#If I had the file for this drawing I would go in and fix his tiny ass head but I dont soooooo ermmmmm

[puppyeared]

Was nobody gonna warn me that I would fall a little bit in love with every character in Stardew

[sexyweedfarm]

this is from 2020 but I realized I never uploaded it

I'm thinking abt this game again cuz I played yesterday for the first time in ages and that resurfaced my NORMAL LEVEL interest in it

[mariasont]

hi!!!!

I'm soooo in love your work. bimbo!assistantreader wil always have a special place in my heart!!!

Now i have this of idea that i think can work for either aaron or spencer, but basically bau!reader who kind of always wears the same type of outfit in the field that's always really modest. Buttttt when they kind of like "know" it's just going to be a paperwork day she likes to were skirts... short skirts and Aaron/Spencer are just feral for them...

Can either be fluff of smut... I trust you indefinitely xxx

Short Skirt, Long Day - A.H

a/n: hi hi hi hiiiiiii!!! ugh thank u sm i kinda took this an interesting route so let me know what you think!!!! im also heavily thinking about writing a smutty pt 2 for this but id love to hear everyone’s opinions

masterlist

pairings: perv!aaronhotchner x bau!reader

warnings: 18+ MDNI, suggestive content, aaron being a straight PERV!!! (im into idk man), aaron imagining scenarios he didn’t shouldn’t at work, idk this is quite different from my usual postings but i kinda fuck with it

wc: 1.4k

Aaron Hotchner loved paperwork day.

Days like these meant the frenetic energy of ringing phones and rapid footsteps is replaced by the soft drone of air conditioning and the occasional rustle of files being shifted. It’s the kind of morning he appreciated—time to breathe, to recalibrate without the air of an active case breathing down his neck.

But that's not why his pulse is thrumming more than steadily beneath his skin.

Hotch glances at the clock on his desk. It's early—too early for most of the team to be here yet, save for a couple agents whose faces barely register in his peripheral vision. His focus is elsewhere, fixed on a singular thought. Or, rather, on a singular person.

You.

Hotch leans back in his chair, exhaling slowly as a shameful type of heat rises to his face. It's a little pathetic, he thinks, how predictable he's become—it's not the work that makes these mornings bearable anymore. It's the anticipation.

The knowledge that, any minute now, the elevator doors will part, and you'll step out, wearing something that will completely dismantle his carefully constructed composure.

Hotch had noticed a pattern (of course he did, that was his instinct honed to a razor's edge). In the field, your outfits are a study in practicality: slacks, fitted jackets, muted tones--professional to a T. Nothing flashy, nothing that would draw undue attention. 

But in the office, when the cases are shelved, and the team is left to wade through stacks of paperwork... it's different.

And it drives him insane.

The image takes root before he can stop it: the curve of your thighs, tantalizingly framed by a skirt that seemed designed to test his limits. The way the fabric molds to you when you move, clinging in places that his eyes are all too quick to follow.

Hotch exhales sharply, clearing his throat as if that could somehow clear his mind. It's unprofessional--he knows this, knows better than to let his thoughts stray so far from where they belong but yet…

The ding of the elevator pulls his attention like a magnet, and there you are. His grip on the pen tightens instinctively, the knuckles blanching as his gaze locks on you.

You're wearing that skirt today--black, fitted, and infuriatingly short, hugging your hips in a way that leaves nothing to the imagination.

He tells himself to look away, and for a second, he manages it--his eyes dropping back to his desk, his breath coming out slow and measured. But that reprieve is fleeting. His gaze flicks back before he can stop it, drawn helplessly to the curve of your waist as you laugh at something one of the other agents say.

You're too good. Too sweet. Too damn oblivious to realize what you're doing to him.

And he knows it's wrong—knows he's toeing a line he has no business approaching. But the way his body reacts to you, the pull you have on him, is beyond reason. It's instinctual, raw, and completely out of his control.

He calls out your name. "Could you come in here for a moment?"

You turn, blinking at him with wide, curious eyes. "Yes, sir?"

"I need you to grab something for me," he replies, his voice level, though every syllable felt like a tightly coiled spring. He motions towards the cabinet near the corner of the room. "The Marcus file. Bottom shelf."

He was a terrible terrible man.

Without hesitation, you step toward the cabinet, crouching slightly as you begin to sift through the lower shelf. The moment your body lowers, his eyes start trailing down where the hem of your skirt lifts, just barely revealing the soft curve of where your thighs meet your ass. Then, as you bend further, shifting your weight slightly to reach deeper on the shelf, the fabric stretches taut, clinging to your ass in a way that sends a jolt straight through him.

Hotch's throat feels tight, his breathing shallow as he drinks in the sight before him. You're so close, just feet away, and the angle offers him an unobstructed view. The shape of you, the smooth expanse of skin that's always just out of reach in the field, is right there--so achingly close he feels like his chest might explode.

He knows if you dipped any further, your panties would be on display and he couldn’t help but wonder what color you had on.

You’ve always had a meticulous attention to detail, choices leaning towards deliberate but understated at the same time. In the field, you favored muted tones—greys, blacks, navies. But here in the relative safety of the office you allow a little more personality, more femininity.

His mind turns to your preferences—pink, maybe.

Hotch swallows hard, pulse roaring in his ears. The thought gnaws at him, insistent and unrelenting—he needs to know.

“Careful,” he says, feigning concern. “You might need to check further back on the shelf. Sometimes the files get pushed out of sight.”

You glance over your shoulder at him and he swears he could combust. “Further back?”

He nods, leaning back in his chair to appear casual, though his grip on the armrests were anything but. “Yes.”

You turn back to the cabinet, shifting your weight again as you crouch lower, leaning further to search the back of the shelf. The motion sends the bottom of your skirt riding higher, and for a brief, heart stopping moment, the lace of your panties is on full display.

It was a pink barely there strip of fabric.

His mind betrays him, conjuring images he knows he shouldn't entertain. He imagines his hands on you, running over the curve of his hips, gripping your thighs, sliding that damn skirt higher until there's nothing left to hide. The thought of you like this, pliant and completely unaware of the effect you're having on him, makes his pulse pound in his ears. He wonders what you would do if he were to push those panties to the side and slide a finger in you.

You shift again, leaning deeper into the cabinet as your voice drifts back to him, murmuring something about not seeing it. His jaw locks, teeth pressing together as he fights to maintain control. His fingers dig into the armrests of his chair, the leather creaking faintly beneath the strain. It's a futile effort, though; the pressure building in his chest, his body, is relentless.

The heat pools low in his abdomen, simmering and insistent, a sharp pulse of arousal tightening every muscle in his body. He's painfully hard now, the evidence uncomfortably against his slacks, but he doesn't dare move. His mind a blur of want--what he wants to do to you, what he knows he shouldn't do, and the precarious line he's treading just watching you like this.

The tension in his body seems unbearable, and for a fleeting second, he considers how easy it would be to walk over, to let his hand graze your hip, to tilt your chin up so you'd look at him and see the wreckage you've left in your wake. 

But he doesn't. He can't.

Instead, he forces himself to remain still, staying rooted, the self-restraint biting and bitter. 

"Are you sure it's under here? I still don't see it."

Hotch's lips twitch, the smallest shadow of a smirk threatening to break free on his face. He leans forward, feigning surprise as he picks up the file from the corner of his desk.

"Ah," he says, waving the file. "Looks like it's been right here the whole time."

You straighten abruptly, brushing your hands down your skirt and turning towards him with a soft laugh. "Hotch! So I was practically upside down in that cabinet for nothing!"

He shakes his head, giving a small chuckle to match yours. Not for nothing. The satisfaction still simmers low in his chest, a private indulgence he knows you'll never suspect--the movement was far from wasted.

"My mistake."

"Well, I guess we all have our moments. Let me know if there's anything else you need, okay?"

When the door finally closes behind you, he exhales shakily, the breath spilling out like a confession. Leaning back in his chair, he presses his fingers to his temples, his entire body tense with the effort of restraint. He feels unmoored, like a man balancing on the edge of a precipice, one misstep away from losing everything he’s worked so hard to keep under control.

But for now, he’ll settle for watching, for imagining, for wishing—knowing full well that nothing could ever come of it. And yet, as he glances at the door where you’d just been, a part of him wonders how much longer he can hold out.

It’s going to be an impossibly long day—but the most troubling part of all is how much he’s starting to enjoy the torment.

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[lana-llama-in-pajamas]

Milkman (Francis mosses) x fem! Reader

Thick as blood

Sweet as milk

Ah yes, you. The new doorman. The DDD hired you for your attention to detail and ability to examine more than just physical detail but the way people talked, their actions even the movement in their eyes.

Dopples are horrible at those details, some are just straight stupid and don’t try

But today was your first day in the building fresh from training, the building didn’t have a doorman before so you were ready for confrontation and confusion

Your uniforms was meant to look friendly, with a DDD button the the left breast. the DDD issued you with a pistol in case a Dopple did get in.

The block has been notified and given everything they needed to get in. Now it was your job to make sure they were safe

The day went slow no one coming in till lunch, you were not given one but you were allowed to eat whenever suited you

Soon tho a very happy woman came by…she had heterochromia at first you assumed dopple before looking at her papers

Right Nacha Mikaelys . Everything checked out as you studied her taking notes in your head, she smiled seemingly unaware of what was happening “how’s your day so far?” She asked looking through her purse, possibly for her keys “going well, I’m y/n your new doorman” you replied passing back her papers “have a good day ma’am” she nodded taking them back “pleased to meet you y/n see you tomorrow “ Nacha waved and walked out of sight

You got up from your chair to walk around your small office, you fix up your uniform as you hear someone come up to your glass panel. It was a milkman..? you raised your eyebrows at him. He didn’t look quite surprised to see you. He slid his papers into the slot and waited. You grabbed the papers and looked up and down at them. You then looked up at him and studied his features while trying to talk to him. “Hi I’m y/n the new doorman pleased to meet you, Mr. Moses.”

“Mm…pleased to meet you y/n”

Oh god. You blushed! What a schoolgirl

You slid the papers to him quickly looking down “all is in order, good day sir” you almost stuttered before looking back up at his dark tired eyes “good.” He walked off not noticing your sudden change in tone.

Oh god he sounded like a night time soap, deep and soft. you could listen to him read a chapter book and hang on every word, a phone book would sound sexy! And his eyes! Ugh you would kiss them if possible! You let your blush stay as you fell head over heels for a man that spoke 6 words to you (I counted) another person stood before you, before you could even greet them you stopped in your tracks

It wasn’t human. Its face was a drawing taped to it. No mouth but it spoke “allow me in please”

You softly pressed the urgency button as you slid out your gun. You could hear the dopple screech and writhe behind the glass and metal shutter while you called your superiors “I have one” you spoke sternly not wanting to show any fear “on the way” the triple D officer spoke. You stood back pistol in hand breathing slowly to calm down soon though the screeching stopped and the metal shutter lifted revealing a man in a yellow suit “dopple eliminated. Good work” he walked away with 2 others carrying a body bag.

You shivered placing the weapon back in its place you were glad most of those things were dumb but it made it no less horrifying

Your mind raced as you thought about the two things that just happened to you almost simultaneously first having a girl crush on a milkman and now almost getting killed by a stupid Dopple

Your immediate thought, as you sat down and tried to organize to calm your mind was, how does a milkman live in a building with such high earners ? How much does a milkman make ?you pondered looking over the files of residents

After introducing yourself to a couple of other residents, the day ends, and it’s time for your shift to end as well.

One Dopple the rest human honestly the best you could hope for on a first day, the other thing you could look forward to is that because you do work in this building, you can live in the building for way less rent than everybody else, you picked up your items from the desk and made sure everything was clean before you left and lock the door behind you no one was allowed to leave or enter the building after 10 PM unless of course it was an emergency, but they would be escorted by DDD officer at the front of the building 

You took the elevator to your apartment “F05” the old landlord room, it used to be boarded up but the DDD had it refurbished for you, still looked a little dingy but ultra cheap rent for a 2 room apartment was worth it

You opened the door but jumped a little hearing another door “oh” you heard the deep voice looking to your left, Francis in a white wife beater and a cardigan. He has a cigarette in his fingers unlit “oh sorry you startled me goodnight Mr.mosses” you tried to excuse yourself quickly but to your surprise he spoke up “I didn’t know you lived here, actually I didn’t know there was a 5th apartment” he finally lit his cigarette taking a long drag (it’s the 50s) you nodded hoping to clear his confusion “ it was boarded up in the early 40s, it’s called a lord suite. a place for the landlord to stay in case of quick repairs or whatever else may happen” he listened rather intently taking the cig out of his mouth, god did you want him to ask you to take a puff just to indicate something “oh…I remember those really fell out of fashion huh?” He asked passing the half done cancer stick. You screamed in your head agreeing with him and taking in the smoke “well enjoy, I need to sleep” he walked back to his apartment almost slamming the door, was he mad? He didn’t indicate anger or distrust, you finished the cigarette and smudged it out on your stove placing the butt on the counter almost contemplating about saving it… you were weirding yourself out a bit but came back to.

You did as all necessary and got ready for bed

You dreamt of Francis sitting on the roof with you holding you close both of you in your uniforms as you kissed him deep and hungry begging for more in your movements you felt him move down to bite softly at your ne- TRRRIING TRRING

your alarm clock yelled at you a few more times before you could slam your hand down on it groaning and streaching “god I am down bad”

End pt 1

I know but the game is set in like 1955 America but it gives me such Soviet vibes 

[messylustt]

kissing drabble based on this writing prompt request

your fingers tightened around your mission report as you made your way into miguel’s office. as always he’s stood, busy swiping and tapping at the multiple screens, different lights reflecting onto his monotoned face.

“uh, miguel?” you call. your sweet tone has his ears perking up as if he’s some dog. like always a scowl sets on his face at his own reaction to you. “mission report.” you slightly hold up the file in your hand as he finally turns his head to look at you.

cold. that’s all you feel and that’s all you see in his expression. maybe if you looked close enough, dared to actually look him in the eyes you’d see something far from a considered ‘chilling’ word. he lets his body drop down in front of you, grabbing the report.

“did you catch him?” miguel asks, briefly flipping through the papers. “i think i’d be pretty ballsy coming in here if i didn’t” you lightly chuckle.

miguel glances up his expression not having shifted as you press your lips together, quieting yourself. “yes, he’s all locked up”

“good. lyla.” he calls, the bubbly ai appearing by his shoulder “add this to the reports”

she mockingly salutes, earning your lips to quirk up a fraction, before she disappears with your report. “any troubles?” miguel’s almost strict undertone, makes your almost smile fall.

“none that needs accounting for.” there had been a small incident where the anomaly had gotten a hold of your wrist watch. it’s now partially smashed, and in the hands of hobie. you didn’t think you had the best of luck when it came to miguel so you decided it best to let hobie try and fix it before alerting miguel of your mistake.

“hm.” miguel hums, his gaze darting. what you didn’t know was that miguel couldn’t help but let every detail of you sink in. every time he saw you his eyes traced the same path. and when his gaze trailed along your wrist he paused. “where’s your wrist watch?”

you look down at your bare wrist. “oh, i just took it off. got a bit…irritating.” miguel’s eyes narrow as you try not to visibly gulp. “so, uh, if that’s all…” you go to step back, but miguel’s hand reaches out, his fingers wrapping around your wrist, simultaneously pulling you back (even closer than before), as his hand brings your wrist up to his face.

you slightly stiffen at the contact, brows furrowing. miguel brushes a claw over your wrist earning your muscles to twitch. he takes note of this. and drawing back your suit he’s presented with a discoloured bruise, wrapped around your arm in a circle. “what’s this?”

“normal…anomaly catching…injuries.” you say, your tone attempting to sound convincing. miguel’s claw brushes back along your wrist, his gaze now narrowed.

“it’s where your wrist watch was.” miguel states.

“as i said, it was getting irritating.” you subtly try to pull your hand back, but miguel’s grip is strong and strangely persistent.

“you lost it.” miguel remarks.

you scoff. “no i didn’t lose it.”

then miguel clocks on. “you broke it.”

“alright well — i didn’t break it.” as if that would change much. miguel met your gaze with a slight raise to his brow, as you sigh. “i didn’t mean for him to get to it. i just got too…close. and then he was grabbing my wrist. broken wrist watch, bruised skin, so on.” you mutter. “but it’s handled.”

“handled?” he still hasn’t let your wrist go.

“yeah, it’s getting fixed. and it’ll be as good as new soon.” you remark standing a little straighter.

miguel’s gaze hasn’t shifted from your eyes, his focus a little too intense. “why were you so close?”

“sorry?”

“the anomaly. why’d you need to be that close?” miguel elaborates.

“oh, well…uh…we needed a distraction.” you mutter out, not meeting his gaze. “so, that the other spiders could get all this guys gadgets and stuff. so he’d be weaponless.”

“and?” miguel pushes.

“and…i seemed to be voted the best candidate.”

“to do what, exactly?” everything about miguel hasn’t wavered.

you slightly nibble on your lower lip, actually a fraction embarrassed by this. “just to, you know…flirt…a little bit.” you instantly wince as miguel’s grip on your wrist tightened.

