#echo park delivery

[loveinhawkins]

Robin’s always had a soft spot for Eddie Munson, but up until recently it had been in a distant kind of way; she appreciated his class clown act, the way it had a domino effect of keeping the heat off the band kids, how he hogged the spotlight for any passing douchebag’s attention.

But then they both literally dive into The Upside Down, and her appreciation reaches a whole new level.

They’re in the Wheeler’s garage, thanking their lucky stars that four bikes exist in 1983 (and yeah, Robin’s sure that if she thinks about the whole time thing for half a second more her brain will promptly melt, so she doesn’t).

Each of them are pushing their chosen bike down the driveway, in a dazed sort of silence—the high of the Lite-Brite worn off in the face of another grim journey through The Upside Down.

Steve is flagging, Robin can hear it: his breathing’s growing laboured as he walks, an occasional unsteadiness to him that’s setting her anxiety off all over again, because what if they were wrong, what if it’s really rabies, and it’s too late, it’s coursing through his veins, and he’s—they’re gonna lose him—

“Hey, Harrington,” Eddie says, swinging a leg over his saddle, “wanna race?”

“… Hmm? Sorry, what?” Steve says.

There’s not even that long of a delay in him speaking, but the pause still has Robin’s heart in her throat.

Eddie’s got one foot on a pedal now, ready to set off. He looks back at them with a shaky grin—like he’s terrified, but he’s still gonna have some fun anyway.

“I’m throwing down the gauntlet, King Steve. Bet I’ll be faster than you.”

Steve scoffs, stands up a little straighter before he mirrors Eddie, balancing on the bike with one foot on the pedal.

“How much are we betting?”

Eddie huffs. “Oh, no money involved,” he says nonchalantly. He raises an eyebrow in challenge. “This is just for the glory.”

And God, there’s that spark back in Steve’s eyes; it’s like Robin can physically see his competitive streak giving him strength.

Eddie Munson, you beautiful soul, she thinks, I could kiss you.

“Faster than me? Yeah, maybe in your dreams, Munson,” Steve says.

But Eddie’s already speeding off with a comical whoop; Steve curses as he hurriedly tries to catch up, yelling, “You dick, that’s cheating!”

“Not in my rulebook!” Eddie says with a cackle.

And for a little while, that’s enough to put Robin’s mind at ease: watching the pair of them taunt each other like kids—hearing Nancy laugh at the spectacle as she bikes alongside her.

But then she falls through the Gate, Eddie close behind her, and they freeze when Steve screams Nancy’s name with such fear.

Robin’s plunged back into a mind-numbing panic; she’s sure that her heart doesn’t even begin to slow until they’ve left the trailer park, until Steve’s control of the RV switches from ‘holy shit, we’re on the run, what have our lives become?’ to something more normal—the reliable, measured driving she’s familiar with, taking her to and from school or work.

Finally, she has time to, um… take stock. Of… things.

She wobbles her way over to Eddie, grabbing onto his elbow as Steve takes a turning.

Eddie instantly holds her up, a steadying hand around her waist. “Oh, hi. I’ve gotcha—” “Your music isn’t actually shit,” Robin says in one breath. “I know, um, on balance, it’s probably not the worst thing I could’ve said, but the delivery was—but, you know, considering I thought Nance was literally about to die, I’d say it was, like, kinda calm all things considered, but—”

Eddie’s chuckling. “Yeah, on balance,” he echoes teasingly, “you were pretty damn funny, actually. Uh, sorry for. Um. Screaming at you? Basically?”

“Basically,” Robin agrees. “Yeah, you were like impressively loud. Not quite eardrum-rupturing level, but y’know, I don’t actually know anyone who’s really had that happen to them; Amanda Wallis said she ruptured hers at the pep rally ‘cause she was standing too close to us—the band, I mean, but—”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “Oh, that’s bull, there’s no way that’d be loud enough to—”

“—I think she just had a grudge ‘cause David C on mellophone got literally the tiniest bit of spit on her, and he was only—”

“Yeah, well, everyone knows you sit in the splash zone at your own risk.”

“Exactly! She’s had plenty of time to learn marching band protocol.”

“Uh-huh, protocol,” Eddie echoes again, with a giggle.

He’s got a nice kind of laugh, Robin thinks: one where she’s never in doubt that he’s laughing with her rather than at her.

“That stuff you do’s pretty cool,” he says; with his free hand, he actually imitates her mime of playing a trumpet. “You must have good, uh…” She can see the exact moment that he’s having second thoughts about saying it, but he forges ahead anyway, with a hilariously uncertain, “Good… lungs?”

“Fascinating attempt at a compliment,” Robin says. “Luckily for you, I accept insults as, like, equal tokens of friendship.”

Eddie does a double take. He doesn’t go so far as letting out a questioning, “We’re friends?”, but he might as well have said it anyway: his eyes widen for a moment, like someone who’s just been unexpectedly asked out to prom.

Steve takes another turning; he does it smoothly enough, but even he can’t stop the RV from moving with it, and Robin stumbles again, very nearly ends up repeating how she toppled right onto Eddie in The Upside Down.

“Woah there, you’re good,” Eddie says, “just gotta find your, uh, what’s it called? Your equilibrium.”

“I don’t have any,” Robin says, all theatrical devastation, and Eddie snorts.

“Sure you do, Buckley. Look, just take my—yeah, that’s it, then just kinda straighten up… yeah, you’ve got it.”

And yes, after a minute or so, Robin’s footing does feel more certain, but she still keeps a stubborn grip on Eddie’s elbow, just in case.

“God, d’you know what I’m gonna do when all this is over?” Eddie says.

“Pray tell.”

“I’m gonna make a list. What was it you said, Madonna, Blondie…? Whatever, I’m getting all of them, m’never getting caught out like that again.”

“I’m hoping that needing music to evade the clutches of a serial killer from an alternate dimension is, um, strictly a one-time thing.”

“Don’t care,” Eddie says. “Still buying those tapes. Just in case.”

And yeah, it’s said partly in jest, but Robin can hear that he means it. Still, it’s the most optimistic that she’s heard him be so far: making plans for after, like he can really see a way through this. Like maybe he finally knows that they’ll help him get there.

“Need a list of tapes from you too, Buckley. You and Harrington.”

Robin smiles. Her first thought is of singing Total Eclipse of the Heart from the dirt-ridden floor of a mall bathroom, but then she thinks of every car ride with Steve, every time they’ve turned up the radio to belt along, and she knows that there are way too many songs to count.

“Forget a list,” Robin says, “I could fill a book. Same for big boy over there.”

Eddie blinks, like he’s suddenly taking stock, too. “Oh yeah,” he says, laughing lightly, “I did say that, huh?”

“Sure did. I was doubting my ears, too.”

Robin had been hoping they’d long since reached the point of being able to joke around with one another. But while Eddie does laugh again, he also starts biting at his thumbnail, glancing over at Steve in the driver’s seat.

“Um, hey.” Robin manages to keep her balance, briefly pressing her knee against his leg. “I didn’t mean anything by it, Eddie.”

“No, I know.” Eddie huffs self-effacingly. “I’ve kinda got permanent foot-in-mouth disease, my report cards would tell you that.”

Well, if he wants to pass it off as sometimes I just say the darnedest things, Robin would be a hypocrite to deny him.

It fascinates her in a sad sort of way though, how he veers between joking and nervousness—like he’s worried he’s intruding on their group, of overstepping somehow.

She wants to tell him: Look, we all got dragged into this, but we chose to stick around, and you’re no different.

But she no longer has the aftermath of Russian drugs to help bypass her own nerves, to kickstart her sincerity.

“Hey, you’re awfully quiet back there,” Steve calls, and Eddie startles.

Robin shakes her head. “Not us, that’s his—”

“Hello? Henderson, I’m talking to you.”

“We’re not even doing anything!” Dustin shouts back in exaggerated affront.

He’s sat on the backseat of the RV, peering out the window along with Lucas, Erica and Max. Robin stifles a chuckle at the sight; they look like they’re on a field trip—the cool kids at the back of the bus.

“Yeah, well, just checking,” Steve says, amused. “For all I know, you coulda been building a gigantic radio again on, like, the roof of this thing.”

“Cerebro,” Dustin says, just as Eddie lets out a baffled, “Uh, again?”

But then they’re pulling into The War Zone’s parking lot, and any chatter abruptly dies.

Afterwards, Steve gets off the road to park in a reassuringly deserted field. They don’t head outside right away (Robin’s not exactly looking forward to prepping Molotov cocktails), instead staying in the RV to eat junk food they’d grabbed beforehand.

Robin discovers that Dustin’s somehow bought five more cans of Pringles and snorts, declaring, “You’ve got a problem.”

At some point, Steve tries to sneak off to the bathroom so he can change his dressings—“And use actual proper bandages!” Robin calls to him; no offence to Nancy’s resourcefulness, but the torn shirt strips only do so much good.

It becomes a more comical than horrifying event, although she’s sure that’s down to Steve deliberately making it so, like a sleight of hand trick: playing it down as he keeps talking to the kids throughout, never wincing even once.

He ends up having to keep the bathroom door open to continue an argument with Erica over which Scoops Ahoy sundae was the best of all time—then figures that he might as well just step out into the open anyway.

At least the wounds have stopped bleeding—although the sight of Steve cleaning around them with bottled water is one that Robin could personally do without.

The kids are entirely unfazed. They flock to Steve, peering at the glimpses he lets them see like he’s just got a cool tattoo. Robin supposes that after El and whatever nightmare wormy thing was in her leg, they’ve seen everything.

Eddie, however, is another matter. He keeps quiet about it, not obvious at all, but Robin watches his face grow paler and paler before Steve wraps the new bandages around his stomach.

Dustin, bless his precocious little heart, must also notice, because he quickly starts up a seemingly impromptu game of charades, meaning that Eddie is soon distracted by his ridiculously over the top gestures.

“No, Steve, how are you not getting this?”

“I thought the whole appeal of this game was that you’re not meant to talk, Henderson. Dude, watch it, you nearly took Max’s eye out with… whatever the hell that was.”

“Oh my god, it’s Back to the Future, obviously! Ow, Max, I didn’t mean to—uh, yeah, the mime needs to be that big, how else am I gonna project what—”

“Dustin, I swear to god, I’m about to project you out the window,” Steve drawls.

Eddie laughs, hides it behind his hand.

But Steve must catch it, because he glances over at Eddie and winks before he’s dragged back into guessing another movie title.

And Robin’s obviously seen Steve wink before—he does it all the time, so much so that she’s become quite adept at reading when it’s a friendly one for her, or if he’s sharing some kind of in-joke with one of the kids.

She’s also seen his attempts at a ‘smooth’ wink towards some girls at work—and look, he’s Steve Harrington, it’s not like he’s going to be bad at it.

But if you ask Robin, it’s never looked quite right, like he’s always performing to an audience he’s unsure of.

But this wink doesn’t look like it belongs to either of those categories. Well, it’s got something in common with the first: that it looks entirely natural, as if he’s doing it almost without thinking. Like it just feels right.

They go through some more rounds of charades—Dustin’s gestures, if possible, getting even more dramatic—and Eddie gradually goes from contributing a few guesses to none at all, curling up on the backseat. He looks utterly wiped out.

Robin tries to catch Nancy’s eye, and after a few attempts, she gets the message, stands up with a nod.

“Okay, let’s take this outside, guys.”

“Spoken like a true camp counsellor,” Max says.

Nancy acts like she’s offended, but her lips keep twitching into a smile. “Max, never say that to me again.”

“There’s more space outside,” Erica says, “so we can duck out the way of Dustin’s windmilling arms.”

“Hey!”

“I’m bored of charades,” Lucas says. “We could do another competition? Like, I dunno, cartwheels or handstands or something?”

“Oh sure, so I can show you up?” Max returns, grinning.

Steve scoffs. “Uh, if you’re doing a cartwheel competition, I would win.”

“Since when?” Dustin says, an obvious taunt that Steve predictably rises to, flipping him off.

“Save your athletics for Vecna, please,” Nancy cuts in dryly.

“It wouldn’t be a fair fight.” Lucas gestures to Steve’s stomach, a little uncertainly. “You know, considering…”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Whatever. Under normal circumstances, I would kick all your asses.”

“Sure,” Robin says brightly, “but Steve, if you do literally anything more strenuous than sitting down right now, I’m gonna—”

“Uh, Steve would kick your asses, actually,” Eddie says slowly. His voice is muffled from the way his hand’s holding up his chin, partly covering his mouth. “He did gymnastics.”

Robin, surprised, looks to Steve; he’s doing that thing where he scratches at his cheek unconsciously, seems to be a mixture of embarrassed and pleased.

“How’d you know that?” he asks.

Eddie shrugs. “We didn’t have a cover for gym one time, remember? There was a whole group of us slacking off but you just kept doing, y’know,” he twirls his fingers, “tricks on that box thingy.”

“Vaulting box,” Steve corrects like he can’t stop himself. He’s sporting an almost abashed little smile that Robin’s never seen before.

Eddie shrugs again. “S’all Greek to me,” he says, interrupts himself halfway through with a deep yawn.

Steve’s eyes soften. And then he’s ushering the kids outside, “C’mon, you can do whatever competition you want for thirty minutes before we get to work.”

“Got it, coach.”

“Shut up, Mayfield.”

“I’ll be your stopwatch if you’re doing handstands,” Nancy chips in, bringing up the rear—she catches Robin’s eye again, subtly tilts her head in Eddie’s direction and mouths Stay?

Robin nods.

“Uh, that won’t be accurate at all,” comes Dustin’s rebuttal—he’s outside now, but his voice still carries. “Unless you can like accurately keep time in your head down to the second—”

“Oh my god, Dustin, you’re such a shithead.”

“Nancy Wheeler, I’m heartbroken.”

Steve’s chuckle floats through the open door. “She said it, dude, not me.”

“You say it all the goddamn time!”

And then the voices fade away until all Robin can hear is distant laughs and joyful screams. It’s relaxing, in its own way.

“No gymnastics for you, Buckley?” Eddie says.

“Nope, not since 7th grade. Managed two cartwheels before I broke my wrist.”

Eddie winces in sympathy. He’s slumping a bit more; Robin makes herself comfy in the opposite corner of the backseat, gives him the most space.

She feels a weird lump at her back, behind one of the cushions. A quick investigation reveals an issue of TV Guide Magazine.

“Ooh, we can find out what we missed while on the run,” she says, waggling it in front of Eddie.

He smiles with a small huff. “Doubt it. Says 1981 on the front.”

“What’s a little more time travel?”

Robin flicks through to the crossword. She’s all too aware that Eddie’s still sat more stiffly than anything else. With Steve, it would be so easy; she could prod him in the thigh with her toe, light touches until he took the hint and relaxed.

But even before they’d really become friends, they were tactile: a tap on the shoulder to grab attention, bumping hips to move each other out of the way whenever they were scooping ice-cream at the same time. It’d been done so unconsciously, like they were already learning to read each other’s minds.

With Eddie, it’s clear that a different approach is needed.

Robin had caught onto that after her misstep at the boathouse, a pit in her stomach at the sight of Eddie’s hands shaking.

But her instinct to reach out, to soothe, made her unthinkingly try again; as they walked in the woods, she’d heard his breathing quicken, and her hand lightly brushed his back. She drew back as he instantly flinched at her touch.

“Sorry, sorry,” she said hurriedly. “Just—just checking you were okay. Sorry.”

Eddie just stared at her before nodding hesitantly.

And Robin wanted to tell him that it wasn’t by chance, that he had people who cared about him; that she did, and it wasn’t a fluke or an accident—she was choosing it.

She keeps her eyes on the magazine, jots down a few crossword answers. It reminds her of summer days spent reading on her grandparents’ porch, not wanting to startle a cat her grandpa had rescued as it approached her. It was always so spooked.

“You’ve just gotta let him come to you, sweet pea,” her grandma would say.

After a couple minutes, she hears Eddie breathe out, the creak of the seat as he lies down. He rests his head right next to her thigh.

“S’good?” he asks, pointing at the magazine.

“It’s pretty easy.” One of the crossword clues is ‘The Lion, the Witch, and the?’ which isn’t exactly taxing. “I’m used to doing the cryptic ones.”

Eddie laughs. He kinda sounds fond. “Of course you are.”

“They’re not that hard, once you know how to read ‘em.”

“Hmm, I doubt that. Lay one on me, Buckley.”

She purses her lips in thought. “Oh, I got this one last week. Condition of Wyoming, five letters.”

Eddie lifts his head ever so slightly to give her a blank look. “Not a fucking clue.”

“State. Get it? ‘Cause ‘condition’ is the definition, and Wyoming is literally—”

“God, I’m surrounded by geniuses.”

“Well, I’ve got the advantage of a summer of code-breaking.”

Robin slowly raises her hand as she speaks—makes sure to do it in Eddie’s line of vision, spots that he doesn’t pull back, that he even gives the tiniest half-nod. She pats his head twice.

Eddie scrunches up his nose. “Sorry, my hair’s gross.”

“It’s not that bad,” Robin says honestly. “Y’know for being on the run, it’s holding up pretty well. I’m getting whatever shampoo you use.”

Eddie smiles. “Sure.”

“Yours is looking way better than mine did after, like, one day getting wrapped up in all this.” Again, without really thinking, Robin adds, “I had all this sweat and blood and puke in it.”

Eddie’s eyes are closed now. He makes an unhappy sound, prods gently at her knee. “You’ve all gotta work on telling me horrific shit. That should not be casual for you, Buckley.”

He sounds emphatic—protective, even. Robin feels unexpectedly emotional.

“Yeah, sorry. Bad habit.”

Silence falls, and by the time Steve enters the RV, Robin has filled in the whole crossword, Eddie dozing by her side.

Steve’s getting another bottle of water—actually drinking it this time. He’s got grass stains on his knees, and he’s sweating slightly, like the ‘stay still’ advice hasn’t once been taken.

His eyes soften again when he sees Eddie sleeping—he doesn’t need to linger, but he does.

Robin watches.

We need more time, Steve, she thinks suddenly. For you to keep looking at him like that—for him to be awake to see it.

Steve tears his eyes away. Lands on her.

She smiles, mouthing What?

Steve rolls his eyes. He imitates her ‘what?’ mockingly, but then he smiles back and taps at his wrist, mimes winding a watch on. It’s what they do whenever they’re slammed at work, wanting to talk, but only able to briefly catch each other’s eyes in the rush. Later.

She taps her wrist. Later, she promises.

He gives her a double thumbs up—what a dork—before heading back outside.

Robin quietly puts the magazine away. Ever so carefully, she lightly strokes Eddie’s hair, feels her heart swell and break at the same time when he sighs contentedly in his sleep.

You’d better look after yourself, Eddie Munson, she thinks. You’ve got people here. People who really want you to stick around.

[pinknipszz]

IT'S BUZZCUT SEASON, ANYWAY

⤷ gojo satoru, ryomen sukuna, and fushiguro toji

SATORU thought it was going to be a harmless prank. hair grows back after all.

well. he didn’t anticipate his “harmless prank” to cause this much emotional distress. 

“it’s so ugly!” you scream, hiding your tear-stained face in your hands in a desperate attempt to forget the horrific image of your sweet, sweet boyfriend and his white buzzcut. entirely dismissive of the fact that you’re in a public setting—a park, actually—satoru quickly scoops you up in his arms with consolation on his lips.

“it’s not that bad baby,” he swears. “it’ll grow back in a few weeks anyway.” you spiral at his words as images of that vile haircut flash in your mind. after putting you back on your feet, satoru tries to pull your hands away from your pretty face, but his efforts turn futile once he hears something along the lines of: “it is that bad!” 

it comes out as a hoarse, incoherent muffle, but he understands it nonetheless.

“i’ll wear a wig!” he blurts out desperately. "there's a shop down the street. we'll buy one right now." your shoulders stop shaking as you fall silent, and for a moment, satoru thinks he made the right choice of words. When you barrel into another fit of loud sobs, however, an unretrievable part of him chips away.

with a heavy heart, satoru sighs and holds you against his chest, cradling your head. he really fucked up this time. people throw him strange looks, but others—especially women—only sigh and shake their heads sympathetically at your anguish. no one can really blame you for reacting like this anyway. 

“SUKUNA,” you gasp in awe at the sight of him. 

you’re hardly seated yet, but the thin glass shield does little to spare him from the bewildered look on your face as you gawk at the short, neat buzz in place of his usual slick back. he feels his eye twitch.

when the officer coughs behind him, sukuna throws a mean look over his shoulder before ripping the telephone off the wall and holding it close to his ear. he only gets to hear your sweet voice once a month, and he’ll be damned if you waste it on his hair. “don’t ask about it,” he gruffs out. “tell me what you’ve been up to.”

you blink once—twice, even—before mirroring his actions and grabbing the prison’s janky telephone (having done this so many times, you don’t even wince when you touch some mysterious residue left by the previous visitor). you try to speak, your lips curling around the syllables of a word, but not a single sound escapes your throat. 

sukuna rolls his eyes at your loss for words. “come on. talk to me, doll.” his light tap against the glass earns him a warning that you don’t quite catch from the officer, but by the quiet string of curses that leaves the receiver, you guess it must have something to do with cutting his minutes. which you absolutely did not want.

“i think it fits you,” you say hurriedly. “you have a nice face, so the buzz works really well.” your delivery wasn’t the most elegant, and you might have even stuttered in between, but sukuna nearly groans when he hears you again. god he misses you. more than you miss his pretty pink hair.

TOJI thinks his life can’t get any worse—or at least that’s what he thought before getting into a car accident last week.

by the grace of god, toji survived with only a few minor injuries, but his hair, now full of a million tiny glass shards, wasn’t so lucky. once he realized that they were impossible to wash out, toji knew there was only one thing left to do.

a loud shriek echoes through the apartment. 

“toji—why are you bald?” you point an accusatory finger at your boyfriend of three years, standing in the middle of your bathroom with a towel around his waist. maybe under different circumstances, you’d be drooling over the delicious sight, but how could you possibly do that when his hair is so close to his scalp!

toji simply won’t stand for this slander. now don’t get him wrong. he loves you more than anything in the world, but the last thing any guy wants to hear is his name and the word “bald” in the same sentence. “i’m not bald goddamnit!” he barks back with equal ferocity. “it’s called a buzzcut. get it right, woman!”

the hilarity of the situation has you doubling over in laughter. there are tears ruining your mascara, but you don’t half the mind to care, and neither does he as tension melts away from his shoulders. toji chuckles and shakes his head at your desperate wheezes.

this interaction could’ve gone much, much worse.

(masterlist) | (a/n: i don't think anyone else in the series would get a buzz tbh)

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

Musician Age Gap AU Pt 4

Dropping Esme off at home turns into more than just a simple kiss and ride. She parks and walks Esme to the front door. The tears had petered out halfway home, but it had left Esme shaky and exhausted. And when Alex opens the door to welcome them home, she can barely get out a "how was it?" before Esme bursts into fresh tears and darts up the stairs to her bedroom.

Alex watches her daughter go, then turns back to Kara with an accusatory look. Kara sighs. "It's a long story."

"I'll put the kettle on."

Over tea, Kara gives her sister the rundown of the evening-- omitting certain bits of her own exhanges with Lena. By the end, Alex is stunned, but heartbroken for her daughter.

"The highest of highs, and lowest of lows," Alex moans. "I was already going to call her out of school tomorrow, but now I really need to."

Kara nods. "I hope she'll remember the night more for what actually happened than the fact she lost the pictures of it. She really did have a good time, til she realized."

"What a night," Alex sighs. "Well, thank you for stepping in. I know she appreciated the time with you, in any case."

"Yeah," Kara nods. "Me too."

"You should come over more. She's not the only one who misses you."

"Alex..."

"You're not the only busy, I get that, but it sucks being the only one to reach out."

Kara closes her eyes. They've had variations of this conversation before, but it didn't make it any easier to hear. It's been busy lately, the last few years. And she knows she's missing out on key times with Esme, but... she's never been very good at juggling.

"I know." Then, "I should go. I'll call the venue in the morning, see if maybe one of the cleaning crew finds the phone and turns it in to lost and found or something."

All Alex can do is nod. "Thanks."

All thoughts of the ticket in her pocket disappears until the next day. Her calls to the arena have been fruitless-- no one had found anything, and no amount of cajoling or bribery could make them devote manpower to look for it. So when she's emptying her pockets to run a load of laundry, she's so frustrated she's willing to chuck it into the sun.

