#finger under the glove is just muah

[circusmania]

Hello! Can I request Yandere romantic michael myers that know detective reader is secretly a Eldritch Abomination that showing or feeling no interest, enthusiasm, or concern?

Btw i love your writing😊

Yandere!Michael Myers x GN!Reader ꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷

Notes: Aww! I'm so grateful that you enjoy my writing! Hopefully, you enjoy this one, too. ♡ Also, I hope that it matches what you requested. :')

Muah Muah 🖤

꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷

WARNINGS: Gore, stalking, mentions of body mutilations (reader + corpses)

꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷

Amidst the rain, flashing red and blue lights could be seen. Haddonfield is quiet on this Halloween night, which is no surprise to the people who live there. No trick-or-treaters are seen on the streets, just police and their cars.

A car pulls up, catching the attention of the officers. Out steps the famous detective, You. You've impressed many with your skills and clue findings, no killer has ever been able to slip past you. Except for a particular man. The Boogeyman. You've been on his trail for years now, and you can't say that you haven't enjoyed the chase.

You step in a puddle, paying no mind to your wet shoes as your assistant scurries over with an umbrella.

“Detective!” He frantically fixes himself as he struggles to hold the umbrella over your head. “It's an 18-year-old girl. She was babysitting a young boy (who thankfully survived) when the killer forced himself into the house and stabbed her many times.”

You two approached the body of the girl. Your assistant turned his head, not wanting to see the gruesome sight. There's blood dripping from every open wound. Her face is twisted in agony and there's no light in her eyes.

“Do you think…. He did it? You know… the Boogeyman.” He whispered as if he was afraid of anyone hearing.

You didn't say anything. Obviously, it was, who else could it have been? You crouched down next to her, no emotion displayed on your face as you put on your gloves.

“Her parents are here…” Your assistant spared you a glance as a car pulled up not far from the crime scene.

“Don't let them come near.” You said, getting up after finishing examining her.

“Shouldn't we let her parents see her…?”

The screams and weeping of the parents could be heard from behind the police tape.

You sigh. “This is no place for a funeral. I don't want them touching the crime scene or moving anything.” You replied sharply.

Your assistant shivers at your coldness. He nods and moves to tell the officers. Suddenly, you notice something on one of the trees next to the body.

A heart had been carved into the trunk of the tree. You moved closer, straying away from the umbrella your assistant was holding. Now drenched in rain, you traced the carving with your finger. Whoever had done this knew how to handle a knife… The carvings were deep and done with passion.

Michael Myers was watching from afar, heavy breathing could be heard from under his mask. His grip tightened on his bloody knife as he saw your assistant yell after you for getting soaked.

Back home, your sanctuary, you finally felt relief. Your house was located deep in the woods to avoid any human interactions. The naked eye couldn't process your naked form.

The human skin stuck to yours. You peeled it off, layer after layer. You're careful not to rip it, as human skin tends to be too fragile for your claws. You laid your drenched skin suit on your chair.

You strolled over to your fridge and opened it. Your amalgamation of a hand reached in and pulled out some sort of meat. You engulfed it, not letting any of your teeth have a chance to penetrate it. You scarfed down any remaining bones on the plate.

All of a sudden, one of your many eyes picked up on a movement outside your window. Your eyes narrowed as you closed your fridge. You don't care if a human ever catches your form. Your bare body would make any sane man explode (literally). So you didn't worry about your secret getting out. However, this was different.

Your acute ears focused on any sounds that would indicate the presence of another being. Abruptly, you heard a twig snap.

You rushed out of your house at an abnormally fast rate. You were ready to confront your stalker, however, once outside, you were greeted with the dark, lonely forest and the song of the crickets you were accustomed to.

Whoever you were dealing with couldn't be human. You scoffed and went back inside, failing to notice the pale mask of the Boogeyman amidst the trees.

You were planning on relaxing the rest of your afternoon, but Michael had other plans. You were called in again when another body had been found dumped in a ravine close to your house. You put back on your skin suit, it was extra tight on you since it hadn't dried off yet.

