#and since no one else is doing at least that then he gets first place by default

[okwonyo]

SUGAR TALKING ꒪ ✿⠀ making doe eyes at them.

TESTI ────── 𝗌𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝗈𝗇 𝗆𝖾, 𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗌𝗉𝖾𝖼𝗂𝖺𝗅 𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗀𝗎𝖺𝗀𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝖾. 𝗅𝖾𝗍’𝗌 𝗍𝖺𝗅𝗄 !

��� 日语 ❫ & fem!rea 1OOO fluff established relationship non-idol au ❜ skinship kissing ◜‿◝ REBLOGS&CLICK

지아 ⠀⦂⠀ since it won the poll :O

HEESEUNG

usually, he isn’t the the type to talk too much during movie nights. his hand always in yours as he watches the movie enthusiastically, never missing one bit of it.

but today it seems different— you don’t really know if it’s either because he is very passionate about this specific actor or if it’s because you called the said actor ‘hot’. but he won’t stop talking.

“seriously!” he huffs after a few seconds of calm. he smiles and shakes his head in fake nonchalance, “i don’t understand what he has that i don’t. do you prefe—”

the rest of his sentence dies in his throat when his eyes meet yours. you look at him wide eyed, with a little pout that makes his heart skip.

“shut up please,” you ask with a honey coat voice— his eyes grow wide. he is soon giggling, leaning on you, as if what you just said wasn’t almost an insult.

at least he stops talking.

⠀ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ﹙ᵕ ᵕ⠀look under the cut ! ♡

JAY

it is not a secret that you can get anything you want out of him. whether it’s his money or the entire world— you ask and you shall receive.

therefore, you don’t need to do anything else but ask for something that you want. because you know you got him wrapped around your finger. and that, if you wanted the moon, then you will have the moon.

sometimes, however, there is things that can’t be bought or that are hard to ask for. today, you want his attention.

you decided to not go bother him as you usually do. no, you choose to stare at him from across the room with the most bambi looking eyes you could manage. he should have noticed by now.

the long silence is what alarms him. he looks over you quickly, “are you—” then he looks again and his mouth falls agape. he sighs fondly, “c’mere, baby,”

JAKE

it’s not your fault. it really isn’t. he shouldn’t have been so easy to tease in the first place. getting a blush out of him is too easy and he is way too lovely for you to control yourself.

and ever since he confessed that he loved when you looked at him with those yes— you cannot stop looking at him with those eyes.

for a while, he is too occupied on his phone to even notice. but when his eyes shoots up to meet yours, he immediately smiles.

instinctively biting his lower lip, he stays silent for a while before throwing his head back and whining, “stop doing that!”

your eyes keep watching his growing blush as you laugh, “like what?” and he groans.

SUNGHON

he swears you do it all the time, but the truth is that you don’t even know what he is talking about. he mays affirm that you play dumb in purpose— you don’t, you really don’t.

the thing is that, he would say that you are trying to seduce him whenever you try to do anything. you run a hand through you hair? you want to make out. you grin? you want him to kiss you.

you just assumed he was that down bad.

“you are playing with me,” he smirks, looking down at you. your bodies moves along with the train you are standing in. you were already looking at him, but now there is confusion in your eyes. “don’t look at me like that.”

“what?” you giggle. honestly, you didn’t even know you were looking at him. admiring him is natural as breathing to you, “are you crazy?”

“when you look at me like that,” he whispers as he leans in. your arms are hugging his waist, your head is all the way titled up and he is so handsome, “my heart beats with need.”

SUNOO

you know he doesn’t get mad often— even if he does act like he is. he is too much of a softie to even think of being annoyed with you.

more times than not, he gets sulky. lips puckered as he gives you the silent treatment. it is always for silly things, however, just because he loves when you ask him to talk to you.

“i love you,” you tell him, holding onto his arm. he doesn’t do anything, obviously hiding his smile—and failing. “look at me.”

he takes a deep breath before bringing his focus on your instead of the dishes in front of him. his eyes fall into yours, “stop,” he says. turning red.

he tries to keep his annoyed attitude as hard as possible. he starts to take care of the dishes in the sink again— as if, trying to distract himself.

he keeps peeking at you. unable to control himself, he ends up crumbling. he hides his face in the crook of your neck in embarrassment.

JUNWGON

“my love, i’ll have to go eventually,” his tone is soft, his chuckles makes it harder for you to even consider letting him leave the bed and let him leave you.

he is not even gone. he is sitting on the edge of the bed, watching you. you hold his hand with both of yours— chasing after his warmth that you already miss.

you don’t really care where he is going, you want him here. you make the most adorable eyes you can put up, in a tiny voice you say, “can’t you stay a little longer?”

he seems a tad taken aback. on of his eyebrows shots up ever so slightly. pretty red lips forms a ‘o’ and his dimples smiles when he smiles.

gets back under the cover, close to you. he kisses you gently, “work can wait.”

RIKI

“leave me alone!” your boyfriend whines, faking annoyance. he is laying on your bed, next to your plushies, with his hands on your hips as you sit on

him. he acts like he wants to push you away but his grip is way too strong.

he gets up, rather abruptly, making you settle on his laps. he makes sure you are as comfortable as possible but holds your wrists when you try to reach his hair.

“just a few!” giggles makes your voice tremble. you try to get out of his handle but you can’t— he is much stronger that you, “please!”

he looks at the hello kitty hairpins in your hands with narrowed eyes. he doesn’t look against the idea at all, you know he just fights because of principle, “no!”

you tilt your head to the side slightly, the prettiest pout appearing on your lips. you look at him with a specific look— the one who made him choked on his drink the first time. “please, for me,”

you are already wearing a victorious grin as soon as he groans. he ends up with more than just a few hairpins in his hair.

taglist open + net— @sgz-net

[plethorawrites]

So we’ve seen all of the batbros as cats but what about the reader? What would happen if they were turned into a cat?

This took forever, sorry! But yes, I totally can!

Bruce: Weary and worried.

• Before all else, he's concerned with making sure you're alright. He calls Zatanna immediately to ensure it's not permanent and then after he knows it's not, he can relax enough to try to comfort you.

• He was never a cat person, only ever owning dogs, so he really has no clue how to take care of a cat. Let alone a cat who's really the love of his life. He tries, though. He gets Alfred to make you dinner, something that's fresh and not gross Tuna or Salmon from a can. He gives you your choice of every throw pillow in the manor to tear up when he sees you get antsy, your claws flicking in and out in stress. And of course, everything poisonous to cats like the peace lilies in the living room are moved far away.

• Bruce still has to go to work, unfortunately and with no idea how to keep you entertained, puts on those "Soothing cat videos" on the big TV in his bedroom for you to watch. A six hour loop of a fishtank is less than ideal but seems to work well enough.

• You're in the same place as when he left you, so he assumes you didn't mind too much. He notices you grooming yourself, not because you want to, but out of some strange instinct you've developed and he can tell you're grossed out by your own actions, so he does his best to clean your fur himself. You might be a cat, but you seem to like water so he puts you in the bathtub and scrubs your fur with your normal soap which makes you pur.

• Until he takes you out of the warm water and you're absolutely freezing, shivering from the cold. He wraps you in a towel and holds you to his chest until you're mostly dry, then, despite the dampness of your fur, let's you curl up under the covers since you're still a bit chilly. It makes his own skin wet, but he doesn't mind since at least you seem a bit happier.

---

Dick: Amused and empathetic.

• He tries not to laugh. He really does. It's just...so much harder than it should be. You look so small, so adorable, so fuzzy. You have a tail, for God's sake. How could it not be hilarious? He only stops chuckling when you swat your paw at him, catching him with sharp claws, cutting him. He doesn't get upset since he knows he deserved it.

• Goes to the pet store with you, letting you sit in the cart and pick out your own things, which, he can tell you dislike but reluctantly comply—otherwise he'd buy you a rat themed toy instead of the feather one you wanted. You gurgle and growl repeatedly when he picks up those stupid cat costumes, but he still buys them anyway.

• And yes, he does force you to wear them. You resisted, at first, of course, but eventually gave up when he gave you those puppy dog eyes. If you thought being a cat was humiliating, you couldn't have prepared for being a cat wearing a sombrero and poncho. "Those are our Christmas cards this year," he tells you, kissing the top of your head while you meow in protest.

• Despite that, he's still sweet to you, apologizing for you having to go through this and swearing he'll fix it. In the meantime, just try to stay positive. He'll say you can rip up the drapes if it makes you feel better. You do and it does. You always hated them and he refused to get rid of them, but now there was a valid reason to.

• He sits on the floor with you, swinging the feather toy around as you chase it, gaining a good amount of height the longer you play. His arm gets tired but you're clearly not, so he sits there until you eventually get sick of it and he sets it down while you crawl into his lap for a nap. He was going to make something to eat, but he supposes he can wait.

---

Jason: Paranoid and terrified.

• His initial response is to reassure you that you'll be fine. He'll do whatever it takes you turn you back into a human, no matter what. His second response, is to freak out. He has no idea how to take care of a cat, let alone his partner who's a cat! What if he hurts you? What if he can't fix it?

• Being a cat, you, unbeknownst to him, sense him apprehension and almost immediately start rubbing against his legs until he hesitantly picks you up, cradling you in his arms as gently as possible. You rub your head against his jaw, trying to soothe him and he takes a few deep breaths, relaxing and nuzzling your fur.

• It takes him a while, and a lot of trial and error to figure out how to take care of you, be it buying food you don't like, to accidentally leaving the window open and panicking that you escaped (you were under the bed, because it was warm and safe) but he eventually calms down once the day is finally over.

• Cuddling with you on the couch, he can barely even feel your claws kneeding on his arms because there's so much scar tissue it's too hard to scratch and hurt. Your purring is what calms him down the most though, after an extremely long, stressful day. You sitting on his lap, his hand resting on your back as he slowly and accidentally falls asleep.

• When he wakes up, you're still a cat, still sleeping on him. He picks you up carefully, taking you to the bedroom so he can sleep in his bed and you aren't left alone in the living room. He has a feeling you'll be yourself soon enough, even if he doesn't know exactly when. He'll keep you safe until then.

---

Tim: Shocked and Frantic

• He immediately starts to panic. You're a cat. A freaking cat. How? Why? What does he need to do to fix it? He has a million questions and no answers. But his stress only adds to your own and he quickly tries to calm down before soothing you: "No, no, no. It's fine. You're gonna be fine. I swear."

• Still, the second he gets you out of the room, convincing you that you'd be more comfortable in the living room than in the batcave, he starts to pace and freak out again. It's actually Damian, of all people, who gets him to snap out of it, literally slapping him across the face and telling him to be there for you instead of worrying about the details.

• He listens, to an extent, going back upstairs to where you were chewing on the fern in the living room, ripping a leaf apart. Pulling you away from it as you meow in protest, he cradles you in his arms, apologizing for fretting and promising he won't leave again.

• And he doesn't. He does, however, keep working on a way to fix you. He tries to be annoyed when you start knocking things off his desk, pushing stuff into a water bowl, jumping into his bottom drawer, laying on his papers, but he can't do it. You're just acting too cute to genuinely be mad. Eventually, he takes a break, closing the drawer you were sitting in and hauling you to his bed.

• He'll admit, he threw you with a little less caution than he probably should have, but you didn't mind, crawling onto him the moment he laid down, eager to close your eyes after being awake for far too long. Aka 5 straight hours, which, for a cat, was a lot. He didn't quite realize that, but notices almost immediately how fast you fall asleep once you lay down, curling into a ball, tucking your nose under your tail to keep it warm.

---

Damian: Is both fascinated and prepared.

• He has over a dozen pets, so when you're turned into a cat, he already knows everything there is to know and gets you anything you could possibly need. A nice cat bed, toys to keep you entertained, a post to scratch so you don't ruin any furniture.

• His others pets want to play or chase you, but he scoops you up before any of them can get even close to you. And he insists you stay close to him and not wander off, because you could get lost, kidnapped, or hurt.

• You always knew his knowledge of animals was extensive but didn't realize how much so until he was petting you, explaining how the hair follicles on cats work, which is why they never like to be pet in certain areas.

• Despite having an extremely nice bed, you'd really rather prefer his and he allows it, reminding you not to scratch the pillows or the sheets. "They're Egyptian silk. Don't ruin them." Still, when he catches you clawing at them in your sleep, unaware you were doing it, he doesn't stop you.

• In the morning, he switches feeds you breakfast, in a human bowl so it's not so degrading and takes you with him while he works on a way to fix you. He quickly gets distracted, though, by how you're looking around at everything like it's the most interesting thing ever.

[chuellas]

Fine Line | Chuuya is always overworking himself, always choosing work over you and you’re finally fed up with it.

⤷ Ft. Nakahara Chuuya

Warnings | Fem!reader, mentions/consumption of alcohol, term “doll” used, a tiny itty bit suggestive if you squint, hardly edited, WC: 5k

A/N | I had no idea where I was going with this one when writing it but I had so much fun writing it

You’re sitting at the bar now. You moved from your reserved table after an hour of waiting, figuring it could go to a couple that actually planned on spending the evening together. You let out another sigh into your gin and tonic. You’ve been at this restaurant for about 2 hours now and haven’t eaten a single thing. It’s your date’s fault, really, they were the one that never showed up. You don’t know why you even try anymore. Dating was pointless in your line of work anyways. 

But sometimes going on dates warded off the loneliness and that incessant craving you get for normalcy.

You check your watch for the time only to find it’s now past midnight. Chewing the inside of your cheek, you finally make the decision to pull out your phone and call the person you actually wanted to spend the evening with. You're pleasantly surprised when he picks up on the first ring.

“Thought you had a date.” You’re greeted with a tone that’s laced with exhaustion but something else jumps out too — annoyance, maybe? Or maybe you’re just imagining things after downing your third drink of the night on an empty stomach.  

You hum, pointedly not answering his question directly, as you signal for the bartender to close out your tab. “You still in your office working on that mountain of paperwork?”

The pause from the otherside of the phone is a long one, it’s a contemplative pause you conclude, you can tell he’s trying to decide whether to humor you or to push his own question. It would be a waste of his time to go with the latter, you had no intention of breaching the topic of you being stood up yet again. This time especially stung with it being a woman and all. You thought she would have known better, or at the very least have the common decency to warn you of her impending absence, knowing very well how long it takes to get ready for a first date. You shaved and took an “everything” shower for this occasion.

A soft sigh of defeat is heard from his side and you grin widely, Chuuya is much smarter than he’s given credit for. “So what if I am?”

“Stay there. I’m on my way.” You don’t give the executive room to argue as you hang up on him. 

As if on cue the bartender brings you the receipt and your card, after signing you leave a generous amount of cash in the tip jar with a smile. You leave the restaurant the same way you came, without a word as the manager babbles on about how much of a pleasure it was to have your patronage. You wave him off with the same smile that’s feeling more forced by the minute as you step into the elevator.

When the doors slide shut after what seems like an eternity, you’re finally able to relax for a moment. The disappointment of another wasted night sinks into your shoulder, making them cave in. You deflate in defeat, having to resign to a fate that’s been set by some stupid carrot topped man that has to use his ability to reach the top shelf of overhang shelves. He’d never admit it but you’ve actually caught him doing it before. 

This was all somehow Chuuya’s fault. If he ever did anything other than work you wouldn’t seek solace in other people. You would be able to let yourself actually explore the feelings that stir in your chest when you’re around the ginger. But instead you’re stuck calling him after failed dates to see what he’s up to and if you can get away with bugging him. 

Headquarters is just a few blocks north of where you’re at, it shouldn’t take you more than 10 minutes to get to Chuuya. Well, maybe 20 since your favorite ramen place is on the way and you know they’re still open. So you have to stop there for two bowls because not only have you not eaten but you know Chuuya probably hasn’t either, being too engrossed in his paperwork to remember that basic bodily functions exist. 

Another 5 minutes after picking up the ramen and you’re making your way up yet another elevator to the floor that holds both your office on one side and his on the other. You take a moment when the doors open to decide whether you want to go straight to Chuuya’s office or if you want to stop at yours to change into something far more comfortable than the dress you’re currently wearing. Your stomach ultimately makes the decision for you when it rumbles loudly. The ginger’s office it is.

You don’t even bother with knocking, too tired, hungry, and impatient to wait on him to answer. The door creaks as you push and then groans out a complaint when you kick it shut behind you. Chuuya isn’t even fazed when you enter, his nose still buried in his paperwork. Thankfully the pile was no longer a mountain, more of a small hill now. It still looks like an hour or two’s worth of work. You’d offer your help if it weren’t for the fact that you’re pretty sure you’re drunk. 

Making yourself comfortable without a word you saunter over to his desk and choose to sit yourself on top of his scattered paperwork, plopping the ramen in front of him.  

Chuuya freezes, staring at the bag of food in disbelief before turning his accusing glare at you. “What the f-”

His words die in his throat when his eyes finally land on you. Even in your slightly, maybe more, inebriated state it’s hard not to notice the way his eyelids droop as his dual colored eyes scan your figure. He must be really tired, he’s usually far more tactful when he checks you out. 

You swing your legs where they dangle from his desk, pleased with yourself and his reaction. “I brought you some dinner. I didn’t get a chance to eat so I figured neither have you. Looks like I was right!”

Chuuya has to practically tear his gaze from you to see what you’re talking about. You untie the bag to reveal two containers filled to the brim with ramen. You lean in to read the labels to make sure you were taking the right container but in the process it gives the executive a nice view right down our cleavage. You have to bite back the smile that threatens to stretch at your lips when you hear the way his breath stutters. Maybe now you’re the one not being tactful but you figure someone deserves to appreciate the way you look in this dress since the intended party will never get to. 