Until she sees a loop of a swoopy letter written on it, half hidden by a folded crease. Puzzled, Kara smooths it out and flips it over-- and finds a phone number written across its face in silver sharpie.

Stunned, Kara stares at the offending digits.

"What the fuck?"

---

It's probably her manager, Kara reasons. Or her assistant, at the very least. But when she punches the number into her phone, driven by the echo of her promise to Esme in her ears, she instantly recognizes the voice that answers.

"Hello?"

Kara's mouth goes dry. "Uhhhhhh.... hi? Shit. I mean--"

"I'm glad you called," Lena interrupts smoothly. "I have a phone here that's sorely missing its owner."

"Oh thank god," Kara releases with a heavy sigh. "Thank you."

"Sorry we weren't able to catch you before you left. I didn't see it until late."

"Esme was heartbroken," Kara tells her, unnecessarily. "You've saved a life."

"Her life? Or yours?" There's a tease in Lena's voice.

Kara grins. "Both. Definitely both."

A chuckle rumbles across the line. "Well, how can we get this to you?"

"Oh, if you could ship it..."

"No need," Lena says simply. "We're in town for another day or so. Is there a place we can deliver it?"

Kara blinks, surprised. "Um, sure. I'll be at my office in an hour."

"Perfect."

Kara rattles off the address to her, then books it to the office, determined not to miss the delivery. She stays on edge for the first hour, but soon finds herself distracted by her work-- until her assistant knocks tentatively on her door before poking her head in.

One look at Eve's baffled and somewhat dazed expression sends a bolt of electricity down Kara's spine.

"Miss Danvers? Um... there's someone here to see you. She-- she says its a personal delivery?"

Kara is already on her feet. "I'll take care of it. Thank you, Eve."

"It's--"

"I know," Kara assures her.

"You... know her?"

Kara sighs. "It's complicated."

She makes her way to the lobby, finding Lena Luthor leaning casually against the front desk, completely unbothered by the gazes peeking at her from between frosted sections of the glass walls.

"If you'd have told me you planned to bring it yourself, I would've given you a different address," Kara says drolly. Lena looks up at her with a puckish grin. "You're about to give the entire office an aneurysm."

"Sorry, not sorry." Entirely unapologetic, Lena straightens, pushing softly away from the desk to face Kara directly.

Kara folds her arms across her chest, unable to help the smile spreading across her own features. Lena lifts an eyebrow, retrieving Esme's phone from her back pocket to waggle it teasingly.

"Thank you...." Kara reaches for it, only for Lena to tilt it out of reach. Kara rolls her eyes. "What?"

"I'm... gonna be honest," Lena drags out, smirking. "I didn't come here with truly altruistic purposes."

Kara resettles her weight, cocking one hip. "This is becoming a pattern with you, Miss Luthor."

"I'm only human, you know." She taps Esme's phone on her chin. "And I'm not above taking a teenager's phone hostage, if it gets me a coffee with a gorgeous woman."

Bold. Entirely *too* bold. But Kara can't quite bring herself to mind.

"You have me at a disadvantage," she returns. "I really need that phone."

"Then a coffee with a charming lady seems to be in your very near future."

Kara rolls her eyes. "Let me grab my purse."

Lena waits patiently, and Kara doesn't bother pausing to explain a damn thing to anyone. It's none of their business, and right now she's a woman on a mission.

To get her goddaughter's phone.

And absolutely nothing else.

[pedge-page]

Another Joel dealing with a horomonal preggo reader, at the park:

Warnings: language, mentions of sexual content

- - - -

You always slip on your favorite pair of laced up sneakers when on the go, and today is no different. You and Joel had made a habit of taking a leisure walk through the local park on the weekends for the fresh air and enjoying each others company.

You gently lay a hand under your bulging tummy instinctually now as you prepare for your baby's delivery any week now. Joel notices your shoe comes untied, and ever the gentle man, offers to tie it up for you.

"No, Joel, I'm not a child. I dont NEED some man, I can tie my own shoes," you scoff coldly, detaching your hand from his.

He holds his hands up in surrender and watches:

At first you try to bend down as normal from the waist, but the bump prevents you from getting any closer to your shoes. Then you try to squat, but that proves useless too as you can't see past your swollen belly. You try several different ways-- bending, crouching, leaning, from one foot on the bench to almost doing a twister-crab walk pose on all fours, increasingly becoming frustrated with how neither your arms nor eyes could reach the culprit of all your problems in the world: the untied shoe lace.

You start huffing, eyes watering at how angry you're getting.

Yoy finally stand up straight and look dead ahead, and the tears start flowing like an avalanch as you tild your head back and wail into the sky.

Joel shakes his head, gets on a creaky knee and ties your shoes together, whispering praise to you and your belly "you did good my girl, I'll take it from here," and "Your body is doing miracles already," to get you to calm down as you make a giant scene in the busy park.

"I'm—sniffles—too—chokes—fucking—FAT!"

Joel is quick to comfort you: "No you're not, you're beautiful! You're growing our healthy beautiful baby in here, calm down, sweetie, no need to cry."

But you persist, ugly snot running down your nose as you stutter your inhales and heave your exhales. "I'm gonna— have a big f-fucking fat ass baby and h-h-h's g-gonna rip m-y fucking vagina apart!" you croak loudly, your hands unable wipe away the amount of tears blinding your eyes.

People turn their heads at your echoing voice and subsequent expletives carry over the open area—"And then —huff—my h-h-husband—that's you—won't l-love me any-m-more because I won't have—heave—have a tight s-sexy pussy ever again!" You wail, more ugly tears spilling as you scream the last part.

"Jesus," Joel says under his breath, desperately fumbling to get your shoes double knotted as quickly as possible. He's looking around and sheepishly smiling, waving off the nasty glares from a group of middle aged women joggers and parents covering their young childrens' ears as they walk by, shouting every curse and sexual thing that Joel apparently won't love about you anymore for all the world and God to hear.

He finishes the knot as you adjust to hyperventilating. "Okay okay, all fixed now see? How about we get some ice cream, yeah?" He says, rubbing your shoulders soothingly as he nods off everyone to go about their business again. He pauses quickly and stares back at you, realizing his potential fatal error. "Or—or not! We don't need to, if... if that makes you feel—" fatter.

You sniffles a bit more, rubbing your red swollen eyes before answering with a much more child-like, hushed tone, "N-no—I. I want, mmm, chocolate. Two scoops."

He plants a long kiss on your forehead before holding your hand to lead you to the ice cream cart.

Staying firmly planted, You quickly rip your hand away and shout, "JOOOEL!"

He doubles back, panic stricken over his entire body at the harsh, painful cry of his name. "What what is it?? What's wrong!? Tell me." His hands immediately cup around your belly, feeling for any signs of violent movement.

You meekly hold your foot up, barely balancing on one knee with the counter weight of your tummy. "S' too tight," you say softly, indicating the shoe he'd just spent an eternity trying to knot.

He tries to hide his sigh as he forces himself to one knee again in front of your dangling foot.

- - - -

Series masterlist

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Permanent taglist: @harriedandharassed

[anniebeemine]

Pink Roses- s.r x fem!reader

This one hurt my heart. So have fun with it!

Spencer couldn't help but smile as he watched you through the glass. You were gabbing with Garcia by the elevators, arms waving animatedly, a big grin on your face. He loved seeing you so full of life, your laughter echoing faintly through the hallway.

Morgan strolled up beside Spencer, catching the direction of his gaze. "You know," he said with a teasing grin, "you should really stop pretending to be fascinated by the glass and just tell her how you feel."

Spencer glanced at Morgan, trying to hide his smirk. "Who says I haven’t already planned something?" he replied, a hint of smugness in his tone.

Morgan raised his eyebrows in surprise before breaking into a wide grin. "Oh really? Look at you, finally stepping up your game. My man!" He clapped Spencer on the shoulder, his voice full of approval.

Spencer couldn’t help but chuckle, feeling a rare sense of confidence. "Yeah, I’ve got it covered," he said, his eyes drifting back to you as you continued chatting with Garcia. For the first time, he felt like things might just work out the way he hoped.

As you walked past Spencer, you gave him a polite wave, a small smile playing on your lips. He nodded in return, feeling his heart skip a beat. He noticed the paper in your hand, curiosity piqued as he wondered what it was about. You headed straight for Hotch's office, knocking lightly before stepping inside. Spencer tried to refocus on his work, shifting his attention back to the files on his desk. But his thoughts kept drifting back to you, replaying the moment you walked by, the way your smile lingered just a little longer than usual.

Unable to resist, Spencer glanced up through the glass walls of Hotch’s office. You were standing there, beaming as you talked with Hotch, your enthusiasm apparent even from a distance. He watched as Hotch listened intently, nodding occasionally. The conversation ended with a firm handshake, and Spencer couldn't help but admire the way you handled yourself, confident and composed.

As you exited the office, Spencer quickly averted his eyes, pretending to be deeply engrossed in his work. But the truth was, his thoughts were entirely consumed by you, and the growing anticipation of whatever plan he had in store. As you left Hotch's office, you made your way over to Spencer’s desk, a bright smile still lighting up your face.

"So," you began casually, leaning against the edge of his desk, "we’re still on for tonight, right? You’re picking me up at my place?"

There was rarely ever parking in the small lot behind his apartment. Rather than walking two blocks in the night to the nearest free lot, he offered to start picking you up. This often gave both of you the excuse to let you stay over, ‘accidentally’ falling asleep on the couch together and then being too tired to drive back.

Spencer looked up at you, trying to suppress the nervous excitement bubbling up inside him. "Yeah," he replied smoothly, "I’ll be there at seven. And don’t worry about dinner—the delivery’s already been ordered."

You nodded in approval, clearly impressed. "Nice, you’ve really thought of everything," you said with a grin, holding out your fist. Spencer hesitated for only a moment before meeting your fist with his, the playful gesture making his heart race just a little faster.

"Can’t wait," you added, pushing off from his desk. "I’ve got a few errands to run before then, so I’ll see you later."

"See you later," Spencer echoed, watching as you turned and walked away.

As soon as you were out of earshot, Morgan, who had been quietly observing the exchange, sent Spencer a knowing wink. "You’re on fire today, pretty boy," he teased, a proud smile spreading across his face.

Spencer chuckled, feeling a mix of pride and nerves. "Just trying to keep up," he replied, the anticipation for the evening ahead making it hard to concentrate on anything else.

+++

Spencer couldn’t help but feel a little nervous and, admittedly, a bit ridiculous as he stood on the welcome mat outside your apartment. In his hand was a bouquet of flowers he had impulsively picked up at a little stand he passed on the way over. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his free hand nervously adjusting his tie, as he rehearsed what he was going to say once you opened the door.

Before he could second-guess himself any further, the door swung open, and you stepped forward, only to run face-first into the bouquet. Startled, you took a step back, your eyes widening in surprise before they softened into a delighted smile.

“Spencer!” you exclaimed, gently taking the bouquet from him. “You really didn’t have to—these are beautiful!”

He felt a wave of relief wash over him as you gushed over the flowers. “I, uh, saw a little stand on my way over,” he explained, trying to sound casual but knowing the nervousness was creeping into his voice. “I remembered you mentioned once that you liked pink roses, so I thought these might be perfect.”

You smiled even wider, clearly touched by his thoughtfulness. “Come in,” you said, stepping aside to let him in. “I’ll just put these in a vase real quick.”

As you moved to the kitchen to find a vase, Spencer followed, unable to stop himself from rambling on as he often did when he was anxious. “You know, flowers have this whole ‘secret language’ that people used to communicate with each other over time,” he began, watching as you carefully arranged the bouquet. “Different flowers and even different colors of the same flower can have specific meanings. For example, solomio flowers,” he pointed to a few bright blooms, “mean ‘my own sunshine.’ They’re often given to someone who brings light and happiness into your life.”

You looked up at him, clearly intrigued, and he continued, pointing out the different flowers. “Ranunculus symbolizes charm and attractiveness. It’s often used to convey how captivated you are by someone’s beauty.”

You smiled, a faint blush creeping onto your cheeks as you added the ranunculus to the vase.

“And the eucalyptus,” Spencer went on, his tone softening, “represents strength, protection, and abundance. It’s often used to wish someone well or to protect them from harm.”

You paused, looking up at him with a warm, appreciative gaze. “And what about the roses?” you asked, curiosity dancing in your eyes.

Spencer hesitated, suddenly feeling the weight of what he was about to say. He pointed to the pink roses, his voice growing quieter. “Pink roses stand for happiness. They’re given to someone who brings joy into your life.”

His fingers lightly brushed against one of the red roses as he continued, “And red roses… well, they symbolize love.”

There was a brief silence as the meaning of his words settled between you. Spencer felt his heart race, wondering if he’d said too much, if he’d been too forward. But when you turned to him, your eyes shining with a mixture of surprise and affection, he knew he had made the right choice.

“Spencer,” you said softly, stepping closer to him. “These are perfect. Thank you.”

Spencer held out his hand, his eyes soft with a gentle smile as he stepped aside for you to lead the way. “We should probably go before dinner is delivered,” he suggested, his voice filled with a quiet anticipation.

You nodded, taking his hand and heading out the door with him. The conversation flowed easily between you as you made your way to his apartment, your chatter filling the space between you. You began to ramble about some of the latest office gossip, and Spencer listened intently, even though he never really cared much for it. But when you spoke, it wasn’t about the gossip itself—it was about the way your eyes lit up as you told the stories, the way your voice held a rhythm that he found mesmerizing.

By the time you arrived at his apartment, you were mid-sentence, talking about a partnership at the office that had recently been dissolved due to the couple’s marriage hitting a rocky patch. Spencer opened the door for you, and you kicked off your shoes with practiced ease, placing them neatly on the rack by the door without missing a beat in your story.

“I mean, it’s really not surprising,” you continued as you made your way into the living room, “considering all the tension between them lately. But it’s still sad, you know? They seemed so solid for a while.”

Spencer nodded along, his focus on you as you moved around the room with a familiarity that made him smile. You curled up on the couch, tucking your legs beneath you, and looked up at him expectantly. “So, how was your day?” you asked, shifting the attention to him.

He settled down beside you, taking a moment to appreciate how comfortable and natural this felt. “My day went fine,” he replied, his voice warm with a hint of contentment. “Mostly paperwork and a couple of meetings. Nothing too exciting.”

You nodded, your eyes never leaving his as you listened. There was something so soothing about the way you were with each other, the ease of your conversation, the way you could share the mundane details of your days without feeling the need to impress or entertain.

Spencer leaned back, resting his arm along the back of the couch as he turned slightly to face you. “But honestly,” he added after a moment, “I’ve been looking forward to this all day.”

You smiled, the warmth in his words wrapping around you like a cozy blanket. “Me too,” you admitted, your voice soft and sincere. “It’s nice to just… relax, you know? Especially after the week we’ve had.

He nodded in agreement, his eyes studying your face with a quiet intensity. “Exactly,” he said, feeling more at ease with you than he had in a long time. This wasn’t just about a dinner date; it was about the connection between you, the growing bond that had slowly but surely turned into something more.

You grinned, your excitement bubbling up as you looked at him. “I have some news,” you began, but just as the words left your mouth, Spencer leaned forward, a determined look in his eyes.

“I—uh—there’s something I need to talk to you about,” he blurted out, his voice overlapping with yours.

You both paused, taking a breath, the air between you charged with anticipation. Spencer gestured for you to go first, but you shook your head, insisting, “No, no, you go.”

He hesitated, his mind racing, but before he could gather his thoughts, you spoke up again, unable to hold back your excitement. “Okay, well, the textbook I’ve been consulting on? It’s really taken off. The other authors loved my contributions so much that they’ve asked me to teach for a semester in Denver—starting in a week.”

The words tumbled out of you in a rush, your smile wide and full of pride. Spencer blinked, taking a moment to process what you’d just said. He felt a surge of pride for you, mixed with a sudden wave of anxiety.

You smiled. “And I’m going. I already said yes!”

“That’s… amazing,” he finally managed, his voice sincere but slightly distracted as his own thoughts swirled. He stood up suddenly, the motion catching you off guard. “But—I, I need to say this now, or I’ll never be able to say it.”

You looked up at him, your smile fading into a more serious expression as you saw the intensity in his eyes. “Spencer, what is it?”

He took a deep breath, his heart pounding as he looked down at you, feeling the weight of the moment pressing on him. “I’ve been trying to find the right time to tell you this,” he began, his voice trembling slightly. “But there never seems to be a perfect moment, so I’m just going to say it now before I lose my nerve.”

Your heart raced as you waited for him to continue, the room suddenly feeling smaller, more intimate. Spencer’s eyes locked onto yours, and you could see the vulnerability there, the honesty he was about to lay bare.

“I’m in love with you,” he said, the words coming out in a rush. “I’ve been in love with you for a while now, and I can't go another day without telling you.”

The room went silent, the only sound your own heartbeat thudding in your ears. Spencer looked at you, his expression full of hope and fear, as if everything he was feeling was laid out in those simple words.

Your breath caught in your throat as you processed what he’d just said, the weight of his confession settling over you like a warm blanket. It wasn’t just about the textbook, or the teaching gig, or any of the exciting changes happening in your life—it was about this, about him, about you and the bond you had nurtured without even fully realizing it.

“Spencer…” you began, your voice soft, but the rest of your words caught in your throat as you met his gaze, the world around you falling away until there was nothing left but the two of you in this moment.

Spencer felt the tears welling up, the pressure building behind his eyes as he tried to hold them back. He looked up at the ceiling, willing them not to fall, his voice trembling as he struggled to find the right words. “But, I… I don’t—”

He couldn’t finish the sentence, the weight of everything hanging heavily in the air between you.

“Spencer,” you interrupted, your voice desperate and pleading, “come with me. Please, come with me to Denver.” You took a step toward him, your eyes wide and filled with hope. “We can figure this out together. You don’t have to stay here; we can start fresh.”

He shook his head, his face contorted with anguish. “I can’t,” he whispered, barely able to get the words out. “The team needs me—especially if you’re leaving. I can’t just walk away from them. From everything we’ve built.”

You stood up, the frustration and heartache bubbling up inside you, threatening to overflow. “So what happens now?” you asked, your voice rising as you paced the room. “This is too good of an opportunity to pass up, Spe-

He looked at you, his heart breaking as he realized how close he was to losing you. “So leave,” he said, his voice cracking. “You take the job. You do what’s best for you.”

But even as he said it, his mind screamed at him that he was an absolute idiot. How could he have ever thought someone as wonderful, as vibrant, as incredible as you could be interested in him? He was just a man who spent too much time in his head, who never quite knew how to navigate the real world, let alone love.

You started to speak, to argue, but the words got caught in your throat, and all that came out were half-formed sentences, desperate attempts to communicate the whirlwind of emotions inside you. “I… I just… We…”

The frustration and sorrow in your voice hit Spencer like a ton of bricks. He couldn’t bear to see you so upset, couldn’t bear to lose you without trying—without giving you, and himself, a chance. Before he could second-guess himself, Spencer reached out, his hand finding the back of your neck. He pulled you close, his lips crashing onto yours in a deep, desperate kiss, the kind that held everything he hadn’t been able to say. His tears mingled with yours, the saltiness of them mixing as your lips moved together, frantic and raw.

You held onto Spencer for a second, your hand going flat against his back, feeling the warmth of him, the solidity of his presence. It was as if time had stopped, and in that brief moment, all the pain, the frustration, and the sorrow melted away, leaving only the two of you—vulnerable and connected.

But just as quickly as that moment came, reality crashed back in. The weight of everything that had happened, the uncertainty of where you stood, and the overwhelming emotions surged back like a tidal wave. You gasped, the sound escaping your lips involuntarily as you pushed him away, your hands trembling as they left his back.

A shaky breath left your lips, your chest heaving as you tried to steady yourself, your mind reeling from the intensity of the kiss, from the depth of feeling behind it. You stared at Spencer, your heart pounding in your ears, as if trying to understand what had just happened and what it meant for the two of you.

But the hurt, the confusion, was too much. You grabbed your purse and shoes in a rush, your hands shaking as you fumbled with them. Without another word, you turned and left his apartment, the door slamming behind you with a resounding echo that seemed to linger in the silence that followed.

Spencer stood there, rooted to the spot, his heart shattered as he realized he had just let you walk out of his life. The tears he had been holding back finally fell, but it was too late now. You were gone.

Spencer stood there for a moment, staring at the door, the silence of his apartment closing in around him. His mind raced with a thousand thoughts—regret, sorrow, the ache of what could have been. But he knew he had to pull himself together, at least for a moment, just long enough to get through the rest of the night.

He ran a shaky hand through his hair, wiping the tears from his cheeks with the back of his hand. His heart still pounded in his chest, but he forced himself to take a deep breath, to push down the overwhelming emotions threatening to spill over again.

Just as he began to gather himself, he heard a knock at the door. Spencer’s eyes flicked toward the sound, and for a brief, foolish second, he thought it might be you, coming back to talk. But reality settled in quickly—there was no way you would return so soon after what had just happened.

With a heavy sigh, he walked over to the door, fishing his wallet out of his pocket as he opened it. The delivery boy stood there, holding the bag of food that Spencer had ordered earlier, before everything had fallen apart.

“That’ll be twenty even,” the delivery boy said with a practiced smile, holding out his hand for payment.

Spencer paused, his brow furrowing in confusion as he handed over a twenty-dollar bill, pulling a ten dollar bill out for the tip. “It’s usually more than that,” he muttered, more to himself than to the delivery boy.

The delivery guy’s smile widened, his tone light as he explained, “Oh, yeah. The owner noticed you and your girlfriend order the same thing every week, so he added you to the list of regulars. It’s a special discount for people who order so often.”

Spencer blinked, taken aback by the news. The regulars list. Of course. It made sense—he did order the same thing every week, always on the same night, always at the same time. A creature of habit, even in the small, mundane details of his life. It had become tradition for you two to share a meal each week.

“Thanks,” he murmured, taking the bag of food from the delivery boy’s hands. He offered a small, polite smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. The delivery boy nodded, tipping his cap before turning and heading back down the hall.

Spencer closed the door softly, standing there in the quiet of his apartment, holding the warm bag of food in his hands. He felt an odd mix of emotions—gratitude for the small kindness, but also a profound sense of loneliness. He was so predictable, so set in his ways, that even the local takeout place had noticed.

He carried the bag to the kitchen, setting it down on the counter. The smell of the food wafted up, but it only reminded him of what tonight was supposed to have been—a dinner together, something more, something that was now lost. Spencer leaned against the counter, staring at the bag of food as if it held all the answers.

But the only thing it offered was the reminder of what he didn’t have: you.

+++

As the morning wore on, Spencer struggled to concentrate on his work. The files and case notes on his desk seemed to blur together, the usual clarity of his thoughts clouded by the weight of the previous night. He kept glancing at his phone, hoping for a message from you, though he knew deep down that he wouldn’t get one.

The office buzzed with activity, but Spencer was barely aware of it. His colleagues’ chatter and the hum of the fluorescent lights seemed distant, like they were happening in another world. Every so often, he would catch himself staring blankly at the screen, lost in thought.

Around midday, Garcia came over, her usual bright demeanor dimmed by concern. “Hey, Spence,” she said softly, her voice carrying a note of sympathy. “Are you okay? You look like you haven’t slept in days.”

Spencer forced a smile, though it felt more like a grimace. “Just a rough night,” he admitted. “Nothing to worry about.”

Garcia’s eyes searched his face, clearly unconvinced. “If you need to talk, you know where to find me. And if you need anything else, just let me know.

He nodded appreciatively, though he wasn’t sure what help he could accept. “Thanks, Garcia. I’ll be fine.”

As Garcia walked away, Spencer’s phone buzzed with a new message. His heart leapt, but it was only a reminder from his calendar about a meeting later in the day. He sighed and set the phone down, feeling a pang of disappointment.

Around mid-afternoon, Hotch stopped by Spencer’s desk, his expression as stern and unreadable as ever. “Spencer, I need to discuss a few things with you in my office.”

Spencer nodded, pushing away from his desk and following Hotch to his office. He took a seat across from Hotch’s desk, trying to shake off the melancholy that had settled over him.

Hotch didn’t waste any time. “I know things have been a bit tense for you this morning,” he said, his tone carefully neutral. “And I understand that you’re going through something personal. But I need to ensure that it doesn’t affect your work. Can I count on you to stay focused and do what needs to be done?”

Spencer looked up, meeting Hotch’s gaze. “Of course,” he replied, his voice steady. “I’ll make sure it doesn’t impact my performance.”

Hotch nodded, seeming satisfied with the response. “Good. I appreciate your dedication. If you need time off or any support, just let me know.”

