#don’t like thinking about how that’s 4 years ago that’s just not correct

[petalpatches]

Posts angsty fanfic art then disappears into the void ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

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[irndad]

a/n: continuation to this, but you don't necessarily have to read it first! all you need to know is reader got shot protecting maeve, and both survived. spencer has been in love with her the entire time.

“Have you called Maeve?” 

She asks it on a beautiful, rainy day, about five weeks after the event in question. She’s a little too nonchalant about the whole thing, has been from the start- Spencer’s been correcting for that. He’s been treating her like something fragile, a beautiful glass figure that was almost shattered. This is something he knows irritates her, but how can he not?

He tries not to think of it, but the memory of her in a hospital bed, bandages over her abdomen, the wooziness of giving her blood. He can’t help his caution, now. People assume, quite often that Spencer was unaware of the fact he’s in love with his best friend. Like it was something he didn’t know, didn’t have to live with. 

Spencer can be oblivious about a lot of things, but being in love with the person he’s shared a desk with for 4 years is not among them. 

“No,” he replies, looking up at her as she sits down, handing him the cup of tea she made him. They’re at his apartment. She’s been cleared for desk work, but Spencer had been nervous about the whole thing. They’ve fallen into a rhythm of her going to his apartment after work, and for how determined he is to tell her how he feels, he’s not really able to pluck up the courage.

“Spence,” she sighs, “You have to call her.”

“I did! When it happened, I called her. We talked. We just don’t talk anymore.”

She furrows her brow in an adorable way, and Spencer’s heart threatens to fall out of his chest. He’s been playing a game of she loves me, she loves me not in his mind for the. Past few weeks. 

Took a bullet to see me happy. She loves me. 

She stirs her ceramic spoon, the clink of it against the mug fills the silence. She bites her lip, clearly disappointed with his response. 

Wants me to call my not but kind-of ex. She loves me not.

She’s wearing this blue floral dress, and he is trying not to stare at where the fabric has ridden up, kissing the skin above her knee. She’s got lipstick on, and he tries not to read into how she’s sitting so close to him. Except he is kind of reading into it. 

Before she got hurt, he had tried to shove this feeling down- tried to ignore the swoop of his stomach when she walked by, or when she gave him a compliment, or when she let him do a card trick for her. He tried to shove down how much he fucking hated it the one time she had a date pick her up at the office. 

She’s just easy to be in love with. She writes little smiley faces on post-it notes and leaves them on his desk, and when the whole Emily thing had gone down, she’d spent weeks taking care of him through her own grief. 

She’s sitting on his couch. Five weeks ago, she was half-dead in a hospital bed, and now she is on his couch, in a beautiful dress after returning from the job they both share. 

He does not want to call Maeve. 

The comfortable silence turns tense as the episode of Doctor Who plays in the background, and he’s still a little gunshy- she’s breathing, she’s okay. He feels creepy, but he lets his eyes close for a moment so he can hear the sound of her breath, to know it’s still there.

“Spencer,” she says, after she pauses the show, and he turns fully to face her, “I am okay.” She grabs his hand, and he takes a couple of seconds to process the touch as she places it over her own wrist. ‘I am fine. They fixed me up. You are allowed to stop worrying.”

Her tone is even, but intentional. She’s giving him permission, as if his presence is some guilt-driven notion that’s stopping him from getting what he really wants. It’s true, though, that he doesn’t always believe she’s okay. Notices how she’ll wince when she bends a certain way, and the scar by her eyebrow is healing well, but he still searches for it in her face.

He savors the feeling of the soft skin of her wrist under his touch, running his fingers over the junction of her hand and wrist with delicate affection. How she hasn’t figured out he’s in love with her is anyone’s guess. 

He wonders what it would feel like to kiss her there.

“I know I can call her,” he manages to say back, meeting her warm gaze in a maybe too honestly in love glance, “I’m where I want to be.”

“Before I got hurt, you picked out an outfit, you asked for advice on dating, Spencer. You did that. I just-“ she sighs, moving her hand from his grasp and pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration, “The piece of you that wanted that is obviously still there. You don’t have to spend a Friday night with me in your apartment because you feel guilty that I got shot.”

“You’re not here because I’m guilty-“

“Then why-“

“You’re in my apartment right now because I am in love with you, and if you’re out of my sight for more than twelve hours than it’s like I forget that you’re still alive. That you didn’t get yourself killed before I ever got the chance to actually tell you.”

He’s not yelling. Well, he’s kind of yelling. Talking loudly, anyway. Her eyes widened and he’s hyperaware of how close she already was, is. She smells like lilies and her, and it’s all so present. She could have died. She might have never heard it. 

She’s heard it now, he supposes. All the weeks of agonizing, notebooks he’s managed to fill in the last few weeks trying to figure out a way to say it to her that could charm her into loving him back- all gone. He’s told her, now. 

All the cards are in her hands.

Her doe eyes almost sparkle at him, her head tipped to the side in a fond, loving gesture, and he wants to kiss her, wants to feel her faded-lipstick pout against his mouth. He wants his I love you to turn into I can have this. 

“Spence,” her voice is a trembling, insecure thing. One half of his mind wants to rage at him- there’s no way she’s going to tell him she loves him back, that someone like her could ever want someone like him. But the other half, one that seems dangerously like hope- she took a bullet for him. She didn’t even think twice. “You’re in love with me?”

It’s like it’s not even him who replies. Some bitter thing takes over his voice and speaks for him. 

“How could I not be? It’s you.”

It’s then he notices, that oh, she’s tearing up. 

A beat passes, and Spencer sucks in a deep breath before rambling an absurd amount. 

“You don’t have to- We can still be friends, obviously, you know that. But we can, I just- I needed to tell you because when you were in that hospital bed and you’d never heard me say it, I just couldn’t live with you never knowing. But now you do, and you don’t feel the same, and that’s okay-“

He doesn’t get to keep talking, because she grabs him by the collar of his shirt and kisses him. She’s warm and beautiful and her hair brushes up against his cheek and there’s something in him that takes over when he moves to  cradle her head between his hands, both desperate to keep her in his grasp and savor the moments he gets to hold her. She tastes like cherry chapstick and something completely undefinable. 

When she pulls away after a moment that feels entirely too short, heavy lidded eyes meeting his in affection, and Spencer thinks he’d like to do that for the rest of his life. 

“I love you too,” she says back, and he commits it to memory, the sound of her so-sweet voice wrapping around the words he’s fantasized about hearing since the first time she smiled at his joke about philosophy. “I’ve loved you a really, really long time, Spence. I just thought I lost my chance, you know with- with everything. I never really thought I had one.”

He can’t even speak, really. He doesn’t think he can wrap his head around the fact that she felt like he wouldn’t like her back. 

It doesn’t feel like a concern, now, when he leans in to kiss her again. She smiles into him, and Spencer memorizes the feel of her waist encircled in his arms, when he realizes that this is the heart he is able to hold without limits. 

She loves me too, he thinks. She is safe, she is okay, and she loves me back. 

On the following Monday, when Morgan sees the two of them with linked hands before Hotch gets to the office, he doesn’t say anything. 

He does hand Emily 20 dollars, though. 

[margotw10bis]

The Place Before the Darkness.JJK TEASER

husband!Jungkook x female reader

Genre: angst; fluff; smut; attempt of a thriller

Words: ?

Synopsis: It was love at first sight with your husband but when you find a secret phone in Jungkook's office, everything shatters as you suspect him to have an affair. However, maybe he has deeper secrets...

Warnings: none for the teaser

4 Years Ago

You've decided to relax at the hotel while the others went scuba diving.The bar of the hotel is great, just like the rest of the facilities, especially to forget how awfully lonely you are while your friend is getting married.

Yet, the relaxing time you were expecting is fading away when a man takes the seat next to yours at the bar. Your breath hitches because damn! He looks good. You are not sure you’ve ever seen a man this handsome. He is tall and his black hair is shining. He looks casual with his Hawaiian shirt and his shorts.

You’re having a hard time not staring at him but what can you say? It’s not easy taking your eyes off of him. He is attractive, too attractive.

"No scuba diving?" He asks you

You are surprised — it’s an understatement — because how the hell does he know that?! But you can’t say anything when you meet his eyes. They are so black, it’s intimidating but there is a sparkle of playfulness in them. This man is a paradox: all seems mysterious and comfortable at the same time; cold and warm; distant and kind. However, a weird feeling embraces you, just like you’ve known him all your life. Is it… love at first sight? You’ve read about it, you’ve seen it in movies but experiencing it… Wow, it’s an all other level. 

"I saw you and your group of friends yesterday at the restaurant, and this morning, I spotted them heading to the boats" He explains — your shock must have been well visible 

"You have a great memory to remember so much about strangers" You joke 

“Selective memory in fact”  He corrects with a oh-so-charming smile and you literally feel your heart melt and your cheeks burn “And I’m particularly attentive to beautiful women"

This sentence could make you ill-at-ease, it’s such a playboy thing. But the way he is sipping on his fresh beer so casually and his eyes… So honest.

"Can I invite you for diner?" He asks and you have to pinch your arm to make sure you are not dreaming 

.𖥔 ݁ ˖

“Can I call you back?” You ask through the phone but actually don’t wait for any answer and just hang up

You were searching some documents for the assurance in your husband’s office when you found it. A phone. At first, you tried to look for some rational explanations of why your husband would hide a phone in his desk.

The latest text, from yesterday, was an address. A hotel address. It was an appointment for tomorrow. Your heart sunk as you went through the convo: over and over again, the same hotel room with different dates and hours. For four months. 

So this is it. Your husband is cheating on you. You can’t stop your crying because the pain in your chest is just unbearable. You thought that Jungkook was the love of your life when you married him three years ago. And even now, with your broken heart, you still believe he is. You haven’t thought about living without him, it can’t be possible. 

When you hear the front door and your husband asking if you’re home, your sobbing gets lourder and  you have to put your hand on your mouth to mutter it. The steps you know so well — just like you thought you knew your husband so well — are getting closer and closer. When he pushed the door, he didn’t think he would find you crying in his leather chair. The biggest tears he has seen since he knows you.

“What’s going on?" He hastily asks you, panicked that you might be hurt 

And you are indeed. You are feeling so much pain that you wonder how your heart hasn’t stop beating of how squeezed it has become. 

Once again, your husband frowns but only a second. Because his big does eyes widen at the sight of his secret device in your shaky hand. All his blood is drained from his face, making his skin look pale. He gulps but his throat feels as dry as a desert. 

“Y/N, I swear, it’s not what you think” He starts but his voice is already broken 

“So you don’t go to those rendezvous in that hotel?” You ask

Your voice has some hope in it, like you still think there is a tiny chance that your husband is not cheating on you. But a single glance at him and at his guilty face is enough to definitely break this hope.

[queensunshinee]

His favorite toy- Part 4 || Art Donaldson x reader

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Warnings: SMUT (p in v sex), our favorite toxic relationship is back.

Word Count: 6.1k

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3)

This one can stand on its own, but I recommend reading the rest :)

His favorite toy- Part 4:

"What are you doing here?" I tried to sound composed. My heart couldn't stop racing at a speed I never wanted it to beat again. A speed reserved for one person only. And no matter how many years passed or how out of place he would seem in my world, Art Donaldson entered my life like he was the boss. Like he was paying my salary. With exaggerated confidence and an aura that made me blush. A smile that made my lips tremble.

I was painfully aware that my mascara was smudged after a too-long day, and that I had taken my shirt out of my skirt after lunch. Painfully aware that I had taken off my shoes an hour ago because pacing around the room in heels made it hard to think. Painfully aware that he was seeing me in all my flaws now. Years after the last time we met, and he was just as smug.

"I was in the area, and Patrick mentioned something about you working around here..." he said, as if everything in that sentence made sense. As if the fact that I stayed in touch with Patrick made sense. I nodded, trying to somehow control this ridiculous situation. I'm not supposed to react this chaotically to Art Donaldson. I'm 28. I'm not a 19-year-old girl. I do morning meditations. I drink green smoothies and ginger shots. I'm a fucking queen. But I don't feel particularly royal when I remember the coffee stain on my shirt, or the half-eaten avocado sandwich I bought from the café downstairs. It was awful. Both the sandwich and the café. I’m pretty sure the regular barista hates me because once I corrected one of my orders. Ever since, he's been out to get me. It’s a nightmare. I've considered changing jobs more times than I'd like to admit because of it.

"That sounds... completely normal," I mumbled, and he chuckled in response. One of his legs found its natural place over the other, and his fingers played with one of his billion rings in a disturbingly nonchalant way. "Is a tennis player supposed to have that many rings?" I blurted out the first thing that came to mind, knowing how stupid it sounded. Hating myself a little for how stupid it sounded. "I don’t play with them, and they’re beautiful," he shrugged. "They’re ridiculous," I rolled my eyes, trying to recover from this topic of conversation. "Yours is ridiculous," he shot back playfully, looking directly at my ring. At the small diamond (Art probably thinks it’s too small- well, fuck him).

"Oh, this?" I asked, and now we were both looking at it. I liked it until about three seconds ago. Until he walked into the room and stared at it like it was filled with snake venom. It felt like it weighed as much as my entire body. It felt like it was burning my hand from the inside. My blood boiled beneath it, reminding me that all my plans just went to hell. A reminder that I was crazy to even try making plans. "It’s pretty, delicate," I could hear the mockery in his tone. No matter how many years passed, I would always recognize every nuance in his voice. Every rise and fall in octaves. Every unnecessary affectation. He smiled the way he did when he tried to get under my skin—five minutes hadn’t passed, and he’d already succeeded. How embarrassing. What a failure as a person. A failure as a woman. A failure to feminism. Sitting in my office with a coffee stain on my shirt, while my ex from college critiques my choices like some kind of fraudulent fortune-teller. Like God sent him to help me make some life-changing decision.

"Why are you here?" I asked again, trying to maintain control and not snap at him. After all, we hadn’t spoken in nearly a decade. What good would it do to lash out at him? What would it accomplish to tell him about the therapy sessions, about the years I didn’t believe anything good was coming my way at all? About the fact that because of him, I didn’t believe I could ever be anyone’s first choice. "Why did you stay in touch with Patrick?" he asked, and for a moment, it sounded like his tough mask cracked. Like his defenses crumbled and his heart was laid bare. Like we were 20 again, and he was holding my face, explaining how scared he was to let me go.

"He insisted," I shrugged. The day after that party, Tashi's accident happened. Some would call it karma, but I’d say it was just bad luck. Because even though she hurt me without even knowing my name, I never wanted her career to end before it even began. And everyone was sad that day—Patrick, because he felt guilty, Tashi, because her knee twisted in the air, and Art, because he lost a friend and the girl who forgave him for all his bullshit. Aka me. But he won what really mattered. He got Tashi. Patrick found me that day in the library, refusing to wallow in my own misery, and somehow, he managed to entwine his miserable life with mine. He managed to secure a spot on my couch from time to time. He managed to impress me with lame jokes about his pathetic life, or maybe about mine.

And life didn’t turn out the way I planned. I didn’t discover a cure for cancer or make it to space by age 25. My apartment was crappy. So fucking crappy. But there were funny moments, and I only occasionally followed Art’s career. I only followed his love life when his face and Tashi’s were plastered on billboards. That could never have been me. It would never have worked. It wasn’t meant to be, I’d tell myself every time I was filled with self-pity. Every time I worked a temporary job selling skincare products or transcribing lectures for students. Every time I felt lost. I knew he wouldn’t have settled for someone like me in the long run.

He and Patrick made up two years ago, which was ironic. Because what’s the point of maintaining my friendship with Patrick if not to have at least one person in my life who understands the pain of knowing Art Donaldson? Of knowing that once, he was a part of your life, and it felt amazing. Almost unreal. Almost spiritual. But they made up, and Patrick promised me he wouldn’t talk about me with the smug bastard sitting in front of me right now. He promised and didn’t keep it. Well, here’s someone who’s never eating pasta at the restaurant near my place on my dime ever again.

"He insisted?" Art looked amused, and I just shrugged again in response. I knew he wanted more details, but I wanted him to take a headfirst dive into a volcano. Desires are ridiculous. "He insisted," I repeated, and this time he laughed. Actually laughed. "It's like you two have a contract not to tell me anything. How am I supposed to work with that?" He spoke as if we’d been friends for years. As if there hadn’t been a rupture, a break, and devastation. As if I didn’t have the image of him leaving me at that party seared into my brain. As if my heart hadn’t shattered into pieces because of him more times than I could count.

"I want you to handle my money," he suddenly said. "Excuse me?" I raised an eyebrow, looking at him as if he'd lost a lobe of his brain. "You're a financial advisor, right? Be my financial advisor," he said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world, all while glancing at the pathetic office I was sitting in. "You don’t want me to be your financial advisor, Art," I almost snorted in disbelief. "You haven’t spoken to me in ten years, and now you know what I want?" he asked, allowing himself to raise an eyebrow in return. "This is a big firm; I can recommend someone who’d be happy to take you on," I tried to fake a smile. "I'll go to your boss and tell him I’m willing to let only you handle my account, and that you’re refusing. I’m sure he’d be thrilled. I Googled him—Albert looks like a guy who’d love to lose a wealthy client," and I saw that spark in his eyes. Challenging. Almost childish. The kind that said, 'Let’s see what you do. You’ll lose.'

"That’s a terrible idea," I declared. "Keeping in touch with Patrick and not me is a terrible idea. Managing my investments will give you some good money," he said, gesturing with his hands, and for the first time, I realized how big his hands were. "Are you bored with your life, Donaldson?" I asked, trying to figure out what I was dealing with here. "Come on, Peaches, you have to admit you missed me, at least a little." And for a change, his smile was genuine. He looked like every word I said could hurt him. "Like I miss my appendix," I rolled my eyes, and he laughed. "I’m looking forward to working with you." He suddenly stood up and extended his hand for a handshake, as if that wasn’t utterly ridiculous. "I’m looking forward to it like a deer looks forward to being eaten by a lion. It’s on my wish list," I said, and he just laughed again. A laugh that was too real. The kind that made tears gather in his eyes.