Once again, you did your usual routine. Examine the body, look for clues and ask questions. Whoever this mysterious Michael Myers was, he sure knew how to put up a game of cat and mouse… And romance you in his own way.

The stab wounds on his victim were in a heart-shaped pattern.

“Ain't it too early for Valentine?” Your assistant attempted to (nervously) crack a joke, which fell on deaf ears.

You remained with a stoic face as you watched them place the body in a body bag.

Each year, the Boogeyman gets bolder and bolder. Yet, never had the guts to face you. Unbeknownst to you, tonight would be different.

Your assistant coughed to get your attention. “I've… got to go… family emergency.”

“Mm, okay.” You turned back to the crime scene.

Your assistant lingered for a while, expecting any worried expression or encouraging words. But was ultimately met with your usual uncaring tone.

Another hour had passed, and you were finally granted permission to go home. Home.

As you arrived home, you parked your car and got out. A beautiful stench filled your nostrils. Laying on your welcome mat was a human heart surrounded by a heart formed of drops of blood.

Your door was ajar.

A twinge of hope that today could be the day you meet him arose. But, it quickly died down as you entered your home.

The smell flooded your house as each step made it stronger and stronger. Like a game of hot and cold, each step you took was warmer and warmer.

Laying on your kitchen table on a fancy dish was the head of your assistant. His tongue was pulled out all the way through his mouth and his teeth were knocked out and laid next to his head.

You ignored him though, because your attention was focused on the giant man standing in the dark hallway. He was bloody, and heavily breathing, but somehow quiet…. He was awaiting your next move.

Perhaps the thing that sparked Michael's obsession with you wasn’t that you weren’t human, but the fact that you never showed any ounce of fear towards him. Or maybe because you both shared a taste for carnage.

Your human skin faltered as your smile stretched beyond human capabilities. Your eyes were gouging out of your sockets as your appearance looked less and less human.

In all of your and Michael's years, this may be the first time a spark of emotions illuminated in both of your empty bodies.

꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷

[peskytimeswithscar]

NOW THAT THE HANDHOLDING SERIES IS DONE CAN WE PLEASE HEAR THE THOUGHT PROCESS IM BEGGING

OF COURSE OF COURAE

3rd life : this is the starting point i went off for all of them obv :3 though i chose this type of hand holding in particular because it's close, it shows how clingy they are to eachother and how they want to hold onto eachother, keep eachother safe! the bracelets are representative of eachother,, grians is of pizza's blanket. thing as scar was usually the one who primarily cared for the llama rather than grian, whilst scar has the pizza tribute banner design as grian made that banner for scar! another thing to note is that grian has alot of freckles, because he's in the desert with alot of sun and can't really wear his sweater!

last life : pinky holding!!!!! i chose that for last life since quite alot of grian and scar's interactions in this season had to do with deals and things like that, so i had the idea of 'pinky promises' in mind for that :) their bracelets are a little bit dirty due to them being in. a death game of course, and scars has some ash atthe bottom of his due to his death in lava! and originally i had intended to show that grian had less freckles in this one, and i even drew it out, and then proceeded to remember that my last life grian design has gloves bjfjvt i also managed to forget the wrist hearts for this one, whoops!

w/o the gloves :

double life : i chose this type of hand holding because it looks as if grian is pulling scar away from something, which is something i imagine he had to do alot during this season! their bracelets have become much more tattered since, again, death games and just general wear and tear on hermitcraft aswell. on the tips of their fingers they have a slight purplish hue to them, and also some snow at the tips of scars fingers to show that scar was in powdered snow! (this was kind of inspired by this piece from applestruda, which i looove muah muah)

limited life : admittedly i was SUPER sick while i did this one so theres not really alot of secret little details :( but i chose this sort of hand holding bc it looks kind of secretive! like someone holding hands under a table to hide their relationship or something, bc i sort of love the 'secret teen movie relationship' vibes some people have with lim life scarian!! their bracelets have gotten alot more tattered, being basically one row of the bracelet now showing its age and such

