#(i need 2 test the latter)

[undefeatablesin]

Me adding smoke, skulls and disembodied hand motifs to the backgrounds of Altar for almost every panel

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[duck-a-doodle]

COD IMAGINES

TACTICAL BUDDLE BUG 4/4

Chapters 1 / 2 / 3 / 4

TF141!reader x 141

WARNING: Angst, Death, Comfort

A/N: I could not think of any other way for Ghost to accept your hug. I apologise for the trauma in advance. :'-)

Masterlist

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The most serious member of the 141 is secretly a very affectionate person.

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The mission was rough, one that pulled you under and dragged your bloodied knees through dirt and gravel.

It was a ground search and rescue operation which lasted for weeks on end, and one which tested the limits of the human body, bending your sanity to the brink of a clean snap.

The streets were coloured in violence, and the grounds were a tangle of rubble, vehicle parts and severed bodies.

Wherever you stepped, there would lay a limb or a head, of which you could no longer tell if they belonged to an enemy or hostage. It no longer mattered, not when your boots must travel the roads of a thousand stripped souls.

You saved several hostages from the scene, but there was one that you know would haunt you til the end of your days.

It was a little girl. Small, young, with her favourite doll that was caked with remnants of dirt and coagulated blood, the latter of which should never have made its mark upon such a pure soul.

You had to coax her to climb down from the roof, to bring her to safety, and you had failed to realise that you were not the only one to notice the child.

A bullet tore through her chest, and another through her side, bringing her down from the roof, soft and limp into your arms.

Not every hostage can be saved. Not every enemy will be found. Ghost, who buried the young girl you in the aftermath, had watched you ruin every unfriendly sight with a fury unmatched.

He witnessed the angry flames that swallowed up every dead man as you pulled them straight down to hell with you.

Your body had moved blindly when you heard the roaring sound of your captain's orders to return to the plane.

Gaz was adjacent to you, resting quietly while Johnny sat on your other side, watching you carefully; you refused to look at him, knowing that his eyes would look right through you.

The captain said nothing, and Ghost, who propped himself opposite to where you were, was unreadable.

There was no banter, no questions, and only a silent prayer remained.

You cannot remember whose hands have rested on your arms or shoulders in an attempt to calm you; all you recall was the chill and bile that rised from within you. You could not remember the debriefing that felt like seconds but passed like hours.

You could not remember how you got back. Not how you got into your fresh clothes, not how your wounds — once bloody and inflamed — were now patched, and not how you found yourself standing at Ghost's door, waiting.

Why were you there? What were you waiting for? And as soon as the question arose, the answer made itself clear; because of all people, he would know.

As if sensing a presence, the room opened with a click, and Ghost appeared in the doorway, taking a moment to register your presence. He moved to one side. Stepping in silently, the door closed shut behind you, enclosing you in a box of white noise.

He stood before you, saying nothing. He did not need to say anything. In fact, he need not even ask. He simply knew.

"You did what you could."

The reality of his words were a dagger to your beating chest. You lived. You lived, and you were grateful. But you lived at a cost, with the price of blood on your hands.

You took one step. Then another. And Ghost, who did not anticipate what you were about to do, stilled as you wrapped your arms around him, holding him tight.

Fingers tangled tight into the fabric of his shirt, and you press your face deep into his body, seeking — begging — for a reprieve. The darkness was a comfort. He was a comfort.

For once, you want to feel a life that you can hold in your hands, that will not disappear under your touch, that is living and breathing. To hear the heartbeat of a soul, to get rid of the memory of cold, colourless skin that rest unmoving against your arms.

"Breathe, cub."

You could not move. You did not want to move. You cannot bear to move. Not an inch, not away from him who you knew understood better than anybody. His hands were placed on your back. Warm. Alive.

There were no use for words as both of you held each other in silence, resting in the comfort of a feeling near-forgotten.

That was your last memory of that night before you knocked out cold, and in your sleep you dreamt of a hand that wiped the warm corners of your eyes, rough yet gentle.

Unbeknownst to you, a storm in Ghost had calmed when you chose him of all people to seek comfort in, and silently grateful he was for the team to have a most sensitive heart on board.

You were the most affectionate person of the 141, and you cared and loved unconditionally. Those qualities made you the most lethal one of them all, for despite any rankings or titles, you commandeered them all with a piece of your heart — and the day your heart dies is the day they raise hell in your name.

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FOOTNOTE(S):

Ghost likely has only hugged the captain once or twice and Johnny, several times but not of his own volition.

Your heart reminds him of his better days with his brother Tommy and it makes him want to punch you (cuteness aggression), but he will take that knowledge to his grave.

[haikyu-mp4]

Media presence

word count; 649 – gn!reader, can you tell I love a manager!reader?

“Your lack of social media presence is simply unacceptable,” you said, trying to be stern even though your mind was thinking of what you wanted to have for dinner later. “Will you please work with me on this?” Being a PR manager for MSBY Black Jackals tested your patience every day, but Sakusa wasn’t usually your biggest problem.

However, the senior managers had started to pester you about his lack of presence.

Sakusa had one leg crossed over the other, hands interlaced and resting on his thigh as his eyes bore into you from above the face mask he almost always had on. He took a long breath, seeming to prepare for a whole discussion, but all he said in the end was “No.”

You stared at him with the tip of your pen resting on the notebook you had open on your desk, blinking as you registered his word. His one word. “I see. I do love these meetings with you, Sakusa. They’re so rewarding.” you kept mumbling sarcastically, finally moving your hand to write down some thoughts you had. The pen was pushing just a little too hard into the paper, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care at the moment.

While you weren’t looking, a small smile fell on Sakusa’s face from your visible frustration. Not that you would have seen it anyway, but he was always worried that his eyes were simply not as cold as he wished they were when he talked to you. “I feel the same way,” he said. It made you bite the inside of your lip, wondering if there was something behind his words or if he meant it sarcastically like you. The safest option was to assume the latter. You finally turn your swivel chair back towards him, holding out a piece of paper you ripped from the notebook.

“I wrote some options. If we make a contract with set demands, you can demand something in return,” you suggest. You were a promising manager for sure, with a sharp brain and an attractive way with words. Maybe that’s why Sakusa was so infatuated with you despite never making a move. “For example, you could get an extra paid lunch break in exchange for posting daily on your Instagram story.”

Sakusa looked at the list after taking it from you without touching your hand. He slowly nodded. “I’ll think about it.” His agreement to consider it made you smile wider, doing a quick little victory dance. Sakusa frowned, but only because he enjoyed it so much that it annoyed him.

“Wonderful! Maybe I can finally get the seniors off my back for wasting such a pretty face,” you say, focusing more on your work than the words that actually tumbled out of your mouth.

“Thank you,” he said, and this time you could hear the smug smile in his voice. Clearly, he spent too much time with Atsumu.

“Their words, not mine.” you try to defend, squinting at him like it’s a challenge.

“Mm. How disappointing,” he said, finally scooting the uncomfortable chair back so he could get up. Your gaze follows him, trying desperately to fumble for a way to win this.

“You’re always wearing that mask anyways, how would I know,” you say, raising an eyebrow.

The proud moment is punctured though, when Sakusa slowly turns his head to the huge Black Jackals poster hanging to your right where his face is in the front with no mask on. He turns back to you, mirroring your raised eyebrow. “You were saying?”

“Get out,” you say, barely holding back your laughter at the stupid interaction, hoping your cheeks didn’t look as warm as they felt.

“See you around.”

“I wish you wouldn’t.” That was a lie, but neither of you needed to point that out. You both knew it was. For now, it could stay as an unspoken thing.

part 1 ║ part 2 ║ part 3 (final part) ║ headcanons ║ masterlist

[nonsensenook]

Chapter 1 | Torn, Placed

Synopsis: An unapologetic take on you, the reader, appearing in the world of Black Myth to accompany the Destined One on his journey.

Word Count: 2,138

Warnings: Violence

Author's Note: I hope you enjoy and join me in the indulgence!

Ch. 2 - Ch. 3 - 3.5 (Optional) - Ch. 4

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

You felt your legs screaming as your inner shirt clung to you with sweat. It’s been hours since today’s trek began and you truly would do anything to simply sink to the forest floor and cuddle with some nearby mushrooms to sleep. Despite passing some very inviting fungi you refrained from asking to rest. After all, this wasn’t your journey. It wasn’t your place to halt its progress as you wished. You felt you were enough of a burden to have added yourself to a story already written. Tired as you were, you could always rely on your own stubbornness to keep you going. 

The Destined One held out an arm, stopping you as he listened for any sounds ahead. Unlike you, his breathing wasn’t labored. You weren’t sure if he ever needed to sweat. He looked as he always did: composed, reliable, and ready with staff in hand. Watching him like this reminded you of the deep gratitude you held for him, one that came to be long before you stood by his side.

It’s been nearly two weeks since you appeared in this world. You don’t remember much other than vague flashes of memories. You were falling, tumbling, then a creature of unfathomable size found you. You remember bracing yourself as its claws promised a swift death. You saw a staff crash down on its head just as you fell unconscious. The next time you opened your eyes you were laying near a fire. Darkness and a lush forest surrounded you. Someone had draped a spare robe over you. That someone, you recognized, slept across from you sitting up; leaning against a tree. 

You remember staring at him, hands running through your hair in stunned silence. He was a character turned to life, one that you knew too well. After almost burning your hand in the fire to test the theory of a dream you pieced together the only logical conclusion to this illogical situation. One that you weren’t ready to accept. Your thoughts and rising panic were interrupted by the Keeper of Blackwind Mountain. 

He appeared in a whirl of smoke, waving the mist away and pointing towards you with the end of a backscratcher. He called you an “unprecedented interloper.” You couldn’t say you disagreed. The Destined One awoke to the two of you exchanging questions that neither could answer. There was the idea to have you dropped off at a human village, though this was quickly rejected as not only was it well off the course, but the Keeper had a sneaking suspicion that your presence, however “wrong” and “erroneous,” was tied to that of the Destined One’s. It was decided that you would accompany him on his journey, whether that be for a larger role you play or simply to keep you alive. You personally leaned more towards the latter. “Perhaps,” the Keeper said as smoke enveloped him once more, “once everything falls back into place, then so too would you.” 

The Destined One initially traveled ahead of you so as to scout for potential dangers. This was remedied when you both were ambushed from behind. Now he keeps pace with you, never showing any signs or indication that your slower speed frustrated him. The start of the journey was a cruel leap from what you were accustomed to, but you soon found yourself adapting. You never allowed yourself to ask for anything, not even as your feet bled or how much your body screamed at you.

Today may be easier, but that didn’t stop your lungs from feeling like they were bursting. The Destined One let his arm fall. The path ahead was clear. You took a step forward and felt your foot catch on a tree root. The Young Sage reacted quickly, catching your arm. 

“I’m sorry, let me just-” your legs took this golden opportunity to buckle under you. The Destined One put his arm under yours, shouldering your weight. He led you to sit on the root as you settled your breathing.

“I’m fine, I just need to catch my breath,” you explained, clutching at your chest. The Destined One shrunk his staff, stowing it away. He knelt beside you. To your horror you realized he was offering his back. 

“Truly! I’m fine!” you cried out, flustered. The Destined One stood back up. This relieved you till you looked closer at him. You could read how utterly unconvinced he was the way his hand resting on his hip paired with his unblinking stare. 

“You’re already carrying enough, I can manage my own weight at the very least.” You readied yourself to stand back up. In response he held up a pinky. You stopped, staring at him skeptically. He stepped towards you, hooking it onto your outer robe. He barely moved his arm before your whole body was lifted from the ground. Message clearly packaged, delivered, and received. Ever and always so silent, he placed you down and offered you his back. This time, you obediently let him carry you, ignoring the feeling of satisfaction that came from him. 

The young monkey straightened up, making you instinctively move your hands from his shoulders to wrap around his neck. He quickly understood and angeled himself downwards before he started walking. 

Your mind went from the way your chest was pressed against his back to your faces being much too close, then to the way his hands gripped your legs to support your weight. You felt yourself warming up. You weren’t sure that it was from the heat of the day anymore. With you on his back the pace quickened to where he was almost doubling the distance covered. You shoved away the feeling of guilt which nestled into your stomach. You ignored whatever dance your heart was doing in your chest. 

~

Traveling with your silent companion had a difficult adjustment period. You appeared in this world with nothing but your clothing, which were shortly in tatters from your stumble into a Yaoguai’s territory. The Destined One fashioned you new clothing that could hold their own. He’d also lent you a staff, but your first attempt at wielding it had you either accidentally hitting yourself or dropping it. You thought you saw a humorous quirk of his lips when you had hit yourself on the head the third time, but that may have been the self-inflicted head injury. He had held out his hand and you wordlessly returned the staff. 

The journey was initially silent, but you eventually began filling the air with light chatter. You talked about anything on your mind on that particular day whether it be a memory, story, or particularly interesting item from your world. You weren’t sure if he was ever fully listening. He never made any indication for you to stop. In one instance you were interrupted by an archer who was shortly intercepted and disposed of. When he returned to your side he made a motion for you to continue your story about a movie you had once watched, a delight you tried to settle down. It became easier to read his subtle gestures and little facial expressions. Sometimes, you would react to him as if he were speaking aloud. You never made mention of how you knew as much as you did about him or his journey. That was the one topic you avoided. There was this strong instinct never to mention this world’s origins. It was akin to how one would avoid eating ominous mushrooms or lick questionable stains. 

With the knowledge you could share, you advised him when able. He eventually understood that telling him you’d be waiting for him at a shrine meant he was about to fight a rather powerful Yaoguai. He never questioned when you pointed out things he may have missed or the way you would let him know what sort of enemy to prepare for next. Whether he thought your instinct or intuition strong, he trusted your judgment.

At night, the Destined One would scout for a place to rest. On some lucky days he finds an abandoned home or building to stay in. On the cold nights where camp would be set outside, you’d sit closer to the fire. One morning you woke up to find your limbs wrapped around your companion. Your blanket twisted between the two of you. Your body had sought him out in the night. Even with you rousing from your stupor you found it unbearably difficult to separate from his warmth. Eventually, you did manage to unwind yourself. You had rolled over, pretending to continue to sleep for a bit longer before doing a very convincing rise and stretch. You avoided eye contact with him the first time you did this and your stories came sparingly. After the next few times you eventually realized that the days you woke up intertwined with him were the only days where he’d be the second to rise. You assumed he was graciously giving you time to leave without having to go through the embarrassed apologies you had prepared. For that you were grateful. In any case, neither of you brought it up. 

As time passed you were soon able to keep pace with the Destined One without relying on him having to carry you. The speed at which you were adapting to this world felt too quick to be natural, but you were working with too many unknowns to be sure. You thought of giving the staff another try, but your skills were just the same as when you’d started. Learned behavior did not count, unfortunately.

~

The day had been sweltering when you and your companion made camp near a spring. The Destined One had scouted the area with you before it was deemed safe to stay for the night. You were excited to be able to bathe in such a beautiful area, especially after such a hot day. You left the young monkey at the camp before going to the water. The flora around it kept you private from one another. You stripped off your clothes, letting them rest on some rocks in the light of the setting sun. You tested the water with one foot, it was refreshingly cool. You waded in till the water reached your waist, then held your breath and ducked below the surface. You emerged laughing, feeling the droplets fall from your hair. 

The water felt invigorating on your skin. You felt more than just the accumulated dirt and grime being washed off of you. You began washing your hair, trying to detangle any knots you found when you felt something squirming land on you from an overhanging tree branch. You cried out in surprise, quickly brushing off a curious little lizard. The lizard made its getaway just as the Destined One leapt into the spring, staff in hand. 

“It’s okay, a lizard just surprised me,” you explained with a small laugh, hands raised in reassurance. He looked down. You looked down. You quickly covered yourself in a panic, going lower into the water as he turned on his heel to head back in the direction of camp. You lowered your head till it was submerged again so that only the fish could hear your cries of embarrassment. You stayed longer than you wanted to in the spring until your face stopped burning and your hands began to wrinkle. Drying yourself off, you did whatever you could to shake off the mortification of what just happened. You dressed yourself, hesitating to return back to camp. What do you say to someone who just saw you naked? Do you apologize? Make a joke of it? Pretend it never happened? All were answers but none seemed correct on their own. You settled your breathing. You can go with E: All of the above.

Back at the camp you found the Destined One sitting cross legged, poking at the small fire he had made. His tail was swishing left to right, making the pattern of a fan in the dirt. You hesitated again, unsure on how to bring up what just happened. You weren’t sure how long you stood there for when the Young Sage suddenly inhaled sharply through his teeth, tossing the stick he was holding aside. He had let it burn down to a stub till the small fire reached his fingers. Seems you weren’t the only one lost in their own mind. You smiled, somehow relieved in knowing that. 

