#I CAN'T CALL YOU BACK AND IF I CALL THE GENERAL NUMBER OF THE HOSPITAL I WON'T GET TO TALK TO A HUMAN BEING BECAUSE IT'S ALL AUTOMATED

[ruvviks]

what's the point of making an appointment if i'm gonna be called at the most inconvenient of times earlier that day anyway

[ew-selfish-art]

DP x DC AU: Tim had heard the phrase 'The wrong twin made it home' a number of times in his life, his parents were always very upfront about how the felt towards him. But... 'made it home' doesn't indicate death, does it? ...Tim ends up taking Danny's place by Sam's side in front of Congress to lobby the end of the Anti-Ecto Acts.

...

Tim has been up for hours passed when he told Alfred he would be resting and he's wrapped up his case files into neat little bows to deliver to Babs and the GCPD/Lawyers to do their jobs. Damian had made a comment earlier in their patrol that night about Tim being the wrong sibling to make it to his rescue and... and it got him thinking about that phrase. His parents were negligent with him, certainly, but they were always very clear about how he stood in their eyes. Praise and criticism were the two options, and very strictly limited passes of 'I love yous' that faded as he got older.

He's run his DNA before in the national databases- it was critical for maintaining his Alias' that multiple people didn't flag- but he's never searched in records before. About his twin. About the one who didn't make it home.

And its definitely the lack of sleep, and definitely the lack of brotherly affection he feels these days, but Tim just can't close the door until he's seen a death certificate. He's hacked Gotham General Hospital a million times for work, but doing it for his own gain feels wrong some how and he works with extreme caution. He finds his own birth certificate and... One Theodore Daniel Drake.

Tim snorts with a short ha, pretentious name alert and goes on to find not a single certificate of death or medical record of atypia. Oh no, what he finds is adoption paperwork meant to be closed to all wondering eyes and one Daniel James Fenton leaving the hospital instead. Tim blinks a few times, retraces his steps and then sure enough, learns for a second time that his TWIN was still alive.

Finding the Fentons was easy enough, their Lab address on all of their patents was seemingly also their home address. Danny had a much better hidden internet presence, it was good cybersecurity he'd have to praise him, but Tim had been trained better. Getting into his brother's files... Raised a number of new questions. Why was he compiling evidence against the government? What the fuck was he doing analyzing policy? Why did he have 'rogue' files???

Then Tim hacks into Danny's phone (he's learned at this point that Daniel was a no-go) and sees the conversations between his twin and his twin's best friends.

Sam Manson has an appointment with a Senator to Lobby for the end of the Anti-Ecto Acts. She wants Danny to join her, demonstrate something Tim can't determine, but he's refusing to leave and let his adoptive parents have even a moment to develop a new weapon without him there to destroy it. Someone called CW warned him about changes coming his way or something cryptic. Tim learns a lot from their back and forth, but stops reading once it gets to their personal squabbles.

Tim gets the meeting details and forwards it to Tam- If Danny can't make it... Tim will. And if Tim can't demonstrate whatever Danny was going to, it would at least help to throw around his name.

Tim writes an email to Danny- It's meant to go out after the lobbying appointment- and it explains that Tim found out about him and wants to connect if Danny does, and if Danny doesn't he at least wants to get him set up with his half of the Drake family inheritance. He includes a few personal facts, including that he too ended up adopted in life and had siblings, that he helped run a company and took on the world too soon. It takes a lot out of Tim to be so candid- but he doesn't want Danny to be too blindsided by the Waynes. He attaches a family photo with the label "you'll be able to tell which one is me'.

...

Sam is tapping her stupid, uncomfortable heels waiting for these dumbass, elderly politicians to get their shit together so she can speak. Sam was resourceful and surprisingly, the second she took on politics as a way to waste the family money, her mother Pamela was all for it. She's wanting Sam to run for president now... At least she doesn't complain when Sam organizes protests.

The door behind her opens, and while she knows its not going to be Danny behind her, a girl can feel a bit crushed. She really thought he would be behind her today, but Danny was being weird about this whole thing. Clockwork had him spooked about something changing today, and Danny wanted to be in Amity Park in case it was another Pariah situation or something. His parents had been on edge lately too...

"Sorry, I'm not late am I?" A voice asks and it's just so close but not- Sam turns her head to see Danny in a nice suit with long hair and eyebags way darker than she'd seen on him in a while. This... Wasn't Danny. She blinks, and then something in her anxiously decides that the universe is fucking with her and she will be fighting back.

"Everyone is late." She glares at him, appraising his every move. The woman behind him is typing dedicatedly on her tablet and the man himself looks like he might fall over while he shuffles his files in hand.

"Well, then I'm on time. My name is Tim Drake, I'm here to help your cause in getting the Anti-Ecto acts repealed and the parties responsible for it apprehended."

"Tim Drake? As in-"

"As in Co-CEO of Wayne Enterprises. And I've done a lot of research, so I hope you'll let me play a supportive role while you speak."

"There's no way you've been able to research if you've been out of Amity, The whole city is under a media blackout." Sam's glare looks like it could cut him.

"Not to brag, but that sort of thing doesn't slow me down these days. I've made physical copies of the things they're most likely to delete and I've sent everything to the Justice League, who in turn are sending it to the Lantern Corps." He states matter-of-factly and Sam finally stops being angry at the world to just be... stumped. What the hell was going on?

"How did you... Why?"

"Tam, tell Ms. Manson how passionate I am about human rights?" The guy sounds anxious, the woman rolls her eyes and says "Very." without stopping her typing.

The doors open and Sam has only a moment to decide that Tim can join her... He proves himself to be an asset, and his name alone gets them further than she had anticipated getting today.

....

Danny is watching Sam walk into the space via C-span, gasping when his own likeness follows behind her. What the fuck???

He can barely drag his eyes away as the clone (?) introduces himself as Tim Drake and proceeds to rip them into shreds for delaying Sam Manson of all people. Danny is transfixed and Tucker is blowing up his phone.

"DUDE ARE YOU SEEING THIS?" Tucker's voice loudly calls out the second danny blindly answers.

"Dude, I just, I don't even know? He cant be a clone right? But he's gotta be?" Danny hypothesizes.

"Nah dude, there's like, a whole lifetime of media presence for Tim Drake since he was like, tiny. This is so weird he looks just like you..."

"This is so weird." Danny dumbly agrees because he can't think of anything else to say.

Sam finishes her points, Tim submits the evidence to the court and they leave. Danny's phone pings with an email notification.

"Danny my guy, you should check that, Sam isn't responding yet. Her phone is probably still off."

He follows Tucker's advise and opening his email... Is a new message from Tim Drake.

"...I don't know what the fuck is going on?" Danny continues to say, and Tucker asks him just to read it out loud, "It's just... Apparently I am both adopted and a twin?"

"...My guy." Tucker sounds just as much at a loss.

...

Sam calls them both after Tim Drake is rushed away by his PA Tam (who she found herself admiring more and more), and is relieved when they dont immediately answer by screaming.

"So Danny, Tucker, you guys are traveling with me next weekend." Sam deadpans.

"Apparently shit gets twilight-zone level weird anytime you leave Amity!" Tucker exclaims.

"...What's next weekend?" Danny asks, hesitation in his voice.

"Your twin invited us, well, mostly you, to a Wayne Family Brunch. We're going cause those assholes have money and political influence, you're going because we all probably need to know what the fuck is going on with that guy."

[bitterbutblue]

zhu yuan angst

wait for me to come home ☆ zhu yuan x reader

~ my birthday present for zhu yuan is her girlfriend dying ~

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

"So dinner at.. where again?"

"Waterfall soup?"

"Waterfall.. oh, the place near Random Play?"

"Mhm!"

"What time?"

"Uh.. I get off work at five-thirty, let's say six?"

"Great, see you there, baby."

"Ah- don't say that!"

"Why not?"

"It's embarrassing..."

"We've been dating for three years?"

You laugh at your girlfriend's flustered rambling- something about it being more embarrassing when she's at work or whatnot. You really weren't listening. Her voice always puts you under some sort of spell, where you become this lovey dovey, annoyingly sappy version of yourself. You have a stupidly lopsided grin on your face as she mumbles about how she should get back to work but she's so excited to see you tonight.

"Love you, Zhu Yuan!"

"Ack- don't...love you too." she mumbles the last part out quickly and quietly, but then quickly sends a follow up text after:

from: my officer <3:

I'm so sorry!!!

I love you sosososososo much

It's embarrassing to say it out loud in front of my coworkers...

I love youuuuuuuuuuuuu

to: my officer <3

love you most, my darlingggg <3

You just giggle at her texts before putting your phone away.

If you knew what was going to happen next, you probably would've written her a note or recorded a voice message for her- tell her how much you truly love her, how she was everything to you. But you don't really have time to do all that. You really only have a three second window between staring down at a car way past the speed limit and dying.

You hope she knows that your last thought was her.

She waits at Waterfall Soup at 6 on the dot- like you agreed on. She hums to herself, starting awkward conversations with General Chop and bidding Belle and Wise farewell as they finish their meal. She stands and stands, fidgeting with the sleeves of her jacket and clicking at random apps on her phone. The minutes continue to pass, one by one, but you still don't show up. She sighs, trying to push down the disappiontment as she fires you another text.

to: my girlfriend !! <3

Where are you?

Everything okay?

Another ten minutes pass, nothing.

to: my girlfriend !! <3

Hello?

Did you forget?

She started to grow annoyed- at the end she decides to call you. The phone rings, rings, rings... and nothing. She groans, pushing her phone into her pocket. She's tired and hungry. She calls you again, and again. By the third failed call, her annoyance turns into worry. She begins feels her stomach churn as she goes through all the possibilities of what might've happened to you- maybe your phone just died. Surely, your phone just died, right?

She calls your closest friend, Grace or something. She doesn't pick up either. Now she actually feels like she should be panicking. Grace refuses to pick up, and she keeps calling until a different line comes in- she doesn't recognise the number but in her line of work any call can be important. She sighs, groaning frustratedly as she picks up.

"Hello-?"

"Is this Zhu Yuan?"

"Yeah?"

"This is New Eridu Hospital. You were listed as an emergency contact for..."

They said your name.

Your name.

Human language was created so that people could communicate, people could plan, organise, discuss. But the human language also has this incredibly ability to make you feel, and it's truly inrcedible how a few words can cause your entire world to shatter into nothing.

"She's not going to make it."

"What?"

Her own voice is shaky, quiet. She can barely hear herself. She feels her blood run cold, her hands shaking as the tips of her fingers grow as cold as ice. She swallows, shaking her head.

"What?"

"You should-"

She doesn't even let them finish, she's already hailed a cab off the street. The entire time she has to fight the sickening urge to throw up, her heart is beating in her chest and she can't breathe. She wants to beg the taxi driver to go faster but there's only a certain speed they can reach up to before they literally break the sound barrier. By the time she arrives at the hospital, she doesn't even bother waiting for change. She throws down a wad of cash and runs- dashing through the doors of the hospital. The bright lights and the stench of disinfectant hits her like a truck

"Hello? I'm here to see-"

"Zhu Yuan?"

She freezes. She recognises that voice- Grace. Seated next to her was her sister, Koleda. Grace's eyes were red as she wipes at the tears on her face.

"Grace? Grace, where is she, is she okay?"

Grace just breaks down into sobs and she already knows the answer to the question. She can feel her knees going weak, collapsing to the floor. Koleda rushes up next to her, her own voice hoarse and raspy as she wraps a comforting arm around Zhu Yuan.

"I'm sorry." Koleda hushes out, but she can barely focus.

All she can do is stare ahead, tunnel visioning as she feels every ounce of her being slowly crumble- each piece slowly being torn off or chipped away as Grace echoes back what happened earlier that day. You had gotten hit by a car soon after she had just gotten off from work, and there was little to no chance of survival. It was a miracle you even made it to the hospital alive, but Zhu Yuan wasn't fast enough. Fuck, not even Grace was allowed to see you because it was that fucked up.

She just stays on the ground, refusing to move. Zhu Yuan felt sick just thinking about it, her breathing shallow as she watches the life she's built turn into just a memory right in front of her eyes. She watches her future turn into the past, her life diverge from what it was supposed to be into a new unknown. She watches you fade, she can still feel your smile against her neck when she hugs you close. She can still feel your kisses against her cheek after a long day of work but it's only a feeling now.

It'll only stay a feeling now.

She never even got to see your body. She never got to hold your hand for the last time- only watching as they lowered you to the ground. It never felt real until that day. The day she watched you, in a box, lower into nothing but a ditch and she wails. She begs them to stop and she begs you to just wake up. She cries, screaming for you to wake up- just wake up. She hopes this is all some sick and fucked up prank but the box just lowers and lowers- until you become nothing more than a memory. Your texts become nothing more but a reminder, your photographs are nothing but taunts.

from: my girlfriend!! <3 (sent 5 days ago)

u r my world zhu yuan

missed u

excited to see u soon!

last seen 5 days ago

[syneilesis]

[fic] Pampertime

Pampertime

Love and Deepspace | Xavier (Shen Xinghui) x Main-Character!Reader | Explicit | 6.7k words | ao3 link

Butler Rule No. 1: From the moment you accept the role, be prepared to obey your lady’s every command. The bunny butler outfit makes a grand return. In bed.