Spencer nodded, thankful for Hotch’s understanding, even if he didn’t fully believe in his own ability to stay focused. He left Hotch’s office feeling a bit more resolved, though the ache in his chest remained.

As the day dragged on, the team worked through their cases, and Spencer tried his best to keep his mind occupied. But every time he thought about you, about the way you had left and the kiss he had shared with you, he felt a deep, gnawing regret.

By the end of the day, the office was winding down. Spencer packed up his things, his thoughts still swirling. As he prepared to leave, he caught Morgan glancing at him from across the room. Morgan raised an eyebrow, but before he could say anything, Spencer quickly headed for the door.

He stepped into the cool evening air, the city lights casting long shadows on the pavement. As he walked to his car, he realized he had to face the reality of what had happened and find a way to make things right. He knew that he couldn’t just let things end this way, that he had to take action, even if he wasn’t entirely sure what to do next.

+++

The next few days dragged on with a suffocating heaviness in the office. Your absence was like a gaping hole in the daily routine—a missing presence that everyone felt but no one openly acknowledged. Your desk, once a lively spot with personal touches and a cheerful energy, now sat empty and stark, a constant reminder of what was missing.

Spencer’s heart ached every time he glanced over at the vacant desk. The little squishy pet from Garcia, the photo of you on graduation day, the birthday card—all of it was gone. It was as if you had never been there, leaving behind only the ghost of your presence. Each time Spencer caught sight of the empty space, his breath seemed to leave his chest in a sharp pang of regret.

One afternoon, after a long, fruitless lunch where he had tried to push thoughts of you out of his mind, he returned to the office to find your desk had been completely cleared out in the time he’d been gone. The sight of the empty desk, devoid of your belongings, hit him hard. It felt like a punch to the gut, the physical evidence of your departure magnifying the emotional pain he had been trying to ignore.

The following morning, the office was as subdued as ever. Spencer was lost in thought as he made his way to the kitchenette for a cup of coffee. He was barely aware of his surroundings until Morgan appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, blocking his path with a concerned expression.

“Hey, Reid,” Morgan said, his tone unusually serious. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

Spencer nodded, feeling a wave of unease wash over him. He followed Derek into the kitchenette, where the hum of the refrigerator and the clinking of coffee cups provided an oddly comforting backdrop.

“What’s up?” Spencer asked, trying to sound casual, though his voice betrayed his tension.

Morgan leaned against the counter, crossing his arms. “I’ve been meaning to ask you… What exactly happened with Y/N? I mean, I saw her come in the other day, sweep everything off her desk into a box, and practically run out. She didn’t say a word to anyone.”

Spencer’s heart sank at Morgan’s words.

“I…” Spencer began, his voice faltering. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. “It was my fault. I… I should have talked to her earlier. I wanted to, but everything just fell apart.”

Morgan’s gaze softened slightly, his concern evident. “If something went down, you can talk to me about it. You know that, right?”

Spencer nodded, feeling the weight of his regret pressing down on him. “I know. It’s just… I messed up. I thought if I said it, she’d stay.”

Morgan didn’t press further, but his expression was one of empathy and frustration. “Look, I don’t know the details, but you need to figure this out. Y/N’s a great person, and from what I saw, she didn’t just up and leave for no reason.”

Spencer swallowed hard, nodding. “Yeah. I know.”

Morgan clapped him on the shoulder, a gesture of support before he turned to leave. Spencer watched him go, feeling more isolated than ever. The office, once a bustling hub of activity, now seemed like an empty shell, a reflection of the void left by your departure.

As Spencer stood there, alone in the kitchenette, he knew he had to do something. He had to find a way to make things right, to reach out and try to fix what had been broken. But for now, all he could do was hold onto the hope that it wasn’t too late to salvage whatever was left.

+++

Since that night, you’d been a wreck. Every waking moment was a reminder of how you’d left things with Spencer—something you never intended to do, but ended up doing anyway. It was as if you were stuck in a state of disbelief, grappling with the reality of what had happened and the inexplicable choice you’d made.

Packing up your life and moving from Virginia to Colorado had been a whirlwind. You were overwhelmed with the details: sorting out your belongings, organizing the move, and saying goodbye to the life you’d built. Amid the chaos, clearing out your desk was something you almost forgot. It wasn’t until the last minute that you realized you hadn’t taken the time to say a proper goodbye. You had hoped, even believed, that you might find a moment to talk to Spencer, to explain everything before you left. But with a plane to catch and a million things to do, time slipped through your fingers. You had made the decision in haste, driven by a mix of confusion and heartache, and now you were left with a gnawing sense of regret.

Sitting in your university-provided apartment, you stared blankly at your phone. The small, indifferent screen seemed to mock you with its silence. You had hoped for a call, a message, anything that would signal that Spencer might be reaching out, trying to make things right. But the phone remained silent, offering no comfort or answers.

You felt a deep, aching emptiness, as if you had left a part of yourself behind. The apartment was quiet, the only sound the faint hum of the air conditioning. The space around you felt cold and unwelcoming, a stark contrast to the warmth of the life you had left behind.

You found yourself begging any entity out there—be it fate, chance, or even just your own stubborn hope—for the phone to ring. Maybe it was a long shot, but you needed to hear from Spencer, to know if there was still a chance to make things right. Your fingers hovered over the screen, ready to dial his number, but each time you hesitated, unsure if you should reach out or wait for him to make the first move.

Your thoughts were a jumbled mess of regret and longing. You wanted to explain everything, to tell him how much you had hoped things would be different. But the fear of opening old wounds, of facing the possibility that it might be too late, held you back.

You leaned back against the couch, your gaze fixed on the phone as if willing it to ring with sheer force of will. You thought of Spencer’s face, his voice, and the way he had looked at you. The memory of his tears and the kiss you shared were haunting, a reminder of the connection you both had and how quickly it had unraveled.

As the evening wore on and the apartment remained eerily quiet, you felt the weight of your decision pressing heavily on your chest. You didn’t know how things would turn out, but all you could do was hold onto the hope that somehow, somewhere, there might still be a chance to mend what had been broken.

+++

A few weeks had passed since you moved to Colorado, and despite the overwhelming start, you found yourself gradually settling into a new routine. It wasn't easy—each day brought its own set of challenges, but you managed to carve out a rhythm that helped anchor you in this unfamiliar place. Mornings were spent in the classroom, where you poured yourself into teaching, trying to lose yourself in the work. The students were bright and eager, their energy offering a brief distraction from the turmoil in your heart. After classes, you’d head to your office to prepare lectures, meet with students, or grade papers, anything to keep your mind busy.

In the evenings, you’d head back to your apartment. The space was small and simple, a far cry from the home you had left behind, but it was starting to feel a little less foreign with each passing day. You’d make yourself dinner, often something quick and easy, and then spend the night reading or watching TV, trying to fill the silence with anything that wasn’t your own thoughts.

But every Tuesday night, the routine faltered. Tuesdays were the nights you and Spencer used to have dinner together, a tradition that had started almost by accident but had quickly become a cornerstone of your week. Now, those nights were a stark reminder of what you’d lost.

Every Tuesday evening, as you sat in your quiet apartment, you’d feel the ache of his absence more keenly. You’d think about picking up the phone, about dialing his number just to hear his voice, to ask him how he was doing, to see if maybe—just maybe—you could fix what had been broken. But each time, the fear of rejection, of hearing that he had moved on, kept you from pressing that final button. Instead, you’d curl up in bed, clutching your pillow, praying that he wasn’t sitting down to dinner with someone else, someone who could take your place.

By the time your sixth week in Colorado rolled around, you had settled into your routine as best you could, though the loneliness of those Tuesday nights still lingered. One day, after a long day of teaching, you returned to your apartment to find a small box sitting in front of your door. Your heart skipped a beat as you bent down to pick it up, your hands trembling slightly as you untied the ribbon that held the box closed.

Inside was a bouquet of pink roses, their delicate petals tied together with a white ribbon. The sight of them made your breath catch in your throat, and before you knew it, tears were streaming down your face. You fumbled with your keys, struggling to unlock the door as you tried to hold back the sobs that were building in your chest. Once inside, you set the flowers down on the table and collapsed into a chair, clinging to the bouquet as if it were a lifeline. The familiar scent of the roses filled your senses, and you held onto them for what felt like hours, letting the tears flow freely.

Your phone rang, cutting through the stillness of the apartment. You barely registered the sound at first, your mind still lost in the swirl of emotions the roses had stirred up. With trembling hands, you reached for your phone, the screen glowing faintly with an unknown number. You hesitated for a moment before answering, your voice barely above a whisper as you greeted, “Hello?”

There was a shuffle on the other end, and you could faintly hear Penelope’s voice in the background. “She picked up,” she whispered, her tone laced with relief. Then there was a pause, followed by the sound of someone clearing their throat.

“Hello,” Spencer’s voice came through the line, hesitant and unsure, yet unmistakably him. The sound of it sent a shiver down your spine, and for a moment, you couldn’t find the words to respond. The two of you sat in silence, the air between you thick with unspoken words and unresolved feelings. You searched for something to say, anything to break the tension, but all that came out were three simple words, the only ones that mattered in that moment.

“I love you,” you whispered, your voice cracking as the weight of those words settled between you.

[techs-goggles9902]

From the WIP ask game: I would like to know about the modern au tbb please? :)

TBB Modern AU Pt.1

Requests are open for all listed fandoms! See Masterlist for details. It’ll take me a minute to write bc I’m still emotionally traumatized by TBB s3

Summary: the bad batch but in a modern setting (duh).

Warning: talks about death and a bad car accident. I think there’s swearing (I forgot lmao) nothing bad happens but traumatic pasts are talked about.

Word Count: 1530 (I think)

A/N: Im so tired 😭 it’s 1:14 am at the moment. Anyway, I didn’t plan on making a series but I’ve kept you waiting far too long, bestie. THE ENDING IS INTENTIONAL. IM WORKING ON IT I SWEAR

NOTE: if confused about the occupations of the batch members, see this link.

“Echo, help me!” Omega says, bounding down the narrow hallway of the small apartment they were currently living in. She holds out a hair tie with a few stray strands of her blonde hair curling around the fabric.

Echo sighs, taking her hand in his good hand and leading her over to their raggedy couch littered with rips and mismatched pieces of cloth stitched to the creaky leather.

“Why didn’t you have Hunter do your hair? I don’t even have hair,” he sighs, gathering his sister’s wavy locks with his hands, careful so her hair wouldn’t get caught in his prosthetic.

“He’s sleeping. Still. He and Crosshair were trying to beat… what’s the game called? Gobbler’s Gate? I don’t know, but anyway, he and Cross pulled an all-nighter.” She never could remember that damn game her brothers were obsessed with beating.

“Baldur’s Gate,” Echo reminds her, sighing deeply. Hunter had to start making his deliveries soon, people needed their Doordash.

“Yeah, that!” Omega winces as Echo pulls her hair while tying off her ponytail.

“Sorry, kid.” He gives her shoulder a gentle squeeze with his left hand, his only real hand. “Come help me pick my hat.”

Omega gasps and whips around to face her big brother. “Really? I get to pick your hat today?”

“Yeah, why not? C’mon.” Echo takes her by the hand, always his left hand so he can feel her warm fingers clasping his own. They tiptoe through the hall, Echo’s footsteps muffled by the thick, fluffy slippers he wore, and towards the room he was given when he moved in with them. He’s a brother they didn’t know they had.

Jango got around, Rex had said when he introduced Echo to the batch. That’s what they called themselves, the “batch”. I raised him right, don’t worry, boys. Echo’s a good lad. He had gotten into a car accident not long after he and his twin, Fives, turned 21. Both sustained catastrophic injuries, Echo losing both legs around the knees, his right arm, and gaining severe burns on most of his remaining body. Fives on the other hand… he didn’t make it to the hospital.

Echo was slowly but surely growing back the hair he lost, yet he still finds comfort in wearing his beanies, whether it’s his tie-dyed one or the white one with yellow eyes on the fold, just like the creepy clown Omega had nightmares about.

“Which one for today?” Echo asks, gesturing to the assortment of beanies he keeps laid out on his dresser. He lowers himself onto his mattress with a low grunt. They couldn’t afford bed frames. Omega looks back at his pale blue hoodie, which Echo also has a colorful assortment of, and she selects the royal blue beanie, placing it on his growing follicles.

“That one’s perfect.” She steps back, admiring her work.

“Alright kid, what’s today’s objective? Park? Library? Bothering Wrecker at the mall?”

Omega looks down and furrows her brow as she thinks of what she and Echo should do. She looks up at him with thoughtful eyes. “Can we… visit Fives?”

Echo blinks in surprise and a smile tugs at his chapped lips. “I’d like that. I’d like that alot.”

They’re interrupted by Crosshair’s cursing from the room he shares with Tech. “Shit shit shit. Echo, what the hell? It’s almost 9!” He spits out over his shoulder as he rushes down the hall.

“I’m not in charge of your schedule, Cross! It’s not my fault you played Baldur’s Gate all night,” Echo stands and meets his fuming brother in the living room/kitchen. Crosshair’s trying to tie his shoes with shaky fingers. He’s never been late before, not once. His job was one of two stable jobs the batch had.

“Hey… calm down. They can’t fire you, you’re the reason the diner’s getting busy again.” Echo’s knees creak as he kneels down and puts a hand on his brother’s shoulder.

Crosshair sits back on his heels, tilting his head back with a sigh. “Y-yeah… nothing to worry about.” He looks back at Echo. “You good with spaghetti tonight?”

Echo hums in agreement as Crosshair gets back on his feet. “I’ll be back at 6.” Crosshair unhooks his keys from the rusty rack and leaves.

Omega comes out of Echo’s room wearing his black beanie. Echo groans, “Meg, that clashes with your outfit, I can’t be seen with you now.”

She giggles, pulling her soft teal cardigan around her body. Her white leggings were just begging to be stained. “Echo, I do believe you’ve said ‘black goes with everything’.”

He rolls his eyes, shaking his head fondly.

***

They ate, forced Hunter to awaken from his peaceful sleep, and walked Wrecker to his job at the nearby mall as a security guard. He only took up the job since they lived in a bad neighborhood and he got to tackle people for a living.

“Isn’t it funny that Wrecker’s kinda a cop and Tech sells illegal stuff on the black market?” Omega asked Echo after Wrecker jogged off to make it on time for his shift. The pair strolled towards the bus stop they used to get from Ord Mantell to Coruscant.

“Well…” Echo considered. “It’s a little funny.” Omega grins and clasps his hand tighter. They step into the little covered bench at the bus stop.

“So… how come you moved out of Rex’s house? I mean, he has a nice place and all.” Omega wasn’t with the family when Echo moved in. She’s never asked him about his life before the batch, not unless it was about Fives.

“I… Rex takes in a lot of our brothers. He wants the Fett family to… stay together, I guess. We were all marines or some type of soldier at one point, so we’re all similar. I didn’t… fit in with our other brothers, even if we’re all family. Rex introduced me to the batch and they said I was welcome to move in.” Echo gives her hand a squeeze. “They needed the rent money, too.”

Omega grins, squeezing his hand back.

***

The bus dropped them off a block away from the Coruscant City Cemetery, which was in a pretty decent neighborhood. Omega tugs the wired earbuds out of her ears, handing Echo back his phone. On bus rides, he always let her listen to her music, mostly to make sure she didn’t hear the things drunks always say to Echo.

“Who were you listening to this time, Meg?”

“Lana. I like her song Salvatore,” she says, slipping her hand right back into her brother’s larger one. Lana as in Lana Del Rey, one of Omega’s favorite singers.

They take their time strolling down the Coruscant streets, Echo pointing out his favorite spots occasionally. The wrought iron fence bordering the cemetery comes into view; large, shiny headstones poke out of the ground behind the iron gates.

Echo memorized the spot where he buried his twin, Section 5, row 5, 5 stones from the fifth tree. Of course Fives’ name wasn’t actually Fives, he just loved the number.

“Jango loved Fords… so he named Fives after ‘em.” The small headstone is just up ahead. Omega slowly walks up to it, kneeling a few inches away from the edge of the stone.

“Ford Fett… Echo, what’s your real name?” She asks, gently brushing her palm over the granite marker, stray pine needles blow away as she does so.

Echo pauses, keeping his distance from his sister and his brother’s grave. He slides his hands into his hoodie, shifting his weight. “Elliot.”

Omega hums in acknowledgement, bobbing her head. She says something under her breath to the headstone, Echo doesn’t bother asking her what she said. He keeps his gaze down to the dirt beneath Omega’s knees, a soft smile tugging at his lips.

We have a sister, Fives… oh, you would’ve loved her…

***

Aggressive meowing comes from the apartment as Echo and Omega walk up to the door. The pair exchanges glances. “Is that a cat?” Omega asks.

“I… I don’t even wanna know.” Echo sighs and opens the door to find an angry Tech and a gross looking cat staring up at him. The cat’s dusty brown coat is surprisingly shiny in the light.

“You cannot chew my socks. How many times have I told you this?” Tech spits out, jabbing a slender finger in the cat's direction.

“Are you having a full conversation with the cat? Also, why do we have a cat?” Echo asks. Omega smiles and kneels down beside the feline, new grass stains on the knees of her leggings catch Tech’s eye. He sighs.

“Wrecker brought him home when he returned from his shift. He’s out acquiring the needed supplies for keeping a cat. He named him Gonky. Who names a cat Gonky?”

“Wrecker, apparently.” Echo looks between his brother, the cat, and Omega, sighing and walking off to his room. He wasn’t sharing a room because his nightmares kept his former roommate - Hunter - awake. He can hear Gonky meowing at Tech, an occasional hiss when Tech refuses to give him a sock, along with Omega’s laughing.

***

“What the… why the hell do we have a cat?”

Taglist: @will-is-silly @fionajames @sevdidntdie @hellhound5925 @dangraccoon @skellymom @ithillia (so you know I posted)

Please lmk if you’d like to be taken off or added.

[disease-danger-darkness-silence]

Northern Nevada Gothic for 2024

Something is killing the coyotes. The raccoons have begun to Rise.

Cannabis is legal now. The elders speak of terpenes and cannabinoids. Kenny Furlong's smile stretches ever wider. Where are his wife and daughter?

There was a Democratic rally. You know a lot of people who went, but it was strangely empty.

You drive through Lyon County on a gig app job. The wild horses are strangely absent, save one. It looks emaciated. You pull up to the delivery building and turn to acknowledge the horse, and it has disappeared. The cop at the Donald J. Trump Justice Complex doesn't tip you, but he also does not arrest you.

The protests have increased in frequency, but decreased in mass. You still do not know what anyone is protesting, but you no longer honk in support. Too many have accidentally pledged to gods thought long dead.

You have received five mail-in ballots in the mail. They are all under your name, and they all contain different ballot measures and candidates. You do not know which one is the correct one to send in - they all have the same postmark.

The Awful Awful is now $15. You take another gig app order. You Hunger.

You encounter a person considering moving to your town. You are friendly, and recommend local attractions based on their interests. You hope they become a neighbor and not the sustenance of The Old Ones.

While driving 75 miles per hour, you witness a wildfire begin to burn, boiling and roiling as if alive. It devours several houses and some livestock, always hungry for more. It is unseasonally dry, even for the desert, and you are parched, thirsting for water no matter how much you consume. As traffic slows and then backs up, you read the license plate and bumper stickers of the person in front of you. It decries climate change. It is a California license plate, permanently attached to that car forever. It reads MAGAMOM.

The affluent community of Galena has posted illegibly-scrawled signs. They are thank you notes to the first responders of the fire. The alphabet is not one known to man, and yet you are able to read it clearly.

There is a luxury apartment for rent. It is $1,500 a month. It is $5,000 a month. It is $2,000 a month. It is $1780 per month with a $300 per month gated community fee. It is a vast studio apartment that echoes when you tour it.

You are in a car and see a road with the name of Diogenes. You exclaim, "Behold! A street!" Your Zoomer daughter laughs. Your partner does not. You begin to panic about shoelaces, but the thought slips your mind entirely as you slide back on to McCarran Boulevard.

There was a Trump rally. You don't know a single person who attended, but it was allegedly packed.

You have done the math. If you live in Stead, and a friend lives in Carson City, and you both work at the Reno post office, you have the same commute. When did Reno move closer to Carson City? Continents drift, yes, but not like this.

You drive to Elko. It has become large. You drive back. If you wanted to see people, you would stay at home.

Pahrump is a real city that exists in Nevada. You never laugh when people say the name. It is a point of pride - your family have never cracked in the face of Pahrump, and you will not be the weak link.

The 5G tower is being built inside your bathroom. It's terribly inconvenient for showering, but the internet speeds have never been better.

You pass a solar farm and see whispers of shadows beneath them. You are grateful that they find solar power so delicious.

The NRA hosts an open house at the local gun range. The range safety offer lacks any visible eyes or ears, but he effortlessly controls the range with the practiced ease of a person who has spent many a year at a military drill post.

There is a Trader Joe's. The parking lot is always, without fail, too small and far too hot. There are so many handicapped signs. Everything becomes a blur, but you come to holding a pair of organic mangoes in your hand while an employee discusses myrcine content.

Gig workers avoid specific areas of town. It would not do to be called to a Chick-fil-A. They may not be traditionally homophobic, but the chicken claps for a reason. The giant C mocks you.

A tourist asks you about the landmark letters on hills and you realize that you have never questioned their presence.

There is an Amazon warehouse there is a Chewie warehouse there is a DHL warehouse there is a Panasonic factory there is a Tesla factory there is an industrial park there is a new railway and a new section of highway. The Amazon warehouse is closing and reopening. It is ever and yet never changing.

Your favorite band has made the mistake of booking a gig at the Grand Sierra Resort. You laugh. If the ghosts don't kill them, the fans will.

Casinos have started restricting prime rib to Fridays and Saturdays. Sunday through Thursday you wander town like a wraith, craving animal fats and au jus.

The Black Widows, Australian Redbacks, and Brown Widows have begun mating. You fear the day they achieve perfection and ride to defeat their long-standing nemesis: the spider of Lyon County.

The Spite House has been dismantled. You wail to the world. This injustice will not be left unpunished. Rudy will rest in peace.

I need you all to know that these all seem ridiculous but almost all of them are based on something I personally experienced. I've lived here most of my life.

[nebulousbrainsoup]

EVOLVE

PAIRING: biker!kang yeosang x fem!reader GENRE: romance, strangers to lovers, fluff, smut, lil bit of angst, teeny bit of comedy SUMMARY: more often than not, a life lived in Night City is carefully crafted, slotted firmly between preapproved lines—or it is if you value keeping it. whispers of freedom float just beyond the city's neon lights, and it's only through a chance encounter with the most unlikely of characters that you finally start to hear them. TAGS/WARNINGS: explicit content, minors do not interact!, biker!yeosang, biker!seonghwa, misuse of lore terms, extensive control of emotions, artificial intelligence, food, shady government tampering, mysterious disappearance/implied death of unnamed bg character, near-death experiences, mild motorcycle wreck, injury, language, discussions of government corruption, alcohol consumption, discussions of being unhappy with life, unbetaed & barely edited, pov shifts, inspired by outlaw teasers/posters & @hwaightme's This World (Bai is well aware of my shenanigans); tell me if i missed anything pls! WORD COUNT: 12.6k PLAYLIST: Don't Stop - ATEEZ ; Control - Halsey ; Paranoia on Main Street - Demi the Daredevil ; ERROR - The Warning ; Ghost - Halsey ; Virtual Reality - rey ; Aqua Regia - Sleep Token ; AMOUR - The Warning ; BURN IT DOWN - Linkin Park ; Z - The Warning ; mercy - KiNG MALA ; EVOLVE - The Warning A/N: it's finally here, and with a playlist too!!! (yes it's a lot of The Warning, but this whole fic is ERROR-coded i had to) this fic has taken me close to a month to write, it is my baby, so pls treat it with care <3 i have to give world's biggest shout out to Bai for inspiring this absolute beast and for giving me the privilege of tipping my hat to it and her in my first full-length ateez fic. i hope it lives up to expectations. much love, ash tagging the homies: @jaehunnyy & @justhere4kpop

nsfw tags under the cut ; masterlist | join my taglist | buy me a coffee?

this work is 18+. this is a friendly reminder that if i catch a minor interacting with this work, they will be blocked. so don't :)

A/N 2: y'all remember the opening to the Kingdom performance of Rhythm Ta? "The disease is human emotion"?? well, that was echoing in my head on a very obnoxious repeat, and this fic (and its smut scene) absolutely reflects that. you've been warned. NSFW TAGS/WARNINGS: explicit consent included, protected sex, yeosang keeps a condom in his wallet (don't do that!), they're both switches p.2, outdoor sex, pet/nicknames (doll, angel, Sangie), hair pulling, lil bit of marking, yeosang's voice, oral (fem receiving), handjob, decently fast-paced, also emotionally charged; lmk if i missed anything!