secret life : i chose this hand holding because i personally view the secret life time as the sort of turning point in their relationship, where they've finally gotten over how co dependant they were in 3rd life and have finally accepted that it happened! i mean, grian asked scar to alliance with him, which is something in previous seasons which he has shown he didnt want to do (even if scar had to turn him down cause of his task), they also aren't clinging to eachother like they usually are - in all other seasons they tend to hang around eachother, even if they're not allied, whilst in this one they've left themselves ally and focus on other people, nd i view this on them being more stable in their relationship - the hand holding pose i chose seems somewhat loose, like they're willing to let go, they're not clinging onto eachother like in 3rd life

ok onto the bracelets fkhjhfjbf they still have the thread from their old bracelet but they've added onto them! this symbolises how they've accepted the events of 3rd life, and that they still need to carry on with life regardless of it! i picked out their main colours for this, grians has scars main colour of green and scar has grians main colour of red! they also have charms!!!! scar has a golden wing charm whilst grian has a silver cat charm :D

(another note : i chose those specific metals bc - whilst i didnt put the ring designs in the handholding art - they match what metals i have in my ring designs for them >:3)

ok secret life has alot but thats bc i literally just made it dhvfjv im so happy that u like the art!!! :D im super proud of them

[missamyrisa2]

best tickle teases for each body part? (best tease for when ur tickling feet, best tease for when ur tickling the abby, etc.)

I lurrrv that you called it the abby~ I'm sooo gonna make that happen~ sooo, first thought/best thoughtssss~ consider this a linear body teasing guide or a modular set of suggestions for each spottt

Feets: wiggling thumbs and then rubbing them under the toes. "Does that tickle?" Knees: sliding thumb and index finger up and down above the knee making them guess and then giving the brisk squeezies. "Juuust measuring your knees~"

Thighs: gingerly spreading the legs and humming before descending for relentless kissies "Kissy kissy koooo~"

Underarms: if they're bushy, gliding my palms over the tops of the fuzz to make them feel every hair. If they're smooth~~ licky lickle licks along the outer rims "How about those armpits? Armpitssss?"

Shoulder/Collar: Fluffy makeup brush twirlies while cooing in the most embarrassing ways~ "Mmhmm tell me all about it~"

Neck: nuzzles with a brushing lower lip while a hand rubs their nape thoughtfully "I knowww ~ I knowww~ uhhuhh"

Inner arms/elbow: feather down the bicep to the inner elbow while lightly rubbing the outer elbow with a thumb "Really? You're ticklish here? Tickle tickle? Tickle. Tickle tickle tickle."

Hands/Fingers: tracing a nailtip along the underside of the wrist and then over every line of the palm and ring indentation of the fingers ~ sometimessss taking a finger between my lips for extra sexy teases. "Hmmm. Your future seems to be full of giggles~"

Royal chest buttons: seizing the area with one hand and taking a blush brush lightly to the out curves before merrily dusting the tip. "Oooh I could do this allll dayyy~"

Small of the back: caresses from the scalp massager. "Sometimes you just gotta relax and let people massage youuu~"

Ears: big smoochies right over them, feather to the lobe and backsides. "You're so adorable. You giggle so well for me darling~"

Lips: tracing with a fingertip back and forth. "I'll take all your emotions ~"

Ribbies: feather duster swishies. "You just can't not laugh huh? You can't not laugh~"

Abby: the trail of kissies. "Wanderrrrring the trail of abbbiesss muuuah muah muah~"

Tummy: stiff feather quill tip in elegant swirling paths. "Hmmm. Twitchy here. Ohh and here too. Did you know you have a sensitive spot riiiiight there?"

Sides: Thumb rubs. "Coochie coochie cooooo~!"

