailed all night so I best relieve him.”

When Shay left Haytham glared at the map of the Homestead, “It has already been a week... How are you (y/n)?” He mumbled, “Has Connor already shown you his ideals? Have you tasted freedom?” He sat down on the Captain’s chair, “If this is the case... then I will have no choice than to show you your place once more because this is the one thing I refuse to compromise.”

TIL NEXT TIME!!!!

#connor kenway x reader #connorxreader #assassinxreader #reader insert

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mandoalorian · 4 years ago

Text

I Believe In Love [Maxwell Lord x F!Reader] — Six: Wonder

Summary: When you find your calling to leave Themyscira, you venture out to the World of Man with intentions of helping and healing a very specific person's relationship with his son. You've heard his voice before, but only in dreams. You've felt his pain and anguish and you've never been able to relate to anything more. But things don't come easy for you, and they certainly don't come easy for him either. [This series contains spoilers for WW84 and is my interpretation of what happens after the movie ends].

Warnings: mentions of food and drink, tooth-rotting fluff and as always, a smidge of angst

Word count: 5,200>

Masterlist

Previous - Chapter Six - Next

A beam of golden sunlight shone through the small crack in the curtain, warming your exposed skin, waking you up. Maxwell was still sleeping, lightly snoring and his bare chest rising and falling underneath you. You noticed that his cozy sweater from the night before had been discarded on the floor by the bed, but he was still wearing his pants, and his arm was lazily draped around your body. He held you close and tight, like he was afraid to let you go. You snuggled into him, relishing the moment and hoping it would never end. But you were awake, and it was a new day, and you had a lot to do.

You slipped out of Max’s arms, careful not to wake him up, and smiled when you remembered the night before. Kissing a man, a man like him, felt like a dream come true. It was something you had only imagined when you had read tales of it back on Themyscira. But it was even better than you thought. His lips were sweet like honey and his touch was strong yet gentle. It was perfect, and you wished for the moment it could happen again. Realising you were still completely naked, you glanced into Maxwell’s walk-in closet and wondered if you were entitled to select something out to wear. You figured it would be rude to do so without asking him, so you picked up his forest green sweater that he wore yesterday and pulled it over your body.

You padded back downstairs into the dining room and grabbed a notepad and pen. You noted that Maxwell kept one near the front door of his home. Sitting at the table, you opened up the book. You had six days until the court date. Six days to figure out a way to bring Maxwell and Alistair together for good this time. But you had no idea where to begin. You knew nothing about the legal system or how this kind of thing worked. Back on Themyscira, if Hippolyta wished to gain justice, she would simply use the lasso of truth. You were there, many years ago, when she used the lasso on Captain Steve Trevor. You hadn’t met the pilot, only heard from your mother Hestia who provided Hippolyta with the lasso, but apparently, he revealed himself to be a spy. You considered it. You considered the implications of using your lasso in court, but doing so in front of so many people would mean you’d have to give up your powers. There had to be another way. Before you could put pen on paper, you gasped, feeling a pair of hands grab your waist.

“Good morning.” you heard Maxwell from behind you. His voice was low and husky in the morning and he was grinning, feeling happier than he’d felt in such a long time.

“Good morning handsome.” you smiled, turning around in your chair and looking up at him with doe eyes. His dark blonde hair was still wavy and disheveled, and he was wearing a plain, light grey t-shirt. It fit tight around his biceps and really highlighted the broadness of his shoulders. He looked really, really good. You spotted a pink blush creep upon Maxwell’s cheeks at your compliment.

“You look nice in my sweater,” he noticed, tugging on it slightly. “What are you doing there?”

“Oh, I was trying to figure out an approach for the court case this Sunday,” you frowned, biting your lip. “Do you think we could get one of those lawyer things like Theodore mentioned?”

“This short notice? I doubt it. But I can have Raquel make some phone calls and she’ll see what she can do. I uh- I appreciate you doing this for me. You don’t have to.” Maxwell said sheepishly, running his ring clad fingers through his hair.

You stood up from your seat and walked over to him, wrapping your arms around his body and holding him close. You pressed a kiss into his lips. He tasted just as sweet as the night before, and the skin was just as soft. “I like doing that.” you told Maxwell, completely dismissing what he said before. “Kissing you. I mean.”

Maxwell tucked a piece of hair behind your ear and cupped your face. He ran his thumb over the height of your cheekbone and stared at you in complete admiration. “I like it too,” he agreed, his voice quiet as he leaned in and kissed you again, this time swiping his tongue over your lower lip. He was so good at it, and you wondered how many women he’d kissed before. You loved the way the curve of his nose pressed against your skin and how his eyes would flutter shut as his senses overwhelmed him. You loved the way his hands navigated around your body like it was simply just meant to be. When he pulled away, it was to catch breath, and he pressed his forehead against yours. “Let me make you breakfast.” he whispered.

“Or we could just keep kissing?” you suggested, already tugging on his hair for another one. He smiled, planting a quick peck against your lips and pulled away again.

“Believe me, I want that more than anything,” he exhaled shakily, dragging his hands up and down your arms. “But you haven’t eaten since you got here. You must be hungry. What did you eat on Themyscira?”

“Hmm, fruit? Berries? We picked them fresh from the bushes every morning and they’d last us the rest of the day.” you told him and he nodded slowly.

“Well we don’t have berries, but I can do you scrambled eggs,” Maxwell shrugged, already grabbing a few eggs from the refrigerator. “Is that okay?”

“What kind of eggs…” you said, narrowing your eyes.

“Uh… chicken eggs?” Maxwell shrugged, holding an egg up into the light to analyse it.

“You eat chicken eggs?!” You gasped, your eyes widening in disbelief.

“Yeah?!” Maxwell replied, trying to suppress a grin at your reaction. “So many people do! We crack a few, whisk it and put it in a pan!” You slapped your hands over your mouth feeling shocked. Maxwell chuckled, putting the eggs back and taking your hands, pulling them away from your face. “You’re adorable, you know that?”

You scrunched up your nose. “I don’t want chicken eggs for breakfast.” you mumbled.

“That’s okay,” Max nodded. “I can do oatmeal or pancakes, or we have cereal. Check that cupboard over there.” He said, pointing in the general direction to a cupboard by the kitchen sink. You followed his finger and opened the wooden door. Inside the cupboard were a few boxes of opened miscellaneous cereal. One box in particular caught your intention. It was a red box decorated with a rainbow and a leprechaun and the words read in a bold yellow font ‘Lucky Charms’. You brought it out and presented it to Max with an eager grin. “Oh, those are Alistair’s favourite,” Max grinned, taking out a bowl, spoon and carton of milk. “Help yourself.”

You smiled with gratitude and dug your hand in the box, grabbing a handful of cereal. You looked close at the little oat pieces mixed with the multi-coloured marshmallow bits, even bringing them close to your nose to smell. They were sweet, and the vibrancy of the marshmallows intrigued you. You tried a pink one and moaned as the sugary texture dissolved in your mouth. Max looked over to you as he brewed his coffee, his eyes wide as he watched you eat the cereal out of your hands. “No no no,” he chastised softly, placing his mug back down on the counter and walking over to you. He put the cereal box in your hands and unscrewed the cap on the carton of milk. “Pour some of it in the bowl, and then pour the milk over the top. Then you eat it with a spoon.” he taught you.

“Oh,” you sighed knowingly, understanding why he’d brought out the other utensils and ingredients for you. As he turned back to his coffee, you tried one of the oat pieces. They didn’t taste as nice as the marshmallows, so you put the rest of the oat pieces back into the box and picked out only the sweet soft bits of cereal, dropping them into the bowl. You poured the milk over, careful not to spill any, just like he’d told you. “I’m getting good at this!”

“You are!” Maxwell laughed, sitting down next to you with his mug of coffee and a few slices of toast. He peeked into your bowl and shook his head. “You’re just like Alistair,” he rolled his eyes. “He only eats the marshmallows.”

“Of course he does,” you giggled, taking a spoonful of your selective cereal. “They’re delicious.”

“So I was thinking about the dreamstone,” Maxwell said, taking a sip of his coffee. “If I was possessed by Romulus, the dreamstone would have been Roman. Which means the remaining dreamstone belonged to Dolos, meaning it’s Greek. But how do we find it?”

“If only we knew someone who could help,” you sighed, shaking your head. “Someone who knows about this kind of stuff just as much as we do.”

You stared down into your bowl of cereal, watching as the colour drained from the marshmallows and created rainbow swirls in your milk.

“Actually,” Maxwell exhaled, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. “There is someone.” The thought of going to see that someone again, swarmed Max with fear and dread.

“Well- who?” you asked, dropping your spoon into the bowl with a clank.

“Diana.” Maxwell replied nervously.

“Diana Princess of Themyscira?!” You gasped, your jaw dropping.

“I’m pretty sure she goes by Diana Prince but-”

“Max you’re a genius! Where can we find her?” You stood up abruptly.

“Listen, I’m not sure if it’s a good idea. The last time I saw her… I mean it was only a few days ago but it was not good.”

You took Max’s hand and pulled him up. “Diana is forgiving. Whatever happened, she holds no judgement, I assure you that,” you reassured him. “Diana could be the key to knowing where the final dreamstone is.”

Max nodded, sighing in defeat. You were right and he knew it. “She works at the Smithsonian museum. It opens to the public at nine, so we have a few hours to kill, but we’ll get down there as soon as possible.”

You smiled and enveloped him into a hug. “Thank you.” you murmured, squeezing him tightly.

“It’s okay,” he promised, hugging you back. “But there is something I gotta ask you about.”

“What is it?”

“I haven’t been out much since I renounced my wish. I went to the park with Alistair, and then Black Gold, and visited Julianna, but that’s it. I’ve been hiding from the world, living in fear that I’ll have to face some kind of repercussion for my actions. It only makes sense, right? I’m thinking about federal prison. Maybe even get sentenced to death. That’s if someone doesn’t see me on the street and kills me. But I don’t get it. I haven’t been noticed. Nobody cares. Julianna didn’t mention any of it to me, and she loves to bring up all my mistakes. Trust me. It’s just… there’s something not right.” Maxwell exclaimed. It was crazy. You were the only one he trusted to talk about this to. “I’m not sure,” you hummed, understanding his concern. “Maybe Diana will know?”

“Maybe,” Maxwell sighed. “I’m just worried about even being allowed in the Smithsonian. I kinda stole the dreamstone by nefarious means,” You tilted your head and frowned. “No don’t look at me like that!” Max pouted, raising both his eyebrows at you.

“Like what?” you questioned.

“Like you’re disappointed in me,” Maxwell huffed, running his hand through his hair. “I just want to make all of this right.”

“And you will,” you promised him. “We will. Together.”

Every little word you spoke, every action you took, filled his heart with warmth. You gave his life meaning and your presence made him feel a sense of belonging. You really cared about him. You were literally like his guardian angel, only instead coming from heaven, you’d come from the magical land of Themyscira.

“I guess if we have a few hours to kill… we should finish breakfast and find you some clothes. Something decent to wear,” Maxwell shrugged. “I don’t like the idea of leaving the house but I don’t think we have a choice,” he hummed, looking down at his green sweater that was draped over your body. You couldn’t just live in his shirts. You couldn’t keep walking around town, pant-less. And you certainly couldn’t wear your Amazonian warrior tunic and armour. “My tailor who makes my suits has her own boutique just off East Ave, I’m sure we can find something suitable.”