“You stop at that shop down the road?” Chuuya clears his throat as he waits for you to grab all of your things before reaching for his own container.

You kick off your shoes and jump off his desk to pull a chair up to the opposite side. “Yeah, thankfully they stay open late. Can you clear some of the papers up? Don’t wanna get them stained in ramen broth.”

“Really makin’ yourself at home, aren’t you, Doll?” He raises a brow at you in amusement but clears his desk off regardless.

You hum and nod your head, too busy taking a bite of your ramen. Your eyes practically roll to the back of your head and you let out a pleased hum at the flavors dancing along your tongue. The savory taste of the broth alone almost completely washes away the lingering bitter aftertaste the last few hours left in your mouth. You hadn’t realized how hungry you were until you had stepped foot into that shop. Now you are famished and even the most bland of foods would taste absolutely divine in this moment. You’re so absorbed in your meal that you don’t even take notice of the way the ginger sitting before you is watching you so intently that he hasn’t even touched his own food. 

It’s not until he clears his throat that you peer up at him. “You’re eating like you’ve been starved, didn’t you have a date tonight?”

There’s that question again, you suppose you gave him too much credit earlier. He wasn’t smart enough to just let it go. Or maybe he really was just letting his curiosity get the best of him. Either way there was no way in hell you were going to tell him that another date bailed on you. So instead you smile sweetly.

“You know how small the portions are at those types of restaurants, I took like two bites and it was all gone. Had some drinks after too. So, yeah, I’m famished. I know you are too. Eat.”

Your tone leaves no room for question. You’re both dancing around touchy subjects. Chuuya knows if he wants to get you to admit what really happened he would have to swallow his pride and admit he was overworking himself and he'd be damned if he ever let that happen. 

Or at least that’s what you thought. 

You watch him through your lashes as he opens the ramen and takes a bite, and then another, and then another. He hardly ever eats when there’s work to be finished. This is definitely a rare occasion and you have a sneaky feeling, somehow during the few seconds of your exchange in challenging glances, something shifts between the two of you. 

You stare at the other executive absolutely gobbed smacked at the fact that he’s actually listening to you. Your eyes are wide, your jaw is dropped open, and the chopsticks you were using to eat fall from your fingertips and splash into your soup. A few drops from the broth fly into your eye and you let out a hiss at the sting from the spices and temperature. 

The moment the two of you just had ends just as swiftly as you fan at your eyes frantically and then hold out your hand to Chuuya. “Eye drops- Oh my god your eye drops. Now, Chuuya.”

The ginger is jolted from his stupor when your voice becomes sharper. He reaches into the drawer to his left and produces a small bottle of eye drops, something you knew he keeps around due to his frequent late nights burning the midnight oil. It’s how he keeps his eyes from getting dry with exhaustion. 

You snatch the small bottle from his hands and throw your head back to all but squirt the soothing solution into your eye. It takes a moment to work, the sensation getting worse before it gets better. But after a moment you’re good as new, maybe even better than before. 

It’s a truly sobering experience and any left over buzz you were holding onto sadly fizzles out. You’re now stone cold sober and kicking yourself for coming here this late, know the only outcome is getting sent away so the ginger could finish his work in peace. You’re nothing but a distraction to him.

But if that were true, why even let you into his office, his space, in the first place?

“Thanks…” You hand the medicine back to Chuuya and pick your chopsticks back up to continue eating, pretending like nothing happened. “So, how many nights in a row have you slept here this week?”

You tilt your head to the couch that has a head pillow and blanket set up on it — inviting, almost, if you didn’t know how incredibly uncomfortable that couch was. It couldn’t be good for his back. You know he already deals with the residual chronic muscle pain he experiences after using his ability, especially after using corruption. You wish he would slow down, his body already pays for his ability, it doesn’t need to suffer because of his excessive working habits too. 

But then you would just sound like a broken record. 

Chuuya never really listens. He’s stubborn that way and it’s not just his body that pays for it, his social and love life pay the price for it too. It’s frustrating to care so deeply for someone who would rather think of others and their work than their own wellbeing. 

What’s worse, though, is that you’re selfish. You’ll take the heated stares and intimate touches in the dead of night on the rare occasions he’s not spending them at his desk over nothing at all. Maybe it isn’t selfish, maybe it’s self-deprecating but you can’t help yourself. You’ve tried to move on — that’s what you were trying to do tonight. But the universe has a sick and twisted sense of humor, so you once again find yourself in his office during the devil’s hour.

Suddenly you hear a muffled voice and you’re thrusted back to reality. Chuuya looks at you expectantly and you furrow your brows at him. “What?”

“I said: I figure you wouldn’t be eating with me right now if your date went well, you’d be over at his place, right?”

Your eye twitches in irritation and not from the soup broth that landed in it just moments ago. He’s trying to evade your question. Of course he was actively avoiding it, why would he ever admit to you something that you don’t think he’s admitted to himself. 

What’s worse is he’s pushing his question from earlier. Wording it differently to mask his nagging curiosity. His gaze is hypnotizing, something shifts again. You don’t think you care for the butterflies that erupted in your stomach. The usually light and exciting flutter of their wings now feel like razors slicing their way up your throat. It burns and you might throw up.

It’s so unfair, the way he makes you feel is unfair.

You don’t know what possesses you but a single syllable flies past your lips in response before you can catch it. “Her.”

“Her?” And this man has the audacity to look semi-amused as he says the word back to you in a questioning tone. 

In that moment you know he knows and you watch in abject horror as his amused expression twists into a knowing one. Now you’re sure, he’s aware that you know he knows. 

Your eye almost twitches again at the way his brow raises in amusement at your answer and suddenly you feel defensive. You don’t give a shit if he knows what you’re trying to do by dating around. You don’t care if he knows that each attempt has ended in failure. You don’t care that he knows that each failure ends in you crawling back to him.

You don’t care.

You don’t.

You steel your expression, eyes becoming sharp as they bore into Chuuya. “Yeah, it was supposed to be a woman I was meeting tonight.”

“Well she’s an idiot for not showing, especially when you look like that.” His tone sounds sincere and it makes you want to throw up.

You let out an incredulous scoff — you can’t believe that he just said that, of all people. “She’s not the only idiot.”

“She’s not?”

Now he’s really starting to piss you off, his smug expression tells you all you need to know. This must all be a game to him. He’s toying with you, he has to be, and he has been for a while now but you’re finally sick of it. You’re tired of the constant back and forth but not getting anywhere because he would rather stubbornly overwork himself half to death to have an excuse to avoid you than admit his obvious feelings for you. 

The revelation sends your whole body into a fit, you’re trembling and seething and it’s pouring out the seams. You’ve cracked. You should congratulate him, really, no one has elicited this much emotion from you before.

Chuuya’s demeanor changes when he notices how worked up you seem to be getting but he’s too late. You’re already past the point of being settled down because you’re shaking like a goddamn chihuahua. Your nostrils flare in irritation and ears flush in anger. 

“No, she’s not the only idiot that’s managed to fumble me. Look in a mirror and you’ll know who the other person is. Enjoy overworking yourself to death. I’m going home.” 

All at once the blazing rage that washed over you burns out when Chuuya makes no indication of moving to stop you and immediately you wish the ground would just crack open to swallow you whole. Suddenly you’re all too aware of your response to his play. It was more of an overreaction. How embarrassing? How is it that he’s able to elicit this strong of a reaction from you. 

How can he not follow after you like he has better things to do?

But he does have more important things to do than console you, doesn’t he?

For the second time tonight you’re mortified, but unlike earlier, this one was your own doing. You just threw a fit, had an actual tantrum, over someone who has made it clear he’s not ready for something that you think you are.

Maybe selfish is the right word.

You contemplate halting in your spot and apologizing but your pride keeps you from doing so. You should have never put all your cards on the table. You curse yourself for ever letting your true feeling for the ginger slip that one drunken night several months ago that when asked about the next day you had conveniently forgotten all about it. Something tells you that he remembered it clearly, so, if not stopping you was his final response to your confession then you have to accept that. 

Your hand reaches out for the door knob and you almost flinch when it comes in contact with the cold metal. He’s really just going to let you leave like this. Your head is a mess— no, your whole body is a mess. Your head is filled with fog, a mist of endless thoughts descending on you to make everything blurry. Your chest is like a tsunami of emotions washing over you in sharp waves. Then there are those damn razor sharp butterflies that are still threatening to claw up your throat. 

But just as you start to turn the knob, a gloved hand covers your own and halts your actions. Your breath hitches when the anxiety you’d been feeling just a moment ago completely dissipates. Chuuyas chest is pressed against your back and his forehead falls to your shoulder. 

“Chuuya wha-”

He doesn’t give you a chance to finish your question when he mumbles out, “I don’t need a mirror to know that…”

Oh. 

Is he really implying that he knows he’s been a fool? Is the world coming to an end? Chuuya? Admitting to being an idiot? You thought there was a higher chance of getting struck by lightning before hearing anything of the sort from the executive himself. 

“I’m sorry.”

You blink, you think your brain’s been fried, convinced that Chuuya can see the steam rolling out of your ears as you short circuit. “For what?”

You croak out the short question, words catching in your throat. It surprises even you when a sob follows. You hadn’t realized that the emotions you were feeling hadn’t dissipated but instead had been forced out in the most embarrassing way possible. 

“I…I’m sorry for…” Chuuya trails off and curses under his breath, letting out a frustrated sigh. “Jesus Christ. I’m sorry for not putting you first.” 

His voice trembles in something akin to fear. Something in your chest tears at his tone and it hurts. You look up at the ceiling to try to blink away the water that’s blurred your vision and take in a sharp breath after getting winded from the sudden blow. Your hand finally falls from the door knob and you both stand there in silence. The only noise is the grandfather clock that stands tall on the far end of his office, if it wasn’t for the loud ticking, everything would feel frozen. Something about the silence on your part is agonizing, you want to respond, but your voice is caught in your throat, swallowed dryly as you try to wet the dry patches stinging the lining of your esophagus.

Funny how your eyes feel too wet while your throat is too dry. 

You try to take a few breaths to calm yourself down enough to speak but you can feel the impatience radiating off of Chuuya and it just makes you even more anxious. It almost physically pains you but you take a step away from the ginger and stride across the room to an open window. Fresh air, something you always appreciated about Chuuya is that he prefers open windows and fresh air to fans or air conditioning if he can help it. The executive doesn’t follow, he hasn’t even moved from his spot. His head is still drooped down from where it was resting on your shoulder and suddenly your mouth and throat flood with saliva. That familiar feeling of nausea hitting you like a freight train once again.

You clear your throat to speak but realize -- how the hell do you respond to that? Are you really upset with Chuuya? Yes. Are you upset with yourself for letting things go this far? Also yes. So, as much as you want to blame all of this on the gravity manipulator, you can’t. 

Your shoulders slump and your gaze stays glued to the twinkling city lights in the skyline as you finally speak. “You always chose work. Always.”

Chuuya looks up at that. Your words seemingly hit a nerve as irritation flashes across his face before he can contain it. You bristle at that, preparing for an argument. You’re exhausted and don’t want to argue but you will if you have to because although you know you’re at fault too, you’re not going to just let this asshole get away with his part in all of this.

Luckily, the ginger simmers down easily and slumps again, showing you how truly exhausted he is. “That’s not entirely true, I chose you…Sometimes….”

“You think I should be grateful for that? You only chose me instead of work ‘sometimes’ to make yourself feel better about stringing me along.” You’re not looking at him when you speak, too interested with the view, or at least that’s what you’re telling yourself.  “Or to get your mind off of work. I was just an escape to you. Nothing more.” 

This time you don’t have to look back at him to feel the frustration radiating off of him in a similar way gravity manipulation does when he activates it. It’s hot, his frustration, you imagine if you reached out there was a chance you’d get burned. It’s rare to witness Chuuya losing his cool like this, the only other person besides yourself that could get him riled up like this long gone from the organization. Thinking about him makes you even more bitter so you take another stab at Chuuya.

“You certainly put on a convincing act, though. So congrats for that I guess.”

Snap. 

You imagine that’s the sound that would’ve been made when Chuuya’s patience finally breaks. His steps are heavy and you almost think he’s activated his ability. You almost forget how fast he is because you barely have time to turn around before he’s got a firm grip on your face. His hold is unrelenting as he forces you to look at him. 

Chuuya looks like a wreck, so many emotions written all over his face but most of all he’s hurt by your words. You know it’s wrong, you shouldn’t be lashing out at him like this but a part of you is pleased that he looks just as devastated as you feel. This is not your proudest moment by far and you’re sure you’ll feel ashamed over it later. Right now, however, you couldn’t bring yourself to feel guilty in the slightest. You said what you said and you're going to say it with your whole chest.

A shaky breath is let out by the executive standing before you. “That’s unfair. You’re being unfair.”

There’s no way this man is accusing you of being the unfair one here.

“You were unfair to me first. I’m tired. Be straight with me or just leave me alone, Chuuya.” Any fight you had in you moments ago vanishes as you finally give up.

Chuuya’s reaction shows you that he sees it, the way you’re letting him hold all the cards in this, making this his decision, the final one when it comes to this situationship. You’re done, you’re tired and now you just want this shitty night to be over with. If you had a white piece of fabric on you, you’d wave it like a flag, surrendering completely. 

He’s not good with his words, Chuuya has never been as articulate as some of the others, but he is good with actions. His actions have always spoken volumes for him, so why wouldn’t that work for him now? The executive pulls you in and crashes his lips to yours in a desperate attempt to convey to you what he couldn’t speak.

You’re a little slow on the uptake as your brow furrows and you attempt to pull away. You look at him incredulously but the expression he’s making has you halting altogether. His eyes are screwed shut and his brows furrowed in concentration and maybe a little bit in fear by the way you can feel his lips and hands slightly trembling against your face. It clicks then.

Chuuya Nakahara is finally choosing you over his work. 

This was him telling you in his own way that he’s not letting you give up like you wanted to. And if you can claim to know anything about Chuuya, it’s that he always makes good on a promise. That’s what has you melting into his hold and returning his kiss with just as much fervor. 

You both stay like that for a long while and you feel like Chuuya is trying to devour you whole in this one single kiss. As if he’s scared that if he doesn’t, you’ll slip from his grasp forever, but that would be impossible with the way he’s holding onto you for dear life. Even if you wanted to, which in this moment you didn’t, you couldn’t escape him. But you do need to pull away for air though. You shift your face the best you can away from his and even though he tries to chase your lips, you manage to separate from him.

You instantly bring your hands up to his wrist and nuzzle your face into his hands, showing him you still have no plans of going anywhere. The tension in his body dissipates and he watches you closely, patiently waiting for your response. As if you kissing him back wasn’t enough. 

“You piss me off, y’know that?” Chuuya lets out a chuckle at your statement and leans in to rest his forehead on yours.

His eyes bore into yours and there’s something there that you’ve never seen before, a sort of adoration you think he’s been holding back for a long time now. “Yeah, I have a confession to make that might piss you off even more…”

You stiffen in anticipation for the worst, staring up at him suspiciously with narrowed eyes. What was it now? You wrack your brain thinking about what he could possibly still be holding back. All you wanted was to know where you stood with him and now you do. So what else would he be hiding from you?

“It’s, uhh…Well it has to do with your date tonight, and maybe all of the other first dates that stood you up…” The look on your face must tell him that you’re picking up on where this is going and his grip on you tightens once again. “It was fucked up of me, I know. I’ll- I’ll make it up to you…I’ll take you out on two dates for each first date I ruined.”

Oh. 

You can’t even really find it in yourself to be that upset. It clears up a lot of inconsistencies for you. You have full confidence in your personality and looks, so it wasn’t adding up why you were being stood up so much. Even with you being a part of the upper echelon of the Port Mafia, that’s not public information. So, intimidation was ruled out too. You are becoming increasingly more annoyed at the thought of it all.

Maybe you should find it in yourself to be more upset about this…

Your expression displays just how unconvinced you are by his words, Chuuya can clearly see it and sense it so he tacks on some extra sweet talking to sooth your overthinking. “I’ve got a lot of time to make up for anyways.”

Your previous statement of Chuuya not being very good with his words is a lie. You were lying. The simple statement is enough to have you melting into him again. Maybe it’s the exhaustion. Maybe he got lucky. Maybe you’re just that down bad for him. Or maybe it’s all of the above. Who knows (you do).

Either way you find yourself giving in again for hopefully the last time tonight, but not before you decide to add a condition for your own benefit. “...Fine. But any trip or out of town get away counts as only one date.”

“Don’tcha think you’re getting greedy now, Doll?” Chuuya lets out another chuckle, shaking his head a little.

You shrug with a soft grin on your lips. “No, you owe me. Plus, it’s like you said, got a lot of time to make up for.”

[aperrywilliams]

Satellite Call. Part I: What You Kept Hiden from Me (Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader)

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Author Masterlist | Series Masterlist

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Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader.

Words count for this part: 3.2k

Series summary: Your world crushes when Spencer is arrested. Between finding a way to get him out and keeping you afloat, there is something else you need to focus on, too. And even when you thought things couldn’t go worse, a tragedy makes you question if you can make it through.

Part I summary: One of Spencer's trips to Mexico ends badly, and you don't know how to react and what to do.

Series warnings: ANGST (with CAPS). 18+ (MDNI). Some heavy topics will be discussed and shown here. Prison arc, but mostly from Reader's perspective and Emily’s. More detailed under the cut.