“Are you alright?” you asked, your tone light with humor. He turned to you, you saw him relax at seeing you smiling. You went next to him, then crouched down, holding out your hands. “Can I see?” 

He held out his hand, you took it between yours, looking closely for any sign of damage. His hand was large with dark nails well pointed and sharp. You felt you were brushing past his fingers with your own more than you needed to. Satisfied at seeing no wound, you let go. He held his hand there for a moment before retracting it. Wordlessly, you both stood up. You refuse to let any awkward silences stretch on, being the only one who can actually break them. 

“It’s your turn to use the spring,” you said, putting your arms behind you, “Watch out for lizards.” You mentally kicked yourself. The Destined One watched your expression for a moment, considering your warning. Then he gave a small nod and headed for the spring. You let out a held breath. This feeling will not be leaving you any time soon, but at the very least nothing’s changed as far as you can tell.

The next day, after untangling from the Destined One once again, the two of you continued onward as usual. Soon, the lush forests became bare sand as the two of you entered the next part of the journey. 

[sexysadie23]

The Old Boys Club | Rafe Cameron

Author’s Note: Hiii! This is depraved. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. You are responsible for your own media consumption. I was watching The Batman and I loved the aesthetic of The Iceberg Lounge so that was the inspiration, alongside a Selina Kyle-esque waitress. Please enjoy. A Part 2 is possible :)

Tags: innocent!reader x older!rafe, CEO!Rafe, sleazy!JJ, sleazy!Kelce, sleazy!Topper, naive!reader, smallchested!reader, wife!reader, pre-established relationship, daddy kink

Warnings : I mentioned reader having a small chest, Highly misogynistic behaviour, mentions of alcohol, drugs and sex, corruption kink, minor bondage, unwanted adultery ig??

The lights were red and flashing, one blink after the other, blinding you for a millisecond when the flits of darkness overcame the haze of smoke and ignorance. The warehouse-turned-nightclub had so many people in it, too many, that there was no room for air. Each one surrendering themselves to the night. To the shadows which protected their guilty pleasures with a vengeance, hiding them from the shame that came with exposure.

Smoking, drinking, alcohol, drugs, sex. It was all blurred together into one unfocused scene where bodies became one and nobody cared for anything. Looking around at the mass of bodies and addictions, you realised why they clutched to the latter. For without them, the room would be unbearable.

You’d never understood the experience. Going to night clubs and staying out all night had never been on your radar, especially not with your conservative mother. She liked you in your room, cozied up with a book and tea.

That was all you had ever known. And it was something you came to enjoy. In college you were never the wild party girl, always too uncertain to feel safe at the scene. The rules your mother had set clung to you like a vine.

But that’s what he liked about you most. He’d had his days of partying to the point where he couldn’t remember his own name. He’d slept with the drunk girls who he’d regret afterwards every time. He’d done every drug under the sun. So when Rafe Cameron saw you, the sheltered, naive little doe that didn’t speak until spoken to - he was dazzled by what he saw - an opportunity.

That was unknown to you though. Rafe Cameron came into your life like a wrecking ball. A tall, strong, successful and welcomed wrecking ball. One that had you kept, that protected you and never left you wanting. You were wholly fulfilled now that you had met your soulmate, who worked day and night to provide a lifestyle that according to him, was everything you could need.

He’d been at the office since the early hours of the morning, too early for you to cook his breakfast and kiss him goodbye. It was a Friday night though which meant that straight after work, he went to Interlude. A lounge and nightclub that housed the city’s most notorious mob bosses. You hadn’t, and didn’t expect to see him until the morning.

That’s why you were surprised that his assistant called you, mid baking cookies, informing you that your husband wanted you to pay him a visit at the lounge tonight.

The request was odd, truly out of character. Rafe had laid down some ground rules, guidelines as he dubbed them - which you willingly obliged, and one of them was no alcohol, no drugs and no clubs. You could go to parties as long as he was in attendance.

Was this a test? You wondered for a second. But another rule was to trust and listen to Rafe. You figured it was better to go and find out than not go at all. Besides, you missed him already and it had been less than 24 hours since he was inside of you.

You got changed from your nightie into something more appropriate for leaving the house. You dawned a casual pink sundress, and slipped a black bow around your hair. Rafe preferred you in the feminine, and you’d come to enjoy it. You looked at your walk in closet and saw only flats. Another rule: No heels whatsoever. (He liked how small you looked beside him). You brought a jacket just in case. Having never been to a club, you didn’t no if it would be cold or not.

Yet when you made the distance from Rafe’s private driver into the club, it was then that you could feel the heat which controlled the room. It seeped into your skin and your lungs and you then decided that bringing a coat was a bad idea.

The lights continued to blind you until you saw someone, a waitress who was wearing a pink wig and, well, barely anything else by the looks of her diamante bra and mini skirt - which was more like a belt. You all of a sudden felt ridiculous in your sundress and became aware of how every woman in here was wearing sultry fabrics barely concealing their skin. Whereas you looked like you were ready for a picnic. These were the women Rafe saw on a regular basis?

The waitress’s eyes flitted toward your lost looking figure - doe eyes taking up half your face as your expression gave away that you were both scared and lost. They’d eat you up if you didn’t find who you were looking for. Lord knows you weren’t here for fun, that much the waitress could tell.

You could see her bejewelled heels clacking in your direction and you looked up to meet her eyes.

“You lost sweetie?” She asked, cocking her hip against the empty tray she held. Up close, you could see her bra stuffed with wads of cash.

“Um- yeah. I’m looking for someone. Do you know a-“ though you were cut off as a bunch of rowdy men in suits shoved you as they made their way through. You shrunk in on yourself while the waitress glared at the men. She smoky gaze returned to you,

“Sorry sugar. Guys in here can get carried away. Who d’ya need?”

You exhaled slowly before speaking again. “I’m looking for a business man. My husband. Rafe? Rafe Cameron? He told me to - to come here but I’ve been looking for 30 minutes and can’t see him.”

At the mention of the name Rafe Cameron, the waitress’ eyes dawned a screen of something. Something intangible. Like she all of a sudden knew something. She looked you up and down once more and nodded.

“Yeah I know him. He’s like our most important customer. You won’t find him in here though.” She nodded smugly as she looked over the balcony into the crowd.

You looked with her, disappointed. “Oh. Well do-“ you increased your volume, speaking over the club anthems and tilted your head up as she crouched to hear you better, “-do you know where I could find him, please?”

The waitress smirked and rolled her eyes. Of course Rafe married the girl next door type. You seemed sickeningly sweet. “Sure sweets. He’s in Havoc.”

At your confused reaction, she elaborated. “You know, the club within the club? It’s downstairs. Through those doors. Password is ‘10th Circle’. Say you’re with Rafe, and they’ll take you to’m.” She points you to a set of steel doors lined with 2 bodyguards.

You thanked her as she sashayed away. You approached the doors and the bodyguards looked you up and down - and laughed to one another. “No way, baby. VIPs only.”

You just wanted to see your husband. “10th Circle. I’m with- I am Rafe Cameron’s wife. He invited me.” You say holding up your phone to show your screensaver of you and Rafe at your small, intimate wedding. “See?”

The guards looked at each other with suspicion. Having the password must be enough though, because they opened the doors without any qualms. You heard something just before the slam of the seal shut. “Did you know he was married?”

You went down the stairs which was less crowded, but more sinful already. On the stairwell you passed men wearing suits whispering in women’s ears. Women who were blackout drunk, or close to it. Women who were being handed hundreds of dollars wearing fur coats and nothing underneath. Some of which looked to be enjoying it and some of them scared. You immediately felt unsafe.

You were cautious as you walked through; shoulders hunched as you tried not bumping into anyone, making yourself as unnoticeable as possible. Your out of place attire made that somewhat difficult. But then you were grateful, because finally someone, the one, recognised you.

“Fuck, here she is- Baby! I’m here!” Your husband shouted from a secluded corner. He was surrounded by other men, one with a girl on their arms. You recognised a few of them as being his associates. Topper and Kelce and JJ in particular.

You could tell he wasn’t drunk thankfully. None of them were as they focused on playing their card games. “Hi.” You said, not raising your voice for anyone else to hear. The music was much less quiet than the chaos of upstairs, much to your gratitude.

He grinned, pulling you towards his seated form, in between his manspread. “There you are, bunny. What took you so long?” You took his hand to intertwine your fingers with his, having missed his touch.

“Got lost, I thought you were upstairs but a nice lady helped me.” You said, basking in your husband’s gaze. “Aw honey. You hear that fellas? Lil bunny here got lost tryna’ find me.”

His friends laughed as they sifted through their cards. One sitting beside Rafe, JJ, looked up and took out his cigarette- effectively blowing it in your face. “Poor girl. You miss your husband, doll?”

Rafe barked out a laugh but you were distracted by lightly coughing out the smoke directed into your airways. “Of course she did man, can’t go more than a few hours without rubbing up on me. It’s like she’s an addict or something.”

You frowned once more. Why was he acting like this? Sure he’s usually controlling and has a more…masculine sense of humour. You usually didn’t mind, yet now you felt like everyone knew something you didn’t. But you supposed he wasn’t wrong. You weren’t ashamed to say that you loved your husband, that you needed him.

“Huh Bunny baby? You miss me? Who’d you miss?” His friends laughed a chorus of stifled chitters and some even “oohed”. Rafe squeezed your thigh, and you knew what he wanted.

“I missed you…” you looked around at his friends who waited for you avidly. Patiently. You felt like a fish in a fish-tank. “Daddy.” The private nickname had officially made its debut. You were embarrassed, but also more embarrassed by JJ who was now staring at your tits.

Rafe grinned which made you breathe a little lighter, your joints a little less coiled. He yanked you down to sit atop his leg, your own surrounding his right knee. His eyes flitted in amusement to his posse, “See that boys? Bet none of you got a bitch at home calling you that.”

“Nah, my girlfriend just told me the other day she doesn’t want kids. Like, what’s the point of us staying together then? Only thing a woman’s good for after all.” Said Kelce, with some large chested girl on his arm licking his ear. She laughed, along with Rafe and company, at his crude joke, which you found far from funny. “Well, maybe not the only thing,” he uttered before her hand gripped his knee.

“You gonna dump her then?” Asked Topper, Rafe’s CFO, who tilted his head as he assessed your legs. Your freshly shaved, shiny, short legs.

“Don’t know. She gives good head, so that’s definitely a factor. Maybe I should keep her around and until I try to find my future wife on the side, you know?” Kelce said taking a smoke of his cigarette. “What do you think?” He jutted his chin across the space to you.

In a weird synchronicity, everyone turned their heads to you, awaiting your input. There was a metaphysical spotlight on you and you tightened your hold on Rafe’s hand. He started to kiss up and down your ear, which was not helping how distracted you were.

“Um- maybe you could give her a chance? If you really like her enough to have her as your girlfriend it might be worth it to talk…with her.” You slowed, immediately regretting speaking at all as each man started to smirk and look at one another again.

“Jesus Rafe, where’d you even find this girl?She’s so…cute.” Settled Topper. You thought he was handsome, but nobody could compare to your husband. Rafe simply shrugged and chuckled in your ear before returning to his perusal. “Some dump she needed rescued from.”

Kelce sighed. “Why’d I even ask a chick? Not like they know anything. It’s either dumb, or dumber.”

You could hear Rafe huff out a laugh. “True. There’s nothing up here,” he tapped your temples, “except my name.”

You turned to ask him why he was acting like this. So not the sweet, protective Rafe you knew, “Raf-m!” Cut off, by Rafe shoving his tongue down your throat. You were stunned before you responded, avidly with passion.

At least one thing hadn’t changed about your husband, he still kissed you with the same enthusiasm. Perhaps, with even more than normal. When he eventually pulled away, you whined and your lips traced after him - uncaring of who was watching.

“That’s one way to shut em’ up when they get uppity. And that ain’t what you call me bun. How many times am I gonna have to remind you tonight? Cmon, use your head for once. Know it’s in there somewhere.” He held an intense eye contact with you.

“Give her a break, Cameron. She might need a minute.” Kelce slapped Topper’s shoulder as they both looked to you.

“Daddy…” You whined, then hid your face in your chest out of embarrassment. Rafe said that it wasn’t something you should call him in public, yet here he was. All gorgeous in his suit with his collar popped and tie loosened, commanding you as though you were in the bedroom back home.

The only indication that he was not mad at you was the pet names he bestowed upon you, ‘Bunny’ and ‘angel’ being your favourites. “Aw honey, Daddy’s just joking. Y’know you’re my best girl. Huh?” He felt you smile into his chest. “Huh?” He bounced his knee, digging into your pussy, and you nodded. You could feel your body clench.

“Rafe’s chick might have a point though Kelc. Maybe you should keep the broad around. She’ll probably change her mind about having kids.” Voiced JJ, whose eyes continually checked out your cleavage.

Rafe piped up as he massaged your scalp from the way you hid in his chest. “Yeah, girls hardly ever know what they want until we decide for them anyways. Plus, you’d have the kids and still get to keep the good head,”

“I mean look at Bunny here, she thought she was gonna be a nurse or something fore’ I came in. Only cost me two dozen or so grand to pay off her student debt and convince her to drop out n’ marry me.”

Every time Rafe brings that up you feel a sense of guilt. That was sooo much money. Maybe not to a multi-millionaire like him. But to small town you, it was everything. “Thank you, daddy.” In response, a kiss on the cheek.

Topper sat up, “Can you blame her? She’d be a good slutty nurse. Waiting on you hand and foot. There’s a halloween costume idea right there.”

Rafe turned to them, “As if she doesn’t already do that. Little girl knows where she belongs.” You didn’t have time to be confused as the sound and pain of Rafe roughly slapping your upper thigh sounded throughout the secluded corner. Your pussy wettened, and you wished you weren’t wearing thin underwear.

JJ, ever so wise with a big mouth JJ, had some advice. “Well the way I see it Kelce, you have options.”

“Uh-huh. And they are?”

“You could always switch out her birth control. Then she’s pregnant in no time and it won’t look like your fault, so she can’t be mad. Plus, chicks’ tits get bigger when pregnant. S’a win-win.” You couldn’t believe how awful the things that were coming out of these men’s mouths were. Were they always like this outside of work? Was Rafe like this outside of your marriage?

“You let your girl on birth control Kelc? Why?” Topper asked, genuinely perplexed at the notion of a woman controlling her own body.

“She had a whole bitchfit about it. Saying shit like how it helps her period pain and let’s her decide when she can have a baby or whatever. I don’t get it.”

They continued to drink and chat. “Hold on bunny baby,” Rafe shifted you side ways in his lap now so that your legs were fully facing JJ on his left. There wasn’t much room so JJ put your feet and calves atop his thigh, across his lap. You felt too shy to say no or remove them, and this genuinely was more comfortable.

Rafe noticed, but you didn’t, with all the shifting that your dress had twisted and was alarmingly close to revealing your underwear. You put your hands around Rafe’s neck and leaned in.

“Can I have a drink please? I’m thirsty.” You whispered in his ear. You were parched. Between the heat of the room and the heat building in your core you needed something to ground you.

Rafe smiled. “Sure. Hey,” he clicked his fingers at the girl on Kelce’s arm. “Double time. Vodka.” She left the area with haste.

“But Daddy- I wanted…you said I’m not allowed to dr-“

“Didn’t look like he asked for your two cents, princess.” Said Topper with a bored expression as he thumbed the neck of his beer bottle. You frowned. The blonde was usually nice to you at business events and in Rafe’s office.

“You speak when you’re spoken to around daddy’s friends Baby. Remember? Or do you need a reminder?”

Your eyes widened at the last time you were given a ‘reminder’. “N-no. I’m sorry I’ll just…”

Though his attention diverted from you as the shot was passed to your hand. “Now I know you’re just a girl, sweetheart. And you’ve never done a shot before so listen carefully. Can you do that for us?” Asked Kelce as JJ played with your socks. The condescension was not noticed by you.

You looked to Rafe, who nodded. So you turned your head to Kelce, careful not to spill the drink.

“Kay. So this stuff is really icky. You gotta drink it fast and swallow fast. You’ve had plenty of practice, so I’ve heard.”

You ignore the last comment and nod, looking at the clear liquid with determination. This is your chance to prove that you are a big girl and can handle things like alcohol. People always made fun of you for not drinking in college, so you needed the victory, even if just for yourself.

“Here, pretty baby. I’ll do one with you, okay? Ready? Go.” Your daddy said. Though you didn’t say it, you were grateful that he was supporting you.