It was always unnerving, delivering in this Sector. He'd done so countless times without incident, but even so, Yeosang could feel the infinite eyes of the Guardians upon him. His first trip to this particular building had left him shaken, turning down any more legitimate, above-board deliveries for the rest of the night and hightailing it back to the rest of the Blue Birds as soon as his duty was done. Mars had been less than pleased, scowling at him as he scolded, “As far as they can tell, you’re a delivery boy. There will be no reason for suspicion until you run.” A valid point, certainly, but one Yeosang had trouble reminding himself of while trapped in that neon maze. 

The next night, he dutifully shoved down the nausea that crept up his throat and the shudder that threatened to rip down his spine as he stared up at the looming steel pillar in front of him. Plastic bag in hand, he took a deep breath and pressed the building's buzzer, trying to find comfort in the shadows and the familiar blue of the lights.

The intercom crackling to life startled him, nausea welling up inside him again as he spoke, “Blue Bird Delivery with an order for Y/N.”

“Come in, I’ll meet you down in the lobby!”

It took a moment, that first night, to recover from hearing a human voice rather than the monotone, robotic rasp of a Guardian coming from a government building. He hadn’t expected life or warmth to greet him amidst the blinding lights of the lobby, but both did as you stepped out of the elevator, still in your lab coat and gloves, smiling softly and subtly at him as you patted your pockets. “Shit, I forgot what I owe you.”

Something about the way he looked as he tilted his head in confusion, helmet still on and bandana still pulled up around his nose, had you focusing all your remaining willpower on not doubling over in laughter. “You paid online. You don’t owe me anything.”

His turn to bite back laughter came then, standing there with his arms folded and his lower lip between his teeth as he watched the gears in your head turn.

“Long day, hm?” The words left his mouth before he even registered them, and as your eyes snapped back to his visor, his heart jumped into his throat. 

To his surprise and relief, you laughed, and the tension in both of your bodies drained simultaneously. “It’s two in the morning and I’m having my dinner delivered to work,” you countered, “you tell me.”

Behind his mask, Yeosang smiled. “Have a good evening.”

Nothing about the anonymous man on the moped should have piqued your interest. But that same night, as you settled in the empty employee cafeteria, the stranger seemed unwilling to vacate your mind. Sure, he’d joked around with you; that was unusual in this Sector with the plethora of Guardians milling about at all hours, but not unheard of; and it was a little odd he hadn’t taken his helmet off. Neither of those things, you thought, were good enough justifications for the thought that circled your mind on repeat until sleep finally began to take you; when can I see him again?

As luck would have it, the answer turned out to be “soon” and “frequently.” You and your team were already a week behind the requested lead time on your current build, and as the days dragged on, the microchip’s flaws only seemed to multiply exponentially—much to your annoyance; you’d warned the design team, after all. Of course, the longer it took, the worse the hours got. By the time you made it home after twelve or more hours locked in the clean room, being leered at by eyeless creatures and pulled into at least one far-too-heated debate over a fix or adjustment every two hours, it was all you could do to make it into bed. Cooking was not an option; you lived on delivery.

It wasn’t always Blue Bird—they seemed to reserve themselves for the late night and early morning; but when it was, it was always him. The same jacket, same jeans, same fingerless gloves and bandana obscuring his features, and the same warm, silky baritone greeting you from underneath it all. He rarely joked with you again, seeming to become skittish as more of your team members stayed later and the late-night Guardian presence increased, but you continued to exchange basic pleasantries. Your manners wouldn’t leave you in the face of tighter security. Still, you couldn’t blame him in the slightest—you yourself wanted to have a word with whatever psychopath had designed their ‘faces’—but you couldn’t help missing the teasing lilt his voice held that first night. 

Around a month after your late nights became mandatory, you had trudged into work as usual, with four hours of sleep and the largest coffee cup in your arsenal the only things keeping you upright, and the chaos you were met with nearly made you walk back out. Your production manager was nowhere to be found, leaving you and the rest of your coworkers to scramble to find something, anything that could direct your workflow for the day. It was you who, in sorting through the papers in and on the desk in his office, figured out why. Every ounce of your self-control went toward keeping your eyes from shifting to meet the cameras as you shoved the incriminating papers back where you had found them, rising to your feet to sift through the mess on the desktop once again. Somehow, even with your shaking hands and unfocused gaze, you managed to find what you were looking for, pulling the newest revision of the drawing from a stack you were positive you’d already searched. Hidden, maybe, you thought. 

Returning to the clean room and pinging your team melded hazily into going over the drawing, which faded into you handing out tasks on autopilot until, finally, you were left alone at the work table you had claimed as your own. Falling back into your chair, you finally let yourself acknowledge what you had seen—drawings. Dozens of them, tucked—no, pointedly hidden away between the various books and manuals stored in the bottom drawer that, until this point, you could have sworn was always locked. They weren't unusual for your production manager to have in the slightest, under normal circumstances—their desk was usually covered in white sheets.

But between the loyal employee’s unannounced “sick day” and the amount of White-Out painted across months of drawings for new tech you and your team had been having unprecedented trouble with… These weren’t normal circumstances, and you figured they wouldn’t be coming back to work any time soon. Before you could lose yourself wondering what exactly this development would mean for you and your team, the whirring of a camera lens zooming snapped you out of your thoughts, and you quickly buried yourself in your work once more. Prying would only get you in trouble.

The morning passed in a blur, you spent your lunch hour staring at the stark white wall behind your newest, least jaded coworker’s head as they prattled on, and before you knew it, those still intent on keeping eight hour shifts were beginning to filter out of the building. The ever-present hum of machines and voices slowly dwindled until you were alone with the buzzing lights overhead and the sound of your own breathing. Most days, this was when you got your best work done. No one else was here to bother you, fewer people meant fewer Guardians breathing down your neck, and you could make any snide comments or use any language you wished without offending the sensibilities of anyone nearby. But tonight, once your last coworker had waved goodbye and the click of the door shutting behind them had finished echoing ominously behind them, the usually comforting silence that enveloped you brought with it a sense of unshakable dread. Shifting uncomfortably, you let your eyes wander over the empty clean room, lifting your head nearly imperceptibly. 

You wanted to leave. Every hair on your body was standing on edge, and every fiber of your being was screaming at you to run, to get as far away from this Sector as you could. Something was going on here, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that the crosshairs were zeroing in on you next. But running—leaving, you corrected yourself; you have nothing to run from—early would only arouse suspicion, wouldn’t it? You’d lived your life slotted neatly between the lines the government had drawn, but that hadn’t kept you from hearing the horror stories of those who toed those lines or, heaven forbid, stepped across them. There was no reason to feel this way. 

Until.

For as large as the Guardians were, the things were nearly silent in their movement. If you hadn’t tinkered time and again with their abilities yourself, you’d believe the stories that they could teleport. It was in front of you in the time it took you to blink, and you nearly jumped out of your skin as your eyes met the chrome monstrosity that was its ‘face.’ Gingerly setting down the delicate tools and microchip in your shaking hands, you set carefully practiced neutrality on your face and suppressed a shudder as its message began to play.

“L/N Y/N. Requested by Upper Management. Follow.”

In seconds, ice filled your veins. If anyone had asked, you’d tell them, truthfully, that it was survival instinct alone which carried you to your destination. When you finally came back into yourself, you were staring at the imposing wooden doors you knew belonged to your location’s operational manager. Steeling yourself with a deep breath, you knocked, and were immediately met with your manager’s voice ushering you in.

“Hello, sir,” you greeted, bowing lowly as you shuffled over the threshold.

“To you as well, Miss L/N,” he offered in return from behind his desk, snapping shut the file in his hands. “Please, have a seat. We have much to discuss.”

“So what’s our next move, then?” Yeosang chewed on the inside of his lip thoughtfully, listening to the silence on the other end of his comms grow ever louder. “Seonghwa?”

“If I had an answer, I’d tell you,” his companion spat back, leaning further down over his handlebars and pulling ahead of him. It didn’t matter that they needed a new game plan within the next few hours, he was done talking. With a sigh, Yeosang sat back, rolling his own throttle forward to keep pace as he fell in behind his friend. 

Night City sped by in a blur as they rode in silence, eyes and ears trained to the streets they were patrolling. Small houses gave way to apartment buildings and local shops with no movement on the streets, but still the tension in Yeosang’s shoulders rose with each passing minute. Finally, as they passed into the city center and neon skyscrapers began to loom over their heads, he could stand it no longer. He felt like he was suffocating, and they were miles off-course for their patrol anyway. 

“Mars. Something feels off,” he called, pulling off his throttle and sitting up straighter.

There was silence for a beat as the other man pulled further ahead, and Yeosang watched his helmet turn. “What are you seeing that I’m not?”

“Nothing, I just have this feeling—”

“Well, keep an eye and an ear out, and we’ll deal with it when we have to.”

He sighed, tossing a narrowed side-eye Seonghwa’s way before turning his gaze back to the streets and leaving him with his thoughts. Maybe it was just this Sector, he reasoned. The artificial gaze of the cameras, drones, and Guardians was enough to put anyone on edge. Couple that with the time he’d been spending here, making deliveries of all kinds, and of course he was feeling on edge. It was nothing.

It took another block for the itching anxiety to come back full-force. “Mars.”

A sigh crackled over his comms. “I don’t see or hear anything, Hermes. It’s probably just the surveillance systems getting to your head.”

Yeosang sighed, nearly resigning his edginess to paranoia again. Until, out of the corner of his eye, he caught movement. “On your left, look.”

A person was quickly making their way out of the government building he brought most of Blue Bird’s above-board deliveries to, oblivious to the two motorcycles sailing in their direction. He saw the moment Seonghwa made his decision, weight settling further over his handlebars as he shifted into a higher gear. In moments like this, he thought—moments where his desperate search for adrenaline dragged someone else a little too close to the line they delivered others across; the moniker of the ancient god of war fit his friend a little too well. 

He knew the drill by now; fall back, open mid-distance communication with whatever unit was patrolling here for clean-up—just in case he cut a little too close to you—and meet back—wait.

His head snapped up from his watch, abandoning his redirect halfway through in favor of surging forward to catch up with Seonghwa. “Mars, don’t!”

The shout had Seonghwa’s helmet snapping up in alarm, his weight shifting back and throwing both him and his precious Suzuki Hayabusa off-balance. For a moment, he tried desperately to downshift and tame the beast under him, a cause that quickly became lost between his own speed and the downhill slope of the street. You had frozen in your tracks at the sight of the two machines barreling toward you, one now out of control, and Yeosang’s heart skipped a beat or two as the events in front of him began to unfold in slow motion.

You had been sent home early—well, early for you, anyway; the weight of your new position heavy on your shoulders. Production manager. It was everything you should have wanted—everything you had wanted at one point; but the thought of coming in to work tomorrow morning, moving your meager belongings out of your locker and into your former boss’ office to pretend everything was fine had bile rising in your throat. Your meeting with upper management had shed no light on the mysterious disappearance of the last person in charge, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that a target had been painted on your back now, too. Maybe that was just paranoia, though—you had no plans to sabotage any products, after all. What reason would anyone have to make you disappear?

Lost in your thoughts as you began the trek home, you failed to drag your eyes from your feet, only noticing the two headlights careening toward you when the rumble of their engines was close enough to feel in the ground below you. You froze, stunned as your heart jumped into your throat. Was this the dread you had been feeling? Was this the curse of your new position? There was little you could do about it now, you supposed, staring down what you were sure was certain death. It was silly, but you couldn’t help wondering whether your new delivery boy friend would miss you.

“Shit!” Seonghwa hissed, the curse crackling in Yeosang’s earpiece. 

Your shoulders tensed and you took a step back and raised your hands, clearly bracing for the oncoming disaster. Mere seconds before your fate would have been sealed, he watched the unimaginable unfold in front of his eyes; Seonghwa, heeding his words of caution, threw his weight to the right, sending his bike skidding away from the both of you. The grunt he let out as he hit the pavement weaved together with the screech of metal on asphalt, a discordant symphony echoing through his helmet. You added no harmony of your own to it, only flinching as the man who would’ve been your doom rolled to a halt at your feet, visor reflecting familiar blue neon as he stared at the sky. He saw rather than heard the breath you let out, watching your shoulders drop from your ears as you stumbled away from Seonghwa’s prone form.

“What the fuck,” you gasped out, one hand splaying out over your chest as you caught your breath. Adrenaline was coursing through you, leaving your heart pounding and hands shaking as the other biker sidled up next to you.

“I’ll say,” the man below you grumbled, slowly climbing back to his feet. He winced as he settled his weight on his right leg, limping heavily as he made his way back to his friend and leaned against their bike. “You should probably look before you cross the street next time.”

“I was halfway into the road, you ass!” You fumed, snarling at the man before you in stark contrast to the last time you’d met a masked stranger. “You could’ve gone around me—it’s not like you were driving a car!”

Yeosang couldn’t help the giggle he let out at the sight of you—mild-mannered, eternally frazzled you—standing toe-to-toe with the infamous Mars, masked vigilante leader of the Blue Bird biker gang. He bit his lip quickly, hoping his mic hadn’t picked up the quiet noise. 

No such luck, it seemed, as the other man whipped around to face him. Somehow, the visor was more intimidating than the scathing glare he knew lay behind it. “Something funny?” 

He shook his head, the action dizzying him just slightly when coupled with the weight of his helmet and the adrenaline cooling in his veins, and raised his hands in surrender. “Nope,” he hummed, nodding over to the wrecked Hayabusa. “You think you can get that thing to the shop, or do I need to do it for you?”

Seonghwa shifted his weight, testing his injuries lightly. “Help me get her up and I’ll take it from there,” he muttered.

Something about the man with the cruiser was familiar, you decided, as you watched the pair cross to the bike and set it back upright. You couldn’t put your finger on it, but between his voice and the way he carried himself, he reminded you of someone. You’d never seen either of their bikes before, though, and both of these individuals struck you as the type who were connected to their respective machines. You were still racking your brain for the answer as his friend pulled away, sparing you no apology, and it wasn’t until he reached up, tugging at the chains around his neck with familiar, skeleton-gloved hands, that it hit you.

“You’re the Blue Bird Delivery guy.”

Yeosang froze in his tracks, blinking and stunned as he scrambled for an excuse. “I, uh…”

“Your friend just almost killed me. The least you could do is be honest,” you prodded, crossing your arms over your chest.

The way he looked down told you there was a sheepish smile on his face, and you wanted nothing more than for him to finally remove his visor so you could bask in it. “Yeah, I am.”

“Does my near-death experience mean I get free delivery next time?” you quipped. The laugh that left him this time was full-bodied, heard even through the thick padding and metal of his helmet. You decided then and there that you would stop at nothing to hear that sound again. 

The grin you gave him in exchange was sunny, another mark of your warmth in the midst of Night City’s eternal chill. “I might be able to arrange something for you, sure,” he hummed, his smile evident in his tone. “But that might end up being my paycheck you’re cutting into.”

You shrugged. “I’ll tip the difference.”

“Then there’s no point!” Another cheery laugh bubbled up from him, and you found yourself leaning closer to the delivery boy-turned-biker as you shared in his joy. For all the leather and mystery, he didn’t seem all that intimidating; he was nothing like his counterpart had been. He seemed shy and maybe even friendly behind the facade, and the interactions you’d had with him before seemed to corroborate your guess. Again, that familiar feeling of longing that had struck the first night came back to you as he took a step back toward his bike.

Luckily for you, your mouth worked faster than your brain. “Would you want to maybe go get coffee with me?”

Your inability to read his expression meant the silence you were met with had you wanting to pull your words back into your mouth; to rewind time so you’d never spoken; so you’d looked up and seen Delivery Boy’s idiot friend speeding at you; so you’d never ordered from Blue Bird in the first place—

“I can’t, tonight,” he muttered. If he removed his helmet, you would be able to see the tips of his ears turning red. “But maybe another time?”

Your heart sank. When would you ever have time again? “Um, maybe. We could exchange information?”

He tensed, shaking his head gently. “I know where to find you.”

Again, you felt yourself deflate. “Can I… Could you at least tell me your name? So I know who to contact if your friend ever tries to kill me again?” Your attempt to lighten the darkening mood was half-hearted at best, but you tried for a weak smile.

For the third time that night, Yeosang froze. It felt like every camera and Guardian in the vicinity had their lenses trained on him as you asked what was, to anyone other than Yeosang and the rest of his friends, the simplest question in the world. This time, he recovered quickly, unwilling to draw more suspicion to himself than Seonghwa already had with his stunt. “Hermes.”

Your brow furrowed, and he found himself wanting to swipe the crease between them away. “Just Hermes?”

He nodded, stepping back to his bike and tossing his leg over the body, feeling suddenly like a rat in a trap again. “Just Hermes, for now. You can find out the rest later.” He sent you a wink as his bike roared to life under him, only to hang his head when he realized you couldn’t see it. 

You tilted your head at him as his shoulders shook with silent laughter. “Hermes?”

“Yeah, I, uh… I shouldn’t try to flirt. Don’t worry about it. I’ll see you around, Y/N.”

Staring after him, still in the middle of the street, that longing feeling pulled at you again, following his dimming taillight over the horizon.

He was flirting?

“You did what?!”

Yeosang flinched. He was very rarely on the receiving end of Seonghwa’s wrath, but between the wreck and his… slip up with you earlier, he found himself squarely in the sights of Mars. 

“What was I supposed to do, give her my full legal name?” he argued, crossing his arms over his chest and frowning, trying to at least somewhat match the energy in the warehouse. “That would’ve been a death wish.” 

“So you gave her your callsign instead?” Yeosang shrugged, earning a scoff in return. If he were being honest with himself, he didn’t know why he’d done what he’d done either. “What you should have done was hopped on your bike and come straight back here, like we always do.” 

His eyes turned to the floor, and for a moment, everything was silent. “She recognized me,” he muttered, quiet voice still managing to echo like a whipcrack between them.

“You took your helmet off in the middle of the city?!” Seonghwa was on his feet now, yelling, and Yeo might have been scared, if not for the panic flashing behind his friend’s eyes. 

“No, no, I’m not that stupid.” The older man settled, leaning back against the beam beside him once more, arms crossing over his chest. “My voice, and the gloves, I think. She didn’t say, but she pinned me, and I panicked. I couldn’t just turn tail and run; that would’ve looked worse.” 

Finally, a smile cracked the cold demeanor Yeosang had been facing down, and the tension between the two men split as Seonghwa shook his head in exasperation. “If you make me wreck my baby again, I’m making you pay to fix it.”

The comment earned a hearty eye roll as he shifted his attention back to the bike he’d been outfitting upon Seonghwa’s arrival. “As if Yunho makes you pay.” The other man hummed dismissively, and he chuckled quietly. “Could’ve gone a lot worse, anyway. She could’ve had the Guardians on us in seconds for you running her down.” 

Seonghwa frowned, staring thoughtfully at his freshly patched bike for a moment. “She could have. Why didn’t she?” He murmured, eyes flickering back up to Yeosang.

“I… hadn’t considered it.” The younger blinked, matching the elder’s frown and sitting back on the ground. Why wouldn’t you call the authorities on them? They were at your beck and call, hiding just beyond the gates of the building you’d been in front of at the time. Most people in your Sector would have quickly taken advantage of the convenience, leaving the two outlaws to flee for their lives. It wouldn’t have been the first time, nor did Yeosang think it would have been the last. 

“Do you know what she does there?” He blinked out of his thoughts, shaking his head. “You might consider finding out, since you’re friendly enough to be recognized. She’s clearly not as far up the government’s ass as some of the rest of them; she could be a good in, since we just lost our last one.”

His frown deepened at the suggestion, stomach turning at the thought. “She might just do grunt work. I deliver to her a lot—she’s always there.”

“Worth a shot, though. I’ll take anything we can get at this point.”

“Maybe,” he hummed, chewing on the inside of his lip. 

It was an excuse to see you, at least.

After your little run-in with Hermes and his friend, Blue Bird Delivery was out of service in your Sector. You couldn’t help the pang of disappointment that echoed in your chest every time you checked their app; you’d been hoping that your lack of a report would have kept the authorities off their trail. No such luck, it seemed. The longer time dragged on with no Blue Bird and no word from your faceless friend, the more your worry grew, and after a week and a half of radio silence, you were beginning to lose hope that he was just lying low somewhere. Until, two weeks after you had nearly been run over, their delivery started up again. You couldn’t help but smile as you clicked through your usual order from your favorite restaurant and watched as it was confirmed.

Fourty-five minutes later, your phone pinged to signal its arrival and you made your way to the lobby with a spring in your step. You barely bit back the smile that threatened to take over your face—keenly aware of the Guardian stationed outside of the elevators—as your phone buzzed again, this time to signal the ringing of the building’s doorbell. Forgoing the usual pleasantries, you quickly made your way to the door, this time stepping outside and letting it shut behind you. 

It was unbelievable, really, that you’d managed to peg the edgy biker from two weeks ago as this same moped-riding, unassuming delivery driver. You thanked whatever being was listening for your attention to detail.

He offered you a small wave, fingers twitching in the air, and if there had been a doubt left in your mind that they were the same person, it would have left then. You bit the inside of your lip as you stepped forward and took ahold of the takeout bag in his hand, bowing to and thanking him.

“So, about that coffee,” he murmured quickly, his words overlapping with your own pleasantries as you both stood upright again. You blinked, head tilting in mild surprise as he continued. “When are you off work?”

“I, uh… I could be off in like an hour and a half?” You offered, smiling subtly at his visor.

“I’ll be waiting. I hope you’re okay with motorcycles.” 

You could hear the little smile behind his many masks, and your heart fluttered. “I’ll see you then.” 

“Will I get to see your face?” He stopped in his tracks at your bold question, and you clapped a hand over your mouth. “Sorry, I— If you’re not comfortable—”

“If you don’t mind a little bit of a drive, then maybe.” 

You looked at the ground, taking your lower lip between your teeth to force back your grin. “I’ll see you soon, then.”

It was a risk, Yeosang knew, revealing his identity. Seonghwa wouldn’t be happy when he found out; but what was another bout of his anger in the grand scheme of things, really? If the risk turned out to be worth the reward, he’d end up back in his friend’s good graces at record speed—and he had a gut feeling that would be the outcome. He hadn’t been able to shake the feeling of curiosity and wonder he’d experienced when you greeted him that first night, full of bright life and warmth in the middle of a desolate steel tundra. Something about you was different from the others that roamed your Sector—you’d proven that tenfold two weeks ago; and Yeosang was more than happy for the opportunity to figure out exactly what that was. Meeting you, really meeting you, was the first step. 

It was a risk, sure, but a calculated one.

The closer the clock ticked toward your designated meeting time, the antsier Yeosang got. He’d finished the rest of his deliveries in record speed and closed things down for the night, stopping back by the warehouse just long enough to inform Seonghwa of his plans and make the shift from delivery boy to biker. The elder was yelling something after him that Yeosang didn’t quite catch, tossing a wave over his shoulder before the door clanged shut behind him. He was back in your Sector in record speed, anticipation building in his veins the closer the clock ticked to your meeting.

And as it ticked past, he began to feel trapped. More and more as the seconds ticked past into minutes, he found himself glimpsing his watch, glancing warily over his shoulder and at the door of your building, waiting for you to emerge. Five minutes turned to ten, and ten to twenty; he’d nearly considered calling this a lost cause before you finally made your way from the building, eyes darting around the street as you stepped onto the sidewalk. He watched your face fall just slightly as you saw no sign of him, only to brighten in the next moment as he flicked his headlight back on. Stepping out of his hiding place, he pulled one hand out of his coat pocket, giving you the same wave he had earlier in the evening. He looked ridiculous, you thought, halfway between your delivery boy and the biker you’d met briefly—the same long, black and red leather coat, but this time sporting the same helmet and goggles he wore on his moped.

Barely biting back your grin, you nearly skipped over to him, and he beamed behind his bandana. “I wasn’t sure you were still coming,” he hummed.

You looked down and huffed a little sigh, feeling heat rising to the tips of your ears. “I’m sorry, paperwork just took a little longer than I expected tonight. I’m still adjusting.” 