Spencer lies to his wife. Drug consumption (against their will). Pregnancy symptoms. Spencer is in jail for more than three months. Hospital visits, doctor’s info dumping (not accurate). Alcohol consumption. Arguing. Strong language. A lot of crying. Emotional breakdowns. A car crash happens (as in the CM storyline). Character dies. More hospital things. Miscarriage. More angst. Depressing symptoms. Mourning. Self-doubt. Suicidal ideation, and almost consummated. Emily is everyone’s emotional support.

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Spencer thought you would be outside the correctional, just as Penelope is now, waiting for him. But you are not. He either didn't ask JJ why you weren't with her picking him up from inside in the first place. Spencer just assumed you didn't want to be in there, and he understood your reasons. You stopped visiting him because it was hard to see him locked up like that and not do anything about it. Or at least it was what you said to him in a letter Emily handed him during a visit time when you didn't show up. It was a month ago.

After a tight hug with Penelope, Spencer couldn't help but ask.

"Where is she?"

JJ, Luke, and Garcia exchange a troubled look, something Spencer sure does notice. When he sees Garcia's glassy eyes, his gaze settles on JJ and Luke for answers.

"Spence, she—" JJ doesn't know how to express a fact she knows will break her friend.

"Man, she - we should go to the hospital right now." Luke chooses to point out what to do instead of why.

"What?! Why? What happened?!" A frantic Spencer starts to question. What the hell had happened to you? Why are you in a hospital? There are too many questions in his brain right now.

With a hand on his shoulder, Luke gently propels him to start walking to the car.

"We are going to tell you everything, I swear. But let's go to the car, okay?" This time, it's JJ's turn to speak, trying to make Spencer move.

Spencer hasn't felt so confused and afraid even in the four months of being locked up in jail.

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Five months ago

Exhausted. It's the definition of how you feel after the draining case you just ended in Tampa. The jet is quiet enough to assume everyone is sleeping. But although the evident tiredness consumes your body and brain, you can't bring yourself to sleep. Instead, you look at your front, where your husband is reading a book. His eyes look heavy, but you know he can't sleep either, not before decompressing first. And for that, a good book tends to work most of the time.

It's amazing how you can love someone so much. After two years of marriage and a couple of years as coworkers and friends before that, it isn't easy to think of Spencer as anything less than your soulmate and the love of your life.

You are lost in your thoughts, and you don't notice Spencer's eyes on you, a lazy smile on his face.

"Where did that pretty little head go?"

You don't know if the blush on your cheeks is from being caught or from Spencer's loving tone. Maybe both.

"Nowhere in particular. Just wondering."

"Yeah?"

"Mm-mm."

"Care to share?" Spencer asks with curious eyes.

"Well," you start, smiling at him. "Since you brought it up and knowing we have two days off, what about a getaway out of the city, huh?"

It's not a sudden idea. You and Spencer have been thinking about doing something like that for a few weeks. After a chaotic couple of months at the BAU, you both need time for yourself.

Spencer's eyes softened—a little pout on his lips.

"Sweetheart, I'm sorry, but I promised my mom's doctor I would be in Houston tomorrow."

You don't remember Spencer telling you that. Could it be that you had forgotten?

"Oh. I didn't know. Something happened to Diana?"

Spencer shakes his head.

"No. Just the usual. The doctors are adjusting the treatment, and we're doing a follow-up, that's all."

Another source of stress for Spencer in the past months has been Diana's health. After an important decline, he got her mom into an experimental treatment in Houston. Spencer fought hard to get her admitted, and even if you weren't sure about it, you supported him in everything related to it. That's why you won't even protest losing another chance to spend time together.

"I'm sorry," Spencer apologizes when he sees you haven't said anything. Reaching for your hand, you hold it and squeeze it reassuringly.

"It's okay, Spence. You must be there. And maybe it's a good chance for me to have a long beauty sleep," you shrug. In all honesty, your body has been yelling for uninterrupted sleeping hours in the past weeks.

"I promise we'll make up for the lost time when I come back, okay?" Spencer offers, kissing your hand. You nod and give him a soothing smile.

Some weeks later, the loud ringing of your phone wakes you from your sleep. Not fully conscious of your surroundings, you pat to the right side of the bed, expecting to feel Spencer next to you, but it's empty. Then you remember you are alone because Spencer had to go to Houston again this week.

"Hello?"

"Did I wake you up?" A confused Emily asks at the other end of the call. You check your bedside clock, and it reads 11 AM. You have been sleeping for twelve hours now.

"Yeah," you rub your tired eyes. I think I caught something. My stomach feels funny, and I was so exhausted last night. What is it? Do we have a case?"

"No, but- Have you heard from Spencer?" Emily asks cautiously.

"He called last night and told me he would come back today." There is a tense silence between you both. "Emily, what's wrong?" you ask.

"You should come to the BAU." It's all she says, and you know something bad happened.

Everything has been a blur since Emily's call and your arrival at the BAU.

As you bolt into your boss's office, you see her, David, and Penelope there, a troubled expression on their faces.

Emily is who delivers the news. Spencer has been arrested in Mexico after a car chase and caught with drugs in the trunk.

It's like she is telling you a movie plot. There is no chance she is talking about Spencer, your husband. No, it can't be. Your husband left two days ago for Houston to check on his mom, as he has been doing in the past month.

But as much as you want to deny what you are hearing, Spencer's mugshot, appearing on Garcia's screen, is screaming the truth.

You think you might throw up. And you do. Quickly excusing yourself, you run to the nearest bathroom to empty your stomach.

It's the same Emily Prentiss who enters the bathroom after you and holds your hair as you keep kneeling before the toilet.

"We are going to bring him back. I swear. Everything is going to be okay," Emily assures you, rubbing your back.

You want to believe her, but not knowing why this is happening makes it hard to think clearly.

You insist on going to Matamoros with Luke and Rossi, and no one dares to protest. You're visibly upset and confused, but staying in Quantico is not an option.

On the plane, Emily sits in front of you. You know why.

"I swear I didn't know anything, Em. I'm as confused as everyone," you confess. "And it's killing me. I know Spencer never would do what they say he did, but either I can explain why he was there."

"I know, but you must have caught something. Has Spencer seemed nervous or extremely quiet lately? Maybe a phone call or something that made him change his mood."

You think for a moment. Spencer has indeed been more pensive in recent weeks, particularly since Diana joined the new treatment. It's also true he's told you less and less about how things are going with her. But you assume it's because he's been worried about everything going well and not because something bad was happening.

A memory suddenly appears in your mind. One night after arriving from the BAU, you were making something to eat, and Spencer left his phone on the counter while he took a shower. You looked at the device, thinking it might be from work, but the name 'Dr. Medina' appeared on the screen. You didn't recognize the name because, according to what Spencer had told you, her mom's new doctor was Dr. Hammond.

"After he checked his phone, he quickly called back, but he went to the bedroom to make the call. I didn't pay enough attention. I should have done—" You trail off, and Emily rubs your arm to comfort you.

"Hey, don't. We don't know if that has to do with what's going on, so let's not get ahead of ourselves."

It's easy to say but almost impossible to achieve, especially when, upon arriving at the Matamoros police station, in one of the cells, you see your husband lying on a bench with his eyes lost in the ceiling.

"Spencer?" you mumble, but loud enough to catch Spencer's attention. He sits and looks at you with eyebrows furrowed as if trying to remember who you are. Some feet behind you, Emily, Luke, and Rossi stand, witnessing your interaction.

Without saying anything, Spencer gets up and walks over to where you are, only separated by his cell bars. With that closeness, you can see the several cuts all over your husband's face; his clothes are torn. But what shocks you are Spencer's red and lost eyes. He is visibly high.

"Do you know who I am?" you ask almost in a whisper, scared of his answer. Spencer nods slowly, his eyes shifting from lost to sad. He recognizes you.

"I'm sorry." It's not much, but you can't hold it against him right now, not when answers are required in the first place.

"Baby, it's okay. We're going to get you out of here, okay? But you need to talk to us. Can you do that?"

It's not until a couple of hours later Spencer fully returns to himself, the effects of the drugs leaving his body.

For the sake of the case, you stay out of it while Spencer tells the team what happened. You don’t want Spencer to feel uncomfortable admitting he has lied to you for weeks.

After Emily conducts a cognitive interview to get details that could help, Spencer returns to his cell. When Emily, Luke, and Rossi leave the police station to search for evidence, only you are left there with him.

Spencer looks embarrassed, and you can feel the gears in his head turning as he tries to find a way to talk to you. When he comes empty of words, he addresses you instead.

"Can you please say something?" His voice is tentative and pained.

"I don't know what you want me to say," you reply honestly.

Spencer sighs deeply. "Tell me whatever you're thinking now. Yell at me, tell me I'm a fucking liar, that I dragged you into this mess, tell me I'm a terrible husband."

You consider his words for a moment. Is it true everything Spencer says is what you're thinking? It probably is, but you don't feel like you have the energy to bring it out the way he wants. However, there is one underlying question that has been on your mind since all this started.

"Why? Why you kept it from me? You don't trust me enough to tell me those things?"

"No, don't say that. I do trust you," Spencer rushes to say, but he knows it's a weak defense considering the circumstances.

"Then I don't get it. Why, Spencer?" Your tone isn't accusatory but sad. You could have helped him if you had known. But he, for some reason, decided against it.

"I was trying to protect you," he says and shakes his head. "I know it sounds stupid now we are here, but it's true. I didn't want you to worry about my mom's situation. I'm so sorry."

Spencer is probably telling the truth, but it doesn't make you feel better. Not seeing him behind bars like this.

The helplessness of not having anticipated this situation and now being unable to do anything to solve it eats you up inside. Despite that, you know Spencer is having it worse. So you, as his partner and who loves him the way you never loved anyone, decide to put your feelings aside to be his support at this difficult moment.

"It's okay," you assure him, placing your hands between the bars to hold his. Spencer is quick to respond and grabs onto your hands as if you were a lifeline to him. "We'll figure it out."

Spencer's eyes fill with tears as he repeatedly murmurs, 'Thank you' and 'I love you.'

You have always considered yourself a strong and tenacious woman. Since you were a kid, you have been independent and able to overcome everything that came your way. But adult life has continued to test you, and this has been no exception. When you find out Nadie Ramos has been murdered and all the evidence points to Spencer, you're about to break down. Still, you can't because if you do, who's going to support your husband? You have to be strong. Some reprieve emerges when you learn Ramos is an American citizen and Spencer can be prosecuted on American soil.

Baby steps.

The jet is mostly silent, save for Emily's occasional page-turning or Luke's typing on his phone. Rossi seems to be sleeping. You and Spencer are in one of the back seats. Spencer's head is in your lap while you absentmindedly play with his hair, looking at the night sky out the window.

"You think Scratch is behind this?" Spencer asks, pulling you out of your thoughts. You consider your answer for a couple of seconds.

"I do. I mean, it's such a damn elaborate plan. I can't think of anyone but Scratch."

Spencer assumes a sitting position and examines your face. He knows you are upset. Cupping your cheeks, he looks directly at your eyes.

"I have no words to say how sorry I am. And I promise to make it up to you for the rest of my life when this is over."

You close your eyes and take a deep breath. When you open them again, you are met with Spencer's expecting gaze.

"I know you will." And you really think that. "I love you, Spencer. I'm sure we are going to get through this." Your voice trembles with emotion, but your words seal a promise you mean to keep.

"And I love you. So so much. God, I'm so lucky to have you." Spencer's arms envelope you in a tight embrace. You melt into him, breathing his scent. It's the way you usually use to ground yourself. It's hard right now because, once the jet lands in Virginia, Spencer will get snatched from you, for God knows how much time it will take.

When the BAU elevator doors open, you find JJ, Penelope, and Tara waiting for you all. Spencer has his cuffed hands covered with your FBI jacket so as not to attract too much attention. Garcia is the first to rush forward and hug him.

You only have fifteen minutes. Then, the police officers will take him to the station to book him and leave him in a cell.

JJ and Tara hug him, too. You assume they are giving him reassuring words, something you know he needs right now. From your peripheral, you see Emily exchange glances with Stephen and retreating to Emily's office. You can't say what's going on, but curiosity gets the best of you, and you follow them. You know Tara, Penelope, and JJ will keep Spencer occupied for a couple more minutes.

"What? Is the bureau abandoning him?" You hear Emily ask, visibly upset.

"They said Reid traveled with his personal passport and didn't inform the office. That's enough for them to step aside," Stephen explains.

"So we don't have legal support," Emily confirms, and Stephen nods.

You can't help but interrupt the conversation.

"What? Spencer will not have a defense?" Both Emily and Stephen startle and turn to see you. While Stephen gives you an apologetic look, Emily is quick to speak.

"Not provided by the FBI, but it doesn't mean Spencer will be alone in this. We'll find a lawyer for him."

"They do want to bury this, don't they? It's bad publicity, and Spencer will fall for it," you start to complain, your breathing picking up speed.

"Hey! We won't let that happen, do you hear me?" your boss steadies you and makes you look at her with both hands on your shoulders. "But for now, Spencer can't know. Not until we get this figured out."

As in cue, you look through Emily's window and see Spencer still chatting with JJ and Penelope.

"This is a nightmare," you mumble. Emily squeezes your shoulder.

"We're going to solve it, I promise."

You see Spencer looking around with a frown. Penelope and JJ are still talking to him, but Spencer seems to be looking for something, better said, someone: you. Cautiously, you descend the stairs to join him. You know you don’t have much time, and you know you can’t tell him about the lack of a lawyer.

“Hey,” Spencer calls when he finally sees you.

“Sorry, I went to talk to Emily about something real quick while giving you time with the team.” You don’t want to delve into specifics and hope Spencer doesn't ask about it.

“Thank you. Can we talk more privately?”

“Sure.” You both move to a corner with fewer people around. Spencer’s eyes trail every part of your face as he wants to engrave you in his memory. At the lack of words, you frown. “Spencer?”

“I know this isn’t going to be easy. I’m terrified, and not just for me. I’m scared about how this will affect you and us. I just want to say that I love you with all my heart, but I will understand if this becomes too much. You don't owe me anything. Don’t feel obligated-”

“Stop! Stop right there. Don’t even try to finish that sentence,” you rush to cut him off.

“But-”

“No. You are my husband. You are the love of my life. You are the person I chose to share my life with. In thick and thin, remember?” You cup his face so he can look directly at your eyes. “I’m not going anywhere. Physically, we’ll be apart, but I won’t rest until I get you out, and we'll be together again, okay?”

Spencer’s eyes fill with tears, and so do yours. He leans down to catch your lips with his. He can’t hold you - he’s cuffed - but for now, you can do that work. Lacing your arms around his neck, you deepen the kiss, and you can feel your tears mixing.

“I’ll make it up to you. I promise,” Spencer mumbles on your lips.

“I know you will,” you mumble back before kissing him again.

Emily clearing her throat takes you both out of your bubble.

“I’m sorry, guys, but it’s time. Police are here,” she apologetically announces. You look at Spencer, and he nods. It's time. With a last lingering kiss and an ‘I love you,’ he turns and follows Emily down the hall. Spencer doesn't turn around because he knows if he does and looks at you, he won’t be able to leave you there.

You watch him walk away and wonder if this nightmare will end soon. You don't know if you'll have the strength to hold on to him and yourself and if the love you share will be enough to keep the hope of a better tomorrow alive.

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Next part

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[erisedofthanos]

I have a whole dialogue going on in my head and I just had to write it. I just love thanos <33333

POV: you and Thanos get together during mingle for some reason he is acting strange....

It was now the third game mingle, so far I had managed to make it through the last rounds and I made sure to stay close to at least a group to be prepared in case it was a high number. Suddenly, the platform stopped and the number was 2.

I immediately panicked, seeing everyone around me had already found a partner and others fighting against one another over the rooms. And many people running around. I then began to look around to find someone I could go with, since the time was almost up.

Suddenly I feel someone hold my hand pulling me close to them "you're coming with me" they said I look at whoever grabbed me and noticed that it was Thanos.

Before I had the chance to speak, he began to run holding my hand tight to make sure I didn't get separated from him.

We both ran as fast as we could, I look at the timer and only 10 seconds remained "we have ten seconds" I said.

After hearing me say that Thanos pushed 2 people out of the way, in order for us to get into the room first. As soon, as we were inside he closed the door immediately.

We both leaned against the wall trying to catch our breaths, I then look over at Thanos and I wonder, why he didn't go with his team? he was always with them, I never once saw him being away from them, especially from player 124 who he was happily dancing with earlier.

"Thanos where is your team?why are you here?" I asked there was silence and suddenly thanos begins to walk towards me I remain with my back against the wall, he doesn't respond and continues to get closer to me our faces only inches apart.

And we then meet each other's eyes. Thanos then begins to look down at your lips and eventually grabs the back of your head and presses his lips against yours kissing you roughly.

you felt confused as to why he was doing this, was he still high? you had never really spoken to him much since he was always with his team you had so many questions but right now you couldn’t lie to yourself because indeed you did feel something.

You let out soft moans as the kiss began to deepen he then picked you up by your waist and you wrapped your legs around him he then slips his tongue into your mouth which tasted the sweetest and you knew it was because of the pills you had seen him take before.

He then sets you down on the floor and takes off his jacket you do the same then you place them on the ground he then presses his lips against yours once again and eventually you lay down on the floor on top of your sweaters his lips then travel down your neck while his hands slowly traveled down the fabric of your pants.

You let your self get lost in his touch and you could feel how much he wanted you because of the way his hands traveled down to your body at this moment neither of you cared about anything else. And before you could finish what you started you were then interrupted by the announcement of asking everyone to return back you both then got up and grabbed your jackets and before you headed towards the door thanos stopped you pulling you close to him.