To say the taste was awful was an understatement. It wasn’t so much the taste as the fumes that made your throat feel like it was on fire. You coughed, a lot. So much for proving you were a big girl and not some inexperienced baby unlike the rest of the sensual women around.

“Fuck, look at her. You alright dollface?” The insulting nickname flew over your head as you scrunched your eyes, though you could be sure it was JJ’s voice. He squeezed your ankle in a somewhat comforting gesture, but you could hear the guys and the girl laugh at how pathetic you were.

“Wh-why would you let me try that!” Tears dribbled down your face. The key word being “let”, as the guys noted.

Rafe growled, and laughed. “Don’t be such a fucking baby. In fact-“ he put his whiskey up to your pouty lips and made you drink it before you could protest. Again, disgusting. You sputtered some of it out and it dribbled down your chin and throat.

“Think she needs a bib boys?” Top jested, reaching over to chuck you under your chin. Other than Rafe, he seemed like the strictest of all. They each roared a laugh and you realised you were the butt of the joke. The punchline.

You continued to sniffle and leak some tears, looking around at what this truly was. You were an animal in the circus, simply there for entertainment. “Daddy, please…” you whined, tightening your hold on Rafe in the search of comfort.

“Don’t be sad sugar. If it’s any consolation, you’re even sexier when you cry.” Said JJ, as he took off your shoes one by one. He left on your white ankle socks, which he now noticed had love-hearts all over them.

You whimpered at the statement. Your throat felt raw and the wicked taste of mixing alcohols lingered in your mouth.

You were hyper aware of how wet you were in that moment, and couldn’t decide if you were whimpering out of pain, embarrassment or lust. You used your core to bounce on Rafe’s leg, enough to feel something yet too little for anyone to notice.

Rafe kissed your chin where the whiskey spilled. “That’s top shelf liquor you just wasted.” He licked your lip, groaning at the taste.

“S-sorry. Jus’ wasn’t expecting it. I’ve never really drank before.” You could feel your cheeks blush. Rafe loved PDA, and it had taken you a while to adjust to it.

“Hmm, you gonna make it up to me?” He teased. His hand travelled up to your braless chest and groped you, right in front of his friends. What the hell was happening.

“I don’t know,” said Kelce, looking at where Rafe’s hand was pressing your nipple. “I’m a fan of big tits. Not to the point where they look ridiculous, but definitely not as small as sweetheart, here.”

The guys all sounded as though they were heavily contemplating Kelce’s “insightful” comment and they turned to your chest, whereas you? You were just plain insecure now. You knew you didn’t have the largest bust, but was it really so much a factor?

“You’d be surprised,” said Topper. “Big tits can get in the way.” He scoffed, then returned to look at yours with a lustful eye.

“True,” JJ nodded, “plus small tits are just…I don’t know. They look more youthful. Perky, y’know? Definitely my preference.”

Rafe huffed out a laugh. “Me too, clearly.” You looked at him with a grimace, then down to your chest. “I have a theory that they’re more sensitive, though.”

“Oh yeah? What makes you think that?” JJ had toyed with your socks to the point where he’d taken them off completely.

Rafe eyed him, then gazed at you intensely before devouring your mouth in a kiss. You were confused, was there some mental signal he just sent to his business partner? How did that suffice as an answ-

“MMph!” You squeaked into Rafe’s mouth as pain overcame you. Rafe just pinched your nipples, with as much force as his hands could. His strong, manly hands… You were positive that your underwear had gained a wet patch on it now. You were less embarrassed about that than as to why you felt turned on in the first place.

You withdrew from Rafe’s mouth to stare at him, eyebrows scrunched in a hurt expression. Why would he do that? You looked at his lips and suddenly became distracted again. With your low tolerance, the alcohol was seeping into your mind and your impulse control was going haywire.

So, you jumped his mouth. Your tongue swirled around his as you let out a soft moan. His hand moved to slide along your inner thigh, and you panicked, moving it away in front of your too-keen audience.

Rafe loved how eager you were sometimes. You fucked like a rabbit, and your nose twitched in your sleep. Hence the nickname.

“Please not-not in front of them!” You whispered.

“Don’t worry. All friends here.” Said Kelce. “Nothing we haven’t seen before,” seconded Topper, who gave you a crude wink. Kelce high fives him and you were confused as to what they were referring to. Though you didn’t get to focus on the thought as you felt heaving tapping on your cheek.

“What the fuck did I say about speaking when spoken too, huh baby? You too fucked dumb from last night to follow a simple instruction?” Rafe said, growing annoyed. Sure, you were embarrassed. But that was nowhere near as bad as stepping out of Rafe’s meticulously drawn line.

“I just- I don’t know why you’re doing this in front of them. Don’t they all have girlfriends?” You wondered. Topper was married. Kelce had a girlfriend. JJ was, well he definitely had a girl. It was just a different one every week.

Rafe kissed your forehead, and said in a voice that was too saccharine- “I do it,” another kiss, “because” and another “I can, sweetie.”

A laugh bubbled from your throat at you squirmed, feeling a feather light touch as JJ drew his finger nails from the soles of your feet to your leg. You kicked a little, and turned in shock at the sensation.

“Come to Papa J, dolly.” He ‘come hithered’ with his fingers. “S’okay. Right Rafe?”

You looked to your husband, wondering exactly what was going on. Rafe grinned with that glint in his eye. “She’s all yours Jayj, careful though.” He said cruelly, before widening his manspread with haste. Effectively, letting you fall through his lap straight onto the floor between his legs. You yelped at the sudden motion and the sudden pain blooming around your tailbone. You wanted to say something, but you hadn’t been spoken to.

You used Rafe’s knee to stand up, barefooted on the plush rug of the club within the club. Blood rushed to your head. How drunk were you? You were now aware of how short your dress was. You weren’t sure what to do now.

JJ’s eyes traversed your figure head to toe. From the bow in your hair to your white pedicure. He looked hungry, like he was on a hunt. Were you being hunted? Is that what this was? Poached even, willingly by your own husband?

You thought of your marriage, of all the times Rafe had been sweet and the times were he’d been, dark. Salaciously dark. You knew they’d passed around ‘girls’ in the past, but just in the sense of sharing strippers. You were his wife. And JJ was his friend. They all were. Regardless of these mindless facts, you now knew who they were. Sleazebag playboys that objectify women. That use them.

And Rafe, your protector, was just going to throw you into the lion’s den with one of them?

Unless…you realised, looking at Rafe as he nodded for you to go towards his business partner, that your husband was one of them. That this whole time, your marriage had been the lion’s den.

You just didn’t know it until tonight.

Author’s Note: Let me know what you thought of this!

[mrchiipchrome]

Liar, Liar, Pants On Fire

W.C.- 2 k

a/n: This is part of the 'Parents' universe, also i need a better title for it sooo please give me suggestions:)

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

“Aye María, you’re trending on twitter.” Mapi’s head snaps in your direction, eyes gleaming with excitement. She has no reason to be skeptical, you look truthful as always, blinding smile stretching across your lips. 

“Really?!-” Just as she was about to ask why she was trending, you interrupt her. 

“No.” Your tone was one of complete seriousness, deadpan beyond comprehension. You look on in delight as your teammate’s smile drops off the vicinity of her face, lips contorting into a disappointed frown. 

The back of your head stings with the hands coming down to hit it, a slap to the back of the head never hurt anyone, except you of course.

“Y/n, that’s not nice.” Alexia chides as you rub over the sensitive parts of your head, still stinging from the brutal hits. She looks at you through her peripheral vision, seeing the smile that’s still stretched across your lips, rolling her eyes at your childish nature. 

What did she expect though when they brought in a child?

“Neither was the prank she pulled on me last week but you didn’t tell her off for that, did you?” Annoyance seeps into your tone, slapping away the hand ruffling your hair. Alexia rolls her eyes at you again and you can barely resist telling her that they might get stuck like that if she continues, it was always fun to rile the woman up.

“You wanna test me cariño? I can make your life hell.” She interprets the huff you let out as acceptance, rising from the table to throw her trash away. 

On the other side of the room, you’re startled as lips press to your temple, hands placed on your shoulders.

“Causing trouble again, are you bubba?” Lucy plops down in the seat to your left, Keira occupying Alexia’s old seat to your right. You can’t help smiling again as your parents settle at your sides, they were a bit late to lunch as they were talking with Jona.

“No more than usual Robert, I wonder where I got it from. You think I need to go see the physios? Excessive childishness in a 15 year old is fatal from what I’ve heard.” You teased the older woman, who in response pushed her fingers between your ribs, the feeling way more ticklish than it should be.

“Leave the tot alone Luce, she’s got enough on her mind without you annoying her.” Keira says as she wraps her arm around your neck, pulling you into a headlock of sorts as she kisses your forehead over and over. 

“No way, I mean I can accept bubs and bubba, but tot? I’m fifteen.” It was almost like a toddler whining after its favourite toy, all tied together by the way your feet pound against the floor in protest.

“Mhm, sure. You’ll have to deal with every embarrassing nickname in the book until you take your last breath, bubs. Now, have you eaten enough? You know that we’ve got another training session after this.” Lucy reminds you hastily, pushing a granola bar into your hands as Keira hands you an apple.

“Yes I’ve eaten, no you two won’t be calling me ‘tot’ and ‘bubba’ when I’m 60, and yes I did in fact know that we’ve got training after lunch. Also, can I go over to Vicky’s after training? I need help with some homework.” You’re nearly through the doors of the meal room as you shout out the question, both Lucy and Keira nodding their heads in agreement.

Thinking no one’s watching you in the hallways is your fatal mistake, as you dance around in your spot you can hear the very distinct giggles from your usual partners in crime. Your eyes scan the space and in milliseconds you notice the short frames of Pina and Patri, the latter of the two holding up her phone in such a manner that convinced you that she was recording you.

“Having fun there osito?” Patri asks teasingly, as if you didn’t have plenty of incriminating videos of her doing things she definitely shouldn’t have been doing. The only response you give her is starting to run towards her at an alarming speed, the two women looking at each other in panic. 

Making the smart choice, they split up so that only one unfortunate soul had to deal with you, the one being Pina since she was easier for you to tackle to the ground if that was to be needed. She was also handed Patri’s phone when they were running, a sneaky attempt to keep the video.

“Come on, Osito, let’s not do anything drastic here.” Of course she was trying to negotiate when she was backed up against the wall, a nervous smile overtaking her face. “We’re amigos, remember?” When your eyes narrow, she knows she’s in trouble. Just as the shorter girl is about to try her chances at running away again, two stable hands land on your shoulders.

Pina nearly cries tears of joy as she sees Ingrid staring back at her, the norwegian’s arm now clasped tightly around your shoulders as she tries to pull you away from the short spaniard. But when you look back at her, thumb running across your own throat in a not so nice gesture, she begins to sweat again. 

It was no secret that you had dirt on her and Patri.

When Ingrid notices your obscene gesture she makes sure to slap the back of your head extra hard, obviously disapproving. 

“Why does everyone keep doing that?”

—---------

“Narla’s blue now, looks like a smurf bit her.” You tell Lucy who sits opposite of you at the kitchen table, Keira cooking dinner not too far away. Lucy’s head snaps up from where it was turned down to look at her phone.

“What are you talking about? Are you kidding me?” Her accent is way thicker than normal, clouding her words more than usual. Your perfected poker face was always useful, but especially in situations like this, it was extremely difficult not to burst out into laughter at her expression. 

“Yeah I am. Why would she be blue?” The first part is said fully deadpanned, it is only when you ask her why that you allow the laughter to seep through into your voice. 

Lucy’s chair falls to the floor as she stands up, hands placed on the table like she’s about to do a speech. Instead what she does is walk around to your side of the table, tackling you to the floor like it’s no problem.

The two of you wrestle on the floor like schoolboys for a few moments until Keira calls out for you both, the woman already seeming fed up with whatever’s going on.

“Kids, dinner is ready, go set the table.” She tells you, standing in the doorway with her hands on her hips looking at you two in disappointment. Though most of it was channeled towards Lucy, she was supposed to be an adult after all.

The brit in question unlocks her strong arms from your midsection as you release her head from your grip, Lucy rushing to stand up.

“Careful now Luce, or I’ll get my pay back in the ring.” You hold your hands up in front of your face in the typical boxer stance, punching them out in a pattern. Right, right, left, right, left, left. At the same time you’re moving your feet against the floor rapidly, kicking them out whilst still keeping them against the floor.

“Calm it Sugar Ray.” She calls out from the kitchen, between the sounds of plates clacking together and utensils clinging. 

“Actually I was going for more of an Ali vibe.” You respond, fighting the smile willing itself onto your face. 

“Actually, Keira said ‘kids’ meaning both of us, so come here and help me.” Keira laughs at the playful shake of your head as you pass her by, her hands stretching up to mess your hair up even more. Dodging her hand as you slip into the kitchen has you triumphant, putting your hands up in celebration like Rocky.

It’s short lived though as Keira comes up behind you to complete her earlier action. You grumble in fake annoyance as you bring out the plates and place them on the table, sitting down in your seat with an overexaggerated  angry expression on your face.

It all washes away though as Keira pinched your cheek lovingly, a genuine smile coating your lips. Dinner was spent in pleasant conversation, spent like a family.

—------

“Jorge Vilda: father to be.” Exclamations of disgust, shock and pure hatred ring out through the Barcelona locker room, some even pausing in the middle of getting dressed to look at you. You yourself were staring down at your phone pretending to read an article. “The former Spain coach announced the pregnancy on his instagram earlier this morning.” 

“What the actual fuck?” Mapi finally gets out after nearly a minute of choking sounds, her face contorted into an expression of disgust.

“This has to be some kind of joke, Satan can’t have children.” Patri adds on, looking slightly green. You’d be more concerned about it if it weren’t for the facepaint you and Pina had applied onto her when she fell asleep first at the sleepover the night before. 

“Of course she’s joking, there’s no article.” Irene takes your phone from your hands, showing the girls in the room what you actually were doing. “She’s playing 2048, we don’t have to worry.” Relieved sighs cling out throughout the room before they realize what you did, multiple hands coming down to slap your head again.

“Stop the abuse, did any of you actually think any woman would get within ten meters of that man? I wouldn’t even if I got a million euros.” Most of the women in the room shake their heads in amusement, though agreeing with you.

“You have got to stop doing that osito.” Mapi laughs out, knuckles digging into your head affectionately.

“I’ll stop when you all stop messing with my hair.” You grumble, smoothing your hair down against your now hurting head, Mapi’s knuckles leaving bruises.

—------

“Luis Rubiales dead at 46 due to unknown caus-” You were cut off in the middle of reading the title of the ‘article’, some of the women in the room jumping up to stand on their chairs, others cheering loudly.

"Hallelujah!” Was heard from multiple people, others settling on just dancing in their spots like they’d won the lottery.

Trying to slip out of the room to avoid having to tell them it was a prank and ruining the joy, you were quickly pulled back by a suspicious Alexia Putellas, her glare so intense that you were shying back from looking at her. 

“Stop the celebrations, cariño was just pranking us again.” Even though Alexia tried to be the stern and serious captain, she couldn’t help the smile stretching across her face at the prank. She could admit when a prank was funny and the fact that everyone believed you, knowing full well that you’d done the exact same thing only weeks before made it that much more hilarious.

“Come onnnnnn, I thought we talked about not doing this bubs.” Lucy calls out to you sternly, but you knew her well enough to know that she wasn’t really mad at you, both her and Keira had amused half smiles on their faces.

“Okay, okay I promise that was the last time. Besides, I don’t think any reaction will ever top the one you just gave me.” 

The women in the room looked at each other and then back at you, seemingly deciding that the best course of action would be to smother you with their hugs and kisses. It was impossible to get away from the mob, the ones closest to you covering your face in platonic kisses, the rest just looked on in amusement, waiting for their own turn to torture you.

And even though it took about 10 minutes to get all the women off you, and back to your parents, you wouldn’t do anything to change them ever. You loved them all, even if they messed up your hair daily.

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

Translation:

Osito - teddy/teddy bear

[raayllum]

EZRAN: Prince Karim, all Queen Janai wants is peace. There's no need to attack. Take your army, the people who follow you, and build your own future somewhere away from here.

KARIM: But I agree with you. There is no need for violence today if my terms are met. EZRAN: Your terms? Prince Karim, I may be a child, but I know how to count. Janai's five armies are more than your one. The Queen expects to defeat you decisively. KARIM: And I expect my sister to surrender unconditionally and acknowledge me as the High King of the Sunfire Empire. EZRAN: I don't think— KARIM: And all humans will leave our lands immediately, and return to the other side of the border. Where you belong. EZRAN: You can't force the humans to leave. People have made friendships, built families. Your own sister is marrying a human! KARIM: I know this must seem harsh to you, but... history cannot be forged without fire. Without strength.