“i’m sorry?” he remarks, coldly.

“as a distraction. it surprising worked…for a bit. before he clocked on when I leant away and — ”

“leant away?” for the first time you can actually catch a proper emotion in miguel’s tone. “how close were you, y/n?”

your tongue brushes along your teeth. “like…” you demonstrate by lifting your hand in front of your face, and slowly closing the distance.

as miguel watches just how close you had gotten, his jaw clenches. “so, you’re telling me that in order for you to catch this anomaly you brought him this close…” miguel provides his own demonstration, pulling you in by your wrist as you slightly stumble into him, your faces inches apart, making your breathing hitch. “is that right?”

you slowly nod. “we catch dangerous anomalies, not flirt with them.” he says.

“it was only so that we could catch him.” you say a little too quietly as your breath hits miguel’s face. “right.” he mutters, his tongue dragging along the roof of his mouth, clearly agitated.

“and what was your plan after the flirting? i mean if you got this close, i’m sure you would have had a plan.” miguel’s tone is dripping with mocking as he tries not to snarl out the words.

you assume that he’s pissed because it undermines what the spider society is made for. when in reality, miguel just doesn’t want a man to be close to you. “you aren’t stupid, y/n. usually this kinda distance…means something.”

you’ve noticed the change in your breathing, as you stare at miguel. if you leant the smallest fraction forward your lips would be touching his. “so, is that what you planned? to kiss him?”

you can’t help but feel flushed at his words, your embarrassment clear. “of course not.”

“you said you leant away.” he begins to lean forward, your lips parting a fraction as your mouth salivates. “is that right?”

you quickly nod. “he’s an anomaly. i wouldn’t have just…kissed him.”

“mhm.” but miguel isn’t stopping, his lips now slightly parted in front of yours. “just because he was an anomaly?”

your silence makes miguel’s grip shift to your back, forcing you to arch into him, as a small misstep of breath leaves your lips. you’re now extremely close. “no.” he answers for you. miguel doesn’t know how he’s gotten you this close, but he doesn’t think he’ll be able to step back.

“you wouldn’t have kissed him because you don’t like him.” he speaks slowly, almost telling you that that’s how your answer should be. “you don’t like anyone right?” his claw has shifted from your wrist to a small strand of your hair. he’s now too far gone.

“what?” your eyes are fluttering as you stare at miguel, still inches away.

“i'll admit...you're peeking my interest....and that's not good…” he mutters out, half speaking to you half getting it off his chest.

you’re in shock, miguel’s lips now faintly brushing yours, mouth open. “not good at all…”

but before he can finally close the distance a loud bang resonates around the room, from what sounds to be the opening of a door. you immediately manage to shove miguel away, fixing yourself. you tried your best not to look flustered as peter emerges. “hey, miguel — oh, hey, y/n.” peter smiles, oblivious to your heaving chest and miguel’s deathly glare.

[crosshairlovebot]

birthday revelations / crosshair x gn!reader

pairing: crosshair x gn!reader (no y/n). reader has a nickname.

description: crosshair discovers it's your birthday, and in an effort to try and understand birthdays, he gets you a gift.

word count: 3,793

warnings: none. crosshair ovethinks a lot

Another request! Maybe not technically a request, but @starrylothcat sent in an ask for an ask prompt and said it would be nice to see me write a fic where crosshair buys a gift for the reader for their birthday or christmas and it's been stuck in my head since! so here you go! i hope i did it justice!

also posted this on ao3. feedback is welcomed, reblogs are appreciated <3

Crosshair didn’t like crowds. He gritted his teeth as he walked alone through the market on Sorgan, sidestepping people as they entered his path. It was noisy, but that didn’t bother him so much. Vendors called out to passersby, promoting their various goods for purchase with enthusiasm. Voices chattered and laughed. The smell of food wafted through Crosshair’s nose and his stomach tightened with hunger. Rations were poor choices compared to the sizzling of flavourful meat on grills, but he didn’t have enough credits to buy himself something to eat.

He only had enough to buy something for you.

He had been helping Tech with cataloguing files when he saw one on their nat-born medic. You had joined Clone Force 99 just over half a standard cycle ago with your plucky yet kind attitude, falling into the group dynamic easier than Crosshair had thought. Sure, it had taken some adjustment for him and his brothers to become used to another presence they had not grown up with, but it was inevitable you would eventually find your place in the team. You were hardworking, strong and compassionate. You paid attention to each of his brothers, giving them your undivided focus during conversation and indulging them in questions about what they were doing or their chosen skill. He had watched you talk with Tech about data decryption, Wrecker about proton-based explosives, Hunter about tracking strategies, Echo about ARC trooper training, and of course, him about sharpshooting.

He recalled the way you sat next to him for the first time on his bunk during their time in Hyperspace. He had disassembled part of his Firepuncher rifle, readjusting the scope and the barrel after it had unexpectedly jammed on their previous mission. He’d been annoyed – his prized weapon never faltered, and he was trying to figure out why it had failed on him when the thin mattress dipped next to him, and you asked what he was doing. When he’d given a particularly surly response, you nodded and then just continued to watch him. His eyes had slid to you.

“Can I help you with anything else?” He hadn’t meant it to sound so icy, but he had been frustrated with this rifle, with himself.

“Can you…explain what you’re doing?” you had asked hopefully.

He had looked at you sceptically. “Why?”

You just shrugged. “It looks interesting.”

He had studied your expression, trying to discern if you were being genuine. But you were. You always were with things like this.

So, he explained what he was doing, answered your questions and by the time his weapon was fixed, he didn’t even really remember his initial annoyance. You had smiled at him, your mouth stretching in a way that made your eyes light up. He felt a little flicker of something in his stomach before it was promptly extinguished.

Since then, you have spent time with him like that more often. Not just when he was cleaning his rifle, but other things. Like throwing Lula back and forth across the bunks as you both talked, joking about things that happened on missions. Sharing looks over briefings. Stealing Wrecker’s snacks.

But his favourite time with you was drawing on your datapad and trying to guess what the other was drawing. He had learnt you liked to draw and enjoyed drawing out something other than a medical diagram. He felt a sense of pride in making you laugh so hard you cried with his silly caricatures during long hyperspace trips. Exaggerated doodles of his brothers, tookas and the like, a portrait of you with a funny expression. You liked to draw him with a smile too big for his face, chuckling as you drew and then collapsing into laughter when you showed him. It always made the thing in his stomach flicker.

He really liked having you around.

So, when he came across your file when helping Tech, he couldn’t help but open it. You had told them all any information they had asked for, and information they had not. There wasn’t really anything you kept secret. But when he saw your ID holo looking particularly embarrassing: with wide eyes and a half-formed expression – like you were taken off guard by the photo, the corner of his mouth twisted up in an impish smirk.

He had intended to tease you about it; set the holo to the show on every Marauder screen so it was everywhere.

He opened the file to take a copy of the holo when he spotted details about your age and date of birth.

He frowned at the date. “Tech, what is today’s galactic date?”

Tech looked up from his datapad, adjusting his goggles before rattling off the date. “Why?”

He said your name before telling him, “It’s their birthday tomorrow.”

“Oh.” Tech blinked.

Age and birthdays were almost foreign concepts to clones. With accelerated aging and growing in a capsule, they didn’t really matter to them. Awkward to calculate, they weren’t celebrated. Crosshair had no idea when he had been ‘birthed’ or decanted, and if the Kaminoans documented such dates, then it was classified information. He knew his chronological age, but his biological age was a little murky. He knew he was a “mature clone”, however with the accelerated aging, he didn’t know where exactly he stood. None of their brothers knew any of these details. It was normal for them.

He read the date and your age. What would it be like to be so sure of something like that? To be sure of the parts that made up who you were?

Crosshair cleared his throat and closed the file without even copying the ID holo. He frowned to himself. Maybe he should’ve asked you about it before, but birthdays weren’t a part of his world, so he hadn’t thought to. But they were important to nat-borns, weren’t they? At least that’s what they’d all been told during their training modules.

When he lay in his bunk that night, he circled his mind for all he knew about birthday traditions. Gatherings. Food. Gifts. Would you like all that? Did you like all that? You seemed like you would. He didn’t know if it was something he would enjoy if he had a birthday…it didn’t really seem like his thing, but maybe he would. He would never know. He thought that Wrecker might be the only one who would enjoy a birthday. Maybe Echo too if you did it right. Same with Hunter.

But you hadn’t said anything about your birthday.

He had tossed and turned. You were part of their squad. You cared. Listened. Laughed. Did you not feel you could share the date with them? He didn’t know, and a part of him felt a little hurt that you might not feel you could. Were you not friends? Crosshair didn’t have many friends, but he knew they were supposed to tell each other things.

He turned again, crossing his arms against his chest as he faced the wall. Why did he even care? If you didn’t want to tell him it was your birthday, fine. He wouldn’t mention it.

He squeezed his eyes shut before sitting up on his elbows and craned his head to see you sleeping in your bunk. Through the darkness, his enhanced eyes saw you curled in yourself, and your nose twitched as you breathed deep and evenly. Something in his chest pinched. He sighed before laying back down and pulling the thin blanket over his head.

Now, as he found himself in this market the next day, he wondered what he was even doing here.

Once they had landed on Sorgan, they completed their mission easily with no complications. But Crosshair was still distracted by your birthday. You hadn’t even said anything when everyone woke up this morning. Just acted like it was any other day. You had just smiled at him as you tucked into a ration bar, saying good morning before throwing one to him to eat.

It puzzled him.

When you all started walking back to the Marauder after the mission, Hunter could tell something was up with him, nudging his shoulder.

“You alright?”

Crosshair had scowled at his brother. “…Yes.”

“You look deep in thought,” Hunter pointed out, falling into step with him.

Crosshair broke his gaze and looked away, back towards where they came, to the village they had just liberated. The thought had barely formed before he said, “Do we have time before the next mission?”

Hunter’s surprise showed in his voice. “We have a couple of hours, why?”

“I’ll be back later,” Crosshair walked off in the direction of the village before Hunter could say anything. His long legs carried him to the marketplace, where he stood now amongst the bustling bodies.

He just couldn’t get your birthday out of his stupid head; that you hadn’t said anything because clones didn’t celebrate birthdays. Just because he didn’t understand them, doesn’t mean he couldn’t try…for you.

He started combing through the vendors, most of which were finishing up resetting their stands after they fled suddenly several days prior. He moved from stall to stall, gazing at the different items over people's heads. Kriff, what were you even supposed to buy people for birthdays? Something they needed? Something they wanted? It was all a little overwhelming. And Crosshair didn’t get overwhelmed.

“Looking for something in particular, my friend?”

Crosshair startled and looked up to see the vendor, a greying man with a wrinkled face, horns protruding from his forehead and curled up in an elegant spiral shape.

Crosshair frowned, clearing his throat. “It’s…my friend's birthday today.”

The man’s face lit up. “Wonderful! Birthdays are special.”

Crosshair’s mouth tightened as the man continued to speak. “What were you thinking of gifting them?”

The hairs on Crosshair’s neck stood up with nerves. “I…I don’t know.”

The man’s face lit up. “Perhaps I can help.”

The man then went through the different items at his stand. He held up scarves, strings of beads, and handmade pottery. Crosshair thought they were all nice enough, but he wasn’t swimming in credits. And none of the items really felt like you. The vendor was patient, more patient than he should’ve been. Either he really wanted to help or was desperate for a sale in a competitive marketplace.

After many minutes and many items, Crosshair felt himself gradually stiffening, becoming more and more on edge and uncomfortable. He felt so out of his depth. He was always so sure of everything, and trying to do this thing he had no experience in, made him more vulnerable than he had in a long time. It was not a feeling he felt comfortable with. Never had been.

And as much as he liked you, maybe this was all a stupid idea. You hadn’t mentioned your birthday for a reason. He shouldn’t bring it up. If he did, he’d have to explain how he found out…and he didn’t want to go through that awkwardness. He was about to open his mouth and tell the over-enthusiastic vendor: thank you, but he wouldn’t bother with a gift, when the vendor clapped his hands loudly, making Crosshair jump.

“I may have something back here, hold on,” he said as he turned away to rifle noisily through a crate behind him.

Crosshair felt his fist curl at his sides, and this should’ve been his opening to slide away unnoticed until he looked down and saw a brown leather book. Crosshair halted and lifted a gloved hand to the soft worn cover, running his fingers over the engravings in the bound leather. He opened the cover, seeing it was a blank notebook, and it had a writing implement tucked into the spine. Not many people recorded things the traditional way anymore; datapads were much more efficient and stored more information than the pages of a notebook. He flicked through the pages, fanning them with his thumb. The dust drifted up and it was a smell he didn’t recognise, but he supposed it was the smell of paper.

“That’s a good choice.”

Crosshair retracted his hand as if he was a cadet being scolded, and looked up at the vendor, who held an oversized pot that would break the second it came aboard the Marauder.

“That would be a perfect gift,” the vendor continued, nodding at the notebook.

Crosshair looked at him before picking up the notebook – more surely this time, and turned it over in his hands. He imagined you in your bunk, scribbling in it at night with a torch in one hand. He imagined you keeping it under your pillow for safekeeping. He imagined you doodling in it, showing him your drawings with that smile on your face. He imagined drawing in it with you. The corner of his mouth twitched upward.

“How much?” Crosshair asked.

“It’s yours.”

Crosshair’s head snapped towards the vendor. “What?”

The vendor waved him away. “Take it.”

Crosshair blinked, confused. “…I have to pay you.”

“No, you don’t. I’ve been trying to sell that for years. You’d be doing me a favour.”

Crosshair furrowed his brow. “…Isn’t the customer supposed to be right?”

The vendor barked out a laugh. “Not this time, my friend.”

Crosshair dug into his pocket anyway and pulled out half the credits. “For your patience…at least.”

The vendor chuckled and took them. “Thank you. I hope your friend likes it.”

Crosshair didn’t respond as the man turned away, placing the pot down before calling out to other marketgoers, trying to entice them.

Crosshair walked back through the market, the notebook feeling heavy in his hand. Leaving the village, he made his way back to the Marauder, thoughts swimming in his head.

Kriff, what if you hated it? Or thought it was stupid? What if all his knowledge on birthdays was completely inaccurate and you would think him strange for giving you something? Or what if you just thought he was weird for getting you something at all?

Crosshair’s grip on the notebook tightened. He just wanted to do something nice. Like you always did for them. But this is why he avoided it. It was so vulnerable being nice. Being nice left you open for hurt, open for aching. It was much easier to keep it at bay, to restrict it. To hide it behind actions inconspicuously where it wasn’t out in the open. Being so open with it for you…he wouldn’t admit it out loud, but it scared him. The doubt crept in. Crosshair had conviction and confidence, and he wasn’t used to it wavering like this.

He was just about ready to throw the notebook into a bush and never speak of it again when he heard your voice ring out from the steps of the Marauder.

“Crosshair!”

You placed your datapad down and ran over to him. He hid the notebook behind his back with both hands, gripping it so hard he knew his knuckles would be white as you approached him with a smile.

“Hey,” he said, hoping he sounded normal.

“Where’d you go? You disappeared after the mission.”

“I was just…looking for something,” he said carefully. Dank farrik, how was he supposed to do this? He thought he might just leave it on your bunk when you were distracted with a little note written inside the cover saying, ‘Happy Birthday’. That way he could avoid your reaction when you saw it. He didn’t even know how to get into the Marauder with it now that you were here in front of him.

You tilted your head with a quizzical smile. “Looking for something?”

Crosshair nodded. “I couldn’t find it,” he lied.

“Oh…okay,” you looked at him weirdly. Would you look at him like that when you saw his gift?

Crosshair nodded to the Marauder, desperate to get on board and stow the notebook away until he could leave it on your bunk. “Should we go inside?”

You looked at him, narrowing your eyes. “What are you hiding?”

“I’m not hiding anything, meshurok,” he lied, his grip tightening again.

“Yes, you are,” you sidestepped him to look behind him and he leapt out of the way. You grinned. “You are! What are you hiding, Cross? Why can’t I see?” you tried to chase him around, but Crosshair kept angling himself away. Kriff, he had never felt so stupid in his whole life.

“It’s nothing. Get your meddling hands away from me, you di’kut,” he walked backwards in a circle, his face and neck hot.

“Crosshair,” you chided, smiling at him. “Come on, is it really that bad?”

“Go away,” he grumbled, hands aching from holding the damned notebook so tight.

“Crosshair,” you said his name again, and your face was stretched in that playful grin that he’d unwillingly memorised. That thing in his stomach flickered again.

Then he remembered how you didn’t tell him about your birthday. And how you were friends, but you didn’t say anything about it. And how he had this unexplainable feeling he couldn’t name sitting in his stomach that compelled him to go to a village market and pick out a stupid gift for a birthday tradition he didn’t even understand just to do something nice for you the way you did for him and his brothers.

Crosshair’s expression flared and he shoved the notebook at your chest. You startled at your hand came up to grab it, sliding against his like a searing snake. He pulled his hand back and balled both at his sides as he gritted out, “Happy birthday.”