"Just to be clear, this isn't over we will finish what we started" He said he then gave me one last kiss before we headed out still holding me close to him so that we could remain together.

to be continued...

[bellysoupset]

Part 2 of the "Max meeting the gang in the cabin" fic!

It comes before the fics with Luke/Vince I just posted, so Max is actually patient zero of that flu. As per usual, it'll be in the correct order in the masterlist.

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

Max was sore all over as they made their way back inside, after nearly three hours of hanging out by the lake. Luke and Bell had vanished inside thirty minutes before anyone else and while the others had been making fun of them for not even attempting to hide they were going inside to get laid, Max had the sneaking suspicion that was not the case.

He collapsed on one of the chairs by the dining room, planting his elbows on the table and running his fingers through his humid hair. They had sat in the last minutes of the sun in order to be at least a little dry before going back inside and drawn straws to figure out who'd get the shower first. Max, of course, had gotten it last, because fuck his luck that's why.

Vince had gotten it first, but he had given his spot to Wendy, instead taking the third place that she had gotten, and he pulled the wooden chair next to Max, sitting down with a pleased noise, "so? Still wanna leave?"

"Don't sound so smug," Max rolled his eyes, rubbing the back of his neck. He had a tension headache and his stomach was still bubbling and rolling uncomfortably, "your friends are nice."

"We are lovely," Leo corrected him, draping himself on Vince's back, not even pretending he wasn't listening in. He was slightly tipsy, so were most of them, and it showed on how flushed his face was, "are you hungry? Vince can cook," he pressed his chin to the top of Vin's curls and the dark haired man let out a scoff.

"You're offering for me?" he rolled his eyes, "Jonah, come collect your husband, he's sloshed."

"Am not!" Leo cried out and Max couldn't help but smile as the other guy hiccuped and squeezed his eyes shut, definitely a little over tipsy.

"He's not," Jonah grinned, wrapping his arms around Leo and planting a kiss on his cheek, "c'mon, baby, let's sit down for a bit, while Vince cooks us lunch... Well, dinner by now."

That caused Max to laugh and Vince to let out a huff, "fine, since you guys asked oh so nicely. What are you laughing at? Come help me chop stuff," Vince wrinkled his nose, mamma Monacelli written all over his face as he got up from his spot.

The cabin's kitchen was cramped, specially with Vince inside of it, but Max didn't particularly mind all the times they stumbled on each other. He pressed his stomach against the sink, staring at the chopping board, as Vince grabbed an assortment of veggies in the fridge and then circled Max, sneaking an arm under his in order to drop the items on the board, "little cubs, capisce?"

Max rolled his eyes at the little italian slip, nodding and starting to glide the knife over the bell peppers. Next to him, Vince grabbed a bunch of frozen chicken breasts and started cutting it into long slices, humming under his breath.

It was pleasant and Max would've been all but beaming at having Vince's attention all to himself, wasn't it for the very uncomfortable knot in his belly and the smell of the food starting to make him nauseous.

There was a knock on the open door and both men lifted up their heads. Bella's hair was lying limply next to her face and she had already changed into a new set of clothes, oversized sweatpants and a silky tanktop, "hey, do you guys need help?"

"Nah, go hang out with the rest of them, beautiful," Vince shooed her away and Bella made a little pout, instead of leaving walking further in. Vin chuckled, "I said we got it, Bell."

"I know," she took Vince's knife forcibly, "so what do I do?"

If his stomach wasn't bothering him so much, Max would've appreciated Vince teaching Bella how to cook all the more. He was a good teacher, patient and funny, but the blonde knew that already. The most surprising part of it was how incompetent Bella seemed to be, but she was eager to learn, so at least there was that.

They grabbed all chopped vegetables and the now grilled chicken stripes, throwing it inside a pot with tomato sauce and Max's stomach let out a whine, churning at the smell, right as Wendy knocked on the open door.

"Vin, shower's yours, hon- Are you alright?" Wendy raised her eyebrows, zeroing Max in and both Vince and Bella whipped their heads to look at him, quick as snakes.

Max nodded, white-knuckling the sink's edge, "I'm fine."

"Sit down," Bella bossed and Vince promptly jumped to the side, grabbing a wooden chair and Max by his shoulder, shoving him on it unceremoniously.

"God, stop looking at me like that, I'm fine," Max groaned, planting his elbows on his knees and hiding his face in his hands. A burp rolled up, but he stubbornly swallowed it up, "I'm fine, I'm just a little woozy..."

"It's the cramped kitchen?" Bella asked, "do you have claustro- is he claustrophobic?" she interrupted herself, clearly deciding Max was not a trustworthy source about his own well being.

"Not that I know of," Vince's voice was too close and Max dared to move his hands a smidge, only to see the man crouched down in front of him, a hand hovering over Max's shoulder as if he wanted to clasp it, but didn't think he should.

His stomach rolled again and Max moved his hand back up to hide his grimace, swallowing convulsively as the pain tightened the knot inside his belly.

"Oh darling," Wendy's voice was gentle and knowing, "let's get you out of the kitchen, the smell probably isn't helping," she didn't move forward, but Bella did and Max could tell just by their footsteps. Bell's were heavy and sure footed, Wendy's were almost silent, like a ballerina's.

"C'mon," Bella grabbed his arm, while Vince did the same and they pulled Max up in one swift motion. He stumbled slightly, nausea washing over him and covering his skin with goosebumps, making him pale.

"What is happening...?" Leo's voice interrupted them, but before they could answer, Max let out a groan and pulled his arm from Bell's hold, only to promptly stumble back and Vince catch him with one good yank.

"Where are you going?" Vince teased him lightly, keeping Max from faceplanting.

"He's not feeling well, let's take him to the couch," Wendy suggested and Vince hummed in agreement, guiding Max forward. He clearly didn't need the blonde to participate in the walk and only wasn't carrying him out of a sliver of respect.

Max collapsed on the soft surface and promptly wrapped an arm around his stomach, ducking his head to avoid everyone's gaze. God, he wanted to go home.

"Hey," Vince's voice was gentle, the couch sinking as he sat next to him, "what's wrong? You didn't eat anything to upset your stomach..."

Max's cheeks burned with embarrassment and he glanced around the room. Bella was perched on the couch's arm, watching him like a hawk, but Wendy, Leo and Jonah all had the decency to pretend they weren't eavesdropping every word.

"I don't know," Max's voice was raspy and he cleared his throat, "just hurts."

"As in you're going to throw up or shit your pants or like someone is cutting you with a knife?" Bella asked unceremoniously and Vince glared at her.

"Bell, give him some room, would you?"

Max stomach churned and he couldn't help a groan as his mouth got that sticky sensation that preceded puking. Vince's hand was suddenly on his back, rubbing up and down, "hey, do you want a bin? Or maybe go outside or the bathroom?"

"Out-outside," the blonde groaned, although it was the hardest choice. He could barely get up with how shaky he felt, but he wanted out of these people's curious stare. He really wanted to go home.

Vince wrapped an arm around his waist, pulling Max up easily and proving he hadn't need the blonde's aid before, much less Bell's, "alright, hang on-" his voice was strained, but it still seemed effortless how he dragged Max across the small living room and outside the cabin.

As soon as they were out, though, Max braced against the lumber wall, letting out a whimper.

"Aw man," Vince sighed sympathetically, "you're not well."

"I think it's a bug, I-" Max forced a deep breath, trying to ignore the way his knees were threatening to give up under him, "I'm sorry..."

"You've been feeling lousy for how long?" Vince didn't sound accusatory at all, but still a wave of embarrassment washed over Max. He shouldn't be there, making a scene about himself, "Max?"

"Not-not long..." he tried to lie, but Vince squinted at him, dark eyes scanning his face.

"Bullshit," he declared, letting out an annoyed sigh, "since morning, eh?"

"I thought it was nerves..." Max let out a wet burp and cringed, spitting the little bit of reflux that came up with it, "didn't want to ruin the weekend... And I wanted to come."

Vince seemed disappointed, which only caused the churning in Max's belly to get worse. He squeezed his hand against it, bringing up another sickly burp and gagging, but not bringing up anything.

He really didn't have much, only breakfast, from hours before.

Vin moved closer, smoothing the hair on his nape and squeezing his shoulder in a friendly manner. It was the soft touch, after feeling like such a burden and so overwhelmed for the past hours, that did Max in and his eyes burned, a whimper escaped him, and his belly squeezed tightly enough that he retched and a stream of bile and liquified breakfast splattered on the grass.

He coughed, pressing his forehead against the lumber wall so much that it hurt, and wrapped both arms around his stomach, urging up another stream.

Since he had almost nothing to bring up, he soon was only dry heaving, whole body jerking with the effort. Vince's hand had slipped between his forehead and the wall, noticing the way he was pressing in.

Max coughed, trying to clear his throat from the slimy feeling and then squeezed his eyes shut as the golden light from inside the cabin suddenly bathed the dark garden. They had been out there for so long that it was just night now, not the sunset anymore.

"Thanks," Max heard Vin say, softly, and then a new set of hands touch him. Delicate and tiny, Wendy.

"Sweetheart, I brought you some water," her voice was very careful and slow and Max clammed his mouth shut to stop himself from interrupting her with an empty heave, "I want you to drink it."

He shook his head, letting out a groan, "No-orUurp-" a half burp, half heave hit him and Max spat the acidic saliva, "not gonna stay down..."

"I know," Wendy's fingers ran up and down his arm, rhythmically. Her hand was very cold, like Vince's, so Max assumed he was the one too warm, "but you need to drink anyway, you've been throwing up for too long."

And Vin had just been there with him all that time? Jesus.

Max shook his head, "I wanna go home," he decided, whined really. If he was a little less feverish he might've realized that his request made him more of a hassle than not, but he was feeling too lousy to make sense of it. He wanted his bed, his bathroom, his privacy and to just curl up and not get out of the house for the next ten days, until he forgot all about this humiliation.

"We're going home," Vince promised him, wrapping a hand around his bicep and slowly steering Max away from the puddle of sick he had created, "can you sit down for a minute? I want Wen to check on you first."

He could do that yeah- Max stumbled back, aimlessly, and he fell, rather than sat down on the porch of the cabin. He could vaguely hear the noise coming from inside, Leo saying his name and Lucas answering. Whatever.

"Hey," Wendy's face appeared in front of his eyes, seeming a little dreamy thanks to the golden light and the dark shadows, "hi-" she smiled at him, "Max, I know you want to go home, this will be quick, alright?"

He nodded, not wanting to speak when she was so close and his breath probably was just acid. If Wendy puzzled that together, she didn't show.

Her hands came up to cup his neck, fingers pressing around and tickling him. Without thinking he lowered his forehead to her shoulder and she let out a sigh, rubbing his back, "I know, it sucks..."

She pinched his hand and then shuffled slightly, mumbling, "thanks, hon-" before grabbing Max's chin, "open up, under your tongue-"

He obeyed, still with his head resting on her shoulder, feeling like the ground was swaying under him...

Where the hell had she produced a thermometer from?

As if to answer him, Vince's voice came right by his side, startling Max as he said, "how high is it?"

"Could be lower," Wendy's fingers continued to comb through his hair, "I'm more worried about how unresponsive he is."

"I'm responsive," Max grumbled, voice muffled against her collarbone. She smelled like jasmines, was she aware of that?

"Thanks, it's my perfume," Wendy answered him, causing Max to groan. Great, he had said it out loud. He forcefully pulled back, cheeks burning with embarrassment, and the movement made his head swim.

The only thing keeping him from falling flat on his back was Vince holding him up, a big wrinkle between his eyebrows as they met in a frown, "Max?"

"Uhm?" His stomach wasn't happy at the movement, but there was no way he had anything to bring up. Max grimaced, trying to be responsive, "can you drop me home, please?"

He had known sharing a ride with Vince was a horrible idea.

Vince let out a scoff, "drop you home? Are you crazy?" he rolled his eyes, looking at Wendy in disbelief and she shrugged, as if to say she didn't understand it either, "c'mon, lets get you to the car."

"I'm- I'm really sorry about the whole-" Max meant to gesture around, to the mess, but his arm was too heavy and in the end it seemed he was gesturing to himself. Close enough.

Wendy didn't seem one bit amused, following them to the car, "quit apologizing for existing, thanks," she said sharply, then her thumb was on his forehead, smoothing the frown there, pushing his hair back, "be a good patient and drink water, okay?"

"Yes, doc," Max nodded, although just the mere thought of water made him shudder and get covered in goosebumps. He let his head lean back, closing his eyes. Oh yeah, definitely a fever, the car was swaying under him as if he was in a boat.

Outside, he heard Vince and Wendy whispering. Her voice was too low, but Vince's too deep to not be heard, "No, stay. I got him, he's probably just gonna sleep through the worst of it — yeah, I know. I'll talk with Luke later, he'll live — I promise I'll call if his fever goes up. Pinky swear — Alright, love you too."

Max turned his head, opening his eyes in time to see Wendy tiptoe to kiss Vince and then he got inside the car, in the driver's seat. She crouched down, waving at them.

He let out a sigh, "I'm really sorry, Vin..."

Vince scoffed at that, patting his cheek in an amicable way, pushing his hair back as he backed out of the property and into the dark road, "nah, that was on me. Too much, too soon. Maybe next time we should just aim for a double date, eh? Instead of a whole weekend in the middle of nowhere."

Max snorted, head lolling and cheek pressing against Vin's knuckles, "sure, maybe," he mumbled, feeling a little fuzzy inside that somehow, despite the scene he had caused, Vince clearly still wanted to hang out with him.

[sequinsmile-x]

The Way to the Words

Emily struggles to tell Aaron she loves him. At least, she struggles to tell him in English.

AKA - 5 times Emily tells Aaron she loves him in another language, and 1 time she says it in English.

-x-

Hi besties,

This is an idea I've been playing around with for a while, but was spurred on to write it after I got an anon about Emily and all of the languages she speaks.

This is soft (because we all deserve softness right now) and hopefully funny in parts! These idiots love each other a whole lot.

Also, just a note that I don't speak any of the other languages in this. Where possible, I have run the line past someone I know who speaks it, or I have run it back and forth through several online translators to make sure it's as correct as I can make it, and read articles on word positioning/how it should be written.

(Second also: I know Arabic is meant to go from right to left, but Tumblr won't let me format it like that, but it is correct on Ao3)

As always, let me know what you think <3

-x-

Warnings: the tiniest, smallest, bit of spice possible. Blink and you miss it kind of stuff. (Rated T)

Words: 6.5k

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

One

Technically, she’s the one to say it first. It’s something she tells him years down the line when they talk about the early days of them, her smile soft and sleepy as their baby rests on her chest as she insists that she’d whispered those three little words weeks before he had. 

She just so happened to say them in a language he didn’t understand. 

The first time, she doesn’t plan it. 

They walk back to her apartment after their first date, their hands tangled together as they swing them back and forth ever so slightly. She was anxious. Shy in a way she hadn’t been in years, and she knows it’s everything to do with him and how he makes her feel. It’s something about his smile and the way he looked at her that would make her feel giddy. It would feel ridiculous if it was anyone else. If it wasn’t Aaron, the man she’d been in love with for longer than she could admit even to herself, she’d tell herself to get it together, would remind herself she wasn’t a lovesick teenager but a grown woman. 

With him, it didn’t seem to matter. She didn’t care that she’d spent hours picking something to wear, or that she’d curled her hair twice. She wanted to make the effort, to take her time for what she knew would be her first last date. A small part of her had worried at first that things would be awkward, but it had been like their dinners usually were, only with hand holding across the table and the occasional kiss exchanged between anecdotes. She wanted to know everything about him, everything big and small, and she wanted him to know everything about her too. Wanted him to help her break through the walls she didn’t know how to tear down herself, wanted to hand him the tools she’d never shared with anyone else. 

Her shoulder knocks against his as she digs her keys out of her bag, and he smiles at her, his hand slipping to her hip as she unlocks the door. She looks up at him, sees the uncertainty in his eyes, and leans up to kiss him, her lips catching the corner of his. 

“Do you want to come in?” She asks, smiling when his eyes go a little wide, his own anxiety about what to do and how to act obvious. He’d told her it had been a long time since he’d been out on a date, that he was unsure how to act and what to do, and she’d kissed him, barely pulling back to tell him that she was out of practice too and that she didn’t expect any more than just him. He had arrived to pick her up with flowers nonetheless, a bunch of sunflowers squished between them when she kissed him as he explained he’d picked flowers that wouldn’t poison Sergio. She places her hand over his on her hip and squeezes, “For a drink,” she smiles and winks at him, “And maybe some more kissing.” 

He laughs and nods, “Of course, I’ll come in Em.” 

She leads him inside and locks the door behind them, secretly hoping she won’t unlock it again tonight, that he’ll stay in whatever capacity he’s comfortable with and that she’ll wake up next to him in the morning. 

“Wine?” She asks, as she walks towards her kitchen, “Or I have a very nice scotch that Dave bought me along with a cast iron skillet as a moving in present.” 

Aaron had been her first visitor to her apartment upon her return from Paris, and Dave had been her second. It wasn’t the best place she’d ever lived, but also not the worst. It was good enough for what she needed for now, and the best she could do for a person whose credit score had reset when she’d ‘died,’ and who had only just gained access back to her trust fund. For a few months, whilst legalities were unravelled and everything that had been put in place in the wake of her death was reversed, she’d lived like most people did - on her salary. 