EZRAN: I am a king. And as a king, I choose love over strength. Sometimes it's hard, but when I struggle, I think about the people I love and how they are counting on me to do the right thing. Not the harsh thing, not the strong thing. The right thing.

KARIM: But she will always be my sister. EZRAN: Then you can still choose love. It's not too late. KARIM: The great Archdragon of the Sun was faced with a choice long ago. He chose fire. I honour Sol Regem now, as my sister should have done when she had the chance. [...] EZRAN: You want Janai to attack! And when she does... you'll call down Sol Regem and—they won't stand a chance! KARIM: Ah. Humans might be more clever than I thought. I don't need five armies when I have one archdragon.

A few notes, as always:

Karim, when nudged by Miyana, acknowledged in 6x02 that what they were doing, they were doing "for us" and "for [their people]" and I think in a lot of ways, like Viren, that's what it initially started out as. However, here we see most clearly that this is about Karim's ego (shocking, I know) and pride. He wants to be king of this land, he wants to crush and restore 'natural order' to Xadia by expelling humans again. Just having this own followers and his own piece of land elsewhere isn't enough, even though it would be if his people's happiness was all he cared about.

Ezran offers a variety of options and perspectives to Karim to appeal to him — you could leave peacefully with your people, you can make active choices, don't you love your sister? — the latter of which being the only one to really get under his skin. I also like seeing Ezran advocate on behalf of his citizens (and possibly others) who have been integrated into Sunfire society and daily life. Karim wants to return Xadia to being wholly divided, but Ezran — like Janai, and Amaya, and the bulk of the main cast — want reintegration, for humans to live on both sides of the border again (and elves beyond just Rayla I'm sure).

We also see consistent motifs such as the 'paths' element that arc 2 has largely fostered, Karim's focus on history and fire, consistent themes like the emphasis on choices, as well as anyone — but especially Ezran — harkening back directly to Harrow's letter from 2x06, which is the first time in seasons we've heard the same sentiments so directly expressed. (Crying over "No, it's too late for that" in 1x02 vs "Then you can still choose love, it's not too late").

I also really enjoy the way this scene tests Ezran. As he said in 4x03, "We all want love and we all want peace" and here, he's presented directly with the opposite: Queen Janai wants peace, but Karim wants violence, he wants to be attacked so that he can have the upper hand, and that's when Ez and Corvus know they need to get out of here.

I also can't help but think about how relevant Ezran's speech here is going to be when he encounters Runaan in S7. We saw in the TDP short story "Deep Below" that he will likely want to do the "harsh thing, the strong thing," rather than the right thing. It makes me wonder if we'll see more of an Ezran&Rayla focus as a way to guide him through. After all, Runaan murdered his father, but Runaan is also Rayla's father—and doesn't Ezran love his sister?

[factorialsfandoms]

Will go get a drink in a minute. Have eaten, and too late in night for snack.

Rusl was poking me, he wanted me to remind y’all to hydrate today and have a snack 👍🏻❤️

[ihrthoney]

stupid

pairings: touya todoroki x f!reader (no actual relationship atm, it’s more of a reunion thing but with romantic intentions)

warnings: fluff, touya backstory

word count: 2.8k (JESUS😭)

an: touya is alive and well tyvm! most likely will make a part 2 :p

It had been about two years and Touya was finally out of the hospital. When your body is near death, time flies by. The first few months were times he didn’t ever want to relive, the mental and physical pain he had to endure when healing his body was intense. After every session, he would knock out until he had to start the next test. 

As promised, he talked to his father every single day. The rest of his family would visit separately or by themself. Since their first visit, Natuso has never been in the same room as their father, Touya understands and respects his decision of course.

Society on the other hand… let’s just say he gets everything delivered to him to avoid the public as much as he can. Given it’s been two years, the rise of heroes has already begun (again) and the crime rate has never been lower; but for his sanity, he does not want to be recognized. 

His nerves always spike when he’s forced to go out but his mom and sister think exposure therapy is good. Speaking of therapy, he’s been seeing a therapist since he could properly talk again. Since he was a villain he has to do community service for ten years, technically eight in present times. Every day for eight hours he helps different companies and programs with whatever they need. As exhausting as it is, he knows it’s the least he can do for being a big factor in hero society collapsing. 

Currently, he’s with his siblings shopping for clothes and it feels like community service. He loves his sister, he really does, but they’ve been shopping for hours and his ass hurts from sitting so much as she tries on different outfits. Thankfully Natsuo had joined (was dragged) them or else he would’ve fallen asleep three stores ago. Fuyumi said Natsuo always agrees so they can leave the store quicker and that a second opinion is always nice! She said Shoto was too busy with school and training to stay plus he was too sheltered to know about things that weren't hero-related (they’re so grateful for his friends).

Fuyumi is in a fitting room trying on a few dresses for an event their mom is a part of. The boys already had their outfits ready (a suit and tie) so there was no need for them to shop, they were seated right in front of the door Fuyumi was in, other seats next to them were either empty or also filled with someone waiting.

The door opened and Touya instinctively looked up, just as he did when someone walked past him and it made his blood, ironically, run cold. Quickly, he hides his face behind Natsuo which confuses the latter, “What are you doing??”

Acting dumb, “What do you mean?”, his eyes continue to look at the seat. “I mean why are you hiding?”, awkwardly he tries to hug Natsuo, “Hiding? I’m just trying to give my brother affection of course!”

Pushing the older’s arms off of him, Touya sits back and watches as his brother’s eyebrows scrunch in confusion, “Nice try, do you think I’m stupid?” “Yes.” “Shut up!”

Before they could continue with their teasing, Fuyumi walks out with a few items in hand, gesturing they go to the register and pay.

On their way there she asks, “What were you two arguing about?” Touya was reminded of why he froze to his seat and all the memories started to flood in. 

-

“What are you doing?” A small voice appeared next to him, rustling sounds as someone sat next to him.

Annoyingly, he turned to see who cared enough to bother him during lunch. Touya was frowning, wanting to go home and train but his frown vanished when he saw you. Your hair was split into pigtails with turquoise rubber bands and an all-might lunch box in your hands. 

“It’s none of your business.” He quipped, upset at such a person distracting him. He frowns again at your response, “That’s not very nice. My mom said if you don’t have anything nice to say then don’t say anything at all.” 

He always hated that saying because it was something he needed to learn, “That’s stupid.” His arms are crossed, now angry at the scolding. Instantly you replied with, “You’re stupid!” 

Touya whipped his head around at your insult and he stood up, “You’re stupider!” He yelled, which caused you to yell even louder, “You’re the stupidest!” 

The little fight between you two somehow sparked into a competition to prove who wasn’t stupid by stating your test scores, to demonstrating your quirks, then arguing about pro-heroes. From that day forward you guys were glued to each other’s side, eating lunch and spending breaks together. Touya had even invited you to his house, to his mom’s delightful surprise.

Everyday was spent together,

until he died. 

The loss of Touya destroyed you, school had become lonely and you distanced yourself from people in fear of losing someone else. The other kids only knew you as the girl whose friend died, which made them avoid you and your grief.

After graduating middle school, you never continued in your path to become a hero, unable to stomach death and violence. Instead, you went to a normal high school and a little college that gave you enough knowledge to have a name to yourself that you were satisfied with. 

Despite the loss, the Todoroki’s never forgot about you; Anytime they saw you in public you guys would quickly catch up, you’ve even seen their mom once a few times. Rei was an angel to be around, she had a very caring aura even after everything she’s been through.

Honestly, you were incredibly nervous when visiting her, you shouldered a ton of guilt for not being able to save Touya from his desire to be a hero. She cried at the confession, Fuyumi did too, you all shared a lengthy and heartfelt conversation about your grief. 

After that conversation, you and Fuyumi grew very close! Whenever she wasn’t busy with teaching her students you guys would meet up and go to festivals, chat over drinks or freak out together over your guys’ shared interests. 

Fuyumi became one of your best friends so it was no surprise when you recognized her at the store. 

-

“Hey Yumi!!” You beam at his sister, your eyes bright as you walk around the counter to hug his sister. While Touya isn’t tall enough to tower over you, he still has to slightly look down to meet your eyes.

He watched as you both chatted, something about Fuyumi needing a last minute dress for their mom’s event, to you… also going.. to the event.

“What are you going to wear?” His sister asked, showing her outfit in her hands and questioning which one to buy. “I have the blue version of this dress! You should get this one so we can match!” Excitedly, you pointed at a simple white dress Fuyumi had in her hands, which made her grab the other dresses and reach them towards Natsuo.

“Could you put these dresses back please!” Natuso whined, “How am I supposed to know where they go?” Touya tries to keep his eyes remained on his brother in fear you’ll recognize him. Not that it would be shocking given that he announced his existence on national television.

Your arms come into view as you grab the clothes from his sister's hands, “It’s okay, I can put it away!” Feeling embarrassed, Fuyumi tries to exclaim that it’s okay and she can put it away but you insisted that it was your job.

So you work in this clothing store.

“Don’t worry about it, you’re always too kind to me Yumi. Come over to this register, I can ring you up!” The former villain doesn’t know whether or not to feel relieved or hurt that you haven’t noticed his presence. Maybe you did and you’re ignoring him? Or maybe you just think he’s one of Natsuo’s friends? There’s a million questions that run through his mind, so much so that by the time he snaps back to reality, you’re handing Fuyumi her receipt.

As they exit the store, he musters up some courage to look at you and to his shock you’re already looking at him. Instead of looking away, you give him a small smile and he matches it, before turning his attention to the door in front of him. 

The walk to the car is quiet, the sound of the wind rustling the trees and feet scratching against rocks on the road. He gets into the backseat, claiming the passenger seat makes him carsick.

Fuyumi was quick to address the elephant in the room, not even giving him time to put his seatbelt on, “Why didn’t you say anything?” She turned around and looked back at him.

Natsuo started the car but didn’t move to reverse, “Wasn’t she your first and only friend in school?” Touya pouted at the fact that his brother stated, you were his first crush too. 

“I doubt she recognized me or maybe she didn’t want to.” Being vulnerable was still a hard thing for him, so his sentence was merely whispered but curse Fuyumi for having good ears, “Don’t say that! Of course she recognized you, she was just shy. Plus, you didn’t even look at her!”

The elder scoffs at having not been slick, “Say something to her next time, she’s been wanting to talk to you.” Touya is confused at what his sister mentioned, “What do you mean she wants to talk to me??” 

Fuyumi’s expression makes it seem like she was caught doing something bad, but she was never good at secrets, “Yn is aware of your existence, she reached out to me when you were first admitted to the hospital after the fight all those years ago. She was very worried but didn’t feel like it was her place even though we insisted she visited. I really think you should talk to her.”

“Yeah talk to her! Don’t be a wuss big bro!”

“Shut up!”

That night, Touya couldn’t get any sleep, he was too busy thinking about all the times he would search for you when he was Dabi. There were too many times when he wanted to just go up to you, to watch you smile at him even if under the guise of customer service, but he couldn’t do that to you. Dabi didn’t want you to look at what he had become, what he’s done. So like his past, he erased you from his mind and focused on his goal.

-

Until his eyes could do nothing but focus on you standing right in front of him. 

Tonight he and his family (minus their dad of course, he wasn’t allowed near Natsuo) were in the ballroom of some hotel that his mom’s club was hosting. After getting out of the ward, his mom joined a community club that takes care of plants, it keeps her busy and happy.

This event was to celebrate the success of the plant business’ success in growth, there were mini games for the children of the members, food and a live band. It was quite nice, not as loud as he prepared himself for it to be.

Although, right now he couldn’t hear anything over the raging beat of his heart. There you were, greeting his mother. As always you were so beautiful, he couldn’t believe you were so close. The dress you were wearing did match Fuyumi’s, who just now bumped his shoulder, “Talk to her you idiot.” 

“How can I? I died, killed people, almost died, and now I’m-” His sister interrupts with that kind voice of hers, she was always so reassuring, “Alive, with a second chance. Trust me, she misses you.” 

Before Touya got a chance to think of a reply, you made eye contact with him. His mother followed her gaze and beamed at the sight of him, waving him down.

Touya could never say no to his mom, not anymore. So, against his will he walked towards you two. His eyes never once left yours even if he wanted to look away, hating the way you stared at him, it made him feel too conscious of his skin. While he doesn’t have staples of purple skin, it's still apparent where his scars were. 

“We’ll leave you two alone.” And just like that his mom and sister disappeared. The air was awkward, he didn’t know what to say. How does someone even start a conversation after everything he’s done?

Every doubt, any negative thought he’s ever had dissipates when he hears your angelic voice, “I like your hair.”

He can’t remember the last time he’s heard your voice that wasn’t through his jagged memories of you. It’s softer and smoother than when you were kids yet it carries a lightness that makes him straighten his back and hold out his hand towards you, 

“Would you like to dance?”

Heat crawls up his neck at the feeling of your soft hands grabbing his own, he feels like that naive little kid all over again.

With your hand in his, you both make your way to the dancefloor where the band starts to slow down their tune, a soft melody intertwining in the air, “I will be honest, I don’t actually know how to dance.” Touya admits embarrassingly, he didn’t have the time and even when he did he rejected any activity that wasn’t training. 

Slightly, you squeeze his hand in reassurance, “It’s okay, neither do I.” The most he knows about slow dancing is from the movies his siblings forced him to watch, who would’ve thought those dumb romance movies would have helped him.

“Is it okay if I?” His eyes gesture to his hands hovering above your waist, Shyly, you nod and he places his hands on your waist, gently moving your body closer to his. You take the close space as a sign to move your hands onto his shoulders.

Slowly, your bodies sway to the music, lights dim, colors of blue and a soft white flash over the dance floor, covering the red hue on Touya’s face. It was odd, two people who were friends for a few years in middle school met again a decade later at an event none of them were a part of. 

As always, you’re the one to break the silence, “How are you?” Your eyes are no longer looking into his, instead looking at the stupid tie he was forced to wear, “As good as a convicted criminal can be.” 

Nothing is said for a little bit, Touya starts to worry that he joked too soon, “How are you doing? I’m sorry for not saying anything when you were working.. I didn’t really know how to.”

Now you look up at him, “That’s stupid.”

He laughs at the memory that rises at your words, “A girl once told me that her mom told her, if you-” “Don’t have anything nice to say then don’t say anything at all, yeah yeah.” You roll your eyes as he mimics your words from your first encounter, that same smile you gave him when he saw you working but bigger, brighter too. 

“I’ve missed you yn.” 

Even with the dim lights, he can see the tears well up in your eyes, “I’ve missed you too, more than you could possibly ever know. I was so angry at you, learning how you died. I grieved for so long and when I was finally okay, the news of your existence flashed on my tv and I was angry all over again.” He hasn’t even realized that he was crying until your hands moved to wipe his tears, actual tears instead of thick lines of blood.

“I wanted to yell at you, to kick your ass, but seeing you in the hospital… I just wanted to talk to you again. I’m sorry I never visited.” Touya quickly assures you that there was no need for you to ever apologize and that it was him who needed to beg for your forgiveness for putting you through such pain.

“You’re free to do it all, I’m so sorry.” The tears wouldn’t stop flowing, years of guilt still streaming through him. 

“After all this time and you’re still a crybaby.” At the comment he turns his head away, a soft mutter denying such assumptions.

“‘m not a crybaby.” Your hand moves to turn his face towards yours, “That’s right, you’re a big crybaby.” He wants to be annoyed at the testing, but it’s you. Just like his family, his heart is weak for you. 

Years and years spent apart, the young flame his heart lit for you starts to warm again. The version of himself that met you still lives, still craving your presence. 

It’s too early to dive into those emotions, for now he’ll soak up the warmth your laugh radiates. He’s got all the time in the world.

© ihrthoney. reblogs & feedback are greatly appreciated𑁤

[sex-tech]

This is gonna probably be a really long post about my thoughts for Act 3 with what has been set up already because I need to shout into the void about this shit LMAO get ready for a WALL of text

Also a fair warning, I'm gonna be talking about so much jayvik/vikjayce in this you don't understand THE HELL I AM GOING THROUGH THERE IS GONNA BE SO MUCH COPIUM IN THIS

SPOILERS AHEAD FOR SEASON 2 !!!

Quick mini-review: I feel like a contrarian when I say that I actually preferred Act 2 to Act 1. There were a lot of things set up and a lot of payoffs. I do have issues with the pacing overall; season 1 had much better structure and with the introduction of so much LOL lore in season 2, there are bound to be issues. There were 6 years of production for season 1 vs. 3 years of production for season 2, and it has clearly had an effect on the writing. Some scenes are too quick, some scenes are too slow, some cuts are too abrupt - I feel this is painfully obvious sometimes and talking with my friends about it we all agree that the pacing has suffered immensely.