He shook his head. “Don’t worry. I know what your hours can be like.” Again, you heard the smile in his voice, and you wanted nothing more than to see it. “I wouldn’t have blamed you, anyway. If I were going out to an undisclosed location with a mysterious, masked stranger, I’d be wary, too.”

You giggled softly, and Yeosang’s chest got tighter. He wanted to bottle up that sound and wear it around his neck, close enough for him to pull out and listen to any chance he got. “You don’t feel like a stranger.”

The blush that rose to Yeosang’s cheeks was, frankly, embarrassing, and he was more thankful than ever for his need to remain anonymous. “Neither do you,” he murmured in return.

Reaching down to the backpack he’d dropped at his feet, he unlatched the helmet from it, offering it out to you. “When do you have to be back at work?”

You blinked, tilting your head at him and taking the offered helmet. “I have tomorrow off, actually. New position, new hours.”

“You’ll have to tell me all about it when we get where we’re going, then.”

You’d been entirely unprepared for the feeling of riding a motorcycle, much less riding one with Hermes. When the growl of the engine kicked up beneath you, you’d found yourself clinging tighter to his middle, earning a low chuckle that you felt more than heard. The city streets gave you some time to adjust and by the time you reached its outskirts, your heart rate had mostly returned to normal. As he took you past the little rows of houses that marked the beginning of the edge of Night City and into the warehouse district that followed, though, it picked up again. 

What were you doing? 

You hadn’t told anyone where you were going or who you were with; you didn’t even know who you were with, not really, anyway. A few passing interactions didn’t count for “get to know you” material, in your humble opinion. His friend had nearly killed you, or at the very least nearly put you in the hospital. You had no clue what this man looked like and only had one name, which you were nearly certain was, itself, an alias. 

This was easily the stupidest decision you had ever made.

As he pulled to a stop just before the city limit, the desert sprawled out in front of you, and you loosened your hold around his middle. To your surprise, he noticed immediately, turning over his shoulder to glance at you before pulling your hands tighter around him again. 

“Only a few more minutes, I promise. Hold on tight.”

His voice was like magic, washing over you and soothing your nerves. It brought with it the familiarity and warmth you’d come to associate with Hermes; the warmth of the sun in a place where it had been blotted out. Shifting closer to him and squeezing him tighter, you nodded. “Let’s go.”

Riding through the desert was a rush entirely different than puttering through the streets of the city. Hermes had shifted his shoulders forward, picked his feet up, and sent you sailing into the cool night. You shivered as the wind whipped around you, slipping your cold hands under his jacket to seek heat you couldn’t find through the leather. He jolted slightly at the contact, helmet tilting back toward you for a split second, and you thought you felt him laugh again. It was terrifying, cold and dark, save for the strip of road illuminated by the headlight.

But it was also exhilarating. Adrenaline coursed through your veins as his speed climbed, and although you were freezing, the excuse to curl closer to Hermes was not unwelcome. It felt like freedom, being even five minutes outside of Night City, seeing never-ending darkness rather than eternal, artificial light, being here with someone you barely knew, taking the risk of a lifetime. Your initial fear was gone, replaced entirely with childlike wonder, and you let out a quiet giggle, relaxing just slightly as you gazed out at your surroundings. 

You were almost a little disappointed when, as promised, Hermes began to slow a few minutes later, just as you were cresting the top of a bluff. When he had killed the engine and steadied his bike, he carefully pulled your arms from around him, swinging off of it to offer you a hand. You took it readily, leaning heavily on him as you stood on wobbly legs. He let out a quiet laugh as you stumbled into him just slightly, and you found yourself thankful for the helmet you still wore. Once you had gained your footing, he let you go, letting you remove the cumbersome thing before reaching for the pack he’d secured onto your back before your ride. 

“Sorry again about that,” he muttered, “I really didn’t think before I decided to bring things along. It was either you or the storage compartment on the back.”

You shook your head, running a hand through your hair. “Don’t worry about it, I needed it as much as you did. Holding onto my stuff the whole time would’ve been a pain.” Breathing a pleased sigh, you set your loaned helmet on the seat and turned to him.

He’d removed his own helmet and goggles, leaving only the bandana hiding him as he crouched in the sand, digging in his backpack. It was a little hard to tell whether his black hair was purposefully slicked back or simply still stuck in the same state his helmet had put it in, a few strands falling into his eyes. As he tucked them behind his ear, eyes narrowing in annoyance, your attention was drawn to the movement, and your gaze landed on the birthmark beside his left eye. Your jaw dropped open just slightly as you stared, taking a step forward and kneeling in front of him. Even with half of his face still hidden from you, you could tell Hermes was a fitting name for him—he truly did have the beauty of a Greek god.

Steely gray eyes flicked up as they registered the movement, and you felt the wind knocked out of you under their intensity. Just as quickly as they had snapped to you, they softened, and once again, you were left wondering how to reconcile your delivery boy with the vigilante-esque biker in front of you. 

“I brought some blankets, snacks and soju. I figured we could stay for a little while, get to know each other,” he murmured, looking out to the horizon. 

Was the dim light playing tricks on you, or were the tips of his ears turning pink?

You beamed at him, smiling wide with your teeth for the first time since you’d met, and Yeosang felt his heart flutter. It did that more frequently lately, it seemed.

“Sure, yeah. Does food mean I get to see the rest of your face?”

This time, you heard the giggle that left him, the sound wrapping you up like a warm hug. “That depends. You’re not going to drag me back to the Guardians by my hair if I end up being a wanted criminal, are you?”

“If I wanted to do that, I would’ve sent them after you and your friend two weeks ago.”

He sighed, breathing another laugh and looking at the ground, shaking his head. “Yeah, okay, that’s fair. Seriously, though. I might actually be a wanted criminal, and I might actually need you to confirm whether or not you’re going to turn me in.”

You blinked, brow furrowing for a moment. He couldn’t be serious. Sighing, you gave in. “No, I won’t drag you back to the authorities. I promise.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” he murmured, standing and pulling a blanket from his backpack. “Do you want to face toward or away from the city?” 

You glanced behind you, back in the direction you had come from. The neon lights shone like a beacon in the distance, a slow gradient from electric blues and purples to fiery oranges and yellows as the city spread. Red tinted the edges of the amoebic mass of industry, giving the impression of a spreading fire or trickling blood. You shuddered.

“Away, please,” you murmured, and he nodded, spreading out the blanket to overlook the edge of the bluff, out into the quiet of the desert. Setting his bag at its edge, he gestured to it and moved back to his bike, pointing the headlight out in the direction you would be facing. You settled in, curling in on yourself and rubbing your arms for warmth against the chilly night. 

Before you could dwell on it too much, something warm and heavy dropped onto your shoulders. Glancing up, you found Hermes had shed his coat and settled it over your shoulders, leaving him in a tank top and you blushing. You hadn’t expected a toned body underneath the puffy Blue Bird jacket he always wore, and you could barely tear your eyes away from him as he situated himself next to you. He was a little more than just fit, if his arms were anything to go by.

“So,” he began, leaning back on his hands, eyes fixed with yours on the horizon. “New job, you said? What are you doing now?”

You heaved a sigh, pulling his jacket tighter around your shoulders as your eyes turned to the ground. “Production management,” you murmured dejectedly. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him shift to face you. “I got… Promoted, I guess. I don’t know why, because there are other people who’ve been there for years that I’m sure would be better at this than me, but…” you trailed off, sighing again, and when you glanced up, the concern in his eyes made your heart skip a beat. “I didn’t ask for it, but I couldn’t really turn it down.” 

His eyebrows creased for a moment, something like disgust or anger flashing behind his gaze. “Why not?”

You shifted uncomfortably, gnawing at the inside of your lip for a moment. “Well, I would’ve been stupid to, for one. And no isn’t a very well-received word when you work for the government.”

He hummed thoughtfully, looking back out over the horizon. “You didn’t have any sort of warning?” You shook your head, catching him glancing at you from your peripheral. “Don’t people usually give a two-week notice or something?” 

“They do when they don’t disappear without a trace.”

Yeosang shot upright at your words, eyes wide as he turned to you. “They what?”

You startled just slightly, turning to better face him. “He disappeared. No word, no sign. I got promoted the same day.”

“That’s… disturbing.” 

You nodded, shifting to rest your chin on your knees, and he shifted closer, settling one arm behind you. Leaning into his side, you sighed. “It happens, sometimes, when people step a little too far out of line. Par for the course in Night City.” You heard him scoff and felt him nod as he wrapped his arm around you, giving you a quick squeeze that had you relaxing immediately. 

“I’ve been wondering something,” he mused, breaking the silence that had begun stretching between the two of you. “Why didn’t you call the Guardians that night?” 

The question caught you off-guard and you sat up straighter, brows furrowing together. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, your building was right there, when you almost got flattened, and I think anyone else in your position would have taken full advantage of that fact. I know others in that Sector have—my friend’s had some pretty close calls before.” 

You frowned, painting careful neutrality back on your features as you stared at the ground. If anything were going yo betray you, it would be your eyes. “I didn’t really… This isn’t a trap, is it? We’ve been over me not ratting you out, but how do I know you’re not trying to trick me into saying the wrong thing? I haven’t even—”

“Seen my face?” he finished, and you nodded. “Look at me, Y/N.”

Slowly, you raised your eyes, your heart skipping a beat or two as you caught sight of his bandana, now resting just above his collar. Excitement surged in your chest as you let your gaze flicker over his features, quickly morphing into confusion and a bit of panic. “You look familiar,” you murmured, shifting away from him. “This has got to be a trap, please don’t—”

“Y/N,” he soothed, his quiet baritone settling your frayed nerves just slightly. “I wouldn’t have anything to do with the government if my life depended on it. Which, I rather prefer the opposite thing I’ve got going on instead.”

The realization hit you like a ton of bricks, memories of his face flashing behind your eyes at lightning speed. Every bulletin, every news story, every poster that had displayed that same silhouette, described the same features you were staring at now, right down to the birthmark you’d been fantasizing about kissing. There were never any photos, but your mind had put together a decent enough replica.

Kang Yeosang was not the monster you had heard described in the media, you didn’t think. If he were, why hadn’t he taken his chance and poisoned your dinner? Why hadn’t he killed you the moment you were outside the city limits? Why hadn’t his friend just run you over? Where, in the slew of calls for his immediate arrest and reminders of how dangerous he and his friends were, was this man; the one who greeted you pleasantly, who made you laugh, and whose own giggles in return could warm you for days? You didn’t know what was real, what to believe anymore.

Despite yourself, you laughed. He tilted his head, an amused and wary expression on his face. “I’m sorry, I don’t— this is just—” you tried, gesturing between the two of you. “My delivery guy is Kang Yeosang, one of the most wanted criminals in Night City. It’s kind of ridiculous.”

The giggle that graced your ears was louder without barriers to cover his pretty little smile, and you beamed back at him, chest tight and warm. 

“Isn’t it dangerous for you to be out and about like that?” you questioned.

He shook his head. “It’s better to hide in plain sight, actually. The Guardians rely so much on facial recognition, anyway, that as long as I stay covered up, I’m not at much risk. The delivery job gives me a good excuse to do just that.”

You nodded thoughtfully, gaze turning back to the desert. “That makes sense, I guess. Are the rest of them doing the same thing?” 

“More or less.” 

“So… your friend from the other night, is he one of your vigilante buddies?”

He was silent for a long moment, and when you glanced back at him, his smile had been replaced with a pensive look. “The less I tell you, the better.” Your heart sank ever so slightly, but you nodded, hoping you hadn’t overstepped too far. “Just… For your own safety, you know?”

“Yeah… That makes sense. Sorry.” 

He turned to you again, tilting his head like a curious puppy, and you bit back a giggle. “Don’t be. I’m sorry for being so mysterious.”

“Don’t be,” you echoed, nudging him with your elbow. “It’s your life on the line, and I rather prefer you right where you are.”

If you could frame a moment, you would choose this one, when Yeosang blushed a shade of pink that was barely noticeable in the dim light, smiling shyly as his eyes turned to the ground. “I’m glad,” he murmured, voice only audible thanks to the complete silence around you, “because I prefer being here, too.”

It was your turn to blush as you reached for his backpack, pulling a bottle of soju from it and cracking it open, tilting the opening toward Yeosang. Cocking his head again, he followed suit, clinking the necks of your bottles together. 

“To being here, then,” you offered, heart fluttering at the return of his sweet smile.

“To being here.” 

With the tension broken, the silence between you two became comfortable, and you unfurled your legs from your chest, shifting to lean against Yeosang. After breaking into the snacks and a few swigs of soju, he finally broke the silence again. “You never answered my question, you know.” 

You thought for a moment, and he found himself holding back a giggle at the sight of the near-pout on your face. When the realization seemed to hit, you perked up quite comically, eyes wide. “Oh! I don’t really trust the authorities anymore. After…” you sighed, chewing on the inside of your lip. “I’ve never really liked them. They’re creepy, I know what they can do, and it’s… I don’t think like what they represent, I guess. I’ve never had the guts to do anything about it, but I’ve always kind of kept my distance. And after my old boss went missing, I didn’t really… I haven’t felt right getting them involved in anything.” 

He listened intently as you rambled for a moment, eyes locked onto your face as he searched for any form of deception. He couldn’t think of a single reason why you would lie to him, of all people, about your dislike for the guardians, and he was relieved when he read you as truthful. Hwa was right, then—you could be a helpful asset.

Nodding as you finished, he turned his gaze back to the horizon and capped the bottle in his hand. “That’s kind of what I thought too, at first, and it built from there pretty quickly. I guess that’s the Captain’s fault, though.” 

“Hongjoong?” You questioned, taking another stiff glug of your drink. 

That was a name that put you on edge to speak, like its utterance would summon its owner. Yeosang only hummed in confirmation.

You tucked yourself further into his side, tucking your legs up again as you picked at the label of your bottle. “I kinda thought you guys were a myth before tonight.” The look he gave you was something adjacent to offense, and you couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up from your throat. “I don’t mean it in a bad way! The stories have just always been so much larger than life. I thought you were a legend the rebels of the city cooked up to keep hope or something.”

He laughed at your explanation, securing the arm that rested behind you around your waist and squeezing you into his side. You hid your face in his chest as heat rose to your cheeks, hoping he couldn’t feel your blush through the thin material of his tank top. 

“You did not,” he teased, shaking your shoulder lightly. When you didn’t raise your head and only mumbled something unintelligible in response, he sat up straighter, the hand that had been holding him up coming to lift your chin. “Oh my god, you did,” he teased when you wouldn’t meet his eyes, tongue caught between his teeth. He let out that distinct, adorable giggle, and you couldn’t stop your lips from twitching into a smile. 

“Yeah, I did,” you murmured, still plenty embarrassed. 

You felt him shift more than you saw it, turning your head to figure out what he was up to. Freezing for a moment as you found his face inches from your own, you glanced between his eyes and lips. His fingers shifted from under your chin to splay out over the side of your face, and you saw the ghost of a smirk tug at his lips.

“You’re blushing, Y/N,” he hummed, making you impossibly more aware of the heat in your cheeks and under his palm. 

When you didn’t respond, he hesitated, a small blip of wariness in the confidence on display in front of you. Before he could pull away completely, in a feat of bravery you didn’t know you were capable of, you pulled him in until your lips crashed together.

The little noise of surprise he let out was muffled between you, but he recovered quickly, pulling you tight against him and meeting your kiss with just as much fervor. He was quick to grab at your thigh, pulling it over his hips and tugging you into his lap. Hands settling on his shoulders, you barely noticed his coat falling from your own before his hands left you to catch it. He pulled back with a low hum and a smile as he settled the garment back where it had been, this time wrapping it in his embrace with you.

“Still think I’m just a myth?” He prodded, earning a scoff and an eye roll from you.

You smirked, though, as you looked back at him, eyes flickering over his own flushed face. “I don’t know, let me check again.”

You were almost sorry to swallow the giggle that left him, but any regret quickly melted away with the feeling of his lips on yours. This one was slower, soft and exploratory, a stark contrast to the sudden heat of the last. He dragged your chest flush with his own slowly, one hand splaying out between your shoulder blades while the other slid around to your opposite hip. The movement had goosebumps prickling over your skin and, despite the warmth of his body and the coat around you, you shivered. He hummed against your lips and held you ever so slightly tighter, hands beginning to wander across the expanse of your back.

When you finally broke for air, Yeosang’s hands settled at your waist, doing little more than steadying you as you breathed each other in, foreheads pressed together and eyes closed. It was like time had frozen around you, the silence of the desert night suspending you in an alternate reality, and it felt as though even the slightest movement would send you careening back to the doom that awaited you in Night City. Neither of you spoke, neither of you stirred; for a few short moments you wondered if you had forgotten how to breathe. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Yeosang broke the silence.

“Do you want me the way I want you?”

There was a rasp to his already deep voice that hadn’t been there before, and when you finally opened your eyes, he was already staring up at you, the desire burning low in his gaze making your breath catch in your throat. Swallowing thickly, you nodded, one of your hands slipping into the hair at the base of his skull. He hummed lowly, pleased, the corner of his mouth ticking up in a smirk, and guided your hips to rest more firmly against his own. You let out your own quiet sigh at the evidence of his arousal pressing against your core, quickly sealing your lips again. He met you once again with passion, an undercurrent of desperation and urgency in the way his hands ran up your body, pushing his coat off of your shoulders. Your grip on his hair tightened as he slid them under the hem of your shirt, and you swallowed the moan he let out, matching it with a quiet whine of your own.

His hands settled on your waist again, thumbs rubbing soothing circles on your skin as he pulled back from you just long enough to speak, “Tell me.” You huffed, trying to guide his lips back to yours, but he held you fast. “I need to hear you say it, doll.”

The pet name had you whining, nodding eagerly as you squirmed against him. “Yes, Yeosang, I want you. Please.”

Your permission was all it took. In seconds, his lips were back on yours and his hands were exploring every inch of skin they could as his hips rolled up into your own. His explorations left your shirt bunched up, and as the cool night air met your skin to contrast pleasantly with the warmth of his hands, a shudder lit down your spine. His lips parted from your own to pepper open-mouthed kisses and teasing nips down the pillar of your throat, hands dropping back to your hips to drag you more solidly against the bulge in his jeans. You both let out breathy, broken moans and found each other’s eyes, desperation reflected back at the both of you. Your hands fell from his shoulders to slink under his tank top for a moment, fingers wandering over the toned muscles you found for a moment before running over his waistband, tugging at the buckle of his belt.

“Eager,” he murmured, leaning up to nip at your pulse. He ground up into you roughly as he shifted under you, one hand settled firmly on your hip while the other splayed over your shoulders. You barely registered his words, too preoccupied with the need coursing through you, when he spoke again. “Flip with me.”

You complied easily, letting him roll you onto your back and settle between your legs. His gaze was hungry as he ran his hands down your thighs, hesitating when he reached your waistband. A nod seemed to be all he needed to unfasten them and drag them down your legs along with your underwear, leaving you bare to his gaze and the night air, one or both of the sensations sending a shudder lighting down your spine. Feeling exposed, you moved to close your legs, but in a flash, Yeosang was settled firmly between them, fingers kneading at your thighs as he hovered at eye-level with your core. 

He lapped a fat stripe over your folds and it was over for you both. The groan he let out and the hungry way he dove back in had you whimpering in seconds, legs twitching where they rested over his shoulders. His tongue worked over you a little clumsily at first, but the moment he found the things that had you gasping or whimpering, he was zeroing in on them, building you rapidly toward a peak you weren’t quite ready to fall over.

“Sangie,” you gasped, reaching down to tug at his hair and drag him up.

His eyes, closed in reverence of his position and your body, snapped open, and he sucked hard on your clit. You whined, pushing back against the top of his head. “Yeosang,” you tried again, “need you t’... Need you.”

He hummed lowly, pressing a kiss to your folds before pushing himself back up, caging you in with his body. 

“You’ve got me,” he murmured, leaning down to mouth at your neck again.

You whined in protest, hand finding his hair again to pull his lips to yours, earning a low chuckle from the man above you. Reaching for his belt, you ran your nails over the front of his jeans, pulling a hiss of your own from his lips. When fumbling blindly with his belt buckle became a lost cause for both of you, he sat back on his heels, unfastening both his belt and his pants. He paused only to pull his wallet from his pocket and a condom from his wallet before he was shoving his jeans and boxers down. You let out a quiet moan at the sight of his cock, flushed and leaking, propping yourself up on an elbow and reaching for him.

The look of him as you wrapped your fingers around him was a memory you wanted to keep forever. His eyes rolled back in his head and his hips twitched up into your touch, a broken moan falling from his lips. His fingers tightened around the foil packet between them as you slowly pumped his length, his breathing quickly becoming ragged. Within moments, one hand was snapping down to grab at your wrist, halting your movements. 

“You keep at that much longer, angel, and I’m not gonna last.”

You grinned, lip caught between your teeth, thumb swiping over his weeping slit. He heaved an unsteady breath, head rolling back again, before he focused back on you, glaring.

“Fuck me already, then,” you quipped, mouth ticking up in a smirk.

He huffed another laugh, shaking his head as he tore the foil open, reaching for you the moment he had a hand free to pull you in for another kiss. He lowered you to the ground as he rolled the condom over himself, gasping into your mouth at the friction, and you clung hard to his shoulders as he settled back over you. You whined as he parted from you again, tugging at his head to urge him back, but he grabbed your wrist, lacing your fingers and pinning your hand to the ground as he lined himself up with your entrance. 

“You’re sure about this?”

As touched as you were by the check-in, it made your jaw twitch in irritation. 

“Yes, I’m sure, fuck me, Yeosang–!” His name morphed into a long, drawn out moan as he pushed into you in one quick, fluid stroke. His own low sound melded with your own, crafting a harmony that would be echoing in your mind for weeks. 

He paused for a breath, leaning down to kiss you quickly, catching your bottom lip between his teeth. You whined as he shifted within you, breath already coming in short; you were desperate for him, and if he weren’t just as desperate for you, Yeosang would have taken more time to commit the sight to memory. But with the way your walls were hugging him—and the way you had already begged him, the sight of the rapid rise and fall of your chest and the knowledge that he caused that—he couldn’t wait long or this would be over before it had even really started.

The moment you felt him begin to move, really move, within you, you let out a gasp, the hand he didn’t have pinned snapping up to tangle in his hair. You pulled him forward as he fucked into you, pressing your foreheads together, and he followed your lead eagerly, catching your lips in a sloppy kiss. It devolved quickly into little more than you moaning into each other’s mouths, hips rocking together rapidly as you chased bliss together. He was warm, strong and sure above you, and the night around you faded into nothing with the way his body covered yours, leaving both of you once again suspended in a world of your own making. Your cries and whines of pleasure echoed out into the nothingness of the desert, and for once you didn’t bother silencing yourself—out here, there were no repercussions for your pleasure. 

For the second time that night, you mused over how Yeosang—a man you were taught was the enemy, trapped in a prison of his mind’s own making—felt like freedom. The build of the high you were chasing now reminded you of the rush of adrenaline that had coursed through you on the back of his bike such a short time ago, and you pulled him impossibly closer to you, needing to feel his body flush against yours in the same way. A quiet grunt left him as he dropped down to his elbow, stuttering for only a second before picking his pace back up. You settled your feet on the ground, using the leverage to tilt your hips up, and with that small shift, you were seeing stars. His cock was hitting that perfect spot inside of you, his lips were chasing yours every chance he got, and his grip on your hand was tightening; you could tell he was just as close to his peak as you were as he sighed your name against your lips.

He feels like freedom. The thought echoed in your head again, this time louder, and your heart skipped several beats in quick succession. Your chest, throat and core all tightened together, and you pressed your lips against Yeosang’s lips with purpose as your orgasm crashed over you like a wave. You swallowed the drawn-out moan that left him as your walls milked him dry, his hips twitching against your own. He pulled back while you were still lost on cloud nine, wanting to drink in the sight of you, and when his eyes caught the tearstains on your cheeks, his headlight tinging them gold, his stomach dropped. But your eyes blinked open as he wiped them away, a hazy, blissful smile on your face, and he felt himself relax just a bit.

“What’s wrong, angel?” he murmured, and your chest clenched at the concern in his voice. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?’

You shook your head vehemently. “No, Sangie, you were perfect. I just… It felt really good to let go,” you admitted, turning your gaze away from his own. “I haven’t ever been able to, with the whole…” You gestured back toward Night City, and he raised his head to stare back at it, frowning.