Aaron chuckles as he follows closely behind her, his hands in his pockets as he looks her up and down and makes no secret of it, “He got me the same thing when I moved out of the house and into my apartment,” he says, leaning his hip against the kitchen island, “He said no home is complete without one.” 

“He said the same to me,” She laughs, “I wonder if he just has a closet full of the things for when someone he knows moves.” She lifts up the bottle of scotch, “So scotch?” 

“Yes please.” 

She pours them both a generous measure and hands him one of the glasses, her fingers skipping across his as he takes it from her, “Let’s go sit down.” 

She sinks against him on the couch, giving him no chance to overthink their closeness or what she’d want. She pulls a nearby throw over their laps and rests her head on his shoulder, the mix of the smell of him and the scotch enough to relax her, a contented sigh escaping her before she could even try to contain it. He wraps his arm around her, his hand against the bare skin of her arm so he can trace patterns against her, chasing a shiver he causes with the callouses on his fingertips. 

“You okay?” He asks, and she hums as she nods, tilting her head upwards so she can kiss him, the hand not wrapped around her glass on his cheek so she can hold him in place. 

“I’m fine. More than fine,” she says, kissing him again, “Thank you for a lovely date.” 

He smiles and holds her closer, “You’re welcome,” he clears his throat, the anxiety he’d felt earlier making a speedy return, “We should do it again soon. If you want.” 

“Of course I want to,” she replies, as if it’s obvious - because to her it is - but her smile slips when she sees relief in his eyes and she frowns as she takes his glass of scotch from him and places in on the coffee table with hers, “Aaron, why wouldn’t I want to go on another date with you?” 

He shrugs as she turns to look at him properly, her knees pressing against his thigh as she uses the hand on his cheek to make him look at her. He sighs and his hand falls to her knee, his thumb catching the hem of her dress as he runs it back and forth. 

“I don’t know,” he breathes out, “I guess I’m waiting for you to realise you could do better than me.”

That’s what does it in the end, what makes the admission she’d been holding back all night escape without warning. Her concern that it’s too soon kicks in too late to say nothing, so she falls back on an old trick from when she was young and wanted to curse at her parents without them knowing. 

She speaks in another language. 

“Я люблю тебя.” 

He furrows his brows together and fights a smile. “Sorry, sweetheart,” he says, the use of the nickname making her breath catch in her throat, “I don’t speak…I want to say Russian?” 

She chokes on a laugh and nods, “Yeah, that…was Russian,” she presses her lips together, “Sorry, I said ‘nothing’s better than you.’”

If he knows she’s lying, he doesn’t say anything. He nods as he accepts her answer and he leans in to kiss her, his lips stamped against hers before he pulls back. 

“Nothing is better than you either.” 

He stays the night, and when she wakes up with his arms wrapped around her she wishes she’d been brave enough to say it in a way he understood.

___

Two

She grumbles as she sinks onto the couch, curling in on herself as a cramp rolls through her belly. She’s about to talk herself into getting up to take painkillers, her medicine cabinet never having felt further away, when there’s a knock on the door followed by the sound of the key in the lock. 

“Sweetheart?” 

She groans as she sits up, looking at her boyfriend over the back of her couch, “What are you doing here?” 

“It’s nice to see you too,” he quips as he steps into her apartment, holding up a bag from CVS, “I brought you some supplies. I can leave afterwards if you want.” 

She hums and watches as he locks the front door behind him, “Where’s Jack?” 

“By the time I left the office he’d already eaten with Jess, and when I told him you weren’t feeling very well he told me to come look after you.” 

She smiles as he sits next to her, “I really am fine,” she says, taking the bag as he hands it to her, her eyes going wide when she sees the bag full of her favourite candy, painkillers and a couple of boxes of tampons. She looks up at him, embarrassed in a way she doesn’t entirely understand, “How did you know? I only told you that my stomach hurt.” 

He smiles at her, his dimples carved out deep in his cheeks, “I lived with Haley most of my adult life. And I am a grown-up. I know what a period is, Em.” 

It makes her ache. Makes her feel stupid for even trying to hide this from him in the first place, her jaw tight and her temper wearing thin when she’d almost yelled at him when he asked if she was okay for the dozenth time that day. She’d left the office the moment she could and told him she’d call him later, forcing a smile as familiar cramps she’d felt for most of her life rolled through her. If she was honest with herself, she’d wanted to bask in his comfort. To lean against him as he laid his giant, warm, hand on her stomach like he was her own personal heating pad, but she didn’t how to ask. She should have known that she didn’t need to ask. He’d always been better at figuring out what she needed before she did anyway. 

She nods and presses her lips together, “You even got the right brand.” 

He shrugs, “I only bought the ones you have in your bathroom.” 

She laughs, “I once asked a boyfriend to buy me tampons and he looked at me like I’d asked him to murder someone for me.” 

“Well, it sounds like he didn’t deserve you.” 

She looks up at him, her lips pressed tightly together, and she reaches out for his hand, “Thanks honey, this is…really sweet.” 

“You don’t have to thank me,” he says and he leans in to kiss her cheek but she turns her head to capture his lips instead. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay,” he kisses her again, lingering a little longer this time, and she sighs into it, “I can go home if you’d rather be alone.” 

She’s shaking her head before she can even really think about it, “No,” she replies, “I want you to stay.” 

He kisses her before he pulls back, “I’ll make us some hot chocolate, and bring you some water so you can take your painkillers. And then we’ll watch whatever sci-fi nonsense you want to watch.” 

She scoffs in fake annoyance, “It’s not nonsense,” she grumbles, narrowring her eyes at him playfully, “And I’ll have you know I was thinking of watching Die Hard.” 

He furrows his brow as he turns to look at her, “That’s a Christmas movie.” 

She groans and flops back onto the couch, tearing a pack of the candy he’d brought her open, “Don’t tell me I’m dating a guy who thinks Die Hard is a Christmas movie.” 

He raises his eyebrow at her from her kitchen counter, the tin of hot chocolate mix in his hands, “It’s set at Christmas.” 

“That doesn’t make it a Christmas movie, honey. There’s no small town girl visiting home from the big city for the holidays,” she says, unable to fight her smile when he smiles widely at her, the warmth of it settling over her like a comforting blanket from across the room, “And there’s no Santa Claus, and Kate Winslet doesn’t swap houses with Cameron Diaz,” she pops some candy into her mouth, “It’s not a Christmas movie.” 

“You’ve given this some thought,” he replies, smiling fondly at her, his eyes sparkling like she’d hung the stars themselves, “I guess we can watch it. Even if it is set at Christmas.” 

She throws a piece of candy at him, her fake irritation dying when he picks it up from the counter and eats it, the way he waggles his eyebrows drawing a laugh out of her. 

She rests her head in his lap when he joins her on the couch, her back to him as they watch the movie and he switches between playing with her hair and placing his hand on her belly unprompted, once again anticipating her needs. It was strange feeling loved like this, because she knew that’s what this was even if they hadn’t admitted it to each other yet. She’d never been cared for and enjoyed it or felt as if the other person wasn’t doing it out of obligation. 

She finds herself stuck again between wanting to say it and not being able to push past her fear. Instead, she reaches for his hand and links their fingers together, dragging them to her lips so she can kiss his knuckles as she mumbles against them, whispering so he doesn’t hear the Arabic she presses against his skin.

"أحبك"

“What did you say, sweetheart?” 

She shakes her head and turns back to look at him, “Nothing. Just…thank you for looking after me.” 

He stops himself from repeating what he’d said earlier and he nods, pushing her hair from her face, “Anytime.” 

___

Three

She’s bored of feeling like an exhibit at the zoo. 

Ever since she and Aaron had told the team about their relationship they’d been watching them closely, their attempts at hiding their fascination with their relationship almost non-existent. At work, it was bad enough, but here, in Dave’s house, as they had dinner together, it annoyed her. Every time they touched each other, or showed each other the tiniest bit of affection, the team would smile and nudge each other. 

She eventually excuses herself from the living room to the kitchen to get another glass of wine, needing a moment without being stared at so she doesn’t snap at some of the people she loves most in the world. 

She sighs and takes a large gulp of wine, closing her eyes as she swallows it, desperately trying to calm herself down, to soothe her fraying nerves. 

“Are you okay sweetheart?” 

She turns and smiles when she hears Aaron’s voice and she blows out a breath, “I just needed a minute.” 

He nods and points over his shoulder back towards the living room, “Do you want me to go?”

She loves him for it. Loves how well he knows her and how well he loves her, and she shakes her head and offers him a hand, “Never.” 

He walks over and wraps his arms around her, “They mean well. They just have to get used to it.”

She hums and loops her arms around his neck, “I know. I just wish they’d get used to it faster,” she huffs, “I hate feeling like a zoo animal.” 

“I know,” he says, running his hand up and down her back, “Me too.” He says, and she leans in to kiss him, pulling him closer as she sighs into it. When she pulls back, he stamps another kiss against her lips, “That’s a nice wine.” 

She chuckles, running her fingers through the short hair at the base of his head, “Barolo del Comune di La Morra,” she says, nodding towards the bottle on the kitchen island, “It’s Italian. Very nice wine. Not that you’d expect anything less from Dave.” 

“Say that again,” he says, his smile wide and bright, his eyes sparkling with as close to mischief as they ever did, “The name of the wine.” 

She presses her lips together and leans in to kiss him again, punctuating each word with a kiss, “Barolo…del…Comune…di…La…Morra.”

He barely hides a moan as she pulls back, just about able to remember where they were as he squeezes her hips, “You’re so beautiful,” he says, “Say something else.” 

She giggles, something only he was able to draw out of her, “In Italian?” She asks, and he nods. It feels like an invitation to carry on doing what she’d unintentionally started, and she leans in to kiss him, only pulling back far enough to speak, “Penso che tu sia l'amore della mia vita.” 

He smiles, even though he doesn’t understand, “What does that mean?” 

“I love the wine,” she says, hating that she can’t tell him the truth, that she can’t push past the fear she isn’t entirely sure she understands, “And you’re handsome.” 

He leans in to kiss her again, but they are stopped by someone clearing their throat in the doorway. Emily feels her cheeks go warm when she looks up to see Dave standing there, the look on his face letting her know just how much he’d heard. 

“Well, this is adorable.” 

She feels Aaron’s grip on her tighten and she lets her arms slip down from around his neck and she squeezes his hand. 

“Why don’t you go back through, honey?” She suggests, squeezing his hand again, “I’ll be there in a minute.” He almost questions it, she can see the argument he has with himself over it, but he nods instead, leaning in to kiss her cheek before he steps away, his hands in his pockets and his smile tight as he walks past Dave. She waits until he is out of earshot and she crosses her arms over her chest, “How much of that did you hear?” 

“Enough to know you’re playing a dangerous game,” Dave replies as he walks closer to her, “So…you love him?” 

“I…” she trails off, the words caught in her chest and she groans, tightening her arms over her chest. 

“Relax, bella. Even Reid only has to look at you to know you two love each other,” he says, smirking when she glares at him, “So why didn’t you tell him the truth? Worried he doesn’t feel the same way? Because I think it would be less of a waste of time to wonder if the Pope is Catholic.” 

She sighs and shakes her head, “No, it’s not that. I know he feels the same way. It’s just…” She blows out a shaky breath and laughs at herself, “I’ve never felt like this before. I’ve never loved someone this much. It’s like my happiness depends on his, and it’s fucking terrifying.” 

He stares at her for a moment, his smirk disappearing as he nods in understanding, “I know it is,” he replies, patting her shoulder, “But you’ll get there. Take it from an old man who’s been around the block a few times. What you two have is rare,” he smiles at her, “I’m actually annoyed at myself for not seeing it sooner.” 

She smiles, “What, me and Aaron?” 

He nods, “I should have put money on you two years ago. You’ll get there, Emily. And he won’t mind if it takes a while. Because he loves you too.” 

She presses her lips together and nods, because she knows he’s right, “Thanks.” 

“No need to thank me,” he says, winking at her, “Just make sure Aaron makes me best man when you get married.” 

She rolls her eyes and fights off the desire to tell him to shut up, or deny that it was where this was all going, “I think that’s his choice, don’t you?” 

“Okay,” he says, shrugging at her, “Godfather of your firstborn then.” 

She scoffs, the sound turning into a laugh when it’s halfway out, and she can’t stop herself this time, “Oh shut up, Dave.” 

The thought of it makes her giddy, makes her stomach flip in a pleasant way, and she can’t shift her smile for the rest of the evening. 

___

Four 

Emily sighs contentedly as she flips the page of her book, snuggling further into the comfort of Aaron’s bed, the scent of him lingering on the sheets. 

The bedside table on her side of his bed was starting to look like hers. It’s where she kept the book she was reading and her favourite hand cream and other trinkets that had somehow ended up at his place. A necklace she’d taken off after work one day and left there. Her father’s watch. It was already starting to feel like home. But she had a feeling that had more to do with the little boy asleep down the hall and the man whose bed she was in, not the apartment itself. 

She was starting to spend more of her nights here than she wasn’t. She’d go home to feed Sergio, to scratch his head and sit with him for a while, and then she’d go to Aaron’s, let herself in with the key he’d given her weeks ago, and spend the night. He kept telling her to bring Sergio over with her, that he’d happily get a litter tray, food and whatever he needed, and it made her love him more. She was slightly resistant, not only because Sergio didn’t seem to like him that much, but because it felt like a huge step forward. An admittance that she couldn’t bring herself to say yet no matter how much she wanted to. 

The bedroom door opens and she looks up, her smile wide as she puts her book down, “Is Jack okay?” 

Aaron nods as he climbs into bed next to her, “He’s asleep,” he says, smiling as he pulls the covers over his lap and tugs her close, “He said he wants you to do bedtime next time.” 

She bites her lower lip, desperately trying to hold in a smile, her love for the two of them threatening to burst out of her, “Really?” 

“Really,” he says, kissing her forehead, “I’m not the only Hotchner in love with you.” She freezes, her shoulders tight as the admission washes over her, a choking sound of sorts escaping her. It seems to alert Aaron to what he’d said, and his eyes go wide. He swallows thickly and tucks some of her hair behind her ear, “I…mean it Em. I might not have meant to blurt it out that way,” he says, smiling when she does too, “But I mean it. I love you.” 

Her silence is loud, echoing around them before it weighs heavily on them, settling on their shoulders as she tries and fails to say anything, “I…” 

She feels like a failure. Like a coward, because what was so wrong with her that she couldn’t tell the man she was in love with that she loved him. She curses every bad relationship she’d ever had, she curses her parents, and everyone who ever made it hard for her to accept love and affection, because Aaron deserved someone who could give that to him without thought. 

He deserved so much more than she could give him right now, and it made her ache. 

“Em,” he says, his smile too kind, “I’m not expecting you to say anything back,” he adds, pulling her closer, “I didn’t even mean to say it myself yet,” he stamps his lips against hers, “It’s okay.” It doesn’t feel okay. It feels ridiculous and she surges forward, her hands on his cheeks as she holds him in place, deepening the kiss so she can show him how she feels even if she can’t say it yet. She shifts so she’s in his lap, rolling her hips against his as she wraps her arms around his neck. He tenses, his hands firm on her hip as he tries to pull back “Sweetheart-”

She can see the doubt in his eyes, not in her, but in what she was trying to do, “Aaron,” she kisses him again, knocking her nose against his as she rests their foreheads together, “Please.” 

He looks at her carefully, tries to see the tiniest piece of uncertainty in her eyes, and he nods when he doesn’t find it, leaning forward to rest his forehead against hers before he kisses her again. They undress each other slowly, and he rolls them so she’s under him, trapped between the warmth of his body and the sheets beneath her. It’s soft. Tender in a way she hadn’t known existed before him, something that she thinks would make her feel exposed with anyone else, and she links her fingers through his afterwards, lifting their hand to her lips to kiss his knuckles as she smiles at him, hoping he knows what she can’t put into words he understands yet. 

He falls asleep before her. It’s rare. Usually, she fell asleep first and woke up last, comforted by his arms and the safety that seemed to come with them. She lays there in the dark next to him, his arm heavy and warm over her waist, his breath even as it skips across the back of her neck, and she berates herself for not being able to give him what he needed, what she so desperately wanted to give him. 

Eventually, she turns in his arms, looks at him in the dark, his features just about visible now her eyes had adjusted to the lack of light. He looked younger like this, boyish almost, and it makes her love him more. She reaches out and strokes his cheek, smiling when he twitches but doesn’t wake up, his head moving in the direction of her hand, chasing her and her presence even in sleep. 

“Aaron,” she whispers, waiting to see if he’s awake, if his breathing changes, and when it doesn't she sighs, “Te quiero. Siento no poder decirlo todavía. Pero te quiero.”

She leans in to kiss his cheek and lingers there for a moment before she lays back against his chest, snuggles into him as deeply as she can and she closes her eyes, hoping she’ll fall asleep. 

When she wakes up in the morning, he’s already awake and smiling at her, and it somehow makes her feel worse.

___

Five 

“I can’t do it.” 

Aaron tries to hide his smile, she’ll give him that. He tries to swallow it down but fails as he turns to look at her and raises his eyebrow at her. She glares at him from her side of the couch and kisses the top of Sergio’s head twice in quick succession, scratching under his chin as she does so. 

“I’ve seen you stare a serial killer in the eyes and not blink,” he clears his throat to hide a laugh, “But you can’t give your cat medication?” 

She huffs out a breath and holds Sergio closer as she pouts in a way she’d deny if Aaron brought it up. Sergio had an ear infection, and whilst he’d been strangely okay with her cleaning his ears, he was resistant to medication. He’d eaten around it when she’d tried to hide it in his food, had ignored treats she’d tried to stuff it inside. He was refusing to take it, and that meant she had to make him take it. 