Content tags: Established Relationship, PWP, Roleplay, Bunny Butler Xavier, Dom/sub elements, Sub!Xavier, Strip Tease, Hand Jobs, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Cunnilingus, Face-Sitting, Cowgirl Position, Riding, PIV sex, Creampie

A/N: My contribution to the bunny butler Xavier train. Only gave a cursory edit once, so any mistakes still my fault. I'm just glad I'm done, whatever. Divider by @/saradika

One bright and sunny afternoon, Xavier texts you: Emergency can U come up here to help me?

You're in the middle of cleaning your living room, after weeks of neglecting your household responsibilities due to the sudden influx of Wanderers in the neighboring city. The Hunters Association had been scrambling to send out their hunters due to the sudden invasion of Wanderers that resembled bafflingly like corgis—which was both a blessing and a curse, if one were to be asked. Blessing because, well, they were a breed that incited cute aggression and fluffiness, and civilian evacuation had resulted in minimal problems, if one ignores the influx of people into doglike Wanderers. A curse, because—well, they did look like corgis—fluffy like a bread with a cute butt, the kind that you would expect to see in the plushie line sold at Twinkle Toys Store. They're irresistible to drag your hand across their soft coat. A not-inconsiderable number of hunters realized the error of their ways in overlooking the fact that these floof of creatures were still Wanderers, and as a consequence, Linkon hospitals suddenly found themselves busier for a week or two.

Regardless, the corgi Wanderers were easy to take care of, once you saw past their clever ruse. The difficulty lay in the numbers. Like a relentless tsunami flooding the city, they undulate in droves, shaking their butts and bouncing around and generally making an oxymoronically cute menace of themselves.

As one of the hunters dispatched to the area, you valiantly resisted the siren cute-call and eliminated as many as you could. It took you and your team more than a week, and it would have been shorter than that, had Xavier been in the fray. But he had been sent in another region the week before, and was unable to join you in your fluff-filled resistance.

But now it seems that he's back and is in need of your assistance. Flashback to that time when his oven exploded due to his attempt at baking tarts, and you drop everything you're doing and fly outside, towards the elevator, fueled by fear and sheer panic.

When you burst into his apartment, using the spare key he left you, you cry out, “Xavier! Sitrep!”

A cursory survey of the area indicate neither fire nor flood, and his apartment seems undamaged. Fear subsiding, you finally take stock of the situation.

Perhaps it's not a kitchen emergency after all? There’s no smell of something burning, thank heavens for that. You do not want to apologize to his neighbors in his place again.

You call once more, “Xavier?”

“In here.”

His voice is coming from the bedroom, and that makes you waver. Why is he still in his bedroom? Maybe he's stuck in bed? Did he sleep for three days and wake up in an unusual position and in need of assistance to set back his limbs again? Weirder and weirder thoughts spiral in your head, and your lack of response prompts him to speak once more.

“You can go in, if that's what stops you.”

“Why can't you just go out?”

“I ... can't.”

The hesitation captures your attention. Xavier is probably entangled in the bed. You may as well help him.

“All right, I'm coming in then.”

When you open the door, you're expecting some sort of layers and layers of blankets, a sea of them, not just on the bed but also on the floor and other furniture. Xavier might be underneath in any of those blankets, and it's your duty to locate him and fish him out. You're ready to swim against these blankets, fight your way into it. Do your utmost duty as a combat partner.

Except.

Except it's not a sea of blankets that welcome you once you enter the room. It's—different.

So different.

So utterly different that you drop your phone. It clatters muffled against the carpeted floor, where it slightly nudges a gift-wrapped box. And that gift-wrapped box sits next to another gift-wrapped box, and another. And another. Until you lift your widening gaze to see that Xavier's bedroom is littered with a lot of them. And Xavier—

He's on the bed, all right. But he's—

He grins lightly, leaning back from his sprawled position. The pillows behind him sink under his weight.

“Kjalfjdsj?” you say, eloquently.

“I'm glad you came ...” A pregnant pause, before he drops the bomb. “My lady.”

Your brain short-circuits.

Xavier is sprawled on the bed, bunny ears on his head, waistcoat and tie, and—you just know, you can feel it in your bones—bunny tail on behind. It's exactly what he wore when you had your couple's photos back then. The fact that he's wearing it and, judging by the sudden change of interior design of his room, that he's replicated the decoration of the studio—actually, you don't know what you can glean from those points, because you're too busy picking up the remains of your brain matter to form a coherent thought.

He drops another bomb: “Why are you just standing there, my lady?” he says, and going by the quirk of his lips he knows the effect he has on you. Compared with the first time it happened, the shy reluctance is no longer present. “This bunny butler is ready to serve, just say the word.”

Your brain melts.

“Wha—I mean—um, guh—” You studiously reacquaint yourself with the concept of words. “I just—what is going on?”

Xavier blinks, and the bunny ears on top of his head twitch as if they are truly connected to his head. Your fingers twitch themselves in response, that urge to touch and feel them again.

“I just thought,” he begins, slowly at first as if testing the waters, “that you need to relax and get pampered after that difficult mission you've just had.”

The words percolate in your mind and you scrabble for an appropriate reply to that. To be fair to the man, Xavier is sweet thinking of your well-being like that. Or maybe he's guilty that he wasn't there to help during that corgipocalypse of a week. Regardless of his intent, you have to ask:

“You thought I need to relax and your solution is to dress up as a bunny butler?”

He has the gall to think about it at length. “Yes, my lady.”

You don't miss the way he spreads his legs a little wider at that.

And really—you're only human, with wants and needs and desires. It just so happens that the common denominator of those three aspects point to the ridiculous man before you, in that ridiculous bunny butler getup that you secretly love and hope to see again. Which—yeah, it's definitely the perfect solution.

Stomping your hesitation and pride, you stride towards the bed, and Xavier, watching your every step, reclines further, giving you space for you to place your knee on the soft mattress, between his legs.

The bedfoam dips, and he shifts to avoid sinking down the indent your knee makes. Your other knee follows, and you move towards him until the heat of his inner thighs touch the outer sides of yours.

At the proximity between the two of you, Xavier tips forward, and in spite of your positions he doesn't need to tilt his head much upward to meet your deliberating gaze. An anticipatory sharpness falls on his expression and, oh, you realize, he must've wanted this too.

Which is all that you need to fall into this completely.

And it's a transformation: a reshifting of limbs and the straightening of spine, something like a lock unlatching.

“Mr. Bunny Butler,” you begin, low and relishing and shy of being predatory, “bow your head.”

Xavier's nostrils flare at that. After a couple of seconds he complies, and seeing the sliver of his exposed nape opens something within you.

Against your shoulder the bunny ears snag, their length not allowing to fall along Xavier's pose. You bring one hand up to trace an invisible line across an ear, the fur short and soft. Xavier's quiet beneath you, but you can feel him stiffening at your every move. Braced a little behind his sides, his hands clench tightly.

“Can you feel it?” you ask, pinching the colored tip of the ear, pushing it back to observe its make. It's well-made, and you wonder if this one costs more than you'd expect.

Xavier shakes his head. You want to hear him, however, so you tap the back of his head in warning. He exhales loudly; breathes out, “No ...” and then tacking on: “Master.”

Your eyes narrow in pleasure, the flesh of your cheeks bunching from how wide your smile is. “That's my good bunny,” you praise him, caressing the curve of his head. He shivers—whether from the praise or the touch or both, you don't know.

To see him like this—a formidable hunter with centuries of experience, the force of stars pulsing underneath his skin, ready to rupture at his command—head bent low before you, hands closed in restrained fists, the lines of his body intersecting into a show of surrender. Yielding. It heats the core of your belly and your blood, and you can't help but bite your lip as you savor the image.

Leaning back and sitting on your calves, you catch Xavier's downcast stare. His brows furrowed as if concentrating, and when he notices you trained on him, his eyes do something that reminds you of the existence of the concept of puppy dog eyes.

Every time he does that, you think, you want to gobble him up.

Closing in on his face, you raise your left hand and cradle his jaw, tipping it up, gazes never leaving each other. Then you draw nearer, and nearer, until your lips almost brush against his. The sharp sound of his inhale is deafening in this lack of distance. Your eyes never leave his, but his drop down, nearly crossing, as he's distracted by your lips. His breaths are hot on your skin, and finally you aim at the corner of his mouth, and open your own to say:

“Don't move.”

And then you descend, trailing butterfly kisses along the edge of his lips, his cheek, his temple. Xavier goes spine-rigid at the first contact, forgetting to breathe for a second, before slowly exhaling, as if trying to hold himself together. His brows knit again and his eyes flutter closed, the line of his lips sloping downward.

He's controlling himself. And that delights you so much that you shift to kiss his earlobe and tug it once, then whispering directly to his ear, “That's my obedient bunny. Keep this up and I'll reward you.”

You stop to wait, and when nothing happens, you tug his jaw and take a bite at the shell of his ear—he gasps—and continue:

“What do you say?”

Xavier's shoulders lurch. He breathes once, twice, before answering.

“Thank you, my lady.”

“Good boy.”

The first reward: a kiss on the lips. A quick, initial press before you pry him open with tongue, and he welcomes you eagerly from the way he surges to meet you. The hand on his face holds him back, but his own hands fly to your hips and plant themselves there.

You slap them away, he resists. You break the kiss, and he makes a disappointed sound, chasing you, and then realizes what he's done.

“I'm sorry—my lady,” he stumbles, putting his hands back in their previous position. He looks so properly chastised, you love it.

Outwardly, you sigh in disappointment, and he whips his head up, stricken. “After I said that you're obedient, you do this. What shall we do, Mr. Bunny Butler?”

“What—” He swallows. “What do you want me to do, my lady?”

In all the times you've tried to fluster him, Xavier doesn't really redden. At best his skin produces a soft sheen of pink across his cheeks that linger over his ears. Never tomato-red though.

But now, his face glows bright pink that gradiates to a noticeable crimson, ending at the tips of his ears. This is good development, you decide, something that you want more of. So you push further.

“Are you truly sorry, Mr. Bunny Butler?”

He nods meekly.

“Then”—a finger pokes at the center of his forehead and pushes, his head docilely tilting back, exposing his slender, beautiful neck—“don't move this time.”

You slip two fingers under his tie and pull it loose. The unobstructed slide of the silken fabric echoes around the room, punctuated by the hitch of his breath. The bunny ears jerk. To his credit, he's still as a statue, and the giddiness that you've been feeling for a while now mounts to a dull yet insistent ache that pools between your legs.

Then you unbutton his collar, which reveals more of that pretty neck. An alarmed sound forms in his throat, and you call his name in warning. His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows whatever he's about to say.

And that Adam's apple becomes your next target: your mouth molds around it, sucking, and Xavier gives a full-body shudder. A groan bursts out of him. He's trembling, his hands—leather-gloved and creaking at the strain of his fists—his thighs, his shoulders. You can see how he wants to turn his head, to retreat from your hot mouth, but thinks himself the better of it.

You place your left hand under his head and kiss him under the angle of his left jaw.

“Ah—”

With your free hand, you trace down the outline of his neck to shoulder. His breath catches, he jolts away, his eyes shoot you a betrayed look.

“My lady—”

You plant another kiss in the dip of his collarbone. “What does Mr. Bunny Butler want?” you ask against his moist skin.

He releases a shuttered exhale. Behind you, his legs move in a way that comes across as avoidant, as if he's hiding something from you. You glance down and realize the reason for his discomfort.

Saliva pools in your mouth.

But you swallow the surging desire ignited by the image of his arousal. It isn't time yet; you want to draw this out as long as you can.

Head still tipped back, Xavier doesn't see your discovery of his want, his eyes half-mast and his focus directed on reining himself in. If you remove yourself from the scene and study him from head to toe, you'd find Xavier the perfect picture of temptation, restrained, controlled on the surface but a collapsing star underneath, gravity pulling you to him and there's no way to escape.

Not that you'd like to escape in the first place.

You repeat your question, this time against his Adam's apple: “What does Mr. Bunny Butler want?”

“My la—” He chokes. Tries again. “Whatever my lady wants.”

Ah. Such a good bunny.

Your hands drift down to the next closed button. His tie is loosened enough that you can remove it in one hard tug. And isn't that a nice thought: one strong pull and he's dragged along by the force, his lips inevitably landing on your lips, a welcome collision.

But you don't follow that path; instead, your hands drop lower, to the last button of his waistcoat. The sides of your hands brush against the seam of his pants, dangerously close to his already obvious bulge, and it dawns on Xavier that you're already aware of his worldly response, if the widening of his eyes is an indication. He whips his head to shoot you a meaningful look, as if begging you to ignore his lapse of control—as if that is an unwelcome development.

Sometimes, you think, Xavier wants to show you a side of him that only exudes assurance, a sharp blade and sturdy shield that envelop you in sidereal protection. Be it from outside forces and his own—and even yours. Physical dangers, most especially, but curiously enough: information. Knowledge. The matters of the past. The matters of the heart. The both of you may have confessed that day, the words of your promises embedded in your heart like an oath under the stars, but there are times when a shadow passes through Xavier's expression, and he seems so far away. Light-years away.

But right now, that thought isn't at the forefront of your mind: it is the way the redness climbs up his neck, his face, his cheeks, painting him a beautiful hue that reminds you of a recently blossomed rose. He truly is gorgeous this way.