An hour after he left my dingy office, my heart was still racing at an unreasonable pace. The kind that made me wonder if there was a defibrillator in the building. I tried to remember if I shook his hand at the end of the meeting. I couldn’t. . . . As he left your office, Art felt like he does after a long tennis match. One that he won. A thought detached from reality, but he allowed himself those kinds of thoughts now. He was a new person. He believed in victories before they even happened. And seeing you after so many years in real life, not in blurry Facebook pictures, felt like a victory. You hadn’t changed much. The years had even given you a more sophisticated look—subtle yet full of curves. Your eyes still looked at him with that same spark. With a glimmer of something he could never quite put his finger on. But he wanted to conquer it. He wanted to win.

When Patrick and he reconnected, it was alongside the problems that only began in his relationship with Tashi. Alongside Lily’s birth, alongside the intrusive thoughts that had plagued him all his life, he wondered if it was a mistake. But Patrick was Patrick, and when he insisted on something, he got his way. And for Patrick, he and Art had to reconnect. So they did. Slowly, gradually. He wasn’t his best friend anymore, of course. But sometimes Art thought he was his only friend. Which was strange, because he was always surrounded by people. Tashi was supposed to be his best friend, but she never was. She made it clear more than once that it was a ridiculous notion.

One night, as he and Patrick were having beers at some sketchy bar, Patrick casually mentioned that you and he were good friends. Art looked at him as if he’d fallen from the moon. He wanted to punch him. He hadn’t expected that. It felt like someone had punched him in the chest and knocked all the air out of his lungs. Patrick got over Tashi and settled for you? You weren’t supposed to be a compromise. Art wouldn’t allow that. He’d go to war if he had to. He had no grounds for such a war, but you were too good to settle for Patrick. You were too good to settle for anyone, really.

He quickly realized that things between you and Patrick were platonic. Or at least that’s what the guy sitting across from him kept repeating, but Art wasn’t fully convinced. Everything was too mysterious. Patrick kept too much information to himself. He didn’t share anything with Art about your life, and the more Patrick kept things hidden, the more obsessed Art became.

And it wasn’t weird that he checked if you’d posted a new status on Facebook almost as often as he checked if his infant daughter needed anything. It wasn’t weird that he searched for you on Instagram. It wasn’t weird that he looked through the profiles of all 67 people you followed and hated most of them. Because you didn’t follow him, and millions of people did. You could have followed, and he wouldn’t have even noticed—allegedly.

"She got engaged," Patrick said one day, throwing it into the air as if he were talking about his grocery list. Art stared at him, blinking, trying to process the information. Who’s the person responsible for this? Who’s the person who took you away, and why do you think he deserves forever with you? What kind of thought is that—that someone else deserves forever with you? That someone gets to have a picnic in the park with you. To pick you up for dates. To share a house with you. There’s someone who’s going to be the father of your kids. Who picked out a ring for you. Who’s going to make sure your dreams come true. Art doesn’t know what your dreams are. But he doesn’t want to think about it.

"Is he a good guy?" Art knew that was what he was supposed to ask. That’s what social norms demanded. "I’ve sat with them a few times when they were together. He’s kind and funny, and I think he loves her," Patrick shrugged, as if that’s all it takes to be with you. "Well, I’m happy for her," Art took a gulp of whiskey, too big, letting the drink burn its way down his throat. Patrick looked at him like he didn’t believe him. His problem, Art thought. Let him believe whatever he wants.

That night, Art opened your Instagram while Tashi was asleep. There wasn’t a picture of a ring or a tag of some guy. Tashi got annoyed because of the phone light. Art apologized.

That was almost six months ago. Since then, his life had changed because he and Tashi decided to keep their relationship strictly professional. It was for both of their benefit, though he wasn’t entirely sure how much it benefited him. He was still learning how to function without her. He was still learning how to communicate effectively. He was still trying to bridge the dissonance that came with going home to an empty house, yet navigating press conferences as if he were happily married.

In two weeks, even that charade would end. And he wasn’t sure what he was even fighting for. Because they weren’t truly happy. And you were in his thoughts enough for it to count as emotional cheating if he were married. So he let Tashi go. He was much less broken than he had imagined he would be without her.

'I’m looking forward to working with you.' -Art- He couldn’t resist sending the message. Maybe ten at night was too late. Maybe you were already asleep. Maybe your fiancé was with you, trying to love you. Maybe Art was intruding.

He didn’t particularly care if he was. . . . "I’m going to kill you," I said into the phone, hearing Patrick's rolling laughter. "You're exaggerating—" he began, trying to save his ass. "We had one rule! Just one, Patrick!" I found myself pacing the bedroom while Alec worked in the living room. This was the day after the meeting with Art Donaldson. "He lives in New York and he’s divorced. I felt like a jerk not telling him where you work when he asked so nicely," Patrick’s voice sounded genuine. "He's not divorced," I rolled my eyes. I would know if Art were divorced. His and Tashi's faces are plastered all over this stinking city.

"They’re finalizing things in about a week and a half. There will be a press conference and everything. It’s going to be a big deal," he said, as if it were common knowledge. As if I should already know this. "Sorry I didn’t give you a heads-up. That wasn’t cool," he added, and I could hear him biting into something, probably an apple. "We’re supposed to be a team. You can’t prioritize Art Donaldson’s interests over mine. I fed you when you were half-homeless," I declared. "I still prioritize your interests, drama queen," he continued speaking lightly, as if I had no reason to feel like my world was crumbling. "How is this prioritizing my interests? I’m going to manage his money. I’m going to handle his investments, Patrick. I’m going to see his stupid face every time he wants, as part of my job. Because of you! This is your fault!" I found myself stopping for a moment in the room, almost stomping my foot in frustration. Years of self-work going down the drain.

"Everything okay, Bunny?" I heard Alec's voice from the living room. "Yeah, I’m just talking to Patrick," I replied, steadying my voice into something more composed and responsible. So he’d keep thinking I had my life together. "Tell him 'hi,'" Alec said, and I could only guess he’d put his headphones back on. "Well, hi," I rolled my eyes, returning to the conversation with the chief idiot. "I’m sorry," Patrick mumbled after a few seconds of silence, and I hung up, sprawling on the bed like a starfish. He didn’t sound sorry.

I sat down next to Alec on the couch, wearing just my bra and panties with an open button-down shirt over it. Sexy enough for any stranger peeking through the window. A teenage boy's wet dream. I’m on fire. He kept staring at his screen, ignoring my existence. I started placing small kisses along his neck, trying to set the mood. Trying to seal the deal. Trying not to think about the one-who-shall-not-be-named. Trying to be a good woman. Trying to conquer feminism with mediocre sex, just like Alec and I know how to deliver. "I really have to finish this, Bunny," he mumbled, shifting uncomfortably, making me sigh, lean back, and roll my eyes. "How long will it take?" I asked. "You’ll probably be asleep by then. Watch an episode of your favorite show instead," he said without looking at me. "Can we talk about the wedding?" I tried another angle. "If I don’t have time to make love to you, I definitely don’t have time to plan the wedding," he said, slipping those hideous—massive—headphones back on, ending the conversation. I kind of hated that he never said "fuck" or "have sex" or even used the word "sex" in general. He always treated it like I was Princess Diana. I am clearly not Princess Diana. Sometimes I wonder if he even wants to marry me at all. It’s been over six months since he proposed, and he’s been dodging setting a date since practically the same day. It’s very frustrating. I need to meditate.

"Bunny," he suddenly said, and I looked at him expectantly while he removed his headphones after I’d already started heading to the bedroom, "you have a stain on your shirt." He quickly put his headphones back on, eyes glued to the screen. At least the soup I had for lunch managed to fuck me today. . . . "You can't just show up here," I said as I tried to finish chewing the terrible sandwich I’d chosen today. I think it had mold. "If you had answered my messages, we could’ve scheduled something without me showing up at your office." Art looked good. So fucking good. It was frustrating. Today was the day I decided to skip the contacts and wear glasses. God hates me. But on the other hand, God was trying to help me—making sure Art Donaldson never gets attracted to me. God is on my side. I knew she was a feminist.

"What do you want?" I mumbled in surrender, knowing he wouldn’t leave until he said whatever he came to say so we could all move on with our lives. "To talk business," he smiled from ear to ear. "I'm eating right now, come back in half an hour," I replied, "or better yet, schedule a meeting like a rational human being." I continued pressing my point. "Better idea, let's go grab lunch and talk business over food." He looked at me like a dad who just told his little girl what her next hour is going to look like. "Sorry, I can't—" "Art Donaldson! When I got your email, I couldn't believe it," Albert burst into my office excitedly. Sure, let’s invite everyone. Apparently, there’s free cookies being handed out. All are welcome.

Art kept wearing his unbearable poster smile while Albert went on and on about tennis and how much he loved Rafael Nadal. Albert is clearly a man with vast general knowledge. "She treating you right?" Albert asked Art as if they were best friends, and now they both stared at me while all I wanted was to finish my food-poisoning sandwich in peace. "She just agreed to join me for lunch to talk about my money," Art said, and if looks could kill, Art Donaldson would’ve had a stroke right there and disappeared from our lives as suddenly as he appeared. But no, looks don’t kill, and feminist God apparently isn’t on my side anymore because now I’m sitting across from this asshole at a diner. I ordered a burger because I knew he’d never allow himself to eat one and would whine for hours about how he wants to eat a burger every day but can’t.

"I hope that's okay," I smiled one of the fakest smiles I could muster, blinking as I took a bite of the slab of meat in front of me. "Mmm, it's amazing," I sighed, watching for a moment as he stared at me, mouth half-open, eyes sparkling. "You're cruel," he stated after shaking his head, as if shaking off urges. He looked different with short hair. I always told him he needed to cut it because it kept falling into his eyes, but his curls had a youthful playfulness that was clearly missing now. He looked defeated.

"So, what did you want to talk about? What are you looking to invest in?" I tried to focus on the reason behind this ridiculous meal while Art stole a fry from my plate and picked at the sad grilled chicken he had ordered. Maybe I should stop making those satisfied sounds when I eat. "You," he said, biting his lip like a kid who let a curse word slip in front of his mom. Testing boundaries. Watching as I rolled my eyes. "I'm not going to let you waste my time, Donaldson," and we both knew I wasn’t just talking about business. Because honestly? Fuck business. Art didn’t seem like someone who was planning to disappear from my life anytime soon. He had shown up too determined for that to happen. "I have no intention of wasting your time, Peaches," he smiled, leaning back, relaxing a little after we established this basic ground rule. He continued stealing my food.

"So, tell me about him," he suddenly said after insisting I order an enormous ice cream that was supposed to be just for me. Every time his spoon got closer, mine heroically fought it off. "Who?" I asked, taking a spoonful of ice cream and leaving it in my mouth for a few seconds. His gaze immediately locked on my ring. "We're not that kind of friends, Donaldson," I said, watching as he inched his spoon toward my ice cream, and I quickly blocked him. No chance. "So what kind of friends are we?" he asked, smiling, looking half at me and half at our spoons, still battling each other. "I don't know," I sighed a little, finally lowering my spoon in defeat. There’s no point in fighting. It’s truly a lost cause.

The more Art Donaldson entered my life, the more Alec distanced himself from it. Art did it in a quiet way, almost eerily so. It started with deep conversations about financial investments he wanted to make. About charity events he wanted to be part of. A foundation he wanted to establish. He talked about his money as if it made sense to be this rich at his age. As if he and I were on the same level in terms of lifestyle. He never once acted condescending about it, even though I expected him to. Even though I had prepared arguments in advance. He never once asked why I didn’t continue in academia or why I gave up on medicine. He didn’t poke at that wound. Even though he could have. Even though it would’ve been easy.

It continued with stupid messages in the middle of the day about how he was hungry, tired, or wanted to go home. Messages about seeing a guy dressed as a bear in the middle of the street. Fucking New York. He’d ask questions about my day. Ask what I ate. If I ate. If I was drinking enough water. Never anything too deep. Never out of nosy curiosity. If I forgot who he was, I might’ve thought he cared about me. I know, it’s unbelievable.

One time, he called me at seven in the evening, talking such nonsense that I wondered if he was drunk. I wondered out loud, of course, because I’m not 19, and I’m not afraid to tell Art Donaldson what I think. He wasn’t drunk. He made dinner and decided to call. He said it like it was the most natural thing in the world. Said it, and then went on about his day. About Lily. About how she was adjusting to splitting her time between his place and Tashi’s. He talked about Patrick and told me what he was cooking. It was domestic. Like I was a part of his life. Weird.

Alec and I were in the middle of a fight that made me wonder if I was mentally strong enough not to throw the vase that was sitting on the dresser. Not at him. I’m not violent. On the floor, to make a point. “Do you even want to marry me?” I suddenly asked. Because at that point, I no longer knew what was happening. I don’t like not knowing what’s happening. “Of course I wa-” “To who the hell is it obvious? Do you know how embarrassing it is when people ask me about a wedding date almost a year later, and I change the subject?!” I cut him off. “Every time I try to bring it up, you’d rather talk about light fixtures or that time we randomly had an hour-long conversation about types of doors.” I reminded him of some of the truly bizarre moments we’ve had recently. “We do need to replace the door.” I shot him a look that should’ve made it clear that if he kept going with that sentence, I was breaking the vase on the floor.

“Why don’t you want to fuck me anymore?” I suddenly asked. Almost defeated after too much yelling. “What? Bunny-” he blushed. The question was too brutal for him. Too raw for his delicate soul, which couldn’t handle talking about sex. “I can count on one hand how many times we’ve fucked since you proposed,” I said it as bluntly as I could, enjoying his discomfort. “We don’t have to make love every day,” he mumbled. Last time I checked, to make love, there has to be love. I threw the vase. Alec left the house. . . . ‘You’re not at work.’ – A –

‘How is it that we’re back to you not answering me?’ – A –

‘Did you secretly get married over the weekend?’ – A –

‘Seriously, get back to me. It’s about the charity event.’ – A –

The bitter truth was that I was busy wallowing in the current failure of my life- Alec. I binge-watched all the seasons of The O.C. in three days and ate more ice cream than should be legal. But I didn’t feel the pain in my bones the way you’re supposed to when ending what was supposed to be the relationship. I’d once hurt more over losing someone who loved me less.

‘Are you okay? You’ve got our mutual friend worried.’ – P – He talked about Art like he was a spy. ‘Hey, could you stop being an idiot for a second and just answer to say you’re alive?’ – P –

‘I’m calling the fire department to check your apartment.’ – P –

‘This is concerning.’ – P –

‘I’ll call your mom. She’d love to hear from me after that time I burped in her face.’ – P –

‘I broke up with Alec.’ – (Y/N)–

‘You’re not going to die alone.’ – P –

‘I know you think you will, but you won’t.’ – P –

‘You can’t know that.’ – (Y/N) –

‘You’re an idiot.’ – P –

‘Are you okay?’ – P –

‘I mean, obviously you’re not okay, but... are you okay?’ – P –

‘I’m okay.’ –(Y/N)–

When I walked into the hall where Art Donaldson’s charity event for kids with muscular dystrophy, was being held, eyes didn’t turn toward me like they do in the movies. Everyone was too busy with their conversations and stroking each other’s egos. From the side, it almost looked homoerotic—the gentle touches on shoulders and the occasional pats. Almost sexy. Maybe I was seeing sex in things that weren’t sexy because my ex refused to touch me with more resolve than an ant carrying food that weighed more than its body. “You made it,” Art’s voice came from behind me. “You’re sharp,” I shot back as I turned to him, taking one of the champagne glasses he offered. “Is Patrick here too?” I asked. “No, he couldn’t come. He signed up for a Challenger in Malibu,” he replied, his eyes unapologetically scanning me. I felt completely exposed under his penetrating gaze. “So random,” I mumbled. Art’s hand gently pulled me by the waist, bringing me close to him while keeping his hand exactly where it was. I almost let confusion show on my face, but he introduced me to the man who had come over to talk to him, never taking his eyes—or his hand—off me. Not during the next conversation, or the next one, either. He presented us as a strange package deal. If someone wanted to talk to him, they had to talk to me too. Maybe he hoped it would drive people away. It didn’t. "Want to step outside for some air?" he whispered in my ear. After spending most of the evening standing so close to each other, it felt strange to pull away now that no one else was around. "Sure, why not." I shrugged, acting like it wasn’t a big deal. Before stepping out, we each grabbed a glass of wine. "You raised a lot of money," I remarked, trying to break the ice. "You disappeared on me," he shot back, not bothering with small talk. "I’ve been busy." I shrugged again. "Where’s your ring?" he asked. "You’re obsessed with my hands, Donaldson," I said, unsure how to respond to this level of bluntness after being in a relationship with someone who was too scared to talk to me for years. "It’s not relevant anymore," I added, as his gaze didn’t allow me to dodge the question. "Good, it was ugly," he stated, stopping in his tracks, making me stop too and turn to look at him, raising an eyebrow. His expression was challenging again, with that playful spark, inviting a debate. "It wasn’t ugly," I rolled my eyes. "It was pathetic, Peaches. You know you deserve better," he declared, leaving no room for argument.

And somehow, he was so close. Close enough that his breath, smelling of mint gum and wine, blended with mine. "I’m not looking for a rebound," I murmured. "Neither am I," his usual smug smile was gone. There was no trace of it. He looked hazy. Almost captive. "What are you looking for?" I dared to ask. "You," he replied. It was a good answer.

After an excruciatingly long hour and twenty minutes, during which I had two more glasses of wine, and Art spoke into the microphone—stopping me from downing a third—we arrived at his house. It looked a bit like a modern palace. "How is it that you live here?" I mused aloud, and his mouth found my neck as he chuckled. "What, this old thing?" he mumbled, his kisses as sharp as his words. "Don’t leave marks, Donaldson. We’re adults," I managed to say as I kicked off my heels, and he unzipped my dress.