“It’ll be open this early?” you asked, crooking your head.

“They live there. Whenever I’ve needed last minute alterations before a charity event or gala, I’ve relied on them. Visited them during the early hours of the morning and Belinda- oh, she’s simply just a star. She works quickly and efficiently,” Maxwell praised, grabbing his car keys. He threw a coat in your direction and you quick Amazonian reflexes meant that you caught it in an instant. You smiled and mumbled a thank you before sliding your arms into his coat and zipping it up. You put on your gladiator sandals and met Maxwell in the car outside.

The journey was short, and you even vaguely recognised the area from your visit to Black Gold Cooperative. Maxwell fiddled with some buttons on the dashboard when he stopped at a red light. “What are you do-”

A loud booming melody cut you off and you jumped back into your seat.

“So don't become some background noise, a backdrop for the girls and boys, who just don't know, or just don't care, and just complain when you're not there, You had your time, you had the power, you've yet to have your finest hour, radio…”

“What is that?” you gasped and Max laughed, turning a knob down so the voice quietened down.

“You must’ve had music on Themyscira,” he chuckled. “That is Queen.”

“The Queen?!” You practically choked. “If I heard Queen Hippolyta sing like that I-”

“No,” Maxwell laughed, unable to hide his smile. “Just Queen. They’re a band. They sing songs and play instruments.”

“What do they sing about?” You quizzed curiously and Maxwell adjusted the volume once more.

“Listen.” he urged, pressing down on the ignition and drove away as the light turned green.

“All we hear is radio ga ga, radio goo goo, radio ga ga,”

You sighed and rolled your eyes. “Ga ga and goo goo? That makes no sense.”

“Keep listening!”

“Radio what’s new, radio someone still loves you.”

“It’s about love.” you smiled, feeling your cheeks heat up. You placed your hand on your heart. You loved that behind the baby-ish words, the song had a meaning so beautiful and powerful. It really illustrated that love was still the most important thing in the whole world. Maxwell’s voice brought you out of your deep chain of thought.

“Actually I think it’s about the commercialization of radio stations-” Maxwell exclaimed and looked at you in the reflection of the rear view mirror. Your smile fell and you looked even more perplexed by his words. What was he thinking? Of course you wouldn’t understand the ins and outs of how MTV had destroyed modern radio. So he decided to compromise. “Yeah okay, you’re right,” he shrugged, pursing his lips into a fine line to refrain from smiling. “It’s about love.”

You smiled once more, subconsciously swaying to the rhythm. Max couldn’t stop watching you. You were so pure, and you looked at this world with so much joy and compassion. You were always so excited to learn new things and it was so endearing. If anything, it made Maxwell want to be more like you. You helped him not take things for granted. By the time Queen sung the final verse, you had already familiarised yourself with the words, even changing some and earning a few laughs out of Maxwell. As the song finished you pointed your finger at Max who was just pulling up outside the boutique. “Maxwell Lord what’s new? Maxwell, someone still loves you!” You sang, before pressing a kiss into his jaw and then pulling back with the biggest, cheesiest grin.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” Max returned the smile but he couldn’t help but think about your words. Of course you were just quoting the song, but you had deliberately directed the lyrics towards him. He sighed, not having time to over think. But what if you loved him back? It sounded too good to be true. “C’mon, we’re here.”

The boutique was beautiful inside. It was small, but filled with racks on racks of clothing. In every corner there were golden framed mirrors and an array of different flowers. The old lady, who you assumed to be the owner, was waiting half asleep by the cashier. When Max opened the front door, a little bell jingled, alerting her and waking her up.

“Oh, Mr Lord! How lovely it is to see you!” the old lady exclaimed, pottering over to Maxwell and shaking his hand. She must have only been about four foot, her perfect grey hair in tight curls and her glasses perched on the curve of her petite nose.

“Good morning Belinda,” Maxwell greeted with a charming smile. It was the same smile you recognised from when he was on television. “I’m sorry for dropping by so early. This is my friend,” Maxwell said, pushing you forward gently and introducing you by name. “She’s visiting just for 4th of July weekend and her luggage got lost at the airport so we’ll be needing a few things for her to wear.”

You waved shyly. “Oh darling, what a beautiful young girl you are!” Belinda exclaimed, pinching your cheeks excitedly. She then turned to Max, leaning into him. “You sure she’s just a friend? She’s wonderful. Definitely a keeper,” Belinda laughed and you giggled alongside her as Max stayed silent and only blushed. “Let me take your measurements and I’ll see what I can do.” Belinda told you, already grabbing some tape and sculpting your body to a suitable position. “Where do you come from, dear?”

“Themyscira.” You smiled.

“Them-a-what?” Belinda asked. “Oh pardon me, I’ve never heard of such a place.”

“Uh- small town!” Maxwell lied before you could reply. “Not really important.”

“I see,” Belinda said, holding up different materials against your body. “How long have you known Mr. Lord?”

You looked over at Max and your smile grew wider. “Honestly, it feels like forever.” you told Belinda, finding yourself lost in Maxwell’s chocolate brown eyes. He was completely mesmerizing. It was true. You might’ve only known Max for two days but you already knew so much about him. He’d been haunting your dreams and thoughts for weeks before you’d even visited the world of man. You saw his past. You knew about his struggles. He told you things that he’d never told anyone else before.

“Lucky for you I have Ralph Lauren’s new summer collection! They just shipped to us yesterday. I know that the colours will compliment your skin tone perfectly. They’re just out back, let me go grab them.” Belinda announced before padding away.

“Thank you.” Maxwell called after her.

“Who’s Ralph Lauren?” You asked, walking over to Max who was sitting on a sofa reading the business section of a broadsheet newspaper. You slipped down next to him and shuffled close.

“He’s a designer.” Max informed you, flicking to the next page of the paper.

“What are you reading?” you asked curiously, snuggling into Maxwell and leaning your head on his shoulder so you could take a look.

“Boring economic stuff,” Maxwell sighed. “Not sure why considering my business is broke now anyway. But this stuff is good to know.”

“What is the Cold War?” you frowned, reading the headline.

“Uh, there’s a war going on right now between us and the Soviet Union.” Maxwell sighed, narrowing his eyes as he focused on a piece of information presented in one of the columns.

“Us?”

“The US, United States of America.” Max confirmed with a scowl before turning the page again.

“A war… that’s impossible. Ares is dead.” you mumbled to yourself, feeling horrified. You hadn’t even noticed. You’d spent two whole days in the world of man and you would have never suspected that there was a war going on.

You pondered his words before Belinda came out holding a pile of clothes. “These should fit you perfectly,” Belinda exclaimed, shoving them into a paper bag for you.

“Will you be paying with your company card today?” Belinda asked, turning to Maxwell.

Maxwell winced, knowing that his company had absolutely no money. “Uh- no. Personal please,” Max requested, taking out his wallet. This would be coming out of his own savings which probably wasn’t very smart but, you were worth it. “While I pay, would you mind getting changed in the dressing room?” Maxwell asked of you. “And then we can go to the Smithsonian.”

You nodded, taking the paper bag filled with clothing and navigating yourself to the store’s dressing room.

“Ooh, the Smithsonian museum huh?” Belinda asked as she registered each item of clothing into the till.

“Yeah, she’s never been before,” Maxwell hummed, his anxiety rising now that it was just him and Belinda alone. Of course the little lady wasn’t going to do anything to him, but it was like you were his safety. He was beginning to rely on you more than he’d quite like to admit. “Belinda, can I ask you something?”

“Whatever is it, my dear?”

Maxwell sighed, wondering how to phrase his question. Just like Julianna, Belinda was acting like she had no idea what he’d done. “Where were you on the fourth of July?”

“At the shop, working of course.” Belinda replied.

“Ah, so you didn’t catch what was on the television?” Maxwell quizzed further.

“No, my dear.”

So she missed the broadcast completely. And Maxwell supposed there was a chance that Raquel, Julianna and Theodore missed the broadcast, although that did seem ever so unlikely. Even if they had missed it, one of Julianna’s gossip-y friends would have seen it and notified Julianna of Maxwell’s mischief. Something wasn’t adding up. He had to confront Diana about it.

Just as Maxwell finished paying, you stepped out of the dressing room wearing a white blouse tucked into a brown suede skirt. Of course you were still wearing your gladiator sandals, but they practically completed the look.

“You look… wow.” Maxwell exclaimed.

“Now it gets warm out there so here!” Belinda exclaimed, propping a pair of sunglasses on your head. “To protect your eyes!”

“You really look amazing.” Maxwell said, completely entranced by you. His gaze hadn’t left your body once.

“Thank you Max,” you hummed in delight. “I like it a lot.”

“Good,” he whispered, shaking his head in disbelief. You really were the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Belinda awkwardly cleared her throat, breaking the silence. “Right uh- thanks a lot for everything Belinda. But we better be going.”

“No problem dear,” Belinda waved cheerily. “Have a great day my darlings!”

You slid back into the passenger seat of Maxwell’s car and watched as he put his own sunglasses on. You smiled and copied, letting the brown tinted glasses fall to the bridge of your nose. “These are cool.” you beamed.

“Yeah, they look good.” Maxwell complimented as he set off to the Smithsonian.

Luckily for the both of you, Maxwell spotted Diana when he first entered the lobby of the building. Just in case of being noticed (which he usually thrived in attention), he kept his sunglasses on. He couldn’t risk being arrested for his previous actions at the museum. Diana was dressed in a royal blue pant suit, her dark brown hair curled perfectly and bouncing off her shoulders. Her eyes sparkled like diamonds and she hadn’t aged a day since you last saw her on Themyscira.

“Diana!” you called, waving your hands ecstatically. Diana recognised your voice and her head snapped in your direction, her jaw parting in shock when she saw you. She questioned your name out loud, but she knew it was you.

“Oh my goodness!” Diana cried, enveloping you into a hug. Maxwell stood a few feet behind you, rocking backwards and forwards anxiously. “What are you doing here?” She smiled, holding your hands and giving them a squeeze.

“I had my calling!” You revealed.

“I am so happy to hear that,” Diana grinned. “So who brought you the world of man?”

“A man, actually,” you laughed at the irony. “A man you might know. Uhm- Max Lord?”

Diana’s smile fell but her face softened when she saw Maxwell. “Ah yes, I’ve made his acquaintance.” She said, her voice vague and emotionless. Her glance flicked between you both.

“Hi Diana.” Maxwell waved shyly.

“How have you been?” Diana asked Maxwell, taking a few steps towards him.

“It’s been difficult, but I’m managing,” Maxwell admitted, hiding his face. “Listen, I never got the chance to thank you.”

“Don’t think anything of it,” Diana smiled. “Water under the bridge.” she promised before turning back to you. “Did you come to the museum to see me?”

“Yes, we did,” you sighed. “There’s another dreamstone out there and it is my duty from my mother to find it and destroy it. Otherwise, it could be responsible for society’s future collapse. History is known to repeat itself. If someone gets their hand on Dolos’ dreamstone, just like Max did, the same thing could happen.”

“I know all about it,” Diana frowned. “And I’m glad you’re here. I’ve been searching for the stone itself and I’ve found out it’s located in a secret cave, in Athens, Greece. If you want the stone, you’ll have to travel there.”

“Is it far?” you asked, not liking the sounds of the proposition.