“I don’t want him to hate me,” she says, tearing her gaze away from Sergio to look up at Aaron, “Or for him to be afraid of me.” 

She watches as Aaron nods, once again stifling a smile, and she wonders if he’s going to tell her she’s as being as ridiculous as she feels. Instead, he sighs and offers his hands out, “I’ll do it.” 

She tilts her head at him in confusion, “What?” 

“He already hates me,” Aaron says, smiling when she rolls her eyes. 

“He doesn’t hate you-”

“He does, sweetheart,” he replies, his smile getting wider, “But if I do it, it’s not like he can hate me anymore, and his love for you will remain intact.” 

She knows it’s irrational, but she almost wants to be mad at him for the way he makes her love him even more. He was willing to do this for her, willing to accept her, admittedly silly, concerns about her cat hating her, and do what she couldn’t bring herself to do. For a moment, she pictures him holding a baby that was half her and half him whilst they took them to get their shots so she didn’t have to, and then passing the baby back over as soon as the deed was done so she could be their source of comfort. She has to shake her head to get rid of the image, to remember the soft weight in her arms was Sergio and not a small baby, and she sighs and nods as she passes him over. Sergio meows in displeasure, wiggling as he proves Aaron’s point as he tries to get a hold of him. 

“Do you have the medication?” Aaron asks, raising his eyebrow at her as she actively ignores his poorly hidden smirk as Sergio pushes his paw against Aaron’s face. She nods and hands him one of the pills and he takes it from her. He’s gentle as he grasps Sergio’s head and tilts it backwards until his nose is pointing upwards and his jaw opens slightly. Aaron drops the pill into his mouth and then lowers his head back down, holding his mouth closed until he visibly swallows, “There we go,” Aaron says, smiling at her as he lets go of Sergio, who immediately walks over to Emily’s side of the couch and climbs in her lap, meowing all the way, “And look at that, he still loves you.” 

She smiles at him, ignoring the warmth in her cheeks, and she snuggles Sergio against her chest, making sure she’s giving him plenty of head scratches as she does so, “Tell me all about it, baby. What did the mean man do to you?” 

Aaron chuckles and leans in to kiss her temple, “If he didn’t hate me already, he will by the time his course of antibiotics is done with.” 

She hums and turns her head, capturing his lips with hers, “Thank you. I know it’s silly-”

“You’ve never been silly a day in your life,” he says, kissing her again, “Do you want a drink?” 

“Yes please, honey,” She nods and presses her lips together, the words getting the closest to escaping as they ever had, the way he looked after her in ways she never could have pictured almost tipping her over the edge, whatever had been holding her back getting weaker by the day, “There’s some red wine on the counter.”

“Coming right up,” he says, winking at her before he stands. It makes Sergio hiss at him, and Aaron throws her a look that could only say I told you so as he walks away. 

“You have to be nice to Aaron, you know,” she says, talking to Sergio as she scratches between his ears, “He’s not going anywhere,” she sighs, “Je l’aime aussi. Je ne peux juste pas le dire.” 

“Did you say something, sweetheart?” Aaron asks as he walks back into the room. She shakes her head when she looks up at him, smiling when she sees the two glasses and the bottle of wine in his hands, and the pack of her favourite candy dangling off his finger. 

She wanted to say it to him, but after everything, after not being able to say it back when he’d said it to her a couple of weeks ago, she wanted it to mean something. 

“No,” she replies as he sits next to her, “I was just talking to Sergio.” 

He nods in understanding and puts the wine and her candy down on the coffee table, “Speaking of Sergio,” he says, opening up his palm to reveal a treat in his hand, “I thought he deserved this for being so brave.” He offers his hand out to Sergio who looks at him suspiciously for a few moments before he happily eats the treat out of his hand and starts purring. Aaron laughs and takes the opportunity to scratch between Sergio’s ears, which the cat leans into, “Maybe he’ll love me after all.” 

“Yeah,” she replies, biting the inside of her cheek to contain her smile, “He’d be a fool not to.” 

___

+  One 

“Anyone want to go for a drink?” 

Emily drops her pen down on her desk and turns to face the others, “I’m up for it.” 

“Of course you are, princess,” Derek says, smirking when she glares at him, “Do you think you could convince Hotch?” 

She smiles, “I could convince him of anything.” 

Derek groans, “God, I don’t want to know that.” 

She laughs as she stands up and she winks at him, “You asked. You okay to gather everyone else?” 

He nods and she walks up to Aaron’s office. She takes a moment to watch him through the window. He has his head down, his focus on the paperwork in front of him, and he looks every part of the stern, focused man she’d first met. He looks up at her, his eyes meeting hers, and then he smiles at her, a flash of her Aaron peeking out from beneath Hotch in the very room she’d met him in. He gives her a small nod and she walks in, making sure she closes the door behind her.

“Everything okay, sweetheart?” 

She nods and walks over to his desk, keeping a respectable distance because she knows the others will be watching, “I’m okay. Derek is organising everyone to go out for drinks. I’ve been sent to rally you.” 

He chuckles, “They already know I can’t say no to you.” 

“Honey, we all know that,” she replies, “So is that a yes?” 

Aaron smiles, “I’d love to, but I have budgets to do, unfortunately, they’re important,” he says, his smile getting wider when she looks disappointed, “I could meet you later though.” 

“Yeah?” She asks, sinking her teeth into her lower lip, and he nods, “Okay, so we’ll meet you there?” 

“I’ll meet you there,” he smiles, her smile, and winks at her, “See you later.”

She smiles and turns to the door, reaching out for the handle as she replies, “See you later. Love you.” 

It takes her a moment to realise what she’s said, and she freezes, her breath caught in her chest as the words float in the air around them, as light as a feather in comparison to the heavy weight it had been on her shoulders for weeks now. She almost laughs, the absurdity at the easy, simple way she said it after she’d overthought it for so long not lost on her. The admission as simple as it was beautiful, as if they’d exchanged it as often as they had kissed, as if it wasn’t the first time she’d said it. Like it was something she’d said countless times before. She smiles to herself as she turns around because, in some ways, she has said it before. 

This was just the first time he’d understood her. 

She smiles nervously at him when their eyes meet, “Sorry,” she says, clearing her throat, “That…that wasn’t how I intended on saying that for the first time.”

He stares at her for a moment like she’s a skittish animal, like she might bolt if he made even the slightest of movements. He’d been careful to not tell her again since that first time a couple of weeks ago, like he was scared he’d push her away. He’d get part way through and then stop himself, smiling at her in a way that could only mean you know how I feel. It had hurt more than she thought it would, something that made her feel hypocritical because she hadn’t said it at all. 

She’s mad at herself for letting it slip like this because she’d wanted it to be special. But then he smiles at her in a room he’d once scowled at her in on that first day they’d met, and she doesn’t think it could have been any more perfect if she’d planned it. It was like their love story had permeated the walls. Like it was carved into them in a way someone would find in years to come when they were gone. When they’d moved on to somewhere new, their future still laid out in front of them as they stood by each other’s side. 

“No, don’t apologise. Never apologise for this,” he says, finally snapping into action, his pen hitting his desk with a thunk as he stands up. For a moment, she thinks he’s going to pull her into a hug or kiss, but then he remembers where they are, his eyes darting to the window of his office and the team all in the bullpen. He stops right in front of her and grabs her hand, their linked fingers out of view from everyone else, “I love you.” 

She presses her lips together and nods, every reason she had for being too afraid to tell him gone as if they’d never existed, “I love you too. I have for a long time. I hope you know it was never because I didn’t love you. I just…”

“I know,” he replies, squeezing her hand, “And I would have waited forever.” 

She chuckles, the sound wet as it catches in her chest, “Forever? That would have been awkward at our wedding one day.” 

He laughs too and runs his thumb back and forth over her pulse point, “We would have made it work.” 

She wants nothing more than to kiss him, but she knows she can’t, not here anyway, and she blows out a breath, “I really wish I could kiss you right now.” 

“Me too,” he says, looking at her like she was the only thing in existence, like the world could burn around them and he wouldn’t notice because he was looking at her, “Later.” 

“Later,” she repeats, “I don’t want to go for drinks with the team anymore. I just want to go home with you.”

“We’ll have plenty of time for us, sweetheart,” he says, squeezing her hand again, their palms practically fused together, as if they were merging into one, one soul that had been split into two for all eternity until now, “Let’s go spend some time with our friends. 

“Plenty of time?” She repeats in a question, as if she didn’t already know he was it, that they were it, and he was the answer to the question she’d never known to ask. 

“Forever,” he confirms, and she swallows thickly, her heart almost beating out of her chest as she nods in response. 

“Forever.” 

[artisanscribbles]

Some Oathbound Thoughts

There's a larger post regarding the Order that's still percolating in my head but while I was drafting that post, something occurred to me:

We have very little in text proof that the Shadowborn are as big as a problem as the Order makes them out to be- But do you know where they seem to gather and most attacks happen: The 4 Legendborn Chapters.

This made me start made me start to think about what we know about magic in universe, and also what we know about the Shadowborn.

The Order makes the Shadowborn out to be this huge problem, but Valechez, Patricia and every Rootcrafter we meet treat them as a problem and certainly something to be cautious about, but a known factor.

And none of the Rootcrafters spend their lives at battle-ready mode waiting for the next attack. It's just the Order that does that. But everyone else acts like the Order is the much bigger problem and danger of the two.

But Scions and Squires have been being called ever since the Order's inception to handle all these demon attacks? And we see there is truth to this: The Shadowborn are Undeniably Attacking the Legendborn.

Which begs the question: Why the Order and not the other magic users?

And then it hit me.

The Order of the Roundtable has been around for at minimum, per William, at least 60 Generations. Like with Vera, the spell is somehow bound to the bloodlines. But Vera's bargain is tied to The Shadow King - He cast the Mark and as far we can tell he's been maintaining the Magic required for it to Work. With me so far?

So this begs with question: With Merlin (as far as the text informs us) 100% Dead

WHAT'S POWERING THE SPELL OF ETERNITY?

IT CAN'T BE ARTHUR. EVEN IF MERLIN ANCHORED THE SPELL TO HIM ORIGINALLY LIKE THE CHARM BRACELET (AND WE DON'T ACTUALLY KNOW THIS BTW, EVERYONE IN THE ORDER THINKS ITS THE CASE AND EVERYTHING THE ORDER THINKS IS IMMEDIATELY SUS) CANONICALLY ARTHUR PENDRAGON DOESN'T HAVE ACCESS TO THE MAGIC TO KEEP IT GOING BECAUSE HE CANNOT WORK AETHER (proven by that scene in BloodMarked)

Arthur Pendragon can use the abilities gifted to him by Excalibur and Merlin's original spell, but he can't power it himself. But SOMETHING must be- because as per Sel, aetheric workings can only last so long as the caster can maintain them and live, as as per Valchez and Patricia, all that Power has to be coming from SOMEWHERE EX.1 Bree's whole existence.

Which brings me back to the Shadowborn and the Shadow King's whole deal:

I think Merlin's spell wasn't supposed to last past the OG Table's death. Not originally anyway. Arthur and the Knights were supposed to win decisively and then the portals would be closed forever. And Bree's Bloodwalks seem to support this.

But then, The Table Captures the Shadow King's Crown, and we now Know that is an extremely Powerful Object- but we don't know what happened to it.

Just before Bloodmark's final kicks off, we get the last Arthuriana themed lore drop of the novel- And that is that the last place we saw the Crown was in the OG Table's possession- but not broken and destroyed. IN fact the text seems to support they couldn't destroy it- SO WHERE IS IT? NO ONE IN ORDER HAS EVER HINTED AT SOMETHING LIKE THIS EXISTING- IT'S VALCHEZ THAT FIRST TELLS US ABOUT THE SHADOW COURT TO BEGIN WITH.

And then we remember Morgaine Had A Plan to use the Crown somehow. Now, of course, we don't get to hear exactly what that was because Bree had some shit to work out, but I think its important that we know about that it because it provides a reason for the concentrated Shadowborn attacks on the Legendborn and also a reason for the King to still be kicking around. The Shadowborn harry the Order so hard because the original War never stopped, it just changed.

The King seems to a bit like Sauron - separated from his Crown, he's a shadow of himself (excuse my bad pun), still powerful, but limited in scope. There's no reason for a long game otherwise. But if he were trying to get his Crown back? Because the Order STILL HAD IT?

Well, that would re-contextualize a few things, wouldn't it?

[lacydollette]

TEAMING UP ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

pairing: exbf!dean x huntress!reader

warnings: heavy tension, mention of guns, dean being cocky, explicit language, lowkey a lil angsty, maybe fluff (?)

Dean moved carefully through the forest, keeping his steps light, always on high alert for any signs of the werewolf pack they were hunting. The brothers had tracked the attacks to this abandoned barn in the middle of nowhere. It was the perfect hideout—isolated, hidden deep in the woods, far enough from any town that no one would hear the screams. His grip tightened on the silver knife in his hand, they were close now.

He glanced over his shoulder to make sure Sam wasn't too far behind. They had split up to cover more ground, but something about this hunt felt off. He couldn't shake the feeling that they weren't the only ones out here tonight.

That feeling was confirmed when he heard the faint rustle in the bushes ahead. Instinctively, Dean tensed, his body ready for a fight as he inched closer to the noise. He barely had time to react before something lunged at him, slamming him back against a tree with a force that knocked the breath from his lungs.

Before he could get a grip on what was happening, he felt cold steel press into his chest, and a fierce hand gripping his throat. Whoever had him pinned was strong and definitely a combat master. And as his eyes adjusted to the shadows, he recognized the face glaring up at him.

"y/n?"

His voice came out rough, startled. It had been years since he'd seen you—his ex, the one who'd walked out of his life after you’d both decided your worlds were too dangerous to pull love and feelings into the mix. The one who never left his mind, no matter how much time passed.

You blinked, shock flashing in your eyes before it hardened into something more familiar. You stepped back, releasing him, but the gun stayed firmly in your grip, aimed at him as you spoke. "What the hell are you doing here, Dean?"

Of all people to run into on this hunt, it had to be him. It was like the universe was playing some kind of sick joke on you. You hadn't seen Dean in years, not since you both decided to go separate ways. Too much baggage, too much history. You had moved on. At least, that's what you kept telling yourself.

He rubbed his neck, a small smirk tugging at his lips despite the fact that you had nearly taken him out. "Nice to see you too, y/n. Still got that charming bedside manner, huh?"

Your eyes were cold, all business, just like you had been when you first met on a hunt years ago. You hadn't changed much—still fierce, still sharp, still... fucking beautiful. The moonlight highlighted the determination on your face, and for a second, Dean almost forgot where you two were.

"I nearly shot you," you said frustrated, trying to get rid of the thought of almost killing your ex boyfriend. Dean shrugged, his smirk fading as he let out a breath. "Wouldn't be the first time."

Your jaw clenched, and he could see the wheels turning in your head. He didn't know whether you were more annoyed that he was here or that he'd caught you off guard. Definitely both.

"This is my hunt," you snapped, eyes narrowing at him. "I've been tracking this pack for weeks.", "Yeah, well, so have we," Dean replied, meeting your glare. "Sam and I are here to take them out. Same mission, different day."

Your eyes flashed with anger, and for a second, Dean thought you might shove him back against the tree again. You had always been like this—stubborn, independent, never one to back down. It was one of the things that had drawn him to you in the first place, even if it was also the reason you couldn't make it work. You were too much alike, both hunters, both living lives that didn't leave room for anything or anyone else.

You stepped back, shaking your head. "I don't need your help, Dean. I've got this." Dean crossed his arms, his expression serious now. "Really? You're gonna take on a whole werewolf pack by yourself?"

You glared at him, and he could tell you weren’t in the mood for his questions. But he wasn't about to let you get yourself killed, even if you wanted to do this alone. There were too many of them—he and Sam had already counted at least five, maybe more, and even someone as tough as you couldn't take on that many without backup.

"Look," he said, trying to keep his voice calm, "I know you don't want me here, but we're on the same hunt. Let's take these bastards out together, and then you can go back to pretending I don't exist."

You scoffed, your grip tightening on your gun while you rolled your eyes at him. You didn't need anyone else. You had always worked best alone, and you weren’t about to let anything—or anyone—get in your way. Dean's temper flared for a second, but he held it back. "Look, I'm here to finish the job. That’s it.”

You both stood there, staring each other down, the tension between you thick. It was the same as it had always been, that push and pull that had kept you together—and tore you apart in the end. Eventually you gave in, at least it would be quicker this way, right?

Dean couldn't stop himself from watching you as you approached the barn. You moved like a shadow, silent and sharp, every step calculated, your eyes scanning the area like a hawk. You were damn good—one of the best hunters he knew. But that didn't make him worry any less. The werewolf pack all of you were up against wasn't just dangerous—it was reckless, and there were too many variables that could go wrong. Dean knew that better than anyone.

You had always been independent, always insisted on doing things your way, and normally, Dean respected that. Hell, he admired it. Yet he couldn't shake the knot of worry tightening in his chest.

It felt like old times, like you were slipping back into the partnership you used to have, it was like no time had passed at all. You still got under his skin, still made his heart race in ways he didn't want to admit. And as much as he tried to focus on the hunt, on the job, he couldn't ignore the pull he still felt toward you.

There was unfinished business between you two—there always had been. And deep down, Dean knew that no matter how hard he tried to move on, some part of him would always be tied to you. You weren’t just part of his past. You were part of who he was, whether he liked it or not and he had to keep you safe.