One of his hands encloses around yours, stopping your ministrations. Minute tremors hum under his callused palm.

“I'm—” A quick breath. “I'm supposed to serve you, my lady.”

Ah. Truly such a good bunny.

You capitulate, hands retreating from the button of his pants, but not before caressing his trembling hand and squeezing it once. An indulgent smile unfurls in the line of your lips, and you make a snap decision.

The second reward: freedom. Xavier has expressed his desire to serve, to please, and you'll give him the freedom to choose how to enact it—

Under a specific instruction, of course.

“Yes, of course,” you say, tapping his warm cheek fondly with your index finger. “Serve me, then, Mr. Bunny Butler. Strip for me. Slowly.”

He catches that finger quickly with his mouth, bites it lightly, like it's a warning—or a promise. You let him nibble and lick your finger for a couple of seconds, the wetness sending electricity down your spine, and you can't stop the shiver that echoes throughout your body. Xavier narrows his eyes in satisfaction at your response, hints of a smirk around his lips, and that's insubordination if you saw one. So you snatch your finger away from him, and punish him by dragging your wet finger along the column of his neck.

He jumps at the sensation.

“Strip, Xavier,” you repeat firmly. “Make sure it's a good show.”

It just proves how dedicated he is at this roleplay: by this point he should have already ended this little act and would have taken over, but he's holding your critical gaze as his hands settle over the topmost button of his vest.

“I'll try, my lady.” His voice drops to a low, husky murmur, one that summons pinpricks down your nape and the back of your shoulders, crawling in a slow, deliberate tease.

He does try, indeed. He moves back, affording you space to see his torso without having to change your position. One hand to brace his weight, the other deftly maneuvering each button at a comfortable pace. For every button opened, he takes a deep breath, gives you a confident smile, albeit awkward at the edges. But the rhythm of it lulls you, and you find yourself playing with his bunny ears again—a right decision, because he makes a surprised sound, which morphs into a moan.

The returned proximity grants you the ghostly brushes of his knuckles against your clothed stomach when he opens another button. Because of this, the way your stomach contracts every time he brushes you becomes known to him, and Xavier huffs a laugh, and proceeds to be more purposeful with it.

You tug at his bunny ear, hard. “Mr. Bunny Butler,” you warn.

His shrugs his vest off as his reply.

Now, only left with shirt and tie, Xavier stares down at them, thinking about what to do next. You help him by pushing yourself flush against him, making sure that your thigh grazes his cock. He judders, shoving his face on the crook of your neck and groaning. Idly, you continue playing with the furred ears.

“My lady, my lady,” he mutters, and you feel him sighing, “don't tease me.”

You hum. “Then put more effort in your show.”

He peeks up at you under those pretty yet underhanded lashes of his, and you spy hints of a smirk in that mouth.

But before you can question him about it, a hand grabs yours and guides it to his tie, wraps it around the silk fabric, and pulls. Slowly, carefully. From this angle more skin is revealed under your wandering gaze—the tease of a nipple, flashing beneath that white shirt—and you gulp at the flutter in your belly.

Once the necktie is completely off him, he takes it from your hand and, indeed like a show, re-ties it around his neck, a ribboned gift. At this point you're ready to combust—and he's not even naked.

“Do you like it, my lady?”

“Yes,” you rasp, suddenly off-kilter, “very much.”

“Then ...” He resumes undressing, the buttons of his shirt easily extricated, his movements economical, and bit by bit his bare torso opens before your anticipatory eyes.

He stops at the tucked-in part of the shirt. Glances at you, bites his lip, and goes back to pull the front off so the shirt opens just below his shoulders, presenting you such a gorgeous view.

Xavier sinks into the propped-up pillows—and you unconsciously follow—and smiles. “All yours, Master.”

He knows—that little shit—the allure of incomplete nakedness. The gap, the gape, the patches of exposed skin surrounded by fabric. Xavier's using it to his utmost advantage.

By now you could have clawed his clothes away from his body, but somehow, this tastes more delicious, the promise of a tease, the prolonged heat-pulse that thrums in your core, and you're pretty sure, if Xavier's shallow breaths are an indication, that he's into this too.

Well. May as well take advantage of this luxurious present.

One hand descends on the side of his neck, and you see him tamp down the surprised jolt. This hand, light in its touch, ghostly, virtual, traces the edges of the necktie. You can hear Xavier's bated breath, waiting for your next step.

Then down, down, down to his collarbone, the dip of it, your index finger making laps twice, end to end.

Then further: his chest. And this time, it's not only your hand that wants to participate. You brace yourself on his shoulder and bend down to kiss the center of his chest. Xavier lets out a sound, and inhales sharply.

Next: his left nipple, with an additional teasing nip. His hips buck from the sensation.

You stay where you are, lifting your gaze to ascertain his expression. His head is turned away, hiding his face, a hand covering half of it. But it's useless for him to hide, because his ear is in your direct line of vision, and it's a glaring red.

This propels you to indulge more: the hand on his shoulder slides down to pay his other nipple attention. His legs shift, restless. The sounds of his gasps and moans occupy the room. You feast on him, laying your tongue flat on him and dragging it wetly until you hear him stutter your name.

“M-My lady—I—”

You surge forward, and the force topples the stack of pillows behind him. In the midst of this, you reposition your legs so that you're finally straddling Xavier, your skirt bunching up just below your waist, and—teasingly—grind against his straining cock.

He jerks, grabbing at your hips, attempting at more friction, but you remind him who's in charge, and he eventually relents, taking deep breaths to calm himself.

“Sorry about that, my lady. I'm—I'm good now.”

“That's my good bunny.” Then you continue exploring his body with your tongue.

He tastes faintly of sweat but also the scent-taste of his body wash. He's showered just before calling you up. And for some reason, that does you: you rise to kiss him again, and your free hand sneaks itself under him—and grabs his bunny tail.

Xavier yelps, scarlet, shocked at the action, gaping at you and your smug face.

You squeeze the fluffy ball of a tail in response.

“M-My lady...!” he blurts.

“Shame that I didn't get to play with this last time,” you muse, feeling up the soft thing. It twitches under your curious touch. Delighted, you shift around Xavier's torso to lift his hips and study and poke at the tail repeatedly, entranced at the bounce and fuzziness of it. “A wasted opportunity, don't you think so?”

When you check Xavier's reaction, you have to hold back your laugh. He's clearly uncomfortable, but the discomfort is brought upon by embarrassment, as evidenced by his squirming and the persistence of his blush.

Words have left him, so he just averts your leery gaze, bury his face into the nearest pillow, and groans.

Taking pity on him, you release his tail—but not without giving it one last flick; he jolts—and slide your hands around the waistband of his pants. You're fumbling for the button and then the zipper when two gloved hands hinder your actions.

Xavier's face is rearranged into an indulgent yet mischievous smile. “My lady can enjoy me as long as you like. There's no need to hurry.”

But that's the thing, isn't it? You have already enjoyed him so much and enough that at one point things are bound to snap. He as your focal point of your want, the desire that thrums alongside your veins, almost like blood.

“But Mr. Bunny Butler,” you start, adopting a light, airy voice and tilting your head up at him, “there are a lot of things to enjoy from you. I'm not sure if one evening would do.”

Before Xavier can even get a word edgewise, you tear his pants open and yank his boxers down, freeing his cock.

“My la—”

His cock is a firm, solid weight on your hand, and Xavier bucks at the first contact, a halfway gasp ripping out of him. You watch his reactions as you stroke him slowly—painfully slowly, tantalizingly slowly—as your other hand crawl up his waist, flat palm spanning his side.

You know, intellectually and objectively, that Xavier is pretty. Gunmetal-grey hair that shimmers under the starry night sky. His smooth, unlined skin that you're harboring unholy envy for, soft under your curious fingers, almost pristine, untouched all his life. The column of his neck, strong bones underneath the layer of skin and muscle, the prominence of his Adam's apple. The outline of his body—even and proportioned, balanced like a finely crafted sword. And most of all: his eyes, the most expressive part of all of him. The color of an unperturbed sky, always clear and never lost. A steady glister in the darkness.

Right now, though, he's different altogether. Almost otherworldly in the way he's unraveling under your clever fingers. A shift of pressure and he's biting down the meat of his hand in a poor attempt to muffle his groans. A fleeting trail across the slit of his cock and his eyes flutter shut, his hips jumping off the mattress. He thrashes in chase of the pressure and pleasure you're providing him in crumbs, your need to see him lose that frustrating control of his. You keep stroking him and watching him blossom before you, petal by petal, limb by limb, nerve by nerve.

“My lady—” He's panting, running out of breath, his voice gaining that frenzied quality. It's music to your ears. “Master—Master, haa—”

He's coming, you can feel it. You can see it through his quickening breaths, the flush of his skin all over his body, the white-knuckled fist of his hands, the throb of his cock.

“My lady, I'm co—”

You release him, and the slow transformation of his face is such a fascinating phenomenon. From the crunch of pleasure, then crumpling into confusion. He raises his head to see you leaning back, hands away from him, his hazy eyes taking in what's happening—or its lack of. Then they widen, his mouth dropping open to release a sound of distress, round and full and cracking.

“Why did you ...”

You tug at the ends of the ribbon-necktie. He clicks his mouth shut.

“You said I can enjoy you as long as I like. There's no need to hurry.”

His gaze finally clears, and he gulps, nodding. Near your hips, Xavier's cock leaks.

“Then ...” You lay on top of him, chest to chest, thigh to thigh, your belly pressing against his pulsing cock (he freezes at this, and then continues to freeze), and place your arms on the sides of his head so your hands can reach the bunny ears. They still react delightfully under your roaming touch. “I'm going to enjoy these a little more. Don't move too much, okay?”

The room becomes pinched with quiet, and while you're intent on the furry ears atop Xavier's head, you can sense in your periphery his eyes on you. He's careful not to jostle you, the air he breathes catching on your skin, and you feel his arms snaking around your waist, settling on the small of your back.

“You really like the costume that much, huh.”

You hum in acknowledgment, rubbing the area where accessory meets scalp. You scratch it with your light fingernails, and Xavier sighs at the feeling.

When you leave the ears, you turn your attention to Xavier's expression next. He's still observing you, his flush now pale but enduringly distinct across his cheeks, and that entices you to meet his lips in a slow, patient kiss.

“It's nice, seeing you go through such effort to make me happy,” you answer him after you separate, punctuating the statement with a pleased, narrow-eyed smile.

A thought takes over Xavier, with the way his brows knit. Moments pass, you regard him, until he finally opens his mouth to articulate whatever has occupied him.

“My lady,” he begins, hesitant at first, but each word gains confidence, “there's something I want to do for you.”

“Speak.”

“I want you to”—and here his stare morphs into that puppy dog eyes again—“sit on my face. Please.”

You're stunned. The room continues to be quiet, and you're stunned. Xavier doesn't add anything after that; just waiting for your response. He's probably not sensing how you've finally shut down. You, felled by nine words, the last one an imperative period that brooked no refusal.

When he calls you, his face and his voice are tinted with uncertainty.

“Stars, Xavier.” You scramble up to reposition yourselves in accordance to his request. During this transitory moment, Xavier removes his gloves with his teeth. Now bare, both his hands come up to hold your thighs from behind, adjusting their spread and angle. You want to whine self-consciously, but glimpsing Xavier's eager expression as you move towards his head, you stamp that part in your mind. “Okay down there?”

He doesn't reply—instead he just goes for it.

Your hands shoot for the headboard, a surprised cry shocked out of you. Is this Xavier's way of revenge for denying his orgasm earlier? The way he confronts you is not unlike a battle, with his single-minded focus on his goal and his preciseness. He parts your folds with his tongue, pays attention to your clit first: sucks it lightly before dialing it up. You convulse, your hips digging down, and he moans, the vibration thrumming your flesh.

“Xavier,” you sob, “Xavier. Xavier.”

He laps around your clit like a thirsty man, hands kneading your thighs. He must've been thinking about this for a while now, with how methodical he's going by it, strategized to push you into becoming a complete and utter wreck. He kisses your clit then mouths it, moves his tongue in lateral glides that have you thrashing on your position. You grind against him, and he welcomes it wholeheartedly, and behind you his hips thrust helplessly in air, his stubbornly hard cock drooling with pre-come.

One hand nudges you forward and you follow, until his tongue enters inside you—you gasp and shiver at the slick intrusion—drinks you with such loudness that you wouldn't be surprised if his neighbors overhear what the two of you have been doing.

He knows how to prolong the barrage of pleasure, that heat and swell around your core, your undulating hips, sustained until you buckle and collapse from the force of it, your orgasm torrential like a storm.

When Xavier emerges between your legs, his face shines from your slick and his saliva. A fond smile slips out of you, and a finger traces the length of his lips; then your entire hand, cupping the side of his face, a tender caress. A smile of his own appears and he nuzzles your hand, kisses the center of your palm, eyes closed and sated.

“Good boy,” you praise, and he sighs happily. “So good for me. Have to reward you, don't I?”

The third reward: release. You move back to pull his pants and boxers off him completely, and Xavier just watches you with anticipation, breaths in quick bursts.

“You know the drill: don't move.” You underline this order with a tease of his cock, a line-trail from the tip to the base and then a quick squeeze of his balls.