“Unfortunately, yes. We’d have to get a flight.” Maxwell notified you.

“I’m going to Athens too,” Diana informed you. “I can take you to the cave.”

“You’d do that?” you smiled graciously. “What are you going to Athens for?”

“The sword of Athena,” she exhaled. “There’s a terrible war going on and if I want to save the world from Ares again, I’m going to need that sword. Do you still have the lasso of Hestia?”

“I do.” you confirmed.

“Good, hold onto it. The lasso contains the power of the truth, and by destroying Dolos’ stone, you will be destroying the God of Lies. You can only destroy the stone with the truth. But Max knows all about that…” Diana trailed off, peeking back at Maxwell.

“Thank you Diana,” you smiled courteously and Diana nodded. “Will you be taking a flight with us?”

“I have to stay late at the Smithsonian tonight, so I’ll catch up with you in Athens tomorrow. I’ll find you, don’t worry.”

“Would you like us to get your plane tickets?” Maxwell asked, thinking it was the least he could do for Diana.

“That’s okay. I’ve recently learned I have my own way of flying.” She smirked and you smiled back knowingly. Maxwell just furrowed his eyebrows in bewilderment. Everything about this interaction made him confused and uncomfortable.

“Before we leave for the airport,” Maxwell spoke up, clearing his throat. “I have something to ask you, Diana.” “Yes?”

“No one has mentioned the broadcast to me.” Maxwell started but then stopped, feeling as though his words explained enough.

“I know.” Diana replied with a small nod.

“You know?” Maxwell quizzed.

“When I renounced my wish, Steve disappeared. I lost him again. But this morning, on my way to work, I ran into the man who possessed Steve’s body and we spoke for a short while. It’s like he never even knew me. Like we had never even met. He didn’t remember me. He didn’t know me. It was like… none of it ever happened.”

“What does that mean? Everyone who renounced their wish has forgotten?”

“Almost. When you renounced your wish, the world reverted back to the way it was before Romulus possessed you.” Diana explained and Maxwell couldn’t believe it.

“That doesn’t make sense. So I get away with all of this without consequence? That’s not fair.”

“I think your consequence lies in your fate with Alistair.” Diana frowned sadly and Maxwell’s heart sank into the depths of his chest.

“No,” You shook your head profusely, interrupting their conversation. “Nothing bad is going to happen between Alistair and Max. I’m here to make sure that they stay together,” you turned to Maxwell and held his hand. “Julianna won’t split you apart. I mean it. I won’t let it happen.”

Maxwell let go off your hands and they dropped by your sides. “I’m going to wait by the car. I need some air.” Maxwell choked as anxious tears threatened to spill from his eyes. You nodded understandingly and watched as he sauntered out of the Smithsonian.

“I’m sorry to hear about Steve,” you whispered after a few moments of silence. You turned back to Diana, the princess of Themyscira. “I can’t imagine how it must feel to lose the love of your life. If I lost Max-”

Diana’s eyes widened and she stuck her hand out. “What?”

“W-what?” you repeated, realising what you had just said and immediately trying to figure out a way to retract it.

“You just implied that Max Lord is the love of your-”

“Don’t say it.” You begged.

“-Life.” Diana finished and you gasped. Hearing the words come from her only validated your feelings even more.

It was true. She was right. You were in love with Maxwell Lord.

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gaitwae · 4 years ago

Text

The Dark Angel [|] Batman x OC

read on AO3!

Warnings: Possibility of being bad, it’s a sequel.

Length: 8k

Summary: Bruce Wayne and Charlene fluff, i don’t really know XD

Ring, ring, ring.

The sun hadn’t even peeked over the horizon when the telephone rang, violently and loudly. Internally, Bruce knew it wasn’t an emergency — it was someone trying to reach him before the day started. If it was an emergency, the caller wouldn’t have dialed the Blackberry. It wasn’t the red phone; the small cell was for business, not pleasure, so it wasn’t that either; he had a small rotary for the boys in case they were sick or held up at the university or high school (or in Damian’s case, soccer practice). The ringing phone was the Blackberry.

His thoughts were all over the place. In the beginning, his first thought was that he really needed to change the ringtone. It sounded like Christmas bells on Kryptonian steroids. The darn thing was just outside of Bruce Wayne’s reach for the first time in years; that thought alone was infuriating to him. The more he dwelled on someone calling the Blackberry…

Ring, ring, ring.

“Not today,” he swore, heaving a sigh and hoisting himself off of the bed. His Blackberry kept buzzing and playing its tone on the nightstand like an angry massage tool from Tartarus. He wiped his face, and just before the contraption could finish its next Ring, ring, ring, he answered the call. “Bruce Wayne.” His tone was gruff; he wanted to make sure the caller knew that the excuse better be good. The billionaire wasn’t in the mood to play games with the idiot on the other line.

“It’s Clark,” the voice on the opposite end answered. Bruce tensed. Clark had no reason to call him this early — had something happened with Charlene? Did their trip to Smallville get tracked?

“Clark —”

“Don’t worry; this isn’t life-threatening. You left something in that suit jacket you lent me,” his friend explained. “We should talk… Soon.”

The tension that built in Bruce left instantaneously. He had almost forgotten: Weeks ago, an envelope had been slipped into the inside pocket for Clark to find. He couldn’t risk saying something around Charlene, or anyone else who could have found her, when the risk was so high. He didn’t expect Kent to find it immediately, but he didn’t think it would take weeks to discover the note.

“I placed it in the jacket intentionally,” Bruce replied. He laid back down, closing his eyes. He would have to go downstairs soon. The boys would need to be woken up. Alfred would reprimand him about his sleep, telling him that a ‘sound body and mind cannot operate under such conditions,’ when he came downstairs. He could already see where the day was taking him. “I was banking on you finding it much earlier. Why did it take you so long?”

A pause.

“I don’t think she’s going to like this, Bruce.” He could hear shuffling over the mic, the crinkling of paper. “She really won’t like this. She just bought a house; this is quite a big commitment.”

“I’m not proposing, Clark; calm down.” Bruce rubbed a finger under his eye once or twice. He didn’t have the patience so soon in the day. He reached over to his bedside table and switched on the lamp. “She would despise that, not to mention how we haven’t talked about it, yet.”

“I didn’t even know you two were really together.” Clark’s tone reflected an edge — either protective, disgusted, or judgemental — that told Bruce exactly how much trust he had when it came to Charlene Park. “The last I heard about the two of you was your most recent trip to Metropolis.”

“When I met with Luthor,” Bruce guessed. He chewed his cheek; he didn’t mind talking about Char, but when it came to his relationship with her, he preferred not to be bothered — his affections didn’t need to be questioned left and right. Char was a grown woman. She chose Bruce; that should have been the end of it. “We’ve seen each other in Gotham since then. I’m surprised she hasn’t told you.”

“Yeah, with Luthor. Char said you had coffee and she babysat Damian,” he said. His voice was rising. For having impermeable skin, Bruce was having surprising luck getting underneath it. “And what do you mean ‘surprised she hasn’t told you’? What are you implying? That you’re sleeping together?”

“We’re taking it slow,” Bruce answered. “If we were sleeping together, I’d be the one to tell you. You’ll be glad to hear that we aren’t.” Clark scoffed over the phone; clearly, he didn’t believe that. “I just thought you’d like to know what I’m planning; Diana will need to be informed as well. This is important. Char’ll need all the help she can get.”

“You know, I never did take you for the type of guy to be with Charlene,” the other man continued. “You’re brooding and dark; she’s not like that at all. You’ve got some nerve—”

“Is this all you needed, Clark?” the billionaire deadpanned, cutting the Kryptonian off. He looked over at the bedside clock. It read 4:22 AM . Superman was far more worried than he was letting on if he was calling at the witching hour.

He didn’t need to be. Bruce would make sure that the woman was safe above anything else — he loved her too much to just put her in harm’s way.

“You know she’ll be fine,” Wayne reassured.

“Do you think this is safe for Charlene? This lifestyle?” the journalist whispered into the phone. “Lois couldn’t handle it; who knows if Char can?”

“She’s more involved than we ever anticipated,” Bruce said. He wet his lips. Lois left Clark? Unsurprising. “She’ll be excited to join. She has the potential; why waste it?”

“What will the boys think? They’ll think they’re getting a mom.”

He huffed a half-humored laugh. The boys didn’t know yet — no one knew. Clark was the first to be told. “They love Char. It shouldn’t be an issue to let them think that. Damian already told her she would be the only acceptable candidate for a stepmother. In the next decade, they might have one.”

“You can’t be serious. You’d marry Char? She’s going to join the League?”

“I’m plenty serious. She’s going to be part of the Justice League’s inside informants if she wants to. Whether you approve or not.” He didn’t answer the marriage question. Marrying Charlene would require more time. He wasn’t ready; she hadn’t hinted at anything more. She had only stayed at the manor twice — he felt that was enough of a leap for now.

He didn’t need to marry her out of the blue, did he?

“I don’t approve. She’s delicate. What if she thinks that your attempt at being personal is —?”

“Goodbye, Kal-El.” Without another word, Bruce hung up the phone. Clark had too many worries; too many things on his mind. He was so preoccupied with Charlene’s life that he had to ask about her relationship instead of the plan to incorporate her into the League. He needed to let go and learn to trust others’ judgement… But then again, some could say the same thing about the Batman.

Bruce sat up in bed. He would be lying if he said he didn’t miss Charlene or said he never thought about fully committing. It had been three years since the gala; things were going well between them. If he was just a billionaire, he might have tried harder, pressed for marriage instead of bringing it up every now and then.

But he wasn’t just a billionaire.

Bruce wiped his face again and looked out his bay window. He could see the area of town where he first saw her… where the Batman thought Charlene Park would jump to her death. He hadn’t expected to even meet her after that. He hadn’t expected a wonderful woman who understood him. Meeting her seemed so long ago now. It seemed against reality to think he hadn’t known her at one point in time.

He could make a few calls before seeing his family, maybe create a funding account for Char when she was ready to join the League; he knew she wouldn’t say no if he explained himself the right way. She was warming up to the idea of helping him with all aspects of life — he was warming up to the idea of domesticity. At the same time, making the calls would be presumptuous. Who knew if Charlene wanted that, yet? He didn’t want to do anything without talking to her.

Char may have understood the Batman, but he certainly couldn’t predict her. The identity guessing and the kiss and the entire history of their relationship proved that fact over and over and over like a natural law. Everyone thought they were gravity: dangerous; inevitable; fitted perfectly to the human body like Earth’s atmosphere.

He thought they were just a coincidence that turned into a gift. Charlene was an angel; he was her knight in shining armor.

“Time to start the day,” Bruce mumbled. He got up from his bed. He looked out the bay window once again. He sighed deeply.

Gotham City.

Would this place really be safe as Charlene’s future home?

He looked away, resting his head against his pillow and trying to sleep again. The attempt wasn’t very fruitful — eventually, he got up and dressed for the day. He tinkered with the gadgets he had created for Char, tweaking it and wondering whether or not to pick up the phone and call her. Every day was another failed attempt to be the hero she needed.

“Ah! Good morning, Master Bruce,” Alfred Pennyworth greeted the dark knight as he descended from the stairway. The old man handed him a glass of water and the stack of letters that had been delivered overnight. “I take it you had a restful night?”