Dean glanced over at you, his jaw tight. "Get behind me." You shot him a look, the fire in your eyes flickering to life. "I don't need you to babysit me, Dean. I've got this." He gritted his teeth, trying to keep his voice steady, but the frustration was bubbling up inside him. "I'm not babysitting you. I just don't want you to get yourself killed." You stopped in your tracks and turned to face him. "You don't think I can handle it?"

"That's not what I'm saying," Dean growled, stepping closer. "I know you can handle it, but that doesn't mean I'm gonna stand here and watch you get torn apart." Your eyes flared with anger. "I don't need your protection."

“y/n I just want yo-“ he started, wanting to explain himself, yet you couldn’t help the frustration growing inside you. You always hated when he got too protective. For some it may seem caring and sweet, which it definitely was, but it made you feel weak, like Dean didn’t trust you. So before he could finish his sentence, you turned on him, shoving him hard against the nearest tree. He stumbled back, surprised, but he didn't resist.

Your arm was pressed against his chest, face just inches apart. "I've been doing this a long time," you hissed, voice low and dangerous. "I don't need you swooping in like some knight in shining armor. I'm not the damsel here, Dean." His lips curved into a smirk, the familiar cocky grin he knew would rile you up even more. "Never said you were, sweetheart. But if you wanted to get rough, all you had to do was ask."

Your eyes narrowed, he was so annoyingly attractive like this. Dean could feel the heat between the two of you rising, the space between you growing smaller, charged with a tension that had been brewing for years. You were still pressed against him, body close enough that he could feel the warmth of you against his chest.

"Don't start with me, Dean," you warned, but your voice had softened, just a fraction. Dean leaned in slightly, his grin still in place. "Who's starting? I'm just trying to be helpful."

You faltered for a split second, and Dean saw it—the brief flash of confusion in your eyes, the way your breath caught in your throat. You felt your pulse quicken, not from the argument, but from the way he was looking at you. That look—the one that always tore down your walls, no matter how hard you fought to keep them up. You hated that about him. Hated how, despite everything that had happened between you, despite how far you had come on your own, he still had this hold over you.

Your grip on his shirt loosened just enough that he could feel the tension in you melting away, little by little. For a moment, you stood there, locked in place, the world around you already forgotten. Dean's eyes flicked down to your lips, and for a split second, he wondered if maybe—just maybe—they could pick up where you two left off, despite everything that had happened.

His eyes pierced yours as you tried to remind yourself of the reasons the two of you didn't work, the reasons you had left. Dean was trouble. He was chaos. But when his eyes had flicked to your lips, every rational thought disappeared. It was like all those years apart hadn't changed anything. You still wanted him, still felt that magnetic pull whenever you two were close like this.

Your breath hitched, and you leaned in, your lips barely an inch from his. The heat between you was undeniable now, thick and electric, pulling both of you closer. Dean could feel his heart pounding in his chest, everything else fading into the background. It was just you and him, like it always had been. But just as you were about to cross that line, a voice cut through the tension like a blade. "Uh, Dean?"

You two immediately jerked apart, snapping back to reality as Sam emerged from the shadows, his face a mix of shock and confusion. His eyes darted between you two, lingering on your form, and the look on his face said it all—he hadn't expected to see you, not after all these years.

"y/n?" Sam's voice was thick with surprise, his brows raised. "What are you doing here?" You quickly pulled yourself together, straightening your stance as you brushed off the tension that had almost swallowed you whole. "Just... hunting," you said coolly, but your voice wavered just enough that you could tell Dean noticed.

Dean cleared his throat, trying to shake off the heat still coursing through him. He shot a quick glance at you, walls back up in an instant. You kept your face neutral, but inside, you were cursing yourself for almost letting it happen. You had almost kissed him. After everything, after all the time you spent trying to move on, you had almost let yourself fall back into Dean’s orbit.

Sam's eyes flicked to his brother, and Dean could see the question there, unspoken but loud. He didn't have an answer for him—not right now. All he knew was that something between you and him had shifted, and no matter how hard you both tried to deny it, you couldn't go back to pretending like nothing had happened.

Not after this.

links: dean winchester masterlist

tags: @gibson-g1rl @beausling @figthoughts @chevroletdean @titsout4jackles @deansbite @sugardean @deansbeer @supernatural-wolfie @hischrrypie @angelicjackles @littlelamy @nuemanfilms @starzify

[yuseirra]

So what was that whole idea about Kamiki's true nature?

Since I tend to like children quite a bit, there’s one point(out of many)in this manga that really bothers me. Around volume 14, there have been several mentions of Kamiki’s “true nature” and whatnot. For instance, in Aqua’s script, it’s mentioned that Ai broke up with him after realizing his true nature, and so on(it wasn't the case in reality).

But when I think about how the authors wrote this character, it doesn’t seem like he had an inherently bad nature. As the creators of the story and characters, they would know this better than anyone else. If anything, given his circumstances, he seems like someone with a remarkably good temperament. That’s why I couldn’t stop thinking about it when the manga was still ongoing—what exactly led to him being associated with such accusations? I was curious, it’s confusing. He was kind. And it doesn’t seem like he fits into the “kind people turning scary when they snap” category either, because even in those cases, there’s usually a limit to how far the outburst goes. It’s just really strange. How could someone like him lash out at Ai? He couldn’t even get angry in the first place. He missed the moments when he should’ve gotten angry, and even when he had reasons to, he didn’t. They built his character like that, I've been paying attention to how they did and I wouldn't be confused if things were different!

When I look at it, it doesn’t seem like the authors were trying to write him as fundamentally “evil.” If anything, they seemed to be portraying him as “empty,” and they might have been trying to explore that theme.

It’s true that the emptiness and lack of affection experienced by people who weren’t sufficiently loved during the early stages of their lives can be deeply painful and significantly influence their hearts. But if the story is saying that this emptiness and pain were the cause of him turning into a monster or leading to his downfall, then I find it incredibly disrespectful to people who endure such suffering. I don't think that was what the authors were going for, either. In my opinion, those factors alone don’t seem like sufficient reasons for someone with his personality and pain to commit such extreme acts. He wasn’t just an ordinarily “nice” person even; he seemed extraordinarily gentle by nature, at least from what I can tell.

If something external had happened to push him over the edge, then maybe it would make sense. That’s why I think he only changed after Ai’s death.

But in the story, aside from Ai, it feels like no one treats him as a human being. Was he really that terrible? From when? Why is he treated this way?

If this is meant to convey some kind of message, maybe I could understand it.

For instance: “Both deities of the entertainment industry were warped in their own ways because they weren’t treated as human—one was revered as a god, and the other was treated as a monster.” If that’s the point, I might get it. But was that really conveyed properly?

What frustrates me immensely is that Kamiki was consistently abused from at least the age of 10 or 11, throughout his adolescence, and yet none of the adults around him did anything to help—they just left him to suffer. Then, near the end, they react so half-heartedly towards him when he goes to meet some of them, while acting all meaningful and apologetic, as if they’re atoning for their sins toward Ai. But what about him? It seems like no one—not a single person—ever did anything for him except for Ai, no wonder he's so desperate about her, huh?

And really, what did he even actually do? How far did his crimes go? When he says at the end, “I didn’t do anything,” (they actually had him say that) I think that’s half true and half false. From my perspective, it seems like he awakened after Ai’s death and started using his divine powers, determined he would bring her back. If he were a deity, it would make sense for him to be able to guide people’s futures, twist their fates, and decide whether they live or die. That's something he's actually capable of doing, if he's that specific god of light who governs over the industry!! If he committed sins, he should face the consequences. But—

If the story had depicted this situation in a clearer sense, like what is actually going about him in the first place, then they could’ve drawn out discussions about how to respond to this character in a more engaging way.

However, this work portrays the character as inherently problematic, yet when you break it down, it leaves you scratching your head. Everything is ambiguous. So, was he always problematic to begin with, or what? The story also includes parts where the protagonists like Akane or Aqua outright suggest that he’s an issue. Is it just because they need to kill him?

If the story were portraying him as if he had that kind of disposition from the beginning, I wouldn’t have anything to say… I can make that out!! I studied psychology for goodness sake!! As I’ve kept mentioned before, however, this character’s transformation is closer to complete corruption or a total reversal of temperament. People don’t change this drastically on a normal level. It’s just too strange. If this were explored more thoroughly, it might be more convincing. No matter how much I think about it, the only explanation for why this character was written this way seems to be this, that he is really some god, and I think it’s likely correct.

I mean, he was abused since he was a child, but not a single adult at the time properly addressed it. And I don’t even think that alone would have turned him into a criminal. That’s not what caused it— he was holding up for so long, and then, after Ai died, the only person who treated him well was gone. From what I figure, that's like what's the only thing enough to break him THAT BAD. I think he ended up living a miserable existence just to try and do something for her, to dedicate himself to her.

But none of this is clear, and the story just keeps pushing the narrative that “he’s the problem,” “he’s a monster,” and “killing him will solve everything.” Somewhere along the way, this approach starts to feel unnecessarily cruel and upsetting. Am I reading this wrong? But that’s how it seems to be written.

Is it really okay to handle this sort of subject this way? It’s too harsh, both internally and externally. It feels like the character has never been properly addressed or explored.

Sure, he’s an adult now, he needs to take responsibilities. But he was just a kid when he suffered. So young at that. Is it really appropriate to discuss things like a teenager’s “true nature” or whatever? Sometimes you do see kids with genuinely dangerous and cruel tendencies, but he used to be the exact opposite of such a case. He did not display any aggression. Why frame things this way? The way this story handles this is just mean. For someone who endured abuse and kept smiling to get through it, that’s an extraordinary level of strength and character. For his case, it isn’t about “true nature”—it’s a product of his environment. And yet they don’t explore that? They should. The way the narrative directs readers is deeply unsettling. What were the adults even doing? That’s the real issue! That’s where the problem lies! Not addressing that and just concluding with his death feels so infuriating. What is this story even trying to do?!

And to add to that, while we talk about him at 10 or 11 years old, I don’t think he ever received proper love even before that.

That’s why it’s so astonishing that when he met Ai, she said she wanted to live with him forever. It shows how much she genuinely liked him! Despite everything he had been through, he still managed to be that lovable to her. Both of them were so genuine toward each other. For that to happen, she must have been truly happy around him—she must have felt cared for. It's really hard for someone like that to endorse those kinds of feelings towards someone, she really loved that guy and he probably really deserved it at that point.

Looking at this character, even considering what he’s been through, his outward demeanor is still incredibly kind. It’s so rare for someone to stay that way despite everything.

The idea of this guy having a “noble soul” or “pure spirit”, "nobility" might connect to the Sarutahiko reference (since that god is described that way), but beyond that, this character’s natural disposition seems to have been one of the kindest in the entire story. He’s just been twisted by his experiences. I can believe he really was like that. Even Ai had a dark personality, yet he somehow endured without letting that show at least outwardly—even when he was just a kid, even younger than her!

He was genuinely a good person. For someone like that to end up this way? It’s because he lost Ai and couldn’t handle it. He had given all his affection to her. Maybe if there had been someone else in his life to help him, things could’ve been different, but no one besides Ai treated him well. The way the character was written really does suggest that’s the case.

The problem isn’t so much the framework or the plot but the way it’s executed. It’s so lacking in consideration. This kind of material is too heavy to leave in the realm of mystery-solving. Even so, if they wanted to depict his personality or actions as the problem, they should’ve written his personality differently and laid the groundwork with different foreshadowing.

They wanted to add mystery elements while still portraying him as kind, so there’s this constant mismatch. The result is that his character remains unclear. And they can’t fully commit to making him a villain because the character is tied to mythology—he’s clearly based on a god from myth, and that god was incredibly benevolent. Oh my gosh..why do this to a god known for being a loving husband?

Also—again—talking about the “true nature” of a 14–15-year-old? Sure, it’s not entirely out of the question, but isn’t still that going too far? No one talks about Airi’s true nature, so why his? What even is his “true nature”? Blaming a kid for this? For feeling hollow from having been neglected and unloved? Seriously… when adults start telling a child they’re “hopelessly empty” or whatever, I’m just sitting here clutching my head in frustration. He was just a middle schooler! What are you doing? And the adult doing the gaslighting? They’re not even a proper human being! Sure, adults like that exist in real life, but still!

The problem is that the story doesn’t dismiss it as nonsense—it actually builds that trait into his character. It doesn’t outright contradict it. I guess it’s not entirely wrong of them to point it out, but still… it’s so frustrating. These elements function as part of the plot and keep things intriguing, but it feels careless. The story doesn’t address the core issue, the problem of the adults having hurt a kid, and that makes it harmful. Anyway… Kamiki’s life was just awful. He could’ve turned out so much better. That’s what’s heartbreaking about him. And it’s not even entirely clear whether he didn’t turn out okay. His responsibility on this all is so ambiguous. What if he really didn't want to hurt anyone like he's said, but things turned out that way anyway—what are we supposed to do with that?

Well, considering what he thought about Ruby, I guess that’s not entirely the case(omg) but I think the whole "feeling Ai" might have actually had some sort of base from his standpoint. What if he knew doing that would work for certain but held back but didn’t kill her because she was his and Ai's child (he says that she's theirs) then felt “I should’ve tried something when I had the chance” in his dying breaths huh? Wouldn’t that be tragic? Messed up but I think that's what could have been what's going on! I could see that being possible. But still, what kind of nerve does he have… ugh… the audacity… How could he do that to his own daughter lol. At this point I think that's the writer's fault, not the character because it's so ridiculous. What even is this manga? I’m at a loss for words.

Honestly, I wish they hadn’t used such heavy themes. The manga can be entertaining but it’s too emotionally taxing. The author handles these serious topics in such a strange way, and it’s exhausting. I'd go as far to say it feels a bit irresponsible at times.

[moth-ink]

I feel like they'd have such varying reactions but it'd all boil down to just not understanding how to handle emotions properly, not only because they literally aren't HUMAN but also because they've all bottled up things for so long, I mean there's only so much you can bitch and moan about what you are when you know it isn't going to change (AHEM, Edward, AHEM)

I think Bella might be a little mad at Edward for leaving her, but as I said before she'd have an easier time forgiving Edward because he was at least trying to have her interest in mind even if he was wrong.

And I mean he literally tried to delete himself when he heard Bella died, so I think she'd just be happy he's still even on earth to come back to her.

Huge yap fest about the rest of the Cullens under the line

Alice as her supposed 'best friend' probably was only forgiven in that time during New Moon because she was slapped in the face with her coming back and then kicked in the ass at the fear of Edward oofing that she didn't really have time to be upset at Alice, but after everything calms down, she might start to be a little bitter.

I think Alice would go back to normal, I wouldn't be surprised if her visions affected her emotional intelligence (she started loving Jasper before she even met him, so clearly visions affect her present feelings) since she's seen everything be okay again, she's seen herself already forgiven.

It might take her a lil bit to realize that everything isn't entirely okay, maybe even triggering a vision of Bella getting upset at her, prompting her to act but not exactly in the right way.

Lots of gifts, I think she'd kind of think that money will solve this problem because shopping and buying outfits makes her feel better, she thinks she's showing Bella that she does care, look at all the pretty things she got for her! Don't you feel better?

Although I don't think you'll get this soft, heartfelt apology from Alice, a serious conversation might get her to pump the brakes and try to think more in the present instead of just thinking about presents, although that'd be unlikely since Bella isn't exactly that confrontational so Alice most likely would have to receive guidance from someone else.

Jasper wasn't particularly close to Bella, but he'd harbour some guilt as he is the reason they even left in the first place.

He wouldn't try to act like everything was normal as he can literally sense that everything is definitely not normal, but he's a bit too awkward to outwardly do anything about it.

Although he does care about Bella to some degree, he'd mostly just be worried about Alice, he could sense how she'd get progressively more and more distraught the longer her love bombing doesn't fix anything.

He wouldn't like to use his gift to lighten the situation, but he might use it to coax Bella into talking about it, since she has a tendency to shut down instead of discussing her feelings (theres a possibilityyyy)

Mostly he's just worried about Alice and the other family members who are more affected by her distance.

Surprisingly I think Emmett would be one of the first to actually get to the root of the problem, he's a bit of a meathead I know I know, and at first I think he'd also try to pretend like everythings okay, going back to that sort of big brother type but maybe upping it a bit more to try and win her back.

Lots of bear hugs, noogies and general big bro shenanigans.

HOWEVERRRR as I stated before, he had a little sister growing up, and since he's not as ancient as everyone else he still has some connection to his emotions as a human, especially ones that come from a lil sis.

He was the breadwinner of his family, when he was turned he was worried sick about them, hence the huge donation Carlisle made to them, but I still do think he worries that they think he abandoned him.

Although he's not really good with words, and might come off as kind of an awkward dad, he'd empathize with Bella and her feelings quicker than the others would, protecting her from anyone who dares to say anything negative.

Rosalie would not care, she might even think that Bella is being a bit overdramatic about her feelings, I think it stems from the fact it takes Rose awhile to build a strong relationship with someone, so she treats it as less of a deal since Bella hasn't known them for that long.

If anything she might be a little happy that Bella is distancing herself, that maybe being more seperate from the family would deter her from wanting to be a vampire.

HOWEVER, this could potentially bond them a bit better, one thing that I think will connect them is abandonment issues.

Think about it, Bella's parents divorced and her father didn't even fight for any custody of her, and then her mother got remarried and gave Bella the ultimatum to leave and let them travel or stay and tie them down.