"I want to do this from the moment you walked into the room today. Fuck, you’re so hot," he growled. It was throaty and masculine, almost animalistic. His eyes scanned me like a smoke detector picking up a cigarette. Within seconds, I found myself on the most comfortable couch I had ever been on. His lips traveled over me as if he was painting a map, as if he remembered all the sensitive points on my body. "I missed her," he said, giving a small bite to my right nipple, glancing at my face as I let out a moan. "her too," he added, moving to the left one. "Art, I need you." I tried to make it clear to him that I couldn't handle the teasing right now. That he should save it for another time. For someone else. For something else. I need him inside me.

"Peaches, have some patien—" he started, continuing to place deadly kisses on various areas of my body. "Art, just fuck me. Okay?" I almost pleaded, my voice lower than usual, filled with an inexplicable need. He looked at me for half a minute and nodded. "Okay baby, I got you," he said. And within seconds, his boxers were on the floor, and my panties disappeared too. He was inside me as if this was his home, as if he belonged there. "Fuck. Art. Thank you, there," I felt stupid, but I couldn't control it. I needed him so badly. I needed someone to fill the empty space. That Art Donaldson would fill the empty space.

He moved at a chaotic pace, almost as if he was trying to prove he could give me exactly what I wanted. What I needed. And he was right. I came after a few minutes, during which his cock filled me perfectly, and his lips found mine and refused to let go. He wrapped me from every direction and came right after I did.

"It's like we're teenagers," I muttered, and he laughed. "I usually last longer," he stated, not getting up, his body weight feeling almost comfortable on top of me. It was almost nice to breathe heavily. "So do I," I retorted. His hand drew little shapes on my shoulder. "Let's go to sleep," he decided, standing up slowly, reaching out his hand and pulling me toward him. Not forgetting to give me another kiss on the lips, a small one. As if it had happened a million times before. As if it were a routine.

"Your bed should be illegal, Donaldson," I said after he tossed a soft T-shirt he had in his closet over me. He lay down beside me, laughing. "I can't believe you're here. I was afraid it wouldn't happen," he said, with a seriousness that felt profound. "How long have you been thinking about this?" I tried to sound amused. "Since the moment I stepped into your office," his honesty was both terrifying and comforting. No one had talked to me so openly in a while. "probably before that" he added. "You can't waste my time, Art," I replied, looking up to catch his gaze. . . . Art took a moment to nod. He already had a ring for you. Even before you broke up with that idiot, he had bought the ring. He didn't know where life would lead you. He just knew he was going to spend every free moment proving to you that he loved you enough not to waste your time. Not when you were his favorite person.

How are we doing guys?!?!?!?! Can't wait to hear from you. That's my chance to remind y'all that English is not my first language and I might have some grammar issues. love you all, hope it was a good addition to the story <3

taglist: @lalalandofive @wild-rose-35 @theynothem @angelism13

[dreamwritesimagines]

The Eye of the Hurricane [4] - Spark

A.N: Here’s the new chapter my loves! ❤️ I hope you’ll like it, and please don’t forget to tell me what you think, thank you! ❤️

Summary: A quiet night on the rooftop holds new promises.

Word Count: 3500

Pairing: MobBoss!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Violence, death, guns, crime, blood, explicit language. This is an AU, friendly reminder that I don’t condone any of the actions depicted on this story and please read with care.

Series Masterlist

“I’m not saying my best friend in the entire world betrayed me, but I’m kind of tempted to change her name into Brutus in my contacts.”

“Just because she cancelled on this dinner you mentioned?”

“It’s a tradition at this point,” you said, leaning back on the couch. “Us and the Barnes family get together every two months, we’ve started it way before my mom passed away. I get that it’s the bachelorette party of her friend’s sister, but still!”

Dr. Cooper smiled calmly.

“Are you nervous because Bucky is going to be there?”

Your head shot up and you forced a nonchalant laugh.

“Bucky doesn’t make me nervous,” you said, the words coming out of your mouth in a rush and she raised her brows.

“Doesn’t he?”

“He annoys me,” you pointed out. “There’s a difference.”

“I can see that,” she said. “And why does he annoy you?”

Your eyes snapped up at hers and you shifted your weight on the couch.

“We have history.”

She hummed. “What kind of history?”

You nibbled on your lip, your stomach doing a flip at the memory but you pushed it to the back of your mind, rolling your shoulders back.

“Let’s change the subject.”

She thought for a moment, then put aside her notebook to with a sigh.

“Y/N,” she said. “We’ve been having these therapy sessions for three months now, am I correct?”

“Yes,” you said. “Sarah Wilson recommended you, she’s a good friend of mine.”

“And you were seeing Dr. Phillips before?”

“No offense to Dr. Phillips but I don’t think we were a good match.”

She nodded.

“That can happen,” she said. “But I just need to make sure you understand that if these therapy sessions are going to work, you will have to step out of your comfort zone sometimes.”

“Oh, therapy isn’t in my comfort zone,” you said with a wave of your hand. “You’d think it would be, after years and years of experience but…”

“I’m aware this is not what you want to hear but for us to make progress, you will have to be open with me,” she said. “Instead of changing the subject all the time.”

You smiled. “I don’t think me being completely open with you is in your best interest.”

“Why not?”

“Just a hunch,” you stated, your voice completely flat and she hummed.

“How about this?” she said. “Perhaps you could just try sharing something small with me. I’m not saying you have to share every single thing if you’re not comfortable with it, but…maybe something that happened recently and how you reacted to it?”

For some reason, “Someone tried to shoot me a week ago” didn’t feel like it was a great conversation starter so you leaned back, looking up at the ceiling to come up with something.

“I’ve recently found myself in sort of an… unideal situation,” you ended up saying and she nodded her head.

“That’s a wonderful start,” she said. “Can you elaborate?”

“Someone acted very rude towards me the other night when I was having dinner with a friend from college,” you said. “And I was annoyed at how inconsiderate it was to pull that shit when I was in the middle of something. Like what, you couldn’t wait an hour or so to do this on my way back home?”

“How did you react when it happened?”

“I didn’t get to react much because Bucky placed himself in that situation as well.”

“He was there?”

“Passing by,” you spat, “Anyway, he got involved and the situation was resolved pretty fast.”

“In disagreements like these,” she said. “It’s incredibly important that we make our stance and boundaries clear.”

You pursed your lips. “I don’t disagree.”

“So this inconsiderate person you speak of, would you say they know how you feel about the issue?”

You repressed a smile, then leaned back, crossing your legs.

“I think so,” you said. “I expressed very clearly how I felt about the issue and now, well…I’m very certain that they won’t do it again.”

                                                *

Normally you didn’t mind these dinners mainly because you and Becca would have a lot of fun once the dinner was over. George and Winnifred had always been nice to you and Winnifred had more than once said you were family, seeing that you and Becca were inseparable even when you were little.

And you were hoping Bucky would be busy the whole night so you wouldn’t have to spend the night delivering snarks back and forth.

Ian sipped his wine while you texted Becca under the table, complaining about how she should have been there for the hundredth time since the morning before you lifted your glances from the phone.

“Becca gives her regards, everyone.”

“Oh thank you sweetheart,” your father said. “Will she not be joining us then?”

“There’s apparently her friend’s bachelorette party?” Winnifred asked, turning to you as if she wanted to be sure and you nodded.

“Her friend’s sister’s bachelorette,” you said helpfully and George smiled slightly.

“And when will we see your bachelorette, sweetheart?”

“George!”

“Not soon I hope,” your father said with a chuckle and you waved a hand in the air.

“Definitely not soon,” you said and Ian played with his fork.

“I don’t know,” he said with a scoff. “You keep dating civilians, one of them will ask you to marry them sooner or later.”

Your head snapped up and a silence fell upon the table. George and Winnifred exchanged glances and your father raised his brows.

“Y/N?”

You narrowed your eyes. “Ian doesn’t know what he’s talking about as always.”

“Oh is that right?”

“Our Y/N is a very beautiful girl,” Winnifred said as if trying to de-escalate the situation. “Civilian or not, I’m not surprised many people are interested.”

You offered her a thankful smile and turned to your father.

“I’m not dating civilians,” you assured him. “Or anyone right now.”

“But you know the rules,” your father said. “Any civilian you decide to date has to go through the background check.”

“With good reason,” George pointed out before taking his fork to his mouth and you hummed.

“Yeah yeah, I remember the whole speech.”

“Bucky and Becca got that speech as well.”

“They apparently needed it,” Winnifred said. “I mean do you remember Bucky’s ex girlfriend? Dot?”

That familiar bitterness of jealousy churned your stomach and you pursed your lips, then reached out for your wine glass.

“Were you here around that time sweetheart?” George asked you. “Or were you still away for college?”

The music was booming through the club as you walked back to the bar from the bathroom with Becca, and you looked around for your date as Becca motioned at the bartender, then turned her head when Steve touched her shoulder.

“Hi there.”

“Hey!” Becca kissed him on the cheek and you smiled at him.

“Hi Steve,” you said, taking your cocktail from the bartender. “Um, did you see my date anywhere?”

Steve shot you an apologetic smile. “I told him not to do it.”

Becca sucked on the straw of the cocktail, raising her brows and you frowned.

“What?”

“Bucky.”

Your jaw clenched and you gritted your teeth, putting your drink down.

“Where is he?”

“I just want to remind you that Sam has just bought this club, so he’d be pretty angry if you shot my brother tonight.” Becca pointed out, leaning sideways to Steve’s arm and Steve nodded his head.

“Wouldn’t look good for the club.”

“Where is he, Steve?”

Steve pointed upstairs. “VIP.”

You whirled around on your heels and stomped your way up the cantilever stairs, anger rushing through you. You made your way past his and Sam’s bodyguards by the door, then slammed the door open to step inside. Bucky was talking to Sam as you walked in while a gorgeous girl resting her head on his shoulder and Sam hissed in a breath.

“Uh oh,” he said. “Told you not to do it.”

“Hi Sam.”

“Hi Y/N.”

The girl lifted her head from Bucky’s shoulder as Bucky sat up straighter, and had the nerve to smile at you.

“Hi Charm.”

“Where is my date, Bucky?”

“I think he said he had something to do,” Bucky said, stealing a look at Sam. “Something urgent, right Sam? That’s what we heard.”

“Oh you’re not dragging me into this.”

“I’m sorry, who is this?” the girl asked and Bucky cleared his throat, then motioned between you and her.

“Y/N, this is Dot; my girlfriend.”

Your eyes snapped up to his, that familiar bitterness climbing up your throat but you managed to keep your expression flat.

“Dot, this is Y/N. She’s uh…she’s Becca’s best friend.”

Sam tilted his head to shoot Bucky a look of disbelief.

“You’ve just intimidated Becca’s best friend’s date into leaving the club?” Dot asked, confusion laced in her tone and Sam cleared his throat.

“They grew up together,” he explained to her. “Bucky tends to get overprotective of Y/N, kind of an old habit there.”

 Dot pressed a hand on her chest.

“Aw that’s sweet!” she said. “So she’s like a sister to you, Bucky?”

Sam raised his brows as if trying to keep a straight face, then he shook his head slightly while you glared at Bucky.

“Well—” Bucky started but you cut him off.

“What did you say to him?”

“Nothing,” he said with a shrug of his shoulders. “Just a warning. Don’t blame me if you keep dating people who are easily intimidated.”

“Who I date is none of your business.”

“You are Becca’s best friend so it makes it my business—also, you call that dancing?” he asked you. “He was feeling you up, he should be glad he walked out of here with his junk still attached to his body.”

You ran a hand over your face, then turned to Dot.

“Listen, I don’t even know you but you seem nice enough,” you said. “You probably deserve better than an asshole who thinks his dick is made of gold. You could do much better.”

With that, you walked out of the room and slammed the door behind you.

“No, they got together after I returned to the city,” you said. “Like a month after my graduation. I was here, she was pretty nice.”

“I didn’t like her,” Winnifred said and you let out a small laugh.

“And when was the last time you liked anyone he or Becca brought home?”

“When was the last time either of them brought someone I could like?” Winnifred asked back and you held up your hands with a grin, gesturing surrender.

“Daddy is the same,” you said. “But don’t worry, just in case things get serious with a partner, me and Becca came up with a great plan years ago.”

“What is it?”

“We’ll get everyone drunk,” you pointed out, coaxing chuckles out of them. “Should make things easier, at least for the first dinner.”

                                              *

 After dinner, you had excused yourself to go up to the swimming pool on the rooftop, so that you could enjoy the night. After their weekend house, this one was the one you liked the most among Barnes residences; it had such a lovely view of the night sky. You sipped your wine and leaned back on the lounge chair, heaving a sigh and keeping your eyes on the stars.

Becca was still partying with her friends so you were just going to enjoy some peace and quiet until it was time to go home. You loved spending time with George and Winnifred, that wasn’t the problem, but this evening you really weren’t in the mood for Ian’s bullshit. You knew very well that he knew about your date with Ethan, and though he hadn’t told your father yet, you were sure it wasn’t from the goodness in his heart.

Not that he or your father had anything to worry about. You had made sure that Ethan got a background check as your father wanted with all the civilians you dated, back at college and right before you decided to meet again two weeks back, you had done the same. It was safe, whether they approved him or not.

The sound of the door opening made you turn your head and as soon as your eyes fell upon Bucky stepping to the roof, you let out a groan.

“I thought you were busy.”

“I was,” he said, approaching you with a glass of whiskey in his hand before he sat down on the lounge chair beside yours and you stole a look at him.

“You missed dinner.”

“Mm hm. Sorry about that.”

“You never miss dinner.”

“Yeah well, wasn’t exactly my choice,” he said, making you turn a little so that you can look at him better.

“Why?”

“Overtime at the office,” he joked and you tilted your head.

“Trouble?”

“Nothing we can’t handle.”

“Does my father know?”

“He does,” he said as your phone vibrated on the small table beside you, making you check the screen.

From: Ethan

My coworkers dragged me to this café and I think you’d like it.

You smiled slightly and typed back your reply.

Well, the only way to be sure is if you invite me there the next time.

It didn’t even take him five seconds to reply back;

Lunch tomorrow?

You typed in a “Yes” and sent it, then turned the phone in your hand while Bucky lit a cigarette.

“Is that the civilian?”

“Ugh, not you too!” you whined with a grimace. “Everyone already gave me the third degree at dinner, you’d think I’m going to elope at any time.”

He shot you a light hearted glare. “They’re just worried about you sweetheart.”

“Don’t call me that—and also, you’ve dated one hundred civilians, I don’t see anyone giving you speeches,” you grumbled. “It’s so hypocritical, not to mention medieval.”

Bucky chuckled, then sipped his drink.

“Well…”

“I don’t know why everyone keeps acting like the possibility of me ending up with a civilian would be a disaster.”

“Because it would be.”

“No, you know what the disaster would be?” you asked him. “Me ending up with someone from the business.”

“Oh come on—”

“Pop out a few babies, pretend I don’t know about his mistresses and go to pilates for the rest of my life,” you mused. “Dream life right there.”

“It doesn’t have to be like that and you know that,” Bucky said. “Only an idiot would cheat on you, and in case it has escaped your notice, idiots don’t live long in this line of work.”

You suppressed a smile threatening to warm your face, and instead rolled your eyes at him.

“Not worth the effort,” you said as you downed your wine, then held out your glass in his direction. The corners of his mouth twitched upwards but he still grabbed the wine bottle on the floor to fill your glass.

“Thank you.”

“As the princess wishes,” he said and you heaved a sigh, then leaned back again to look up at the sky.

“What’s going on with the business?” you asked. “Are you and Stark still on bad terms?”

“We’re playing nice,” he said with a shrug of his shoulders. “Common interests for once.”

“I’ll pop the champagne,” you deadpanned. “He looks pretty busy; he and my father have a meeting next week as well.”

“Will Ian be there?”

You heaved a sigh. “I’d assume so.”

Bucky ran a hand over his face, then turned to you.

“Your father is not serious, is he?” he asked you. “He’s not actually going to name Ian as his successor?”

That familiar bitter taste burned your mouth but you pursed your lips together, then slipped a little on the lounge chair.

“Why are you asking me?” you asked. “Go ask him that.”

“I’m not going to do business with Ian, Charm.” Bucky told you. “If your father retires and names him the successor, that’s it.”

Your jaw dropped as you gawked at him.

“You cannot be serious,” you said. “Just because you don’t like him—”

“It’s not just that,” Bucky said. “Stark and I hate each other’s guts, but I still know he’s not going to break the truce or stab me in the back. Ian, on the other hand…”

“Ian is insufferable,” you said. “Trust me I’d know, I live with the guy. But breaking the truce is a death sentence, and he’s not an idiot.”

“I don’t trust him,” Bucky said. “Neither does Steve, or Sam.”

You massaged your temples with your fingertips. “Don’t put me in a position where I have to speak well of Ian.”

“You couldn't speak well of him if you tried,” he insisted before he took a sip of his whiskey. “Listen, I get why your father made the decision he made after your mother, but that was then. You can’t tell me you’re okay with this.”

You bit inside your cheek, swirling the wine in your glass.

“He promised it to me, Bucky,” you said through your teeth, your gaze fixed on your wine. “All those years ago. I was playing with dolls in the car and and my father pointed outside and told me that part of the city would belong to me when I grew up. So no, of course I’m not okay with the possibility of Ian being the successor.”

“Then take over.”

A small laugh climbed up your throat and you nodded at his whiskey glass. “How many of those have you had?”

“You know me better than that, I’m completely sober,” he said. “Why wouldn’t you take over?”

“Don’t you remember what went down in Massachusetts years ago?” you asked. “That family fight for the crown? They almost brought the whole city down with them, alliances got fucked, so many people died...”

“That was very different, there was no truce there.”

You clicked your tongue. “Still. It would devastate my father if I started a war in the family.”

“Ian is going to burn your father’s empire down,” Bucky told you, his piercing blue eyes locked in yours, making your heart skip a beat. “You think it won’t devastate him to watch that? If you want to be the next leader—”

“Of course I want it,” you cut him off, your whole body tense. “What I want changes nothing here.”

“Charm…”

“My father made sure I stayed out of the business since my mom,” you said. “Which was good strategy on his part, I admit. Ian on the other hand has many friends in the business and they’re completely loyal to him. He would not just hand that position to me, not when he thinks my father will name him as the successor instead of me.”