“Barely,” he sighed, squeezing his old friend’s shoulder in appreciation. Bruce drank from the glass, feeling the coolness spread downward. It was calming, but not the calm he needed. “I got a call from Clark Kent at about four in the morning. How are the boys? Are they all up? I had something I wanted to talk to them about.”

“Damian is awake; Dick has left for school; Tim is still sleeping; Jason never slept, I’m afraid.” Alfred cocked his head, eyebrows lifting as he studied his former ward. He stuck his hands in his pockets and took a careful breath, asking in a wary voice, “Is everything alright, Master Bruce? Was Mr. Kent’s call that important, sir?”

“Yes and no,” Bruce answered. He didn’t clarify; he couldn’t think of an answer for each question. He scratched his neck, taking Alfred with him as he walked down the hall. Each picture on the walls was of the Wayne family, and as he got closer to the end of the hall, each of the boys. Dick with his acceptance letter to Rutgers University; Damian’s birthday; Jason against a tree; Tim playing guitar. Countless family pictures. There was a spot on the wall waiting for Char, he realized. “We’ll just have to talk about it when Dick comes home. I’ll sit the other boys down and tell them not to leave.”

“Sir?” Alfred asked, now flabbergasted. “Are we in trouble?”

“No,” he said. He tried for a smile. Alfred didn’t relax, so Bruce stopped. “It’s just about Charlene.”

The butler nodded deeply. He leaned in and looked about the room to make sure no one was spying on them. The corridor was empty. He held his breath to listen, but the only sounds were their shoes clicking on the tile. “Sir, is Charlene… leaving us?” Alfred whispered. “I thought you and she were getting along rather nicely.”

Bruce didn’t react. “I’ll talk about it later tonight, Alfred. I’ll need to see Char when she comes back from Kansas — if she’s leaving, we’ll find out after I visit her.” He clapped Alfred’s shoulder. “But if she isn’t, we might have to reclean the guest room.”

“The guest room, sir?” Pennyworth grinned.

Bruce found himself surprised at that. Another joke, obviously, but he just hadn’t thought about that sort of arrangement with any seriousness. “Yes — she’s not going to be in my room, Alfred.”

“A woman who’s not so worldly, eh?” the butler chuckled.

Bruce smirked. “No, it would seem not.”

°°°

Charlene would have to say that her morning wasn’t going perfectly. Going down to see Johnathan and Martha was one of the best parts of the year. It was the best part of the upcoming summer season! But this morning, this last week, she had noticed that Clark was acting insane. Her instincts told her to ask, to say something, but she got swept away with her pseudo-parents fluttering about her and asking how life was in the big city.

“You look so grown up, now!” Martha cooed. She set her hands on Char’s shoulders and turned her about, checking her face over. Charlene had stayed with Martha and Johnathan for two years when she was a teenager. They were the closest she had to family. Every summer, she returned to stay with them for two weeks — whether or not Clark was there. Martha, now satisfied with how Charlene’s physique and health was, found her gaze set on the newscaster’s newest gift from Bruce: A small locket pendant graced with a rose-shaped diamond, tied around her neck by a silver chain. “I love this new piece of jewellery you’re wearing, sweetheart. What is it?”

“Has Clark finally made a move?” Johnathan asked. He took a sip from his coffee cup, craning his neck to see the necklace. He turned his head sideways at it, then hummed. “It’s gorgeous, honey. Whose gift was that? Was that from my boy?” He laughed, looking over at Kal-El. “Did you buy that for Char, son?”

“Er, no.” Char laughed nervously, holding the locket in her hand to hide it. “He isn’t going to make a move. He didn’t buy it. I’m seeing someone else; it’s going pretty well. He’s a businessman, single father.”

“Who are you seeing?” Martha gasped. She pushed a mug of coffee into Charlene’s hands, shuffling about the kitchen to try and find some food for everyone. This conversation was just before breakfast. “It’s such a nice necklace! When can we meet him?”

“He doesn’t want to push things too fast,” Char explained. She smiled brighter than she wanted to; she was nothing but happy when she talked about Bruce. She hadn’t seen him in almost three weeks due to work and flight preparations, his business meetings, and whatever secret project he was working on. “He’s got three sons and a ward who’s planning on surprising him with adult adoption papers for next Father’s Day.”

“That sounds just…,” Martha trailed off, pressing her lips together as she thought of the words. Charlene knew she was a little wary, almost disappointed. Seeing a man with multiple children either meant he was one of the sweetest men in the world or one of the more careless. How he raised his children was a completely different story. Not wanting to spread Bruce’s life story around to everyone, she just figured it was better to keep quiet about it. “How old is this man?”

“He’s thirty-seven,” she continued. “He, uh, adopted two of the three sons. The youngest was a different situation. Clark’s met him already.”

Johnathan nodded. He stuck his hands in his pockets and looked to Clark, who was still acting off. “So he’s a good man, then?”

“One of the best men,” Charlene swore. She opened the locket, looking at the picture of Bruce holding a rose to the camera on the inside with an inscription on the opposite side: “More than you know. - B.W.”

She showed Martha and Johnathan. Martha set a hand on her heart and Johnathan’s shoulder, smiling at the picture and carved words. “We’re taking it slow and old-fashioned; eventually, I’ll bring him down here for you to meet. Or he’ll invite you to his home — whichever comes first.” She grinned, closing the locket. Martha smiled at her.

“How long have you two been seeing each other? It seems like this man loves you,” Martha said. “Does he know your history? When did he give that pretty thing to you?”

“Yes, he knows my history. He gave me the locket about two months ago. I took him to my favorite spot in Metropolis and gave him a few written letters about my feelings.” She scratched her scalp. “The next time he saw me, he said he couldn’t just let me be the only one who ‘let their affections come to light.’” She laughed at her imitation of Bruce. Martha gasped and grinned.

“So you’re taking it so slow you haven’t told him you love him, yet?” Clark scoffed behind her. “You wrote a letter? After two years?” Charlene rolled her eyes, turning to see her best friend of nearly twenty years. The Kents’ faces drew up in surprise, but Char just frowned. He had barely said anything last night and this morning. Why did the first thing have to be about his distaste for Bruce?

“He knows I do; you know he isn’t big on words. We’ve found other ways of telling each other.” She crossed her arms. Clark mirrored her movement, rolling his eyes. He took his glasses off and set them on the table, pinching his lids closed. “How many times are we going to have to talk about this? I know you don’t like the idea of me dating anybody, but it’s going to happen. I might even get married; are you going to make nasty comments about that, too?”

“I might if it’s him. He’s going to get you killed, Charlene. Do you have any idea what he’s got planned for you?” He raised his hands and then dropped them.

“No, not really. Gosh, Clark, you realize it doesn’t matter. You’re Superman. He’s not any different from you. Let it go.” She waved her hand in dismissal. She tried to turn back to Martha and Johnathan. She didn’t want to get into the I’m-dating-Batman explanation today.

Kal-El screamed in frustration, hovering off the floor by a few centimeters. He combed his hair with his fingers — with both hands — giving away how anxious he was. Charlene knew there was more than he was telling her. “No, I won’t, Char. You need to be careful! He left a note in the suit jacket he left me, I called him—”

“Wait. Stop,” Char said, cutting him off and trying not to sigh in exasperation. She was getting tired of being constantly questioned over her boyfriend. He wasn’t dangerous, he wasn’t rude, he wasn’t going to kill her. Bats tried to actively keep her out of the dangerous details of his life; eventually, that would change… but wasn’t going to change yet. “This is about you two not communicating, again. Isn’t it?”

“I—,” he started. Charlene pointed her finger at him, hushing the alien. He shut up quickly at her silent threat. They both knew she couldn’t hurt him. Sometimes just the idea of her trying worked, though. He set his feet on the floor again. Char set her hands on her hips, taking a step back.

“Deal with that on your own. Please. I don’t want to break up with him because you’re acting like a kid, Clark.” She wiped her face. She knew that Ma and Pa were watching them argue and she didn’t like it. She hated being the center of attention (one of the Wayne boys would say that was ridiculous, considering she was a newscaster). “I appreciate you worrying, but I know what I’m getting into.”

Clark sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “And what if you find out years along the way that you don’t want to be Bruce’s wife?”

“That’s why we’re taking it slow, Clark. I’m not going to abandon you like Lois did; I’m not going to do the same thing to him, either.” She looked at the clock. “It’s six in the morning. Let’s help with chores, yeah?”

“You’ve gotten quite commanding since I’ve last seen you,” Martha chuckled. “Does all this change come from that Bruce?” She used the name in a teasing manner, which made the younger woman laugh. The old mother set plates out for breakfast.

“Yes, it is,” Char said. “He and Clark work together. He’s not too thrilled with me being a hero’s partner, yet.” She shrugged, sitting down at the table. Johnathan clapped her shoulder lovingly. Clark sat down next to Pa.

“They’re a good brand. If Clark trusts him enough to work with him, I don’t see why you can’t go with him.” Johnathan snickered. “Speaking of going with people. Son, have you heard back from that lovely Amazonian woman? You know, since you’re not with that reporter lady and, apparently, you gave us the wrong idea about Charlene. Honestly, I’m not too surprised about the Charlene bit; you two could never figure out if you were friends, siblings, or edging something more for as long as I can remember.”

“Pa, come on,” Clark whined. He crossed his arms, his cheeks colored with a red flush. Char didn’t know the Man of Steel would get embarrassed over Wonder Woman. She suppressed a giggle. And then he started stuttering. “Diana isn’t interested in me — Be-Besides, it doesn’t even matter. She’s a — She’s a very nice woman and I’m her colleague. That’s all. I’m going to steer clear of dating for a while. Sorry we didn’t tell you Char was seeing someone.”

“You should be sorry!” the old man said sternly. His smile never wavered. “What if I’m a grandpa and I don’t know about it? I understand Charlene not telling me, but you? Oh, Clark, come on!”

“Pa, it was her place to tell you.” Clark sat forward, leaning his elbows on the table’s edge. “I’ve been busy, too.”

“You never know if a relationship is working until you start talking about marriage, boy.” He held Char’s hand and Clark’s. Martha placed the last of the foodstuffs before the family. She sat down next to her son. “You two need to figure things out. You’re stuck with each other for life — you know you are. You’re going to have to trust each other. Now hush: let’s say grace.”

They all did as they were told. Johnathan prayed over their food, they ate, breakfast went by quickly. When they were cleaning up, Char’s phone went off.

“What’s that, sweetheart?” Ma asked.

Charlene read her screen. Her eyebrows drew together. “I’ll have to leave a day earlier than expected; there’s a change in my work schedule.” She frowned a little bit. “I’ll have to make a call.”

“Oh. That’s too bad. Don’t worry about it,” Martha said. She patted her back. “Do what you need to.”

“Oh, I will,” she smiled, but in reality, she wanted to scold someone. She knew exactly what happened.

Bruce changed her scheduling around without telling her.

°°°

After staying as long as she could — about a week — Char had to board a plane and find her way out of Smallville. Somehow, getting on the plane and sitting on it for five hours wasn’t the issue. She could afford to be patient when she knew she had a plane to catch. She had just enough experience to practically ignore the takeoff, the flight attendants, and the goodbyes.

That all went smoothly. It always did.

And then there was the airport after the flight.