All he saw was your eyes were wide before he stalked off, almost stomping his way to the Marauder. His face burned, and embarrassment flooded his body. He felt so stupid, and he hated feeling stupid. He hated the feeling of being on the end of someone’s judgement. He hated knowing that he’d just been forced to make himself vulnerable. But mostly, he hated the feeling of you not trusting him with what was supposed to be the important parts of you.

“Crosshair!”

Your voice came from behind him, but he didn’t turn around. He was already planning different ways he could avoid you. He was going to lock himself in the ‘fresher until the next mission and make sure Hunter placed him on watch at opposite times to you. Whatever it took. His heart panged. You were one of the only people outside his brothers he liked. He would mourn the shared jokes and laughter, and time spent with you, knowing it couldn’t happen anymore.

“Crosshair, wait.”

He felt a hand on his arm pull him back. He swayed backwards, but he let you stop him. He avoided your gaze, scowl burning an outline in his brow as he stared off into the middle distance. Your hand stayed on his arm, and he felt it through the plastoid wrapped around his forearm, squeezing him there. It felt like part of him, and that made him feel both warm with content and spiked with anger simultaneously.

“Cross, please look at me,” your voice said quietly, and his heart squeezed. He slowly moved his gaze, looking down, then sliding his eyes to your bare hand on his arm before they lifted to your face. Your brows were slanted downwards, looking at him with such softness in your eyes he felt the flickering in his chest again.

“How did you…” your voice was soft and trailed off, notebook in your other hand.

“It doesn’t matter,” he dismissed with gritted words.

He felt your hand flex with your grip. “It does to me.”

He studied your face carefully before saying, “…I was helping Tech with cataloguing his files. I saw your birthday in yours.”

You continued looking at him with an indecipherable gaze and moved your hand slowly from his arm to his wrist, your bare fingertips brushing his gloves. You gently grazed his fingers as you let his hand drop softly. He watched you as you inspected the book, hands turning it over, fanning through the pages. He studied your expression, trying to discern what you thought, feeling anxiety grow in his stomach, his throat tightening. He felt something hot poke inside him as he watched your mouth turn up into a smile as you gazed at his gift.

“I’ve been so busy this year that I forgot about my birthday.”

Crosshair hoped he hid his surprise. You not telling him about your birthday…it was never about him. Of course, you had forgotten. The past six cycles had been a whirlwind for you trying to adjust to a soldier’s lifestyle, countless missions and trying to fit in with his brothers. His face burned again. He was a fool.

You looked up at him, a smirk itching the corners of your mouth. “Been too busy keeping you boys in line.”

Crosshair scoffed lightly, letting a puff of breath out of his nose. Your smile widened.

“This is a beautiful gift, Cross. Thank you for getting it for me,” you place your hand on his arm again, squeezing gently to show your appreciation He felt his heart lift and his cheeks redden, but this time, not in embarrassment.

He nodded at you. “I’m…glad you like it. I don’t have much experience with birthdays.”

Your smile touched the edges of your eyes. “That’s what makes it even more special.”

You reached up on your tip toes and wrapped your arms around his neck, embracing him. Crosshair stiffened in shock and surprise before he slowly wrapped his arms around your torso. His fingers grazed your sides, and there was something wildly comforting about holding you like this. He could feel the side of your face pressed into his neck, just below his ear, and your breath tickled the sliver of open skin not covered by his blacks. You were so warm. He felt you squeeze him gently and he didn’t stop himself from squeezing back.

You were his best friend, after all.

You pulled away, but not before you cupped his face and placed a kiss on his cheek. Crosshair flinched and his eyes widened as you lowered yourself back down on flat feet with one of the most joyful smiles he’d ever seen gracing your face. The action had surprised him more than anything else had.

“I’m going to show everyone what you got me,” you said before running off towards the Marauder.

“No, don’t, they’ll—” Crosshair started but you were already halfway up the gangplank. His brothers’ teasing was going to be ruthless.

He sighed, shaking his head before following you, that thing flickering in his chest. He didn’t understand it, but he didn’t try to extinguish it.

banner art by @vimse

mando'a / meshurok = gemstone thank you for reading! i did find this one slightly challenging bc it's very much crosshair in his head and i tried to write him how i thought he would react to a situation like this, but if it's a little OOC, i apologise! but i think he would react like this if someone he cared about didn't tell him something important about them; someone who was his friend and who he liked very much. i think he'd be kinda mad and hurt but he cares too much to not do anything at all. i have more gen requests on the way, so stay tuned if you're interested! <3

tags @starrylothcat @sinfulsalutations @moodymisty @nahoney22 @freesia-writes @nobody-expects-the-inquisitorius @bobaprint @crosshairsnose @jesseeka @thegalaxys-edge @snarky-mans-gf @chopper-base @wenalena @shredderwest @leavingkamino @rexamongthestars @r2d2staser @bluebird-dreams @pb-jellybeans @a-streakofblue @theawkwardartist12 @mylifeisactuallyamess @padawancat97 @littlecrowtime @jedipoodoo

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[secretficblogs]

"First Date Jitters" Divorced David "Deacon" Kay x School Counselor! Reader

Summary: Your date with Deacon gets derailed but you still find a way to make the most of it.

What to expect: 4K words, Light mention of divorce, Canon warnings (hostage situation, robbery, light mention of gore/guns), drinking, descriptions of being cut, flirting, fluff, comfort

A/N: I blushed so hard when yall asked for a part 2, I didn't really proofread btw

You could feel the seconds ticking away as you sat at your meeting. Why did school counselors need to sit in on district meetings, anyway? You glanced at the clock on the wall, 4:47.  Your leg was bouncing underneath the table, a representation of your nervousness. It was your first date in god knows how long. You still needed to run home, change, and meet your date, but you were stuck with what could've been an email. You looked again, 4:48, oh my god.

“Would you be for or against this change, (Y/N)?” Your boss shook you from your thoughts, leaving you to look at the schedule change in front of you. 

“I-I think this looks… great. I don’t have any suggestions.” You slide the paper to the center of the table, glancing back up at the clock. 4:52. 

“Alright well, if that concludes things… I'll let you guys get going. Thanks for hanging back for a bit.” The staff began to stand and file out of the room. The English teacher, you knew her as Jane pulled you aside.

“So, spill! What are you so keen on leaving for?” She rubbed her hands together, leaving you to roll your eyes.

“I’m going out on a date.” You answered, throwing on your cardigan. Jane danced around you and let her noises of excitement draw attention to the two of you. 

“Alright, alright,” you laughed. “I don't even know if it will go anywhere. Just nice to get back out there, I guess.” You rubbed your arm, as you made your way out of the conference room. 

“I'm just so happy for you! It's about time. You have the best time tonight, okay? Stay safe, and call me if you need a lifeline!” She shouted your way as you both made your way towards your respective cars. You thanked her before closing your door.  You made quick work of the dinner rush and ran up the stairs to your apartment. Quickly locking yourself inside, you immediately started changing into the semi-formal dress you had set out last night. You glanced up at yourself in the mirror, deciding a touch-up would do you good. You grabbed out a darker lipstick, one you wouldn't wear to the school. You looked at your phone, 5:19. You rushed to get your heels on and grab your purse, taking one final look at yourself in the mirror. 

“Okay, (Y/N), let's get back in the game.” You ruffled your hair and made your way back down to your car. You peeled out of the parking garage. Your fingers tapped against the steering wheel praying for the light to change. The drive felt longer than it was, and the counselor in you told you to breathe before you left your car. 

David sat in his car rubbing his hands on his thighs, nervously. He recognized you in the car that pulled up across the parking lot. He watched you fix your hair in the rearview, and step out of your car to straighten your dress. David’s nerves were calmed once he noticed you were anxious too. He stepped out and made his way to the door, trying to pretend he hadn't noticed.

You walked towards the door and saw him waiting in the lobby. He met you with a smile and you immediately felt your knees weaken. Together you walked up to the host station and told the young girl the name of your reservation. She quickly led the two of you to your table and took your drink order. You both ordered wine and began making small talk about the restaurant you chose. 

“So did your interest in international food lead to your love for travel, or was it the other way around?” He asked, watching you take a sip of your drink.

“They are not mutually exclusive. My mom’s a professional chef, so I grew up trying all of her experiments. That's how I ended up in LA. She found better business here than Oregon.” You rambled. You couldn't tell where the feeling came from but you wanted him to know everything about you. 

“How old were you when you moved here?” David questioned. He seemed genuinely interested, which you liked. 

“I was 12. I wasn't too happy to leave the humidity. It took a while for my asthma to get somewhat used to the lack of moisture.” You folded your hands in your lap, smiling back at him. He nodded and you could see him commit the fact that you have asthma to memory. 

“How about you, did you grow up here?” You felt he was at an unfair advantage, knowing so much about you from your office.

“Yeah, born and raised.” He nodded.

“Nice, do you travel much?” 

“Not as much now, with the kids, but occasionally I'll find myself in neat places for work.” David felt his heart race a bit at the mention of his kids. He knew the entire reason they met was because of his kids,  but he knew many single parents’ kids scare partners off. 

That feeling quickly dissolved when he looked up from his glass to see your smile. He went to say something but your waitress came over. You both chuckled, realizing you hadn't looked over the menu much. Fortunately, you were both able to make a quick decision and get your food ordered. Your waitress refilled your glasses and left you to continue talking. 

“You said you had a meeting today, right? That go well?” He broke the silence. 

“Oh, yeah, it wasn't too bad. I really didn't need to be there. I was just excited to go home and get ready.” You looked away, shy to admit you were looking forward to your date.

“I’m glad. This is all I’ve talked about all day,” You looked up at him, shocked. “My team was so sick of me that they sent me home early.” David chuckled, leaving you to smile dumbfoundedly. 

“That makes me feel better, I wondered if you'd get bored tonight…” You sheepishly mutter.

“Why would you think that?” David's eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“...Well, I don't have the most interesting life. I mean, you're a SWAT sergeant. I'm sure you get invitations for dates all the time.” You trailed off, taking a sip of your wine to stop your rambling. 

“I don't usually entertain that. I don't really enjoy being hit on. Most people just like the uniform anyway.” He tried to make you feel a bit better. “Also, you're insanely cool. I mean your office is decorated with so many interesting things. I gotta know more about that.” He folded his hands on the table.

“Well, ask away.” You grinned feeling warm from his words.

“The paintings on the walls didn't look like prints. Did you paint them?” David questioned. You began to answer, but your waitress brought out your dishes, set them down, and asked if you needed anything. You both ordered another drink and turned back to each other.

“The portraits are mine, but there are a couple of landscape paintings, sculptures, and trinkets that I got from friends and vendors.” You took a bite of your dish after speaking.

“Your paintings are amazing. Did you consider going into art before counseling?” 

“No, no. It's always just been something I did on my own time.” You gently shook your head. “There have been times where I've illustrated for friends and small startups, but not enough to go full time with it. Moreso just to help out small businesses.” You explained.

The two of you continued asking each other questions and eating in between. Time seemed to stop for the night. The only thing you and David were concerned about was each other. As the sunset turned into a dark sky, you sat across from David, captivated by him. You could tell he knew it, too. He would hold your eye contact for slightly longer than normal, and whenever your hands were on the table, he would make it his mission to rest his hand atop yours. 

The drinks didn't help either. Neither of you wanted to get drunk on your first date, but you definitely felt tipsy. The alcohol made both of you more brave, light touches turned to hand-holding, and your conversations became more personal. You both talked about your parents and how they felt about your jobs. You talked about your time as a therapist and he talked about some of his more significant cases. 

“I tried to be a therapist for the elderly because I thought it would be less pressure. David, I was so wrong.” You laughed, shaking your head. He chuckled as you recalled getting harassed by old men and women for 40 hours a week.

“Deacon.” He interjected.

“What was that?” You tilted your head to the side, confused.

“Call me Deacon. That’s what my team calls me.” He just wanted to hear you say it.

“Well, alright. Deacon.” You smiled, feeling your cheeks begin to hurt. His heart felt like it was about to beat out of his chest. You stared at each other, enjoying just being together. Your romantic staring contest was broken by your waitress dropping off your check. You reached for it, but Deacon was too quick.

“Deacon. Come on.” You reached your hand out, silently asking for the receipt. 

“No, no. I asked you out. And, I'm honored you accepted, despite not knowing me.” He nestled his card in the tin and set it aside, turning his attention back to you.

“I get the feeling you're not going to budge on this, so thank you.” You folded your arms across each other and set them down in front of you. 

“It was nice getting out, it's been a while since I did the whole ‘first date’ thing” Deacon allowed himself to be honest.

“I completely agree. It's more awkward than I remember.” You laughed. 

You and your date continued talking long after your drinks ran out. You felt so warm with him, and the wine didn't encourage you to leave him either. You continued flirting and getting to know each other before a commotion was heard a couple of tables behind you. You took your eyes off Deacon to turn around finding a group of people dressed in dark informal clothing. One of them held his hand underneath his jacket which made you whip your head back to Deacon. His once soft expression was replaced with a look of concern. 

“Um- Deac? I- Do you think somethings wrong?” Your hand made its way to the back of your neck in an attempt to rub away the rising tension. He didn't respond, looking down into his lap. You worked at a school, so it wasn't hard to tell he was texting someone. Your heart raced. It was obvious Deacon agreed that there was a problem.

You were going off sound alone, as the group of people were behind you. You managed to twist your head and spare a glance their way, only to find them talking very quietly with the now frightened host. Whatever they were telling her was scaring her shitless. You felt so bad for her, wondering what she was thinking.

With Deacon clearing his throat you looked back at him, and he gave you a forced smile. He rested his hand on the table, a silent request for you to grab it. You interlocked your fingers and squeezed, letting him know you were anxious.

“Be honest, how likely is it they're here for a table?” You met his eyes, looking for any hint of hesitation. You didn't need to though because he sighed and gave up on trying to hide his feelings from you.

“Unlikely. They look familiar, probably wanted for something. We can't do anything about it right now, so just relax. It'll be alright.” He soothed as he looked past you to see the host leave the group. The group of people looked around, one in particular made eye contact with a woman nearby. The older lady was decked out in diamonds and a fancy bag. The man must have been feeling bold because he walked up to her and held his jacket slightly ajar. Deacon couldn't see what he was concealing but it was pretty obvious it had to be a gun. 

The woman's face fell and the man she was with stood up clearly offended. Deacon's worst fears were confirmed when the man pulled out a gun and pistol-whipped the older man. Other patrons in the restaurant screamed and moved away from the man. You saw movement out of the corner of your eye and turned to see Deacon beside you. He pulled you around the table and pulled you down to the ground. He told you to stay there before turning back towards the commotion.

You peered around the table to find the woman was forced to take off her jewelry and pass over her bag. Deacon raised his gun and announced he was LAPD. You were shocked. He was outnumbered and you had no idea if anyone else carried. You turned your attention to the other group members. One ran out once the hostility started, and two others looked at each other in a mix of disbelief and anger. You took this as a sign this wasn't planned. It also seemed like the group wasn't willing to kill. The man aimed his pistol at Deacon but refrained from firing, resorting to yelling instead. This scared all of the now hostages but only made Deacon feel better. If talking meant not shooting, he was okay with it.

It was hard for you to make out what he was saying, but you could tell he was scared. He likely acted on impulse and was struggling to de-escalate the situation. It's unlikely they knew a cop would be there, especially since your name was on the reservation. A couple of people tried to weasel their way out of their booths and sneak away but that only made the man more upset. His audience was leaving. He aimed his pistol and the nearby chandelier and fired, leaving you to scramble from your hiding spot as glass debris fell around you and nicked at your skin.

 You tried not to think about the blood pooling on your arms and face and just focused on finding cover elsewhere. Deacon had to trust the best way he could help was by keeping his gun raised, and trying to talk the man down. The other guys noticed the situation getting progressively worse and tried pulling him back towards the door, but it only angered the man more. He whipped around to yell at them, giving Deacon an opening to run and tackle the man. 

You were shocked because there was no telling what the other guys would do. Fortunately, the man's accomplices took the lowered guns as a sign to run. Your eyes followed them through to windows as they ran across the street. They didn't get far before police cars cut them off, and they were forced to surrender. 

Hearing shouting, you looked back to your date pulling the man up from the ground, his hands held behind his back. The gun was kicked away, and before long people wearing SWAT uniforms arrived, putting handcuffs on the gunman, and taking him away. Deacon didn't waste any time running over to you and looking at your various cuts. 

“I'm so sorry, (Y/N).” He grabbed the black napkin from the table to press it against your forehead, making you wince. 

“Y-... You didn't shoot the chandelier,” You looked around at the chaos surrounding you. EMT’s loaded the old man onto the gurney. Patrons hugged and made their way to their tables, unsure of what happens next. “Everyone’s okay thanks to you. You called the police?” you asked as he held your hand over the napkin, a silent request for you to hold pressure. 

“I texted a coworker. They took care of getting a team here. I don't think they called the patrol cars though. Maybe the host called.” He looked over your other scrapes, gauging how much medical attention you needed. “I think some of these need stitches…” Deacon looked over to see the EMTs occupied with the elderly man, and some other people complaining of heart rates.