WIth a sigh, Yeosang nodded, slipping out of you to sit up. You whined in protest, grabbing at him, and he placated you with a kiss before shifting around to clean both of you up. Once you were dressed again, the cold quickly having become unbearable without his heat, he tugged you into his lap.

“I’m sorry you’ve never had an experience like this before,” he hummed, pressing a kiss into your hair, “but I’m glad I could provide it, and I hope you’ll let me again.”

You smiled brightly against his chest, nodding. “Any time, Sangie. I’m just sorry so many other people miss out on this.”

“Me too.”

“It felt like freedom,” you murmured after a stretch of silence. “You feel like freedom.”

Another moment you wanted you imprint on your brain; the grin he gave you before he yanked you in for another kiss.

When he returned to the rest of the Blue Birds for patrol the next night, Yeosang was keenly aware of Seonghwa’s eyes boring holes into the back of his skull. No doubt he was curious about the details of the previous night’s escapades and itching to give him an earful for wandering off with a government employee and no backup or contingency plan. Sure enough, when the gang split for their respective patrols, he was the one left with their leader. It wasn’t unusual by any stretch, but since the change to his callsign, Seonghwa had been putting Yeosang with other people more frequently to give everyone a chance to adjust.

As they set out, silence stretched between the two riders, and Yeosang couldn’t shake the discomfort it brought. After only a short fifteen minutes, he had to break it.

“You’re mad at me.”

It was purposeful, he was sure, the way he could hear Seonghwa’s drawn-out sigh over his comms. “You could’ve gotten yourself killed.”

“But I didn’t,” he countered, a teasing lilt to his voice.

“You could have gotten yourself arrested.” 

Yeosang scoffed. “What’s the difference, these days?” The silence that met his ears spoke volumes. “Look, I know you aren’t happy about it, but I did it, and I survived. And I think you might be right—she might be on our side, she just doesn’t know it yet.”

Another sigh. “What does that even mean, Yeosang?”

“I figured out why she didn’t call you in.” Silence, this time, but where he had been pointedly keeping ahead of his companion, Seonghwa sat back just a bit, slowing his pace to ride with him. “She doesn’t trust them.”

“Who does?”

“Like eighty percent of the population. Can you be civil for long enough for me to explain, please?” Silence met Yeosang’s ears, but it was miles better than snark. “She’s worked on the things—she knows their wiring and their programming back to front. She could be a very valuable asset to us.”

“So you’ve said—I fail to see how this is more than grunt work.”

“She just got promoted to the position our guy was in before.”

Seonghwa’s helmet whipped to face him for a split second. “Okay, now that is something. Did you convince her to help us, then?”

Yeosang chewed on his lip. “Not yet, but I think I can.”

The deep breath that echoed through his earpiece set his nerves on edge. “You’d better work fast. She’s good at her job—the things our guy was blocking from release are almost ready to be delivered to the masses, according to my intel. We need her position back as soon as possible, and there are already plans in motion.”

There it was. His stomach dropped and bile rose in his throat. “You’ve already called a hit on her.”

“In my defense, I didn’t know it was this girl you’re head over heels for.”

“Says you,” he spat, uncharacteristically nasty, eyeing the way his companion’s shoulders rose. “It wouldn’t have mattered anyway.”

Silence once again, heavy and tangible, hung in the road between the two men.

“If we only resort to death and violence, we’re no better than they are.”

Seonghwa’s scoff echoed as he revved his engine, pulling ahead once again. This time, it didn’t seem like he would be falling back. “I can give you a week. Either convince her or get over her. It’s your choice.”

Yeosang scowled, watching with a glare that could kill as his friend faded into the horizon. He didn’t need a whole week.

Two days later, when you were once again working late and in desperate need of a meal, Blue Bird Delivery was out of service once again. Your heart sank and bile rose in your throat at the implication, and you promptly locked your phone, suddenly too sick to eat. You drowned yourself in your work for the next hour or so, blissfully uninterrupted. It wasn’t until your phone pinged in your pocket, signaling the building’s front buzzer, that you were pulled back into reality. Blinking the measurements and notes from your vision, you frowned, clicking the front camera onto your computer and opening the intercom. “Yes?” 

“Blue Bird Delivery with an order for Y/N,” came the quick reply, Yeosang’s voice crackling through the speaker. You rubbed your temples and sighed heavily, feeling like the weight of the world had been taken off of your shoulders as you relaxed. 

“I’ll be down in a minute.” You bit the inside of your lip, holding back your grin as you made your way downstairs and through the front door as fast as possible.

He seemed even more on edge than usual tonight, shoulders tensed up nearly to his ears, you noted when he came into view. This time, it was you who used his greeting to cover your question. 

“Are you alright?”

He hummed quietly, barely loud enough for you to hear, and turned on his heel, leaving you stunned and confused, a million questions running through your mind. Did he regret taking you out? Did he regret the sex? If he wasn’t here to talk, why was Yeosang bringing you food that you hadn’t been able to order in the first place? He had seemed happy for the rest of the night, holding you close, watching from the street as you had made your way into your apartment building and waved to him from the window, pouting just slightly before you’d arrived that he couldn’t kiss you good night. In a slight daze, you made your way back to your office, locking the door behind you before settling in to eat. No matter how bitter the food would taste now, you needed to eat, but you certainly didn’t want anyone disturbing you. 

Pulling the bag open, your eyes immediately zeroed in on an unfamiliar shock of blue tucked down the side of it. You squinted for a brief second in consideration of it, quickly thinking better of pulling it from the bag. Removing the takeout containers resulted in the paper falling down into the bottom of the bag, and as you set it below your desk as you had made a habit of, readying it for the remnants of your dinner, you glimpsed the message scrawled on it.

“1 hr. -H”

You swallowed thickly, anxiety coiling in your gut. What the hell had you gotten yourself into?

He was waiting in the same place he had been before, arms crossed over his chest as he leaned against the wall. You hesitated as you approached him, and his heart sank. He wanted so badly to touch you, to kiss you, to pull you to him, but he couldn’t risk that emotional breakdown happening in the center of Night City if this went south. Still, he offered you a half-hearted version of his little finger wave.

“What’s with the passing notes?” You questioned, attempting to laugh off the awkwardness. 

“I need you to make a decision.” If you weren’t nervous before, you certainly were now, heart pounding against your ribcage as you bit back a retort about your relationship being too new for ultimatums. “I can either be here as an opportunity or a warning.”

“Should we go somewhere—” you started, only for him to cut you off with a raised hand.

“We’re safe enough here, and I don’t want to waste gas. This is a blind spot for surveillance.” You nodded, wrapping your arms around yourself for comfort. This didn’t feel good. “The rebellion needs someone in your position. Your previous boss was—”

“I know,” you cut in. “I found the forged documents ages ago, before I even took over.”

He went silent, head tilting to the side. You wished you could see the puppy-like look under his disguise.

“He wasn’t sneaky. He didn’t destroy any of the evidence—I found it all the morning I got promoted. The drawings, the inspection sheets, all of it. Are you here to ask me to take over for him?”

Yeosang hesitated. “Well, I was going to, yes. The issue is, you’re a little too good at your job, and if you keep being good at it, I and my people will start losing our footing. And…” He paused, taking a deep breath, trying to ignore the way you were staring at him with narrowed eyes. “There might already be a hit out on you from some of the higher-ups. So it’s kind of a ‘help us or die’ situation.”

Your heart dropped into your stomach. “There’s no other alternative?”

“Not unless you wanted to end up running and hiding for the rest of your life like we do.”

Your decision, and therefore your reply, was instantaneous. “How do I do that?”

If you could see his face, you probably would have laughed at the stunned look Yeosang was giving you. “What?”

“I don’t want this life anymore. I’ve spent my entire life making absolutely sure I fit the mold, and it’s been absolutely terrifying every step of the way. I’ve lost coworkers, friends, even family members for bullshit or unknown reasons and I—” Your voice broke and you paused, regaining your composure. “I felt free with you the other night. I want to feel that again, as often as I can.”

He was quiet for long enough that dread settled back in your stomach. When he finally broke the silence, you could hear the mask fall away from his voice. “Let’s go for a ride, then. We’ll figure this out together.”

You grinned, waiting impatiently for him to settle over his bike before climbing on behind him, wrapping tightly around him, this time in excitement rather than fear. Like the first night, you felt him laugh. “Hold on tight, doll, you’re in for a bit of a bumpy ride.” 

Despite knowing he was talking about more than poorly paved roads this time, your heart soared. “Wouldn’t have it any other way, Hermes.”

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[ghostofskywalker]

Hi! I just saw your winter ficlet request thingy, and I decided to ask for some! (Even though I read through the guidelines, I hope I do this right, never actually sent a request 😅)

So uuuh, what about

“Am I your favorite?��� with Crosshair?

Like, it just screams his name, in my opinion! 🤭

Sending you love! 🫶🏻

i absolutely love that prompt with him, you're so right!! and it's also fitting that this was the first request for winter ficlets, im honored to be your first request! i changed the prompt a tiny bit, but i hope you enjoy it :)

words: 769

summary: For the first time in a long time, the crew of the Marauder gets to spend a little time relaxing, and you joke around with the squad's resident sniper.

A Quiet Moment

clone troopers masterlist

For the first time in who knows how long, things were quiet on the Marauder. The last few jobs that the squad had taken had all been completed, deliveries and retrievals for some of Cid’s more shadow-y clients (it was something of a miracle that everyone made it out with all their limbs, if you were being honest). It wasn’t anything near the luxury and decadence as a vacation on a more tropical planet would be, as the ship was currently parked in the middle of a forest on a nearly empty Outer Rim planet, but it was still something of a blessing for you, Omega, and the rest of the boys to be able to take a step back and relax for a few days. 

You were sitting under a tree, staring out in the direction of what you knew to be the closest village, though they were nowhere within eyesight. As you mind quietly drifted from topic to topic, you turned to watch Hunter, Wrecker, and Omega chase each other around the grassy field, while Tech and Echo kept score from the sidelines and called out bets on who was going to catch the others first. 

The sound of feather-light footsteps caught your attention, and you turned to see Crosshair making his way towards you. His hair had begun to grow out in the time since he had returned to his brothers, and he was looking more and more like his old self by the day, save for the scar on the side of his head that you knew would never truly heal. “Finally tired of the smelly ship?” you teased, smiling as he sat down next to you. 

“One could never truly be tired of that stench, you just get used to it,” was his deadpan response, but the barest hint of a smile began to peek through his gruff exterior. That was another thing that was returning about him: his sense of humor. While you were never quite sure what your exact relationship was with the squad’s resident sharpshooter, you were certainly sure that he chose to spend more time with you than anyone else on the squad. 

“So you were bored then.” 

He raised his eyebrows at you. “And you think that if I was bored I would come here, to talk to you?” 

You laughed, sensing the joking tone in his voice. “Point taken, but I have some bad news for you about your current location, grumpy.” 

A sigh escaped his mouth at the newly-appointed nickname, and he plopped down to sit next to you, both of your backs now resting against the trunk of a sturdy tree. Silence fell over you two for a fleeting moment, and you finally decided that you were going to ask him something. “Why do you spend so much time with me?” 

He stopped, turning to you with a slightly shocked expression on his face. “What do you mean?” 

“I don’t know,” you said, suddenly self conscious about the can of whuffa worms you may have just opened. “Like right now, you could be spending more time with your brothers and sister. Why are you over here with me?” 

A beat of silence fell over the space before he spoke in response. “Because you’re the calmest,” he said. “It’s more difficult for me to get back into that frame of mind sometimes, the way my brothers are able to let go and be goofy whenever they want. And besides, you’re my favorite.” 

As much as you would have liked to assure him that his brothers were experiencing similar worries and that they had also been changing with the galaxy, the last sentence he spoke completely caught you off guard. “Really?” 

“Yeah,” he said slowly, looking as though he was suddenly second-guessing the admittance. “Why, am I not your favorite?” 

“I don’t know, Gonky’s pretty much got the position on lock,” you said, a quiet laugh escaping your mouth. 

Crosshair turned away in mock annoyance, but you knew he wasn’t actually offended. Taking a big risk, you reached out to grab his hand, a smile growing on your face when you realized that he didn’t pull it away. Moving it into your lap so that you were holding his hand with both of yours, you gently coaxed him to lay on your shoulder. 

Yeah, maybe he was your favorite person on the ship, and maybe it was totally obvious to anyone with a little bit of insight, but you didn’t care. He needed someone right now, and you were more than happy to help out where you could.

- the end -

i no longer have a taglist! if you're interested in being notified when i post, you can follow my library blog @ghostofskywalker-library and turn on notifications!

[unknown-lab]

What is Love? (Part 2)

Pairing: Dazai Osamu x reader

Genre: Angst

Warnings: Cheating

Part 1: What is Love?

Here you go, part 2! This is kinda rushed, and I wasn't planning on making part 2, but a lot of people requested for it. So here it is, enjoy!

Amidst whispered echoes, they proclaimed the essence of existence. With hope blooming, I embraced a fleeting glimpse of bliss, only to witness his departure. If this is what so-called normal life is, I'd rather not go through it again.

So here I am, leaning on the balcony railing, gazing at the view before me. A theme park lies not far away, where Dazai and I would go on dates. It was a joyful place, and I imagine him now, perhaps creating new memories with someone else, riding roller coasters together. On the other side, there's a beach—a serene spot Dazai would take me to when life became overwhelming. It may not have been as thrilling as the theme park, but it offered solace. Could they be there now, strolling together and reminiscing, just as we used to?

To others, the view would be filled with vibrant colors, but for me, it's now shrouded in shades of gray, black, and white. No vibrant hues remain. Ah, if I were to leap from this 20th-floor balcony, where would I end up? Heaven or Hell? There seems to be nothing left to lose; I've already lost everything.

Climbing onto the railing, I hold onto the wall for support, tears streaming down my cheeks. Why… Why must I endure this pain? Why is it that others can simply live happily…? If I take that leap, everything will come to an end…

Suddenly, a door slams, jolting me from my thoughts. Before I can react, a strong force pulls me back, wrapping me in a warm embrace. Held tightly, I find solace in the arms that envelop me, soothing my anguish. It feels as though this person understands my pain. In that moment, I don't care who he is—all I want is to release everything I've been holding inside. And deep down, I sense that he's not a bad person.

As the storm within me subsides, I look up at him, still cradled in his embrace. Slowly, I pull away and ask, "Why are you here?" This person before me is my therapist, whom I've been seeing for the past two years. I used to have numerous issues before I met Dazai, and my therapist and I would have weekly sessions. However, as time went on and I grew closer to Dazai, our meetings became less frequent—sometimes once a month or even longer intervals.

"You missed your appointment. And… you mentioned that if you ever missed one, I should come to check on you." He releases me and gently wipes away my tears. It becomes evident that he genuinely cares for his patients. "Please don't do that again."

After explaining what occurred, he offers to continue helping me as my therapist. Every day after work, he visits my apartment to ensure I'm not engaging in self-destructive behavior. Even when he's too busy, he sends thoughtful messages and arranges for food delivery. Initially, I felt guilty for burdening him and rejected his assistance numerous times. However, he remained insistent, stating that it was in my best interest. I cannot deny that I appreciate his unwavering support.

During his extended breaks, he takes me on vacations overseas. Over time, his presence has helped me heal from the heartbreak I experienced months ago. Though thoughts of Dazai still cross my mind occasionally, my therapist is always there to gently redirect my focus. I've ceased dwelling on him and started concentrating on my career. And as for… any feelings I may have for my therapist, I choose to keep them to myself, maintaining the professional boundaries of our relationship.

On a Christmas night,

as we head back to my place, I notice a familiar silhouette standing outside my house—it's Dazai. I wonder why he's here. He hasn't changed one bit; his presence is a reminder of a past I'm trying to move on from.

"You can go home first. Thank you for escorting me back. I might have something to attend to…" I apologize to my therapist, feeling sorry for disrupting our evening.

"It's alright. I'll stay here with you. What if you become sad again?" He steps aside, offering me a comforting smile. I can't quite grasp his emotions; since I've known him, he has always maintained a calm expression—after all, he's a therapist.

I approach Dazai, and he greets me with a smile. "May I help you?" I ask, returning the smile.

"Who's that?" Dazai looks at my therapist, confusion apparent on his face.

"Oh, him? He's my therapist," I reply, hoping to alleviate any concerns.

"Why is he here with you?" Dazai raises an eyebrow, growing even more puzzled.

"We went for a walk. Is there a problem?" My therapist joins us, casually draping his arm over my shoulder and drawing me closer.

"I see…" Dazai's expression turns to amusement, recognizing that our relationship extends beyond the confines of a typical doctor-patient dynamic. "Well then, I have somewhere else to be, and... Merry Christmas." Without waiting for a response, he walks away, his hands casually tucked into his pockets.

I call out his name, aching to understand the purpose of his visit. He can't simply be here to wish me Merry Christmas. There must be something more. Pushing my therapist's arm away, I rush after Dazai, grabbing his shoulder to make him face me.

"Why were you here?" I ask, my breathing slightly labored.

"To wish you a Merry Christmas, of course." Dazai tilts his head slightly and glances at his watch. "Is there anything else you need? I really must go now."

Unable to resist, I muster the courage to ask him. Memories flood my mind, overwhelming me. I've always been someone who struggles to let go.

"Do you think we can start anew?" I inquire, averting my gaze. I'm aware my current expression may not be ideal for this moment. I understand that I'm deluding myself—that compared to him, I'm insignificant. It's him who should be apologizing, not me. But those thoughts fade into insignificance now…

"Appreciate what you have in the present. The more you yearn, the more it can betray you," he responds, patting my head gently. I sense hesitation in his touch, perhaps a tinge of guilt. Surprisingly, his words don't wound me further; instead, they offer confirmation that it's time for me to move forward. I watch as he enters the elevator, and just before the doors close, he utters one last phrase.

"Perhaps in the next life, I'll treat you better."

Dazai's POV

Ah, she has found someone new, someone who can offer her the love and care she deserves. It's a relief to see her in the arms of someone who can support her fragile heart. I know I failed her in so many ways, and she deserves someone who can truly understand and cherish her.

As I watch her with her new partner, I can't help but feel a mix of emotions—regret, sadness, and a glimmer of hope for her future happiness. I know deep down that I wasn't the right person for her, that my own demons and shortcomings prevented me from being the partner she needed.

I reflect on the pain I caused her, the heartbreak that lingers as a reminder of my mistakes. She may appear strong and independent on the outside, but I know she has a vulnerable side that requires genuine support and care. And I have come to terms with the fact that I am not capable of providing that for her.

As I observe her moving on, finding solace in the presence of another, I hold onto the hope that in the next life, if fate allows, we may cross paths again. Perhaps then, I can learn from my past mistakes and be the person she truly deserves. I want nothing more than to see her genuinely happy, even if it means it won't be with me.

So, for now, I'll take solace in the fact that she has found someone who can bring a genuine smile to her face. And in the depths of my heart, I silently hope that in the next life, I'll have the opportunity to make amends and treat her with the love and respect she deserves.

[darknesseddiem]

𝐀𝐥𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐳: 𝐂𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝟔𝟔

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: A fleeting glimpse into your life in Paris reveals a tapestry woven with the threads of contentment. Amidst the quaint charm of your bustling bakery, you found solace in the artistry of your craft and the warmth of the friendships you cultivated. Yet, like an unyielding specter, the echoes of your past refuse to fade into obscurity.

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: +18 MDNI, mentions of sad past, descriptions of panic attack, abusive husband (not with Reader), child loss, mentions of violence, let me know if I missed one

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 5,6K

𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫.

As you stepped out onto the cobblestone streets of Paris, the cold morning air greeted you like an old friend, its crisp touch sending shivers down your spine. The gentle breeze danced around you, carrying with it the delicate flakes of snow that twirled and pirouetted before gently settling on the ground. Each flake seemed to have a life of its own, weaving intricate patterns as they landed, transforming the city into a winter wonderland.

The frost had painted everything in sight with its delicate touch, leaving a shimmering coat on the streets and a soft blanket on the rooftops of cars parked along the curb. The world around you was draped in white, as if nature had decided to cast a spell of serenity over the bustling city.

The scent of freshly brewed coffee wafted through the air, mingling with the faint aroma of pastries from nearby bakeries. It was a tantalizing combination that teased your senses and stirred a pang of hunger in your stomach. Regret gnawed at you for not indulging in breakfast earlier, but there was a certain magic in the air that distracted you from your hunger.

Despite the chill in the air, there was a warmth in the atmosphere that came from the cozy cafes and bistros lining the streets. The soft glow of their lights spilled out onto the snow-covered sidewalks, inviting you to step inside and escape the cold. It was a scene straight out of a postcard, a picturesque moment frozen in time.

As you hurried through the streets of Paris, the weight of responsibility hung heavy on your shoulders. It wasn't your fault that the alarm clock had betrayed you, rudely jolting you awake much later than intended. In the frantic scramble to make it to the bakery on time, breakfast had become an afterthought, sacrificed in the race against the clock.

Despite the early hour, Paris was alive with a quiet energy, as if it were slowly awakening from its slumber. The faint sound of footsteps echoed in the distance, accompanied by the occasional clang of a passing tram. It was a peaceful scene, a moment of stillness before the city burst into life with the hustle and bustle of the day.

As you continued your morning stroll through the quiet streets of Paris, the familiar sounds of bicycle bells and the whirring of wheels filled the air, signaling the arrival of the teenage boys on their delivery rounds. With deft skill, they navigated the narrow streets, balancing baskets filled with fresh milk, warm bread, and delectable cakes destined for those who had no time to prepare their own breakfast.

The sight brought a smile to your lips as you watched them zip past, their youthful energy adding a touch of vibrancy to the serene morning scene. It was a reminder of the simple joys of everyday life in Paris, where tradition and modernity seamlessly coexisted, shaping the rhythm of the city.

A few more minutes of leisurely walking brought you closer to your destination, and soon the beautiful facade of your bakery came into view, standing out amidst the row of charming buildings with its inviting allure.

As you approached your bakery, known as "The Raven's Nest," your heart swelled with pride and affection. The building stood proudly amidst the Parisian streets, a striking monument to your passion for baking and your love of the Gothic aesthetic.

The neoclassical facade had been transformed into a dramatic display of Gothic architecture, with dark gray stone walls rising high, adorned with intricate carvings of ravens and other macabre motifs. Instead of gold and silver, the decorations gleamed with accents of crimson red and midnight black, casting an aura of mystery and allure.

Gone were the delicate pink flowers; in their place were arrangements of deep red roses and black dahlias, their petals adding a touch of romanticism to the Gothic ambiance. The upstairs balconies were adorned with wrought iron railings, their designs reminiscent of Gothic cathedrals, adding to the dramatic silhouette of the building.

The large panes and windows remained, but now they were framed by heavy velvet curtains, allowing only slivers of light to filter through, adding to the mysterious atmosphere within. Outside, the blue and white striped canvas awnings had been replaced with elegant black ones, providing shade to the sidewalk and creating a sense of intimacy for customers who chose to linger outside.

As you gazed upon the transformed facade of your bakery, a sense of awe washed over you. It was more than just a place of business; it was a reflection of your personality and your deepest desires. The Raven's Nest had become a sanctuary for different people who longed for a place in the world, a place where they could indulge in decadent pastries and rich, dark coffee while surrounded by the beauty of the macabre.

You noticed a familiar figure standing patiently outside, his silhouette softened by the early morning light. Antoine, the sweet old man who had become not only a loyal customer but also a cherished friend, was already eagerly awaiting the opening of the bakery.

Your heart swelled with gratitude as you recalled the countless acts of kindness Antoine had bestowed upon you since the day you arrived in Paris, a stranger in a foreign city. It was he who had taken you under his wing, offering you shelter, sustenance, and employment at the factory he managed, when you had nowhere else to turn. His generosity and unwavering support had provided you with the stability and encouragement you needed to pursue your dream of owning a bakery.

From the humble beginnings of selling homemade pastries from your tiny apartment to the triumphant moment of purchasing the building that now housed The Raven's Nest, Antoine had been there every step of the way, cheering you on with his gentle smile and wise words of encouragement.

But it was not just his material support that had made Antoine invaluable to you; it was his unwavering belief in your abilities and his boundless faith in your dreams that had truly touched your heart. He had seen potential in you when you could barely see it in yourself, and his steadfast presence had been a guiding light through the darkest of times.

With a soft smile gracing your lips, you approached Antoine, the jangle of your keys punctuating the quiet morning air. His presence, steadfast and comforting, never failed to bring a sense of warmth to your heart.