Being at the airport was one of the worst experiences Charlene ever had. She hated air travel with every bone in her body, but there was no other way to get back to Metropolis: the trains didn’t go that far, the buses would have taken too long, and Charlene didn’t have enough money to rent a car. She felt safe flying when she had another person to count on; this time, she was alone. Standing in the middle of the bustling, glassy terminal made her heart pound. Was she supposed to call for a taxi? Walk home? She had driven to the airport with Clark. She had no ride.

Walking through gates and managing to find her luggage without difficulty, she passed every single crying child, scolding mother, complaining grandfather, and fussy TSA member. She had jet lag. She had a headache. She missed Bruce. She was a little bit irritated with him, too, but she could talk about it — calmly — at a later time.

Her eyes were clouding up with sleep. Her mind was wandering. She didn’t even know what time it was. She was trying her best to walk out of the terminal.

“Charlene,” a familiar voice called. She picked her head up, her heart swelling with gratitude. Dressed from head to toe in black, Bruce stood with his hands stuffed in his pockets. His feet were spread apart. He had that look about his face — the one he wore when he was amused but didn’t want you to know it. She all but sobbed as she ran to him.

“Oh, my goodness!” she cried, wrapping her arms around him. Bruce’s arms encompassed her. “You’re here! How?” She buried her face in his shoulder and let the hero keep her steady.

“Clark said you were leaving early,” Wayne laughed. He took her suitcase out of her hand, absentmindedly rubbing her back. Charlene thought she must have been dreaming. She nearly forgot about trying to ask if he rearranged her work plans, again. She opened her mouth, but Bruce was faster. “Before you ask, I didn’t mess with your schedule this time. I was working on a —”

“— project, yeah, yeah. It doesn’t mean I’m not going to ask the producer what happened,” Char sighed, taking in Bruce’s metallic scent. His shirt was scratchy, but soft from wear. She dug her fingers into it, closing her eyes and soaking in the warmth from her boyfriend. “You have no idea how much I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he murmured. He broke the hug. “Let’s get in the car. The boys are going to be worried sick. I can call the studio, tell them you’re under the weather if you don’t want to go to work.”

“Are you okay, Bruno?” Char asked, yawning. She covered her mouth, minding to use the other nickname rather than just calling him “Bats” in public. “You’re edging a ramble; that’s unlike you.”

“I’m fine. There’s just some things we need to talk about; Clark doesn’t like it, despite how it could benefit our life.”

“‘ Our life’?” she asked, voice slurring with the need for slumber. She took his hand. He held it back, but gently. He was being somber. Solemn. Serious. That usually only happened at home, behind closed doors. And behind another set of doors, he let himself truly smile. “I wasn’t aware you were thinking about a future so soon.”

“I am,” he said. His fingers tightened their grip on hers as they swung through the air. “I want to help you into all sides of my life, even for just a little bit. I heard perspective can help a marriage last longer.”

“Marriage?” Charlene laughed. She swung their hands. The corner of Bruce’s mouth twitched, again. She started grinning like a madman — no, like the Joker. “You intend to make me an honest woman?”

“In the end? Definitely.” Bruce walked her outside. It was raining. He opened an umbrella and handed it to her. Charlene took it in her hand and tried to hold it above Bruce’s head, but it didn’t work — he was too tall. He just shrugged at it, smiling at her softly. “Depending on when you’re ready, darling, I’ll propose.”

“‘Darling,’ now? My, my, my, aren’t we affectionate today, Mr. Wayne.” Charlene giggled and poked his arm. “Are you sure you’re okay? It’s not every day you’re calling me pet names and talking like that. In fact, I think the last time you said the words ‘I love you’ was April Thirtieth.”

“The thirtieth wasn’t that long ago,” he frowned. He walked her to one of his antique cars, opening the trunk and putting her suitcase in the back. She took down the umbrella and set it back there, too. “It’s only mid-June. It’s not like I never tell you.”

“Bruce, other couples say it daily,” Charlene smiled. The rain started pouring down harder. It was mussing Bruce’s neatly-combed hair and dripping down his nose. She could feel it soaking her back and coiling her locks. She was sure she looked just as messy as Bruce looked adorable. “I know you don’t need to say it for me to hear it, but it’s still nice.” She paused for a moment, playing with the locket. She knew that just this gift alone was worth a thousand “I love you”s. Then she added, “And rare. Clark thinks we haven’t said it at all.”

“Rare,” he repeated. He opened the car door for her. She slipped into the passenger’s side. “Nice to know. It’s not Clark’s business whether or not I tell you I love you.”

“So what if it’s rare?” she asked with a permanent smile. “It just makes it even better to hear.”

“Are you going to cry when I deliver my wedding vows?” he asked in deadpan. He buckled in, turning the engine. “I have about seven years to prepare them; I’ll make sure to make them as sensitive as possible. The boys can say a line each toward the end of the ceremony.”

“Are we going to have a Jewish wedding?” she asked. “I’ve never been to one.”

“No,” he answered. “Not entirely. My parents were Jewish, but I… I don’t know. I haven’t done anything in regards to faith in years. I think we should just have a small ceremony for the boys and Clark and his parents. The only people who matter. We can blend in some Jewish tradition.”

“I can understand that,” she said quietly. She set her hands in her lap. She could already imagine a ring around her finger. Would it be an older design? Would it be intimate? With meaning behind it? Would it be big? Simple? “I don’t want anything huge, but I don’t want to rush into this. We have forever and a half, Bats.”

“We have longer than that, angel.” He looked behind him and pulled out of the parking lot. “I brought the boys from Gotham. I hope that’s not a big deal.”

“Did you get a hotel room?” Char looked out the window, then watched the wiper blades scrape water off the windshield. They made their way onto the highway in no time at all. “Or are they hanging out in the apartment?”

“A hotel room. I didn’t want to go into the apartment without asking.” He flexed his fingers on the wheel. “Was that an invitation, Miss Park?”

“Mr. Wayne, I am a woman of class,” she teased. She sat up a little. “Of course, you and the boys can stay. We can all sleep in the living room. You, the big, bad billionaire, can lay on the carpet floor next to the common damsel.”

Bruce scoffed. “As if there’s anything common about the woman I’m going to marry. Not everyone can be trusted. Not everyone can handle this life.”

Char shrugged. “We didn’t meet like common people meet.”

“We certainly don’t love like normal people. Kent can’t seem to stop reminding either of us of that fact.” He sighed, cracking his neck. Char wondered how that phone call Clark had talked about a week ago went. “Is he in love with you? Is he worried? Whatever his issue is, I can’t figure it out. It won’t change the fact that you and I are romantically involved.”

“You have a taste for danger,” Charlene answered. She vaguely recalled hearing from Dick that Bruce used to have a relationship with Catwoman. Damian was the product of an affair with an evil mastermind’s daughter. Batman, for the majority of his life, had been married to the cowl. “That’s his issue. You have mass intellect and he has superpowers. He could catch me from the sky, but you can’t. I’m a casualty waiting to happen.” She laughed sadly. “In his mind, I’m not safe with the Batman.” Bruce exhaled slowly to show exactly how much he agreed with that idea.

She could tell it was more than he wanted to admit.

“That’s why I can’t propose yet.” Bruce kept his attention on the road. “I need to make sure that you know how to defend yourself. If something ever happened, you’d at least be able to throw a punch or two. When the need arose, we would be prepared to keep the family safe. Right now, you need constant surveillance; I know what that does to you.”

“Constant surveillance?” she questioned. “Why?” Her heart dropped several levels. Had she been right all along? Was she being duped or manipulated into giving Wayne easier access of keeping an eye on her?

Bruce took a while to answer, creating more and more fear in Char’s mind. Finally, he opened his mouth. “I want you to gather intelligence for the Justice League. Whenever you’re ready, you’ll train with the boys at Wayne Manor. Just say the word, baby.”

“Is… Is this the perspective?” she asked, wary and unsure. She felt her eyes burn and her throat tighten. She didn’t want to ask this, again, but she felt she didn’t have a choice. The last time she asked the question, Bruce had kissed her for the first time. It ended up just being a publicity stunt. “Are you sure you actually want to marry me? That this isn’t just to make sure I don’t accidentally tell the world Bruce Wayne is the Batman?”

Bruce’s knuckles turned white on the steering wheel. “Charlene, how many times do I have to explain myself? If I wanted to keep an eye on you, I wouldn’t be talking about making you my wife. I wouldn’t let you interact with my boys. I wouldn’t be setting up a whole room for you at Wayne Manor. I love you. I have no reason to be picking you up from the airport other than my own desire to make you happy.”

“I know,” she sniffed. “I’m sorry. You were just acting funny. I didn’t know that you actually wanted to stay with me for… for as long as we live.” Charlene took a deep breath to calm herself. Man, did she feel like an idiot. “Bruce, you said you didn’t want to be part of that kind of domesticity two years ago. When did you decide you wanted to marry me?”

“Char, I didn’t need to decide. I still don’t want the picket fence type of life.” Bruce turned to exit the highway. “Our relationship has changed over the last two years. I would be lying saying I didn’t rely on you whatsoever.”

She swallowed. “You need me?”

He didn’t say anything. Yes. His cheeks colored. She let out a breathy, disbelieving laugh.

“I need time to think this all over, Bruce!” she exclaimed, slapping her palm to her forehead. Her pulse accelerated. Her legs felt tingly. “Marry you someday…”

“You don’t feel the same?”

She watched as the city blended into the street instead of Bruce’s unchanging expressions. If she wasn’t careful, he would turn investigator on her. “I had no idea you were so sure about us. It isn’t that I don’t feel the same, baby, I just need time to process this.”

“I understand.” He hummed. “Don’t tell the boys, yet. They might get excited.”

Charlene dropped her hands in her lap. She would be getting stepsons. She would have a husband. She would be a freelance spy. “I’m getting excited. I’m nervous, scared, sad, happy. I don’t know what I’m feeling.”

Bruce pulled into a parking garage. He got out of the car and took her luggage out of the back. “Say you’re going to be sure before you tell me you’re ready to start training.”

Charlene got out of the car, too, taking Bruce by the hand once more. “I will.” She cupped his face. “I will, Bats. Now kiss me.”

°°°

Walking to the hotel room, using his stealthy steps across the hideous patterned carpet, Bruce found himself holding his breath. Dick, Jason, Tim, and Damian were going to blow this out of proportion, make Charlene uncomfortable. He knew he was letting his emotions get the better of him — but then again, how could they not? This was his whole family’s future at stake. This was an opening to expand the family. “Char.”

“Yeah?” she asked. She twisted her head to see him. “You okay?”

“Only tell them about the Justice League. Let’s ease into this.” He was practically pleading. He didn’t answer her question, but she nodded in understanding. Charlene took his hand and kissed the back of it, then dropped it.

“Yes, sir.” She gave him a winning smile. He managed not to sigh out the flood of fuzz that rushed in his soul. He was the Batman. He should be braver than to push Char away.

“Ready?” he asked, smiling gently.

“Ready.”

Wayne took her hand this time. He watched her, studied her. She had a lingering smile she was trying to wipe. She didn’t need to. Charlene was happy. When Char was happy, he was happy. Her hand shook in his; he was nervous, too. Committing to this would change so much. There would be no backing out. Even asking her to be on the same page could have scared her away.

He was quickly realizing he needed to trust Charlene. Whose life was going to be altered after all this? Whose life would never be the same once this process was over or ended? Not his. Not to the extent Charlene’s would be. She would be the first-time parent, not him. She would be the one who knew nothing about business or vigilante work, not him. She would be the one most affected.