But other than that, Act 2 has been really playing with my emotions and there are so many moments where I just kept breaking down over the scenes with Jinx, Vi, Vander and Isha. The watercolour-style flashbacks were so incredibly well done and those scenes had a lot of love put into them - props to Studio Fortiche!

I believe there is definitely a time paradox happening of some kind, one where Jayce, Ekko and Heimerdinger are lost in some kind of timeline.

This reflection in this artwork feels like it's hinting at what we will see in Act 3, maybe a different timeline, or the future, and Jayce will end up seeing the outcome of the Arcane. I feel that with how the lore is being changed, they need to give him some purpose or reason to pursue Viktor, to officially make them enemies. Whatever Jayce will see or experience will lead to that - a difference in perspectives and ideals.

Also, this shot, where Jayce returns and we see him glitching in and out, I feel that's a really clear depiction of a paradox, of different timelines converging or something similar. I can just imagine him living through all these different events, surviving something so awful, and now it's destroying him from the inside. He's so traumatized and I will defend him with my whole being.

I'm also a bit worried now about Ekko and Heimerdinger. I'm convinced that the latter won't survive however I'm not so sure about Ekko. I feel that everything being a time paradox would lead really well into him finally receiving his time powers, but as of now I think he is really under-utilized in the series as a whole, more so in season 2, and I'm really hopeful that we will get more screen time with him in Act 3.

Singed's role in this season is huge and it will definitely become even more important in Act 3. The introduction of Orianna, which I thought was so great, as well as the name-drop of "Dr. Reveck" has really set up his motivations. Warwick being his experiment for bringing back his daughter I believe will lead to him experimenting with Viktor.

Warwick's design was confusing to me at first. He felt too human but I think that was intentional - Singed wanted to create him with some humanity, a test, hence he is still more like Vander, still able to feel his love for Jinx and Vi. I believe he will survive, and Singed will get rid of his humanity completely, potentially leading to a more LOL accurate look.

This also brings me to Viktor and his OG lore. I really liked his concept in the game and I will admit, seeing them change it in Arcane worried me. While I really love the design, I was hopeful that we would see Viktor entering his glorious evolution era. But now with his interactions with Singed, with Singed's personal motivation for revival, I believe that there is still hope. Seeing how Orianna is preserved, still human-like, I believe that Singed's discoveries will lead him to recreating Viktor with metal, something closer to what we see in the game, maybe a cursed combination of both Arcane and machine, and I believe he will see it as a breakthrough in bringing Orianna back.

The way he describes it, the way he says, "You must survive, Viktor," a parallel to him saying "the specimen must survive" feels so intentional. He sees the potential in reanimation with how Viktor returned, healed, and this won't be the end of him, not yet, he must survive.

This scene where Viktor asks Singed, "Do you believe in fate?" I believe also points to another thing. Viktor knew very early on what his fate would be. He was accepting of it, he was confused as to why he was alive, and I believe in the scene where Jayce kills him, that look in his eyes was of acceptance. He did not look afraid, he looked at peace - with the idea of different timelines, with Viktor becoming closer to the celestial, he might've already known what would happen, which is why he invites Jayce to meet him. That with him saying, "I've been expecting you, doctor," is another reason I think that Viktor is aware of everything.

With Singed's final words to Viktor, the disdain in Viktor's eyes, the way Sky is looking at Viktor directly, frantic, worried, an expression of dread at the thought of the Arcane dying out completely, of all the progress coming to an end. I still believe the core is manipulating Viktor, that Sky is the personification of it, and that the core is aware of its own evolution reaching its final state, death - like a virus without a host.

And then there was this, the heavy breathing, the gritted teeth, squint in his eyes, the way he drops down - it felt like heartbreak, like guilt. He just murdererd a man, a man that spoke to him as Viktor.

Just this look. He's tired. He's returned from hell and he can see the beginning of the end, he can see Viktor's descent into madness, recognizes it immediately, and he's disappointed. Maybe he'd hoped to see something else.

Also, with Jayce saying, "I thought you were done with Hextech, and me," could imply that this new version of Viktor, remade by Singed, would no longer have a connection the Arcane - he is reforged, he has realized the weakness of flesh and compassion, "it's inescapable," and he will be remade with steel and rage, once again against his will, just like Warwick was. And perhaps, in this dark future, when Jayce finally sees what Viktor becomes, sees Viktor reject him entirely, that he is done with him, is also what makes Jayce spiral.

And now that he has returned, seeing Viktor welcome him with open arms, inviting him to spend time together, to show him what he has uncovered - what must he have seen? What must Viktor have said to him to make him feel so denied and unwanted?

Someone he once loved, someone that broke him, showing him the same gentleness and care he had once before.

"I won't fail. I swear it."

This entire sequence was insane. The different emotions in Jayce's face, the way he's cycling through pain and fear and conviction. The initial shock in his eyes, seeing what his Viktor has become, seeing him in this state, before the corruption - he looks vulnerable, he doesn't fight back, doesn't resist. He has made his promise to Viktor before, and I believe this is another promise to him, a promise to rend his mistake and do right by him. And Jayce looks frightened by his actions, frightened by the sight before him - Viktor looks so exhausted, so sick - I can imagine it reminds Jayce of him before he combined with the Hexcore.

Jayce's entire arc this season is about him gaining more agency, more control of himself despite the way he has been spiraling, whilst for Viktor it's the opposite, he has lost himself to a greater purpose, a perfect mirror to how they were in season 1.

The way their designs mirror them both too, Jayce getting the leg brace, his eyes changing, him being afflicted with the Arcane, Viktor keeping the blanket, keeping a cog that reminds him of the discoveries they made together, one side of it being perfectly clear, the other corrupted, a representation of them - two sides of the same coin.

I believe Viktor's monologue at the end, the scenes with him and Sky in a magical world where he is emoting, showing compassion for those that suffer, his realization that emotion is inescapable, shows that he still feels, even if it is all subdued. His reaction to Jayce killing Salo hurt, he looked pained and yet, as though he expected it - "that isn't Jayce" - it's not his Jayce, not the Jayce that he remembers, the one that he stayed with over shared affections, this is a Jayce ruined by him, and he is yet to see just how much they have and will hurt each other.

Maybe the exquisite chaos he is talking about is his corruption from the future, constantly self-replicating and self-annihilating, something that he has never observed before because it is yet to happen to him. He knows his fate, but not anything beyond that.

A couple final notes:

All the butterfly imagery - Jayce's hammer, the explosion in the mesh(?), the "Talis" butterfly - a symbol of death, rebirth, transformation

The parallels between Jayce and Singed, wanting to keep Viktor alive, creating a monster, and now Jayce having to destroy that which he created, a consequence of him breaking his promise

Viktor appearing as though he is connected to both the void and something celestial, godly, a balance

TLDR; jayvik divorce era will be the death of me, they were made for each other and will be the death of each other

[the-hopeless-haze]

I Do Bad Things With You

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x reader

Word Count: 4.9k

Warnings: smut. nsfw mdni

Summary: You don't feel like you're a good agent. Aaron assures you that you are. And then he fucks you. or inn other words, I think I need someone to study my brain because I did cry in my boss' office for very similar reasons to this and I am very much attracted to her but we did not fuck in her office and she has no idea I want her I just have breakdowns at work because 1) it sucks and 2) I am mentally unwell. I just truly don't know if this fic was birthed from the worst compulsory heterosexuality of all time or if I'm truly just an insane bisexual (I think it's the latter) but when I tell you I have not thought about Hotchner in years I MEAN years. I haven't watched Criminal Minds in like five years until today to write this fic. But like. He is FINE. y'all know. you're here. come for my unhinged summary stay for the smut idk

--------

“I can’t do this anymore,” you mutter under your breath, hating how the tears fall anyway, how you can’t stop them. “I’m not doing a good enough job. I need to leave.”

“What are you talking about?” Aaron asks you. “Why do you feel that way?”

“It’s just… it’s just I feel like I can never get a grip. Like I can’t ever get everything done that needs to get done. Like I’m not good enough.”

“You’re good enough. You’re a good agent. You come in and you do your job,” he says gently. “I don’t need anything else from you.”

You were usually so put together, so stoic, even, so sure of yourself. He can’t quite believe you’re in his office like this, past the verge of tears, sitting across from him weeping.

“I’m proud of you.”

“For what?” you ask, lifting your head to look at him.

“For the effort you put in. How you’re a new agent and you still proved yourself to my team. You’re living up to your potential and then some. We appreciate you. I appreciate you.”

“You just have to say that.”

“No. I don’t have to say anything. I’m telling you what I see and what I believe. And I’m not letting you quit.”

“But, sir, I—“

“I won’t accept it,” he says firmly but quietly. “You’re too good of an agent to lose. You know this. You know your grades were stellar and your psychology background is enviable. You know you passed every test with flying colors. The adjustment to being a full-fledged agent in the first year is tough, to say the least. It’s grueling. Getting accustomed and used to death, danger and just the pressure of the job is something that not everyone can handle. But you can. I know you can. If I lost you, I’d lose an asset. You’re an excellent profiler. It’s intuitive for you.”

There it is, though, that behavior analyst part of your brain and you noticed how he said “I” and not “we” and how his eyes softened, how he wasn’t looking at you sternly and stoically but there was more of a tenderness in his dark eyes.

He likes you. He means what he says. You know he does.

But that isn’t enough. You don’t believe what he says. You don’t believe you’re worthy. This job takes up so much of your waking hours but when you’re outside of it you have next to nothing. You’re not close to family here in Virginia. You don’t have a significant other. You’re not home enough to have a dog. And you just feel like you’ve been letting yourself go since you only seem to have time to eat, sleep and work.

You’ve always been an anxious person. You’ve managed to quell the thoughts wracking your brain with years of practice and medications to a point where you can function, to a point where you made it through school and made it into the FBI. Impostor syndrome dies hard, though. You keep trying to swallow down your tears but it’s fucking impossible when you’re like this. You dry them on the sleeves of your blazer, biting your lip nervously.

“Don’t cry. It’s okay,” Aaron says, breaking through your thoughts.

“It’s not okay,” you murmur. “I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“I shouldn’t be breaking down crying.”

“You’re human,” he says gently. “This job is overwhelming.”

“It doesn’t seem to get to you.”

“It does. It still does. I… I’ve been doing this a lot longer than you.”

“I just don’t think I can do this, Hotchner. With all due respect, I need to put my two weeks in,” you say, strengthening your weakened resolve.

“No,” he refuses, shaking his head. “What do I have to do to get you to see what I see?”

You sigh, leaning forward and bracing your head in your hands. “I don’t know.”

You feel him before you see him, refusing to lift your head up as the tears started streaming down your face. He kneels in front of you, taking your hands gently from your cheeks, but your eyes are still squeezing shut. “Look at me,” he orders.

“Hotchner, I—“

“It’s Hotch. You know that. Or… you can call me Aaron. Just call me Aaron. Look at me.”

Finally, you blink your eyes open, tears spilling over, and he squeezes both your hands gingerly.

“Good. Here’s what you’re going to do. You’re going to go home for the night. You’re going to take your mind off of the job. And you’re going to come back tomorrow morning and everyone in here is going to talk about how much you’re missed when you’re gone. Because we all value you. But you need to take the time for yourself. You’re burnt out. You’re not a bad agent. You’re just mean to yourself and you shouldn’t be.”

It’s not lost on you, the way he’s still touching you when you don’t think you’ve seen him so much as brush against anyone else on the team. Is he…?

You squeeze his hands back, forcing yourself to smile.

“There we go,” he smiles back. “See? Do you feel better?”

“A little. Thank you, Hotch.”

“Please. You can call me Aaron in private,” he reiterates. He would have, could have, should have let you go by now. But he hasn’t.

“In private?”

“I don’t let just anyone use my first name. There’d be questions if you started using it especially since you called me SSA Hotchner for months before I got you to just say Hotchner at least. You’re a rule stickler, hm? I think that’s part of your problem.”

“You don’t strike me as the type to think rules are made to be broken,” you counter. Sure. You were a stickler. You were. Deferential to authority - that deserved it. You spoke out, and you would speak out of turn if anything felt wrong or uncomfortable. Rules made things feel safer. Still. You’d call out the unjust. And you think Aaron is the same way.

“Some of them are,” he muses.

“You yelled at me,” you say suddenly. “My third week.”

He furrows his brow, trying to recall the incident you were talking about and then he nods. “You were reckless. You put yourself and Morgan in danger. You walked straight into an ambush. It was a mistake. A rookie mistake. A mistake you learned from. You never did it again.”

“But I—“

“It’s been almost a year since then,” he says, gently. “I don’t hold it against you. I’ve had to pull everyone who works here aside for something. And I’ve been pulled aside myself. No one’s perfect. I… I raised my voice because I was worried about you. Not because I was angry with you.”

“Okay,” you breathe out, nodding. “Okay.”

“I wish you could see what I see,” he says.

“Hm?”

“I see a strong, capable, intelligent young woman who’s an amazing profiler — you can glean someone’s familial background in record time. I see a woman who holds her ground and then some in interrogations.”

“I’m crying in my boss’ office right now,” you titter awkwardly.

“It doesn’t matter. You’re still all of those things. I see a beautiful woman who’s passionate about her career, who wants to do the best she can…”

He trails off. You wonder if he realizes the weight of what he said.

Always walking the line of professionalism. Making any comments regarding your appearance was crossing it, even if it was as benign and modest as “beautiful”. It was still a step too far.

But you, you’re depressed and anxious, and you’ll take whatever you can get.

He’s still kneeling in front of you.

You know it would be stupid, especially when he’s a broken man himself, even if he denies it to everybody. His wife cheated on him. It was hard, with the job, to have a stable relationship with anyone outside of it. You know this. You’re living it.

He’s still touching you and your skin is on fire now.

“I’m sorry,” he says, but he makes no effort to move, no effort to stop staring through your eyes to your soul. Is he profiling you? Trying to see if your breath hitched when he let the compliment slip?

“Don’t be,” you say breathily.

“It was inappropriate,” he says, and he does get up then, wincing at the stiffness in his knees from crouching in front of you for so long. You miss the warmth of his hands already. “You’re dismissed, agent. Go home and take care of yourself.”

Your emotions flip like a switch, it’s just how it’s always been, and you use it to your advantage in a room full of profilers. It’s good to be unpredictable, a wild card. You don’t even mean to. You just are. You can’t help the words that come out of your mouth next. He stood up, so he’s towering over you as you sit in the seat across from his desk, but he’s looking down at you, waiting on your next sentence. And what you say is, “Agent? I thought we were on first-name basis, Aaron?”

It’s the first time you’ve said his first name, and it goes right through him. He wasn’t lying. Not many people do have the privilege to use it. None of his subordinates would be brave enough, maybe not even if he gave them explicit permission like he gave to you. It’s intimate, all these walls up in this bureaucracy that even something as simple as a woman using his first name could drive him up the wall like it would an upstanding Christian man in Regency England. Rules. Rules to be broken.

Aaron whispers your first name, and it’s barely audible, but you hear it in his low, soft baritone. Not the first time, but the only time he’s said it without your last name tacked on the end of it. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what, Aaron?”

You’re teasing, now, and he wonders if it’s just a reflex, trying to gain back some of the power you lost by coming in here crying, or if you genuinely want something from him besides reassurance and a couple of hours off from work. It was maddening at first, trying to figure you out. He still doesn’t know exactly who you are and he’s resigned himself to the fact that maybe he’d never be able to nail you down.

“Don’t,” Aaron says again, looking at you sternly as you stand up.

“What is it that you don’t want me to do, Aaron?” you ask, and you’re still not eye to eye but you’re closer now, and his eyes never left your face throughout the whole conversation anyway.

He says your name again like it’s a curse under his breath. “You know exactly what you’re doing. Stop it.”

“Use your words, Aaron.”

“Stop teasing me,” he murmurs, looking away from you for the first time, down at the floor. You never expected him to be so… shy.

“I’m teasing you?” you ask, feigning innocence. You didn’t have to be a profiler to see how he was getting tenser as you continue this conversation.

“Yes,” he says, looking back up at you, an edge to his voice you hadn’t heard before. “And I suggest you stop.”

“Or else?” you say before your brain can catch up. You’re playing with fire. You know you are.

But you like him. Tall, dark, handsome, nothing like the men you’ve been with before. Other men were intimidated when he walked into the room. And you being you… you always wanted to break him down into a crying, blubbering mess, and be the only one who got to see him like that. Break the stoic wall and get to see him. Human.

And if he was this reactive to you just saying his name?

Lord help both of you.