“He has his men, so what?” he asked you. “Compared to the support you would have if you wanted the crown? You have more allies than Ian.”

You blinked a couple of times, a small glimmer of hope warming your chest before you cleared your throat.

“There’s the code,” you muttered. “It’s family business. No one outside the family can get involved in the decision of who the next leader should be.”

A small smile pulled at his lips and for the thousandth time you couldn’t help but notice how handsome he was, but then you frowned down at your wine glass and put it on the small table, rolling your shoulders back.

Yeah. Enough wine for the night.

“But a powerful ally in the family would make everything much easier, wouldn’t it?” he asked and you scoffed a laugh.

“My hypothetical rise to power?” you asked. “Obviously. But either way, it’d be an uphill battle. What with the city and family and everything…”

“It doesn’t have to be,” he said without pulling his gaze off you and you felt your cheeks burn under his intense stare, but managed to keep your expression completely nonchalant.

“No?”

“Not at all.”

“And how’s that?”

Bucky swallowed thickly and downed his whiskey in one go before straightening his back. If you didn’t know any better, you would’ve thought he was nervous but of course that was nonsense; Bucky was too arrogant to be nervous.

“Come on,” you taunted him. “Humor me, golden heir.”

“Well,” he said after a pause, turning his empty glass in his hand. “You have a point. You would have to get most of Ian’s supporters within the family, you would have to persuade your father, and considering Ian will not want to hand you the crown, that whole process would not go very peacefully. Me, Steve and Sam already support you, but the rest of the families could take some time and effort to convince. I guess some bloodshed in the city would be inevitable as well, it’d be a huge change, considering your father’s influence and power…”

You hummed. “Or?”

A smile curled his lips upwards and he took a deep breath.

“Or,” he said. “You could marry me.”

Chapter 5

[into-the-feniverse]

Finished reading Trigun/TriMax a couple days ago and have been feverishly trying to piece together a timeline, so here’s the result of that ✨

EDIT: as of 3/13/24 this has been UPDATED

For a more detailed timeline (with vol/ch marks): google sheet

Full res of the graphic (& other resources): bit.l/trigunresources

Notes & rest of the timeline under the cut!

Edits as of 3/13/24

The detailed spreadsheet is organized and color coded! If you'd like a more concise breakdown of events/see some of my reasoning behind certain time stamps feel free to skim through that

Changed where in the timeline the Maylene and Wolfwood events happened (originally where I had placed them would have made Maylene like 6 when she and Wolfwood reunited which is NOT correct)

moved where in the timeline Knives started collecting the GungHo Guns (at latest he started in 0090 (20 years before 0110) since it's noted that Monev has been training in a cellar for the past 20 years

Moved where Knives initially tracked down Conrad (felt like it needed to happen at least a decade before July)

Changed up some of the months (personally, I don't think the Ark launched in December, since that'd put Milly and Meryl's arrival to the colony in July, which wouldn't make sense. So I placed the ark launch in October which of course offset some of the other month stand ins)

Added an earth year for when Knives and Vash are born. The explanation is I think at minimum there was at least a 2 year period between them and Tesla (since Rem was around for that whole process). I do think it was more than that, but that’s the earliest possible year I think it could have happened. Personally I’m more in the camp of 5-10 years, but def not 50 like in tristamp

Old Notes:

If you see any typos or phrase inconsistencies: no you don’t 💕 (😭)

Blue text can be completely ignored, that’s just kinda my personal preference/wild guesstimating of when “exactly” those events happened

Blue lines can also be ignored, they’re also just rough guesstimates on where exactly in the timeline these could have happened

The distance of the lines from one another doesn’t really mean anything, I started trying to follow a system to notate when things happened really close together but it was//// not consistently done ngl

Fun fact: by the time Wolfwood leaves the orphanage Meryl is 18! And she was 14 at the time of July’s destruction

Additional fun fact: Brad is 17 when he and sensei meet up with Vash in the Factioned city (which I think is absolutely RIDICULOUS), and we know this because he was 4 the one/last time he had met Vash and it’s been 13 years since

It was noted by Karen, one of Meryl’s coworkers, that she and Milly had been on assignment with Vash for about 4 months. (Might be that they were out searching for him during that time as well, but I’m choosing to interpret it as they were actually with him for that amount of time)

I’m also working on a 98 timeline for comparison (but more like just sequence of events cause I don’t think I have the patience to sift through the lore quite as much… mainly making it just to clarify how the anime delineates from the manga)

I am//::: feeling v unhinged after this and feel like it could be improved/i need to do a more thorough read, but I’m calling it quits for now before I actually go insane (but hopefully some people will find it somewhat helpful!)

Also: if anybody has any notes to add or clarifications/corrections I would be more than happy to hear them 👂

[ladykailitha]

Well Met By Moonlight Part 16

We are really getting down the end here. I think I have two or three more chapters to go and then it's complete. There's a lot that happens at the end so don't know how long it will take but it's looking like chapter twenty will be the last.

So thank you to everyone who's stuck it out this long. I know there aren't many anymore but I love each and every one of you who did.

We get more clues and Wayne runs afoul an ex.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15

~

Nancy chewed her lip as she flipped through the pages of the Hawkins Post trying to find anything that would spark her memory, but she was coming up empty. She was sure that there had been something that happened before Steve’s parents died.

“You know...” Wayne said gruffly after about an hour of them researching manticores, “you could just ask me. I’ve been around this town since it’s inception. There is very little I don’t remember.”

She let out a frustrated huff. “I just don’t remember when it was so I can’t even do that. It’s just this vague memory of there being an uproar in the pack. Which considering the upheaval this pack has had in the last twenty years, that really doesn’t narrow it down at all.”

Wayne clasped his hands over his mouth and looked at her for a moment. “You’re thinking too broadly.”

Nancy looked down at the newspaper in front of her with a frown and then back up at him.

“What do you mean?”

He laid his fists on the book in front of him and leaned forward toward her. “You’re what seventeen-eighteen?” She nodded. “It’s something you saw. Which means that it can’t be something longer than fifteen years ago as you’d be too little. But most likely it was probably closer to twelve or thirteen years ago as that’s when your core memories form. So what happened in the pack a dozen or so years ago?”

Nancy’s eyebrows furrowed deeper as she cast her mind back. She jumped up out of her chair and ran over to the side. She started scanning the correct year and pulled out another folio. She hurried back to the table where she began flipping through the pages like a woman on a mission.

She cried, “Eureka!” and turned it around so Eddie and Wayne could see.

May 23rd 1975

The Great Chicago Pack Has Announced the Banishment of One Dr. Alexei Oborin.

The former scientist had claimed that the five teenagers he found in the woods near the pack’s compound were hunters and that they attacked him first. However when other members of the pack arrived there were no signs of a struggle, only the mangled corpses of the three boys and two girls.

...

The article went on further to explain that the five teenagers who were traveling cross country were merely high school students who had wandered too close to the pack compound.

“This!” she cried when she was sure they had read enough. “It really spooked Hopper because it sounded like what had happened here, with Steve’s mom.”

Wayne nodded and looked up at Eddie who nodded too. He slid it back over to her.

“I remember that,” Wayne said, gruffly. “His mate swore up and down that Alexei was too gentle and childlike to have committed such things and that the kids must have goaded him into it.”

“What happened to the mate?” Eddie asked, jumping off the table and landed deftly on his feet, soft as a kitten. “The article didn’t say.”

Wayne shook his head. “It was never said, but most mates will willingly leave the pack to travel with the Banished One.”

“Banishment is such a big deal,” Nancy said, tapping her fingers on the table, the clack clack on her nails hitting the wood loud in the now quiet space. “It is reversible but only an alpha can do it.”

“It is,” Wayne agreed, “and it’s a shame that Steve had even threaten it to get the older members of your pack to behave.”

Nancy opened her mouth to argue but Eddie scoffed cutting her off without a word.

“You purebreds are all the same,” he muttered darkly. “Vampire, werewolf doesn’t matter. You can’t see the worth of anyone bitten. So sure that you are better than them. Steve’s half and as far as your pack is concerned it’s the wrong half. But he’s the only one standing between the pack and its annihilation at the hands of the vampire coven. And worse you have a fox in your hen house and it galls you that not only did Steve figure there was one, he figured out who it was and has been keeping him on a short leash. All without your help.”

Nancy glared at him, but he refused to blink, forcing her to look away first.

“You best see to the happenings in your pack, missy, before you go casting judgment on us.” Wayne growled. “You came in here like you owned the place, was rude to my nephew, and barked at me for offering to help. If Ed or I had been watching your moon night, we might know a hell of a lot more than we do now and I wouldn’t have to call in a favor from the last person I ever want to see again. And I know it was you that drove the final nail in the coffin of not having one of us there, so don’t you act high and mighty with me.”

She ducked her head and put her hands in her lap. She knew they were both right. It was the pack’s prejudice against vampires and outsiders as whole that had caused the incident unfold the way it did.

The key to this mystery lay in the incident with the hunters but she couldn’t figure out how.

“I’m sorry,” Nancy muttered, picking at her nail polish. “I just don’t know who to trust.”

Wayne scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Yes, you do. You just need to put away your pride to do it.”

~

Eddie and Wayne walked out of the library squinting into the blaring sun.

Eddie chewed his lip thoughtfully. “This getting out of hand, and if his female alpha is against him, the older members of his pack are against him and the younger ones putting their trust in the adults, there is a traitor in his keepers, and plus all the shit with the education system building little hunters...” he shook his head. “His only allies are us, that keeper Buckley and that’s it.”

“Steve is being harried on every side,” Wayne said in all seriousness. “And I don’t know how to protect him.”

Eddie rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “So we surround him with non-pack supes.”

“What do you mean, Ed?” Wayne asked, cocking his head to the side.

“I can’t involve Jeff, not with him being a part of the coven,” Eddie said, “but I have other friends who are supernatural beings. After all, if Steve is advocating for all supes they might be willing to protect him.”

Wayne nodded. After their time with Nancy he trusted the pack even less. There was something going on in this town that making it rot.

He clasped Eddie on the shoulder. “Go, gather your friends, I’ll meet up with you at the high school, I have my fish to fry.”

Eddie nodded and shifted, taking off in flight.

Wayne looked up at his nephew, now but black spot in the harsh daylight and shook his head. His boy had his heart in the right place, plus he didn’t want Eddie to know about who he was going to see.

~

Wayne started to relax in the setting sun and he began to unwind his protections. He pulled on his usual flannel and shoved the rest into his knapsack.

Just then a man oozed out of the shadows and smiled at him.

“I never expected to hear from you again,” the man muttered.

“Sam,” Wayne replied tersely. “I should have ripped you to pieces when I found out what you were.”

Dr. Sam Owen looked around him with a shrug and tilt of his head. “And leave this place without its staunch protector?”

Wayne growled, his fangs dropping and his eyes turning blood red.

“Don’t be like that, darling,” Sam cooed. “I told you before and I’m telling you again. That wasn’t my real wife or my real kids. I was undercover.”

“Yeah?” Wayne huffed. “That why you fucked her then? For your cover?”

Sam’s easy smile fell for the first time. “What?” His jaw was set in a hard line and gaze turned to steel.

Wayne laughed bitterly. “I could smell the stench of sex the moment I walked into that damned house. There were no other scents but yours and hers, so don’t you feed me some line.”

“I’ve heard of vampires having keen senses before but this one is new to me,” Sam said, excitement coloring his tone.

“If I didn’t need something from you,” Wayne spat, “I would fucking hit you right now. Are you really choosing to focus on my sense of smell after I just told you I knew you cheated on me?”

Sam straightened his spine. “Right, right. Sorry. That was a stupid thing to say.” He gently brought a finger under Wayne’s chin. “She was a succubus.”

Wayne’s head rocked back and away from his finger. “You telling me right now, demons exist?”

“I don’t know why that is such a surprise,” Sam said, cocking his head to the side as he regarded Wayne’s reaction with curiosity. “Fae, djinn, roc, wendigos, vampires, sirens, selkies, set animals, aqrabuamelu all exist why would demons be the exceptions?”

Wayne glared at him. “Because dragons, unicorns, actual fucking gods don’t exist, so yeah I figured heaven and hell were off the table too.”

Sam shook his head. “No, no. Demons aren’t of hell. Not in the way certain religions believe. But gumiho exist and so do incubi and succubi. The latter two smell strongly of intercourse. It’s a kind of pheromone they give off when distressed.”

“I–I didn’t know,” Wayne muttered, dropping his gaze to the floor.

He took a step toward Wayne and cupped his cheeks. “I should have sought you out after you ran off, I knew where you were, I could have come and cleared up the misunderstanding, but I didn’t. This is on me entirely. What ever you want, whatever you need. Just ask and I’ll grant it.”

Wayne looked up into the agent’s eyes. “Can you get me all the information on the banishment of Dr. Alexei Oborin?”

“Done.”

Wayne chuckled and shook his head gently out of Sam’s grasp. “You aren’t going to ask what for?”

“No,” Sam said with a smirk. “Because I know you, Wayne. You are one tough son of a bitch, but your instinct is rarely wrong. I’ve come to rely on that fact.”

“There are some pretty weird shit going down in this town, Sam,” he growled. “It’s making the air feel like just before an electric storm. Cackling with danger and the smell of ozone.”

Sam nodded. “We’ve been looking into some things since the Harrington alpha was attack. I don’t know if our two investigations are related, but I don’t see how they can be.”

“You aren’t keeping shit from me, are you Sam?” Wayne asked, cocking his head to the side.

The agent sighed. “It’s not keeping it from you if I can’t tell you what I’m working on. You know that.”

“If there is something with that boy that you aren’t telling me,” Wayne growled, “I will rip your balls off.”

“Wayne...I’m investigating. I don’t know anything yet.” Sam rubbed his face in frustration.

The vampire eyed him warily, but nodded. “I want those files as soon as you can.”

“I promise.”

Wayne walked away from Sam and then transformed, taking flight. Below the agent looked up at the winged creature and sighed.

This complicated matters.

~

Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20

Tag List: SEVENTEEN SLOTS REMAINING

1- @mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @zerokrox-blog

2- @swimmingbirdrunningrock @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @goodolefashionedloverboi

3- @fullpoetrybread @messrs-weasley @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

4- @bookworm0690 @littlewildflowerkitten @just-a-tiny-void @potato-of-the-lord @thelittleclare

5- @goosesister @tinyplanet95 @she-collects-smut @irregular-child @y4r3luv

6- @fairytalesreality @anaibis @papergrenade @ravenfrog @blondie1006 @dreamercec

7- @thedragonsaunt @sadisticaltarts @kultiras

[velarisnightsky444]

Scorched Shadows: Part 3

Eris x Azriel'sSister!Reader

Summary: Y/N is the younger sister of Azriel. She has shadows just like him, and is also a spymaster for Rhys. When she meets Eris, she initially hates him, but after a bargain is made between them, things begin heating up. This takes place before Under the Mountain.

Warnings: overbearing brothers

Series Masterlist

Part 2 || Part 4

»»————-　♔　————-««

Year 3

Morrigan had never been overprotective of you like your brothers were.

You'd been six when you and Azriel were released from that cell and taken to Windhaven. You were the youngest, and everyone treated you as such.

But never Morrigan.

The day you turned 16, Morrigan had dragged you to a bar to get wasted with her. Rhys’s mother had sent you both to the cabin for a week after that.

But with Morrigan, you could speak freely. You didn’t have to worry about scandalizing her like you did with your brothers. You could barely say a bad word around them without them acting like you'd killed somebody. To them, you were still the scared little girl who didn’t speak until she was 11.

“Mor, you’re still hungover, we’re not going out again tonight,” you scolded the female. She pouted.

“Getting drunk is exactly what I need to get rid of this hangover,” she insisted. You giggled as your shadows swirled around her.

Rhys’s talons gently caressed your mind, and you let them in.

Come to my office, now.

You tried to keep from being anxious at the tone. You got to your feet, explaining to Mor that you’d be back.

Your shadows were giving you no intel as you made your way to his office, and his talons never left your mind.

You recalled when you were first brought to Windhaven, how terrified you’d been. You didn’t speak back then, and they were all concerned about you.

The first time you’d had to leave Azriel’s side in your entire life was his first day of training. You had been so upset with no way to express it.

Rhys had caressed your mind, thinking it would help. But it had terrified you, and you'd thrown a screaming fit that only his mother had been able to calm.

For years, you would cry anytime he tried to enter your mind. But centuries later, you had become used to it.

“What’s going on?” you asked as you finally entered the office.

All three of your brothers were there, and none of them looked happy.

They’re upset, a shadow whispered.

No shit, you replied. You winced as it tugged a strand of your hair in response.

“We’ve received a letter from Eris Vanserra,” Rhys announced, holding it up.

You chewed on your bottom lip, anxiety eating at your gut.

“He invites you to a ball being thrown in his honor,” Rhys explained. “According to him, you owe him a favor.”

“Shit,” you grumbled, earning a raised brow from Cassian.

“Why don’t you tell us exactly why you owe him a favor, dear sister?” Rhys asked you, setting the letter down.

“A few weeks ago, when I went to meet with Graham, Eris found me waiting,” you admitted. “He told me Graham had been beheaded.”

“And you didn’t tell us?”

“I did tell you!” you objected.

“No, you told us your shadows informed you of Graham’s death,” Azriel corrected. “And you certainly didn’t mention Eris Vanserra.”

“I knew it’d just upset you all,” you explained.

“Damn right,” Cassian agreed, narrowing his eyes.

“Why do you owe him a favor, Y/N?” Rhys demanded, impatience wearing his voice thin.

“I said if he didn’t turn me into his father, I’d owe him a favor,” you explained, sighing.

“Well, you’re not going to this ball,” Azriel decided. You glared at him.

“I wasn’t planning on it,” you snapped.

»»————-　♔　————-««

You liked to talk to the portrait of Rhys's mother nearly every Sunday. It was stupid, but you enjoyed catching her up on your week. Even the mundane details.

Rhys's mother, Selene, had been everything to you. She was never a replacement for your own mother, but you still loved her like one. And she loved you like a daughter. She had rescued you from your father's keep after Azriel had been sent to Windhaven, you left behind to rot in that cell, only six years old and all alone. 