She deserved so much from him. He thought he was asking for greater than she could handle; Char was there to prove him wrong again. Again, again, and again.

Bruce put on a big smile, opening the hotel room door. The boys all stood up to greet him, and all spoke over each other at the sight of Charlene: “You’re here!”; “How was the flight?”; “How long are you staying? Alfred’s—”; “We missed you!” They brought the woman into the residence with glee.

He couldn’t be more grateful to the boys. They always did their best to welcome Char and put a smile on her face. They loved her too much for their own good. She loved them, too. Bruce brought her into the room, setting her bags on the queen bed where Damian had left his shoes. The boys were swarming her, hugging her and asking question after question.

“Hey,” Bruce said. “Give her space; we have to talk about something important.”

“What is it, Bruce?” Dick asked.

“Is something wrong, Father?”

Bruce beckoned the kids to the floor where they could all sit. He took Charlene, pulling her next to him. He held her hand. “We’re thinking about making Char part of the Justice League’s informant group. That way, she can see the world from our perspective. We’re hoping…” He trailed off, uncertain of how to finish.

“We’re hoping this can further our relationship and give me a chance to spend more time with you,” Charlene filled in. She smiled, moving under Bruce’s arm. He held her tightly. “We’re not getting married, yet; just thinking about how to make it work.”

Jason was the first to speak up. “So… after Selina and Thalia — sorry, Damian — you’re finally going to settle down?” He grinned. “You’re going to marry Charlene?”

“When it’s the right time,” he said. “Don’t tell Superman.” He chuckled a little at his own joke. At least the boys approved. They deserved to know what was happening. Damian scooted over to sit closer to Charlene, who ruffled his hair.

“Are you going to stay at Wayne Manor?” Dick asked. He folded his hands in his lap. Out of all four of the boys, he copied his mannerisms the most. Secretive, stoic, at times, and would sometimes hum more than speak. The only difference between his mannerisms and the Batman’s was the smile that he allowed to grace his features.

Charlene shook her head. “No; not until we have everything sorted out. It’s probably unusually old school, but it’s what we want.” She smiled up at the Batman. He smiled down. Tim, quietly, went “Oooooh,” but that didn’t stop the small moment of perfection. As suspicious as it seemed, everything was perfect for a little while. A small pocket of happiness he had allowed himself.

Bruce Wayne wasn’t going to be so hard to relate to, anymore.

Damian took his chance to ask a question, practically jumping up and down with excitement. Tim pulled him down on his bottom, which made Dick and Jason laugh. He usually wasn’t so excited. Actually, none of the boys were. “Did you pick out a codename for her, Father?” Damian looked at Charlene. “What will we call her?”

“Nothing.” Bruce shook his head, feeling a bit dissatisfied with himself. This whole situation was unorthodox for him, but that was something he could live with. It wasn’t unlike him to embrace change, but it wasn’t like him either. He had no idea what nonsense the boys would bombard him with once Charlene was gone for the night. He could guess… and his guess told him it wasn’t anything he’d enjoy. “She doesn’t have a codename, yet. As soon as she’s comfortable, I want you boys to start training her to fight.”

“And then what?” Jason asked. He crossed his arms. He leaned forward, looking between the two of them. It was as if he was trying to figure out how soon the relationship would end. After all, the Batman was alone. Selina didn’t work out, Thalia didn’t work out, countless others didn’t even get a chance. Charlene’s odds were stacked against her.

Yet he loved her more than either of those women.

Bruce laced his fingers with Char’s habitually. The domestic affection had only happened behind closed doors, and any kisses or lingering hugs happened within closed doors behind closed doors. She looked up at him with slight surprise when their fingers slid together. “And then we’ll figure things out as we go along.”

Everyone made noises of excitement at that. The night went on in the hotel room, with giggling and laughter and games. Questions were passed back and forth. Food was ordered. Near midnight, Charlene had to go home. She had work the next day, and Wayne’s surprise had been laid in her home. Asking her to join the League hadn’t been the whole package; he and Clark both knew what was waiting for her there. He knew it was a rushed decision — one of his stupidest ideas by far.

Legally, as a billionaire, he could practically do anything for Char. As Batman, he would kill anyone for her — her and the family. She was family, now. He wasn’t going to push her away.

Taking Char home was one of the first times Bruce had felt this nervous in years. There weren’t enough roses or lockets or even words to express how much he cared about her other than that paperwork he had hidden away.

It wasn’t a proposal. She would only have to sign it if she was ready. The rest of the work to make it real would come in time.

“Are you okay?” Char asked as he drove. “Your fingers are turning white on the wheel, Bats.”

“Fine,” he answered with a clipped voice. “Just tired.”

“You never get tired,” she reminded him gently. He could feel her eyes on him but he stared only at the road. Metropolis was easier to drive through, but it only made the impending doom feel even worse. There was no possibility to stall. Not when he was certain.

“I’m fine, angel,” he insisted. They were quiet the rest of the ride, minus the exchange of a kiss and goodbyes when he dropped her off.

Now all he had to do was wait.

After all, he didn’t switch around her schedule for nothing.

°°°

After that worrying ride through the city, Charlene trudged through her door. She looked about the living room, noticing how something was different about her apartment. A few of the pillows had been moved — it was as if they’d been sat on. There was a letter and a gift bag on the table. She set her bag down on the floor. “What on Earth?” she muttered to herself.

Bruce’s metallic scent lingered in the air, but it could have just been from when she sat in his car. She walked past her old dog, rubbing his head and checking his bowl. The pet sitter had fed him, then… and he had been given a new collar. Hmm. That definitely wasn’t the pet sitter. She beckoned him over as she checked out the present on the table.

The letter was the first thing she opened. As Char sank into the couch, she folded it open and quickly read the words. It was a brief description from a lawyer about what… what…

“Legal marriage to Bruce Wayne would entail”?

Her heart stopped. She fished through the gift bag and found a marriage license in a different envelope. A pink glass rose. A small set of glass earrings and an article clipping of the night of the gala. If anyone ever accused Bats of being unromantic, they were seriously, seriously wrong. This wasn’t a proposal — she could see that. He wasn’t asking for this. He wasn’t telling her to try and find out. There was no trying! And along with all that silly stuff, there was a mask and a tag in his script that said, “Dark Angel – Can be changed”.

He just laid it all out for her, knowing this was their future.

With clammy hands and a voice that was barely working, she dialed Bats’ number. It chimed for a few rings, but he eventually picked up. The familiar “Hello?” followed by, “Char?” was so sweet to hear, to let her know it was real…

“I’m signing,” she said. “And I’m keeping the codename.”

#Batman x OC #Batman x reader #Bruce Wayne x OC #Bruce Wayne x reader #gaitwae writes

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diana-3 · 4 years ago

Text

Crow’s Nest.

Diana sighed as she climbed the last few stairs to Devrim’s perch. The Gentlemen Sniper pulled his rifle back inside the windowsill and turned, having earlier waved to Diana he smiled at her approach. “Ah,” His warm tone brought a smile to her face, “Di, hello dear, how are you?”

“I’m alright I guess..s’been a while...huh?” There was guilt layering her tone, like a child who was admitting to a wrong--ready for a scolding.

“Works kept you busy,” Devrim settled against the wall and his smile held, but his eyes turned downward and with it the mood lowered. “Seems as if the whole world is trying to burn around us.” He nodded to the radio on the shabby table with the teaset near by. “I’ve been keeping up on the radio chatter, you’ve been busy out toward the Tangled Shore lately?”

“Oh yeah,” Dianna removed her helmet and went to settle on the floor next to Devrim who glanced out the window. “There’s this new baddie, Xivu Arath? A hive celebrant...whatever that means...trying to corrupt Fal---Eliskni and Cabal into being Hive mind slaves. Causing a lot of trouble on the Shore and in the Dreaming City. Been working with Spider’s crew to get it cleaned up but its been weeks now.”

“A month yesterday,” Joel corrected as he appeared by Diana’s side. “I overheard Glint and Crow talking about it as we were walking away yesterday.”

“A month…” Diana repeated with weight behind her long sigh that followed. “Has it been that long already?”

“Between the constant crucible matches and vanguard operations to charge the lure, not to mention the individual hunts themselves, I’m not surprised we hadn’t realized.” Even Joel sounded exhausted, flying low until he settled in Diana’s hands as she crossed her legs and closed her eyes. “It’s been...hectic to say the least.”

“When was the last time you had any time off?” Devrim asked, raising a dark brow as he removed himself from the window completely now. Hanging his rifle on carefully placed hooks in the collapsing church to avoid accidental misfires. “You both look absolutely ragged.”

Diana hummed in thought. Her head slowly lulling from side to side before she spoke. “The Festival of the Lost?”

“Can’t really count that as time off when we were fixing the infinite forest…” Joel reminded her and she nodded.

“Soooo, before then?”

“My word,” Devrim’s shocked outburst made the tired guardian and her ghost both open their eyes and look at him. He was standing with his teapot in hand, “You’re going to need something a bit more strong than tea then to unwind.”

“You know what I want?” Diana chuckled softly, the fatigue showing through her defeated tone. “A nap. A nice, warm nap.”

“You’re more than welcome to come back to the farm,” Devrim offered, putting down his teapot and reaching for clean cups and saucers. “You could rant about anything bothering you until you can rest, or you’re free to do so after over a nice hot cup of tea.”

Diana smiled, watching the older man go through his motions to prepare his staple drink. The care he put into making it and the glance he gave her when he felt her stare. “Thanks,” She smiled back, “But,” She tapped Joel’s shell and woke the little Ghost from his quiet rest, his eye blinking open and his shell twitching in a stretch. “I think seeing Mythrax would just wind me back up again...remind me of everything going on on Europa.”

“Ah,” Devrim’s smile fell as he watched Joel take a lazy flight, hovering just above Diana’s shoulder as she climbed to her feet wearily. “Do you have somewhere else to stay then? I have no bed or blanket here, but I can offer great conversation and drink, a little light on snacks I’m afraid.”

“Actually…” Diana rubbed her head before her face and sighed, “I think there’s somewhere I want to...revisit. It’s not the Tower, but right now I’d rather avoid the tower if possible too…”

“Just seems like there's nowhere for us to go to get a rest away from everyone.” Joel admitted, his eye downcast as his shell shook side from side. “There's always someone looking for the next report, the next ship out, the next bounty to be taken…” He glanced at Diana who was lost in thought, her cyan eyes following the floorboard toward the window. When she slowly walked away to peer out Devrim’s window, Joel flew near Devrim and whispered. “She’s had a lot thrust onto her shoulders lately Devrim, I don’t know...I don’t know how to help her right now…”

“Is she alright?” Devrim asked, pretending to busy himself with cleaning his table as he waited for the water to boil.

“Physically she’s fine, she’s just so mentally worn out...A lot of old emotional wounds opened up…” Joel twitched in the air, flying a few degrees lower, “You’ve heard about Io, Mercury and Titan?”

“I had.” Devrim nodded, his face stern with thought. “She had friends on those planets didn’t she?”

“Yes, Asher Mir for one,” Joel shook his shell, “She’s still holding out hope that he’s in the Pyramidian, holding out. But no one’s heard from him...or Sloane and Vance...Then...we heard about Sagria…”

“Sagria?” Devrim whispered back, glancing over his shoulder to Diana, who was watching something out the window. “A guardian?”