“I still think I’m too shaken up to drive-” You were interrupted.

“I'll take you.” Deacon placed his hands on top of yours.

“Okay.” You sheepishly responded. You let him pull you up and with a hand on the small of your back he led you to his car. Deacon was helping you into the passenger seat when an officer ran over.

“Deac! You okay, man?” The man rested his hand on the open door looking at the two of you.

“Yeah, Yeah. Thanks for coming so quickly, Hondo.” He nodded looking towards the restaurant and the guests funneling out. Another two teammates ran over to you, and the idea that you were meeting his squad set in. You felt yourself sink into the seat, as you looked at the ground.

“Hey! Is this your date?” One of the other teammates asked.

“Are you okay?” Another member asked.

When you hesitated to respond Deacon spoke up on your behalf. “Luca, I knew it was wrong to hope I’d get through this date without you crazies. This is (Y/N). She got cut up by the chandelier, so I was going to take her to the hospital to get patched up.”

“You know you gotta meet the squad family early! I’m Luca, this is Chris, and that is Hondo.” The man explained. You tried to nod along, but the shock and the blood loss made you dizzy. 

“Uhh, yeah yall need to get going. We can do introductions later.” Hondo said, taping his teammate's shoulders. You have him a smile, before waving at them. Deacon shut your door and jogged around to the other side. Once he was inside he sped off, quickly navigating the Friday night traffic.  You occasionally zoned out, putting gaps in your memory. Deacon tried to keep a hand on you at all times to help ground you. He helped you check in, and stayed by your side as you got stitched up. He stepped out a couple of times to take phone calls. He profusely apologized every time, even with you explaining it was okay.

The nurse finished with your bandages and instructed you to keep your injuries clean and dry. He left, giving you and Deacon time alone before you had to head out. You sat in silence for a while, his hand in yours. You felt yourself zoning out again, and Deacon must have noticed too because he spoke quietly, drawing you back to the present.

“How are you feeling?” He rubbed the back of your hand, a concerned expression on his face.

“... I'm hurting, but I’m alive. This is what you experience every day?” You kept your eyes on the floor.

“I usually have a lot more warning, and protection, but yeah. It can be hard to digest and process emotions when things like this happen. Your wounds are large enough to raise some concern for infection too. Don't think you can't reach out… okay?”

“Thank you, Deacon. Know that I'll take you up on that.” Your worries dissolved, finally being safe and patched up.

“Are you ready to head out? I can just take you home.” Deacon suggested.

“And leave my car at the restaurant? I don't have a way to get it back to my apartment.” 

“I'll pick you up to grab it tomorrow morning. Or I’m sure I can have Hondo drive it back for you if you're worried about it being at the restaurant that was just robbed.” He was happy to make any accommodation if it meant you wouldn't worry as much. 

“That’s… really nice. I’d like that- you can just take me home though. My car should be fine.” You blushed, excited to extend the date longer. With a plan in place, Deacon led you to the lobby, and out of the clinic. He, once again, helped you into your seat before letting you direct him to your house. The ride was relatively quiet. The only thing on your mind was working up the courage to invite him in. You worried he would take it the wrong way, or think you were just expecting sex. Deacon pulled into your spot in the parking garage, slowly turning to you. 

“This place is… sketchy.” He mumbled.

“Most apartments in the heart of LA are…” You smiled. Deacon watched as your smile faded, watching the gears turn in your brain. “...Would you want to come in? I mean- like, just to talk. I don’t want this date to end.” He smiled back, making you comfortable by adding, “If you don't have a bedtime tonight, that is.”

“I would like that,” He laughed before continuing. “Annie has the kids this weekend.” You smiled and reached for your door handle. He put a hand on your shoulder, stopping you. You couldn't help but laugh and gently shake your head as he ran around to help you out of the car.

You led him to your apartment, his hand never leaving your waist. You wouldn't have guessed his love language was touch, but it was comforting regardless. You tried to think about the state of your apartment, deciding it was probably fine. You unlocked your door, and let him inside.

Deacon took in your apartment, just as cozy as your office. He could tell you took pride in your space and enjoyed just being in it. The overhead lights were off, and lamps and soft warm light made the living room very inviting. He looked for more pictures on the walls, finding more from hikes and parties. You asked him if he wanted something to drink, and he quietly said he'd have whatever you were having. Deacon was focused on the walls of your home. He heard two beers clink against the coffee table. He soon after felt your arms wrap around his waist from behind.

“You do this with all your first dates?” He asked laying his hands on top of yours. 

“This date wasn't a normal one, and you know that.” You laughed into his back. You retracted your hands and led him over to your couch, where your drinks were. He sat down and grabbed his beer, putting his arm over the back of the couch and urging you to sit by him. 

You obliged, cuddling up close to him. A brief silence settled between the two of you until you thought back to how you met. 

“Did you and Mathew talk more about his writing?” You ran your finger over the ridges in the bottle.

“I did. I think it brought us closer together. He decided to show Annie, too. I think it's helping us understand what he's going through and helps him know he can still rely on both of his parents.” He paused to gauge your reaction at the mention of Annie, but the reaction on your face was happiness—happiness for his son and his family. “It’s all thanks to you, you know…” He took a sip of his drink.

“Ah, it's my job, Deacon. Those kids are important to me, and they all need support from their school. It takes a village, or whatever the saying is.” You furrowed your eyebrows thinking about the countless visits kids have had with you, and how many students crashed your office during their lunch to discuss their feelings. The students who you let nap on your chairs, the lunch program you helped run, and so many more small moments that added up to big changes for students. 

“Well, whatever you're doing it's working. Lila thinks you're great too. Over the past few weeks, they haven't stopped talking about you.” He mentioned.

“Thank you.” You felt uncertain about how the kids gushed about you up around Annie, so kept the response short. Deacon must have noticed because he grabbed your hand. You looked up at him and smiled.

“I’m glad you asked me out.” You said quietly.

“I’m glad you didn't think it was weird.” Deacon earned a laugh from you. “So, does that mean you'll go on a second one with me?” He asked.

“It does, but you gotta pick the restaurant this time.”

The end :P

Taglist? Thanks for the support!

@pear-1206

[heavyhitterheaux]

Got Me Thinking

Part 6: Don't Make it Harder On Me

Synopsis: You and Jack have to deal with the aftermath of your paparazzi pictures being posted for the world to see, and Jack finds out you weren't coping as well as he thought you were

Pairing: Jack Harlow x Reader

Series Masterlist

Please Do Not Repost My Content Anywhere

After Jack had put your phone on the bedside table, he turned his attention back to you and he knew that he needed to get you to calm down before you sent yourself into a panic attack which he could tell that you were on the verge of.

“Baby….” He calmly said as he moved you to sit on this lap and simply wrapped his arms around you in the hope that you would stop shaking.

“Shh, just breathe. Take a deep breath for me because the last thing we need is you going into a panic attack.” He quietly told you as he placed several kisses on your cheek, but you were still in a daze.

“This is bad. This is really bad.” You said quietly as tears welled up in your eyes before turning your head to glance at him.

“It's going to be fine, babe. Trust me.” Jack told you and you immediately shook your head no.

“No, it's not. It can't be fine. They have pictures of us. I told you we should have come inside and now look.”

“All this is going to do is…”

“No. In the end, you're going to be fine because it's you. Your fans love and adore you and you can do no wrong in their eyes. And the most important part is you're a man. I however am going to be seen as the homewrecking whore who broke up a marriage.”

“No, you won't. Just… I'm going to fix this.”

“Jackman please stop talking for five minutes because how the HELL are you going to fix this? Give me details.”

“I… but you told me to be quiet.”

You knew that he was trying to make you laugh and put you in a better mood, but you couldn't help but to roll your eyes as you started playing with the comforter that was laying across your lap.

“There are just some things that you are never going to experience or have to deal with because you're a man while women get criticized for breathing too hard. They are always going to paint me as a bad person and Kelsey as an innocent angel who didn't deserve any of this despite her cheating on you first that she will probably deny until she's blue in the face. And did we forget how I'm an influencer and I actually have a following on social media with actual endorsement deals that I could lose simply because of what my name is now going to be attached to?”

“I know we can figure something out. I know you're scared but I refuse to lose you over this. Now when we get back, we both need to file for divorce.”

“Only if Xavier and Kelsey haven't done it already.” You muttered as you grabbed your phone and started scrolling through it.

You were surprised that there wasn't even a call or a text from him because you knew for a fact that he had been alerted to what was going on by now. Because your siblings along with your parents had sent you a few messages that you haven't bothered to respond to. Knowing your mother, she was probably happy about it right along with Maggie.

“We're going to get through this, Buttercup but you just have to trust me. I'm not going to let anything happen to you or to us. Do you trust me?” Jack asked you and you nodded your head, not trusting that the actual words would come out of your mouth.

“Baby, look at me and tell me you trust me.”

You did as you were told and you were now facing him as you straddled him and he started drawing small shapes on your skin that was exposed to him.

“I trust you.”

“I'm going to take care of you and you know that at the end of all this we get to be together how we want. We just have to wait until this blows over and baby it will blow over and people will be onto something new. And we might be bringing a baby into the world too. But I'm going to need you to stop being scared and take the test. Whatever happens, you know it's me and you until the end of time. That's how it should have been from the beginning.”

When you didn't say anything, Jack placed his finger underneath your chin so that you would look at him and placed his lips on yours. You eagerly kissed him back and his hands started roaming your body and he pulled you even closer.

“I wish we could stay here forever and not have to be bothered with anyone anymore.” You quietly confessed as Jack captured you in another kiss.

“We can't stay forever, but we can definitely stay longer.”

“But I'd rather hurry up and get back home and get this over with.”

“In due time, baby. But for now let's focus on us and enjoy the time that we have together before we have to go back out into the real world. But first, I'm going to need you to take a pregnancy test. I'll text Neelam to get it for us.”

You stayed with Jack in Paris for two more days before making your way back home in order to face your husband and to officially file for divorce. You were dreading having to face him, but at this point what did you have to lose? He stepped out on you and had an entire child and you were absolutely done with trying to repair the relationship and it took Jack explaining that there was nothing left for you in that marriage for it to finally click and stop your thoughts of wanting to repair it despite what he did to you.

Even though he hadn't tried to call you at this point in time he had to know. It was everywhere and you honestly couldn't escape it. It did help that when you got back to L.A. it was three in the morning and there weren't a lot of people out, but that wasn't going to be the case on a day to day basis.

Before you and Jack had to leave one another, he simply told you if you wanted to quit your job when you got back home and move back to Louisville, he had already bought a condo for you.

You didn't know if you were quite ready for that just yet, but then again why not? Some of your things were already in Louisville and this would make it feel like the end of an era.

Walking into the house, the light was still on in the kitchen and you were confused as to why he would still be awake. Leaving your suitcase by the door, you stepped into the kitchen to see him nursing a glass of some type of alcohol and he was the first to speak.

“Hmm so you finally decided to come back? You should have just stayed with him.” He said before taking a swig and putting the glass back down on the table which instantly made you roll your eyes.

“Don't even start with me because it's not like you actually give a damn about me so you can stop pretending.”

“Of course I give a damn about you! Last time I checked you were MY wife, but I found out that you were cheating on me with your so-called “friend” Jack Harlow. He's a friend from high school, my ass.”

“I'm your wife, but you leave me for weeks and even months at a time and barely communicate with me and you've been this way for almost a damn year. So you can fucking save it. He actually cares about me while you are too busy taking care of your newborn child.”

The expression on Xavier's face was priceless and if you weren't so mad at him you would have pulled out your phone to take a picture.

“Oh, we don't have a lot to say now, do we? You've been cheating on me for almost a year and got the bitch pregnant. You aren't as discreet as you think and I know everything down to where she lives and what the baby's name is. Congratulations I heard it was a girl so don't you dare tell me shit.”

“You don't know anything.”

“Hmm, funny because not once did you deny it. If I don't know anything, tell me I'm wrong and PROVE it. Yeah I cheated on you with my ex-boyfriend and I don't regret it. He fucked me in our bed and I didn't even care if you had walked in and saw us. You could have probably used some pointers for him because I can't even remember the last time you actually found my clit so it was definitely news to me that you found someone that actually wanted to have sex with you and had actually gotten someone pregnant. So I'm saying all this to say that I'm fucking divorcing you once and for all so you can go and be with sweet little Kristina and baby Olivia all the time because I am taking you down for everything you fucking have. I'm not putting up with this any longer.”

“So, you think that the two of you are just going to live happily ever after? You failed me as a wife and you aren't going to do anything but fail him and be seen as nothing but a homewrecking whore.”

“You have some fucking nerve saying that shit to me. Hmm, I could say the same thing about Kristina. At least you could've gotten with someone who was at least on my level, but all you did was downgrade. She can have my sloppy seconds because the potential is gone. I didn't fail you as a wife, you failed me as a husband the minute you decided to step out on me instead of coming to me and fixing the problem. You didn’t even fight for me and that's what hurts most of all. I don't have anymore else to say so we're done here and you can get the fuck out of my house and go see your baby.”

“I… I never meant for it to come to this.” Xavier said getting up from the kitchen table and walking over towards you but all you did was take two steps back and shake your head no.

“You only feel some type of way now because you got caught. I don't want you anymore and I haven't wanted you for a very long time.”

“Y/N… we can fix this.”

“After you had a baby on me AND called me a homewrecking whore? Yeah, not a chance and let the door hit you on the way out because at this point, I don't give a damn.”

It was around 4:30 in the morning when Xavier had finally left and simply took his clothes and shoes with him and told you that he would be back for the rest later.

You were now laying in your bed staring up at the ceiling and you let out a sigh of relief. The weight that you had felt being in this marriage was no longer there and a few tears couldn't help but to slip out and you quickly wiped them away. Those were happy tears because you finally stood upp for yourself and it was long overdue. Now that you had faced your husband, you had one more thing left to accomplish. Now you had to go out and face the world.

Avoidance of your social media accounts were at an all time high especially when that was one of the first things Jack had told you to do and Neelam quickly agreed. You could only imagine the things that people were saying about you.

It was hard to fall asleep so the idea of calling Jack came to you knowing that more than likely he was still awake. He had let you know earlier when he had gotten home and that he was going to be up for a while. It rang a few times before you saw his face pop into view.

“Why is my girl still awake? I thought you'd be asleep by now? And have you been crying? What's going on?” He asked when he laid his eyes on you. It looked as if he was also laying down and had just woken up by his hair being all over the place.

“Oh no, did I wake you up? I didn't mean to. You can call me back when…” Jack immediately cut you off.

“No. Obviously my girl needs me so tell me what's bothering you.”

“I kicked him out the house… finally.” You said with a sense of relief.

“Hmm, how'd that go?”

“Tried to blame me for ruining the marriage by cheating, but then I pulled out all the receipts about him and his newborn child. He looked like a deer caught in headlights and didn't even know what to say.”

“I mean at that point, what could he say? He got caught red handed.”

“And proceeded to call me a homewrecking whore but then said that our marriage could be fixed.”

“He has some fucking nerve saying some shit like that to you after what he did. So, how do you feel now?” Jack asked as he was now sitting up against the headboard.

“A sense of relief and I feel like a weight has been lifted. I told him that I want nothing to do with him anymore. He took it better than I thought, but I mean at that point he had to know that I was going to say no. I also mentioned howywe fucked that night and that he can never find my clit. Anyway, I know for a fact Kelsey said something and had A LOT to say when she saw you.”

Jack shrugged before responding to you and it was clear that at this point he just didn't care anymore.

“First thing out of her mouth was ‘you told me not to worry about her’ and I was like Clay told you that because I know for a damn fact that that statement never came out of my mouth. Like she knows that we dated and by the end of that conversation I asked… no told her we were getting a divorce and that I didn't love her anymore.”

“We're doing the right thing, right? Tell me we're doing the right thing.” You said as you were making yourself more comfortable.

“Yes, baby, we're doing the right thing. Matter of fact, why are you in that big house by yourself when you could be up under me in your new condo in Louisville?”

“I..”

“First thing tomorrow, file for divorce and then I'll send the jet to come and get you.”

—--

You had been in Louisville with Jack at your new condo for about three and a half weeks and it seemed like the world was crashing down around you.

Being curious one night when Jack was at the studio your first week back, you logged into social media to see blogs tearing you down at every chance they could get and you ended up sending yourself into a panic attack.

The next week, numerous calls came to your phone letting you know that you would be essentially dropped from your endorsement deals because the companies that you were under didn't want their name being tied to any type of scandal or putting their company in a bad light even though they didn't even know the full story of what had actually happened.

Jack didn't know anything about that because you failed to tell him. You had known from the beginning that it was going to come to this and your mindset was that you were simply going to deal with it and not try to worry him about it.

You confided in Tania how you felt ever since the paparazzi pictures were posted and she was immediately blowing up your phone. You were once again hiding out in your condo when a call from her came through on your phone since when you called her earlier she was unable to talk. Once you explained everything to her, the first thing out of her mouth was that you had to tell Jack.