"I hope you didn't wait too long for me," you greeted him, the concern evident in your voice.

Antoine turned towards you, his eyes twinkling with affection as his mustache arched gracefully with his smile. "My dear, the anticipation only makes the coffee taste sweeter," he replied, his voice carrying the gentle lilt of a cherished friend.

His words were like a balm to your soul, soothing the frayed edges of your nerves. With a grateful nod, you took a moment to admire the way the morning light filtered through the stained glass windows, casting colorful patterns across the polished wooden floors.

"Lucky for you, you won't have to wait a whole day," you remarked playfully, gesturing towards the inviting doors. With practiced ease, you slipped into your apron, the familiar weight grounding you in the rhythm of the day.

As you set about your tasks, Antoine settled into his favorite corner, the morning newspaper cradled in his hands like an old friend. His presence brought a sense of calm to the bustling kitchen, his unwavering support a beacon of reassurance in the midst of the morning rush.

"Do you need help, ma chérie?" he offered, his tone filled with genuine concern.

You shook your head with a grateful smile, the warmth of his fatherly concern washing over you like a comforting embrace. "Not today, Monsieur," you reassured him, the sound of your voice mingling with the soft hum of the kitchen appliances. "But your coffee will be ready in just a moment."

With a contented nod, Antoine returned his attention to the newspaper, his weathered hands turning the pages with practiced ease. And as you worked side by side, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingling with the scent of baking pastries, you couldn't help but feel a profound sense of gratitude for the friendship you shared with Antoine, a friendship built on kindness, mutual respect, and the simple joy of sharing a quiet moment in the heart of your treasure.

The morning light filtered through the windows as the sound of footsteps echoed through the shop, signaling the arrival of your employees and co-workers. Among them, Florence was always the first to arrive, her punctuality a testament to her dedication and reliability.

With a warm smile, you greeted Florence as she entered, her presence bringing a sense of cheer to the bustling shop. Antoine, ever the gentleman, rose from his seat and removed his gray beret, a gesture of respect for the sweet woman who had captured his heart from the moment he met her.

"Bonjour, Monsieur Antoine! Good morning, Mon Cher!" Florence exclaimed sweetly, her eyes sparkling with warmth as she addressed both of you.

"Bonjour, mademoiselle! And I've already said you can call me Antoine," he replied with a gentle smile, his voice filled with affection.

You watched the interaction with a fond smile, knowing well the bond that had formed between Antoine and Florence. Theirs was a connection that went beyond mere friendship, a deep and abiding affection that was evident to anyone who spent even a moment in their company.

As Antoine returned to his seat, a soft blush coloring his cheeks, you couldn't help but feel a surge of happiness for the two of them. They were, without a doubt, the sweetest and kindest people you had ever known, and they deserved every ounce of happiness that life had to offer.

Encouraging their budding romance had been an easy decision for you. After all they had been through, the trials and tribulations they had faced with unwavering grace and resilience, it was only fitting that they find solace and joy in each other's company.

As Florence turned towards the kitchen, her eyes caught sight of you standing there, quietly observing the exchange between Antoine and herself. A warm smile graced her lips, and she made her way over to you, her steps light and graceful. It was part of her daily routine, her motherly affection spilling over to envelop everyone in her path.

With a gentle embrace, she wrapped her arms around you, pulling you close in her comforting hug. It was a gesture you had come to cherish, a moment of solace in the midst of the bustling bakery.

"Did you have a good night?" she inquired, her voice soft and caring. "The cold increased a little during midnight, did you remember to stay warm and cozy?"

You nodded, leaning into her touch as she stroked your hair with gentle affection. "Yeah, I was so tired that I barely noticed the cold," you replied honestly. "It was a surprise when I woke up this morning and saw all that snow."

As the two of you parted from the hug, you busied yourself with pouring Antoine's coffee, the rich aroma filling the air with warmth and comfort.

"Don’t even get me started," Florence chimed in, a playful twinkle in her eye. "I almost didn’t want to get out of bed today. You know how I love this cold weather. It’s perfect for staying at home, watching some movies while drinking hot chocolate and baking cinnamon rolls."

You couldn't help but smile at her words, the image of cozy winter days filling your mind with a sense of nostalgia and longing. Florence had a way of warming your heart with just a few simple words, her kindness and compassion shining through even on the coldest of days.

As you looked into her eyes, filled with that unique and kind essence that only she possessed, you felt a surge of gratitude wash over you. Despite everything life had thrown her way, Florence remained a beacon of light and love, a reminder that even in the darkest of times, there was still beauty and goodness to be found.

The coffee machine chimed merrily, its cheerful melody cutting through the serene atmosphere of the bakery kitchen like a symphony conductor signaling the start of a grand performance. You turned your attention from the conversation to the machine, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you attended to its beckoning call.

"When you say ‘movies,’ you mean watching Twilight, don’t you? Everyone knows it’s kind of a rule to watch all the movies when the mood gets like this," you quipped, your tone light and playful, the sparkle in your eyes reflecting the mischief dancing within.

Florence's laughter bubbled forth like a brook in springtime, filling the air with the sweet melody of her amusement. With a twinkle in her eye, she responded, "I’m talking about the classics: Ghost, Titanic, Pretty Woman… Not these vampire films that don’t have even a third of the romance they have."

The banter between you and Florence flowed effortlessly, a playful exchange of wit and humor that added a touch of levity to the morning routine. It was a dance you had perfected over countless mornings, each step choreographed with familiarity and ease.

As you poured the steaming coffee into Antoine's mug, you marveled at the unique blend of flavors that defined his morning ritual. With a spoonful of rum and a hint of vanilla essence, it was a concoction that defied convention yet somehow managed to tantalize the taste buds with its decadent allure.

"How dare you!" you laughed, shaking your head in mock indignation as you handed the steaming cup of coffee to Antoine. “Just know that Edward Cullen is a romantic.”

“I’m sure Edward Cullen has his own charm, but not as romantic as my old friend, Frank Sinatra,” Antoine interjected with a grin, his eyes twinkling with the memories of days gone by.

And then, with a flourish, he began to sing, his voice carrying the weight of years of experience and wisdom. The lyrics of a timeless love song spilled forth from his lips, each word dripping with emotion and longing.

"Keep that breathless charm, won't you please arrange it? 'Cause I love you," he sang, his voice a rich tapestry of passion and sentiment.

You watched in awe as Antoine's serenade filled the kitchen, infusing the space with a sense of timeless romance.

As the conversation about Frank Sinatra's timeless romance and Edward Cullen's brooding charm reached its peak, the familiar jingle of the bakery door announced the arrival of another member of your close-knit team.

Steve Harrington, your best friend and manager, sauntered into the bakery with his characteristic flair, his brown locks impeccably styled with a generous amount of hairspray. Dressed in a polo shirt and light wash mom jeans, he exuded effortless charm and confidence, a fact that was not lost on anyone who crossed paths with him.

"Good morning, Antoine, good morning Florence, and good morning, my sweetie," Steve greeted with his usual charm, his words accompanied by a playful wink that earned him an eye-roll from you.

As Florence enveloped Steve in her warm embrace, you couldn't help but feel a pang of envy at the easy affection between them. Steve had always been like a son to Florence, receiving the love and care that he had been deprived of from his own parents, who only seemed to remember his existence when they needed something from him or when they were in the midst of a fight.

"How was your night? Did you remember to turn on the heater? You know you get colds easily, and yesterday it was intensely cold," She asked, her concern genuine as the boy leaned into Florence's embrace.

"As soon as I saw the snow starting to fall, I turned it on," Steve reassured her, his voice warm with affection. "Robin, on the other hand, asked me to let you know that she’s not coming today. She caught a cold and is in bed."

A furrow of worry creased Florence's brow at the news, her maternal instincts kicking in immediately. "Oh, I’ll make some soup and bring it to her for lunch," she declared, her voice laced with concern.

"With this cold, we shouldn’t have that much movement, so it’s okay," you added, a reassuring smile on your lips.

But your optimism was short-lived. As the morning wore on, the bakery began to fill with customers seeking refuge from the biting cold outside. The scent of freshly baked pastries and steaming cups of coffee filled the air, drawing people in like moths to a flame.

The aroma of freshly baked croissants and brioches wafted through the air, weaving its irresistible spell over the bustling bakery. The streets of Paris hummed with the energy of the tourist season, drawing visitors from far and wide to the charming little establishment nestled on Saint-Dominique street. To them, it was more than just a bakery—it was a sanctuary of indulgence, a haven where the simple act of savoring a pastry felt like a glimpse of heaven.

Amidst the lively chatter of patrons and the tinkling of cutlery, you found yourself lost in the rhythm of your work. With practiced hands, you kneaded the dough for more delicious crepes, the anticipation of creating something truly exquisite fueling your movements.

Around you, the tables were filled with eager customers, their faces alight with excitement as they savored each delectable bite. Children jostled each other in their eagerness to catch a glimpse through the glass window that separated the kitchen from the main dining area. To them, the sight of the bustling kitchen was nothing short of magical—a glimpse behind the curtain into a world where dreams were made of sugar and flour.

As you worked, you couldn't help but admire the scene before you—the laughter of families, the animated conversations of friends, the quiet moments of solitude punctuated by the simple pleasure of a warm cup of coffee and a freshly baked treat. It was a tableau of life in all its vibrant hues, a reminder of the joy that could be found in the simplest of moments.

And as you glanced out at the sea of smiling faces, you couldn't help but feel a swell of pride in your heart. For in this little bakery on Saint-Dominique, amidst the hustle and bustle of the city, you had created more than just a place to enjoy a pastry—you had created a haven, a sanctuary of sweetness and light where every bite carried with it a taste of pure joy.

As the bakers worked their magic in the kitchen, their antics and playful banter added an extra layer of entertainment to the bustling atmosphere of the bakery. With flour-dusted aprons and mischievous grins, they teased the audience with little tricks and pirouettes, their movements fluid and graceful, bringing a radiant sparkle to the eyes of those present.

Customers chuckled and applauded as the bakers showcased their skills, their laughter mingling with the tantalizing aroma of freshly baked pastries. It was a scene straight out of a charming French film, where the everyday hustle and bustle of a bakery transformed into a spectacle of joy and delight.

Amidst the lively atmosphere, you couldn't help but notice a group of people dressed in expensive suits and fedora hats sitting in the corner of the bakery. Their sharp attire stood out against the backdrop of casual elegance, and their demeanor hinted at an air of mystery and intrigue.

Curiosity piqued, you observed them discreetly as you went about serving other customers. Their eyes darted around the bakery, scanning the room with a sense of purpose as if they were searching for someone or something. There was an aura of secrecy about them, a silent tension that hung in the air like a veil.

Intrigued by their presence, you couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to this group than met the eye. With a sense of caution tinged with curiosity, you made a mental note to keep an eye on them as the morning unfolded, wondering what secrets they might hold and what role they might play in the bustling drama of the bakery.

As you replaced the macarons in the display case, your mind couldn't shake off the presence of those mysterious customers in the corner of the bakery. With a sense of unease gnawing at your insides, you decided to seek out Steve for answers.

"Hey Steve, have you seen those people around here?" you asked, trying to keep your voice casual as you glanced over at the group in question.

Steve glanced in their direction, his brow furrowing in thought. "Uh, I’m not sure… Maybe they’re the buyers from the building across the street," he suggested with a shrug, his attention quickly diverted by a customer approaching the counter.

As you continued your conversation with Steve, you felt a sudden chill run down your spine. Instinctively, you looked back at the mysterious group, only to find one of the men locking eyes with you. His gaze felt like a weight upon your soul, sending shivers down your spine.

Before you could react, the man said something to the others at the table, who turned to look at you with a strange intensity. Their eyes bore into yours, and for a brief moment, you felt a sense of recognition wash over you. It was as if you knew them from somewhere, but the memory remained elusive, just beyond the reach of your consciousness.

A wave of unease washed over you, leaving you feeling exposed and vulnerable. Sensing the danger, you quickly excused yourself from the conversation with Steve and retreated to the back of the bakery, seeking solace in the familiar surroundings as you tried to compose yourself.

But the feeling of dread lingered, like a shadow cast across your thoughts. Something told you that those people were not who they appeared to be, and that their presence spelled trouble. And as you struggled to calm your racing heart, you couldn't shake the feeling that you were about to be drawn into something far more sinister than a simple bakery business.

As you retreated to the safety of the storeroom, your heart pounded in your chest, each beat echoing in your ears like a drum of warning. Leaning against the sturdy wooden door, you felt the cool surface against your back, grounding you in the present moment.

Your entire body trembled with fear, and cold sweat dampened your brow as you struggled to regain control of your racing thoughts. Behind closed eyelids, flashes of your painful past danced like ghosts, haunting you with memories you had long tried to bury. Tears welled up, tracing silent paths down your cheeks and onto your collar, a silent testament to the turmoil raging within.

"Pull yourself together, they're just customers, you're safe," you whispered to yourself, the words a mantra of reassurance that fell on deaf ears. The fear gripped you like a vice, squeezing the air from your lungs and leaving you gasping for breath.

With trembling hands, you took a deep breath, willing yourself to calm down. You couldn't afford to let your fear consume you, not now, not when there were customers to attend to and a bakery to run. Steeling yourself, you pushed away from the door and opened your eyes, determined to face whatever awaited you on the other side.

To your surprise, you found Florence standing there, her expression a mix of concern and compassion. She must have sensed your distress and followed you to the storeroom, her motherly instincts kicking in to offer comfort and support.

Without a word, she reached out and enveloped you in a warm embrace, holding you close as if to shield you from the storm raging outside. In her arms, you found solace, a sanctuary from the chaos and uncertainty that threatened to overwhelm you.

And as you buried your face in her shoulder, allowing yourself to be held by the warmth of her embrace, you felt a glimmer of hope ignite within you. With Florence by your side, you knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you would face them together, with courage and resilience.

For in the safety of her arms, you found not only comfort but also strength—a reminder that even in the darkest of times, there was always light to be found in the embrace of those who cared for you.

"Oh Mon Cher, you’re so pale, I saw you running here and I was scared thinking something had happened," Florence murmured, her voice laced with concern as she held you tightly in her arms.

Florence was more than just a coworker or a friend—she was a pillar of strength, a survivor who had endured unimaginable hardships and emerged stronger than ever. Divorced from her abusive husband after years of suffering in silence, she had found refuge and purpose within the walls of Raven's Nest.

It had been a desperate plea for a job that had brought her to your doorstep, her eyes filled with determination and resilience even in the face of adversity. She had begged for the opportunity to work, even if it meant starting from the bottom and cleaning the bathrooms.

You had taken her in without hesitation, recognizing the fire that burned within her despite the scars of her past. And as she poured her heart and soul into her work, you had watched in awe as she blossomed before your eyes, her spirit unbroken despite the trials she had endured.

But behind her warm smile and gentle demeanor lay a pain that ran deep, a wound that refused to heal. It was a pain born from the loss of her son, a sweet angel whose life had been cut short by the senseless violence of his own father.

The memory of that tragic night haunted Florence like a specter, its ghostly presence a constant reminder of the fragility of life and the cruelty of fate. She had fought tooth and nail to protect her son, but in the end, she had been powerless to save him from the hands of the man who was supposed to love and cherish them both.

As Florence held you in her arms, her embrace a lifeline in the midst of the storm, you couldn't help but feel a surge of compassion for the woman who had endured so much loss and pain. And as you stood together in the quiet sanctuary of the storeroom, surrounded by the comforting scent of flour and sugar, you knew that no matter what trials lay ahead, you would face them together, hand in hand, drawing strength from each other's love and resilience.

“I just… I think I've been working too much, Florence. Don’t worry, I'm fine," you murmured, seeking solace in her comforting presence.

Florence's warm embrace enveloped you like a protective shield, her maternal instincts kicking in as she held you close. "You know you can count on me for anything, right? Take good care of yourself, my girl," she whispered, her words a gentle reminder of the unwavering support and love she offered freely to all who crossed her path.

With a grateful smile, you leaned into her embrace, finding solace in the familiar comfort of her arms. In that fleeting moment, the weight of the world seemed to lift from your shoulders, replaced by a sense of peace and belonging that only Florence could provide.

But as quickly as the moment had come, it passed, and you reluctantly pulled away, knowing that there was work to be done and customers to attend to. With a shared glance, you and Florence returned to your respective tasks, diving back into the whirlwind of activity that filled the bakery.

Throughout the day, the bakery buzzed with a vibrant energy, the air alive with laughter and conversation. Children darted about excitedly, their faces lighting up with joy at the sight of the delectable treats on display. Tourists ventured inside, their broken French mingling with the melodic tones of the locals as they placed their orders with eager anticipation.

Meanwhile, the pastry chefs worked tirelessly behind the scenes, their hands moving with practiced precision as they crafted each confection with love and care.

The weight of the day's events hung heavy on your shoulders as you made your way home through the bustling streets of Paris. Despite the comforting glow of the streetlights and the steady stream of people passing by, a sense of unease gnawed at the edges of your consciousness.

With each glance over your shoulder, you couldn't shake the feeling of being watched, as if unseen eyes followed your every move. You quickened your pace, the click-clack of your shoes against the pavement echoing in the night air as you navigated the labyrinthine streets of the city.

Finally, you reached the safety of your home, the familiar sight of your doorstep a welcome relief. Fumbling for your keys, you hurriedly unlocked the door, the sound of the lock clicking into place a comforting reassurance of security.

Stepping inside, you felt the tension drain from your body as you closed the door behind you. The familiar warmth and coziness of your home enveloped you like a soft blanket, easing the knots of anxiety that had formed in your stomach.

With a sigh of relief, you set about your evening routine, the familiar rituals serving as a soothing balm for your frazzled nerves. Dinner was a simple affair, hastily prepared but satisfying nonetheless. You fed Edward, your faithful feline companion, his soft purrs a comforting backdrop to the quiet of the evening.

After dinner, you indulged in a long, relaxing bath, the warm water washing away the cares of the day and leaving you feeling rejuvenated and refreshed. As you soaked in the tub, the tension slowly melted away, replaced by a sense of calm and tranquility.

After drying off and slipping into your pajamas—a worn blouse, a pair of soft panties, and cozy socks—you settled into bed, the soft embrace of the blankets cocooning you in warmth. With a contented sigh, you closed your eyes, letting the gentle rhythm of your breath lull you into a peaceful slumber, knowing that tomorrow was a new day, filled with endless possibilities.

As you prepared to settle into bed for the night, a familiar sense of unease washed over you, creeping like tendrils of fog into the corners of your mind. The sensation of danger prickled at your senses, setting your nerves on edge and sending a shiver down your spine.

Despite the comforting warmth of your cozy bedroom, a chill settled over you, wrapping you in its icy embrace. Your heart quickened its pace, pounding against your chest like a frantic drumbeat as adrenaline surged through your veins.

With a trembling hand, you reached for the bedside lamp, casting a soft glow across the room as you scanned the shadows for any sign of threat. But the darkness offered no answers, only deepening the sense of foreboding that hung heavy in the air.

Every creak of the floorboards, every rustle of the curtains seemed to echo with the ominous whisper of danger. Your breath caught in your throat, shallow and ragged as you struggled to calm the rising tide of panic within you.

You knew you should call the police, seek help, but fear held you captive, rendering you powerless to move. The weight of uncertainty pressed down upon you, suffocating and oppressive.

With a heavy heart and trembling limbs, you braced yourself for whatever darkness the night might bring, clinging to the flickering flame of hope that whispered softly in the recesses of your mind.

As you stood frozen in fear, your mind raced with a million thoughts, each one more terrifying than the last. The sensation of danger loomed over you like a dark cloud, suffocating you with its oppressive weight.

Chills ran down your spine, sending shivers through your body as if you were caught in the grip of an icy vice. Your blood felt like it was freezing and burning simultaneously, a tumultuous storm raging within you.

Nervousness and anxiety consumed you, gnawing at your insides with relentless intensity. Every fiber of your being screamed for action, for escape, but your body remained paralyzed, held captive by fear's icy grip.

A knock on the door shattered the suffocating silence, jolting you out of your trance-like state. With trembling limbs, you made your way downstairs, each step feeling like an eternity as dread gnawed at your soul.

Approaching the peephole with hesitant fingers, you braced yourself for what lay beyond. And as you peered through the small opening, your heart plummeted into the depths of despair.

There, standing before you, was a man in a suit, his features obscured by the dim light of the night. But even in the darkness, you recognized him, his presence igniting a primal fear deep within you.

"It can't be..." you whispered to yourself, your voice barely above a breath.

Summoning every ounce of courage you had left, you slowly opened the door, your hands trembling with fear. And as you looked into the man's eyes, all the blood drained from your face, leaving you pale and trembling.

"Hello, Sunny. Did you miss me?" His voice sent shivers down your spine, a sinister whisper that echoed in the depths of your soul.

Everything had been perfect that day, until it wasn't anymore. And now, faced with the embodiment of your darkest nightmares, you knew that the horrors of the past had come back to haunt you once again.

[mrk236547789]

20 year old man, sweet, kind and naive has a lover who’s a senior obstetrician.

When he falls pregnant he meekly lets his lover do the birth plan and follows his instruction.

When the day of labour comes he’s naked, strapped wide in stirrups, his lover in scrubs and mask telling him to stop screaming and push.

In the quiet of the evening, a young man named Alex strolled through the deserted park, the chilly autumn air whispering through the almost bare trees. He breathed in the scent of damp leaves and felt the gentle crunch beneath his shoes. The moon was a waxing gibbous, casting a soft silvery glow on the benches and paths, which were otherwise shrouded in shadow. Alex was lost in thought, his mind racing with the events of the past few months.

He had always been the type to follow the beaten path, avoiding confrontation and seeking the comfort of others' guidance. When he found out he was pregnant by his much older lover, Dr. Richard, a senior obstetrician, Alex's life had taken a sharp turn into the unexpected. Dr. Richard, with his stern yet caring demeanor, had taken charge of the situation, laying out a detailed birth plan that seemed more like a military operation than a natural process. Alex, in his innocence and love, had nodded along, trusting the man who had been his rock during this tumultuous time.

The day of Alex's labor had arrived, and now he lay naked on a hospital bed, his legs spread wide in stirrups, as cold and unyielding as the reality of what was to come. The sterile room smelled faintly of antiseptic and the distant cries of newborns echoed through the corridor, a stark contrast to the quietness of the night outside. He looked down at his swollen belly, marbled with veins and stretch marks, and felt a mix of fear and excitement. The baby inside him was a living testament to their love, a secret they had kept hidden from the judgmental eyes of the world.

Dr. Richard, dressed in surgical scrubs and a mask, loomed over him with a calm yet authoritative air. His eyes, the only part of his face visible, bore into Alex with a fierce concentration. His strong hands were gloved and ready to guide their child into the world. Alex took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling with the effort. The doctor's voice was firm but soothing, "It's time to push now. Take a deep breath and push with everything you've got." Alex nodded, his eyes squeezed shut as he tried to focus on the instructions, his body already tensing up in anticipation of the pain.

The contractions hit him like waves, a relentless force that seemed to come from deep within the earth itself. Each one was more intense than the last, making him feel like his body was being torn apart. He screamed, the sound echoing off the cold, tiled walls of the delivery room. "You need to push," Dr. Richard reminded him, his voice unwavering. Alex nodded again, gritting his teeth and bearing down, his nails digging into the palms of his hands. He could feel the baby's head crowning, a sensation that was both terrifying and exhilarating. Sweat beaded on his forehead and his body trembled with the effort.

The pain was indescribable, a fiery sensation that seemed to spread through his entire lower body. He wanted to give up, to curl into a ball and hide from the world, but he knew he couldn't. This was the moment he had been preparing for, the moment that would bring him and Dr. Richard closer together than ever before. He took another deep breath and pushed with all his might, feeling the baby inch closer to the world outside. The doctor's eyes never left his, a silent promise that he would be there every step of the way.

"Good, good," Dr. Richard murmured, his voice a gentle encouragement in the sea of pain. Alex felt the doctor's hands inside him, guiding the baby's head through the birth canal. The pressure was unbearable, but he pushed anyway, his body instinctively responding to the commands of his mind. The doctor's touch was firm yet gentle, a reminder of the love and care that had brought them to this moment.

Alex's body was a symphony of sensations, a crescendo of pain and pressure that seemed to build without end. He could hear his own heartbeat, thundering in his ears, and the doctor's calm voice urging him on. "Almost there," Dr. Richard said, a hint of excitement creeping into his tone. "One more big push." Alex took a shaky breath and pushed, feeling the baby's body slide out of him with a final, agonizing effort. A cry pierced the air, shrill and beautiful, as their child entered the world.