“Please,” he murmurs. “Go home for the day.”

“Is that to help me, or you?”

He shakes his head, smiling a little. “Perhaps both of us.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t jump at the chance to get my resignation if I make things so… hard… for you, Aaron,” you say, and you move a little closer, his breath hitching audibly in his throat.

Again. He says your name like it’s the worst curse in the book, hissing it like it physically hurts him, and you know, maybe you are.

“A little selfish, maybe. I’d miss you too much,” he admits. “And I meant what I said. I’d lose an asset. You’re a stellar agent.”

You don’t really know what to say, now, but he continues.

“Profile me,” he whispers. “In this moment. What am I thinking?”

“So you don’t have to say it out loud?”

“Mm.”

“You want me, Aaron,” you say shakily, losing your resolve almost as quickly as you gained it back. “I don’t think you’d have to be a profiler to figure that out.”

“Is it that obvious?” he asks.

“Right now… yes.”

“You need me. You need me to show you how valued you really are,” Aaron says, searching your eyes for confirmation that you want this, too. As always, though, you’re unreadable. “Say it. Let me show you my appreciation.”

God. What in the world? Your brain is fuzzy with lust, and never in a million years would you have thought this is how today would’ve gone. Mondays back in the office are always the worst, piles of paperwork from the cases prior to sift through and file and the anticipation of when you’d be on the road or up in the air next always gnawed at your stomach. You fully expected to give your notice and come home crying. You didn’t foresee the prospect of being utterly fucked by your boss who very much did not want you to resign.

You know why the rules are in place. Dating coworkers was messy anyway, never mind dating someone in this line of work. Still… you thought it made sense in a way. The only person who was really going to understand your crazy schedule was someone who was working the same hours.

So you nod, giving him full permission to do as he pleases.

His lips meet yours, surprisingly soft and gentle, akin to the way his hands squeezed yours before. “I can’t believe I held myself back from doing this for this long,” he mumbles against your mouth, then he pulls you in an embrace, leaving hot open-mouthed kisses on the side of your neck where he can reach. “I need you here. I need you to promise me you’ll stay.”

“I’ll stay, Aaron.”

“I’ve wanted your body since the second you walked into this building. I need you. You ground me. Make me feel better, human. Like maybe I could exist outside of the field and outside of this office.”

“Did you know I was struggling?”

“You hide it well. I knew you were frustrated, but the last case was tough and we all are a little on edge. I’m sorry. I should’ve been there for you to lean on, honey,” Aaron says, moving his head back to face you, eyes meeting yours earnestly. “I want you to always come to me if you need anything. Anything.”

You don’t say anything, just hum contently, pressing your mouth back to his for a kiss that starts off chaste and quickly becomes heated, his hands cupping the curve of your ass.

“Answer me,” he says firmly. “Promise me you’ll always come to me.”

“I promise,” you agree.

“Good girl,” he affirms. “You’re such a good girl. Never have to worry about you doing your job. You always get your reports to me on time, you always make brilliant deductions when we’re going over cases, you always make sure the rest of the team doesn’t need anything… such a good girl.”

You kiss him fiercely, the voice in your head screaming he was your boss and both of your careers are on the line if this goes south long silenced. His large hands on your ass pull you closer to him, and you feel his hardening cock against you as he does. “Aaron,” you choke out breathily.

“Feel me? That’s what you do to me, honey.”

You snake a hand between your bodies and palm him through his dress pants, and you can tell he wasn’t expecting that to be your next move from the way his cheeks flush and he groans heavily. “This is about you,” he manages to say, taking your hand away from his clothed cock. “All about you. Go sit on my desk, honey.”

You do as he says, squeezing your thighs together as he follows you and takes his suit jacket off, revealing his tasteful button-down underneath. “Good girl,” he whispers, spreading your legs with hands, kneading the flesh of your thighs as he does so, letting the fabric of your skirt ride up.

And then he digs his nails under the thin sheer of your tights and rips them. “Aaron!” you hiss in surprise.

“I’ll buy you a new pair,” he responds almost dismissively, easing the torn fabric down the length of your legs, kissing the swell of your calves as he takes your heels off and places them on the floor underneath the desk.

“I’m more worried about how I’m going to walk out of here,” you say, smiling.

“I sent them all out on different tasks and told them to get lunch first. They’ll be gone for a while.”

“Did you plan this?” you ask, raising your eyebrows.

“Not exactly,” he smirks. “But now you can be as loud as you need to be.”

“Aaron,” you say, almost scolding, but whatever you were going to say after that is lost in the recesses of your mind as you feel his mouth on yours again, hot and ready, tongue gliding against yours with ease. He shrugs your blazer off, too, leaving you in just a black tank top and your skirt that was hiked up to your waist.

“I believe regulations are to wear long sleeve button-downs underneath blazers,” he says lowly. You know it’s a lie. If Garcia can dress the way she does there are certainly not strict restrictions on what you can wear, even if you’re a field agent. But you’ll play along.

“I believe regulations are not to have your subordinate spread out on your desk in front of you, sir,” you retort.

Aaron chuckles deeply at that. This is how you usually were, sarcastic and snippy, even with him at times. Funny. “Rules and regulations,” he muses. “I think I’m alright with those two being broken.”

And with that his fingers of his right hand start ghosting your cunt, pressing the thin cotton of your panties, groaning lowly at how wet you are. “You’re soaked, honey,” he says. “Can I feel you? Please.”

“Yes, Aaron, please touch me,” you nod.

He pushes aside your panties, slipping his index finger in slowly, catching your lips with his in the process.

“Want to make you feel so good, so much better,” he murmurs, starting slow and building up pressure before he inserts another finger, stretching you out, making you impossibly wetter, reaching depths of you that you couldn’t reach yourself with your much shorter and thinner fingers. “Lift your hips,” he instructs, and in one swift motion, he slips your panties off, pocketing them in his dress pants. “Good girl.”

“Not fair, Aaron,” you say.

“What’s not fair, honey?”

“You’re still fully dressed,” you point out, reaching for his tie to loosen it. You were absolutely soaked, you could feel it, and you wonder if his desk will stain from your slick. You untuck his shirt from his pants and run your hands over his stomach, scars under the pads of your fingers, God, you want to lick every inch of him.

“Mm. I can help you remedy that,” he agrees, meeting your hands when you were halfway through the buttons on his pristine white shirt, pulling it over his head along with his undershirt. You reach for his belt buckle and he stops you. “Not yet. Let me do something first.”

And before you know it his tongue is on you, swirling incessant circles around your swollen clit, and you can tell he’s not taking his time now. He wants to bring you over the edge and fast, and you wonder how long it will be before the rest of the team do return from their extended lunch breaks. You’ve been eaten out before, sure, but to use a cliched metaphor for the umpteenth time in human history, you finally figured out what women meant when they said their man ate them like it was their last meal on death row. You clamp your legs against his head, and he moans, sending vibrations through your cunt, damn near sending you over the edge as you pant and whimper.

“Am I not making you feel good?” Aaron looks up in worry.

“What? Why would you say that?”

“You’re not screaming. I suppose I should try harder,” he says, furrowing his brow and then he adds his fingers back, fucking deep into you. His tongue focuses on your clit and your thighs are shaking and you gasp, no longer able to hold yourself up seated, leaning back and bracing yourself on your elbows.

“Aaron, I’m so close,” you moan, trying to fight the urge to push him away as the pressure builds. You squeeze your thighs tighter and the sudden force of it drags Aaron’s tongue flat against your clit, and that’s what sends you over the edge, whining his name over and over again.

He doesn’t stop.

“Aaron,” you choke out, trying to back away from him due to the overstimulation. “Aaron. Please.”

“You can be louder than that,” he says, not bothering to lift his head, voice muffled by your wet cunt. “I’m not stopping until you reach a decibel level I’m satisfied with. And I will know if you’re faking.”

You’ve never had anyone go down on you for multiple rounds. You were lucky if you came once with previous partners. Part of the reason you never wanted to make a move with Aaron was that you figured he would ruin you for other men.

And God. Were you right.

You only hope you’re ruining him for other women.

You know you’re next orgasm will be embarrassingly close as he never gave you a chance to come down from the first one. You didn’t expect it to come on like it did though, your right hand carded in his jet black hair, just again, him flattening his tongue against your clit as his fingers continued to scissor you open and you can’t help it, gasping for air, shouting, yelling, keening his name. “Aaron,” you plead. “I can’t give you another one. Please.”

“Shh. Good girl. You can and you will. For me,” he commands authoritatively.

And you can. And you do.

The next time, mercifully, Aaron stands up, and leaves you alone to breathe. He kisses you and you taste yourself on his tongue. He’s achingly hard now, a quite visible tent noticeable in his dress pants, cheeks red from exertion, everything from his nose to his chin wet with your slick.

What a vision.

How were you ever going to get this out of your head?

“Can I be inside you? Please?” he asks.

“Yes,” you affirm.

Aaron lets you unbuckle his pants and lets them pool to the floor, helping you out of your tank top and bra, sucking and biting on your nipples and the flesh of your breasts for a few moments before he steps out of his shoes and boxers, completely bare in front of you.

“God, Aaron,” you breathe. “You’ve really been holding out on me.”

“Yeah?” he asks, and his cheeks flush redder. “I could say the same for you, sweetheart.”

“How long?”

“I told you,” he says lowly, lining his cock with your entrance. “Since the second you walked in this building.”

“Why didn’t you ever say anything?” you ask, but it’s a loaded question if not a stupid one. There’s a myriad of reasons why you don’t tell someone who works under you that you want to fuck them stupid. That you like them. That you love them?

You frown slightly. You don’t think you could handle it if this was the only time you got to be with him like this.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, lifting your chin with his thumb. “You promised you would tell me.”

“Is this… is this a one-time thing, Aaron?” You ask tentatively.

“I don’t want it to be,” he answers quickly. “It’d be a daily occurrence if I had my way.”

With that, he grabs your hips, and looks at you for consent, then slams all the way in when you nod in affirmation. Neither of you can help the moans and groans escaping your mouths at that, you from feeling completely full and him being fully sheathed in you.

“I… I love you,” he says, pressing his sweat-sheened forehead to yours. “You don’t have to say it back. I know how dangerous and inappropriate and difficult this situation is never mind adding emotions to it. And I… I’m not good at them in the first place. I just… I just need you to know that. I want to be with you. All the time.”

“Again, Aaron, why did you never… fuck,” you trail off as he starts moving his hips, setting a slow and languid pace.

“I don’t know. I was afraid,” he chuckles.

“Of me?”

“You’re intimidating. You’re beautiful, smart, and capable. To tell you I wanted you…”

“You’re calling me intimidating?” you ask. “You? Of all people?”

“I’ve seen you interrogate. Baby-faced assassin, hm? You’ve shaken some grown men in their boots.”

“Including you?”

“Including me,” he chuckles, then softens. “Seeing you cry like that today… I… it broke my heart, honey. I never thought I’d see you break. I’d do anything to make you never feel like that again. You need to stay.”

“I already promised you, Aaron,” you say, biting your lip as he somehow angles his cock deeper in you. “I love you.”

Kissing you fiercely, he squeezes your hips, and you can’t wait to see if there’ll be bruises there tomorrow in the shape of his fingertips. “God, you’re fucking squeezing my cock, honey,” he grunts, and you feel yourself clench more at his words. You’ve never heard him swear. Ever. “I’m not going to last long if you keep doing that.”

“I’m surprised you lasted this long, old man,” you tease.

“You’d be surprised how much stamina I do have,” he threatens, rolling his eyes at you. “You’ll see tonight when I have more time with you.”

“How presumptuous.”

He scoffs, doesn’t say anything, but starts running over your clit with his thumb, kissing you deeply, fucking you faster and harder, setting a much more brutal pace.

“You just need me that bad, Aaron?” you ask, hellbent on seeing him break. “You need to fuck me all the time now that you’ve had me?”

“Yes,” he pants. “Need you all the time. Every day. Need to fuck this pretty cunt. Make you know you’re appreciated. Valued. Loved. Never want to hear you talk about yourself like that ever again. Not…I’ll worship you. Kiss the ground you walk on. Fuck you until you can’t stand. Whatever it takes.”

“What about you, Aaron? How do you feel right now?”

“So fucking good,” he groans. “So fucking good. Such a good girl. You keep sucking my cock back in every thrust, you feel that, honey? So wet, so warm, fuck, I’d stay inside you forever.”

“Yeah, Aaron? Hmm? I—“ your teasing backfired on you, and before you can think of anything else to say, you come on his cock, your nails dragging down his back stalling his motions to stutters and he’s asking you, begging you, “Please let me cum inside you,” he begs. “Please, honey.”

You nod breathlessly, unable to speak, and you don’t think he’d be able to make it out of you in time completely if you’d said no because you feel his seed fill you as you’re still riding out the aftershocks of your own orgasm and he’s moaning your name in choked sobs and it’s the hottest thing you’ve ever fucking seen or heard.

“I love you,” he whispers, dark eyes looking up at you from where his face now rested in the swell of your breasts. “I love you. And we’re going to make this work come hell or high water.”

“I love you,” you say back once you catch your breath. “Are you still sending me home?”

He laughs. “You look and smell like sex.”

“Do you think you look or smell any different? You did this to me,” you say, messing up his sweat-streaked hair more with your fingers. “I think your boss should send you home, too.”

“Hm. Perhaps I could convince him,” he says, giving you a wide smile.

He helps you get dressed, kissing you wherever he can reach in between and it takes much longer than it would have had you dressed yourself. You’re not complaining. But there’s no fixing your hair or your tattered tights. No fixing Aaron’s disheveled hair, either, or the sweat stains around his armpits from when you teased him for so long.

“Follow me home, honey,” he instructs. “Round two.”

Maybe you should have mental breakdowns at work more often.

[simplyanjuta]

Adjusted Thumbnails for the Household Panel (incl. a version for shorter teens)

Some of this started off as an experiment following a chat in Creator Musings but a few people wondered if I can share it sometime, so here it is.

1A) Adjusted camera settings for kids and pets

This is just something that bothered me and it mainly affects thumbnails in CAS. There's a strong perspective view applied to the CAS thumbnails of kids and pets, which makes them look a bit distorted and the zoom is too close cutting off the face in some cases:

The adjustments are somewhat a compromise of CAS and in-game settings leaning towards the latter. The adjustments for human sims are also included for in-game thumbnails (due to some restrictions this is not quite possible for pets, but their in-game version looks fine anyways).

1B) Adjusted camera settings for shorter teens (tested with the Shorter Teens mod by Menaceman44)

Disclaimer that sims aged teen-elder use the same camera settings and there's no way that I know of to treat teens differently or assign different settings based on the height of a sim, if you use such a mod.

When you use a height mod, the sims faces will be cut off with the default settings.

My workaround here is zooming out to allow shorter sims to fit into the picture frame. It's not an optimal solution, but the only solution I can think of. Below a preview using the standard teen height (first row) and the "shortest" teen height (second row) from the Shorter Teens mod.

This version uses 1A) as a base, but zooms out more on human sims (pets have the same settings as in 1A).

Note: Also not optimal, but you can try making the UI bigger via the game accessibility settings to make the household panel incl. the thumbnails a bit larger if these settings make the sims portraits too small.

2) Angled Pose (made for Waffle ^^)

Waffle mentioned that we used to have angled pictures in the household panel (seems like this was the case until pets were added to the game). Below I tried to recreate the original settings (based on a very old blurry screenshot :P).

Below an example of how it looks standalone and with the camera settings 1A/1B.

The pose override is only for human sims, not for pets. I feel like the very different proportions and profiles of cats and dogs won't always look great when angled (and I suspect that's the reason this was changed when pets were added).

You can use this option in addition to the above settings or standalone. (This is a pose override, not an override for camera settings and can therefore be used independently.)

Download links are below the cut.

DOWNLOAD

1A) Adjusted camera settings for kids and pets: SFS | MF

1B) Adjusted camera settings for shorter teens: SFS | MF

2) Angled Pose: SFS | MF

Notes:

Pick either 1A) or 1B)! Don't put both files into your mods folder.

You can use 2) in addition or standalone.

You need to delete the file localthumbcache.package to let the game generate new thumbnails. Otherwise you won't see any changes in game until the game needs to update the thumbnails on its own. (You should see the changes in CAS immediately, though.)

[sleeper-kerennnnnnx]

MASHLE author‘s Q&A from fan book translate！（2）

If there are some poor translations or errors, please point them out! I will correct them in time, thank you!

I will translate this in four parts!

Here are parts Q34-Q67! The original text and other parts can be found in the collection!

To the animation fans: There are slight references to the subsequent plot of the comics‼ ️ (Q34 and Q37) If you don’t want to be too comical, you can avoid it.