“And you didn't tell him this because?”

“He has enough to deal with and I feel like I keep adding to it. Being with me is probably more trouble than what it's worth. I have literally created a shitstorm.”

“Do not EVER let me hear you talk about yourself that way again. You are worth it and deserve to have happiness and Jack is all in. That man worships the ground that you walk on and if anybody needs to know how you're feeling right now, it's him. Do not keep this from him, because how is he supposed to help you?”

“Tania, how is he supposed to help me with this? My mental health has literally gone to shit since all of this happened. I quit my job, lost all my damn endorsement deals.”

“The two of you want to be together and that man is moving hell and high water to make it happen so I know if you tell him, he will do his absolute best to make sure you get the help that you need. Why are you so scared of just letting go? You've been this way since our first year in nursing school. And he said from the beginning that he's going to take care of you, so let him. Stop running away from the man who wants to love you.”

“None of this would have happened if we didn't break up in the first place.”

“Well we can't do anything about that now and we have to deal with the cards that are dealt.”

“I'm so overwhelmed, I can't do this.”

The wheels immediately started turning in Tania's head because any time she heard you say that, you disappeared for weeks and no one had any idea where you were and she was afraid that you were going to do it again. She knew when your panic attacks and anxiety got the best of you that's what you did in order to reset. It wasn't the healthiest coping mechanism, but when you came back you felt better each time.

“Y/N, don't you dare run. You are done doing that. Talk to him when he gets back home. Do I need to come to Louisville or do I need to call Janelle and Jeremiah?”

“I….. Tania, I don't know if I'm cut out for this. Maybe this is all too soon.”

“No. Stop it. Stop it right now. You made the right choice and I know it's overwhelming because of how famous Jack is and people are going to now be following your every move, but it's going to be okay.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because I know you and you always come out on top. Now get some rest and let me know how it goes when you talk to Jack. If I don't hear from you in the next 12 hours, I'm hopping on a plane to Louisville.”

When Jack got to your condo, he was surprised by how quiet it was but figured that you would be sleeping. He made his way into the bedroom to find it empty and was suddenly confused since you hadn't mentioned to him that you were going anywhere, because at this point in time he didn't want you going anywhere by yourself knowing how people are.

After searching the entire condo, he pulled out his phone to call you but it had gone straight to voice-mail and Jack wasn't quite sure if he should start to panic or not.

It wasn't until a piece of paper on the counter in the kitchen written in your handwriting caught his eye.

Jackman,

Please don't be mad at me for doing this even though I get it if you are. First off, I love you with everything in me, but I just need to reset. I'm overwhelmed and I just need time to myself. I'll be back soon. Don't come and look for me.

Love, Buttercup

Jack felt that his heart was beginning to race as he read your words over and over again, not believing what he was seeing. He immediately started to feel guilty and believed that this was entirely his fault. He thought that you were coping with everything just fine or, it seemed like you were. If it was the opposite, surely you would have told him, right?

He immediately picked up his phone once more and dialed.

“Hello?”

“Y/N isn't here, and I don't know where she could've gone. She left a note saying not to look for her, but how am I supposed to just sit here?”

[momentofch-aos]

M's Marvel Thought of the Day

Daniel Sousa, now settled in the 21st century, looks up what happened to his friends from his own timeline.

Daisy had already gently broken the news about Peggy's death to him. They visited her grave site and talked about the adventures and missions the two had been on.

He read the case file on Howard and Maria Stark's death, the Winter Solider case and knowledge of who he was sending him for a loop. He'd met Sergeant Barnes once, that day when he thought he would die on the battle field. He had never been Howard's biggest fan but no one deserved that.

He read the obituaries of Ana and Edwin Jarvis, found they were buried in New York, side by side as they'd been in life. He left pink flowers - Ana's favourite colours of peonies - on their grave, and thanked them for their friendship and support.

There had been two people he'd been somewhat surprised to find out were still alive and unbelievably in the same old people's home in DC. He'd been unsure whether visiting would be a good idea but after some gentle investigating from Daisy and Mack, he found himself entering a rec room. There was various elderly people around, reading newspapers or napping in high backed armchairs. But no-one looked familiar. Daisy squeezed his hand before getting the attention of one of the nurses, who led them around the corner of the room.

As they make their approach when Daniel hears a far too familiar voice, making him stop in his tracks.

"Ha! Got you again Thompson, pay up!" Rose Roberts, with now grey hair but with the same thick glasses, smirked triumphantly across the top of the checkers board.

The older man across the table groaned. "We go through this every damn day Rose. Can we go back to Chess?" Daniel took in the older man he'd known a life time ago, hair still slicked back in the way it had always been. A cane leant against the wall behind him and he coughed after laughing at Rose's comeback.

"Chief Thompson? Agent Roberts?" The nurse asked drawing their attention. "You have some visitors."

Both former agents looked across to see Daniel standing with an indecipherable look on his face.

"Fucking hell..."

"What the hell..." Their voices overlapped suddenly.

"Hey Rose, hey Jack." Daniel said stepping forward. Rose struggled to her feet, using the table to leverage herself up.

"Chief? Is that really you?" Rose looked up at him, his arms coming up to help balance her.

"It's me. It's good to see you Rose." And he found himself engulfed in her arms, wrapping his back around her and holding her tight. "God it's good to see you Rose."

"How the hell are you here?" She said as she looked back up to him. "And who's the beautiful woman you brought with you?" She fixed him with that same mischievous look she used to shoot at him all the time after glancing to Daisy who stood off to the side. Always so invested in his love life, so he chuckled.

"I can explain everything I promise. Why don't we sit?" He helped her back to her chair, glancing across to Jack who had his hand's in fists on the other side of the table. "Hi Thompson."

"Who are you?" He demanded. "You're sure as hell not Daniel Sousa. He died in...55." He paused remembering the exact year. "We buried him. We... mourned him. You sure as hell aren't him."

"I can explain that I am Jack."

"I am 102, not stupid." Rose scoffed, making both men turn to her.

"Jack do be serious. What about Rogers? He came back to Peg did he not?"

"How can we be sure? It may be some traitor. Davey was telling me just the other day about those shape shifting aliens Fury was palling around with..." Jack started saying.

"How about this Jack? I'll prove it to you." The older man looked puzzled but let him continue. "Before you went to Russia with Carter, met the Howling Commandoes when we were investigating Stark. You tricked me in the locker room, into seeing Carter changing. You asked me to get your compass from..."

"Locker 42." Jack finished his sentence and looked Daniel up and down, his gaze resting on the prosthetic leg.

"I've still only got one leg but the future makes a better prosthetic than Stark by a mile." Daniel joked, and Jack stood at that, pulling Daniel into a hug that he was not expecting. "It's good to see you too Jack."

They sat back down, chairs pulled up for Daniel and Daisy, as they told the story of faking his death, and pulling him out of time. Of their adventures into space and the weird and wacky things he'd discovered in the 21st Century.

They told him stories from their own lives after his death, cases he'd missed out on, Howard's ridiculousness. Peggy's rise to power. The three old friends spoke fondly of her, recalling stories from throughout the time they spent with her.

Rose grilled him and Daisy on their story and relationship, telling Daisy all the embarrassing things that Daniel had been happy to leave behind in the 50's. The unlikely pair giggled and formed a friendship.

Rose told her stories of her first and second marriage, her daughter, son-in-law and grandson who would visit every weekend.

Jack had been married when Daniel died, to Peggy's lovely personal secretary Ruth who knew how to put him in his place. They'd only had a daughter the year or two before Daniel supposedly died. Jack talked about how they'd gone on to have three more daughters, now had 8 grandchildren, including a grandson who had joined SHIELD recently (Daniel promised to keep an eye out for him). Then, his Ruth had passed a few years ago and Daniel expressed his condolences.

At that moment, a young boy, probably 5-years-old barrelled into the room and to Jack's side. "Pops, Pops!"

"Hey there, Danny. How's my favourite guy?" With surprising strength for a man of his years, Jack swung the young man up till he was sat on his knee.

"I'm good! Momma's coming now." He pointed to where a pretty blonde was making her way across the room, shaking her head as she stooped to kiss Jack on the cheek and ruffle her son's head.

"Sorry Grandpa, the traffic was horrendous." She greeted Rose much the same way, passing her a package. "Fudge from that place on 4th for your Rose, Danny over there insisted." She turned to the guests who sat between them. "Hello, I'm Ruthy." She shook their hands.

"Ruthy, this is Daniel and Daisy. Daniel, Daisy, my granddaughter Ruthy and her son, Danny." Jack smirked at Sousa as his great-grandson played with the watch on his wrist.

"Danny? Huh." Was the only thing Daniel came up with as he watched an old friend acting like a goofy grandparent.

"Yeah, Grandpa had a friend called Daniel who saved his life a bunch of times when he was younger. Used to tell us stories all about Sousa and Carter and their adventures. We never believed him until we found out where he worked." Ruthy filled in nonchalantly, sitting on the opposite side of the table, digging through her bag to produce a water bottle for her son unaware of the look on Daniel's face. Jack smirked massively. "Here, Grandpa. I managed to grab that album from storage that you wanted." She handed across a large leather bound photo album to the older man, who flipped through a few pages.

"Here you go Daisy, you'll like this one." Jack smirked, that old charming smile creeping onto his face as he passed the now open book across to her, Daniel peering over her shoulder and scoffing.

"Woah." Ruth finally looked up, glancing at the photo and then back up to Daniel and back again. "Well. I cannot believe it took me that long. I knew you looked familiar. I thought it was just Quake that had me thinking that."

Daisy smirked. "You don't seem surprised?"

"Oh I've worked at Stark Industries for a long time, I'm so used to superheroes and weird tech not much surprises me anymore. You see Tony Stark walking round in Iron-Man pants one too many times and you get over stuff pretty quickly." She levelled Daniel with a look. "Time travel huh?"

"Yes. But I haven't seen these in literal years." He said his hand tapped a few photos. One from the first day of opening the first SHIELD base, Thompson and Howard Stark stood either side of Peggy and Daniel. Another of Peggy, Daniel and Rose throwing confetti at Jack's wedding. One of Daniel and Thompson with Peggy on her Wedding Day. An outtake of that one where Howard was attempting to jumping into frame and Jarvis dragging him out, while the three of them laughed lay below it.

He could still picture that party, he could hear the band playing, memories of Peggy dancing with Rogers, happy and content. He remembered how happy he was for her.

Daisy squeezed his knee beneath the table and brought him back to the present. He pressed a kiss to her temple and continued the conversation. They had coffee and cake and Rose shared her fudge. Daisy made lunch trolley roll across the room, making Jack's great-grandson shriek in delighted laughs and push it back into a position where she could do it again and again.

They left hours later and Daniel felt more settled than he had done in a long time. Daisy squeezed his hand as they drove away.

They'd return to visit every time they were in town, which was more often these days now SHIELD HQ was there, sometimes together, sometimes alone. They met all of both of their families, attended Ruth's 100th birthday. Brought presents for Daniel's namesake's birthday.

When Daisy and Daniel tied the knot, two reserved seats on the front row of the groom's side were filled my two of his oldest friends some of their families just a couple rows back. They 'snuck' them into new SHIELD HQ to see all the new tech and planes, the memorial wall that included people they'd known a lifetime ago.

Daniel loved the future, loved living his life alongside Daisy and her family. But knowing his friends were there, getting to spend time with them was an unexpected but valuable thing for him. It gave him a link to the past, someone to shoot the breeze with, with some similar experiences from the past. A taste of a previous life he was grateful for as he lived his new one.

[namu-the-orca]

Do you have any advice on how to begin drawing a cetacean? When I'm drawing terrestrial animals, I can break them down into simpler shapes pretty easily, but cetaceans are just Big Tubes and I'm completely stumped on how to start

(Disclaimer that my work is rather stylised, so I'm not looking for advice on photorealism! Just any advice you have in general. I admire your ability to understand and render these sausage-bodied beasts)

Hi! That's an interesting question. I have to admit I had to draw a couple of dolphins first to see how I actually deal with them when free-handing lol. So much of my work as of late is scientific illustration, where in many cases I can build upon my own older illustrations. The new pieces are always 100% new, but correcting a base - however poor - is easier than starting from scratch.

Before I go any further let me stress the eternal importance of references. I can draw a dolphin fine from memory but for it to be actually accurate I need references. I always use them. Especially when it comes to weird poses or angles, but even for illustrations I will reference 25-50 photographs. Use them, study them, find them. They are a resource not a cheat.

Also, years ago I actually started work on a whole series of dolphin drawing tutorials. Or rather, collections of notes and tips for different topics (anatomy, differences between males and females, colouration, variation). Looking at the files now I see I had actually written and drawn a frightening amount already. Perhaps I should try to finish them? Is that something people would be interested in? Anyway, it starts off with a word of encouragement, which I do want to share here:

Actual advice is below the cut:

ONTO METHODS - illustrations

I found that for me, my method depends on whether I'm making an illustration or a full scene painting. For illustrations - which are in flat side view - I actually embrace the sausage. I drew a dolphin for you and saved the steps of how I go about it.

And this is the first. I start with a sort of flat-bottomed airfoil shape, and then add fins and a beak in approximate locations.

Next is refining the appendages and giving a face. Shape and placement of appendages as well as eye and mouth line is all experience and/or reference work.

Then comes fixing what I messed up lol. I always make the head too big first try (would have been good for a baby dolphin though!). Using cutting/transforming/moving selections around I correct proportions to what feels correct to me (again, that part comes from having seen and drawn a lot of dolphins).

Add some markings and hooray we have a spinner dolphin! This is the part where I would seriously start consulting references to check all the details and proportions are in order. If you don't need (photo)realism you can skip that step and use refs further back in the process just to get the shape/idea/colour of the species you're trying to paint right.

MORE METHODS - for different poses

When it comes to dynamic poses, my workflow is completely different. I just start from the nose and build my dolphin from there. Because as said above, they do have anatomy. And I think the way the beak flows into the cheek, the eye bumps connect, then the curve of the throat, the attachment of the pectoral fin, the way the belly curved up towards the genital region, the slight bulge behind that, then the muscles of the peduncle which flow into the flukes - I think the relations between those separate parts are enough for me?

These are the little dolphins (and a porpoise) I sketched from memory. In all cases I started from the tip of the nose and built from there, with minimal or no adjustments/erasing along the way. It was very much outline work. Details on eyes, mouth, etc, would come later. The killer whale is a bit different and got way more detailed than the rest. With such a front view angle I do use some spherical shapes to break it down for the body and face.

Otherwise I've never really liked or used the method of breaking an animal down into shapes, it never felt logical or intuitive to me. My "method" (if you can call it that lol) just comes from having drawn a lot of dolphins. I don't know if it is necessarily helpful when you want to get a grasp of them when starting out. Regardless I do hope this answered your question somewhat and you could get something useful out of it!

Also, I realise now I mostly talked about "standard "dolphins - for whales/short-beaked smaller cetaceans/etc my process is mostly the same, except their heads just have different shapes.

[preservationofnormalcy]

Ok, so I’m writing a novel involving paranormal investigation (no relation to you, takes place in a fictional town) and I’m on my third draft when the main character shows up behind me, grabs and turns me around to tell me of the “inaccuracies to his case”. Now I wrote them down and how I should change them. And when I looked up from my notepad, he was gone.

I want to continue, and most of these I feel like I can implement within the story, but what exactly happened? And if this becomes a series, will he continue to pop up, or was it one of those “one in a blue moon scenarios”?

And what do I do if it isn’t?

Hey Norm...

Hmm? Didn't you do a PSA about this exact subject in the nineties?

Oh, uh, sure. When I first started. Around '99. It's waaay outdated, now, you know, with the internet and everything, it's better to not even look it up. I don't think it was even digitized, really. I have no idea what happened to it.

Oh, Norm, don't worry! If there's one person who knows your filing system better than you, it's me! Let's see...H for Holmes, S for Sherlock...cross reference to P for Parafictional, 90s...HERE WE GO! "Dear Watson: That's Not Holmes, That's A Lure!"

Oh good, they put it on a disc so that a tech savvy person could find it, uh, twenty five years later. I wouldn't play it, I can't guarantee--

<An old, color degraded video begins playing. It's clearly shot on VHS, with a minimal budget, and had degraded somewhat before being transferred to digital. A man stands in a small, cinderblock room in front of a backdrop depicting a victorian study. He is wearing a tweed jacket with leather patches on the elbows and a pair of smart slacks. A deerstalker hat sits conspicuously on a stack of actual books, Sherlock Holmes novels. The man himself looks sort of like what you'd get if you focus-group-tested the only type of man Don Bluth knew how to draw, and has curtain bangs with frosted tips. The whole ensemble has the energy of a store-brand Milo Thatch. As he speaks, his eyes don't leave a fixed point behind the camera.>

So. You have encountered an entity from a fictional property. You're excited - maybe you wanted to talk to your favorite book character. Or. Maybe you are a writer and you are excited to talk to your protagonist. But...is that entity real?

<There's an extremely awkward camera change, and the man looks to it, his eyes following a point again.>

....or a lure?