When you align yourself above him and begin to sink down, Xavier goes rigid-stiff, daring not to breathe, careful not to move. You pause from your progress, and send him a worried look.

“Xavier?”

“I—I'm—” He bites his lip, exhales through his nose. “I'm okay, I just. I'm just trying not to react too much.”

“Why?”

He casts you a helpless gaze. “Because, my lady, I'm afraid that my control would slip, and I would have my selfish way with you.”

You falter at that. To be honest that's not such a bad idea at all, but Xavier knows that this is for you and your needs, and what you need right now—and what you want, if one were to ask—is him under you, at your mercy. Just as he is right now.

So you move lower, feeling the head of his cock open you up, slowly. And you can hear the hitching breaths unwittingly made by him, his eyes shut and his whole expression folded inward, as if he couldn't handle the pleasure descending over him.

A groan tumbles out of his lips, low at first, quick and fleeting, but as you inch lower and lower, the feel of his cock molding you inside, the wanton sounds he makes lengthens, gets louder, until he parts those glistening lips and vocalizes his satisfaction.

“My lady—you feel so—”

“Good, I hope.”

He doesn't wait until you bottom out; he bucks his hips to sheathe himself inside you completely in one smooth motion. You cry out from his action, his cock pulsing against your walls, and the feeling of him pulls you in further bliss that your eyes flutter closed and your back arches as the pleasure spreads throughout your body.

“The best, my lady.”

He gasps when you clench around him, your wetness dripping between your joined bodies.

You really think the best position Xavier has ever been is here right now: underneath you, helpless to your demands, seized by pleasure that you're giving him and taking from him. The way his face doesn't know what to do in the undulating waves of pressure as you begin to move above him, your hips lifting and then slamming back down; the film of sweat coating his skin all over, moistening the sheets beneath the two of you. The severe grip of his hands, bunching up the blankets in their deathly clutch. His rapid heartbeat under your palm as you support your weight by bracing yourself on his chest. His moans, his filthy, filthy moans—his moans that you will remember until your dying day because they are so far out of his cultivated normalcy—open-mouthed, slack-jawed moans that come from the core of his abdomen, surging upwards, frantic, crazed, melodiously and sublimely wanton.

“Look at you, Xavier,” you pant, and one of Xavier's legs kicks out. “Look at my bunny butler.”

“Master—Master—”

“What do you want, darling?” you ask, shakily tracing the side of his face. When your fingers near his mouth he turns his head to place a kiss at your fingertips, then drags his tongue out to lick at their length. Your index and middle fingers press flat at his tongue, and he groans around them. His puffs of breath beat in time with the movement of your hips.

One hand crawls towards your thigh, haltingly slides upwards, up to the junction of your hips, where it disappears under the spill of your skirt. Then it reaches behind to squeeze at the meat of your ass, and you gasp, stuttering your pace.

You take out your fingers so he can answer you, but Xavier grabs your wrist with his other hand and brings it back to his lips, trails kisses on each finger, murmurs nonsensical things against your saliva-coated skin until, louder, he tells you—

“Everything you can give me, my lovely Master.”

And, oh, isn't that a wonderful thing to hear? That readiness of his—be it in battle or in bed, he rolls with everything you throw at him, as though there's nothing that can taint you in his eyes, no betrayal to feel forsaken by. As though all that he's done, all that he's doing, is in service to you.

And it's because of this that you use the same hand to cup at his jaw and jerk it in your direction, bowing down to kiss him, bite his lower lip, thrust your tongue inside, lick the roof of his mouth, suck his own tongue—devour him fully and utterly.

He meets your intent with his own, just as intense, just as parched and hungry as you are for him. Every exhale is accompanied by a soft sigh, and you swallow his every sound—that lovely and soothing voice that lingers in your mind and haunts the edges of your dreams. His reaction just drives you to speed up your pace.

He's trembling all over, and tries to shift the angle from which you're riding him. Doing so affords his cock to hit something inside you, lighting up your body, starburst behind your eyelids, and you jolt, a whimper tearing out of your throat that Xavier drinks greedily. His hand on your ass traverses to your clit and plays with it, intensifying the blast of sensations on your lower body.

Obstructed by your mouth, Xavier tries: “My lady, I think—I'm close.”

“Me too, I'm—don't hold back—”

He doesn't. And he doubles his efforts in relentlessly stroking your clit and pounding up inside you, and the pleasure crests and crests and crests until you pulse and clench and come, sobbing at the white-hot crash flooding your nerves, collapsing on top of Xavier, mouths still connected.

And he doesn't stop. This time both his hands bracket your hips; grinds you down as he pushes deeper and deeper inside you. You're oversensitive but you don't stop him, just clinging to him and whimpering, and he begins to assail your ear, his panting tangible and hot against your skin.

“My lady, my lady,” he chants, voice shattering like glass. “My lady—Master—”

His orgasm feels like an echo of your own release, his spend filling inside you. Xavier gives a few more thrusts before slowing down and stopping. A self-satisfied sigh ripples over his relaxed body, and his hands climb to your back, guide you to pillow your head on his chest, embracing you as you melt on top of him.

Minutes pass, and his breathing evens; you expected him to fall asleep after, but when you look up his eyes are emphatically open.

“Aren't you sleeping?”

He glances down at you. Quirks a smile. “No, not yet.”

“Oh ...”

“We're not finished, my lady.”

“Huh?”

“You've had your fill, Master.” He smirks. Then flips you over, reversing your positions so he's now on top of you. He starts unbuttoning your shirt. “Now let me have mine.”

[adrienneleclerc]

Do you think you can do a Daniel Ricardo imagine

Where YN is a country singer and I don't know maybe all of the drivers gets invited to a country CMT in Texas and do you think you can make yn inspired by Lainey Wilson if you haven't listened to any of her music I highly recommend you to listen to some yeah that's it and I love the Carlos and MMA imagine it was beautiful and adorable and I loved it so yeah I hope you can do something with this one XOXO🇲🇽🫶🥰

Hi! Thank you so much for liking the Carlos x MMA imagine, you are actually my number 1 requester 🫶🏽 When you say "y/n inspired by Lainey Wilson", I studied her personality. I have watched her performances, listened to some of her music, and watched an interview. But Becky G will always be in my moodboards/headers because she is my idol. You could obviously picture Lainey Wilson if you want. Sorry it took SOOOO long

Country Love

Pairing: Daniel Ricciardo x Country Singer! Reader

Summary: With the Austin Grand Prix being held on the same weekend as the CMT Music Awards, the drivers were invited to the award show, especially because of Daniel's affinity for country music.

Warning: Spelling and grammatical errors, inaccuracies about the CMT Music Awards and country music in general.

A/N: I saw the video of Lainey Wilson singing "The Best of Both Worlds" on YouTube and i LOVED it!! Like girly impersonated Hannah Montana when she was younger so the fact she sung a Hannah song in front of Miley Cyrus herself is just iconic. Also, Becky G being in the moodboard literally means nothing, its still YOU.

Weeks before the Austin Grand Prix, the F1 drivers received calls about attending the CMT Music Awards. The drivers were all excited to have gotten invited to the award show, especially Daniel Ricciardo in particular since he loves country music so much. What’s even better is that VCARB team principal, Laurent Mekies, invited country singer, Y/N L/N, who just so happens to be Daniel’s favorite country singer, to their garage, but thats a surprise.

Daniel walked into the paddock talking to Yuki and Max about how insane and unreasonable the FIA are being when Daniel spotted Y/N walking side by side with her manager. He has completely checked out of the conversation until Yuki punched his arm.

"Ow, Yuki, what the fuck was that for?" Daniel asked, rubbing his arm.

"You weren't paying attention to us! What's up with that?" Yuki asked.

"Sorry, mate, bui just saw Y/N, as in THE Y/N." Daniel said, turning his head to try and spot her again but she was nowhere to be seen.

"Was she wearing a cowgirl hat or something?" Max asked, chuckling. Daniel looked back at him.

"Of course not, don't be ridiculous. She was wearing a baseball cap though. Do you think she's a guest of Ferrari or Mercedes? You know what, maybe she's McLaren's guest, Lando likes country music too." Daniel said. "Damn, they're so lucky they will get to meet her."

"Didn't know you were such a fanboy, Danny." Yuki said, causing both him and Max to laugh.

"She is a talented artist, you know. Can't believe she's here and i won't be able to talk to her until the award show. And thats IF i see her." Daniel said.

"Stop pouting, mate. We have two hours until the race, maybe you'll see her. I gotta head back to RedBull." Max said, patting both men on the back before walking away.

"We should head to our hospitality too." Yuki said and Daniel nodded, following him into VCARB where Y/N had her back turned, talking to Laurent and Daniel's eyes practically bulge out of his head. "Wow, its like watching a cartoon." Yuki comments, looking between Daniel and Y/N.

Laurent and Y/N stop talking and she turns around to face Daniel. Daniel straightens up to make a good impression, or at least try to. Laurent leads Y/N to his two drivers. Daniel was the first one to speak up.

"I'm Daniel Ricciardo, it is so nice to meet you." Daniel said, reaching for Y/N's hand to shake it.

"It's nice to meet you too, Daniel. I'm.." Y/N started.

"You're Y/N L/N, you won the Grammy for best country album, well deserved, by the way, Bell Bottom Country and Whirlwind has been on replay since i landed in Texas." Daniel said and that shocked Y/N.

"Nice job scaring the poor girl." Yuki commented.

"Wow, thank you so much, Daniel. I never would have thought that an F1 driver would be such a big fan of my music." Y/N said.

"I'm Yuki Tsunoda, by the way, if it matters." Yuki spoke up, looking in between Y/N and Daniel.

"Its nice to meet you Yuki. Will you be going to the CMT Awards too?" Y/N askd.

"I won't, actually. But Daniel is very excited for the award show." Yuki said, patting Daniel on the back.

"Can't wait to see you there. I'll let you two get back to whatever it is drivers do." Y/N said, leaving them. Daniel watched her leave and Yuki had to wave his hand in front of his face.

"Laurent, i think he's broken!" Yuki yelled and that snapped Daniel out of his trance.

"I am not broken. Lets go over the plans." Daniel said.

The Grand Prix finished and Daniel wasted no timw to go to his hotel room and change into something more presentable for the CMT Awards. Leaving his room, he spotted Lando already in the lobby with Max.

"Am i early or late?" Daniel asked.

"Early, but so are we. Heard that your celebrity crush was in the paddock." Lando said.

"Yes! She is so beautiful in person." Daniel commented.

"He was staring at her while we were talking. If it was a cartoon, he would be drooling with big hearts for eyes." Max said.

"Haha, lets go, I want to see if i can talk to Y/N some more on the red carpet." Daniel said.

When they arrived, the paparazzi was asking for photos and it was all good until Daniel found out he was taking photos next to Y/N so like the gentleman he was, he waited until Y/N noticed him.

"Oh my god, Daniel, you're here!" Y/N exclaimed before hugging Daniel, he hugged her back. "You guys must be Max and Lando, it was a great race, really."

"Thank you, I'm a fan of your music. My favorite song from your new album is definitely 'Call A Cowboy', you're very talented." Lando said.

"Thank you so much. We should all take a photo togther!" Y/N said

"Great idea! You should stand next to Daniel and then Lando and I will be on each side." Max suggest. Y/N nods and Daniel has his arm around Y/N's waist. While taking the poictre, Daniel leaned down to Y/N's ear to whisper.

"Would you be interested in going out with me tomorrow night?" Daniel asked. Y/N looked up at him, smiled, and then asked him to lean down so she could whisper.

"I'd love to. You feel like waiting for me so we could get Wendy's after?" Y/N asked and Daniel immediately nodded. After the photo ops, they walked into the theater. "DM me on instagram and I'll give you my phone number later." Y/N said closer to Daniel and pulled away to adress the other F1 drivers that came later. "Hope you guys enjoy my performance." Y/N left.

"Danny, are you okay?" Oscar asked

"God bless Texas." Daniel said before they walked in to take their seats.

The End

Hope y'all liked it!

[lazycats-stuff]

Hey! I was thinking about (a character of your liking for the beloved batfam) x male reader who doesn't take anything serious. Oh just got kidnapped? that's not that bad, getting stabbed, yeah that happens, and at least he got a cool scar! Getting absolutely traumatized and mind fucked, just a spicy backstory to tell their therapist.

And the character is just stunned at how the reader can be so happy and carefree. :3

I feel like Damian would fit this. He would like so worried and protective and (Y/N) would be all smiles after a kidnapping. And he would be losing his mind. Lol.

Summary: Damian takes everything seriously. (Y/N) doesn't take anything seriously. Opposites do attract.

Warnings: reader being kidnapped, attacked, and a whole lot of stuff, Damian is questioning everything, but he is a sweetheart towards the reader

Damian was a very serious man. That much was obvious if you just look at his face. Face always serious and behind those eyes he was calculating whether or not you were a threat to him or his beloved's safety. Or habibi as Damian called him often.

The only person who had the honor of seeing Damian smile and being happy was (Y/N), Damian's beloved or habibi in Arabic, which ever you prefer. His beloved was a complete opposite of Damian. Nothing is taken seriously by him.

Damian loves that in him, loves that he able to not take everything so seriously and help Damian just become a 180 from what he is.

But there was one issue though.

(Y/N) never took anything seriously and that included kidnappings or assaults or attempted murder.