The doctor quickly untangled the umbilical cord and held the baby up for Alex to see, the newborn's tiny limbs flailing about. The sight was overwhelming, a miracle that Alex had never dared to dream possible. Tears streamed down his face as he took in the tiny features that were a blend of both him and Dr. Richard. "It's a boy," the doctor announced, his voice filled with pride.

[summerongrand]

6x02: Hammering in on 'The Hammer'

My episode recap ...

The opening is so unhinged. A flashmob for Daddy Cop. Please be for real 😂

Next up is Chastity and STR. Chastity is beautiful. We'll get back to her.

~~~

We've come to the first Chenford scene.

Lucy: You got a minute to talk? Tim: Uh, sure. There's nothing to talk about. You felt I undermined you at a crime scene to stop you from making detective. I explained that I didn't. Now we're moving on. Okay. This is (presumably) the first time they've seen each other since he gave her ultimatums the night before, then left her alone in the parking lot. Lucy's trying to open up to him; she's trying to make amends with a clearer head. It's the mature thing to do. He leads her on with the affirmative "Uh, sure" and closes off completely. Tim is being really dismissive here.

Lucy: Well, while I appreciate the efficiency, that's not how actual healthy communication works. Tim: Wow, that's not condescending at all. Explain to me what there is to talk about that isn't just a retread of what I just efficiently covered?

Tim shut her down with the "Now we're moving on." And now Tim's rolling his eyes at her, looks annoyed the whole time he's talking to her, sounds annoyed, and meanwhile Lucy's talking to him calmly and trying to get him to open up. How is Lucy the one being condescending, Tim?

Lucy: Well...that's not the point. Look, if I have to start another deep undercover assignment, there are real issues here that we need to talk about. Tim (full of irritation and eye rolls): Which we will deal with if they come up then. I gotta get to work. Have a good shift.

Also Tim: Presses his body weight against the door so that it shuts in Lucy's face.

The point is to talk about the UC issues before Lucy goes UC. She didn't have much lead time prepping for her other UC ops. Tim is a total planner but he's so feelings-avoidant about this issue that he'd rather just stuff it down and let it go unresolved than process them with Lucy. Tim conveniently uses work as an excuse when it suits him. His body language, tone of voice, and door slam are not it. Lucy deserves much better treatment.

~~~

STR/Chastity/Lucy scene

Lucy's ruminating. She's going through her detective's exam in her head. She's in her predicament because she helped Tim in her 5 Player Trade. Meanwhile, the writers are like ... let's take her out of her concentration with a little zaniness.

~~~

Chenford/Angela scene

Okay, first of all, where did you come from, Eric Winter? You popped out of nowhere, not from underneath a doorframe, so were you leaning against that window ledge...? And now you are interjecting yourself into their conversation. What happened to "I gotta get to work. Have a good shift."?

It's on Tim for not telling Lucy that The Hammer is a 6'7" 300 pound guy who likes to fight cops. If he told her, she wouldn't have the resistant reaction she did. To echo Lucy: Well, while I appreciate the efficiency, that's not how actual healthy communication works.

Tim: Okay, do you want my help or not? Also Tim: Whateverrrrrr. And Tim: I knew you weren't gonna be able to let it go.

Well, that's not condescending at all, Tim. You slammed the door in her face that same morning and now you're telling her that she can't regulate her emotions. This is the kind of argument that should not have happened in front of Angela at all.

~~~

Chenford hallway scene

Lucy: Well, after you Tim: No, ladies first. Also Tim: Pushes Lucy towards danger.

And Tim: Guess you're gonna have to fight him.

So Tim tells Lucy he'll go with her to visit The Hammer. Then he doesn't give her the lowdown of how big The Hammer is. Now he pushes his girlfriend towards The Hammer and tells her she has to fight him. There is zero humor in Eric's delivery. And Mel's exasperated reaction is a tell that Lucy took his words seriously. Why is Tim doing this to Lucy?

Lucy's "are you okay?" is incredibly soft. She's so pure in heart.

~~~

Wedding prep scene

Tim: We're great when she's not accusing me of made-up transgressions. Lucy: Look, I'm not imagining things. Tim is traumatized by what happened with Isabel. He just won't admit it. Tim: Honestly, I think she's projecting or just using this as an excuse.

Tim is totally throwing shade at Lucy's character. Meanwhile Lucy's trying to help him by figuring out what's going on and getting to the heart of the issue. He's accusing her of falsifying, projection, and using him as a scapegoat because she doesn't want to go UC/Detective. Why are you talking so much crap about your girlfriend, Tim?

~~~

Let's analyze this Chastity/Lucy part for a moment. Chastity (to Lucy): Yeah, well, undercover work is kind of scary and dangerous. Maybe he's not the only one that's scared of what might happen.

The fact that I have to bring this up and highlight it means that network TV shows are not doing this nearly enough. And I haven't seen this mentioned in the fandom at all so I am going to, because it is important and needs to be acknowledged: this is a powerful interchange. What makes it different is that it's between two badass women of Asian descent on a network TV show that's marketed towards a general audience. And that's rare. Super rare.

Chastity barely knows Lucy and she clocked it. She validates Lucy's feelings about Tim while digging into Lucy's psyche and figuring out something about Lucy that Lucy in all her psych training, self help books, and being raised by two psychologists, couldn't. Tim who knows Lucy "too well" couldn't even clock it. Chastity could and did.

~~~

Chenford lie detector scene

Lucy: With a lie detector test? Tim: Yes!

Tim is so done with Lucy's questioning. But then he smiles right after his annoyed yes! This is Tim being able to convey nuance and his true emotions when he wants to. This wasn't there at all when he wanted Lucy to fight The Hammer. This needed to be there in that scene and for it to be nonexistent there tells me that he wanted her to fight The Hammer.

Lucy: Do you love me?

Tim's internal monologue: What kind of question is that? Of course I love you. I've been in love with you. You have no idea how much I love you. The fact that you're asking me this while I'm hooked to a lie detector tells me that maybe I'm not saying these words enough to you or maybe I'm not showing you enough that I, Tim Bradford, love you, Lucy Chen.

Also Tim's internal monologue: I've never been so sure of anything in my life.

Lucy: Do you want me to be an undercover detective? Tim: Yes. Lucy: You liar!

Clocked him, girly.

I do not think that this was their first I love you. Lucy's big question to Tim is the detective one. I do think that after their argument in the parking lot the night before, the ultimatums he gave her, and the way he treated her that morning, raised doubts in her mind.

gifs by @livelovecaliforniadreams

~~~

And then there's this scene. The first three seconds is the show taking advantage of Eric being a former model. It's just pure gratuitous panning (similar to when he adopted Kojo and was was walking down DTLA with him).

The lie detector test did nothing to resolve tensions between Chenford. If anything, I think Lucy was hurt by the truth, by Tim's treatment of her (dismissal, barking, shutting the door, denial, ultimatums), and by Tim's own projections of his prior relationship onto her. As soon as she catches his eye, she turns away. Well-positioned Lucy does not do that. Hurt Lucy does. Love that she has her new friend Chastity by her side. Even STR is more of a friend to her in that moment than Tim is.

~~~

The wedding ...

"Sit down, German! I got this!" Richard's pretty religious so I'm glad his character officiated.

~~~

The dance ...

I debated whether or not to split my analysis of the Chenford dance into its own post. I decided not to because I didn't want to dismiss the buildup, the angst, the importance of Chastity, and the lie detector that led to the dance. I also didn't want to take away from what Lucy and Tim went through as a couple by focusing just on the fluff.

(These gifs were made by @relentlessescapism)

Lucy does not appear to be having a good time here. There's something painful about Lucy dancing by herself. Her head is dipped, she has on a smile that doesn't reach her eyes, and they convey hurt. I see here a childlike quality to Lucy - she's always the one that helps others pick up their broken pieces even though she's just as broken the inside. It reminds me of @poppypickle's fic with her OC Miles Santos teasing Lucy and telling her to 'go back to where she came from' (it’s an offensive remark to an Asian person) even as she defended her friend. Like she's being strong on the outside but on the inside she's deeply hurt by Tim.

Clearly Lucy's being the bigger person here. Meanwhile Tim is all Mr. jaw clench and puffing his chest before he deflates. Is this a male ego thing? I dunno. Is it, Eric?

Lucy still has the same hurt look in her eyes. But she's also like, so ready to set aside the pettiness. She's like get over here, you idiot.

It's a little odd how Lucy is written. Just before they encountered The Hammer, she apologized to Tim. And now as they're dancing, she's thanking Tim for acknowledging that her dreams should be separate from his issues (like yeah of course they should be). I think Tim should be the one apologizing to her.

Throughout the dance scene, it appears that he has one arm around her. Also, she initiates the kiss. She's initiated a few of their onscreen kisses. Even the second first date one, he waits for her to kiss him. Like, why do you have one arm around your girlfriend when you're slowdancing with her? It doesn't affect blocking at all.

Love the huge grin that he uses on her (right before Aaron interrupts them). It's the same one from that 5x12 scene.

The rest of their dance is just pure fluff. Lucy and Tim making amends. Her reassuring him that she loves him, that they'll get through this, is reminiscent of 5x10(?) when they acknowledged that the only way to move forward was if he moved out of her chain of command, that breaking up was not an option. The banter about the lie detector was very cute too. Clearly their issues are still unresolved, but in that moment they just needed to be a couple.

If you want to read my thoughts about the last few scenes, here they are: optics, grabbing coats, and a friend's post which summarizes things very nicely.

[snippydippy]

Bro the sound design in Balder's gate 3 is so fucking good. Casting all the spells just feels a m a z i n g with the blast of it tearing through the air and making the bass in my headphones go nuts, accompanied by my companions' normally calm, but now loud, echoed voices. The way Gale sounds casting Elderitch Blast? Or how Astarion yells, "Ignis!' for Fire Bolt? The delivery of their lines are just perfect, made even cooler by all the effect editing to make them sound P o w e r f u l. Slashing a sword Sounds Heavy, and the impact satisfying. Larian Studios was not afraid to use heavy bass to their advantage. Massive RIP to absolutely anyone who plays with blown-out, or even just sub optimal speakers. Also just the environment ambiance! I straight sat idol in Bloomridge Park for a good 20 minutes tonight just listening to the beautiful mix of birds and a soft song. This game has such a way of making you feel fully immersed with sounds.

[balkanradfem]

Favourite Fictional Women poll: FINAL LIST nominations + RULES (nominations closed)

Books:

Elphaba (Wicked)

Hermione (Harry Potter)

Minerva McGonagall (Harry Potter)

Luna (Harry Potter)

Bellatrix Lestrange (Harry Potter)

Sophie (Howl's Moving Castle)

Bella Swan (Twilight)

Lucy (The Chronicles of Narnia)

Susan (The Chronicles of Narnia)

Katniss Everdeen (The Hunger Games)

Elizabeth Bennet (Pride and Prejudice)

Jo (Little Women)

Alanna (The Song of the Lioness)

Ichigo (Kamikaze Girls)

Momoko (Kamikaze Girls)

Phryne Fisher (Phryne Fisher Detective Novels)

Clarice Starling (Silence of the Lambs)

Robin Ellacott (Cormoran Strike)

Baru Cormorant (The Masquerade Series)

Gideon (The Locked Tomb)

Harrowhark Nonagesimus (The Locked Tomb)

Tattersail (Malazan Book of the Fallen)

Lyra (His Dark Materials)

Lisbeth Salander (The Millenium Trilogy)

Daja Kisubo (Circle of Magic)

Éowyn (Lord of the Rings)

Honor Harrington (Honor Harrington)

Zahrah (Zahrah the Windseeker)

Clair (Outlander)

Margo (The Magicians)

Camille Preaker (Sharp Objects)

Brienne of Tarth (A Song of Ice and Fire)

Cersei (A Song of Ice and Fire)

Daenerys Targaryen (A Song of Ice and Fire)

Arya (A Song of Ice and Fire)

Sansa ( A Song of Ice and Fire)

Rhaenyra Targaryen (Fire and Blood)

Eileen Dunlop (Eileen)

Romy Silvers (The Loneliest Girl in the Universe)

Lúthien (Sillmarilion)

Lady Sotofa (Echo series)

Esme Weatherwax (Discworld)

Angua von Überwald (Discworld)

Susan Sto Helit (Discworld)

Tiffany Aching (Discworld)

Nina Hill (The Bookish Life of Nina Hill)

Keladry (Protector of the Small series)

Shay (Uglies)

Cassie (Animorphs)

The Groke (the Moomins)

Tooticky (the Moomins)

Maximum Ride (Maximum Ride)

Auri (Kingkiller Chronicles)

Anne Shirley (Anne of Green Gables)

Emily Starr (Emily of New Moon)

Penelope (Circe by Madeline Miller)

Rose Hathaway (Vampire Academy)

Katsa (Graceling)

Yennefer of Vengerberg (Witchier)

Dr. Scarlet Clarke (They Never Learn)

Inej Ghafa (Six of Crows)

Ronja (Ronja)

Violet (Asoue)

Medea (Greek Mythology)

Medusa (Greek Mythology)

Jude (Folk of the Air)

Agatha (Girl Genius)

Annabeth Chase (Percy Jackson)

Carrie (Carrie)

Movies

Miss Honey (Matilda)

Matilda (Matilda)

Barbie (Barbie's universe)

Ellen Louise Ripley (Alien)

Evelyn O'Connell (The Mummy)

Peggy Carter (Marvel Cinematic Universe)

Sarah Conner (Terminator)

Cruella de Vil (Cruella)

Yzma (Emperor's New Groove)

Dr. Ellie Sattler (Jurrasic Park)

Harley Quinn (DC universe)

Amy Dunne (Gone Girl)

Jennifer (Jennifer's Body)

Maude Lebowski (Big Lebowski)

Eurodia Holmes (Enola)

Amy Adam (Arrival)

Ginger Fitzgerald (Ginger Snaps)

Mary Mason (American Mary)

Elsa (Frozen)

Mulan (Mulan 1998)

Beatrix Kiddo (Kill Bill)

O-Ren Ishii (Kill Bill)

Trinity (Matrix)

Sidney Prescott (Scream movies)

Dani Ardor (Midsommar)

M3gan (M3gan)

Aila (Rhymes for Young Ghouls)

Princess Kida (Atlantis: The Lost Empire)

Mother Aughra (Dark crystal)

Elizabeth Swan (Pirates of the Carribean)

Marla Grayson (I care a lot)

Heloise (Portrait of a Lady on Fire)

Diana (Wonder Woman)

San (Princess Mononoke)

Zeniba (Spirited Away)

Chihiro (Spirited Away)

Wlle Woods (Legally Blonde)

Rey (Star Wars)

Princess Leia (Star Wars)

Haley Graham (Stick it)

Cruella (101 Dalmatian)

Kiki (Kiki's Delivery Service)

TV Shows

Xena (Xena the Warrior Princess)

Gabrielle (Xena the Warrior Princess)

Callisto (Xena the Warrior Princess)

Buffy (Buffy the Vampire Slayer)

Faith Lehane (Buffy the Vampire Slayer)

Willow (Buffy the Vampire Slayer)

Sabrina (Sabrina the Teenage Witch)

Morgana Pendragon (Merlin)

Catharine Cawood (Happy Valley)

Donna Noble (Doctor Who)

Martha Jones (Doctor Who)

Female Doctor Who (Doctor Who)

Kaya (Supernatural)

Charlie Bradbury (Supernatural)

Claire (Supernatural)

Veronica Mars (Veronica Mars)

Anna Clare (Being Human)

Poussey Washington (Orange is the New Black)

Sister Michael (Derry Girls)

Orla (Derry Girls)

Hayley (Hard Candy)

Vilanelle (Killing Eve)

Eve (Killing Eve)

Anne Lister (Gentleman Jack)

Ann Walker (Gentleman Jack)

Kim (Kim Possible)

Daria Morgendorffer (Daria)

Temperance Brennan (Bones)

Kim Wexler (Better Call Saul)

Katara (Avatar The Last Airbender)

Azula (Avatar The Last Airbender)

Toph (Avatar The Last Airbender)

Krosh (Kid Cosmic)

Guinan (Star Trek New Generations)

Bo-Katan Kryze (Star Wars)

Dong Eun (The Glory)

Leslie Knope (Parks and Recreation)

April Ludgate (Parks and Recreation)

Rosa Diaz (Brooklyn 99)

Dana Scully (X Files)

Kathryn Janeway (Star Trek: Voyager)

Calamity Jane (Deadwood)

Flea (Fleabag)

Michonne (The Walking Dead)

Trixie (Call the Midwife)

Sister Monica Joan (Call the Midwife)

Regina Mills (Once Upon a Time)

Emma Swan (Once Upon a Time)

Ruby Lucas (Once Upon a Time)

Mulan (Once Upon a Time)

Samatha/Sam Carter (Stargate SG-1)

Kira Nerys (Star Trek: Deep Space 9)

Jadzia Dax(Star Trek: Deep Space 9)

Eleanor (The Good Place)

Annalise Keating (How to Get Away with Murder)

Cheryl Blossom (Riverdale)

Miranda Bailey (Grey’s Anatomy)

Lizzie McGuire (Lizzie McGuire)

Catherine the Great (The Great)

Dolores Abernathy (Westworld)

Maeve Millay (Westworld)

Lorelai (Gilmore Girls)

Paris (Gilmore Girls)

Morticia Addams (Addams Family)

Elisa Maza (Gargoyles)

Vera Bennett (Wentworth (2013)

Joan Ferguson (Wentworth (2013)

Constance Hardbroom (The Worst Witch (1998)

Princess Bubblegum (Adventure Time)

Marceline the Vampire Queen (Adventure Time)

Monica (Friends)

Phoebe (Friends)

Maisel (The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel)

Shiv Roy (Succession)

Hannah (Please Like Me)

Lupe (A League of Their Own)

Jess (A League of Their Own)

Shahrzad (One Thousand and One Nights)

Michael Burnham (Star Trek Discovery)

 Emperor Phillipa Georgiou (Star Trek Discovery)

Dee Reynold (It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia)

Kara Thrace (Battlestar Galactica)

Donna (Twin Peaks)

Laura palmer (Twin Peaks)

Audrey(Twin Peaks)

Marwa (What we do in the Shadows)

Nadja (What we do in the Shadows)

Love Quinn (You)

Allison (Orphan Black)

Cosima (Orphan Black)

Nyota Uhura (Star Trek: The Original Series)

Lisa Cuddy (House MD)

Leela (Futurama)

Bean (Disenchantment)

Pam (Archer)

Grace (Grace and Frankie)

Frankie (Grace and Frankie)

Helga Pataki (Hey Arnold)

Anime/Manga

Sophie (Howl's Moving Castle)

Usagi Tsukino (Sailor Moon)

Hotaru - Sailor Saturn (Sailor Moon)

Michiru – Sailor Neptune (Sailor Moon)

Haruka – Sailor Uranus (Sailor Moon)

Rei – Sailor Mars (Sailor Moon)

Homura (Puella Magi Madoka Magica)

Sakura Kinomoto (CardCaptor Sakura)

Tomoyo Daidouji (CardCaptor Sakura)

Onpu (Ojamajo Doremi)

Motoko Kusanagi (Ghost in the Shell)

Striga (Castlevania)

Carmilla (Castlevania)

Misa Amane (Death Note)

Asuka Langley Soryu (Neon Genesis Evangelion)

Riza Hawkeye (Fullmetal Alchemist)

Shinobu Kocho (Demon Slayer)

Utena (Revolutionary Girl Utena)

Nana Osaki (Nana)

Hachi (Nana)

Jean (Claymore)

Clare (Claymore)

Theresa (Claymore)

Helen (Claymore)

Deneve (Claymore)

Casca (Berserk)

Haruno Sakura (Naruto)

Yosano (Bungo Stray Dogs)

Tome Kurata (Mob Psycho 100)

Nikaido (Dorohedoro)

Nia (Dorohedoro)

Maki Zen'in (Jujutsu Kaisen 0)

Yuno Gasai (Mirai Nikki)

Ichigo Momomiya (Tokyo Mew Mew)

Zakuro Fujiwara (Tokyo Mew Mew)

Historia Reiss (Attack on Titan)

Mikasa Ackermann (Attack on Titan)

Games

Nancy Drew (Nancy Drew)

April Ryan (The Longest Journey)

Kate Walker (Syberia)

Zelda (Legend of Zelda)

Impa (Legend of Zelda)

Urdosa (Legend of Zelda)

Evie Frye (Assassin's Creed)

Senua (Senua's Sacrifice)

Aloy (Horizon Zero Dawn)

Elisabet Sobeck (Horizon Zero Dawn)

Serena (Skyrim)

Frea (Skyrim)

Morrigan (Dragon Age Origins)

Kreia (Star Wars Knights of the Old Republic II)

Kassandra of Sparta (Assassin's Creed Odyssey)

Heather Mason (Silent Hill 3)

Reika (Fatal Frame)

Rei (Fatal Frame:The Tormented)

An Shiraishi (Project SEKAI)

Nene Kusanagi (Project SEKAI)

Ena Shinonome (Project SEKAI)

Jesse Faden (Control)

Almalexia (The Elder Scrolls)

Billie Lurk (Dishonored)

Emily Kaldwin (Dishonored)

Cecelia (Dishonored)

Lizzy Stride (Dishonored)

Delilah Copperspoon (Dishonored)

Lohse (Divinity: Original Sin II)

Sebille Kaleran (Divinity: Original Sin II)

Siva (Divinity: Original Sin II)

Malady (Divinity: Original Sin II)

Dallis the Hammer (Divinity: Original Sin II)

Toriel (Undertale)

Undyne (Undertale)

Alphys (Undertale)

Commander Shepard (Mass Effect)

Tali'Zorah nar Rayya (Mass Effect)

Liara T'Soni (Mass Effect)

Aria T'Loak (Mass Effect)

Nyreen Kandros (Mass Effect)

Shala'Raan vas Tonba (Mass Effect)

Matriarch Aethyta (Mass Effect)

Yuna (Final Fantasy X)

Abby (The Last of Us)

Ellie (The Last of Us)

GLaDOS (Portal)

Chell (Portal)

Dr. Suvi Anwar (Mass Effect Andromeda)

Leliana (Dragon Age)

Parvati Holcomb (The Outer Worlds)

Chloe Price (Life is Strange)

2B (Nier Automata)

Comics

Stephanie Brown (DC comics)

Cassandra Cain (DC comics)

Zatanna Zatara (DC comics)

Elektra Natchios (Marvel comics)

Fanfiction

Ebony Dark'ness Raven Dementia Way

Web comics

Vriska Serket (Homestuck)

Jaden (Leasebound)

Antimony Carver (Gunnerkrigg Court)

Fictional Movies

Katya (Goncharov)

Podcasts

The Faceless Old Woman Who Secretly Lives In Your Home from (Welcome to Nightvale)

Plays

Lady Mabeth (Macbeth)

Clytemnestra (Oresteia)

Miscellanous

Hatsune Miku (Vocaloid)

RULES:

All fictional women from a category will be randomized, and put into polls

Whoever gets 50 votes automatically proceeds into the next round. There won't be only one winner for each poll!

We will do one category at the time. We'll start with books.

We'll decide on a winner of each category, and then whoever had the most votes, will proceed into the Final 10.

I'll calculate how many votes each woman got, so that at the end of the voting, you can see how many other women also adored your favourite ones :)

This also means that once you vote, if there's someone else you also want to see in the finals, you can reblog and let your followers know who already has enough votes, and who needs more in order to proceed. I'll also sometimes reblog polls announcing that a certain character has made the cut, and now others need your attention. We're trying to see which ones are loved and adored enough to actually get a lot of votes, even with competition. The voting starts at the end of nominations!

(POLLS ARE COMING SHORTLY)

[techs-goggles9902]

I’ve seen Bad Batch AUs where they all have steady jobs or whatever, but mine is a little different.

They don’t have an actual house and just live in a very small and cheap apartment in the worst neighborhood, or they live in a trailer park. Both make sense.

Wrecker- works as a mall cop and is very good at what he does.

Echo - stay at home mom but takes the occasional Uber Eats job when in need of money.

Hunter - Doordash driver/delivery person

Tech - forges fake IDs, passports, and stuff of the black market

Crosshair - found a job at a struggling old diner and is the head cook/chef (mostly because he likes yelling out orders or scaring his co workers)

Omega - legally doesn’t exist. Just stays home with echo or helps tech with his job.