<He leans back and there is a too-long pause before he continues.>

When encountering a parafictional manifestation, remember the three S's.

<The visuals change to a grainy blue background, white text appearing as the man's voiceover continues.>

Solidity: are you are this entity is physical and not all in your head?

Subjective: if it's real, are other people seeing the same thing?

Sentience: is this entity sentient, or merely approximating sentience? Is it answering questions like a sentient entity, or like how it would be expected to answer?

<It cuts back to the man, standing behind the chair with his hands on the back. There is a too-long pause again.>

If...uh.

If this entity doesn't pass any of these easy-to-remember checks, that's a red flag. Any number of malicious extranormal entities can exploit the human capacity for creativity in order to feed on our psychic energy, creating a non-sentient construct we call a "Chinese Room" in order to keep YOU from asking questions.

Remember next time you see Darth Vader, Spider-man, or Tarzan - are you so incredibly lucky to experience such a rare phenomena as true parafictional manifestation?

<He awkwardly puts a pipe in his mouth and blows a few bubbles.>

Or are you being lured?

<The video ends.>

....god, my hair.

[youlikefanficdontyousquidward]

Colonel's orders!

Summary: Lyle doesn't show up for your date, Quaritch rectifies the situation.

Human!Miles x gn!reader, Human!Lyle x gn!reader

It was an odd situation you had to admit. Lyle and you? No one would have seen it coming, well no one except your roommate.

"He's a dog y/n! You're a fine piece of ass and he's sniffin!" She called to you as you got ready by the mirror. Her head didn't even pop up from her data pad as she chewed on her pen.

"What the hell does that even mean Kim?" You didn't have time for her nonsense warnings. Your own shift had run late and if you didn't leave now he'd be waiting. You just wished your hair knew that.

"Means what it means." She said crossing her arms. "You shouldn't go. AND if you do I'm not clearing out so there'll be no hanky panky" You rolled your eyes. Cheep as RDA was you were lucky in your station to only have one room mate to deal with. She could be a pain in the ass but at least she kept her side tidy.

"I have no idea what your saying half the time." You grumbled mainly to yourself, having a last once over in the mirror before heading out.

"If your not back by 0900 I'm inviting Prager over!" You wished the sliding mechanical doors were capable of slamming as you left.

She was one to talk about your taste seeing as she'd been making her way through the military types. Still in some ways she was right. You'd never seen them as your type before but Lyle had been a special case.

You were a jack of all trades, often flitting from task to task in where ever they felt you were needed. Your primary work load was in mechanics, which was where you met him. Lyle clearly wished to jump the queue and reckoned it was a 50/50 he'd get to the top of the order or blacklisted. His cheesy pickup lines and obvious eyeballing would have normally pissed you off but for some reason you'd found it charming.

Maybe it was his sincerity? He certainly seemed to find you genuinely attractive and was not shy about expressing it. Maybe it was the lack self seriousness he displayed? Or maybe it was simply that no one else had shown this much blatant interest in you in a while.

There were no games with him. He was clear in his intentions from the beginning. Before you'd even finished fixing his gun mount on the craft, he'd set up a date. You appreciated the straight forwardness greatly. You often found people difficult to read and wished more would be as blunt at times.

So here you were, outside the hanger leaning against the wall in your nicest causal clothes. It was a miracle you'd made it on time, better than that you were a couple of minutes early! You used the time to catch your breath, peering at your reflection in the glass.

You looked nice. It was hard to look special with what little you'd brought with you but still the effort was clear. Anyways he'd still be in his camo so he'd be a hypocrite to think you'd not bothered to dress up.

Not that dressing up was necessary, you were only going to an observation deck. It was technically out of bounds for yourself but with him as escort it would be allowed. As he told it, that catwalk had the best views of the night sky. You quite looked forward to seeing it, would be a change from the lower levels you tended to work in.

Minutes ticked by slowly. Muscular men and women in military gear filed past, looking at you with confusion as you waited. You kept your eyes down, hoping not to draw too much attention. Wouldn't want to get kicked out before Lyle even got here.

Your feet started to ache. Looking down at your watch again you noted how late he was. 15 minutes wasn't so bad, maybe he'd needed a shower first and had just forgot to message you. You rocked back and forth on your heels, staring out at the moving crane in the hanger.

30 minutes was understandable. Something must have come up and made him late. If it was work then of course he wouldn't have been able to message you and let you know. The timer lights had gone out leaving the hall dim. You slumped down now, sitting on the floor. Might as well rest a little while you waited right?

45 minutes. The cranes had stopped now, the large hanger bay stilled. Whatever workers left must have gone off to their own beds through other exits. You hadn't seen another soul in the last half an hour. Was he just not coming?

55 minutes was your limit. You could feel the frustration rising in your throat. It constricted as your chest spasmed, threatening to start you sobbing. You held the flood gates, your eyes only glassy, you wouldn't cry here.

You felt stupid for falling for what ever trick he was playing. A prank amongst his friends maybe? All watching on CCTV at the poor sod he'd tricked into thinking he liked them. Fuck them, they wouldn't see you cry. You were gonna walk back to your room like nothing was wrong and let your roommates vicious tongue say it for you.

You stood, stretching out your aching muscles, your back giving a satisfying pop. You moaned a little in the empty space as you reached high in your stretch. Then you heard someone clear their throat.

You glanced over to see the Colonel himself eyeing you. You yanked your arms down fast, adjusting your clothing that had crept up.

"Sir!" You straightened, mind racing. What could you say to excuse your being here? Did he know his own men well enough to mark you as an outsider here?

"Shouldn't you be..." He began.

"Yes! sorry sir! I was waiting for someone and..." You cut him off, trailing off with a half hearted laugh at the end there. You weren't hiding you emotion well, you could hear a manic edge to your tone. Well fuck it, your evening couldn't get worse right?

"I think I've been stood up, sir." You met his eye when you said this tears threatening to spill. This was the first time since the mandatory safety briefing you'd seen him this close. You'd done well the last few years, making yourself indispensable on base, never needing to leave its safe walls. Nor having to be in the presence of the Colonel who you'd found so frightening before.

He didn't seem so scary now. Emotions quickly passing across his admittedly handsome face. Though it was marked heavily by deep scarring he was very agreeable up close. He seemed to soften a moment, an easy smile gracing his lips.

"By one of mine? Now that won't do darlin" You blushed at the pet name, eyeing him nervously as he reached a hand out to you. You took it gingerly, staring down at his rough hand clasping your own. Then your eyes drifted to his biceps, wow he was huge.

"Colonel Miles Quaritch." He drawled out, laughing a little. Your eyes shot back up to his, busted.

"Uh, y/n, sir!" You squeaked out. You tensed as he pulled your arm in, hooking it through his own. You followed his movements, allowing him to walk you through the doors off limits to yourself.

"Gave you my name for a reason there darlin'. Just Miles will be fine." You just nodded to him, the whole situation rapidly getting away from you.

"Now what had my no good dog promised you huh?" he turned his head to you, flashing a brilliant smile. You settled against him, content he wasn't going to yell at you and happy to be closer to his muscles.

"The stars." You spoke, more steadily this time, a dreamy hint touching your voice. You'd never seen them so clear as the first night you arrived on Pandora and had been squirreled away ever since. "We were going to go look at them."

Miles hummed to himself, leading you to an elevator on the far wall. An assistant had made to approach with paper work, he shot him a look you couldn't see. The man almost jumped, fumbling with the papers before scampering off. Maybe a little apprehension on your part was warranted.

He seemed a little lost in thought as you entered the lift together. Maybe mulling over who's place he'd taken tonight. Part of you wanted to keep it a secret, after all he did seem annoyed you'd been left waiting. Maybe Lyle deserved what ever his Colonel would do however. Likely be better than your plan of never helping him again.

The lifts sliding doors brought him back. Charming smile slipping back into place as he stepped out with you.

"You'll be wanting a mask for this spot." He removed himself from your side, stepping ahead to the evopacks hanging on the wall. He took one down turning to you.

"After you." He placed the mask over your head, drawing you in close as he adjusted the straps. He tucked hair off your face, hands tracing down to tilt your chin up with his finger. Your breath caught in your throat, he was close now, his eyes darting to your lips. If it wasn't for the glass between you, you'd have felt his breath. He smirked down at you before pressing the seal, it hissed startling you back to reality. Where it didn't seem like your Colonel wanted to kiss you.

You hadn't realized quite how hot you'd become until the door hissed open and the cool night air hit you. It was refreshing, not so cold as to be uncomfortable.

"Up here." Miles lead the way climbing the ladder first and taking your hand when you reached the top yourself. He pulled you up sharply making you bump against his broad chest. He held you there a moment, hands on your elbows, before stepping back.

"Well, there's your stars." He smiled and you raised your head up.

No earthly sky could compare, not even the old photos of desert skies. Millions of pin prick lights, splashes of blue and purple nebula, another moon and the huge expanse of Polyphemus.

The night here glowed brilliantly. You couldn't help the glee that bubbled through you. You jumped a little, waving your hands trying to disperse the feeling. It was so beautiful, beyond anything you'd expected from your brief glimpse.

You twisted back to Quaritch, suddenly bashful from your display. He was simply smiling back at you from where he'd decided to sit. You joined him, flopping onto your back to better take in the view.

"As promised?" You turned your head to his, stars sparkling in his icy blue eyes. You grinned at him.

"Better!" You shuffled closer pressing your head to his shoulder. You wondered briefly if that'd be okay but he didn't move. You stayed like that for a time, letting him speak. He'd apparently learnt a bit from navigation, important out in the field so he said. He pointed to clusters, constellations changed quickly on a moon planet but certain groups could be spotted and used to navigate.

You told him about your fear of the forest. That you'd known a friend who died their first day out there. That you'd found every excuse to stay inside since. He listened, nodding to himself. You supposed he understood, he'd seen first hand what was out there, though he'd chosen to fight it.

When you began to yawn he suggested you go back. Ever the gentleman it would seem, he took your hand. Helping you up then escorting you back. You protested lightly, that you could return yourself but he wouldn't have it. Taking you right to your room door.

"Well y/n, it's been a pleasure." He raised your knuckles to his lips, leaving a soft kiss. You giggled a little, debating a curtsy when you noticed the time. 1100 and as expected your darling roommate had left the customary warning of her sock on the floor.

Miles caught your sudden change of expression, quirking a brow at the sock you glared at.

"Sorry...uh my roommate... she has company." You fumbled. It wasn't against any rules or anything but it felt like grassing her up to the big boss. He paused a moment before he caught your meaning, barking a laugh at the situation.

"Now wouldn't it be funny if I just..." He trailed off before quickly opening the door. You barely had time to react before you saw a half dressed Prager flail and fall onto the floor. Your roommate was no where in site, likely in the bathroom.

"Private!" Miles half yelled, causing him to scramble to his feet and salute. You couldn't help but laugh at him standing there in his underwear, beet red.

"You have a field mission at 0600, best get some shut eye soldier." Miles voice was light hearted, filled with humor at the situation. Regardless Prager scooped up the rest of his clothes before running off down the hall, babbling out 'yes sirs' and 'sorry sirs'.

You turned to look up at Miles, still giggling. He smiled back down at you before his face relaxed a little. He looked at you more seriously then, before his hand raised to cup your cheek. He was close again, this time you could feel the heat radiating off his skin. He stooped a little, leaning closer to you. You felt his lips brush against yours before...

"Colonel, sir?!" Miles leaned away, hand leaving your cheek, he turned to who ever called. You didn't even need to peak around him to tell, Lyle. What was he doing here now? You were still upset about him leaving you waiting like that, but he'd come to you?

"Ahh, this the date then?" He turned back to you, face tight in a forced smile. You felt your face flush, mind still reeling from the almost kiss.

"uh yeah... Lyle." He jogged into view around Miles now, red faced and out of breath. You looked at the floor, not wanting to meet his eyes incase it got you tearing up again.

"Aww y/n I..." He started, struggling to speak through his panting.

"This is my bad." You turned to Miles as he interrupted. His face and voice giving a casual impression that didn't reach his body language. His muscles were tensed. You could see his fists balled, white knuckled.

"I'm afraid my Corporal here was pretty behind on paper work and I'd insisted it be done by tomorrow. Fair to say I ruined your evening, you have my apologies." He tipped his head before marching off.

You felt you should say something but what? What do you say to your higher up who almost kissed you in front of your date. You turned to Lyle, his breathing more steady now.

"How about a rain check? Happy to show you that spot another night." He smiled sweetly, dimples forming. You remembered why you'd been so taken by him before, he really was a good looking guy.

"Yeah, rain check" You returned his smile, watching as his eyes lit up at the chance for a do over. "but your boss beat you to that date." You added laughing at his shocked expression as you entered your room.

"Wait he what?!" He shouted as you closed the door. Kim had reappeared and was grinning from ear to ear.

"Details. Now." You rolled your eyes playfully as she dragged you to sit on her bed.

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

The next morning you worked bellow an engine block. Trudy had complained about something leaking and was unwilling to let anyone but you touch her baby.

Your mind was still racing. You wanted to see Miles again but at the same time you still had a date promised to Lyle. It wasn't cheating right? You weren't 'dating' dating? He was just gonna take you out, no reason you couldn't think about someone else. Chances were he was playing the field too, no harm right?

"Knock knock" You heard someone tapping the metal and slid out from under it. Lyle stood above you offering a hand to help you up. He pulled you up and into a quick hug, before pulling back to grin at you.

"What?" you asked, the cheeky look still spread across his face.

"Someone cleared both our schedules for the rest of the day." He somehow smiled wider before scooping you up and spinning with you in the air. You shrieked, laughing as you balanced yourself holding his firm shoulders. He placed you gently back down, giddy smiles shared between you both.

"Must have made a very good impression on the boss. Maybe need to have him run into you more often." He winked slinging an arm over your shoulders. You blushed, he'd really gone and given you both a full day off? Lyle tugged you closer, kissing your temple and leading you out the hanger.

"We're gonna have so much fun!" He beamed. You smiled back, enjoying the feeling of being smushed up against his broad chest.

Unbeknownst to you Miles watched seething from the catwalk above.

[kitten4sannie]

23 - ᴄʜᴇᴀᴛɪɴɢ/ᴄʀᴇᴀᴍᴘɪᴇ - ꜱᴀɴ

ᴀɴɢᴇʟ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ᴀʙᴏᴠᴇ

pairing: business man! san x stripper! reader (fem)

summary: san finds himself visiting his favorite dancer instead of going back home to his wife.

w.c: 3k

warnings: alcohol use, san and reader are both a mess, sub! leaning san, dom leaning! reader, cheating, lap dance, grinding, unprotected sex, creampie

a/n: shoutout to the anon for giving me this idea by sharing this vid whewwwwww this is for you <3 also i struggled sm trying to explain what she was doing on the pole im so sorry loll

btw some song recs would be fwm by tone stith, me by summer walker, lavender sunflower by tory lanez, and the weekend by sza

FFF Masterlist

✖✖✖✖✖✖✖✖✖✖✖✖

Sitting in an almost-empty office, San stared blankly at the monitor in front of him, knowing he finished his work early but finding himself reluctant to pack up and go home. Why wouldn't he want to go home? He had a beautiful wife waiting for him, who was probably pulling something yummy out of the oven. Maybe she was even wearing a cute little apron, hoping he would come home and see her in it. Yet, he found himself thinking about the dancer he met a few months ago at the gentlemen's club just around the corner from his work. There was even an ATM right outside of it, just asking him to take out hundreds of dollars and spend it all on her.

"Hey, San," his coworker said, putting his hands on San's tense shoulders and patting them, noticing that he had shut his computer down and was putting some files away into his suitcase. "Heading home?"

San stood up and slicked his hair back, allowing a few strands to fall onto his forehead. "Yep," he replied shortly, giving the man a polite smile and walking past him, hoping he couldn't somehow tell that he was about to cheat. Well, it wasn't technically cheating, right? It was pretty much the same thing as looking at those certain magazines that they sold at gas stations, but just in real life. It’s not like he was sleeping with you. He still loved his wife. He did. He really did. He just needed to see you one more time. After this, he was done. He was certain of it.

"Are you coming in or not?" the oversized bouncer asked in a deep voice, looking at the anxious, sweating businessman idly standing in front of the open club door with a thousand dollars just sitting inside his black tailored pants.

Fixing his glasses out of habit, he let out a nervous laugh, nodding his head. "Yep, I'm coming in. Uh, have a good night." He gave the man a weak wave and shuffled past him, making his way through the long hallway past some patrons and a few dancers. When San made it into the main room, he was immediately bathed in crimson lighting, dark and seductive, like he had stepped foot into hell. He might as well have. He was ready to sin.

After he was done taking in his surroundings, he headed to the bar and sat down at the seat that had the best view of the main stage. "Your usual, Mr. Choi?" the bartender asked, wiping a pint glass with a rag, noticing how San simply sat still on his stool and scanned the various platforms on the other side of the room.