“I just hate how overbearing they are,” you were telling her. “I didn’t even want to go to this ball, but now that they’re forbidding it, I have half a mind to go.”

Her beautiful, violet eyes stared back at you. Even if it was just a painting, it was comforting.

“I hate Eris, but I hate being told what to do more,” you went on. “You know that better than anyone. The only thing holding me back is it might hurt Morrigan if I go.”

Every interaction you had with him, you thought of your cousin. Your best friend. Guilt would eat at you with every word you said to him.

“But she might understand,” you debated. “I’m just doing it to spite my brothers. She does things to spite her family all the time.”

It may not have been a fair comparison, but it was true.

“You would never have forbade me from a ball,” you mumbled. “I miss you.”

»»————-　♔　————-««

Scorched Shadows Taglist: @the-sweet-psycho @hnyclover @lilyevansstudygroup @esposadomd

Eris Taglist:

Comment to be added to the Scorched Shadows or Eris taglists!

»»————-　♔　————-««

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

I know I'm just dreaming, but I am having hope of seeing Crewel in his NRC era being released as a Chapter 7 card. Or maybe slightly100-years-ago-ish younger Crowley? Having faculty cards are making me dream of seeing their past selves in Chapter 7 and also their cards...

Yeah, I think based on the lack of staff inclusion in Idia’s video presentation + power balancing reasons we probably won’t visit the dream of the staff and wake them up. (I talk more about the concept there!) A shame, because it would be really interesting to see!

I know student!Crewel is a popular one (y’all love the wild types, lol) but I’d personally be interested in seeing young Trein. Like… did he always have the resting bitch face as a teenager too? How did he meet his wife? And make a familial contract with Lucius? Could we see his daughters? There’s a lot of ground to cover there.

It might also be interesting to see Vargas’s past, since we went to a completely different school and could give us more world lore. Sam’s dream could also be informational since I believe he travels a lot and has connections all over to get his goods.

… Would Crowley really have been that different 100 years ago, seeing as how Lilia doesn’t seem to have visibly aged for a few hundred years? Maybe his personality may have changed, but I’m not sure of it myself 🤔

I want to point out that this idea hinges on the idea thaf the pasts of the NRC staff are their “happiest times”, and I don’t think that’s always the case. An adult could yearn for the carefree days of their youth, but I get the sense that they’re also quite satisfied where they are now. I guess it’s probably easier for Malleus and his magic to manifest things based on the past and present rather than the far-off future though… He’s not exactly accepting of the concept of things “moving on”.

Related to the idea of there being alternate staff cards, there’s a theory circulating in the JP fandom!! It states that since the names for Crowley and Crewel’s cards include “ver” (as in, “version”), it could signal future Crowley and Crewel cards but different outfit variants. Some examples OP brings up are Crowley’s silly book 4 vacation get-up and Crewel’s monster costume from Vargas Camp 2. It should also be noted that the use of “ver” occurs in Rollo’s card too. If this theory is correct… 👀 Mayhaps…? But make of that what you will! It’s not a guarantee, just fan speculation.

[fleckficgirl]

Heartthrob | Arthur Fleck x reader 💗 CHAPTER 12

Summary: Attempting to conceal her checkered past, a young dancer in Gotham (Y/N) lands a job at Ha-Ha’s and finds herself increasingly drawn to a shy, lonely clown named Arthur Fleck.

Warnings: sex, age gap, language, violence, mental illness, assault

Word Count: 2093

Chapter List: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11

Arthur's Note (see what I did there?): Thanks every so so much for the kind words and encouragement. I didn't realize the new trailer was coming out today but I started writing this fic again about a week ago and I think I'm on a roll! I <3 Arthur Fleck so much and hope you enjoy!

Arthur had insisted on walking you home, had kissed you again at the front door of your apartment building and promised to call you the next morning; you both had the next day off and planned to see each other.

When he pressed his body into you. You could feel he was hard, but restraining himself. Arthur was nothing if not a gentleman. It only made you love him more.

“I'll call you in the morning,” he hummed into your ear.

“First thing in the morning,” you corrected him with a sly grin.

Arthur smiled, blushing. “First thing in the morning.”

You hated to pull yourself away from him. It was crazy: You'd never cared that much about sex, but for the first time in your life, you understood what it felt like to want to ask someone upstairs, what it felt like to actually want someone to spend the night in your bed. But of course, you had your parents to think about and they'd never go for it in a million years.

Arthur watched you get into the elevator. When the doors closed, you felt like you might cry. Reminding yourself you were gonna see him again in twelve hours was the only thing that put your longing heart at ease.

***

It was almost midnight, and your parents usually went to bed around ten, so you were surprised to find them both sitting up on the sofa in the living room, watching what had to be the last half hour of The Murray Franklin Show. They never watched Murray. They never even stayed up this late.

“What’s going on?” you asked as you locked the front door and hung your coat up.

“We’ve been worried sick!” your mother cried as your dad muted the television.

Oh boy. This was already off to a great start.

“Why?” you asked, cocking your head to one side. “I mean, I know it’s almost midnight, but-”

“There’s been another killing on the subways,” she continued. “They think it’s related to what happened to those three Wayne boys a few days ago.”

“You’re kidding,” you sat down on the sofa to face them. “Who’d they kill?”

“A man,” your father answered. “But they don’t know anything else yet. You were out all night and didn’t hear anything about this?”

You shook your head. “No. But it’s getting crazier out there.”

“What exactly did you do tonight?” your father raised an eyebrow.

“Met up with friends,” you answered breezily. Technically you weren’t lying. Arthur was a friend. Sort of.

“That’s interesting,” he continued, a hint of sarcasm in his voice. “Because those so-called girlfriends of yours called here looking for you. Two different times in fact.”

“They did?”

You gulped, trying to scan your mother's face for some kind of hint to help you navigate the choppy waters of your father’s suspicions. But her “worried sick” face had morphed into her “I’m just gonna stay out of it and keep the peace” face.

Typically a bad sign.

“First Tina and then that other girl…” your father said. “The one with the silly name…”

He looked to your mother who shrugged in response.

“Chantelle,” he finally remembered. And Chantelle said she was calling to find out how your ‘hot date’ went tonight.”

Damn that Chantelle. You knew she had a champagne-and-dial addiction - it was why she was still hooking up with at least five of her ex-boyfriends - but you could still murder her ten times with a hatchet. She had no idea how crazy your dad was.

“I told your father it must have been some kind of practical joke,” your mother finally interjected. “You know, those telephone pranks kids these days like to play on one another?”

You could see she was trying to help you out. And for one crazy second, you considered telling them the truth:

Mom, Dad…I’m in love with a beautiful clown.

No, that wouldn’t go over well at all. They’d hit the roof. In fact, they'd go through the roof.

The less you said about Arthur the better. At least for the time being.

“I did go out with friends,” you explained in as even a tone as you could muster. “I don’t know what Chantelle’s talking about.”

“Which friends?” your mother asked.

“Just some friends…from…from…” you struggled to complete the sentence. You never went anywhere besides work these days, so where the hell would you meet any other friends?

“Some friends from GU?” your mother asked hopefully.

It was perfect. You could have kissed her right then and there. Saved by the mama.

“Yes!” you nodded. “Yes, some friends from college.”

“Honey, that's wonderful!” your mother smiled.

Your father nodded approvingly. “Those are the kinds of people you should be spending time with. People who are serious about their future…as opposed to a couple of strippers.”

“They’re not strippers, Dad!”

He smiled at his own dumb joke and you pursed your lips. Your father never approved of anyone if he didn’t deem them “serious about their future.” The problem was, most of the kids you’d met at Gotham University were entitled assholes from rich families who didn’t actually care about their futures: no matter how badly they fucked up, their privileged parents could afford to yank them out of hot water and they knew it. Your dad had it all wrong. But you didn’t have the heart to correct him.

“How come you look so disheveled?” your father’s voice broke into your thoughts once more.

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

He pointed at your rumpled clothes.

“Your outfit’s wrinkled, your hair’s a mess. And your makeup…”

“Did something happen tonight, honey?” your mother asked. You could sense the growing concern in both their voices, and it brought you right back to when you’d started having problems at GU. Your poor parents had to watch as their star student daughter - who’d never given them a lick of trouble - suddenly turned into someone they didn’t recognize. Someone they were afraid of.

“Sweetheart,” your mother prodded gently. “You didn’t happen to get into a…a fight or an altercation with anyone tonight, did you?”

You shook your head and laughed, trying your best to put them at ease. “Not that I can remember.”

It was a true enough answer. More true than they needed to know, anyway.

“You can tell us if you’re…struggling,” your father added. “We want to know if something’s going on.”

You shook your head again. “What happened was, the subway was totally jam packed. Maybe it had to do with the killing tonight, I dunno. Anyway, we were stuffed like sardines. I got all pushed around on the train. You know how the people in this city can be.”

“Fucking animals,” he muttered under his breath. You glanced up at the TV where a still-muted Murray seemed to be delivering his closing words. “You’re alright though, aren’t you?”

“Of course,” you assured them both. “Nothing a shower and some shampoo can’t fix.”

You breathed a concealed sigh of relief as you watched your parents breathe one of their own.

You popped up from the sofa and stretched.

“Gonna get ready for bed,” you announced. “See you in the morning.”

“Goodnight, sweetie,” your mom called out. “We love you.”

“Love you, too.”

You turned to go to your room and heard your dad unmute the TV, Murray Franklin’s voice ringing out over the orchestra as an organ struck up the groovy chords from his signature closing song:

“Goodnight, and always remember: That’s life!”

You laughed softly to yourself. “That’s life!” you whispered as you dance-glided down the hall and into your bedroom, shutting the door behind you.

Life really was something, wasn’t it? Especially life in Gotham, a life like yours: one that now had a beautiful man named Arthur Fleck in it.

After the crazy night you’d had, the shower felt like a balm to your soul. You crawled under the cool covers of your bed, still giddy from your date with Arthur and the promise of seeing him tomorrow. As you drifted off to dreamland, you thought about even though your parents drove you up the wall, you loved them and would do anything for them. You hated the toll your problems at GU had had on them - how scared and defenseless they’d been, not knowing how to help you when the shit hit the fan. They didn’t have the resources and privileges of your ex-classmates’ parents, but they’d stood behind you when no one else had. You’d never forget that.

After the nightmare at Gotham U - after everything it’d put you and the people you loved through - you’d vowed to yourself that you’d never be powerless again.

Although you felt powerless to stop the freight train of emotions you felt for Arthur, you decided he was a worthy exception. Arthur also knew what powerlessness felt like. He wasn't like the rest of them. He was the salt of the earth, just like your parents. Just like you.

And as long as you and Arthur had each other’s backs, you told yourself as sleep enveloped your being, nothing could ever take either of your power away again.

Together, you were unstoppable.

***

The phone rang first thing in the morning, just as Arthur promised. Thank GOD your bedroom had its own phone line.

“Hey you!” you answered playfully on the first ring.

“There you are. We’ve been calling you, bitch!”

“Chantelle?” you paused, your breath hitching.

“And Tina’s here,” Chantelle said. “We’re at Ha-Ha’s. You didn’t call either of us back last night so we decided to ambush you first thing in the morning.”

“Oh yeah,” you shook your head. “And by the way, thanks a lot for telling my dad about my ‘hot date’ last night. He was real happy to confront me about that when I got home.”

“So you did come home last night!” Chantelle gasped.

“I told you a million times!” Tina’s annoyed voice rang out in the background. “She wasn’t gonna have sex with him on the first date.”

“So how was it?” Chantelle asked. “Tell us everything!”

“It was…great,” you answered. “He’s…wonderful.”

Chantelle squealed. “Y/N’s going out with a college boy!” She sang.

“Let’s not blow this out of proportion,” Tina countered. “College boys are a dime a dozen. And most of ‘em wouldn’t know how to please a woman even if they majored in it. Gimme the phone, Chantelle.”

You heard the receiver scuffle on their end and Tina’s no-nonsense voice rang in your ear.

“How was the outfit, hair and makeup?” she demanded. “Any mishaps?”

You paused. It would take too long to explain the whole blacking out thing to them, you reasoned. And you didn’t want them to worry.

“Everything went fine,” you said. “You guys did a great job. I can’t thank you enough.”

“I have some very exciting ideas for the next date outfit,” Tina said. “When are you getting here? I’ll fill you in. We’ll try on some samples.”

“I’m off today!” you sang into the phone. “And I’m actually seeing him again this afternoon.”

“What? You slut!”

Chantelle grabbed the phone back. “You’re seeing him again? So soon? Oh my goodness, Y/N, I feel like you’re gonna marry this guy.”

You heard Tina groan in disgust behind Chantelle before snatching the phone back again.

“Then my outfit ideas will have to wait for your third date,” Tina said. “Assuming there is one. What were you planning on wearing today?”

“I dunno,” you glanced around your messy room helplessly. “I haven’t even thought about it.”

“Okay, listen to me, Y/N. You’re an autumn. That means warm skin tones. Understand?”

“Warm skin tones,” you repeated back, even though you had no idea what the hell she was talking about.

“I’m talking greens, I’m talking yellows…come to think of it: do you have anything in peach?”

You shook your head. “I don’t think so.”

“Black is fine. Accessorize with those gold hoop earrings. A full face of makeup just like we showed you. But go easy on the blusher, for the love of God.”

“Thanks, Tina.” You laughed.

“Shit. Hoyt’s coming,” Tina warned. “Call us immediately after today’s date ends. We need a detailed play by play so we can mastermind the plan for date number three.”

“I thought you said these college boys were a dime a dozen,” you countered.

“Mastermind your outfit for date number three,” Tina corrected herself. “If you’re gonna date a college douche, the least you can walk away with is a killer wardrobe.”

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[hollowed-theory-hall]

my personal pet peeves in HP is whole second book, and medicine. especially medicine

starting with the sewers that Salazar invented about half a millennium before the Muggles and beyond. but these things have almost no effect on the overall effect, but hospitals do. the school infirmary and St. Mungus. it feels like jkr came up with Saint Mongoose only for book 5, because before when students suffered serious injuries (Basilisk and cat hair for polyjuice, I mean you) they were treated at school. the students literally waited half a year for the mandrakes to ripen! but for some reason the teachers are transferred to Mungos (McGonagall did not stay at the school after 4 spells).

either these are plot holes or I don't understand something

Like with many things in HP, you can read it as a plot hole, or you can read it as Dumbledore's manipulations at it again (which is what I always do).

If we're talking specifically about year 2, we know Dumbledore knows what the Chamber is and what the monster is. He was a professor the first time around 50 years ago when Myrtle died. He knew it was Tom back then so it's not that he has no clue.

I think he doesn't know for certain who Tom is possessing at first or how, and he lets it play out to both:

Learn more about Voldy

Test & teach Harry

Additionally, even if petrification isn't serious enough to be sent to St Mongos (playing devil's advocate a little), I refuse to believe mandrake leaves can't be imported year-round. I mean, they are a common enough potion ingredient and are used in sleeping potions and healing potions. So there must be a supplier for potioners from where they buy the specific parts of the mandrake they need.

So, I think there was a wee bit of a coverup going on so Harry could be the one to figure it out and face Voldemort. Like in first year:

“No, it isn’t,” said Harry thoughtfully. “He’s a funny man, Dumbledore. I think he sort of wanted to give me a chance. I think he knows more or less everything that goes on here, you know. I reckon he had a pretty good idea we were going to try, and instead of stopping us, he just taught us enough to help. I don’t think it was an accident he let me find out how the mirror worked. It’s almost like he thought I had the right to face Voldemort if I could. ...” “Yeah, Dumbledore’s off his rocker, all right,” said Ron proudly.

(PS)

“You see what you expect to see, Severus,” said Dumbledore, without raising his eyes from a copy of Transfiguration Today. “Other teachers report that the boy is modest, likable, and reasonably talented. Personally, I find him an engaging child.” Dumbledore turned a page, and said, without looking up, “Keep an eye on Quirrell, won’t you?”

(DH)

Dumbledore is testing Harry in his first 3 years. The first time Dumbledore isn't fully in on what's going on at Hogwarts and isn't aware of all of it is 4th year (and even then I'm pretty certain he knew Moody was an imposter, but I digress).

In general, I think, 2nd year is just another example of Dumbledore endangering students and sacrificing their education (by hiring Lockhart) to teach Harry a lesson and test if Harry is truly a Horcrux, which he suspected before:

“Couldn’t you do something about it, Dumbledore?” “Even if I could, I wouldn’t. Scars can come in handy...”

(PS) - when talking to McGonagall about Harry's lightning scar.

“I guessed, fifteen years ago,” said Dumbledore, “when I saw the scar upon your forehead, what it might mean. I guessed that it might be the sign of a connection forged between you and Voldemort.” “You’ve told me this before, Professor,” said Harry bluntly. He did not care about being rude. He did not care about anything very much anymore. “Yes,” said Dumbledore apologetically. “Yes, but you see — it is necessary to start with your scar. For it became apparent, shortly after you rejoined the magical world, that I was correct, and that your scar was giving you warnings when Voldemort was close to you, or else feeling powerful emotion.”

(OotP)

But second-year proved it to him:

“You can speak Parseltongue, Harry,” said Dumbledore calmly, “because Lord Voldemort — who is the last remaining descendant of Salazar Slytherin — can speak Parseltongue. Unless I’m much mistaken, he transferred some of his own powers to you the night he gave you that scar. Not something he intended to do, I’m sure. . . .”

(CoS)

It allowed him to test his Horcruxes theory (the diary) and also test Harry. It accomplished a lot of things Dumbledore needed anyway, so he probably thanked Lucius in his head as he let it all play out.

I mean, we see how little concern Dumbledore shows over Katie and Ron who got hurt by Draco trying to kill him:

“You gave me your word, Severus. And while we are talking about services you owe me, I thought you agreed to keep a close eye on our young Slytherin friend?” Snape looked angry, mutinous. Dumbledore sighed.

(DH) - this is all Dumbledore really says about Draco endangering students.