Damian distinctly remembers the time (Y/N) has been kidnapped. He just went into detective mode just like his father and searched for whole two days. Turns out he was kidnapped by the Joker. Damian went though a lot of henchmen and once he saw (Y/N), he prepared for the worst.

(Y/N) was just the same. Even as Damian was fretting over him in the medical wing of the cave, (Y/N) was unserious as ever. He claimed it wasn't that bad and that Joker actually had good jokes.

To say that Damian was now worried for (Y/N)'s and his own mental sanity, or what was left of it, was an understatement of the year. That night, while he held (Y/N), he wondered what was happening with him. He would have to see if (Y/N) wanted to see a therapist.

The second instance where Damian question both of their sanities was the fact that he was mugged, but he fought back and in retaliation, they stabbed him. So what did (Y/N) do?

He walked to the hospital. Damian was on patrol when (Y/N) called him.

" Hey Damian, I have news. "

" I don't mean to be rude, but be quick, we are on patrol and we are expecting important information. " Damian said.

" I was mugged and stabb- "

" What!? "

" Yeah, I'm in Gotham general. " (Y/N) said before hanging up. Damian went straight to the cave to change before driving like a maniac to the Gotham general. He practically ran to the front desk.

" Good evening, I'm looking for (Y/N) (L/N). "

" Just a second. " The nurse said, looking it up on her computer. Damian was beyond impatient, but he couldn't lash out against the nurse who was doing her job.

" Room 110, it's just down to your right. "

He thanked her and went down that hall, looking for the numbers. he knocked on the room with the number 110 and entered. (Y/N) was laying down, covered with a blanket.

" Hey Damian. " (Y/N) said, waving at him.

" Beloved, I was very worried. " Damian started, moving closer to the bed. " You can't hang up on me like that after such news. " Damian said, taking his hand and giving it a soft kiss.

" The doctor had to stich me. " (Y/N) said, caressing Damian's hand with his thumb.

" Still. How are you feeling? "

" I feel great, I will have a very cool scar to show off. " (Y/N) said, beaming at Damian. Damian just kissed (Y/N), not ready to admit how he was worried for him. So carefree and so happy even after being stabbed or kidnapping. (Y/N) never showed signs of trauma.

Damian had asked (Y/N) to see a therapist after the mugging incident. (Y/N) said he was fine, but to calm Damian down he started going. Even the therapist was confused how (Y/N) could be so carefree and happy, despite being kidnapped and stabbed.

She said she will need more time with him. Damian didn't know what to think when she said that to him.

And the thing that really broke his mind was when (Y/N) was kidnapped by his mother and grandfather. Damian was was understandably freaking out about it.

If there is anything that the League of Shadows specializes in, that' torture. More so his grandfather and mother. Trying to locate them was proven to be even more difficult and Damian wasn't sure if he could find (Y/N) carefree about all of this.

(Y/N) has been gone for a month and Damian was sure that he was going to lose his mind. And whatever sanity he had left.

After locating his mother and grandfather duo and after capturing them, Damian look for (Y/N). And he found him with his hands bound to the wall and his body that was just covered in bruises and marks.

He untied him, taking him into his arms.

" Beloved, are you okay? " Damian asked (Y/N), brushing his hair out of his eyes. (Y/N) was unconscious and clearly not responsive. Damian wrapped him in a blanket he got from Bruce and he went to the Batplane, waiting for them to get home.

Alfred will have to check how bad it is, but for now, Damian was more than content of keeping (Y/N) in his arms.

(Y/N) woke up a day later, all smiles and giggles. Damian was more than confused.

" (Y/N), you have been tortured. Possibly brainwashed. How can you keep that smile of yours? " Damian questioned.

" Well, it wasn't anything to bad. And besides, I will be able to spice up my sessions with the therapist. "

Damian just sighed, putting his face into his hands. " If you say so beloved. If you say so.

[geraskierfanficprompts]

Prompt 40

In a modern world, Geralt has been chatting online with a man named "Dandelion" for about four weeks now. They finally worked up the mutual courage to go out for a date... I R L... (shocked gasps from the imaginary audience)

Only, Geralt has been sat alone at the restaurant they agreed upon for about an hour and a half now. All his messages to Dandelion have been ignored. He doesn't want to hope something bad happened to him, but he also doesn't want to hope the man is fine and just decided to blow off Geralt and their date. But then he finally gets a call from Dandelion. "Hi! Geralt! Geralt, Right? I hit the right number? Listen- Um- I locked my keys in the car. I know it sounds like an excuse but it isn't! And the car fixer men can't come until tomorrow, so I was just going to hire an uber, but I can't find my wallet, and I doubt I have the money for it, for see, my darling white wolf, I may have splurged all my money on quite a lovely bouquet to bring you- Um- It's on my kitchen table-" (the sounds of a man clambering and stumbling through his own apartment) "-And so i was going to do the very embarrassing act of asking you to pay for my uber, even though you were already generous enough to offer to pay for the entire meal, and so I decided I'd think on it and try and find my wallet again after my shower, but see then I fell in the shower, and I- Well, to be honest, I think I might have broken my arm, um- I think I need a raincheck? And can I borrow money for an uber to the hospital? I'll pay it back, I swear!" Long story short, Geralt's first date with this 'Dandelion' guy he's had a massive crush on for weeks, is driving him to the hospital and checking him in. The worst part of it all is that Jaskier (Dandelion's real name*) is so charming, that Geralt can't even be upset about the whole situation. *Geralt soon learns that "Julian" is Jaskier's 'real' real name, when he ends up helping Jaskier write out his medical forms, but this is all just semantics.

[puffin-smoke]

redactedtober 15!! thank you @nevaroonie for helping me choose a word :DD and also just generally being the nicest coolest amazingest person ever.

Geordi; Grave

(obvious tw for death, I kill Geordi in this one)(also cutie taking it awfully)

Geordi died a week after getting coffee with Cutie.

They had planned to meet up that very day, in a little idyllic cafe near a park. They'd eat, chat, and maybe go on a walk. Things would be normal. Cutie had been tenuously optimistic that would be the case, that the tension hanging over their last meeting would dissipate, would fade away into background noise. Cutie would be able to fix things.

But then they got a call from the hospital. He'd been crossing a road when a car had come barrelling towards him, hitting him dead on. It broke his ribcage, his bones puncturing his lungs lungs. He was being kept alive by a ventilator and prayers.

Cutie dropped their phone and ran.

They crashed through the ward door after shouting their way through and past reception, sprinting down the corridor the moment they were told his ward number. Voices behind them yelled for them to stop, to wait, but they didn't care. They didn't have time to care.

They emerged into a world of pale shades of white and sterile smells, identical beds laid out in ordered rows in collective boredom or suffering in-

In the final bed, furthest from the door, was Geordi. They saw him lying there, hair gently tousled, eyes closed. Perfectly still. As though he were just sleeping.

They watched as a nurse dragged a bed sheet across his face.

He disappeared into the mass of sterility and blandness. He was gone.

"No-no- Geordi!" They didn't care how loud they were being, how many eyes bore into them. They didn't care if it hurt as they elbowed past the nurse. They didn't care how many people yelled at them as they threw the sheet off him, those people didn't know what they were doing, what they were keeping from them.

He was back. The blanket was now a pile on the too clean floor, there was nothing keeping him from waking up and looking at them and and blinking up at them as he tried to get the sleep out of his eyes and-

A hand wrapped itself around their forearm, a voice was in their ear, kind but ultimately useless. "Look, dear, you-"

They flung out an elbow blindly, thrashing until the voice let out a grunt and the hand's grip went slack. "Get the hell off of me!"

He was still warm. When they took his hand and held it to their face and clasped it like it might break if they held it too tightly, it was warm. He was alive. He had to be alive. "Geordi? Geordi, I need you to wake up- come on, we have our date- Geordi?"

His hand was limp. It flopped like a dead fish, useless. They wanted to vomit. They hated the way hospitals smelled. Geordi smelt like cheap shampoo and grass. And blood. "Please- please god, just wake up. I can't- I can't-"

The words got caught in their throat and nearly choked them, air refusing to meet their lungs. The world blurred, their eyes stung. Their grip tightened on his hand until they must have heard bones cracking. They wheezed and fell to their knees. "Geordi, please. Please-please- I need to- you can't leave me."

They felt a hand on their shoulder. Another around their arm, wrenching it behind their back. Voices less kind. "Listen, we're just going to take you to reception so you can-"

"No! Fuck off- you can't-" for all their protestations they couldn't struggle. Every ounce of strength in their body had abandoned them. Their limbs were heavy, breaths came no easier. So all they did was scream as they were hauled to their feet.

Away from Geordi. They felt tears running down their face, pooling in their mouth. Their voice was hoarse, scratching, ugly, nearly uninteligble but still they screamed as though it would make any difference.

"Geordi! Please- please, I can make things better! I'm sorry- I'm so fucking sorry- please wake up-" they went slack in the security guards' arms, almost buckling over. "I want to fix things- let me fix it, please!"

Vomit stained the floor beneath them. It punctuated every word they butchered.

"Just wake up! Geor-"

Apparently grieving was normal.

That's what everyone had told them. The doctors, the people at the funeral, their therapist. It was a part of the process. To want to tear your own throat out whenever you saw the deceased face, to see the world in monochrome, to have the smell of the hospital clogged in your nose. Screaming at people for smiling too bright, living life too loud. Normal.

Their therapist had encouraged them to do this. And they eventually had. It had taken two months of both putting it off and impatiently waiting for the day to come. Two failed trips when they couldn't bring themself to walk through the cemetery gates.

But now they had.

Now they were standing in front of Geordi's grave and their words were stuck in their throat again.

They swallowed until they could pretend the lump in their throat was gone. They were suddenly very aware of how they were standing, the awkwardness of their limbs, the way they swayed on a windless evening.

"Hi. Geordi." This was stupid. The way their eyes stung was stupid, the way their hair was knotted and matted was stupid. "Uh- I don't really know what I'm supposed to say."

They looked around for a moment to watch all the other mourners. Families holding each other as they wept, widows laying flowers on headstones with tears in their eyes, lovers sitting by graves too big for the children they memorialised with trinkets and toys barely used.

And here they were. With an assignment from their therapist.

"My therapist said that I should- I should tell you things. That I wanted to say before you..." they trailed off, waiting for the right words to come. They didn't. They hated it.

This was stupid. They kicked up a patch of earth, sending dirt and ants flying into a neighbouring headstone. "This isn't going to fix anything. You're dead."

That was the first time they had said it. Geordi was dead. Buried at their feet.

They couldn't fix things.

"I shouldn't even be here, you shouldn't want me here." They blinked a dozen times waiting for their vision to be less cloudy. "I hurt you, so many fucking times, and I have the- I don't deserve to feel sorry for myself."

It was too late to apologise. It was too late to beg for forgiveness.

"I want to- I need to tell you how sorry I am. I need all of this-" they gestured wildly to the open air, to everything, to the world that they couldn't make better- "to just go- go away."

But they didn't deserve that. Nothing that good. "But I can't. Geordi. I can't make things right, I can barely not read strangers minds-" they'd come so close, so many times. It would've been so easy. To know if the sad way people looked at them was truly pity or well disguised disgust.

"I can't do anything." They thought admitting to the helplessness would help numb it. Would seize back some control. It didn't.

"I have so many things I want to say to you. But I can't." they turned away from the grave. It was getting late. "I don't deserve to."

The words bounced around in the empty space of their mind. The expanse that would've been filled by other people's problems and shames and dreams.

Now it only housed a grief that burnt them from the inside out.

God knew they deserved worse.

[abbysimsfun]

Sims In Bloom: Generation 2 Pt. 25 (Unexpected Death Cull but then a Baby, Finally!)

The town of Henford was rocked by a seniors’ river cruise disaster which killed Spencer’s grandparents Dennis and Vivian Lewis-Kim, as well as Ian and Derek Moody-McMillan, who were old friends of the Nesbitts and grandfathers to Nicola, Hazel’s bestie-turned-girlfriend.

The disaster brought Everett and Spencer home to visit her family. The Nesbitts sent condolences, grateful to have been spared greater grief as the town’s fledgling riverboat tourism industry took a nosedive. Spencer met her new niece and infant Greyson got to know his aunts on the Pancakes and Kim-Lewis sides of his family.

The visit made them miss home, and they began to talk about coming home to Henford for good. For now, however, life called them back to Oasis Springs after the funerals.

Daisy was still a PlantSim, which was concerning as the effects of the forbidden fruit had worn off much slower than she expected, and River’s wedding was just around the corner. Despite this, Daisy stayed close to Heather until delivery.

One evening, Heather tried to show her mother how to use accounting software for her floral business, but it wasn't going well and Heather was starting to get bored. She nonchalantly checked her phone. "You wrote a whole cookbook, Mom. You taught me how to do online research, but you can't figure out a few numbers?"

Daisy frowned. "I always let the telescope do my number-crunching for me. I really just loved gardening." She clicked something, and the program disappeared. "Oh, what now?"

"Let me." Heather leaned over her mother's shoulder. "You deleted it? How did you do that?"

Daisy shrugged in frustration. "I really don't know."

Heather opened her Recycle Bin to retrieve the deleted file when she noticed a strange folder. "VetConnect? Is this a clone? What?"

"What does that mean?"