You weren't anywhere to be seen. Would you be coming out soon? You always worked on Friday nights. Maybe you were in the back getting ready. Probably putting some glitter on your eyelids and drawing a tiny heart near your cheek with some eyeliner. It was the cutest thing. You were always so cute, like a pretty little angel. Yet, when you got on stage, you would always give him this look. Like you were picturing all the things he could do to you, and all the things you could do to him, maybe even right there where everyone could watch. That’s when you reminded him that you were actually sin incarnate. But he knew that already. And he didn't mind.

"Mr. Choi?" the man tried again, holding out a glass filled with ice, tea, and various amounts of alcohol. "Your long island ice tea."

San snapped his head back towards the man, taking the glass and nodding his head. "Thanks, man." He brought the straw up to his lips and sucked the drink down, delighted that it got rid of the remaining guilt he felt, idly glancing around the room again, this time scanning the various men sitting in their seats, some with a dancer in their lap. None of them were you.

The bartender shook his head, leaning his forearms on the table below. "Are you waiting for Angel to come out, Mr. Choi?"

Halfway through his drink, San choked on some of the liquid, swallowing it down anyway and clearing his throat. Pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, he faced the man again, a slight frown forming. "Am I that obvious?"

The man smiled to himself, glancing over to the main stage entrance, knowing you would be coming out soon. "She talks about you a lot, you know. She's constantly asking when we think you'll come back."

This was news to him. Sure, you were always friendly and flirty with him. Always referring to him as "Mr. Business Man" or "Sannie." The second was his favorite. It always made him melt. His wife wouldn't even call him that anymore. Said it was childish. Though, when you said it, with that coy look on your face and batting your long eyelashes at him, the only thoughts he had were inexplicably adult. Maybe you were into him. You. His angel. That changed things. And at this point, he was already in too deep, so why not get buried?

"What does she say about me?" San probed, drinking the rest of the tea down until he was sucking on the ice at the bottom of the glass. Warmth flooded his brain and body, encouraging him to unbutton his black blazer and pull it off. As he carefully draped it over the bar counter, everything around him began slowing down to a crawl.

"That you're her favorite," the man replied softly, idly glancing at the silver ring San was wearing on his ring finger, then walking over to serve another customer. It wasn't any of his business. He was just a bartender. He tapped the table near San, motioning his head to the main stage. "She's on, by the way."

Spinning around in his seat, San felt like all the air inside his lungs suddenly dissipated. His reddened eyes focused on your curvy figure appearing out of the darkness of the stage entrance, his eyes traveling along your almost naked body. You were wearing a matching set like you always did. This time, you were wearing a tiny black latex bra, the nonexistent cups barely covering your nipples, your tits practically spilling out of them. He gulped so hard, he almost swallowed his Adam's apple by accident. An equally black, equally nonexistent thong clung tightly to your hips and pelvis, one micro-movement away from having everyone see your pretty pink–

"Pussy," said a random drunk man sitting next to San, throwing back a shot of vodka. When San gave him a dirty look, the man shook his head. "Don't just stare at her, bro. Go sit in that chair over there and let her know you like her. Trust me. Angel's worth it."

Turning away form the guy in silence, San undid his tie and laid it over his jacket, trusting that the bartender would look after it for him. Putting the image of his wife sitting at the empty dinner table by herself, San quickly made his way past a few tables and booths, eventually sitting down in the empty seat near the front section of the stage.

Taking a few drawn out steps around the pole, you ran a hand up your body, your hips swaying along to the slow, thumping beats of the song playing through the surrounding speakers. Like a snake hypnotizing its prey before striking. Once you grabbed the pole and moved your body in a slow wavelike motion, you turned around and leaned your body back against it, gazing down at your favorite businessman. Your eyes surveyed his lap, wondering if the visible tent in his work pants was a stack of cash or his hard cock. Either was fine with you.

"Angel..." San murmured to himself, unconsciously spreading his thick thighs apart, hoping you could read his lips. He slipped his hand into his pocket, pulling some of the cash into his tense hand.

Once the song picked up a bit, the bass still so intense it vibrated through your chest, you propelled yourself forward and climbed onto the pole like it was second nature, hooking one of your legs onto it, moving around the pole in steady circles. Sighing, you slid a hand up from your abdomen, up and over one of your tits, then up your neck. Everyone's eyes were on you, though you couldn't blame them. You were the true embodiment of desire. The angel that everyone wanted to defile and keep for themselves. Yet, they had no idea that you were the one who did the defiling, the corrupting, the owning. And your current target was…

"San," you whispered, running your tongue along the inside of your glossy lips, gripping the pole tight enough with one hand so that you could lean your head back. Amused by the businessman's submissive demeanor after eyeing the growing tent inside his pants, you squeezed the metal securely between your thighs, allowing you to release your hands from it and hang more upside down, slipping your fingers up underneath your bra to grab at your tits, pulling a bit on your nipple piercings for your own pleasure. You continued to spin around the pole in slow circles, the monochrome lights flashing above the stage further enhancing the hypnotic show you were putting on.

One of the men stood up and sent a stack of cash into the air, watching it rain down around you. You smiled to yourself, sitting back up to hold the pole both in front of your chest and one below near your lower abdomen, making sure you were stable. You lifted yourself up into an upside down vertical position and clenched your legs around the pole before slowly spreading them, appearing like you were doing a full split in the air. Another man followed the actions of the first, pulling some twenties out of his pocket and sending them out into the air, his hooded eyes locked on the way your ass was eating up the thin strap of your thong. All these men were like putty in your hands. Ready to give up most of their paychecks, all for the slim chance that they could fuck you for real. It was pathetic.

When the song came to a drop, you slid yourself down the bottom of the pole, slowly lowering yourself onto the cool stage in the splits, arching your back, your hands groping along your body, squeezing your tits and letting out a soft moan, though no one could hear you over the loud bass on the song. You looked up over at San, licking your lips, before you got onto your knees and crawled towards him, your heavy heels clinking against the stage with each deliberate movement. Gazing at him like a predator cornering their next meal, you eventually got to the edge of the stage and slowly sat back on your knees, running your hands slowly up your body, slowly leaning your head back and arching your back again.

Drunk with lust and alcohol, San couldn't help but readjust himself in the leather chair, the pulsing beats of the song emanating heavily inside his ears, a similar pulsing occurring below the belt. Swallowing down his nerves, he pulled a few hundreds out, waiting for you to look at him, before he leaned forward and sent them out onto the stage in front of you.

Licking your lips at the money spread out below you, your fingers snuck up to the front of your bra and popped it up, your tits dropping out of it. The men around all emitted various low sounding groans, some of them palming themselves or sliding down in their seats. San was in a similar state of desperation, his cock so hard it was about to burst out of his pants.

When the music played the sound of a woman’s moans playing alongside pulsing, synth like music, encouraging you to begin moving your hips in an up and down motion, as though you were riding an imaginary dick, making San and everyone else in the room wish it were his. You kept your eyes on the struggling businessman, grabbing at your tits, moaning softly, your eyebrows drawing together.

Not able to take it any longer, San held out three hundreds and placed it down on his crotch in between his large thighs, spreading them apart to entice you.

Drawing you in like a moth to a flame, you found yourself climbing off of the stage as elegantly as possible and taking a step up to the large leather chair he was lounging in. Once you got off, another dancer walked up to the pole to take your place, distracting all the surrounding patrons.

Straddling San’s lap once he picked the bills up, you leaned into his ear to purr, “Sannie, it’s so nice to see you back. I’ve missed you.”

San angled his head up, trying to keep his eyes on your hooded ones instead of staring at your tits that were just below his chin. “I’ve missed you more, Angel.” He reached down to slide a hundred through the strap on your hip, continuing, “I’d like a private show. I have a lot more love to give you.”

Smiling down at the hundred-dollar bill, you sat fully down on his lap, feeling his hard on pressing into your latex panties. “You always give me lots of love, Sannie. Should we go then?”

San slipped the other two hundreds into the other strap, groaning when you dragged your clothed pussy across his length. Biting at his bottom lip, he sent a suggestive smile in your direction. “Lead the way, Angel.”

-

In one of the small dimly lit private rooms, you hovered over San’s lap, your knees pressed into the leather couch on each side of his thighs, gyrating your hips along to the slow, pulsing music. “What’s with that look, baby?” you asked softly, running your hands down the front of San’s chest.

“You’re just so…beautiful.” He couldn’t keep his eyes off of your body, especially your tits, because they were covered in…Was that body glitter? As if you could get any hotter. He was losing his mind.

“Yeah?” you started, watching as the businessman put more cash into the straps of your nylon panties, until there were no more spaces left. “You like me better than your wife, don’t you? Is that why you’re always here and spending money on me instead of her?”

“Mm-hmm, I like you a lot, Angel,” San sighed softly, his hands roaming around the outline of your body, but not touching you.

Arching your back, your hands rested on the top of the couch behind San’s head, slowly moving your body in a slow, but fluid motion on his lap, your cunt brushing across his heavy cock still trapped inside the waistband of his pants. “If you like me so much, then touch me. Fuck me. Make me yours, Sannie.”

-

Entranced. Mesmerized. Seduced. Those were only a few words to describe what came over him while he was inside you, his hands all over your body, getting glitter all over himself. San didn't understand how a single person could have such a hold over him. He never experienced anything like this, and he couldn’t pull himself out of it.

Bouncing up and down on San’s length like it was your life’s mission, you wrapped your fingers around his jaw on either side, bringing his mouth towards your tits. “Suck on them, Sannie. Bite them. Spit on them. Do whatever your wife won’t let you do.”

Completely gone at this point, his cock throbbing heavily inside you, San slurped your tits up into his mouth, one at a time, biting and tugging at your nipple piercings, pulling away every so often to spit on them and watch it drip down your glittery skin. “You’re so dirty, Angel,” he huffed, squeezing your hips tightly, his ring cold against your hot body.

“Not dirty enough,” you complained, in between pants, gripping his shoulders tightly, trying to bring yourself to your peak as fast as possible. “Cum inside me, Sannie. Please.”

“Oh, fuck, Angel, I don’t think…” San gasped, losing his train of thought, as your glossy lips attached to his neck, sucking and licking, leaving a mark on him. He knew he would have to cover it up with makeup later on. “I shouldn’t…”

Tempting him further, you moved your body at a slower, more deliberate pace, wanting to draw the sin out of him. “Cum, baby, come on,” you purred into his ear, nipping and pulling at it with your teeth. “I know she never lets you cum inside, so fill me up instead…Please, Sannie…Please give it to me.”

Truly, you were an angel in every sense of the word, even letting a cheating stranger like him fill you up with his seed. How gracious of you.

“Fuck, okay, I’m–aaah–” San jerked his head back, holding onto your waist for dear life, feeling your cunt tighten around him like a vice. “Jesus, Angel, you're…oh my god.”

“What, Sannie?” you whispered near his lips, bringing yourself down onto him one last time, your body shuddering, your arousal pouring out of you and staining his work pants. “Does it feel better to fuck me than your wife? Is that it?”

“Yeah, it does. So much better.” San looked down at your lower half, his mouth hanging open, a bit of saliva dripping past his lips as his cock shot out rope after rope into your slick hole. He wished he could see it pouring into you, wanting to witness the mark he left inside your body.

You let out a satisfied sigh, lifting yourself up from his lap and collecting the bills he offered you, putting them into a neat stack. “I thought so.” Smirking to yourself, you lifted one leg up onto the couch, allowing San to watch as his load dripped out of your pulsing cunt and down your inner leg. “So, will you be coming back next Friday too, Sannie? I’ll have a new routine ready just for you~”

San simply sat there and watched the milky liquid drip down onto his stained tailored pants, knowing there was no way he’d be able to escape your angelic clutches after this. But he still loved his wife. He did. He really did. He just needed to see you a few more times. After that, he would be done.

✖✖✖✖✖✖✖✖✖✖✖✖

FFF: @hwalysm @scuzmunkie @creativechaoticloner@dilucpegg3r @yeosxxx @gemjimin @wonwowzers @sanjoongie @manipulatedstars @k-drizzle 

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© toxicccred, 2023.

[randomfoggytiger]

Unrest, Faulty Memories, and Lost Sisters

It's interesting to think of Gerald Schnauz as a cautionary tale for Mulder-- the dark side of a man who lost a sister, then himself.

PARALLELS

In the Pilot, Mulder details his sister's abduction to Scully:

"In my research, I worked very closely with a man named Dr. Heitz Werber; and he's taken me through deep-regression hypnosis. I've been able to go into my repressed memories the night my sister disappeared."

As a child, he'd repressed what happened the night Samantha was taken; and chalked it up to a mundane, tragic disappearance. Then the Lone Gunmen, Arthur Dales, and the X-Files turned his world upside down.

We later learn that Mulder's father, Bill Mulder (or CSM, according to canon's current interpretation), was a responsible party to Samantha's abduction-- either picking her to ensure her protection (Fight the Future) or becoming the dupe of CSM's swap (Paper Clip and Closure.)

Thus, the parallels to Gerald Schnauz.

Gerald is a schizophrenic whose sister was murdered (taken from him) because of his father. Gerald repressed that memory, muddying his conscious recollection with personal blame.

Scully: "In 1980, you attacked your father with an axe handle...."

Schnauz: "...I was institutionalized. I had a kind of chemical imbalance."

In Mulder's case, he wants the Truth about what happened to his sister; in Gerald's case, he wants to heal the sick and twisted.

Mulder: "It says here you have a sister. Where is your sister, Gerry?"

Schnauz: "She passed."

Mulder: "Actually it says here she committed suicide in 1980."

Both men personalize tragedies that pluck at their traumas; and both men's causes are responsible for Scully's abductions.

Scully's life was "ruined" and she was abducted because of her association with Mulder. Scully was, again, taken and almost killed because of the "unrest" Gerry projected onto her. (On a separate note: The writers of Unruhe were excellent, turning away from the obvious parallel between Schnauz and Mulder to focus on the rancor and vulnerability the case-- medical malpractice against kidnapped women-- would stir in Scully.)

Both men also try to "fix" the mind of the afflicted-- in Gerry's case, other women; in Mulder's case, his own-- with a hole poked or drilled into their gray matter.

Gerald Schnauz believes demons are infecting the minds of his victims, and Fox Mulder believes his own infected memory is holding him back in Demons. They are, alike, driven.

One last interesting thought strikes me.

In the latter half of Mulder's Pilot monologue, he says: "I can recall a bright light outside, and a presence." This, coincidentally, is the last thing Gerry Schnauz sees before he dies.

WHAT IFS, AND DEMONS

But what if Mulder had lost his mind-- given up or given in-- ala Gerald Schnauz?

Well, we get a glimpse of what could have happened in Demons: he blames himself for not recalling, then blames his parents for what happened to his sister, then blames himself, again.

Instead of lashing out and trying to "heal" the world around him, Mulder chooses to self-immolate in his efforts to draw closer to the Truth. To, one could say, wholeness.

CONCLUSION

Did the writers intend these parallels? I don't think so; but you tell me.

Thanks for reading~

Enjoy!

[the-girl-wh0-cries-w0lf]

You're waiting for a train...(4)

Painted Windmills

Robert Fischer x reader

description - Eames and Y/n embark on their intel operation and Eames only has one rule for Y/n; do not be seen.

word count - 2.4k

warnings - hospitals, blood (so minor tho), sadness

a/n - finally we have them meeting!!! Also I know some people may disagree with Eames' reactions in this but remember he is thinking about how this job is important for Cobb and Y/n.

Previous Part Series Master list Master list

If you want to be added to the taglist - here

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Eames led me in with his hand on my back in faux professionalism but with genuine care. We had dressed up all nice and proper for our first day. The thick black dress hugged my curves in a way I was not used to, and revealed my legs way more than I could stand. It felt constricting compared with the jeans (which I’d had for years) and baggy shirts I usually wore on jobs. I fixed my newly acquired fake glasses and my disguise was complete.

We walked up the stone steps to the house that loomed like my private gallows. Why was I so nervous? Eames was right next to me, and this was hardly the first intel operation I’d done with him.

I wobbled about in my precarious heels and my ankles practically gave out when I reached the fourth step. My embarrassment was saved by Eames’ quick grasp of my elbow, righting me lest I draw attention to our entrance.

Our fancy dress shoes clinked in synchronisation and stopped to face each other before we breached the fateful doors. One last debrief.

“What are we here to do?” Eames prepped me.

“Gather as much information about the father-son relationship and see what we can use to our advantage. And you’re going to be studying Browning to mimic his movement, mannerisms, and speech.” I completed with pride.

“Very good baby Cobb.”

“Hey! I vetoed that nickname!”

“The most important thing is don’t be seen.” I raised my eyebrow at his ridiculous request. “You know what I mean, don’t draw attention to yourself. And whatever you do, don’t talk to Fischer.”

I laughed at how serious he looked holding my gaze. I tried to leave to go in, thinking the conversation was done. But I was held in place by his hand on my arm.

“Don’t talk to Robert.” He tilted his head, and I felt the meaning of his words. He’d seen me with the picture. I shucked his hand off my arm and left abruptly.

“Don’t be ridiculous!” I seethed.

He met the quick pace I had formed so he didn’t see the distress I felt at his distrust. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust me, he thought he needed to manage me. Take care of me. Like I was a child.