“You have had a busy time while I have been away,” Dumbledore said. “I believe you witnessed Katie’s accident.” “Yes, sir. How is she?” “Still very unwell, although she was relatively lucky. She appears to have brushed the necklace with the smallest possible amount of skin: There was a tiny hole in her glove. Had she put it on, had she even held it in her ungloved hand, she would have died, perhaps instantly.

(HBP) - even when talking to Harry he is incredibly cold about it.

And in book 2, the board of governors did get involved and removed Dumbledore from the school because they, quite reasonably, were concerned he wasn't dealing with the danger seriously. Like, I know it was Lucius Malfoy who engineered it and he's not supposed to be in the right, but he kinda accidentally was in this case. Dumbledore probably hid a lot of information from the board and was weird about the whole deal, I mean, Lucius can bribe to his heart's content but I don't think the board would remove Dumbledore so readily unless Dumbledore's behavior supported what Lucius was saying in some capacity.

We know Dumbledore is incredibly cold and calculated and we know it's not out of character for Dumbledore to endanger students if it advances his goals and doesn't hurt anyone too much by his standards. What's a few petrifications if it means he can be sure he can kill Voldemort and learn more about his connection to Harry?

(Regarding Hermione and the Polyjuice in year 2 is even easier. Because I don't believe Hermione told her parents and Hogwarts wouldn't tell muggles about what's going on at school, so it would be quite easy to hush down for the sake of the grander plan. Also, it protects her, Harry, and Ron since what they did is kinda illegal, so Dumbledore not sending Hermione to St Mongos protects them from punishment, which works well for them and him in this case)

[etoroma]

“You were losing me inch by inch when you were leaving me alone to meet the dawns”

Jack Harlow x fem!reader

Summary: Your boyfriend became cold and distant, he just doesn’t see you anymore. How long can you last? Disclaimer: English is not my first language and lately I've started to forget it, so I decided to write stories to practice. I really love and respect your language so I apologize if I’ve made a lot of mistakes, I will try my best! Feel free to give feedback and correct mistakes A/N: it’s my first imagine hope it’s not that bad✊🏻😔 Warnings: language, angst, open ending Word count: 1986

“I’m positive that I’ve made the right decision, but not a day passes that I don’t wish I’ve made a different choice”. You were laying on a grass in your best friend’s backyard, your fingers and legs intertwined, eyes closed, wind was gently playing with your hair but the pleasure of such an intimate moment that you’ve missed for so long is overshadowed by past events. 

Y/bf/n moved in a different country and you never managed to find time to visit her, you were too immersed in your relationships, work and daily routine that the best you could do was calling her once a week. Now when you were finally together, you feel extremely guilty for showing up only because you’re a wreck but both of you are too mature to make a big deal out of it.

“He left you no choice, Y/N” she sighed and squeezed your hand “It wasn’t even a choice…I mean..” y/bf/n let go of you and rolled over on her belly to find you trying your best to hold the tears since crying was the only thing you’ve been doing for the entire time of your stay.

“He took your hand in his and promised you to walk this vicious world by your side but instead he walked you to a blind alley and left you there alone. He knew about every apprehension of yours, how scared you was to even think about the relationships, but still he did everything to make you believe that he’ll become your safe space, your home, your man that can be trusted, that will always be there for you… He put you in a fairytale just to make you look crazy for thinking they exist. He made you vulnerable, Y/N”. She gently caressed your face studying your emotions. “And you know what pisses me off even more? That you still think that all of this is your fault”.

“You know what pisses me off even more?” you finally found the guts to look into her eyes “That I still love him, y/bf/n”.

*two weeks earlier*

4 am.

You stood leaning to a kitchen counter draining a bottle of wine that soon was thrown to a garbage. You were skimming the living room. Each corner, each piece of furniture held so many memories of the time you and Jack were crazy in love. It used to warm your heart but now the sight of your shared home shredded it into million pieces. You even refused to drink from glasses he brought you from Czech a couple years ago just because you mentioned you always wanted glasses made of Czech crystal in your dream house. These glasses were a reminder of his attentiveness to the smallest details that made you happy, now they are clear evidence that he could do anything for you but he just doesn’t want to anymore.

What did you do wrong? What did you do to deserve this type of treatment? Was there anything you could do to prevent it? Aren’t you enough? When coming home from a studio and hovering you in kisses turned to a kiss on a cheek with a face expression like this action takes a year of life from him?

You were taken out of your thoughts by the sound of keys. Wow…Your man of the night found his way home.

Tired sight.

Kiss on a cheek.

Pain in your chest.

And your favorite part “I’m going to bed. Night”.

He didn’t even noticed that you’re fully dressed. Well, there’s a plenty things he didn’t pay attention to and tonight he’ll have to acknowledge all of them. His loving girlfriend will help him, right? Right.

“Jack” no response. “Jackman!” you raised your voice. It was the first time you called him like that but you needed him to listen.

“Y/N, if you wanna make a scene you’ve picked the wrong time” he simply sighed and kept going upstairs.

“That’s the only time I’ve got! Fucking 3 minutes in the am before you go to bed and disappear before I wake up!” You could feel your blood boiling in your veins, just a few moments and you’ll be ready to whistle like a soviet kettle. “Why are you wasting my time like that? You think that you are an alfa kind of a man who’s in charge and keeps everything under his control but in fact you’re a wuss with a lack of guts to say straight to my face that you don’t love me anymore or cheating on me or both. But you have enough courage to act like a dick!”

Now you captured his attention.

He turned around on his heels with an explicit anger written on his face “What the fuck is wrong with you? I’m not cheating on you! Why are you always have to be such an attention seeker?” he rushed to you and only kitchen counter separated you both. 

“Attention seeker? For real? Since when wanting the bare minimum of a relationship makes me an attention seeker?”

“Since I working my ass off for BOTH of us and have more important things than …”

“Than being with me?” you interrupted him holding eye contact

“That’s not what I wanted to say.. Fuck can’t you show care and support at least for once or you’re gonna explode once you do?”

“WHEN?” at this moment you’ve lost it. Understanding that he doesn’t see any problem in his behavior hits you. You’re done. Enough holding everything inside and pretend that nothing’s going on. For all these 3 months, you tried to convince yourself that you’re overreacting, that it’s your traumas are talking. Every day and night that you spent by your own you told yourself that he’s trying his best, he’ll make it up to you, he sees the problem but just can’t fix things yet, but you were wrong, delusional to be exactly.

“I see you for a couple of minutes and not even every day. All of my texts left on read, you NEVER text me back. I find out that you’re fine from Urban! Every time I try to talk to you, to check on you, to figure the reason you just brush me off telling me you don’t want to have this conversation and I’m too clingy”

Jack opened his mouth to fight back but you raised your pointing finger in front of you to shut him. There goes the hardest part. You’re about to say something that was too painful to even acknowledge but you have to open his eyes.

“So I gave you space, Jack. I was away for a whole week” once you said it your anger was replaced by stone cold sight. It’s like you had to say it out loud more for yourself to realize than for him to understand

“I texted you about it but the message wasn’t sent. When saw it, I got curious when you would notice that I was gone” looking at his puzzled face you gave him an ironic smile “you didn’t. That’s how you care”

“Y/N..Baby..I” oh your boy begins to understand how your monologue will end but you haven’t finished yet so you shut him up again

“When I came back, I packed my things but I was still hoping we’ll work things out so I decided to divide my stuff into several parts and transport each one after every failed conversation with you, after every night you left me alone, after every “why don’t you stop fucking my brain out and just let me sleep”…so” you took a step back pushing the suitcase out from behind the kitchen counter “you can guess that that’s my last one”

Jack looked at you terrified catching the air in attempts to say something. He nervously spun around to find with his eyes at least something that belongs to you in the living room but it was all in vain.

“Y/N..Please..” he returned his gaze to you “listen..I’m so sorry. Let me fix this mess I’ve created, please” his voice begin to shake, eyes blinking fast to stop the tears. He finally woke up and grasped what kind of treatment he was giving to you all these months. The realization of what you about to do made him freeze on a spot. 

“Please give me the last chance, fight for us, baby please let’s talk things out” Panic began to slowly crawling towards him like a tsunami

“I gave you thousands chances. I was fighting for us alone for too long, it’s exhausting” you grab a suitcase handle walking to the front door “Now I’m tired and you’re the one who have picked the wrong time to make a scene”

“I don’t wanna lose you please let me make it up to you!” Jack ran outside after you watching you place your suitcase in a back of your car. You stopped for a second to look at him for the last time. Tears streaming down his cheeks, you could barely see in the dark but you could tell his face were bright red, lips shaking.

The sight of him made it even harder to leave, you wanted to kiss him so bad, you wished you could forgive him, hold him, believe him… but you remember how many nights you’ve spent in a state he is in now. You can’t let him do it to you again. You don’t trust him anymore.

“You haven’t figured it yet? You’ve already lost me. You were losing me inch by inch when you were leaving me alone to meet the dawns. It’s too late, Jackman” you got in the car just to find Jack knocking your window. You tried so hard to ignore him and focus but gave up and lowered the car window, which Jack immediately clung to

“Listen I know I’m an asshole. I fucked everything up, I was the worst boyfriend and I understand why you wanna leave, but I’ll change. I’ll do anything to make you trust me again, because I love you. I don’t see anyone else by my side, only you! Forgive me please, let me explain and fix this, I love you so bad it hurts” you squeezed the steering wheel holding your emotions and trying to think straight. You loved him still but the wound on your heart is still too fresh and deep for you to change your decision.

“Well…You have really weird ways to show it” and with this words you escaped from his life. 

He watched your car getting out of his sight and couldn’t believe that it wasn’t just a nightmare. Well, actually, it was. but he is living in it now. It was his personal hell that made him reliving this night over and over again. You’re gone. You’re not his woman anymore.

*present time*

“I know girl, it takes time, but I swear” Y/bf/n genially smiled at you playing with your hair “one month with your hot, EXTREEEEEMLY cool, UNBELIIIIEVABLY hilarious and adventurous friend and you won’t remember his name!” you were laughing for the first time in a while at your friend’s silliness when a doorbell caught your attention

“C'mon! I’ve already forgot it! Jake? Check?” Y/bf/n was so existed to see you smile that haven’t heard anything

“Firstly, Check is not even a name and secondly, are you expecting someone?”

“Aha, triplets. Don’t know who their dad is though it was a rough night” you laughed again and pushed her slightly

“Stop fucking with me, I heard the doorbell” You knew that it’s impossible. You blocked him everywhere and he didn’t know anything about y/bf/n, but something deep inside of you made you think it was him.

“Oh, it must be Mary, my neighbor, she’s an old lady and gets lonely sometimes so she comes to talk” y/bf/n stood up and headed to the front door “I’ll be quick”

__________________________ p.s i wanted to give this story an open ending for you to decide whether he found you or it was just a neighbor and your story is over. But now I'm thinking of doing part 2. What do you think? Should I? Do you forgive this cute asshole?

[raynetheinsane]

Batfam (and friends) as Henry Danger quotes

(Because im a nerd and love this show)

Damian: Tt, my parties arent that bad

Jon: Christmas. 3 years ago. 15 kids ended up in the hospital!

Damian: FATHER!!!

Tim: Damian! Were trying to study here *indicates to Duke and Steph, both clearly not studying*

Damian: I’m talking to my Father.

Robin!Jason: Dangit! All these jobs say i gotta have skills..

Dick: You have skills!

Jason: Name one.

Dick: You’re a great dancer!

Jason: No I’m not?

Dick: You could take lessons.

(More under the cut i just dont want this to be super duper long)

Bruce: How old are you?

Tim, trying to become robin: Im 13, I’ll be 14. On my next birthday

Dick: Ah so youre aging sequentially

Tim, extremely tired: Do you ever dream about sleeping?

Steph, extremely confused:…no??

Tim: good. If you did youd be dead.

Bruce: Lets ride.

Robin!Jason who is very new to this: Wha- Ride where?

Bruce: We’ve got people in the Jandy River that need saving.

Bruce: Come on.

Jason: You mean we’re going there? Together? Like right now?

Tim, extremely dirty and has a cut on his face walking into Drake Manor:

Jack, not paying attention: Hey Tim, did you get the job?

Tim: Yeah, just finished my first day.

Jack: So hows work?

Tim: Uh it was pretty… interesting.

Bernard: Hey, you never told us what you do at your new job

Tim: *just stares wide eyed silently*

Bruce: While we were patrolling, Poison Ivy stole packs of baby bottles, can you guess why?

Robin!Dick: Uhhh

Bruce: To flood the bottles with radioactive plant matter.

Dick: I would not have guessed that.

Jason: I see youre in your pajama pants.

Tim: Yeah its almost midnight, I was studying for this test i have tomorrow

Jason: What subject?

Tim: Puerto Rican history

Jason: Ah Puerto Rico… land of…

Tim: Puerto Ricans?

Jason: yeah..

Red Hood: Strike three.

Spoiler: That was only 2

Hood: Okay, don’t correct me in front of the criminals

Duke: Whats in the mug?

Tim, who just poured himself and entire pot of coffee despite hating it: Coffee.

Tim: To keep me alive.

Duke: no, no, no, no, you cannot drink this much coffee after work. This mug is comedically large!

Steph: I have the same dream all the time. It satrts with me getting a horse for my birthday. Then my dad shows up. Then the horse kicks my dad in the face!

Jason, helping Tim study: You want a good grade on your puerto rican math test?

Tim: history

Jason, who died before he finished highschool: Same thing

Non-Bat who needs the antidote for Joker gas or something: Will this hurt?

Black Bat: Yes, very much.

Bernard, talking about a criminal the Bats cant catch: Its not Batmans fault, he just needs a better sidekick

Tim: One more time.

Bernard, who knows: Just saying, I’d be way better at catching criminals than the current Robin

Dick: I’m gonna die..

Jason: Not in the house. If you’re gonna die, do it outside

Tim: I’m Robin.

Bernard: I know. I figured that out.

Damian: Todd, I wish to speak to you about something.

Jason: BABIES COME FROM THE BABY STORE

Oracle: Steph, come to Gotham Park right now!

Steph: noo, I’m not in the mood for trees

Oracle: did i ask you what youre in the mood for?

Vikki Vale: So, Spoiler, how did you catch Two Face?

Spoiler: I’d love to take all the credit, but it was really all thanks to my partner, Black Bat.

Vikki: Interesting. Black Bat, can you tell us more?

Black Bat: No.

It really bothers me the lack of Babs, Cass, and Duke worthy quotes there are 😔😔 also my personal favs show a lot and im sorry for that, but there will be more as i think of them, these are just eps 1-4, the rest will be posted like in a queue or something and as single quotes cus im eepy

[soobadnoonecanstopher]

Can I Stay? (A Baekhyun Story) Part 1.

Pairing: You x Baekhyun

Rating: M

Word Count: 6.9k

Warnings: an unspecified age difference, this is an English story that uses the word Noona for lack of another word in English that carries the same feeling, if you don’t like this, then don’t read this story.

Author‘s note: remember all those years ago I said I’d write a Baekhyun x Noona fic? This is that fic.

Inspired by the Ray LaMontagne song Can I Stay

Links: Can I Stay: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

Your new assistant was going to be a problem.

You clocked him as a problem before he walked through the doors of your office.

You spotted the danger a mile away the moment you saw the memo from the President of the company’s personal secretary advising you that a new member of your team would be starting today. A new member whose presence you’d never requested; who’s resume you’d never even seen, and whose last name was suspiciously identical to that company President’s whose Secretary was asking you — no, telling you to welcome your brand new, fresh out of college, probably fresh out of his dear mothers warm hugs and kisses embrace, with as much of a warm welcome as if you were welcoming the President himself.

Not only did you get thrust into your lap a most likely spoiled rotten nepotism baby, but now he was sitting across from your desk staring back at you with a bright beautiful smile of plenty of professionally straightened teeth and an even brighter happy go lucky personality that told you that this strapping young man had never known a day of struggle in his entire life — as short as that life had been so far.

An assistant should be younger than you anyway, right? You wouldn’t feel right bossing a homely old man around all day.

Did that young assistant have to be so very pretty though? Did he really have to be sitting there so damn moist and tender, looking at you with his head cocked to the side as if he had been jumping to as many conclusions about you as you had about him?

“I’m Byun Baekhyun. I like playing video games and working out. I can’t eat cucumber or spicy food. Please take care of me, Miss Manager Noona.” His words pulled his pink lips into a pout as he spoke and the sounds of his voice had just enough of a nasal whine that you wondered if he simply always got his way all of the time with everyone he knew.

You frowned and ticked your head back and forth at the name he called you. “Just Manager.” You corrected sternly and his wide smile dipped into a pronounced pout. The kind one might see on a little kid who’d just dropped his ice cream cone. You heard a nasal grunt of complaint come from the back of his throat and you hated how quickly that sound strummed a particular chord inside of your chest. You felt weirdly rebuked for the quick rebuttal and your lips dropped open almost against your will, “I mean, it’s just that…”

Just when you’d opened your mouth to speak he’d already moved on, “So what do I do here, Miss Manager…?” His words out loud stopped at the word Manager but you caught the movement of his lips as he silently mouthed the forbidden word ‘Noona.’ Clearly thinking he’d gotten away with something, his bright smile was back and as he asked his question he leaned forward with both of his elbows bent on the edge of your desk. His head peaked around to steal glimpses at the various pieces of work both open on your desk and brought up on your computer screen. You had been up to your ass in it before he walked in here and the thought of pausing all of this progress to train this guy was making your stress ulcer act up. You had deadlines to meet if you were going to get this script to the Assistant Directors in time for them to begin filming the next episode. The directors had deadlines, the locations were booked and paid for, the sponsor checks had long ago been cashed, and the reality show talent had a schedule that, contractually, could not be delayed. You simply did not have time for this inexperienced man to be asking you silly questions like “So what do I do here, Noona?”

You pulled a long breath into your lungs through your nose and closed your eyes for a moment, harnessing your self control. It wasn’t his fault you were overwhelmed with work. It wasn’t his fault he was born into a life of privilege and comfort. It wasn’t his fault that you didn't have time to train an entire new employee on the complicated job that sat before you. It was, maybe, perhaps his fault though, that the full head of bottle blonde hair you saw on top of his head had just enough highlights in it to bring out the pink in his cheeks and lips and make him look like something straight out of a boy band.