"I...I think someone might have cloned my app files and given them to Petcare Inc."

"Who would do such a thing?"

"Other than you, no one's used my computer since...since Malcolm! I used to let him log in to send work emails. Oh my god! I could kill him!"

Daisy frowned. "Don't say that. Can you sue?"

"Against the Landgraabs? I don't even know if I could prove it was him," she said. "But I think I can fight fire with fire. My vet tech had the idea, and it took years to make the first one, but I'm going to have to work on a new app."

After a family dinner in Henford, Heather finally went into labour. Daisy went with her to the hospital, where her doctor was the on-call intern, Jamar Scott, her childhood neighbour.

(And the eldest son of Henford townies Simon and Sara Scott.)

"How's life in Brindleton Bay?"

"It's really great! I love being by the sea and I really feel like the clinic was my calling."

"I know what you mean. What you do for animals is what I love to do for sims."

"And how's Malia's freelance career?"

"She loves the flexibility, and I can't say I blame her. We're talking about starting a family of our own once my residency's done and I can work better hours."

Just before four in the morning, an exhausted Heather gave birth to a healthy baby boy she named Ash Neal Nesbitt. She debated the last name for months, but Malcolm hadn’t checked on her except when he needed a paternity test. And he stole her mobile app's code!

Since then he’d been no better than a ghost. If he wanted to miss out on his son's life, Heather was fine with it. ->

<- Previous Chapter | Gen 2 Start | Gen 1 Summary | Gen 1 Start

NOTE: To prevent them from randomly marrying other sims I made Dennis Kim and Vivian Lewis fall in love and marry years after their kids, Eric and Alice, married and started a family (they had three girls - Olivia, Spencer, and Lydia Kim-Lewis).

NOTE 2: I made OG grocer Kim Goldbloom the adopted daughter of Ian Moody and Derek McMillan because I wanted to make all the Henford NPCs playable at the start of the game. (I also paired up Michael Bell and Cecilia Kang despite their canon bad first date, married off Agnes and Agatha and moved them in with the Pancakes after making Agatha the mother of Bob, and put Lavina and Rahul in a home in the Bramblewood. She married Paolo Rocca and had two more kids, Rahul married Rashidah Watson after graduation and they moved to Brindleton Bay to start a family.

[littleskeletonprincessss]

There's been an accident - Swaggersouls x Reader

This a part 2 of a generic blurb I wrote.

"Bye- I love you" Swagger hung up the phone before putting it on the counter in front of him. He rested his head in his hands, foot anxiously bouncing on the barstool he has on just...waiting. His mind played their fight back on repeat. All the nasty things he'd said. Things they'd both said. And the part the hurt the most to watch was watching Y/N walk out. Watching her leave him.

Swagger wasn't one to be religious but he prayed to whoever was listening, whether it was some deity or even just the universe, that she'd come back to him. He couldn't think about life without her, she was his entire world.

His phone vibrating with a call startled him before looking down to see an unknown number.

"Hello?"

"Is this Eric Matthews?" A male voice asked.

"Yeah, um, yes that's me." Swaggers mind wandered, wondering who would be calling him by his real name.

"Mr. Matthews my name is Dr. Hilton from Marcella Community Hospital. You were listed as an Emergency Contact for a Y/N L/N?"

Cold washed over Swaggers entire body, his heart dropping in his chest and his voice becoming tight.

"She's my girlfriend. Is- What happened?" me managed to stutter.

"Unfortunately i'm not able to discuss too much over the phone but please come as soon as possible."

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

Swagger didn't remember anything about the drive to the hospital and honestly couldn't deny if he ran any red lights. After hanging up with the doctor his only focus was getting to her. His mind raced- what could have happened? This was all his fault. If they hadn't fought she wouldn't have left and she'd be safe at home, snuggling with him on the couch with Bear and Bean.

His footsteps felt heavy and the entrance to the front desk seemed to go on forever, the end always moving farther away.

"Hi, my name is Eric. I- I received a call? About my girlfriend, Y/N? I- I don't know- Sorry, I don't know where i'm supposed to go or who i'm supposed to go to-". Swagger rambled.

The receptionists face fell, sadness taking over her pretty features, darkening them.

"Yes, sir. Please have a seat." She said before picking up the phone next to her.

Swagger migrated to the waiting area, but was too stressed and worried to sit. He paced, chewing at his fingernails - a bad habit Y/N had helped him get over. Dark thoughts tried fogging his brain and it was everything he could do to ignore them.

"Mr. Matthews?"

Swagger looked up at the Doctor who'd called his name.

"I'm Dr. Hilton, we spoke on the phone." He said, holding out his hand.

"Please, what happened?" Swagger pleaded, taking his hand.

"There's been an accident. A head on collision."

Swaggers heart stopped. The sound around him faded until the silence screamed in his ears. He couldn't breathe. He felt tears form, hot and clouding his vision, it hurt to swallow.

"Is- I mean- she's- she can't-" he tried saying every thought at once.

Dr. Hilton helped Swagger sit.

"She's alive. Broken arm, a few broken ribs and a concussion, along with a few bruises and cuts. Someone was looking out for her."

Swagger took the deepest breath he'd ever taken.

"Can I see her?"

"Not yet. She's in surgery right now for the broken ribs, one of the nicked her lung so she was taken back immediately. I'll have someone come get you when she's in recovery."

Swagger stood up and hugged the Doctor. Later he'd be embarrassed. Right now though the relief that he felt-he didn't care. Even if she was mad at him when she woke up, she was alive. She'd be okay.

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

Hours passed by. And Swagger couldn't do anything but wait and respond to the occasional text he received asking for status updates after he'd updated your friends.

"Y/N L/N?" A nurse finally called your name.

Swagger stood up- almost too quickly, he made himself light headed.

"Please follow me." The nurse said.

Swagger followed the nurse down corridors past rooms full of patients and families before stopping at your room.

His heart broke a little. You looked so fragile, a cast around your arm and bandages wrapped around your head. A bruise puffed up around your eye. IV's delivered a clear fluid through your body while oxygen was wrapped around your ears and into your nose.

"She'll be sleeping for a bit. But you're welcome to wait here until she wakes up." The nurse said before shutting your door, locking away the noises from the hallway and giving you privacy.

Swagger took the chair next to your bed and angled it to hold your hand while he looked at you. Stroking your cheek with his thumb he leaned down and kissed your hand before lying his forehead on the bed next to you, the exhaustion from worry and stress taking over his body now that you were here next to him, safe. He wouldn't sleep, but his body needed to rest.

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

"Mmm." your low groan caught Swaggers attention.

Snapping his head up he saw your eyes begin to blink open.

"Hey, hey, shh." He stood, not wanting you push yourself too hard. He started stroking your cheek again, giving you a sense of comfort.

"Swagger?" You croaked out.

"Yeah, I'm here."

"What happened?" you tried clearing your throat.

Swagger reached over to pour you a little bit of water before helping you to sit up to drink it.

"They told me you had a head on collision. Sounds like a pretty bad accident" He said, sitting on the edge of the bed.

You sipped the cold water feeling it run down your throat, soothing the burning feeling.

"I'm sorry I left." You whispered.

"Hey, don't worry about that right now. That's not important. What's important is you're okay. Alright?"

"I got your voicemail."

Swagger paused.

"I meant everything." He said, looking you in the eyes.

"I know. I was going to turn around. And then-" you trailed off.

"You were?" Swagger looked like he wanted to cry. 'I was going to turn around.' He took your hand and brought it up to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss before hiding his face with it.

"I thought- I just thought you'd be gone forever. And then I got the call and thought you'd really be gone.

"Swagger, please just hold me?"

He didn't need another word before scotting next to you and pulling you into his arms. You buried your face in his chest chasing the comfort you both needed.

"I love you." You whispered, feeling sleep take over.

"I love you."

[mentalknot]

Mathematical Memories #1:

TW: Mental Health Topics

During the spring semester of my freshman year at college, I was hospitalized for a mental health emergency, and let me tell you... the worst part was easily the lack of chalkboards in the facility.

Questionable jokes aside, a conversation with a couple friends today reminded me of a brief memory from stay:

As I sat at the small table, trying my best to comprehend the printout of an academic paper my mentor had given me to review at the start of our project, when one of the other patients called over to me,

"Hey math girl, can you explain the Good Will Hunting problem?"

I was quite rusty on the specifics of the film, and also knew better than to claim understanding of what could possibly be a problem on par with some millennium problems (given my vague understanding of the math Hollywood finds interesting). Nonetheless, I told him to find the movie, and I'd try my best.

The rest of the patients gathered around as the man who asked the question, Alan, located the film, and paused the screen so I could see what was written on the chalkboard in one of those early few scenes... graph theory, thank god. The first few questions were as follow:

Find the adjacency matrix A of the graph (the graph had four vertices, not horrible)

Find the matrix giving the number of three-step walks (also not terrible, but ramping up)

Find the generating function for walks from point i to point j. (getting more interesting...)

Find the generating function for walks from point 1 to 3. (similar to the previous question... probably worse)

Although I knew about the core pieces of the questions from my recent combinatorics course, I knew better than to test my chances on 3 and 4. Still, there were people staring at me eager to learn math, and I couldn't disappoint them.

"Have any of you taken a course in graph theory -- networks maybe? No experience needed, just gaging the room..."

Silence. I grabbed a piece of paper and a colored pencil to begin regardless.

"Ok, let's start with the basics: a graph is a mathematical structure built from vertices and edges. Vertices are these 'dots' or 'points' I'm drawing here, and edges are the 'lines' connecting them. If two vertices, say A and B, are connected by an edge, it shows some sort of 'relationship' between A and B."

I scribbled a quick simple graph on the page, and with the group nodding in agreement, moved on to multigraphs, explained that an adjacency matrix is one tool we can use to understand whether any of our vertices share an edge or not, and finally I threw in trees for fun.

Trees got them. They loved trees. Walter, who was a college freshman as well, inquired

"Is there such thing as an 'infinite' tree, like one with infinitely many leaves?"

I'd never thought about such a thing before, but saw no reason why such a graph couldn't exist... and imagined that 'spreading the leaves out evenly' would yield a depiction that looked somewhat like a circle... only one way to check.

We ran over to the communal tablet and started looking up "infinite trees, graph theory" much to the amusement of the nurses on duty for the evening. We never found an image that exactly matched what we head in our minds, but discovered enough to convince us that the idea wasn't baseless. The rest of the group had since dispersed, and Walter and I soon did the same to prepare for sleep.

Reflecting back on that day, I can't help but wonder... what is it about early career mathematicians getting fixated on wacky graph theory ideas?

referencing no personal experience of course...

[winterspiderpurrs]

Clicking onto the link to go over the conference itinerary for trip out to San Francisco, Stephen took a sip of his hot tea. After scrolling through the presenters he pauses, and scrolls back up at a name he thought he recognized. Selecting the bio of the presenter confirms it for him. His old roommate was presenting.

Peter Parker. Actually Doctor Peter Parker with degrees is Biochemistry, Biophysics, Chemical Engineering.

Huh.

Its been years since they have seen each other. Stephen was in his 3rd year of his fellowship specializing his field when his roommate at the time moved across the country to finish up with a program out there. They subleased their part of the rent. Enter Sophomore Peter Parker.

Peter was only his roommate for the 2nd half of the school year, til the lease was up in June. By then, Stephen got his own penthouse. But for those 6 months, he has gotten close to Peter. Who was sassy, funny, shy at times, and overall kind.

They, of course butted heads the first month, but then they got along. Became friends even, despite the age gap between them, with Stephen being 12 years older. Stephen also thinks about the almost kiss they had one night. And the outings that now looking back felt more like dates.

He still recalls the disappointed look at Peter's face when he said he wasn't going to renew the lease. He got his own place, and he had a job offer to work at Metro General Hospital. They kept in touch off and on for the 1st year after that, but then, like everything else, life got busy.

Pulling his cell phone out, he scrolls through the contacts and sees Peter's name. Should he? They would just be old friends catching up. Far as he knows Peter is probably in a relationship. So, he sends a text to his phone, asking if this is still his number and if so, to let him know.

He received 4 quick texts back, shaking his head. Very much a Peter response. He lets him know that he will be at the conference as well, and if he had time, would he like to have coffee at some point or dinner. He was flying in on Saturday, and the conference didn't start til Monday.

A week later arrives and before he knows it, him and Peter had a coffee together at the hotel that the conference is being hosted at. Peter managers to wrangle him into some sight seeing. They ended up doing two days worth of sight seeing, having dinner together, laughing, having a good time like it hadn't been years since they last hung out.

Monday morning, Stephen was getting ready for the day, room service was on the way with his breakfast when he gets a phone call from Peter.

" Stephen! Your awake! I'm glad I didn't wake you. I am so so sorry about this."

Blinking, Stephen looked at the phone before holding it back up to his ear.

" What are you talking about?"

Someone knocked on the door, the muffled ' Room Service' was heard, Stephen opened the door, allowing them to roll in the cart before slipping them a tip.

" Oh no.. you haven't seen it yet. I... Well.. I guess its better to hear from me. "

" Hear what from you? I'm confused with what's going on. And you know I don't like being confused. Spit it out."

" We were photographed out together and its such a huge invasion of privacy, I can't believe I didn't think about how it would look. I am so so sorry for dragging you into this."