“

A Ghost,” Joel corrected, “She was Osiris’ ghost...she sacrificed herself to save Osris from Xivu Arath’s influence...he’s Ghostless now...without the light...he’s taken refuge in the tower and asks Diana about how she and Crow--”

“Crow?” Devrim asked, raising a dark brow as he picked up the teapot and began pouring the tea into two cups. “Is that a guardian?”

“S-something like that…” Joel hesitated a tad too long and it drew a long and measured look from the marksman. “He’s a new guardian but...it’s part of the old emotional wounds opening up...that’s all I can say…”

“Mmhmm..” Devrim kept his stare on the little ghost who twitched and flew a few inches away.

“The less you know, the better.” Joel sighed.

“Wouldn’t happen to wear red pants...would this...Crow?” Devrim asked softly, glancing back at Diana who was still preoccupied with scanning the distance.

“You’ve seen him?!” Joel flew close to Devrim’s face, making the older man chuckle and straighten his back a bit.

“I’ve seen someone bustling around in the distance,” Devrim nodded with his head toward the direction of the dam, “He’s never come close though, and always seems to keep a hood up or a helmet on..I’ve never seen his face. Causing our girl some trouble is he?”

“He doesn’t mean to,” Joel said, “He’s new to everything and Di….she doesn’t know how to handle her feelings. He really reminds her of someone she’d rather forget, but at the same time she’s grown closer to him, and is having trouble letting go of that….resemblance.”

“Sounds messy,” Devrim picked up the cup and took a small sip to taste before nodding. “She needs a good rest, and time to herself away from everyone to let herself work through things. Is there a Hunter hideout where she might be able to take cover?”

“None that wouldn’t turn her over to Zavala to keep themselves from being called to the tower..” Joel had a hint of irritation in his voice, “We tried a few of the old spots, but some people have a sore spot for Di. Shaw hasn’t exactly warmed up to her and he’s made a name for himself in the cosmodrome. People think, that she thinks she’s too important, that she abandoned them in their greatest hour of need…And with the Hunters still without a leader...”

“Did they forget the part where the entire universe was at stake?” Devrim asked too loudly, drawing Diana’s tired attention finally from the window.

“Who knew the Cosmodrome was separate from our universe.” She had no mirth to her voice now, she seemed to shake slightly from side to side as she pushed away from the window and walked over to take the cup offered to her gingerly from Devrim. “Thanks…”

“I’m sorry that you’re dealing with so much,” Devrim put a gentle hand on Diana’s shoulder and squeezed it. A flicker in her eyes caught him off guard, was she going to cry? “I hope that the vanguard has at least given you some hefty time off to recoup after running you so ragged?”

“Hawthorne helped,” Joel said with a hint of pride, “When Diana was ready to just drop off the tower to get away from Zavala and Shaw, she spoke up and advocated for Diana to have a relief mission.”

“Tore into them did she?” Devrim chuckled warmly, “Ah, I can hear her now.”

“It was quite a sight,” Joel laughed, his shell squinting as he bobbed up, like a smile. “She wasn’t about to let Zavala just walk all over Diana.”

“M’ just too tired to fight anymore.” Diana admitted as she took a drink from the cup, taking a moment to shiver at the bitterness. “I wanna sleep for a week in a hole in the ground…” She paused…”Or...in a wall…” Her eyes widened slowly before she downed the rest of the cup, filled only half of the way before handing the cup back to Devrim. “If anyone asks,”

“I haven’t heard from you in months.” Devrim winked at her as he took her cup and replaced it on the table. “No idea where you could be. Haven't’ seen you in the EDZ in quite some time.” He turned and lifted his own teacup to her in salute, “I really should contact you via radio to come spend some time with this old man.” He could hear Diana and Joel speaking softly as he turned and sipped at his tea, trying not to listen to the quiet planning. He couldn’t help but hear.

“Are you sure you want to go there?” Joel was asking, concern filling his voice.

“Where else can we go right now? Unless you really wanna watch me dig a hole and bury ourselves.”

“I can’t believe I’m saying this...but we could go to the Derlict?” Joel offered in a hushed tone, “Drifter would hide you for a while.”

“He’d also bug me to death for answers, or to get me into Gambit again…” Diana sighed heavily. Devrim kept himself turned around, studying the hand written notes from Marc laying on his desk, hidden out of direct sight behind the radio he used to listen to chatter, or talk to Suraya who was living in the Tower now. “No, I think it’ll be the one place no one, except one person would think to look…”

“Do you think he would?” Joel asked softly.

“No, his leash is too short right now. He might wonder to himself, maybe to Glint, but he won’t actually come looking. Which will give us all the time we need to rest.” Diana sounded sure of herself and her mind was made up. Wherever they were going, it was going to be a secret between them.

“It won’t be very comfortable,” Joel complained slightly.

“We can find a few ways to make it work.” Diana said a little more loudly, the time for private conversation over with. Devrim was refilling his cup, still pretending to be lost in his own little world when he felt two taps on his shoulder. He put down his cup and turned to receive the gentle hug Diana offered without thinking. “I’ll come by again soon Devrim, thank you for letting us rest and clear our head.”

“I don’t need to tell you that you are always welcome,” Devrim told her as he squeezed her, returning the hug. “But I will anyway, just so I’m sure you know. You can always come up here to hide out, and I won’t tell a soul if you don’t want me to.” He felt her start to pull away and he kept his hold until she leaned more heavily against him, allowing him to share her weight. “You be careful out there, hm?”

“Yes sir,” Diana’s chest vibrated with her voice, chuckling into his ear as she squeezed him back. “I’ll make sure to stop by for the dawning.” When Devrim pulled away she nodded, “I’ll remember the Shortbread cookies you love so much.”

“It pairs so well with my favorite festive tea,” Devrim sighed at the thought of such a comfort item. “It is getting around that time...isn’t it?”

“A few more weeks…” Diana nodded, “Hopefully I’ll get to feeling better before then. I’d like to go to the tower to see everyone…”

“Then you best get to it,” Devrim winked at her and grabbed a small bag from under his table, protected by a sheet that had hidden it from sight. “Here, take this, a self care package if you will.”

“Tea?” Diana laughed as she took the bag without looking at it.

“And a few biscuits and hot cocoa, some tripemines to set up a perimeter, clean water etcetera.” Devrim smiled as he poured a second cup for himself. “Little things that will help make the roughing it less...rough.”

“Thanks Devrim but shouldn’t you need this?” She asked, holding the bag up.

“Not for a while, I’m going on vacation too..of a sort. It’s Marc’s Rezzing day soon. We decided to go to Suraya in the city and spend time together. I’ll have all the comfort I need. And I can replenish my supplies.” Devrim watched as Diana nodded and looked toward the stairs. “Go on now, I won’t keep you any longer.” He turned his back and pretended to busy himself with the radio dial until a heavy baritone voice came over the waves.

“Thanks again…” Diana gave a small salute before disappearing over the ledge, not bothering with the stairs.

“It’s like they’re allergic to safety,” Devrim mused to himself, chuckling as he watched her go.

“Are you sure about this?” Joel asked as Diana picked her way over the rubble, careful to make sure that Devrim’s care package wouldn’t rip.

“Like I said, I’m out of ideas, unless you know of somewhere else we can go…’S not like we can go chill with Asher anymore…” She paused down the dimly lit corridor and sighed. “I miss him.”

“I know,” Joel touched his feckle to her cheek and accepted the loving caress she gave him that pinned him to her cheek gently. “I do too.”

“So this is the one place I can think of that...they won’t know to look and if they did think to look, I don’t think he’d tell.” Diana finished softly. She was outside the little alcove now and started to go inside but hesitated.

“What's wrong?” Joel asked, blinking his yellow cat eye and watching how she hesitated. It wasn’t like her.

“I should ask permission…” She said firmly. “This is the one place that’s his and his alone...if I were just to barge in here and use it without asking? I’d be taking that away from him, I’d be just as bad as Spider. We’re not that close...in reality. He might think...I’m overstepping boundaries if I don’t ask…” The heavy silence in the air didn’t last long before she asked, “Can you patch me into a secure line to him?”

“Just a moment.” Joel busied himself with twitching, extending his shell and rotating back and forth until the sound of static washed away and a familiar voice asked.

“Who is this?”

“Glint, it’s us. It’s secure right?” Joel asked, replacing his shell to its rightful shape. Diana noticed one of his cat ears was coming untapped and tried to push it back down in place, only to knock it off and make her gasp in both shock and sadness.

“Of course!” Glint’s voice perked up, “It’s the Guardian and her Ghost!”

“You can call me Joel,” Ghost reminded him, “And Di.”

“New news on Xivu Arath or some wrathborn? A new cryptolith?” Crow’s voice came over the coms and Joel watched Diana pause in her fussing over his shell.

“No,” Diana admitted after a moment of silence. “I’ve...I’ve been given some...a reprieve…” She said slowly, remembering once what Glint had said over coms after a hunt. “But I…” She paused again and the lights inside her mouth dimmed with a sigh. “Could I...Would it bother you if I...used your...nest, for a while?”

“It’s most certainly not a nest.” Crow said a little too quickly. Diana could practically hear the flush to his blue-grey face. “But...why? I thought you would have a place in the tower in the last city?”

“I do, but not everyone understands the need for...alone time.” Diana admitted.

“About your report, could you do this run for me, we should go out tonight, could you sit in on this mission debriefing, we need someone on coms for this vanguard operation, could you help me adjust my sights,” Joel started listening off all the things that had been asked of them when they had returned to the tower the last time. “It’s like it never ends. We used to go hide out on Io when things got like this…”

“I see.” Crow interjected before silence could fall and swallow them up. “You...need a place to breathe for a while. Of course, feel free. I’m...honored that I could help you this way...Guar--”

“Di.” Diana reminded.

“Di…” Crow’s voice was soft, like he was afraid of breaking her name should he say it with too much force. “I’m sorry it’s such a mess, I haven’t been out there in a while and Glint’s a terrible maid.”

“It’s not my fault you keep everything you find that has a little shine to it.” Glint said playfully, hinting at his name.

“It’s not exactly comfortable either, but it works...in a pinch.” Crow continued, ignoring Glint’s jest. “Use it as long as you like.”

“Thanks,” Diana smiled and looked inside the alcove at the small collection of crow’s things. “I owe you one.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” Crow chuckled softly, “You could have used it and I never would have known. It’s not as if I’m in and out of there a lot these days.”

“Boundaries and Respect are important.” Diana told him firmly. “Guardians and good people a like do not trample over either…” She put a hand to her head and realized how much like Quin she sounded. She shook her metal head and continued. “Want me to get you some time off?” Diana asked as she stepped through the crack that served as the door. “You deserve it as much as I do.”

“Spider wouldn’t allow--”

“Spider won’t know the difference if I tell him I need you in the EDZ to track down Hive movement. Maybe they’re trying to set up a cryptolith here? Savathun did find that piece of the Traveler where we found the new Hawkmoon.”

“Not to mention we could give you a run through on being a Lightbearer. Guardian school if you will. More tips and tricks to make you more effective for Spider.” Joel added, his shell contracting in the way that made Diana say it looked like a smile.