By the time you’d finished taking in your several calming deep breaths and you put your eyes back on him he was standing over your desk with his eyes peering over the document you had been working through for the past hour.

He was reading and mouthing the words, although from upside down you doubted he could tell what he was looking at, yet you watched curiously as he stuck a slim finger forward to touch the corner of one of the papers. You had been going over translations. Making sure the wording was correct, yes, but ultimately safe for widespread distribution. Your copy had red slashes through it with changes and suggestions. You were the final set of eyes that would approve this language that would be distributed proudly with your companies name all over the world.

“I think this one is no good,” he pointed to a single word on the document that had seemed innocuous enough for you to skip over it entirely. “That word,” his fingertip was stopped on a noun in the middle of the page, “means something very, very naughty in Brazil.”

Your eyes glanced down to where he pointed, surprised first for him to catch on to this task so quickly without you even having to explain it, and second to learn that sometimes a seashell is not just a seashell.

“That’s what you are doing with this, right?” He was grabbing the stack of papers from your desk now. “Give it, you have more important things to do, Miss Manager…” Again his lips continued the next two syllables in silence and you realized that this man was probably the most stubborn person you would ever meet in your entire life, and you were about to be permanently sealed into his mind as his Noona, whether you allowed it or not.

And it wasn’t that you approved of any of this anyway. But by the time your brain turned back on, the documents were already in his hands and he grabbed the red pen and started marking the page on top.

You had no choice but to allow it. The mere thought of someone taking away even a fraction of your workload felt like some sort of a dream come true. Plus, it really did seem like he had some idea of what he was doing. Part of you was genuinely curious as to how he would do.

You glanced over at him occasionally as he read through the pages making his notes and you soon found yourself immersed in the next task that was due soon.

Your focus was interrupted when a chipper sing-songy tune sounded out in his voice beside you, “I’m do-ne,” he called out and the script plopped down on your desk. His eyes were bright and his wide smile was back as his eyebrows wagged in the direction of the stack of papers he’d proudly presented you with.

You’d only made it through the first page when he started speaking again — this time without the singing.

“Did I do well? Do you like it? Can I stay?”

You were leafing through the pages, finding the spot where you left off and where he took over and you quickly read through the lines, taking care to read every suggestion he had made as well as the suggestions he had not made on the chance that in his inexperience he had missed something.

It looked pretty good. You didn’t tell him that though.

“Where did you say you came from again Mr…?”

“Baekhyun. I am Byun Baekhyun and I am yours now. You can use me however you like.” His wide smile had not so much as trembled since he’d brought the script back to you and the jovial attitude did not let up as he delivered to you one of the strangest, most ridiculous promises you’d ever received from anyone in your professional career.

You kept your face blank and ignored his eagerness. At least he was enthusiastic.

“Can you take this down to QC for final approval, Baekhyun…and do you have, like, a resume or something I can look at?”

He nodded with his eyes wide and he was digging through his bag for something. What he handed back to you was a tablet. The electronic kind that kept the little kids quiet at restaurants. His fingers tapped on the screen as he peered over your shoulder he brought up a picture in his photo gallery that seemed to be just a screen shot of his resume. He had to flip past various personal pictures as he did it and you did your best not to focus on any of it until he’d reached the one intended for you to see. There was nothing inappropriate from the looks of it. But it didn’t seem polite of you to snoop.

You did see some things though. Not that you were trying to see anything, but the picture right before the resume was one of him sitting in the driver’s seat of some fancy foreign car with a sweet smile on his face and a different color of hair that if you were being honest looked just as good, if not better than the blonde he had now.

“Sorry Noon—Uhh, Miss Manager, I don't have a printed copy on me but you can look at it there.” His hands were busy putting the paperwork carefully into a large white envelope so he could deliver it all to Quality Control and his head whipped back around with an afterthought for you, “You can just scroll to see the next page, okay?”

He was gone before you could answer him.

His resume showed promise. He’d graduated from an expensive Ivy League, of course, and had spent a few years abroad on various internships, no doubt landed with the ease of his family’s connections in the industry. You’d reached the end of the first page feeling somewhat hopeful that this time your new assistant would prove himself to be quite useful to you for however long he stayed in such a bottom level position. He would probably last no longer than a half a year before he rocketed to the top of the chain of command. The next page had various awards and honors achieved throughout his education and you glanced at the dates that he attended school, cursing your ability to do some quick mental math to guess his age.

He was young. A good amount of years younger than you, that was certain. Of course he was young, his skin still had traces of that smooth soft baby fat in his cheeks. Your finger scrolled back to the first page of his resume and with your fingertip still connected to the glass you allowed the picture to backtrack just a little, so the edges of the image of him smiling behind the steering wheel of that car showed just a little.

You had no business doing this. What were you thinking? You were just some delusional old lady thankful that she had an extra five minutes to her own thoughts thanks to her brand new assistant’s skills with a red pen. You quickly swiped away, back to the safety of the approved viewing material. Page one of Byun Baekhuun’s resume. You swiped again, a little too forceful for this tablet and page two quickly filled your screen. Perhaps the third swipe you made was out of spite but you gasped out loud when the next image in his picture gallery filled the screen of the tablet completely.

A wave of panic filled you and you quickly raced to undo what you had just done, what you had just seen.

You went back. It wasn’t enough.

You went back again, desperate for what you had just seen to be erased from your memory, but no matter how long you stared at the words on that screen, no matter how forcefully you exited out of the gallery entirely, closing the whole thing up and then finally giving up, locking the tablet and putting it to sleep, that image crept back up again and again and again.

Soon the desperation turned to bargaining. And bargaining turned to acceptance. It was normal really for a woman like you, a single, lonely, overworked woman like you to have this sort of reaction to accidentally seeing an attractive shirtless man standing poolside with the sun at his back and wetness glistening over his skin and broad chest and abs and other various well defined, firm, manly muscles.

Anger followed next. You were pretty sure you were going in the wrong order here, but how dare he put that picture in his tablet and just tell you to scroll. It was so easy for him to say it too as if he wanted you to find the picture and admire the time and work he put into building all of those muscles in his body. What if you had been caught in a trap. What if this was some sort of a test by HR to see if you needed to be sent to sensitivity training for sexual predators. What if there was a tracking device on that picture and there was now a blaring nipple warning happening in some control room upstairs.

A soft and pleasant ding interrupted your thoughts and you had a message waiting from Dami in the QC department. Baekhyun must have delivered the package by now. A quick glance at the clock on your computer told you that he had been gone for some time now and you half wondered if perhaps he had gotten lost on his way back.

“Oh my god. WHO. WAS. THAT?!!!??”

“I take it you got the revisions — please be quick, I’ve had 1st AD breathing down my neck all morning.”

“Gotcha. You made some interesting choices with this but I'm into it. What was wrong with those seashells?”

“Vulgar slang, censored in the Brazil market.”

“Ohh-la-la, great catch! This is why you’re the best.”

Her latest message stared back at you as your fingers refused to type a response. The last thing you wanted was to accept someone else’s work as your own, but you also really want to spend too much time on this distracting conversation that was keeping you and her both from your work. A simple emoji would do the trick. A smiley face, or a rolled eyes emoji maybe. Something that didn't exactly make claims to the potential slip up that Baekhyun caught on his first upside down glance at the script that you somehow missed even after looking over it twenty times.

Maybe you needed to brush up on your international slang terms for various sexual acts and their involved genitalia.

“My new assistant, Baekhyun, caught that one.” The long pause between her misdirected compliment and your delayed confession made you feel just a little bit guilty for any potential misunderstandings you might have opened yourself up to.

“Even his name is pretty.”

[She should see his muscles] an uninvited guest in the back of your brain whispered and you winced when it happened.

As soon as the thought crossed your mind you felt the shame of its aftermath course through you. That was the last thing you needed to be thinking about.

You didn't have much time to dwell on it because there was a sudden commotion outside of your office door. You heard the sound of someone’s shrill shouting, overdramatic screaming really and the telltale sounds of someone being thoroughly scolded. At the exact same time an alarm was sounding out on your phone telling you it was time to make it to your biweekly meeting with the directors and assistant directors upstairs. You quickly grabbed your laptop and calendar and made your way out of your door to see what in the world all of the fuss was about.

The carpet outside was littered with assorted papers and standing in the middle of the mess with his head hung down in shame was your assistant, looking sheepish and guilty. The source of the shrieking, as usual, was Carla, one of the less organized members of the translating team. You could see the now empty document tray sitting just at the edge of her desk and you imagined that she had set the whole thing precariously close to the edge again just tempting fate.

“What am I supposed to do with this now? This was my whole day’s work and you’ve made a huge mess of it all! Who even are you? Are you supposed to be in here?”

Baekhyun’s head dipped lower and his cheeks were bright pink as he was scolded again and again for bumping into her teetering tower and sending it crashing down to the ground, as you had seen happen around her desk at least once a week.

“Sorry, but I hardly even touched…” He was opening his mouth now, and as he began to protest what he thought was an unfair scolding you saw her lift up a rolled piece of paper and bonk him squarely on the top of his head with it.

You knew it was time to intervene and you cleared your throat noisily to make your presence known.

Carla’s hand with the rolled up paper dropped in an instant and her eyes widened as she looked at you in surprise.

“M…Manager, He…”

Baekhyun’s face whipped to look to you and you noted the apprehension in his eyes and the way he pulled his lips into the smallest pouty frown.

“Carla, why don't you and Emily work together on this? I know you’ve been working very hard all alone this week. Emily, let’s push back your workload to next week, hmm?” You pivoted to address the rest of your team as to not call attention to Carla alone.

“Everyone, let’s not stack everything on the edge of our desks. Let’s try and keep a clean workspace for everyone so accidents like this don't happen so often.”

You did your best to keep any bit of reproach out of your voice and it must have worked just enough to satisfy the easily excited girl because she closed up her mouth and flattened out her angry eyebrows with a small shrug.

You weren't above cleaning up a little mess here and there. As soon as you were done talking you dropped down to your knees and started gathering the papers up into a stack, the moment you moved, the rest of the team all dropped to their knees to do the same. Baekhyun was the first at your side, reaching for papers and pulling them out of your hands as you made neat stacks and he placed them carefully on the opposite side of Carla’s desk next to the partition, safe from literally anyone who might want to walk through this office.

“Baekhyun, I have a meeting upstairs, why don't you tag along so you can see what that’s like?”

“Yes ma’am,” he whispered beside you with a smile building on his face again and he moved quickly, keeping directly behind your steps as you moved down the hallway to the elevators.

“Noona, I’m so sorry about that earlier — I didn’t mean to cause trouble. I don't even know how it happened. All of a sudden she was just yelling at me. ”

“Manager, Baekhyun,” you corrected quickly as you stepped into the elevator first and he followed behind with a sheepish smile creeping up on his face. “And you didn't cause any trouble. You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“You were so cool though. You felt like a hostage negotiator, freeing me from my kidnapper. What did you think of my resume? Am I a man that meets your high standards?” His questions came in rapid succession one after another and you held your composure well at the mention of that damned resume of his.

That resume and those muscles.

“You’re smart and you seem capable enough,” and young and firm and handsome as all hell, “I’m sure you’ll do fine while you are here.”

You gripped your calendar in your fist and tapped it lightly against his belly. He grunted once and grabbed it with his free hands. “Pay attention to that. You’ll need to follow my schedule.”

He smiled and shone brightly in response with an energetic head nod and he spent most of the upstairs meeting leafing through your calendar, making small marks on certain dates and pulling out his cell phone to no doubt copy certain entries into his own phone calendar.

Baekhyun’s first day was eventful but he was very promising. The next days and weeks to come were interesting in a way you hesitated to define.

He proved himself valuable to you instantly. He was indeed smart and capable and had a sense about him that you hadn’t seen before in a coworker. Having him at your side not only made your own job infinitely easier, but you noticed your mood had lightened when he was around.

He was cheerful and funny and although you tried your absolute best not to encourage his jokes or god forbid, laugh at them, the first time you slipped and let a quick chuckle out over something stupid he’d said he looked at you with wide eyes and the proudest grin on his face. You had to instantly roll your eyes for damage control.

“That’s the first time I’ve ever made you laugh. Noona, admit it, you like me just a little bit.”

You’d given up on trying to break him of that nickname after the first week of him just ignoring your attempts. The first time you’d answered to it, you knew it was over. You’d screwed up.

And you just did it again with the laugh. He was holding something very important just out of your reach as he sometimes did when his mood grew playful and you had been doing your best not to kick him in the shins so he would drop the stupid thing that you just needed your final signature of approval so you could move on to the next thing that needed your immediate attention.

“I never said I didn’t like you, Baekhyun, this is work. We are working right now. If I miss this deadline that’s it for me and for you and for the entire department out there.”

“So when the project wraps you’ll have a drink with me and then you’ll laugh at all of my jokes? You promise?” He dropped the papers just enough for you to be able to touch the corner of them and you gripped them tightly, pulling them hard into your hands with a force that instantly made him let go. He knew the penalties of destroying something at the last minute and no amount of playfulness would make him risk having to run around re-gathering important person’s signatures with just one hour until shooting began.

It was what you needed and you signed quickly with a pen, passing them back into his arms with an urgency on your voice.

“Fine. Go. Now.” He was out the door without a second word. Of course he was playing about drinks with you. Of course he was playing with you about liking him just a little bit. This was just what he did and he didn't mean any of it at all. This guy was so far out of your league he had his own fan club.

He was very highly sought after by all of the young ladies in this office alone, and you had heard rumors of his popularity in the rest of the building.

Why wouldn't he be joking with you? It made no sense for you to take any of it seriously and you knew it deep down inside of you.

You made for a quick fluff in the mirror on your wall and a touch up of your makeup along with slipping on a classy professional jacket and the heels you kept in your office for situations that required you to look just a little more presentable than usual. You had another meeting to attend for an upcoming project. Something new and different that required you to meet with a whole new team of very important people to sell yourself and your team and their highly sought after skill set. You pressed the elevator button and caught a glimpse of your reflection in the shining silver elevator doors and just behind you saw the familiar bounce of his blonde hair as he rushed to your side to join you at this meeting. He was huffing and puffing from clearly running through the office to get back to you. You noticed the flush in his cheeks and what looked like dust on his jacket. His hair was just a little messy too. You always did your best not to look too closely at Baekhyun. The few times you did allow it your mind would wander into forbidden places and you noticed that it never took very long for him to catch you watching him.

He didn’t need to attend this one. It was more of a schmoozing event than any sort of technical planning meeting but the sight of his bright smile brought you a strange comfort so you didn’t send him away. Inside the elevator you noticed he was watching your face rather closely and when you turned to him in question he lifted a finger up to his lips and pointed.

“Your lipstick has a little smudge.”

Great. Just what you needed. You tried to look your best and just ended up a mess again. You reached up and rubbed lightly below your bottom lip and he shook his head and took a step closer to you and lifted his own hand to your face.

You froze and held your breath and you stared into his face in shock as the tip of his finger ran a path down the edge of your upper lip. He cocked his head to the side and his eyes slipped into your own for a split second and you were sure that you noticed his cheeks darken a shade. Had your own cheeks given you away so easily as well?

Baekhyun cleared his throat but he wasn’t done and he was no longer looking into your eyes as he did this. He made another, firmer pass of his index finger over the edge of your upper lip and you instinctively pulled your lips inward and squeezed them together, pretending as if you needed to spread your lipstick more instead of just getting away from his fingertips that touched you in this quiet and private place.

As you did it, he moved again. His hand lifted to run his fingertips along your temple, where you must have had an errant strand of hair that he slowly and carefully tucked behind your ear. You kept your breathing calm and steady and you kept your face impassive, but the racket inside of your own chest as your heart beat took on a life of its own was distracting and terribly concerning. You were a mess deep down inside. You were just so good at hiding it from him.

“There,” he whispered. “Beautiful,” he said even quieter, almost entirely under his breath just as the sound of elevator dinging made you jump with the sudden intrusion.

You were the first one out. You didn’t hear his footsteps behind you as you usually did and when you risked a quick glimpse behind you, you noticed he hadn’t yet left the elevator and his focus seemed distracted and lost.

“Baek,” you called and his eyes snapped back to life before the elevator doors closed on him. He shook his head lightly and took three big steps to take his place at your side. His smile was nowhere to be found and his eyes didn't quite meet yours and something about him made the air in this blasted hallway feel awkward and claggy and downright difficult to breathe in.

“Oh, I feel—,” you let out a breath through your pursed lips and whispered out loud to yourself as you placed a hand over your chest to calm your beating heart, “—-nervous,” you admitted in defeat, pausing outside of the heavy wooden doors.

“Because of the meeting?” A quiet question eked out in a familiar voice behind you and you refused to meet his eyes.

“Of course, why else?” You answered flatly and quickly but his reply did not come as quick. What came instead was a sharp inhale of breath pulled into the lungs of the man who stood behind you at this door.

“Right,” he said softly with a small exhale through his nose. “Why else.” He agreed out loud. You must have imagined just a hint of disappointment in that exhale. Of course you’d imagined it. It probably originated inside of your own head, really. Everyone knew you had no business feeling any sort of way about your assistant Byun Baekhyun. Whether it be disappointment; or heart flutterings; or attraction; or desire; all of it was off limits.

“Baekhyun, this is a very important meeting.” You inhaled slowly and deeply and stole a glance to your left where Baekhyun stood and you noticed he had what looked like an entire leaf stuck to the top of his head.

What?

The more you looked at him the messier he actually seemed and you knew that behind that door would be a multitude of very important, very rich people who held your future in their hands. People who very likely did not have dirt on their coats and leaves in their hair.