We both arrived at the top of a dark oak staircase that exuded the feel of wealth and prosperity. The house was so quiet that my heels were like a gunshot in a library. I began to tilt my head up to look at the expanse of the house in wonder. It seemed it had more shadows than glimmers of light. The house choked on its own emptiness.

“Mr and Mrs Trent?” A perky blonde approached us as we walked around the first floor aimlessly.

I panicked at her assumption. “No, no, no, no. We are not a couple—not even--. Miss James.” I shoved out my hand hoping she and I would both forget my stuttering. Great first impression.

She reluctantly met my hand. “Okay, I see well if you both come this way, we can get you started. There is quite a lot to do due to Mr Fischer’s declining health. You will both be responsible for sorting through the different files; making sure, if an account is prepared, it is filed away, and if it’s not, it is highlighted to be looked at.” Eames’ and I’s mouths ached from the smiles we were forcing towards Little Miss Big Boobs.

But we both righted our faces to make it seem like we were focused on the 'challenging' task rather than admitting this kind of work was trivial compared to our own jobs. We placed our bags down, took the exaggerated lapel badges handed to us, and began to quickly complete our task. We had previously discussed that we would complete the task first, not wanting to have hindered the Fischer empire any more than we were already going to, then go about our snooping.

I opened my first file, quickly read it, then assigned it it’s place. I’d always had a mind that worked faster than most. Arthur used to joke that my projections run rather than walk. This meant general schoolwork had seemed mundane to me when I was a child. Kids can be cruel to the kid who always finishes first. No one likes a show off.

After I had read my 10th file in less than 5 minutes, I noticed Eames was gesturing and mouthing something towards me.

‘SLOW DOWN’ Ah I forgot. Don’t draw attention to yourself.

My job here wasn’t exactly defined, by Fischer or Eames.

Eames trailed Browning like a shadow, subtly mimicking every move in a sort of dress rehearsal. I tracked him with my gaze, in awe at his skill. Partially because his skill was slick enough to pass between everyone’s tired eyes.

All at once, a commotion began around my section. Some balshy intern had decided to push Browning for an answer on question he didn’t want to hear. He went on to sarcastically suggest that the intern should bring the question to Maurice himself. He strutted away and drove open the large double doors that blanketed the room. When the oak parted I found myself moving away from my corner to peek into the scene revealed.

Maurice Fischer lay on his hospital bed surrounded by equipment which stood in contrast to the dark interior that sat around them. Browning walked through and instead of approaching Fischer senior; he made his way to the window where a man stood. His back was to me, but his figure was distinguished. My feet edged me forward a little more.

“Argghh” Maurice flailed out his arms. In his frenzy, he had knocked down a picture from his bedside. The man turned at the noise and it was there I saw the face I had longed to see. Robert Fischer.

He moved to pick up the picture with a sort of meekness. And as he looked up to his father there was a sense of shame there. As if he was once again the height of a young boy. He rose, broken picture scarring his hand. I see Browning and Fischer exchange words. I inch forward more so that my frame centres in the doorway. Suddenly…

“Mr Browning, I have some—” CRASH.

The balshy intern from before slams into my shoulder and knocks me onto the floor. Papers fly everywhere and I audibly wince when my knees come in contact with the hardwood floor. Shit.

I compose myself, trying not to consider how obvious I just made myself. As I slide my pages back together, 2 more hands join my own. I stop in my tracks, registering the person before me. I reluctantly look up and fall into a pool of blue.

“Are you okay?” I sharply intake.

He studies my face as I fail to speak. When I see him poised for an answer, my brain snaps back.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

*Robert’s pov*

“I put it there.” My finger drags down the cracked memory. “He didn’t even notice.”

My thoughts are overtaken when a loud crash reverberates throughout the room. My head snaps up, annoyed at the offending noise, but when I look up, I am overcome. I see a girl on the floor struggling to clean up her mess. I rush to her aid, glaring at the man who had knocked her down. As I passed him, I gently stated,

“You’re fired.” He goes to argue but retreats back into the office.

I kneel in front of her rushed attempt at clearing up and chuckle at how she had just seemed to make more mess in her haste.

“Are you okay?” She met my eyes and my breath caught as I fully took her in. She was beautiful.

Minute long seconds passed of us just gazing. I could have stayed there a lifetime if she let me.

“Yes, I am fine. I am so sorry about the mess; I’ll clean it up and I’d understand if you want me to leave.” I stopped her rambling by clasping her hand in mine. I then picked strands of her hair to place behind her ears to reveal more of the face she was trying to hide. Her spew of words was like music to me and what interested me even more were her little laughs between thoughts, as if apologetic for what she said.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

*your pov*

My sputtering was pathetic, but I was rendered speechless when he held my hand. I quickly retracted the offending limb to push up my glasses as if they could save me now. My thoughts were equally filled with his words but also my warnings. I had to leave and tell Eames the mistake I’d made so we could rectify it.

Together we had collected the papers into a transportable pile, and I stood up. But I braved it too quickly and found myself stumbling in my heels once again. Robert hadn’t let go of me even as I stood up, making sure I was okay. My leg which had gone numb from my position on the floor gave out and pushed me into Robert’s awaiting arms.

I let myself sink further into the perfect feeling of being in his warmth. He felt like a warm beach in the afternoon sun. But I quickly remembered my place. I jumped back in fright.

“You’re bleeding!” Robert exclaimed. As I stumbled back, he had noticed drops of blood adorning my newly scraped knee.

“Oh, it’s nothing.” I tried to placate his worry as I began to make my way to the exit.

“No, come, I’ll clean it up.” He grasped my hand and led me through his father’s room despite my protests.

“Mr Fischer, please, you are far too busy. I can sort it myself.” We had made it through another door that led into a room which was so uniquely childlike.

“Please, I’ve been looking for an excuse to leave.” He smirked at me and led me to sit down on the window seat. He went to a drawer for plasters and then another for disinfectant. He moved about the room with assuredness. He returned and lifted my leg so that it rested over his knees. I tugged down the end of my short-ish dress. He opened the disinfectant and dabbed it with cotton wool. As he went about this, I took in the room around me.

It felt busy but not cluttered. In the middle of the back wall sat a single bed with light blue cotton sheets. The sheets were decorated with multi-coloured windmills. The white bedside tables held many trinkets of a young boy. The chest of drawers was home to more pictures and framed memories. My head lifted higher, and I saw the sky painted blue and it held wooden planes that flew around the room with a freedom I believe the owner wished he had.

“This is your room, isn’t it.” I whispered.

He didn’t look up from my scar. “Yes.” He chuckled. “Not that I stay in it.”

We both laughed. “I could see you still squeezing into that.” I pointed to the neatly made bed.

“I have thought about it.” He remarked.

I braved my next words. “Or maybe you just want to sleep in a simpler time.” Our eyes met again.

I noticed a familiar picture which sat on the chest. And I realised it was the same one that rested on the window seat between us, covered by Robert’s jacket.

“Is that you and your dad?” I mentally smacked myself for such a stupid question.

“Yeah.” He spoke.

“How old are you here?” I picked up the delicate frame. I smiled at the picture of a young Robert blowing on a handmade windmill, sat in his father’s lap. I could feel the love radiating from this image. It now seemed so different to the coldness one felt in this house.

“10. The nurse said he may respond to being surrounded by happy memories. That was the happiest day of my life.” He placed his arms around me to join mine on the frame.  “I just didn’t think that it might not be one for him.” As I turned to face him, I realised how close we were. One gentle slip and our lips would touch. Each exhale was felt on the others face. “There’s something. Have we met before?”

What was I doing?!

I retreated back, freeing myself from his arms. I had to leave. Find Eames and get out of here.

“I am so sorry, but I have to go—I just—I--.” I barely even finished a sentence as I ran out, back to the office. I threw my hair in front of my face as if that would help me now. Eames, Eames, EAMES!

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

*Robert’s pov*

I ran back to catch her before she left. I was unsuccessful so I asked Browning. She’d left so quickly I’d never even gotten her name. But I knew I needed it.

“That intern, what’s her name?” I asked my godfather.

“I don’t know, why? Where did you just go off to?” He responded.

“I’ve had to be numb to a lot in my life, but just then I felt something.” I would see that girl again if it’s the last thing I do. "Something real."

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

*your pov*

Eames and I were safely in our rental car, driving back to the warehouse. Eames seemed pleased at his progress and thankfully hadn’t noticed my absence.

“I have Browning down to a T and I think he is going to be the key. If we can somehow get Robert’s own projection of Browning to—” As he prattled on, I struggled to quieten my breathing after my speedy getaway. All I could do was watch the world pass by my window, willing my mind to forget everything that just happened. How Cinderella of me.

“You, okay?” Eames looked over to me concerned.

“Yeah. I think the bad relationship with the father is the way in. Everything about that dynamic is so…broken.” I softly spoke.

“Nice. I like a good gap to sneak through.” I rolled my eyes at his childishness but also couldn’t help but laugh.

“He saw me.” I admitted.

The car came to a grinding halt. I sat cowering hearing Eames’ heavy sighs. “I’m sorry.” I managed to stumble out through my choked throat. Eames’ head hung low in his hands.

“Why?” he huffed out.

“I didn’t really have much control over it!” I argued back. This wasn’t a complete lie, in more ways than one. It had to happen. “Please don’t tell my dad, I can’t have him thinking I blew this whole case. Because I didn’t okay, because it’s fixable! You know that! Please you can help me fix it!” I was now begging Eames by scrambling at his coat to force him to look into my apologetic eyes.

“I thought you were better than that.” He spat.

“So did I.” I slumped back in my seat. A minute of silence passed. We both just stewed in it.

“I won’t tell your dad.” I let out a breath I hadn’t realised I’d been holding on to. “But-“ I gave him my entire focus. “You mustn’t get distracted. Promise?” He held his pinkie out to me. I giggled remembering fondly.

“I promise.” I finished, linking my pinkie with his and then we both kissed our thumbs together whilst making a corresponding sound.

We drove off once more. Eames satisfied in the promise he’d made me make. I was terrified that I would break it.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

a/n - they've finally met!!

taglist: @jonsncws @h-l-vlovesvintage @theethy @fashionki11a @felicity1994 @bearchermer

[artisicallya-rambo]

My wrist started hurting so here's some writing I did today instead of drawing :D

(I only recently started to get back into writing so be gentle with the criticism)

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

Batman had been in a lot of strange situations in his life, backflipping off buildings to fight costumed crime not even topping the list. But two clones of his best friend holed up in the watchtowers old medical supply room probably tops the list. One of them had been layed on his side, back to the door as the other scavenged through the medical supplies. What a demi-kryptonian would need with medical supplies? He has no idea; their injuries should work like supermans the close proximity to the sun in the watchtower should be healing anything.

"What do you two think you're doing." He grumbled. The scavenging clone stood stock still at the words, hands pausing over the medical cabinets. Turning so he could peer at him. The one on the bed didn't react, only letting out a few small shivers. That was .. odd. He stalked closer to the figure on the bed the one by the supplies tensed, rearing up. seeming to be preparing to run over, and do what exactly? Sure Batman didn't know these two but they are kryptionans in some way, it's not like Batman could cause any harm to a kryptonian. Even if they are not fully invulnerable. what was this clone trying to prevent?

Then again - invulnerable or not - He didn't want to attempt to fist fight any kind of kryptionan, full or not.

"What happened to your friend" He stopped a couple of steps from the hospital bed, but even this far away Batman could see the tenseness in his shoulders. See his arms coiled tight across his stomach. Shivers and trembles wracked his frame every minute or so. While he was no kryptonion expert he could tell that there was clearly something wrong with him. A low huff came from the clone by the cabinet.

" Thirteen gained an injury in a Metropolis battle," He seemed to glare at this 'Thirteen', "Like an idiot he has wrapped himself in his tactile telekinesis. I brought him here to find something to fix him"

Batman was so far out of his depth; he made a mental note to make a better file looking into the powers and abilities of these kryptonian clones. Until then, " Tactile Telekinesis. The ability to use one's mind to manipulate objects they are touching." That was the obvious conclusion based on the term. but he was completely unaware what that would have to do with an injury or why it was 'stupid'. The clone glared over at him, like this was the most useless and infuriating conversation that has ever happened to him.

"Yes. Both thirteen and I have that power, due to our kryptonian DNA it is fully impenetrable." His voice was low and bored, as if that was an obvious fact he should know. Batman scowled.

"If he is injured he should be near the sun to get his cells to heal." He gestured towards the window out of the watchtower. If possible the clone seemed to grow angrier.

"That would help. If the tactile telekinesis wasn't preventing the suns rays from getting to him."

Ah, that makes sense.

"We have bandages, wraps and fluids to hold the wounds and get him stable until he can let down his telekinesis. top cabinet to the left" He was so - so out of his depth. If the sun couldn't get through, it wasn't likely that anyone could get close enough to his skin to put and IV in, let alone with a blue kryptonite needle. But he could not think of a single thing that the clone would want in an old medical room other than medical supplies. Surprisingly enough that seemed to be what he wanted , turning swiftly to retrieve the supplies they all cluttered into his arms moments away from toppling out of his reach. going over to 'Thirteens' bedside he brushed a hand an inch away from his face, pressing against an invisible wall. 'Tactile telekinesis' his brain supplied. He still stood too far away to come into contact with this invisible forcefield himself.

"You have blue kryptonite needles right." It wasn't a question. but it was something he could help with, He nodded curtly his cape swinging around as he marched out of the room. When did he start taking orders from a random kryptonian kid? It wasn't the kid he reasoned, he was in the watchtower doing monitor duty due to the nearing Christmas season. When he clocked the open door and marched down, anticipating a villain attack or some badly injured college who was to out of it to remember that the new medical room was down the hall. He was still trying to figure out how they even entered the watchtower. Had they flown past the planet and rocketed into the watchtower? They hadn't used a Zeta tube, there would have been records of that. He reached the cabinet holding the kryptonite needles, picking out several incase the telekinesis was strong enough to break the needle. Was it strong enough to break a needle? He really needs to start that file.

curbing the corner with the bagged needles he reentered the old office. 'Thirteen' was layed on his back his jacket draped over the edge of the bed. Arms wrapped around his chest in a pseudo hug. His stomach was newly wrapped up in bandages tinged pink around the left side, Low down. if he were human He'd be worried about his intestines. Did he have intestines? He Really, really needed to start that file.

The other boy was sat at thirteens bedside, an iv drip to his left. his hands rested on the side of the bed, far away from the shivering form on top. The boy lifted his gaze towards Batman, analysing him like he could see through him. He had no doubt he could. He raised up the bag of needles displaying them clearly to the kid. He does not want to fight a kryptonian. He reached out towards the bag, and Batman stopped. Did he want him to come closer? He nearly jumped him when he was barely close to 'thirteen'. Hm.

He stalked over placing the bagged needles in the boys palm. He could reach out and touch the kid on the bed if he so chose. What happened to rearing up to attack him? Did he gain his trust somehow? Or was the health of the other boy so dire he couldn't spare the energy or time to attack him. The kid did look pretty awful. He wasn't sweating or burning up like a human would be but the dark rings under his eyes and cold hue to his skin radiated illness. He resisted the instinct to comfort him, he didn't know this boy nor his feelings about the Batman or the justice league in general. All he could see was one of his own kids, they have been in hospital beds far too much of their lives. He didn't even know if these kids had someone who would care for them like that. A dull ache echoed through his chest at the mere thought.

"He will survive." The kid said flatly affixing the IV bag with a new needle. Popping the cap off the top of the needle, he leaned over reaching out to hover his hand above thirteens inner elbow scrunching his eyes closed.

"Hn." He grunted back at him. That was good, He was far too young to die. Clone or not. A light blue light emanated from the kids hand, face scrunching up in an almost painful fashion as he pushed against the invisible force covering the other. With clear effort he shoved his hand past the forcefield, needle in hand as he stabbed it into his arm. Did he even get it in a vein? If its not it's basically a useless effort. The kid yanked his hand back as if he had been burned. Holding it towards his chest stuttering a few steps away with a pinched expression."Did you get it in a vein?" he questioned. He couldn't have so quickly. The kid damn near growled at him like a dog.

"I'm not an idiot!" He rubed his hand back and forth, " We are identical down to our nervous systems. I pinpointed the veins in my arms and copied it into his." He quirked an eyebrow at him, even if they were that identical how could he even do that? He clearly sensed his suspison, barring his teeth in anger. "My tactile telekenisis located his veins. You can check yourself if you distrust me so much."

he walked around the bed noticing that no chair. Wasn't he sitting down before? That dosent matter. He inspected the placement of the needle, it was in the vein. huh. He really needs to look into the extremes of tactile telekenisis. If its invunrable - so much so that the sun cannot get through it - and can perfectly insert a needle in the fraction of the time that a trained professional could. What else could it do?

"Trust me now?" The kid huffed from behind him starting the drip of the IV bag. crossing his arms over his chest protectively. Batman turned around towering over the clone. He shrunk back pressing himself into the wall next to the IV, refusing to meet his eyes.