" We were photographed? Why would someone do that and even publish it? I know I'm big in medical circles, I assume you are too in your area but..."

Stephen was opening the newspaper he ordered and right there on the front, were two photos of him and Peter.

The large headline read as "Tony Stark's Ex finally moves on with New man"

"Stephen?"

" You dated Tony Stark?"

" Oh god, you saw the paper? I mean... Yes? Kinda? Look it was... a bit ago. We went our separate ways romantically at least. But... Look I love Tony, I do. But we haven't been together in two years now almost three. He is a great man, and one I consider a friend. Its just... Tony is protective of those he considers his."

"So he is an egotistical asshole who doesn't want you seeing anyone else?"

"No! But " he can hear Peter sigh on the other side of the line.

" Tony is much more then what the media says, and while it didn't work out between us, Tony still wants to look at for me and ANYONE really that he includes in his circle. Imagine Christine in this situation"

And Stephen could understand that, he loves Christine and probably always will. He would definitely defend her always.

There was another knock on the door, thinking maybe room service forgot something he opened the door and then just stares at the person on the other side of the door as Peter continues to talk.

" Either way, I'm sorry about the photos. I'll get in touch with my lawyers and maybe even Tony's since they brought his name up to see what they can do. Damage is kinda done though, and I apologize about that."

"And in your wording of Stark being over protective. He isn't prone to violence is he?"

"What? NO! I mean... He did punch a guy one time while we were out cause they called me a gold digger but no? Why? Did you already get a threatening text from him?!"

"No, he is at my door right now"

" TONY! oh my god just uh lemme finish getting dressed and I will be at your room as soon as possible."

Stephen hangs up the phone, tossing it onto the bed behind him before crossing his arms.

There, in the open doorway, was Tony Stark, cleaning his sunglasses as if he hadn't a care in the world.

[fictionplumis]

On the plus side, my terrible experience has brought me to a Sandman human!AU.

Hob Gadling is a history professor who has the terrible habit of getting himself into shit situations, the newest one being hit by a car while walking to work and ending up in the hospital with some pretty serious injuries. After surgeries and stuff, since he has no family and doesn't want to bother friends looking after him, he gets an extra long stay in observation, and the only spare observation room happens to be near the pediatric ones. His doctor is Dr. Teleute and she's the best, they hit it off really well, even if her first experience was him drugged to high hell and badmouthing all doctors in general.

Dream is her little brother and an author, mostly children's books, but he has more adult (re: mature, not sexual) novels under his penname Morpheus. Every so often he'll go to the hospital and go around room to room, reading to the kids. Hob overhears him and as Dream goes to pass his room, jokingly calls out, "What, you're not going to read to me?" and gives Dream the biggest puppy dog eyes.

He's joking, of course.

Dream freezes in the doorway for a long second, awkwardly because he's fucking great with kids but this is a whole ass adult and he has no idea how to answer this. Not that he looks uncertain, he's way too stoic for that. So he just...

Walks into the room and asks, "Which book would you like? I have one about a raven named Jessamy, one about a wyvern, pegasus, and griffon guarding a king's castle, and one about the world's best librarian."

Hob wasn't expecting to get that far. He chooses the wyvern one because it sounds awesome. And it is! He genuinely enjoys it, and Dream enjoys telling it to an adult and still having the story thoroughly appreciated.

He keeps coming back to read the kids, more often than he would usually just because Hob confesses that's bored as fuck and it's nice to have some company and someone to talk to, and he brings different book options for Hob to pick from. They end up talking too, and Hob eventually admits that he likes hearing Dream read from the other rooms because he's really great with the kids. Super patient and chill, always answers all their questions even if the question is utter nonsense, and it reminds Hob of when he had his own son.

(Eleanor and Robyn were in a car accident. It took her immediately, took Robyn a few agonizing days afterwards, and Hob can't keep from choking up as he tells Dream. Robyn was five. He had been married to Eleanor for nearly a decade. Dream merely says that he understands, and though he says no more, the look on his face is enough for Hob to know he really, truly does.) Of course, the day comes that Dream shows up and Hob's room is empty and his sister is like, "Sorry, little brother, but it's against HIPPA for me to give you his contact information... JK, haha, he actually left me his phone number specifically for you, here you go."

[themultifandomgal]

Kelly- Meeting Him

I turn the key in my car again irritated that my car won't start. Groaning I get out of the car and slam the door behind me. Leaning on the car I ring Connor but he doesn't answer, he's probably at work at the hospital. Sighing I end the call

"Sorry is everything ok?" A handsome stranger asks me

"I'm fine don't worry, just a broken down car"

"You want me to take a look at it?"

"Sure, knock yourself out" I say watching as he opens up the hood of the car "I'm YN Rhodes by the way" I stick my hand out for the guy to shake

"Rhodes as in Connor Rhodes?"

"Yeah that's my twin brother"

"Kelly Severide" he shakes my hand "how come I haven't see you around before?" I take in a deep breath

"I tend to keep to myself really. Don't usually do bars or going out in general, but tonight I was on a date. Went pretty shit" I chuckle thinking back to my date

"How so?"

"The guy wouldn't stop talking about himself. Liked to drop in the fact he had a yacht every couple of minutes" both Kelly and I chuckle

"Well, I'm afraid it looks like your going to need a new car battery"

"Great" I groan with annoyance

"I'll give you a lift home"

"Oh no it's absolutely...."

"Don't say ok or it's fine. I'll drop you off home"

"Thank you"

It's about a 15 minute drive and the whole tome we just chat about ourselves and jobs. Kelly tells me he's a firefighter while I tell him that I work for the family business with the numbers. When we arrive I get kind of disappointed that our chat has to end so I offer him a drink inside, to which he agrees to. As soon as I open the door, my black German Shepard greets me

"Hello my baby" I squish her face in my hands and kiss her. I look back at Kelly who's smiling "sorry I should have warned you that I have a dog. Her names Nyx she's super friendly so be prepared for cuddles"

"She's beautiful"

"Thank you. I rescued her a couple years ago, kept me company since then. Do you want a beer?"

"Sure" I walk over to the kitchen with Kelly and Nyx following me "you've got a nice place"

"Thanks it's not much but it's good enough for me and this girl" I give Nyx a head rub then open up the fridge and hand Kelly a cold beer and take one for myself. We go back to the living room where Nyx climbs onto the sofa next to me and places her head on my lap

"How long have you lived in Chicago?"

"Forever. Connor was the one who left us all as soon as he could. Clair, our younger sister was bitter about Connor leaving us with our father"

"And what about you?"

"At first yeah. I became a mother figure to Clair and I resented Connor for leaving when I couldn't. I then soon realised that the reason I hated him was only because Connor did what I wanted to do. Leave the family business, you know I actually wanted to be a firefighter" I sip my beer

"Then why don't you do it?"

"Dad" I give Kelly a sad smile "can't do it to him. Probably will end up giving him a heart attack"

"You shouldn't give up your dreams because your scared your dads going have a hissy fit" sighing I get off the couch and go to the kitchen to grab us both another beer. What I don't realised is Kelly has followed me in, until I turn around and face him. He tucks away a stray hair "you should do what you want to do. If your dad doesn't like it then so be it"

"It's not as easy as that. If I go against him I literally loose everything. My dad pays for my car, my house. Of course I don't want him to do, but if I leave the company all of that stops and I will have no income. I've had one beer and I'm pouring my heart out to you. I'm sorry"

"Don't apologise"

After quite a few beers we both end up drunk. Not wanting to worry about Kelly driving or worrying if he's home safely I tell him to stop the night. We end up in bed together, for the first time since having her, Nyx slept on the floor.

[marie-swriting]

After All These Years - Emily Prentiss

Masterlist

Summary : when you get a phone call from the hospital telling you Emily got hurt, you immediately drop everything to go check on her, even if it means seeing her again for the first time in ten years.

Warnings : mention of Emily getting beaten and shot, a small portion of angst, fluff, happy ending, maybe some grammatical mistakes as English is not my first language, tell me if you see some or if I missed any warnings.

Word count : 3.1k

French Version

Prompt : "They haven’t seen each other in a long time, but Person A realizes they are still Person B’s emergency contact, when they get a call from the hospital." number 3 from this prompt list made by @creativepromptsforwriting

Your phone rings while you’re walking to your car. Instinctively, you go through your purse before picking it up without checking the caller ID. When you hear an unknown voice answering you, you stop yourself abruptly giving the woman all your attention.

“Hello, this is the hospital, is it Y/N Y/L/N, Emily Prentiss’ emergency contact ?”

“Yes, it’s me. What happened to her ?” You question, panic can be detected in your voice.

“Miss Prentiss got beaten, she also got shot. Fortunately, we took charge of her just in time, but she needs to stay in the hospital tonight under observation.” She informs you and you sigh with relief. 

“Got it, thanks for calling me. I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”

You hang up and run to your car. You throw your purse on the passenger seat and drive without wasting another second. When you’re at traffic lights, you call your boss to explain why you won’t be here. You try to drive carefully while going as fast as you can to the hospital. When you arrive, you park in the first spot you see before rushing to the reception desk. You identify yourself and the woman gives you directions to Emily’s room, you thank her and start running again to the third floor. In the elevator, you allow yourself to finally breathe calmly. Even if the nurse assured you Emily wasn’t in a life-threatening situation, you can’t help but have your anxiety eat you from inside. To this fear you can also add the fact you’re about to see Emily again for the first time in ten years. Even if your breakup was a general agreement, you still stress at the idea of finding yourself in the same room as her. She means a lot to you. You knew the day you broke up wouldn’t be the last day you’d see her, but you wouldn’t have imagined you’d see each other again because Emily would be at the hospital.

The elevator doors open and you trot around looking at every room’s number until you find the room 327. You lightly knock on the door and Emily’s voice invites you in. When she sees you, she frowns.

“Y/N, what are you doing here ?”

“Apparently, I’m still your emergency contact.” You answer laughing nervously.

“Oh… huh, sorry I didn’t think they’d call you while you were probably at work.” Emily apologises putting her hair back in place.

“Don’t worry, they called me before, I was able to come here quickly. Emily, I was so scared when I got the call”, you admit, getting closer to her, “Are you okay ? Are you hurt anywhere ?”

“They gave me pain-killers so I’m okay.”, she reassures you before showing you the chair next to the bed, “Please, sit.”

“Thanks.”

Once you’re seated, your gaze lands on Emily. You don’t even try to hide your concern while you’re searching for every wound on her body. You see several bruises on her face and her left arm in a sling. Notwithstanding she’s in front of you, alive you can’t help but imagine what could have happened if she hadn’t gotten this lucky. Lost in your thoughts while your eyes are still set on her wounds, your old fears about her job come back stronger with each passing minute. You also recall why you never liked her work in the first place when you were together.

“You can't stop thinking about it and say it, you know. You want me to quit.” Emily states, snapping you out of your mind.

“You love your job and we’re not together anymore, I’m no one to tell you this.”

“But you���d want it.”

Emily gives you a knowing look to let you know she doesn’t believe you. You don’t try to deny it anymore and avoid her eyes for a second before looking up again.

“I just want you to be safe.”, you clarify before marking a pause, “Besides even if I wanted to, I wouldn’t push you to quit. I know how important this job is for you, even if it can be dangerous. You also help to put murderers behind bars and save lives, it’d be stupid for me to tell you to stop. But I have to admit I’d be more reassured if your work didn’t involve bullets and serial killers.”

“If only it was possible !” She chuckles.

“The fact is, no matter what I think, what you do is important for you, that’s what matters to me…”, you add before taking her hand in yours, “just, be more careful next time. I don’t want another call like that anytime soon.”

“I’d do my best.”, Emily promises you with a smile, “Sorry for scaring you.”

“You’re okay, that’s what matters. Tell me if you need anything.” You say and you see her eyes brighten.

“Right now, I’d need your delicious cookies.”

“Too bad for you, I don’t have them.”, you inform laughing and she fakes a pout, “I didn’t plan on seeing you again today because you’d got hurt. But I can always go to the cafeteria to buy you some and tomorrow I could bake cookies and after you’d get back to yours, I’ll bring them to you.”

“You’re the best.” Emily exclaims.

You lightly squeeze her hand before taking your wallet and go buy some cookies. When you go back to her room, she holds out her valid arm to you with a big smile on her face. You give her the cookies and Emily starts eating them without wasting a second. She gives you some which you accept joyfully. You guys talk with you eat, trying to make up for lost time; at some points, you laugh and it feels like you never broke up. Your conversation seems natural just like the smile on your face. Despite the reason for your reunion, you haven’t been this happy in the last ten years.

When the sun comes down, a nurse knocks on the door. She quickly checks if Emily is okay before telling you you have to go because visiting hours are over.

“Would it be possible for me to stay, please ? I’m her fiancée, I don’t want to leave her alone for the night.”

“Oh, sure, no problems.”, she confirms before walking to the door, “Have a nice evening.”

“Fiancée, huh ?” Emily questions with a smirk once the nurse is out.

“It was the only way to make sure she’d allow me to stay.”, you defend yourself, “I think if I had said ‘ex’, she would have told me to leave right away.”

“She would have probably thought you were the crazy ex who would want to kill me during the night.”

“Probably.”, you laugh with Emily before paying more attention to her face. “Your eyes are bleary, you should go to sleep.”