Of course you could say 'Bella chose that!! Renee didn't want her to leave!!' but Renee knows how much Bella cares about her, she's always put Renee's needs before her own (*cough* parentification *cough*)

You can't argue that Renee didn't know that Bella would choose to leave, even if it made her miserable, she was the parent and easily could've said no, put Bella before her new husband and waited until she grew up enough to be on her own.

Bella's always been the one chasing, never the one being chased.

The Cullens leaving would only reinforce that, part of her clinginess to Edward would probably stem from the fact she's been taught that she needs to hold on with two hands or they'll leave her.

How would Rosalie relate to this? well look at her backstory, not only did her fiancee abandon her (among other terrible things that happened that night) and left her to die on the streets, imagine someone you love throwing you away so easily.

And her family wasn't that much better, Rosalie only stayed with Carlisle because she didn't want to be alone, even if she resented Carlisle for what he'd made her into.

She could've easily rejected him, go back to her family, but she didn't, maybe it was because she didn't want them to see what she'd become but it could also easily be because she'd already been abandoned.

Maybe they never tried to figure out what happened to her, her fiancé was a powerful man from a powerful family, and Royce never faced any consequences, it could be because he'd paid off her family to not kick up a fuss about her disapearance.

This could be a moment of relating to each other, the feeling of being left or forgotten in some way could bring them a little closer, although I doubt Rosalie would go all soft she might be more receptive to listening to Bella, granted that Bella listens as well.

It isn't much, but they might be able to have a stable conversation for once.

Esme, oh Esme, she'd be so guilty, even if Bella wasn't mad, she'd probably still be distraught, but she'd feel 100x worse since Bella IS upset.

Although she wouldn't dream of disagreeing with her feelings, I think she'd overcompensate so hard she'd miss the point of why Bella is upset in the first place.

Home cooked meals, presents, constant invites over to family activities, anything to include her back in the family.

If there was a discussion about it, Esme would break and probably beg her for forgiveness, if vampires could cry she'd be red faced and bawling, there might be a smidge of guilt tripping and accidentally making it about herself, oh Bella, she never wanted to leave you! she'd wanted to call so many times, it'd just break her heart if you kept her at arms length.

While Carlisle wasn't super close to Bella, his empathetic nature would leave him feeling terribly guilty, especially when he see's how distraught his wife is.

While he does have some grip on his emotions, he'd also lean a bit more into the buying gifts side of things, however I think he'd target the things that Bella likes and use that to sort of weasel his way back in.

Oh, Bella likes reading? why doesn't she come over to his very extensive library with only the plushest reading chairs then, and he just so happens to be taking a break from his paperwork when she's in there.

Although he would probably apologize in that adorable soft voice of his, he would try to ease back into acting normal however he'd probably be a lot more gentle and attentive.

The last thing he wants is for her to leave, however it stems more from caring about Edward than about her specifically, he doesn't want to lose the one thing that brings his son joy.

He would care a lot about her feelings, but I also think he'd register that she's not really one to talk about them, a bit of his doctor training would come out and he might gently coax her into talking more about it.

He might unintentionally treat her like a bit of a younger kid, but more in a way of being attentive than condescending, always there to help, to listen, to fix up any boo boo's no matter how minor they are.

I also think he'd fund things that brought her joy, like she wants to re-pick up her ballet skills, well it just so happens he's invested in a new dance studio being built for Forks.

He'll deny having anything to do with it, but when it eventually gets revealed to be named Bell Studio there might be a little suspicion.

But that's between him and the new car (that Rosalie is fixing up) for Bella in his garage :)

Bella distancing herself from the Cullens after New Moon because they up and left her (She had an easier time forgiving Edward because he actually had a REASON) and they desperately try to win her back (esp Alice, Esme and Carlisle) but don't know how because they're emotionally constipated vampires is an idea i'm normal about

[soulless-bex]

hot take: Jason is actually one of the most emotionally intelligent members of the Batfam because, contrary to most of them, he actually expresses his actual emotions. and while those feelings are mostly negative, he still expresses them, which is more than can be say about Bruce (who will bottle it up till it blows up in his face), Damian and Cass (who were trained out of expressing their feelings during childhood by literal assassins), Tim and Dick (who are chronic liars and will bullshit their way through life unless there’s no other way).

[puppppppppy]

for like 3 weeks i was wondering why i was sleeping so much and felt listless. and just now I managed to email 3 people and responded to a month old message in the span of an hour because I got back to TAKING MY FUCKIN MEDS..........

[tariah23]

They’re calling my baby Gojo, Joseph Joestar now

[foldingfittedsheets]

The location of the sex shop I worked was a haven for spiders. We had tall ceilings and skylights and unused storage rooms. It was a spider paradise. We quickly sussed out which coworkers to call on in case of emergency. The Dorito lady was a solid ally for spiders but absolutely petrified of moths.

But there’s actually a hierarchy of fear. Most people don’t realize. The person least afraid is the one forced to deal with the bug in question. If coworker B was scared, but coworker A was petrified, well coworker B was gonna have to screw their courage to the sticking place because by the law of fear they were the most competent person on scene.

Thus enters Rick. Rick first appeared in the back storage room. This room doubled as a second bathroom so we went in on a semi frequent basis. The girl who’d gone in to pee shot out again gibbering with fear about the biggest spider she’d ever seen had just run across her boot.

We sicced Dorito lady on it. She returned, shaking her head. “He was squatting on a power cord where it plugs in. I couldn’t get a clean shot at Rick.”

“Rick?”

She shrugged. “Spiders that big need a name. Seemed like a Rick.”

Rick, freshly named, became a store menace. I’d normally say this was probably a case of multiple spiders being mistaken for one but everyone who encountered him swore up and down there could be no mistake. This spider was massive, fast, and distinct. A gladiator among arachnids.

I never encountered Rick. His exploits grew in the telling but the theme was consistent: no one could kill him. He’d hunker in places that no one could reach and dart away when a strike missed. He also chased off the more faint hearted, charging them in bold dashes. There could be no benign cup transplant to remove Rick from the premise. He was not leaving.

The saga of Rick continued for two months. Not seeing him was almost worse, a fearful wariness when going to the bathroom or stepping into quieter areas. I waited with dread, hoping my eventual run in would have me on shift with Dorito lady to protect me.

It was not to be. There was a girl the same who hated my one moment of singing that was absolute piss-herself scared of spiders. She’d slam straight into a panic attack and couldn’t think or speak. And so it was that one night on shift, I heard her scream.

It was unmistakable. I was in the front window turning off the open sign. Through an obstacle course of mannequins and lingerie I performed an acrobatic sprint out of the window, darting up to find her quivering at the front counter, fully crying. I radiated calm at her and said, “Just point.”

I knew it was Rick. Our destinies were intertwined and we had always been pulled toward the inexorable battle that was drawing nigh.

Her hand raised to point to our sandwich board sign at the front of the store. So Rick had the metaphorical high ground. There was no quick easy strike on the slanted signs surface.

I armed myself and marched into battle, my knuckles white on my chosen weapon. I would do this, because I must. Because there was no one else. And because I wanted to close and go home.

I saw Rick immediately and I honestly don’t think I’ve ever seen a bigger spider since. Outside of a tarantula, he was truly the most massive spider I’ve ever beheld outside a zoo enclosure or terrarium.

We regarded each other. Rick launched off the sign toward me and I stomped my foot reflexively, making him pause in his charge. Then I raised my weapon. Anything else, I believe Rick could have evaded. He’d bested most of the store thus far. But I had chosen chemical warfare.

I doused the shit out of that spider with cleaning spray, stunning him with a barrage of chemicals. While he froze, choking on the unexpected deluge, I dropped a paper towel over him. My foot came down.

I felt his exoskeleton crunch and I can feel it still to this day. The shattering was as of bones and I truly mourned that we had been forced into senseless war. If only he has cleaved tighter to the shadows. If only he’d crawled willing into a cup for relocation. I released a full body shudder of horror, fear, and adrenaline as I stepped back.

I took several quivering breaths. I donned a veneer of calm and tidied the battlefield of it’s corpse then went to reassure my coworker that all was well, while internally I still shook.

You fought well, Rick. I hope you sired many more monstrous children to haunt retail workers in the years to come. Rest in valor, you monster.

[elliewithcellie]

Girl, Interrupted

summary: Eddie crashes by your home when you least expected, but everything happens for a reason, right?

wc: 1.8k

cw: PURE SMUT (MDNI 18+), basically no plot, friends to fwb?, oral (f receiving), Eddie is a tease, fairly bold reader lol, fingering, talk of p in v sex, hair pulling, orgasms idk let me know what else

a/n: my bestie bought me slutty pajamas for my birthday, and since I'm a hypothetical whore, this has been on my mind nonstop. Finally took a break from my spn series to write this down. This is the filthiest thing I've written to date but definitely short and sweet

Eddie’s jaw fell slack as the door opened before him. He knew he shouldn’t have shown up to your place uninvited. Sure, you were his best friend, and of course, you had said he could come over whenever, but that never truly meant unannounced. He was already kicking himself for showing up as late as he did when you opened the door.

Your oh so short pajama shorts were the first thing that caught his eye, how your thighs spilled out beneath them, the cotton begging for relief. His eyes trailed higher to your tank top one size too small. The hem rested just above your midriff, the outline of your hips more prominent than he had ever seen. Your face was flush, pinks and reds lining your cheeks. He fought the urge to pinch himself, scared that he was dreaming, scared that he’d wake up to the absence of you and very real feelings emerging.

“Eddie? What are you doing here?” you asked, your arms crossing over your chest. “I thought you had a date.”

Date, what date? Eddie’s mind was going numb. His brain was flatlining at the mere sight of you, more exposed to him than he’d ever seen you. Fight or flight kicked in, debating on whether to say something or just turn around and leave. He was almost sure he was not supposed to see you in this state.

“I—uhh—it didn’t go well, so I cut it short. But I know you love the place, so I figured I’d bring over the leftovers.”

“Oh, sweet. Thank you.”

Eddie hesitated, scared to ask, but his interest piqued. “Is someone—you’re alone right now, right?”

Your eyebrows pinched together. You exhaled a dry laugh. “Please, I’m always alone. Come in. Tell me about your date.”

You ushered Eddie inside and settled into your couch. You pulled a blanket over you, and Eddie released a sigh. He couldn’t believe the hold you suddenly had on him. It was like he was in high school again, ready to combust at the sight of a shoulder. At least with your legs covered, he was less inclined to think about spreading them.

“Was it really that bad?” you asked, drawing Eddie from his thoughts.

“She was just so boring,” Eddie complained. “Like, there’s nothing wrong with her, but it was like we were from different planets! She didn’t know Metallica! How am I supposed to bond with someone when there’s nothing to relate to?”

“Did you think of showing her?”

“Showing her what?”

“Metallica!” you laughed. “Wouldn’t that be kind of romantic, you know, to introduce that to her? Maybe tell her you’re in a band? It’d be like showing her a whole new world. And maybe you’d get a groupie out of it.”

Eddie swatted at the air. “It’s not worth it. We were both bored. And it was clear she wasn’t looking to rock with a guitarist.”

“Oh, I highly doubt that.”

“You didn’t meet her. She’s pristine, a Chrissy Cunningham type. Meant to be with a lawyer or some shit.”

You leaned in closer to Eddie, your blanket sliding down your thighs. “Those are the girls who fantasize about guys like you the most. Those girls on the straight and narrow, the ones who seemed destined to be sweet stay-at-home moms or perfect career women, those are the ones who dream of just one night doing something they never thought they could. Something so wild that when they’re taking their kids to soccer practice, or their ‘perfect husband’ is asleep on the recliner while they're doing the dishes, they can think back to that wild night when they fucked a rockstar.”

Eddie’s lip trembled as chills coursed through his body. You leaned back against the couch and shrugged like what you said was nothing. You had to be on something, he decided. Never had you been so frank when the topic of sex came up. Your face was still flushed with color, and you couldn’t seem to find a comfortable position on the couch, shifting yourself from one side to the other to no specific rhythm. Heat radiated off of you, though you weren’t known to be the furnace between the two of you. Something struck Eddie as so foreign but so familiar as he took you in.

“Would you fuck a rockstar?” Eddie found himself saying.

Heat rose to your cheeks. “Do I seem like one of those straight-and-narrow girls to you?”

“That’s not what I asked,” Eddie said, a newfound confidence overtaking him. “You came up with that way too fast to act like you don’t think of it, too. So, would you fuck a rockstar?”

You bit your lip and shifted in your seat. You huffed into the couch. “Wouldn’t anyone?”

“Why so shy all of a sudden?” Eddie asked, egging you on. “You’ve been squirming since I got here, sweetheart. Is something on your mind?”

Your eyes trailed from his eyes to his lips, then back to his eyes. “Tonight is not the night to ask me that.”

“Why is that?” Eddie chuckled. “Were you in the middle of something? Was something left unfinished when I so rudely interrupted? And now all you can think about is the ache between your legs?”

You shuddered at his words. “Eddie,” you said, your voice shaking.

“I could help you.” Eddie leaned closer, his words almost a whisper. “Because I may not be a rockstar, but I’m sure I could give you the night of your life.”

Your breath hitched in your throat. “Don’t tease me. It’s not funny.”

“No one’s laughing.” Eddie pulled the blanket back, his hands resting on your thighs. Your legs slightly opened on instinct. “What kind of friend would I be, huh? If I didn’t at least offer?”

Eddie didn’t know where this bravado came from, but he didn’t care. All he knew was the longer you looked at him like that, the harder he got.

You grabbed him by his shirt and forced his lips on yours. Nothing soft or sweet came from your lips. You were needy and desperate, clinging to him like he was the air in your lungs.

The urgency shocked Eddie, but he quickly found your rhythm. He smirked against your lips as he pulled his jacket off. His hands snaked from your thighs to your hips to your ass, lifting you onto his lap. You groaned into his mouth as he rolled you against him.

He was sure he was dreaming now. Only there did he ever picture you above him, grinding your hips into his. Only there did he imagine you moaning from his touch. But never were his dreams this vivid, this real, this fucking good.

He pulled you from him and pushed you back onto the couch. You whined at the loss of contact. He’d never seen your eyes so dark, so lustful, so hungry for him.

He slid down to the floor onto his knees and pulled you to the edge of the couch. “You still want my help, sweetheart?”

You nodded emphatically.

“I need to hear you, baby. Say it.”

“Please help me, Eddie. I need you. Please.”

“Atta girl.”

You lifted yourself up as Eddie pulled your shorts down your legs. Eddie’s cock jumped at the sight of you. He bit his lip to maintain what little composure he had left.

“Aww, your poor little pussy’s just as needy as you, isn’t she?” He spread your knees apart, the cold metal on his fingers sending chills up your spine. The throbbing between your legs only intensified, a small whimper escaping your lips.

Eddie couldn’t wait any longer. There was no time for teasing, no time to explore. You needed him, and he was going to deliver.

He dove into your aching pussy like a man starved. You jumped at the contact, your hands flying to his hair. His tongue worked overtime, kitten-licking your clit before diving in for more.

“You taste so good, sweetheart,” he said, smiling against you. You moaned in response, grabbing a fistful of his hair and pulling him closer.

Your sounds turned him on even more, searching for his own release as he rubbed himself against the couch. His mind was in a daze, in utter disbelief that anyone could look so perfect for him with your legs spread and your back arched. Your chest rose and fell to the rhythm of his tongue, and your lips formed a perfect ‘o’. Oh, how Eddie wanted to feel your lips around his cock. How you’d sink down on him, your perfect innocent mouth being completely sinful just for him.

He placed a finger at your entrance and pumped in and out, his thumb now circling your clit. Your head fell back. “God, yes, Eddie. Just like that.”

“I need you to do something for me, baby,” Eddie said as he added a second finger.

“Wha—what’s that?” you asked, breathless.

“I need you to tell me what you think of when you get off. Tell me what you were thinking of before I showed up at your door.”

“I—I oh god,” you shouted as Eddie’s lips found your clit. “I—I thought about you on your fucking date.”

“Oh fuck,” Eddie groaned into your pussy, the vibrations shooting up your spine.

“I pictured you fucking her from behind, her skirt hiked up to her hips, her panties to the side as you fucked her in front of the bathroom mirror.”

“Fucking C—Christ,” Eddie stuttered, his hips rutting into the couch faster. “Keep going.”

“Then it was me you were fucking. You grabbed me by the hair, so I could watch what you were doing to me,” you said, your voice shaking with every word. “Eddie, please. I’m close. Please.”

“Come on, baby. You can do it. Tell me what I was doing to you.” He was past dreaming at this point. He was sure this was heaven. Hearing your words had him reeling. He didn’t want to stop, didn't know how to stop. He just knew he needed to see you come.

Your lip trembled. “Your hands were all over me, playing with my tits, your lips on my neck, and—and your big cock pounding into me over and oh-ver and—and Fuck! Eddie, don’t stop! Please, please, please!”

Your orgasm crashed down on you, expletives and Eddie’s name on your lips. Eddie continued to pump his fingers in and out of you like a madman as he lapped up your cum.

“Oh god, oh fuck!” he moaned against you.

You pushed his head off of you and caught your breath. Eddie took a breath, too, leaning back against his heels. You pulled him back up to you and kissed him, tasting yourself on your lips.

“That… was so hot,” Eddie said, releasing a breath.

“Can it be my turn to help you?” you asked, looking up at him through your eyelashes.

Eddie’s cheeks rouged slightly, his eyes trailing to the growing wet spot on his jeans. “I had a turn already,” he said, guilt painting his words. He leaned in toward you, a devilish smirk joining his features. “But I’m not done with you. Not yet.”