“Time away from Spider,” Diana said in a singsong voice, “Nice hot fires under the stars, good drinks. Stories swapped.” She flopped down on the sleeping bag Crow had left on the concrete slab and regretted it, there was still a bit of debris under it and it hurt. “R and R is just as important to Guardians as it is to non-lightbearers.” She added with a grunt.

“That’s true...I just don’t think Spider would allow it.” Crow sounded defeated, tired and annoyed.

“Well, I am not going back to work for a bit….you think about it and when you want me to, I’ll talk to Spider.” Diana stood and rolled the sleeping bag up, watching how the dust and concrete of the collapsing ceiling was leaving a layer of dust on everything.

“Spider called him.” Glint said in a hushed tone, “I think some time off and not so alone would be good for him. He’s been obsessing over these Cryptoliths. He’s so sad to see the Eliskni that was good to him turn into...wrathborn…”

“He needs time away just as much as we do,” Joel sighed.

“It would be good for him, all he does is talk about work, and when he asks about Guardian things, he feels like such a stranger to it all. I think a fellow Guardian talking to him would make it feel more real, for now its just...stories of something he thinks he doesn’t deserve..” During the pause, Joel and Diana gave a look to one another. Sadness. Fatigue. Guilt. “I’ve been called by Spider, cutting the link. You two have a good rest.”

“Glint--” Joel started to speak but then hesitated. “The line’s dead.” He rotated to see Diana removing rubble from the concrete slab and cleaning it off with her hand. “This place really is a mess...huh?”

“He’s tried to make it his own…” Diana said softly. “It reminds me...of that cave in the Cosmodrome we had when we first started out...Remember?”

“Heh.” Joel floated closer and bobbed before rolling his shell over. “You kept Hive bones until you heard about Dredgen Yor, then you dumped them all over the cliffside and wanted nothing more to do with them.”

“Got rid of the dice I whittled too.” She nodded and replaced the sleeping bag, stretching it out to find it wouldn’t fit, the slab was too short. She glanced around the tiny alcove, at all of Crow’s belongings. A sleeping bag that had holes in it. A pristine Dawning bowl. His death shroud. A hive knight sword from when he save Osiris. A table and chair. A tool chest as tall as her and tools to fill it with. 8 things. He only owned 8 things. Yet the room told so much about him.

He was a repairer. Using things left over and forgotten to serve a new purpose. “It’s almost...poetic...or.” She laughed, “Ironic, whichever you wanna look at it...I guess…”

“What is?” Joel had floated off on his own, inspecting the crack in the wall that filtered in some sunlight from a room beyond the rubble.

“He takes things that are broken or forgotten. Things people don’t think twice about because to them it's used up and gives it new life...new purpose…” She picked up the bowl and placed it on the sleeping bag. “Like a guardian...we were just empty shells until you guys came along.” She smiled at Joel who twitched in silent thought. “You found me, an empty shell. Having used up all my life and been lost to time and the elements and you gave me a purpose. You brought new life into me and told me what I could do to help those around me.” She picked up his death shroud and frowned. “Uldren was a cold hearted bastard of a person.” Her grip tightened on the cloth before she sighed heavily.

“He paid his price. Blood for blood. Eye for an Eye. The debt for Cayde was settled. I know his tapes said he’d be…” She started folding the shroud gently. “Crow was a shell that was tossed away. People were trying to forget...or avoid remembering for the time. Including myself...And Glint gave him new life and purpose. He’s a guardian now. He’s not who he was before. And now he takes things Spider tries to throw away or has forgotten about and makes them into new things.” When the shroud was folded into the shape of a flag, she placed it into the bowl and busied herself cleaning off the slab where it had been placed haphazardly. “He’s just like a Ghost that way. A repairman. An artist..” She recalled the art form he had mentioned before when she saw his nest the first time. “He mentioned an artform with precious metals...do you know what it's called?”

“I hadn’t when he first mentioned it, but I talked to Zavala’s ghost and he knew what it was called, apparently it's called Kintsugi, or kintsukuroi, it’s a Japanese art of repairing broken pottery by mending the areas of breakage with lacquer dusted or mixed with powdered gold, silver, or platinum. It treats breakage and repair as part of the history of an object, rather than something to disguise.” He paused for a moment and flew a little lower, “Oh, I see what you mean.”

Diana straightened up the room in silence for a while. Dusting everything with her hands as best she could and being as gentle as possible. It didn’t take her long to clean up the room, tossing out the debris into the hall. She looked around and realized it wasn’t cleaning she wanted to do.

“I wanna do something nice for him.” She said out loud, throwing out a fist sized piece of concrete into the hall. “And I don’t mean dusting.” Joel was flying around the room and scanning the area, inspecting the walls and ceiling.

“He doesn’t have a lot does he?” he asked as he came down to her height. “We could get a few things for him.”

“Yeah..spruce the place up a bit...he deserves better than this but…” She glanced at the shroud sticking up from the bowl where she had placed it. “Baby steps.”

“What do you think he would like?” Joel asked.

“Anything is better than this…” she glanced at the mop bucket in the corner, and cringed. “We could get him a sturdy cot to sleep on. A better sleeping bag…” She looked back to his area and tilted her head, “Another table, a chair...we could clear these slabs out.” She kicked at the one he had been using for a bed. “Hang that sword up.” She pointed to the sword as it was propped up against the wall, waiting to topple over. “And a heater…”

“A heater?” Joel asked, spinning back to watch her as she nodded.

“It’ll be snowing soon. If he’s gonna get time off and come stay, then he’s gonna need heat...and some food that won’t spoil…” Her faceplates shifted to show irritation. “The boy doesn’t even have the basic necessities to live on his own. He won’t be under Spider’s four thumbs forever.”

“You think he’s going to let Crow go eventually?” Joel didn’t sound convinced, but when Diana settled her cyan eyes on him, he knew that look. He’d seen it before the battle against Crota...Oryx...Gaul and the darkness. It was what he called her ‘try me’ look.

“Oh he will. And we’re getting that bomb outta Glint too.” She crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes. “Glint doesn’t deserve that treatment, and neither does Crow. The boys are literally as pure as new fallen snow, and Crow’s as green as Venus.”

“I remember when Leland used to say the same about you,” Joel offered softly, flying close to her chest, his sign he wanted to be held in her hands. She obliged him, cradling him gently and stroking his feckle lovingly.

“I’m not gonna comment on that,” she chuckled and planted a kiss on her Ghost’s shell. Going to sit on the sleeping bag. “I guess this means we’re going back to the city after all.”

“What are we gonna tell people who ask what we’re doing?” Joel twitched his shell so he was looking up at Di from her hands she stared longingly at the Dawning bowl.

“That we’re helping out a kinderguardian. They’re new and scared to come to the city. Or that I’m literally burying myself in a hole and making a fuck off bunker so people will leave me alone for once.” She stopped and blinked, “By the light, I sound like Osris now.”

“I like the second one better,” Joel laughed, “It sounds more like you than Osiris.”

Both of them laughed, their voices bouncing off the three and a half walls until it sounded like it would drown all their sorrows. They hadn’t laughed like that in a while. It made Diana sad to realize this. She tried not to look at it, but it was like a living thing staring at her. The death shroud. One of the triangle corners was peeking up from the bowl and taunting her until she stared at it.

“I’m not...weird am I?” She asked Joel, still staring at the white cloth.

“Is that a question you want me to answer honestly, or be serious?” Joel asked with mirth still in his voice.

“No, I mean…” Diana’s tone made Joel twitch in her hands, bringing her attention to him. “I know I didn’t remember anything, not a thing when you brought me back. But you said I’d been dead a long time...I’ve never…” She trailed off and looked toward the floor. “I’ve never run into anyone who recognized me before. But Uldren...he…” She sighed. “He killed dad...I know I said Crow was different and he IS but…” she made a clicking noise. “Sometimes when it gets quiet, and I see him, I can still SEE Uldren there. Does that make me a bad person?” She looked to Joel sadly. “Am I a horrible person because I sometimes still see him inside someone who's new? If Crow didn’t have the same meatsuit...if he’d been changed into an Exo like me when he was first brought back...I woulda never known….I wouldn’t be...questioning myself like this.” She looked to the shroud again. “He’d just be a new guardian. A fellow exo. A nice guy...But I find myself wanting to reach out to him. Be...more than kind to him. To be someone for him and then that moment happens when I don’t see Crow, I see…and then I feel like I’m betraying Dad’s memory by being chummy with the meatsuit that killed my leader...”

“I could tell,” Joel admitted softly, speaking in barely a whisper, as if afraid the truth would cause the ground to swallow them up. “When you two are having a good talk and it gets quiet, I see the way you look at him. It’s kindness and then fear, mixed with guilt.” He twitched again and the eye blinked. The other ear was starting to come loose and Diana peeled it off with a gentle hand. “You’re trying so hard to not hold him accountable for a crime you know Crow didn’t commit. But it’s still the same face. It’s still the same hand.” he blinked again, “It’s a situation I don’t think any other guardian has ever had to face like this before.” Only a heartbeat passed before he added. “I don’t think it makes you a bad person, I think you’re struggling with a situation that no one else has ever had to be in before and you’re doing a lot better than others who have seen his face.” He flew up from her hands and hovered a little ways from her face.

“You loved Cayde like a father, and he was taken from you by someone you didn’t particularly care for when you knew him. Now that person is no more, but their body is still up walking around with someone new inside...sorta. It’s like that pottery thing, he has his scars. His past is part of him, but he has a new life and a new outlook.” he tilted his shell toward the ground. “Uldren hated Guardians, he tried to make our life hell when we had to deal with the awoken. But,” he titled his shell upward and squinched himself into a smile, “I’ve seen Crow absolutely light up when you walk in a room. He’s excited to see you, to work with you. If that’s not proof he’s totally different then I dunno what would be.”

When she didn’t respond he bonked her on the forehead with his feckle and made her blink at him in bewilderment. “Others have outright killed Crow when they saw his face. You didn’t.”

“I tried…” She put a hand on the spot where he hit her. “If Quin hadn’t stopped me...I would have put a bullet in him.”

“Are you glad she stopped you?” Joel asked firmly.

“Yes?” she sounded unsure, when Joel tightened his shell around him she felt like he was glaring at her so she repeated with conviction. “....Yes. I am.”

“Would you put a bullet in him now?” Joel’s voice was hard, he was trying to test her resolve. He already knew he answer, he just needed her to know it.

“No, absolutely not, I’d...” She paused and remembered her fight with Hunter-1, they still hadn’t spoken since they introduced Crow to him. When he tried to murder Crow, even after learning he was a guardian and Uldren no more. Quin had ushered Crow to safety while Diana wrestled with the fellow Exo. He hadn’t looked at her the same since. On Wrathborn hunts he wouldn’t watch her back anymore, and he would ignore her when she spoke to him. “I’d fight those who would try...”

“Then you’re already leaps and bounds ahead of others.” Joel told her with a flip. “And the fact you want to give him what he needs to survive on his own, until he can be accepted as Crow and not as Uldren, shows you have compassion for him.” He tilted his shell halfway, like he was being coy. “And do not think for one millisecond I haven’t seen you smile at him with that same look you used to give Drifter either missy.”

“I. Give. No. Looks.” Diana’s voice was low, gravely, she was willing to die on this hill.

“And I wasn’t born in the Light.” Joel gave a small hummpf sound before flying out of the crack, forcing Diana to follow along behind him if she wanted to argue.

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