“You’re right, but you’re not gonna stay on that uncomfortable chair, are you ?”

“They're probably gonna bring me a small bed or something. Go to sleep, don't worry.”

You see she’s skeptical but Emily is too exhausted to argue with you so she closes her eyes while you still hold her right hand and stroke it with your thumb. You keep looking at her while she’s slowly falling asleep. Your eyelids become heavier as well and you end up on the edge of the bed, your hand still holding Emily’s.

JJ opens the hospital room’s door and finds Emily peacefully sleeping with an unknown woman next to her. The raven-haired woman opens her eyes when she hears the door closing although the blonde made sure to not make a sound. Emily greets her friend silently. She wants to run her hand on her face but your weight prevents her from doing it. She sets her gaze on you and shakes you with her hand under your body. When you stand back from your position after you’ve opened your eyes, her face is the first thing you see. Emily points behind you and you turn around, discovering JJ. Feeling the heat in your cheeks, you stand up and present her your hand.

“Hey, I’m Y/N, Emily’s…”, you start hesitating, “friend.”

“JJ, I’m her colleague.”, she greets you by shaking your hand before turning back to Emily, “They told me they were gonna check on you one last time before allowing you to leave. Do you want me to bring you back home like we planned or maybe you want to do it Y/N ?” JJ asks and you shake your head.

“You came here for this, I’m not gonna disturb your plans. Besides, I have cookies to bake, anyway.”

“Her cookies are the best.” Emily comments.

“So, I’m gonna go, but we will see each other later.” You inform them while you take your purse that was next to the chair.

“Sure.”

Automatically, you kiss Emily’s cheek and exit the room. When you close the door, your eyes go wide, realising what you just did. As for her, Emily almost forgot how to breathe, she was not expecting this more than nice touch. 

“Oh, you’re so gonna tell me everything in the car.” JJ exclaims with excitement in her eyes.

When Emily is finally able to go home, the two women get in JJ’s car. On the way to Emily’s home, JJ waits before questioning her friend. Emily hopes she won’t have to talk about your relationship, not really knowing what to say. After ten minutes, JJ can’t hold it anymore.

“So, are you going to tell me what happened between you and your ‘friend’ Y/N or what ?”

“Nothing special.” Emily brushes it off.

“You were peacefully sleeping by her side and you literally froze when you felt her lips on your cheek. Something happened between you two.”

“We used to date ten years ago, that’s all.” Emily explains casually.

“Was it a long relationship ?”

“Five years.”

“Why did you guys break up ?” JJ questions, confused, “Because you clearly still have feelings for each other.”

“Because of my job.”, she says shifting in the seat, “I was always in another country or undercover so we couldn’t talk a lot for months and the rare period of time where I could go home, her job was taking all her time. It wasn’t ideal. We loved each other but it wasn’t working so we preferred to stop there before destroying what we had. I hadn’t seen her since our break up.”

“Why did she come to see you then ?”

“I still haven’t changed my emergency contact. At first, I didn’t want to do it and then I forgot about it and before yesterday, she never got a call whenever I’d get hurt. Needless to say I wasn’t expecting to see her yesterday, even if I’m more than happy about it.” Emily admits looking through the car window.

“That’s what I understood. While you were sleeping, you had a stupid smile on your face.”

“Did not !” She retorts, turning to her friend.

“Was just saying what I saw.”

By the end of the afternoon, you go to Emily’s, cookies in hands. JJ opens the door with a huge smile on her face. You give her one of the two tupperwares with some of your cookies that you made just for her.

“You shouldn't have.” JJ thanks you, touched by your gesture.

“I’m sure that since you’ve been working with her you’ve been having her back while you’re on the field, I had to give you something to thank you.” You explain genuinely. 

“It’s teamwork. Tell me, would you be able to stay with Emily for the night ? I need to take care of my son.”

“If Emily doesn’t mind, sure no problems.”

“I’m sure she won't mind.”, she affirms, confident before taking her stuff, “I’ll let you tell her, I need to go. Have a nice night.”

JJ runs away while you’re still trying to grasp what just happened. When you regain your composure, you take off your shoes and find Emily lying down on her bed. When she sees you and your cookies, she raises a bit, inviting you to sit down next to her. She doesn’t wait before eating, closing her eyes as she enjoys the taste.

“My God, they’re even better than I remembered.”

“I admit I’ve had the time to improve the recipe since last time.”

“How did you do it ? It was already perfect.” Emily interrogates in disbelief.

“I have a secret ingredient.”

“Doesn’t matter what it is, it’s validated by me. Where’s JJ ?”

“She had to leave, she told me she had to take care of her son so it only will be me and you.”

When she hears your answer, Emily frowns. She knows for sure Will is home and he’s more than capable to take care of Henry. She thinks a little bit more and Emily understands JJ lied so she could spend some time with you. She holds herself back from rolling her eyes and tries to play it cool.

“Oh, nice then. It’ll be like old times.”

Since that night with Emily, you’re avoiding her. You know it might not be the more mature way to react but you don’t know what else to do. The night you spent together was special and ordinary at the same time. It was special because it was the first time you were alone with Emily since your breakup, but it was ordinary because you were acting as if you hadn’t stopped talking to each other ten years ago. Contrary to what you thought, your feelings are still here and just as strong. You have always known you’d have affection for Emily until your last breath, you just can’t say without being wrong you’re still in love with her. You tried to not let it show yet Emily knows you like the back of her hand. You just hope with time she forgot your tells but being a profiler gives her an advantage. You are not sure if she noticed something, she has not said anything ; and, if she did notice, she might have not said something because, maybe, despite what she probably feels for you, she still does not wish to be with you again.. You don’t know which one is the real reason and you don’t want to know, especially if it can break your heart.

Therefore, you resumed your life like before. You go to work, you go back to your apartment and you watch your usual tv shows. However, when you’re in front of your screen, you zone out too much, you start thinking about Emily without realising it. You mentally try to get back on top of your feelings. You can’t allow yourself to fall back into her arms, she won’t be here to catch you. You need to do what you should have done many years ago : forget her.

You come home from work, exhausted from your day. Your only wish, to put your pyjamas on and lay down on your couch. You mentally plan everything you’re going to do tonight to save your energy. However your planning comes to a stop when you find Emily knocking on your door. You pause just to make sure your eyes are not playing a trick on you. When she hears you coming from behind her, Emily turns around to you. She waves at you with her valid hand before smiling awkwardly. 

“Em, what are you doing here ? And how did you get my address ? I moved here only six years ago.” You question.

“I work at the FBI and with a genius tech analyst, it was easy.”

“If I didn’t know you, I’d be afraid to be the subject of one of your future cases with what you just told me.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean it to sound creepy.” She adds, embarrassed. 

You brush it away with your hand to tell her it’s okay. 

“So what are you doing here ? Do you feel better ? Aren’t you supposed to be resting instead of standing here, waiting for me ?”

“I’m better, don’t worry. I can’t work”, she sighs showing you her sling, “but at least, I can move. I wanted to talk to you. Since last time, we didn’t have the opportunity to speak and you didn’t answer my calls.”

“I was busy with work, I’m sorry.”

“I’m in no position to blame you for that.”, Emily assures you before looking deeply into your eyes, “Look, I… I know we broke up for a reason, but you can’t deny that when we saw each other, something happened. For a moment, I almost forgot we hadn’t been together for ten years. Y/N, I know I’m always on the move but at least I’ll always come back here, I don’t have to go undercover. I’ll always be able to come back home, come back to you. I’m not asking for us to get back together right away, we could take it slow, trying to learn each other again, see how our relationship develops but I don’t want to see you leave again.”, she admits, taking your hand with her right arm, “The day we broke up was the worst. Even if it was the best thing to do at the time, I hated every second of it. I never thought I’d have the occasion to see you again and when you walked through the hospital's bedroom's door, I thought I was dreaming. I don’t know if you care about me as much as I do about you, but if it’s the case, I’d like to give us another chance. I still love you Y/N.” 

Emily lets go of your hand to stroke your cheek. Your heart misses a heartbeat while you try to regain your composure. When reality hits you, a tender smile makes its way on your face.

“I still love you, too, Emily.”

Without thinking, Emily throws herself in your arms and kisses you with such passion. Your hands get lost in her hair, wanting to press her as close to you as possible. Oh, how you missed her lips ! You wonder how you spent all those years without feeling them against yours. Emily deepens the kiss a bit more until you’re out of breath. You barely break the embrace, your forehead touching. You look at each other full of love, happy to finally be in each other's arms again, after all these years.

Masterlist

{This is my side blog so I'll be answering comments under the username @marie-sworld}

[widowshill]

Roger w 11 and 12

UNHINGED CHARACTER ASKS.

11. Forget the sex or die trope. This character must attempt to rob a bank or they will die. Do they succeed/how much do they get? (If you have extra time, what’s their plan? Who is their crew?)

for all that Roger generally flounders trying to cover up his involvement in a crime in the pen arc, he is very well motivated by desperation, and this is the guy who masterminded a decent scheme to keep himself out of jail, and that went undisputed for a decade. so! I'm going to say succeed, but this isn't going to be Lupin iii levels of heist

importantly, he's going to act mostly alone, rather than with a whole crew — he can't let Liz know he's a common bankrobber, that's mortifying. Burke would be the best choice of partner (and pre-accident, he'd almost certainly pick burke) but that's inviting a lifetime of holding that over his head or extorting him for it. he could twist Carolyn or Vicki's arms into helping him, but they'd probably talk, and David, while a great kid to have with you on a heist, would probably extort him worse than Burke.

I really have two different answers, depending on what part of the show we're in. in the beginning, I think he'd pick on Joe: he's muscle, generally obedient, and Roger can use his working for the family to hold over him, and importantly, he won't talk because to do so would sacrifice his own pristine reputation. he also might be convinced for a share of the money (to marry/take care of Maggie) and Joe, while usually morally sound, has been persuaded before to take up nefarious grave robbing when he thought it was necessary to help the family.

The basic plan would be to use the leverage of his name to get them to open up the bank after hours — i.e. that Liz wants something from the family vault, and he's fetching it (because she's still in Liz Jail) and they have to have it now because of whatever excuse — mostly, because Collinsport runs on the Collins Whim. That ensures the least amount of witnesses possible, and probably only one employee, and a pretty safe getaway. He'd make sure plenty of people in the Blue Whale heard him say he was heading to the bank, which could supply any number of possible suspects.

Roger would then use his charm on the poor teller, and get him to open up whatever (I'm assuming this is just the local bank, so not a huge institution with complicated security, there's probably only one vault). then, enter Joe, in some kind of mask, knock out Roger to make things look good (which he has always wanted to do), and either knock out the teller or just intimidate him (since this is Joe, probably the latter) until he gets away with however much he can fit in a seabag.

It's not gonna take long for the Collinsport police to get there because they're like. two minutes away. so it's important that he hurts Roger pretty significantly, such that the teller is motivated to get him to the hospital before he calls the police. (again. Joe has dreamed of times like these). stash the money in Roger's trunk, and he can make it to the Evanses within a few minutes, who will supply a solid alibi that he was there with Maggie the whole night. Roger, when he comes to, will of course refuse medical care, and insist on driving himself back to Collinwood, where Patterson can question him at his convenience. By which time, one hopes, he'd have already put the money in some little secret compartment, and the worst thing he has to worry about is David finding it.

but that's all if this is pre-Barnabas. post? of course he's robbing a bank with his bestie Julia, who a) loves to do a little crime, b) has the most braincells of anyone, and c) has the powers of hypnosis and milf audacity on her side. the basic premise is the same, because they still don't want any extra witnesses if they can help it, but let Jules hypnotize the guy at the bank and they can both get away with significant chunks of money, with very little suspicion cast on either of them. It's still possible that Roger's car could be noticed, which is probably the most vulnerable spot in their getting suspected — it'd be pretty essential that Julia didn't erase his memory of their being there entirely, even let Roger make whatever withdrawal he was going to before the hypnosis, so that when he's questioned he remembers both of them making a normal visit and leaving.

12. This character suddenly finds themself on the titanic. Do they survive?

probably! first and foremost, Roger is basically indestructible. people have tried to kill him many times and he's emerged each time with a few scratches from things he definitely should have died from, or at least been severely injured by. and a Collins can't die from a sinking ship in the middle of the frozen ocean. please. it's in his genes. he's cursed to be a miserable maritime survivor.

but, more seriously: it's likely Roger would be a first class passenger, which means his odds of survival are much better, even if, on the whole, not many men survived. he's also, well. selfish. and entirely willing to make sure he gets on the lifeboat instead of a woman or child he doesn't know. he may not have any joie de vivre to speak of, but when the chips are down, he's preserving his own skin.

for the sake of hypothetical, I'm going to say that he didn't sail on his own, but went with the rest of his family. having David also increases his chances of survival, even if David would much rather just push him overboard, since parents with children held priority over childless adults. today, he is a loving father that cannot bear to be separated from his beloved son. tomorrow, who knows.

there's also the fact that Liz wouldn't let him drown. she'd pull him bodily out of the water if she had to. there's being willing to sell your brother for one corn chip; and then there's Liz facing the prospect of her baby brother, a Collins, dying a slow, miserable, awful death. so she'd do, or say, whatever she had to to get him in that boat with her and Carolyn and David, she wouldn't leave Roger behind.