Q34: When Epidem met Dot, he said that the Ira Kreuz were very rare. What is the position of the Ira Kreuz people in the magic world? Are they regarded as a dangerous people? What does the cross scar on their head warn them about?

A34: They are probably regarded as very powerful people. The cross scar is a warning to their fighting instincts.

Q35: What kind of people are Lance and Dot’s roommates？

A35: Dot and Lance later lived in the same dormitory! Because both of them were very noisy, they were complained by their roommates!

Q36: Does Easton have a school song? Who sings the best among Lance, Dot, Lemon, Finn, and Mash?

A36: Yes! I think it should be Finn or Dot!

Q37: Who proposed riding horses in the God divisionary Exam?

A37: Dot! When men get together, the first thing we should do is ride horses!

Q38: Is Ryane's rabbit handkerchief sold to the public? I want to know if it is bought or homemade.

A38: Homemade! He can do needlework!

Q39: Is the little spider (the spider that tested Mash's magic during the battle, sorry I forgot his name! Kneel down 🧎) Ryane's servant? Or does Ryan call it when he needs help?

A39: He calls it when he needs it! It's always there!

Q40: Rayne Ames has the strength of a mid-to-high-level God divisionary, but I haven't seen him use the highest-level magic in the work - thirds magic (note: there is in the comics). Does the firepower he have means he has the ability to use thirds magic?

A40: Even among God-divisionary, there are not many people who can use thirds magic. Probably Light, Undying, Sand, and then Flame cane and Rayne. (The latter reply should be the battle power ranking. Flame cane's official website introduction clearly states that he is a double liner magician.)

Q41: Rayne is the director of the Magic Tools Administration Bureau. Was the rabbit phone designed and made by Ryane?

A41: It was specially made!

Q42: Abel said that only Rayne can resist Abyss's Demon Eye. I want to know how Ryan did it!

A42: The Demon Eye cannot last forever. I think this is the point!

Q43: What does a perfect do? Are there any privileges and benefits to being a perfect? Doesn't Rayne feel tired when he has to balance the work and study?

A43: Perfects are mainly responsible for managing students' attitudes towards life, etc.! Perfects have special baths! They are as tired and hard as entrepreneurs!

Q44: Who named the "Magia Lupus Arc"? Lord Abel? Is the ranking is selected by the number of coins collected？Does Abel choose the people who join? Or did they volunteer?

A44: Abel named it! He is actually a sensitive high school student, very cute. They are just ordinary Boy Scouts!!

Q45: Did the Magia Lupus Arc and Mash get together after the war?

A45: They got together to play poker! The endings in Mashle's world are basically good!

Q46: Please tell me the order of academic performance among the Magia Lupus Arc.

A46: The best student is Wirth! Then it should be Abel and Abyss.

Q47: Are the poker cards in Abel's personal property?

A47: Yes! Abel has a lot of poker cards!

Q48: Why does Abel cherish the broken doll in his arms and call it "Mom"?

A48: Because it overlaps with the scene that his mother passed away.

(I'm already in tears after seeing the above line. let me cry for a while)

(I'm done crying, let me continue translating!)

Q49: Abel's third line is artificial. Will he still have three lines in the future? Will he never go back to two lines?

A49: Because it was forcibly added, it's different from the normal three lines, and it won't go back to two lines!

Q50: It is said that Abyss's sword has a magic wand built into it. Will he use an extra magic wand during class?

A50: He will use an ordinary magic wand during class! But the output power is relatively small! (Sorry, but I imagined Abyss holding a sword and waving it around in class haha ​​... 

Q51：Abyss is not good at talking to girls，how he talks to love cute？

A51：He Can't！！！！He watches the ceiling while talking to her.

Q52: Do you know why Abyss wears his hair in a bun or ponytail?

A52: A unique hairstyle may mean that he wants to be recognized... He may cut it short later!

Q53: Will love cute say things like "like or hate" or "am I cute" to other members of the Magia Lupus other than herself?

A53: All boys will be asked.

Q54: Why was Ryane so angry at Milo (the green-haired one of the Fourth Fang) in the ? Is it okay to kick him like that?

A54: Ryane is a bit extreme... Generally speaking, this is not a good job (crying)

Q55: What did Ansel Sinli (the Seventh Demon Fang, the one carrying two round plates) say in the last episode?

A55: "In my opinion, cream puffs are likely to contain cream."

Q56: Does Oror (the magic policeman) appear naked every time he casts a spell?

A56: It's pitiful, but that's how it is. (crying)

Q57: What kind of people are Ryoh's wife and son? If there is any story, please tell me!

A57: The wife is the kind of person who is broad-minded and said "Okay, okay" and then started dating (crying). The child admires his father!

Q58: Are the Ryho peripherals in the work certified by the author? Or are they made by fans?

A58: Certified by the author! ! ! ! ! (Please link it)

Q59: I want to join the Ryoh‘s fan club. Can I become member No. 0001?

A59: I admit it!

Q60: Why doesn't the robe on Orter's shoulders fall off?

A60: It's fixed by magic!

Q61: Why is Orter so short-sighted that his eyes have become "3"?

A61: He read too many books!

Q62: Can Orter’s sand magic turn himself into sand?

A62: It seems that he can't do that! But if you really work hard, you might be able to do it! (translator: It was done in the anime)

Q63: I want to know how Orter and Wirth address each other! What is their relationship like?

A63: They probably address each other with "お前" and "テメェ" (similar to "you bad guy" and "Hey")... They don't have a very good relationship! But it will get better one day!!!

Q64: Wirth said, "I have received elite education in magic since I was a child." Did Mr. Orter do the same thing?

A64: That's right!

Q65: I want to know why Kaldo wears gloves!

A65: Because it is so cool and making him handsome! ! ! ! !

Q66: What is the opportunity for Kaldo to like sweets? In addition, he has a strong impression of honey. Does he like sweets more than honey?

A66: He likes it after spreading honey on toast! He likes everything when it comes to sweets! My tongue is dying!

Q67: Which is better, Kaldo's honey salmon or Lemon's handmade cookies?

A67: Handmade cookies I guess? They are as bad for your health as the Ganges!

Q68: What is the name of Agito Tyrone's (Dragon Cone) pet dragon?

A68: Hipotan!

If you like, Can I please ask for a like🥹

Comments are welcome to discuss anything! And suggestions for translation!

Chinese version updated in：longyou1225.lofter.com

[fuzzybirdie]

Hero Of Changing Faces

Ch.3 pt 2

Looking arround, even if everyone got out of the way of the blast, the tracks would likely fall on everyone after. Danny was running on instinct when he grabbed Biker who was furthest away and threw him into Actual Bat. He then started growing an ice shield arround everyone.

The thing about his core's abilities is that they're way stronger than his basic abilities. Yes, he could make an ectoplasam shield more quickly, but that would break on impact. His ice was more tiring, and he would have to let go of the ice on the ride, but it wouldn't break unless he let it.

The shield was paper thin at first, but then he let go of the ride and it grew to arround an inch before the blast.

The girl in overalls hugged a guy(?) In a studded leather jacket as he(?) yelped at the sound. The mother hugged her kids as they stared up in amazement, and the gentleman just watched him appraisingly.

The rails feel through the flames with a loud creak and clang. They bounced off the ice and tore into the ground.

Only once the flames died and metal stilled did danny release the ice. Three other people were running up to them. One dressed in black and blue, one covered in primary colours, and the daylight one, Signal.

As the shield lowered, the gentleman thanked both him and the bats, "I'm sorry, but i need to find my family"

"That's fine," Actually Stealthy (the one in black and blue) said "Spoiler will be at the gate, she'll help you find them, Mr. Wayne" The gentleman nodded and ran off.

The rest of the bats wasted no time getting everyone evacuated and checked for injuries. Another person who looked like a bat showed up soon after to help.

"So, you're a Meta?" Colourblind Test asked.

"What's a Meta?" Danny immediately shot back, as everyone in earshot winced for some reason.

Colourblind Test squinted at him and opened his mouth to say something before Big Bat inturupted. "Of course," he grunted, "there are no Metas in Gotham," before nodding at Danny and stalking off.

Signal sighed and hopped over. "Sorry about Batman "(His name was actually Batman??)" and Robin. The whole No Metas In Gotham rule is more to warn aginst going out thinking you're invincible then getting hurt."

Robin (apparently) aborted his angry squawk halfway through and stalked off to Nightwing.

"All well and good, but that still doesn't answer what a Meta is."

Signal stopped short of his next sentence and gaped like a fish at him for a few moments. "Are you serious?" He ended up choking out.

Danny nodded and gestured for Signal to continue.

"Right! Ok then, Well, I'm... a Meta"

A blank stare

"Right, doesn't help. So, a Meta is anyone with extraordinary abilities. Usually humans who've been through some sort of life-or-death situation, or exposed to some sort of compound that releases latent abilities. A prime example of the latter there would be the Flash family, or Poison Ivy."

Danny was to busy thinking about how perfect of a cover this was to think of how he knew exactly none of those names."Alright, cool cool. I need to tell my parents. And my sister... Oh Ancients, everyone nearly just died."