This would not do. There was an empty hallway near the stairwell at the end of the corridor. You’d often used that quiet space to regroup before these kinds of meetings. You knew there was a bench and a clock on the wall that did not tick as it’s big hands spun around its face. You reached for his arm and pulled him

“Why are you so messy? What happened to you?” You pulled him fast and he complied with rushed steps to the sanctuary of that quiet space and when you pushed at his shoulders, sending him down to sit in front of you on the bench, he did so with a soft grunt of surprise and zero resistance. Baekhyun never ever resisted anything from you. You’d overheard him downright arguing with some of the other staff members before but he took being your assistant quite seriously and treated even small requests from you as if they had been laws set in stone to follow.

He was just a little bit ridiculous but mostly he was just the best.

“Before, when I was getting signatures, the paper flew away in the wind and I had to chase it down. There was a bush…” You brushed at his coat with your fingertips, patting harder to get some of the dirt to fall off and you had to step closer to him to get at the leaves in his hair. There were two and they were small and dried and they crumbled into a million bits when you grabbed them, making you have to pull apart the strands of his blonde hair carefully to remove every last bit of them.

“…it flew under the bush in the courtyard and I had t-to…”

You knew you were leaning into him and he seemed to abruptly stop his explanations when you took another step placing your feet in the spaces around where his feet parted, you felt the roundness of his kneecap brush against the inside of your inner knee and he had gone completely still and his words quit entirely. The part of your brain where you kept your most incriminating secrets about him sounded alarms and warning bells. You ignored the cacophony in favor of this necessary task at hand.

It took some doing but you’d gotten all of the mess out of his hair. There was a small pile of broken and dried leaves sitting in the palm of your hand and you noticed some more dirt on the breast of his dark blue coat. It was a dark enough colored coat that the dirt would definitely show so you reached down with your empty hand, laying your palm over the spot, you tried to brush the dirt away. It didn’t budge as easily as you wished it would and a second pass with your hand, with more pressure seemed to work better.

It was almost done. He was nearly perfect again but when your hand returned for one more pass your mind’s alarms rang as you caught on to the firmness and the warmth you felt below his coat. the feeling of him inside of these clothes.

Your stupid intrusive thoughts that you did your best to keep at bay surged up again.

Baekhyun was silent and motionless. Baekhyun had done nothing to encourage this. Everything he had ever told you that might have sounded flirtatious was said in jest. He was joking. He was always joking with you, that was just his way. But he sure did joke a lot with you. You often found yourself confused and frustrated by him.

The dust was gone. He could go now. You could let him go. He was ready to face them.

“There,” you said in a soft whisper, beautiful you thought in secret. Your whisper felt an appropriate tone of voice for such a quiet and secluded hideaway such as this and you mustered up the nerve to remove your hand from his chest so you could throw this trash away and attend your damn meeting.

You rocked back on your feet, shifting your balance away from where he sat on this bench, introducing some distance between the two of you. Then you moved your hand away from his chest for a fraction of a second you no longer felt the warmth and the firmness of his body below your palm and you began to pivot on your heels, you began to turn away from him and extract yourself entirely from this fantastical and impossible situation you had been entertaining inside of your own silly imagination. Only when you shifted so did he and rather than the warmth of his chest under the palm of your hand you felt the slow moving heat of his hand covering over the back of your own hand.

The sensation caught you off guard and you froze mid step, looking down to see it happening. You felt the smoothness of his fingertips tracing an achingly dizzying path up your wrist and higher until your entire hand had been covered completely by his.

You took another step away from him. This was strange. This was some sort of trick of your imagination again.

Your eyes sought out his eyes for answers only the look you saw in his expression did not give you any insight at all. He was watching you with a sort of detachment from this, from you; similar to the same look you’d seen from him in the elevator earlier. Similar to the look you’d seen from him many times over the course of the last few months of working closely with him.

You needed more answers than his face could give and when you took another step the grip he had on your hand tensed and he held on tighter and suddenly he was in motion as his thigh muscles tensed up and he stood on own two feet.

Your mind was consumed by confusion and uncertainty when his movements did not stop.

Baekhyun took a step into you, undoing the distance you had carefully and desperately put between your body and his body and out of the corner of your eye you caught movement in his other hand.

The fragments of seconds of time were insufficient to process any of this. If he was playing some sort of a trick, he was taking it too far for sure. Your heart was entirely too weak to take this kind of behavior from him.

Baekhyun’s hand lifted — he sought to touch the side of your face and at the same time, the distance between the two of you shrunk in an instant as he moved in. You watched on in surprise and in shock until every detail of Byun Baekhyun’s face blurred and you felt the warm wetness of his lips that landed over your own surprised ones.

He kissed you.

He had kissed you.

In this space, this quiet space that was once only yours, he had kissed you and you were frozen in this moment without even the ability to comprehend how this man could have done this, or why he had done this, or what, if anything at all was the punchline of this particular joke of his.

He had kissed you and he was still kissing you and your frozen reaction must have been what brought him to his senses.

He opened his eyes and his lips retreated just enough for him to pull back and look into your face. You made a sound. It was the smallest questioning hum from the back of your throat and you shook your head a microscopic amount to try and clear the static happening inside your brain.

“Uhh,” you finally managed and he had dropped his hold on your hand and closed his eyes up tight.

He looked to his left and then he looked to his right. Both spaces were empty. You were standing in front of him but he did not look at you.

His eyes closed up again and you saw him pull his lips in between his teeth and he bit down and exhaled a huff through his nose before pulling his expression into the smallest wince.

“Shit,” he whispered. He looked behind himself. He looked up at the ceiling and he looked down at the floor. He wasn’t actually looking anywhere but you knew for absolute certainty that he was not looking at you.

You swallowed away the dryness inside of your mouth at the sound of that tiny curse word and the unimaginably tiny sting you felt inside of your chest when you heard him say it.

This was okay.

This was fine.

It was just a mistake; a joke taken too far. He was silly by nature and you did not need to read anything into this little blunder of his. You definitely didn't want to make him feel bad about having made this mistake. Maybe this suffocating ache inside of your chest was the punchline. You could feel its tendrils creeping up inside.

Ha! Ha! Stupid old lady.

No. No, This was okay.

This was fine.

The clock on the wall called to you and you watched the minute hand join up with the hour hand as the two became one and it was 12 noon. It was time for both of you to be inside that meeting room instead of out here playing jokes on each other and instantly regretting it.

His gaze followed yours, touching upon that clock and understanding the task at hand and you stood straighter, fixed your skirt and jacket, made sure your button up blouse was still closed up tight, and you made a few steps toward the trash can to throw away the dried leaves from his hair and from what felt like ages ago and you heard his footsteps follow you down the hallway to enter the meeting room.

You did not hold the door open behind you and you did not listen carefully for the comforting sound of his footsteps behind you. When you opened the door to walk inside you did not do so with any regard for anyone else in the world — especially not for someone like Byun Baekhyun, who’s father’s name adorned the outside of this enormous building and even your paychecks. Especially not for Byun Baekhyun who had exactly three weeks left of his detail in the International Subbing Department before he moved on to QC or AD or wherever the hell he wanted to go when he left you.

[To Be Continued]

Links: Can I Stay? Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

[lewkwoodnco]

june gloom - anthony lockwood x reader

“Look,” he bites out, “if you don’t want me here, say the word and I’ll leave.”

“No.” She looks positively alarmed and places a hand on his elbow. “Please. Don’t go. I like having you here.” Her lips twitch like she’s holding back a smile, but the dead look in her eyes only makes Lockwood even more uneasy. “I like seeing you like this. Thinner. Paler. I like watching you watch me.” She tips her head, considering him. “I like watching you look at me like you can never get your fill of me.”

june gloom, tule fog, I might as well say meet me in Montauk

a/n - help I can’t rmb how I used to format these I hope this is (mostly) correct 😭😭 uni is rlly steamrolling me frfr like I have so many WIPs which I planned to finish up first but inspiration struck for this one instead, for some reason?? And I imagine this to pick up where we left off from chapter 3 (the ntwdt fic) so this would be Ch 3.5 but could also be read as a stand alone I think? anyways enjoy a very autumn coded gloomy kind of angsty fic hehe (also do NOT smoke i am not promoting smoking ❌❌)

tropes/warnings - angst, estranged friends, veryyy very mild allusions to cheating (arguably. personally i didn’t write it that way but i guess I could see some ppl interpreting it that way)

word count - 1.6k!

MASTERLIST | TAGLIST

Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 3.5 | Ch 3.75 | Ch 4 | Ch 5

Finding an apartment to rent in central London was a bleak affair any time of the year, but something about late October seemed to make it even worse. While she looked for a place of her own, her parents had very kindly agreed to put her up for a couple of days. It was at their kitchen table that she had been pouring over apartment listings one barren, gloomy morning, when she peered out to see a familiar car pulled up outside.

Lockwood didn’t know what he was doing. He had just pulled up to her house five minutes ago, of which he spent four of them sitting in silence with the engine turned off. He dragged his palms across his jeans. He isn’t sure how he ended up here, or why. Lockwood & Co. had been handed the privilege of one miraculously empty weekend without any cases. Its employees had decided to indulge themselves, be it through a long bubble bath or a little tinkering on some model train set. A certain special someone’s birthday was coming up. If Lockwood had half the sense he ought to, he’d be spending the weekend with her. Instead, he got in his car and started driving aimlessly, meandering through slick roads that took him to the outskirts of the city.

Maybe it had been some subconscious desire to see her again that led him here. He hadn’t stopped thinking about their brief crossing of paths from a week ago. He had spent months convincing himself that he thought of her less and less as the days went by, enough to delude himself into thinking there was nothing to regret. After all, how could a guy hung up on an old friend find love like he did? But all it took was one glimpse of her again, and it was like they had spent no time apart at all. It was like he was still the sulky, stubborn boy from that last night months ago, smarting from the words unsaid and the pain in his shin. Sleepless and sick with the want to hear her slip back in, for them to make up by the morning, for them to act like it never happened.

He could pretend to have moved on all he wanted, but the sorrow buried deep into his chest and never quite left. He could feel it now, sitting motionless in his car under a dull, overcast sky.

He should’ve asked her to stay.

He jumps when he hears a tapping on the passenger window. The kind, weathered face of Mrs. L/N peers through, clad in gardening gloves and a wide-brim hat. Lockwood instantly becomes aware of how intrusive his visit must be. He hurriedly unbuckles his seat belt and steps out.

“I’m really sorry Mrs. L/N, I meant to call ahead -“

But she was already waving away his effusively apologetic words. She turns towards the house. “Oh, Y/N, it’s been ages since you’ve seen each other. Wouldn’t it be nice for you to catch up?”

He looks over her shoulder and follows her gaze to the house. There, he sees the hazy image of Y/N standing a few steps down from the front door. The slight fog obscures her expression, but there’s something rigid in the way she has her arms wrapped around herself.

“What Mum said. We’d lo-ove to have you.”

She stretches the word out in an exaggerated London drawl. It almost feels like she’s mocking him. But she’s too far for him to get a close enough look at her face, and by the time he makes his way up the winding driveway, she’s disappeared inside.

It helps that Mrs. L/N joins them. Once she’s set out some tea and scones, she prattles on comfortingly like she doesn’t notice the tension weighing in the air. Save for the occasional nod or one-word answer, they stay mostly silent, occasionally sneaking glances at each other. A part of him likes that they’re in the same house again, with her sitting across from him, fiddling with her mug, laughing a little too loud in a not entirely unpleasant way. But he doesn’t recognise her sweater, and her hair’s different, and her pinched face matches her raw, bitten nails.

Occasionally, she makes some seemingly innocuous remark which sounds a little too much like a jab at Lockwood. He hesitates, like he isn’t sure what to say, but then her lips painfully stretch into what is a sardonic smile at best, and the conversation changes. Still, every few seconds his eyes flick back to her face, of which she takes no notice.

But there’s still only so much Mrs. L/N can fill the silence with, and she eventually excuses herself to return to her gardening. The two of them make it for a grand total of 30 seconds of painful silence before she stands up and murmurs something about stepping out for fresh air.

After a minute, Lockwood leaves the kitchen table himself and goes looking for her. He finds her smoking in the backyard, standing at the fence, staring blankly at the treeline a short distance away.

“It’s a filthy habit.” She pauses, dropping the cigarette from her lips, but refuses to turn around. He walks down to the fence. “I thought you got rid of it.”

“How’d you find me?” How’d you know where I’d be?

Lockwood shook his head slowly, eyes unfocused, staring vacantly at the sparse trees reaching for the blank sky. “I didn’t…I wasn’t looking for you.”

She gives him a curious look. If she finds him unconvincing, she doesn’t comment on it. She takes a long drag from her cigarette. The silence starts to become a little more bearable.

“How’s Luce?”

He gives a stiff sort of half-nod. “Alright. Still more violent than she ought to be.”

“George?”

“He’s good.”

“Head still in the books?”

He frowns. “It’s only been three months. He’s not a different person.”

She shrugs. He can’t stop staring at the grimy cigarette in her hand. Her fingers tremble ever so slightly, finally giving the impression that she wasn’t nearly half as calm as she was trying to seem. “He could’ve…taken up water polo, or something. I wouldn’t know.”

The resentment in her voice was apparent - this was definitely a dig at him. For the first time since she’s left, it crosses his mind that she’s left behind a family. Still, it wasn’t like he had kicked her out.

“You chose to leave.”

“You didn’t give me much reason to stay, either.”

“Because - “

“No.” Her subdued, nonchalant attitude dissolved now that he had gotten a rise out of her. “You don’t get to stand there and judge me for leaving when I was miserable and you did fuck all about it. You’ve been this…this fog in my head since June.“ Her clipped voice burns through the cool air harshly. “You have no right to come running back now that it’s finally starting to clear up.”

Lockwood wonders whether the cigarette might be easier to reason with. His gaze wanders over to his car rusting in their driveway. Coming here was a mistake.

“Look,” he bites out, “if you don’t want me here, say the word and I’ll leave.”

“No.” She looks positively alarmed and places a hand on his elbow. “Please. Don’t go. I like having you here.” Her lips twitch like she’s holding back a smile, but the dead look in her eyes only makes Lockwood even more uneasy. “I like seeing you like this. Thinner. Paler. I like watching you watch me.” She tips her head, considering him. “I like watching you look at me like you can never get your fill of me.”

Lockwood flinches, pulling himself out of her grasp as he reels back, suddenly overcome with a surge of revulsion. There’s something malicious, corrupted, unrecognisable about her. He scoffs as he turns back to the house.

“If she’s so amazing, why are you on this side of town?”

He pauses with his hand on the doorknob. Her voice cuts through the air, jagged and bitter. He turns and sees her grinding the cigarette with the heel of her shoe. She straightens and pushes her hair back with a steady, measured hand, a far cry from the klutz whose stumbling around and whispered shrieks guaranteed to drag a smile on Lockwood’s face. Even now, she doesn’t acknowledge how he hasn’t taken his eyes off of her for more than half a minute all day.

“Happy couples,” he starts, a little half-heartedly, “don’t need to be joined at the hip.”

She rolls her eyes. “Don’t give me that.” She walks up to the house too, and when she pauses by him, he punches down the urge to step back.  

“What are you trying to find out?”

She looks at him dismissively, like she already knows the answer and finds it unimpressive. Then she’s disappeared back into the house, the cold is stinging his face, and his heart’s thumping hard enough to break free of his chest.

He exhales shakily and feels his heart shutter itself away from the rest of the world. He still doesn’t know what he came looking for, but maybe it was to remember what he has clearly forgotten.

Always a problem. They’d always be a problem.

TAGLIST: @neewtmas @midnight--raine @ahead-fullofdreams @how-to-stuff-and-things @cielooci @mohinithoughts @snoopyluver20 @ell0ra-br3kk3r @elenianag080 @avdiobliss @houseoftwistedspirits @mischivana @dangelnleif @mitskiswift99

[cressthebest]

Crimson Rivers thoughts pt. 29

chapter 48:

1. oof. i was NOT prepared for james to realize regulus is a death eater

2. “Everything I do in that arena, it's for you.” james is not handling that well. it’s repeated every other paragraph and it feels like a punch to the GUT

3. pros of crimson rivers universe:

•homophobia and transphobia just aren’t a thing in this universe.

•james potter is a real human being.

•wolfstar is together

cons of crimson rivers universe:

• 23 people are brutally slaughtered in an arena for entertainment

4. oh thank god regulus chose his correct person to lie about killing. regulus is smart af

5. “Everything I do in that arena, it's for you.

How, Reg? James thinks, staring at the screen with a lump in his throat. How is this for me? Tell me how.”

AHHHHHHHHHHHHH

6. 😐 james is trusting reg. with no hesitation. no hesitation. nohejsjksidksjsjdlalajsa

7. “Everyone better hope Regulus is fine, because if he isn't, if he's dead, Sirius is going to kill every single fucking person in this maze for daring to live when his little brother didn't.”

i choked on my tea yall. i’m actually so scared for everyone in that arena alongside sirius

8. augusta vs alice argument 👀 i’m here for the drama (that very much makes me a bad person)

9. MARLENE NO

10. thank god she’s fine

11. even tho regulus is a death eater, i find comfort in the fact that regulus hates those people and their personalities

12. the way mavis and velvets deaths remind regulus of his own games with james. two people who didn’t want to live without the other

13. god the evan call backs and KILLING me

14. “Regulus thinks Alecto is quite mental to subject herself to a shift of dealing with two of the Black sisters, who are as equally dramatic and ridiculous as the Black brothers when they want to be.”

LMAOO

15. “He's not here to make friends. It didn't go well for him last time, literally only last year, down to the same fucking day. Exactly a year ago, Regulus spent the day with Evan Rosier, climbing a tree to get to weapons, learning to trust, not knowing that he was on a clock that was running out where the best friend he didn't even know he would have was going to leave him, before he could even properly find him, and know him.”

punched in the fucking gut over this

16. narcissa playing up the pregnancy thing is freaking hilarious

17. the mention of andromeda took me out. i am not okay. reg wonders if andy is at home with her family watching the black family reunion on screen and missing them. babes… i hate to break it to you…

18. remus is pissed at regulus and tbh i don’t blame him

19. mcgonnagal being referred to as cat like>>>

20. the way that the game makers are referring to these games as brutal like never before is honestly terrifying. how the hell is dorcas gonna pull off getting them out?