Signal nodded as if he were waiting for that fact to hit. "Come on, I'll help explain it to your family, and get you checked for shock." Danny nodded, so exhausted enough to forget his hair was still all snowy.

~~~~~~

first / prev / next

masterpost

So! Who noticed the cameo beforehand! I wouldn'tv'e! (Edit, i actually didn't realise he was there at first. Wrote the first chapter and was just 'who is that?' Then i started ch.2 and was like 'Bruce Wayne?!?!?')

I should also note how I'm gonna use names before the next arc starts.

The name I use while writing will be determined by the name most characters will be using for them in the scene. Like how Duke was refered to as 'Duke' until he put the Signal suit on. Then he was 'Signal'.

This is important because for reasons to be explained, Danny has 9 of them.

[princessmisery666]

The Right Guy On Paper

Summary: Dean receives unexpected news, and his chosen coping mechanism leads him straight back to you. Part 2 of 3. Part 1 - Just Don't Say You Love Me.

Warnings/Genres/Troupes: angst, mentions of cheating. 

W/C: 4,315.

Characters: Dean Winchester, Jody Mills, Mentioned: Sam Winchester. 

Pairing: Dean x fem!reader (you - no descriptions of body type or ethnicity).

Bingo: @jacklesversebingo Square Filled: A bar - An Arrest - Loyalty 

Betas: @deanwinchesterswitch // all mistakes remain my own.

A/N: I finally figured out part 3 so here's part 2.

Graphics: made by be on canva. Dividers by @talesmaniac89

Master Lists: JAcklesVerseBingo / Dean Winchester / Main

How did he not see this coming? Well, he did, maybe, but not this soon. But still, how could he have not seen it coming, especially after his last encounter with you? It had been written all over your face; you didn’t want a full-blown commitment or declaration of love, but the hope of some kind of promise was there. He’d shot it down immediately, made a hasty retreat, and hadn’t spoken to you in over a month.

It doesn’t make it sting any less. But that’s all it is, a sting, a scratch. It will scab over, and he’ll ignore the itch. At least, that’s what he tries to convince himself of as he pulls up at Jody’s. 

The door opens as he steps onto the porch. It’s Jody, phone to her ear, and an incredulous look turned in his direction. 

“Yeah, he’s here,” she says into the phone. So Dean assumes it’s you checking up on him. “Yeah, will do. Okay. Bye, honey.”

Dean kisses her cheek, perhaps a little too hard, as he crosses the threshold, heading straight for the liquor. 

“Dean…” she starts. 

He ends it immediately, holding a hand up so she can see it over his shoulder. “Don’t.”

He doesn’t see her surrendering gesture, but he hears it in the sigh she releases over the clink of the bottle hitting the glass. He shoots back the whiskey; it's the cheap stuff and burns more than it should. 

He pours another shot, back still turned, but he can feel Jody’s eyes on him, the worry radiating off her. He won’t tell her he’s fine. She’d see right through it.

“Wanna talk about it?”

He laughs, humorless but amused because Jody knows the answer, yet she always asks on the off chance he’ll give her a glimpse of what’s going on in his head. If only he knew himself, maybe he’d share it.

Another blazing shot warms him from the inside.

He pours another and takes a breath, waiting for the flame in his gut to simmer. But it doesn't, and it’s not because of the cheap liquor, so he concedes, taking the bottle and the glass to the chair. “Who is he?”

Jody sits opposite him, smiling softly. “His name’s Luke, nice guy.”

“Luke,” he tests out the name before washing it away, swilling the liquid around his mouth. This time, he lets the wince show, accepting that it's more than the booze. “He’s a cop, right?”

“Yeah,” Jody confirms. 

He smiles, even feels the fondness in it, but the sentiment dies before he finishes his sentence. “She has a type.”

Jody reciprocates the gesture, reaching over to take the glass from him. “Don’t push her out because of this,” she says, “she’s good for you. Some of those broken pieces didn’t seem so broken when you’d been around her. That doesn’t change because you're not sharing a bed anymore. Let her be your friend.” 

“Yeah,” Dean sighs, “maybe.” 

But he knows he will push you away because he doesn’t know how to be your friend. After all, you’ve never been just friends.

It’s too easy and not as entertaining as Dean hoped. He’s been on a bender for a few days now. He told Sam he was just stir-crazy, the monsters haven’t been monster-ing lately, and he needs an outlet. It’s partly true. It’s the lack of killing, plus the news Jody delivered a week ago. More so the latter. 

You and Luke are engaged.

Dean thinks it's too soon; it’s only been two months. But then again, what does he know? Maybe when you know, you know. You're no fool. And you didn’t suffer fools. You wouldn’t commit to something unless you knew it was right for you.

So Dean’s been doing what Dean does best, finding distractions to bury his tumultuous emotions. He was looking for a warm body, but when no one caught his eye, he settled for ridding some suckers of their hard-earned cash. 

He’s up three hundred dollars with double or nothing on the line. Though part of the hustle is to appear drunk, as he finishes his seventh, or maybe it’s his eighth beer - he lost count after shot number four and around bottle five  - he thinks he really should slow down. If only for the fact Sam will have to come collect him and Dean doesn’t want to hear the ‘your-not-twenty-six-anymore’ lecture.

His opponent, David, walks around the table, looking for the best angle to take his shot. It doesn’t matter. Regardless of what he does, Dean’s got him in three moves. Or at least he would if his earlier victim, Jason, wasn’t striding up behind him with a furious look that Dean sees in the mirror hanging on the wall behind the table.

“Hey,” Jason calls, a tenth of a second before he throws a punch that Dean ducks.

Dean spins to face him, standing his ground. He can’t back up out of reach cause he’ll hit the wall and box himself in. “C’mon man,” Dean tries, “don’t be a sore loser.”

Jason is already swinging a second punch that Dean recognizes the poor form would likely break his hand had Dean not sidestepped to avoid it.

Two of Jason’s friends are close by but seem reluctant to back up their buddy, so Dean tries to reason with them as he pivots so Jason has his back to the wall, and Dean can back away. “Come get your friend before he gets hurt.” 

That’s enough to convince them to intervene, but instead of doing the smart thing and removing their friend from further embarrassment, they descend on Dean, and he’s left with no choice. 

He smashes the pool cue into the stomach of the first one. The dude doubles over and falls to his knees. The second man narrowly avoids tripping over him, stumbling towards Dean’s perfectly formed fist, and goes down after a crack of bone and a scream of pain. 

Jason looks down at his fallen comrades, and Dean lifts his brow, challenging him.

“Walk away,” Dean advises. 

He doesn’t.

Dean has to give credit where credit is due. Jason is tougher than his withering friends. He takes three shots to the face and manages to land a good right hook to Dean’s mouth before he drops to the floor, rolling into the fetal position when Dean takes a step forward.

He can’t be sure whether he was going to kick the man while he was down. But he’ll never know because two sets of hands grab his arms.

Dean doesn’t think. He reacts. Twisting his right arm free, he throws a punch as he turns. 

“Okay, you're under arrest…” but it’s too late. His fist connects with the jaw of his captor - a blond cop who still has a hold of him.

Dean’s brain finally registers the uniform and star pinned to his chest, and now he’s really in trouble. “Shit!” He grumbles, holding his hands up as the blood trickles from the cop’s nose.

Dean tells Deputy Callaghan he’s making a mistake and wasting his time hauling Dean to the station. But his suggestion to call Sheriff Mills to get this mess straightened out falls on the deaf ears of the cops in the front of the squad car.

Dean gives up. Jody will have his back, and hopefully, she’s got some leftovers for him at the house. 

“You're gonna feel really stupid when we get in there,” Dean says as Callaghan roughly pulls him from the car. “I’m telling you, Sheriff Mills will have your ass for wasting her time.” 

“That’d be scary,” Callaghan smirks, smug in whatever knowledge he has that Dean doesn’t. “If she wasn’t on a retreat in Milwaukee until Monday.”

“Crap.” 

“Looks like you're our guest until we can get a hold of her, which could be days.”

“Crap.” 

Despite Dean’s lack of resistance, Callaghan makes a point of manhandling him through the station doors. He must want to look tough in front of his buddies and make the dried blood on his shirt look like Dean put up a fight that Callaghan won on account of his being detained.

Dean accepts his fate - for now. He doesn’t want to cause more trouble for Jody to clean up.

But maybe he should have because slipping the cuffs and making a run for it would have been easier than facing you. As soon as the door swings shut, like some kind of magnetic pull, your eyes find him, and you're frozen in place staring at him while some newbie who looks about twelve talks at you.

You hand the clipboard back to the young deputy and march with such purpose toward him he’s expecting a Sam-level lecture, but instead, you look around him. 

Dean’s seen the sneer you unleash on Callaghan before, but there’s an extra layer to it, a venom that spits out with your command, “Uncuff him now.” 

Dean is glad he’s not on the receiving end of your ire, and the station falls quiet. All activity ceases while they watch the show. 

The softness of Callaghan’s voice doesn’t match his words or reasoning tone. Dean can tell this dude knows he’s on thin ice with you and trying to make it right. “You don’t even know what he did.”

“Bar fight at Lloyds. Heard all about it.” 

“He hit me.”

“You're still standing, so it obviously wasn’t hard enough,” you counter, and Dean sniggers, as do some of the other people watching. 

“Y/N,” Callaghan tries again. 

You purse your lips, stubbornness settling in tight. “Release him and get out of my station.” 

Technically, it's not your station, but Dean assumes Jody’s left you in charge while she’s away. He really wants Callaghan to point that out because Dean can see your one smart comment away from adding to the bloody nose Dean gave him.

But you don’t give him a chance to make the mistake of correcting you. “You owe me, Luke, now and forever, so I’m calling in a chip. Release him!”

Silence prevails for a loaded second. Dean turns slightly to look at Luke, jiggling his hands behind his back. “You heard the boss,” he smirks, “I’m a free man.” 

Luke shakes his head and looks back at you. “Whoever he is,” he says, pointing a finger dangerously close to Dean’s face, “he’s trouble.” 

“She can handle it,” Dean counters and winks when Luke finally breaks the stare-down with you.

That’s enough to deflate his bravado a few notches, and he finally turns and leaves, slamming the door open as he goes.

Dean mumbles a thanks while you unlock his new jewelry, suddenly feeling some embarrassment for being arrested. He turns to face you, rubbing at his wrists now that the metal is gone. “Sorry if I’ve caused you any trouble.”

“It’s fine,” you wave him off, “no trouble.”

You stare at one another for a short moment, and he sees how tired you look. He opens his mouth to say it's good to see you despite the circumstances, but before he can utter a syllable, you hold up a finger. 

Leaning around him, you announce, “Shows over,” and the station springs to life again.

“I should get out of your way,” he says, giving a tight smile. 

“Can I give you a ride back to your car?”

He shakes his head, “No, thanks. I’m good. I could use the walk.”

“You got a motel?” 

“Nah, just passing through.” 

“You’re too drunk to drive back to Lebanon.” 

He shrugs, “I’ll find a motel.”

“Here,” you say, fishing in your pocket for a set of keys. “These are for Jody’s. No one’s there. Jody is in Milwaukee, Alex is on vacation with friends, and Clare is hunting in Michigan.”

He makes no move to take them, so you grab his hand and place them on his palm, closing his fingers around them. “I’ve been keeping an eye on the place, but I’m finishing up here and heading up to her cabin. Jody will be back about three tomorrow.” 

“Deputy Dick said she wasn’t back until Monday.”

You roll your eyes, “he lied. He does that.” 

You don’t elaborate, and Dean doesn’t push, but he knows there's a story to be told.

“There’s beer and leftover lasagne in the fridge,” you layer on top of the perks, “and it's closer than the bar. Just sleep it off, please. For me.”

He nods, “Yeah, okay. Thanks.”

“Take care, Dean.” 

“You too,” he says. He wants to hug you or kiss your cheek or something, but instead, he stares at his fidgeting hands. “Um…maybe we can grab a drink soon,” he suggests, “it’d be nice to catch up.”

“I’d like that,” you say, and your smile is genuine and kind when he meets your eyes again. “You know where to find me, Winchester. You never needed an invitation. That hasn’t changed.”

He laughs just as someone calls your name, and you excuse yourself. He watches you cross the room to the same deputy you were speaking with earlier. He really has missed you, but the open invitation dulls the ache a little. He’s definitely going to take you up on it.

You haven’t been sleeping well lately. It’s understandable; you’ve been through a lot, so you're surprised that you wake just after eleven to the cheerful, chirping bird song. 

It must be the peacefulness of the forest that surrounds Jody’s cabin that allowed the much-needed rest to extend later than usual. You're grateful that she practically forced the mini-break on you - “You need to get away. Get your head straight. Take a few days.” As you step onto the porch with a steaming mug of coffee and the thickest blanket you can find, you realize she was right. 

This is definitely what you need: nature and some quiet time. No hustle and bustle of a busy town, no traffic noise or drunks snoring logs in the holding cells.

Wrapping the blanket around you, you get a whiff of the cotton-fresh fabric softener and wrap it snugger around you as you sit on the porch swing. 

That’s where you spend the rest of the morning and early afternoon wrapped up in the blanket with a book from Jody’s collection. You brought a healthy supply of food with you, and that's the only decision you need to make today: what to cook for dinner. 

You’re two delicious sips into your third coffee of the day when the quiet is disrupted by the unmistakable growl of Baby’s engine. He’s not speeding, and you haven’t missed any calls, so you don’t think it's an emergency. 

Dean cuts off the engine as he pulls up behind your truck, returning the forest to its quiet tranquility, and steps out of the car with a bright smile.

“Hey,” he greets as he reaches the bottom step. 

“Hey yourself,” you grin, finding his smile endearingly contagious. “Everything okay?”

“Peachy,” he says, “passing through on my way home and wanted to say thanks again.” 

He could have called you from the road, so you know the flimsy excuse is the best he could come up with, but you're not upset that he’s there.

You laugh, “You mean Jody asked you to check up on me?” 

“That too,” he admits with a slight shrug.

You feel the hurt constrict your chest again. Jody’s concern is a reminder of what happened. “She tell you why she wanted you to check up on me?”

“No,” Dean says, climbing the few stairs to stand on the porch. “Doesn’t take a genius, though.” 

“Just a sober hunter.”

“Ow, low blow,” he laughs. 

You laugh with him for a second but cut it off with a deep sigh. He will hear the story sooner or later. It may as well come from you. Closing the book and putting it on the table, you ask, “Can you stay for dinner?” 

He claps his hands and rubs them together, “What’re we having?”

It shouldn’t be as easy as it is to fall back into the familiarity of working together. Dean chops peppers and onions while you put the chicken breasts in the oven. It’s effortless, moving around without getting in each other's way.

You’ve missed it, and from the slight smile that remains while Dean works, you think he feels the same. 

He doesn’t press for information, though you’re sure he’s desperate to know why you're at Jody’s cabin alone and if Luke was/is your Luke owed you big enough to let him go without question.

You wash your hands and move on to making the dough, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Dean. It’s easier to talk that way without the embarrassment of looking at him face-on. Though you know he won’t judge you, you don’t want his pity. Still, you start with an easier question. 

“You have Charlie’s unlimited credit card.” Mixing the ingredients in the bowl, you ask, “So it’s not like you need the money. Why were you hustling people?”

He shrugs. “Needed some entertainment.”

“It work?”

“Yeah, for a minute,” he chuckles, “at least until I got socked in the mouth.”

You see his tongue poke out to lick at the cut on his lip. “Maybe that's what I need.” you wonder, sprinkling flour on the countertop.

“To get clocked in the face?” 

You chuckle along with him. “No, smartass. Some mindless entertainment, forget everything for a while.”

“Like why Luke owes you now and forever?” Dean asks. 

“Nice transition,” you jest. 

“I thought so,” he says, walking to the fridge to grab the cheese along with two beers.

He twists the caps off and tosses them in the trash. He’s started grating the cheese before you decide to tell him what happened. 

“It was good for a while, really good, dreamlike even.” you take a long pull on the beer, and he’s nice enough to keep working, piling grated cheese to the side before continuing to work on the remainder of the block. “But obviously, it was too good to be true. His ex showed up. She’d left him to take a promotion a couple of years ago but decided her career wasn’t all she wanted after all. He made a big show of telling her no and asked me to marry him." The dough takes the brunt of your ire, words punctuated with huffs of breath while you knead it into shape. “He took a demotion to be closer to me. I thought I’d bagged a good one, a real devoted guy. But I was wrong. It didn’t take long for him to cheat.” 

“Glad I clocked him.” 

“Me too.” silence stretches, and you break it by blasting out a long sigh. “I’m such an idiot. I chose the stable guy, the guy that was right on paper. I picked the easy way, and it backfired.”

“That doesn’t make you an idiot.” 

“No?” you question, pausing your work to look at him. He halts his task, too, looking at you fully. “When I found out, I did all the tests, holy water, silver, recited an exorcism ‘cause I didn’t believe he was just a bad guy. If that doesn’t spell out desperate idiot, I don’t know what does.” 

“It doesn’t!” He argues, frustrated that you're talking down about yourself. “But you know what does spell out ‘idiot’? Cheating on someone as awesome as you.”

You cock a small smile, “Thank you.” 

You hold one another's gaze for a long moment. You want to tell him that you would have picked him over Luke, over anyone else, but you know he wouldn’t want to hear it. As if he can read it in your expression, he clears his throat and breaks the loaded stare to turn back to his task.

“C’mon,” Dean says, “Let’s get these pizzas baking and get drunk.” 

The late morning rise must have been a fluke because you can’t sleep. Considering the half bottle of whiskey you drank with Dean, you're surprised by your inability to fall asleep. 

Maybe that’s the cause of your insomnia, too much alcohol in your system, or the fact that it feels weird knowing Dean is sleeping in the room next door, or perhaps the emotional turmoil of the last few weeks is taking its toll. Whatever the reason, the more you try to force it, the further away it seems to get and the angrier you become. After an hour of tossing and turning, you give up.

You need to do something to occupy your mind and decide to bake some cookies. Once in the kitchen, you realize that using a mixer will most likely disturb Dean, who’s just down the corridor. But now that you’re up, you really want cookies and decide to mix them by hand.

The first batch is just starting to rise in the oven when Dean appears, fully dressed but with messy hair and rubbing sleep from his eyes.

“Crap, did I wake you?” You ask.

“Nah,” he shakes his head, bleary-eyed, squinting under the brightness of the kitchen lights. “Don’t tell Sam,” he says, “but I’m not twenty-six anymore. Indigestion woke me up.” 

You laugh lightly, “There’s Pepto in the bathroom.”

“Found it,” he tells you, clicking the button on the coffee machine. “Then I smelled cookies, so I came to investigate.” 

“Well, perfect timing. The first batch should be ready by the time the coffee’s done.”

He doesn’t speak while the coffee brews, but you feel his eyes following you. You wonder what he’s thinking but know better than to ask. Maybe you truly don’t want to know. The thought of him pitying you fills you with embarrassment despite knowing Luke’s actions are not a reflection on you.

Dean pours the fresh coffee and adds sugar and a splash of cream to yours, sliding it closer to you while you pull the first batch of cookies from the oven and onto a cooling rack. 

He steals one, “hot, hot, hot,” he hisses, juggling it from one hand to the other. Despite the obvious temperature, he takes a bite, huffing out the heat before it's cool enough to bite down. 

He chews three, four times, hesitates, and chews some more. It’s evident from the face he’s trying, unsuccessfully, to not pull that it’s terrible. 

“It’s awful, right?” you ask with an apologetic scowl.

He nods, grimacing, “Disgusting,” he confirms but starts chewing again as if the taste will improve. 

“Well, don’t eat it!” You scold, laughing, “spit it out!” 

He rushes to the trashcan and spits out the chewed-up wad. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, swiftly walking back to grab his coffee and taking a big gulp. “I was trying to be polite, but yeah, that was not good.” 

You know he’s not being purposefully mean. You’ve never been good at baking, and clearly, eyeballing the ingredients didn’t work, but it still hurts a little. You sigh, watching the cookies slide off the plate and into the trash.

You scoop the second batch of cookie dough onto the spoon and into the trash, “I guess I wouldn’t have made a good wife after all.”

“Don’t say stuff like that,” Dean reprimands. “You’d make an awesome wife.” 

Has he really thought about what kind of wife you would be? Why would he? That was never a possibility for the two of you, so it’s purely a reflex, saying something nice to make you feel better. 

You don’t respond, continuing to tidy the mess you’ve made while Dean steps out of the way, leaning his shoulder against the fridge to watch you.

While your back is turned, he asks, “Is that really what you wanted? To be his wife?”

You shrug, wiping down the countertop with a damp cloth. “I don’t even know anymore.”

“You were so career-driven, always seemed happy in the moment. I never pegged you for the white picket fence type,” he comments, sipping his coffee again.

“I never was.” You laugh without an ounce of humor because he has you dead to rights. How well he knows you always surprises you, which in turn surprises you more because that’s what he does for a living. He has to read people. The same way you do - checking for tells and body language of victims and suspects. Dean knows when he’s being lied to. You know you’d never sneak one past him. Yet he doesn’t seem to understand that he was the one who changed your perspective. He was the one who made you believe there was more to life than a career.

“So it was him then?” he softly asks, as if he’s expecting you to reveal a secret. “He changed your mind, made you want it all?” 

The anger and bitterness swell inside of you. Not just towards Luke for promising you a future and then ripping it away, but at Dean for being oblivious to the fact he’s the reason for the change of perspective.

“It doesn’t matter what changed. It’s over now,” you snap, throwing down the cloth and knocking the neat pile of crumbs you’d made onto the floor. “All of it.”

“Why are you mad at me?” he yells, looking slightly confused and standing straighter. 

“I’m not,” you try to backtrack, though your volume increases. “I’m just mad! Mad at Luke for being an unfaithful asshole, mad at myself for falling for it, mad at the universe for giving me something good and taking it away again. And y’know what? Yeah, I am mad at you, Dean! I’m fucking furious ‘cause you changed my mind. You made me realize I could have it all: a career and partner who understood my commitments, someone who was happy to slot into my life when it worked for both of us, and made me see it could be effortless. I didn’t want any of that until we started our thing.”

“Hey!” he shouts back, “I never said never. I said not right now. Or then or whatever.” 

“Bullshit! You said you couldn’t make any commitments, even without Chuck pulling the strings.” 

“Yeah, I meant I needed a minute to process, figure some stuff out. You said we were good. You didn’t want any ‘awkward conversations’,” he counters with full-on air quotes.

“I didn’t want to scare you off!” 

“And I didn’t want you to run off and meet someone new!”

“Yeah, well, that worked out just fucking great, didn’t it!” The anger simmers, and you hold his eyes until he blurs behind your tears.

Dean blasts out a sigh, “Maybe I should go.” He phrases it as a suggestion, but he’s already tipping the remainder of his coffee into the sink, so obviously, he’s made up his mind. 

“Yeah, maybe you should,” you say, blinking up at the ceiling to stem the tears. “I’m really not in the headspace for this right now.”

You keep your back turned while he shuffles around, going to the bedroom to grab his duffle. 

Why did Jody send him? She was the one who suggested the vacation, and she, of all people, knows how much losing Dean hurt you. You’d confided in Jody about the commitment comment, which had been the catalyst for realizing how deep you’d got with Dean and how much it wasn’t reciprocated.   

A chair momentarily teeters as Dean pulls his coat off the back, but the jingle of his car keys is what pulls you out of your own head. 

Tears suffocated and stalled, you find the courage to turn around, but he’s already at the door. “Dean,” you call. He stops and half turns to face you, but you don’t know what to say. It’s too soon to let yourself be vulnerable with anyone, but you don’t want him to leave, at least not like this. 

You stare at him, hoping he can read the words you can’t find in your expression. 

He breaks eye contact, looking down at his feet. “I’ve, er… I’ve missed you.”

It lifts a weight you weren’t aware you were carrying but brings fresh tears to your eyes. “I’ve missed you too.” 

He drops his bag at the door, crosses the room, and swiftly tugs you into a tight hug. “Call me when you’ve figured all this out,” he requests, and all you can do is nod into his shoulder. He kisses the side of your head and rushes out like a gust of wind.

Part 3 - Just Say You Love Me

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