Hips/Hip dips: Thumb rubs part 2 but also nibblies. "Such delightfully yummmy hipps you have ~ I'm gonna eat youuu up"

Navel: q-tip/mascara wand/tonguing ~ depending on sensitivities and probably all 3. "Tickle tickle. Ticklish bellybutton. Bellybutton~!! Your bellybutton is ticklish so we gotta tickle it~"

Behind the knees: licky kissies~ "Such a gigglebug. I know you love it~"

Tush: electric toothbrush along the curves ~ slippery gloved finger doing a come hither for honeyspots & naughty defiant girlies. "This is what we do with naughty gigglers~"

Royal area: magic wand at varying speeds under the tip for a royal rod. For a girly pearl, light single finger scratches through soft panties. "Mmmhmm. Let it all out now. You wanna gigglecum? Yeah? That's right you fucking do~"

[morelikedoccock]

The prompt "you’re going to be fine, okay? you’re going to be fine. “ just gets me right in the feels- it's the kind of angst/fluff I desire, and if you could do a lil drabble for it? I'd be elated (please and thank you I love your writing muah ♥)

This got a little intense, I hope that’s alright!! The prompt is just v good and it sent me down a big angst—>hurt/comfort—>fluff rabbit hole😆

Doc Ock x Gender neutral reader

(Warning for descriptions of the reader having a panic attack)

~~~

      It settles over your skin like a blanket of crackling frost. You halt, your hands still submerged in warm, soapy water, and struggle to breathe. Where has all the air suddenly gone? You had just been thinking about some important things going on in your life while you wash the dishes, trying to figure out some crucial logistical issues, and then—

      You stare down at the sink as if seeing it from behind a distorted panel of thick glass, listening to the frantic pounding of someone else’s heart. Those couldn’t be your hands, could they?

      The chilly breeze on the back of your neck barely registers through the cold already seeping into your flesh. The sound of a window slamming shut echoes strangely inside your head, bouncing off empty walls.

      “I can’t believe this,” someone snaps. The words crack like a twig in the distance. “I really can’t— this time he’s gone too far. I was just about to—”

      You blink, operating a machine slowed nearly to immobility by an invisible force, and manage to turn just enough to look at the speaker.

      Otto’s cheeks are flushed, his eyes bright. He’s pacing back and forth in the living room, absently rubbing his wrists as if they’re bothering him. His actuators are moving around him like angry snakes, bobbing and weaving and making small hissing noises. He notices you look and frowns.

      “You don’t even— hey, are you alright?!”

      You watch in vague apathy as the color drains from his face. When you don’t answer, unable to use a tongue that sits like cement in your frozen mouth, he strides forward, his irritation apparently forgotten.

      “You’re white as a ghost,” he says, sounding worried. The words reach you as if spoken across a vast body of water. He’s talking about you. Your form has a face attached, doesn’t it? Hands lift on alien arms, moved by muscles that feel distinctly foreign, and then fingers press to your cheek, cold and slimy. Otto looks… almost frightened as he stares at you. Wasn’t he just angry? What happened?

      He swallows hard.

      “Can I touch you?” he asks, holding out his hands. His gloves are missing. How odd. The question takes a long moment to seep into your vacant consciousness, and when it does, it takes another moment before you remember that a question usually needs an answer. He’s made a request. He’s asking for your permission.

      You nod, feeling your stiff neck creak in protest.

      Warmth. It’s sudden, and startling, but you can remember what warmth feels like now as Otto’s hands take yours. He pulls you gently back around to the sink, turns the tap to hot, and brings your hands under the stream.

      “It’s okay, I promise,” he says. “You’re still here. I’ve got you.”

      It’s like watching a tv program of someone else’s hands being rinsed of soap. Then dried. Otto hesitates for a second, then he gingerly tucks an arm around your chilled shoulders and steers you toward the living room.

      You’re not sure you’ve ever walked before. Or sat before. The movement feels just as distant as everything else, even as your body sinks into the couch cushions.

      “Stay put,” Otto says. As if you could move. He walks away, then returns a minute later with a glass of water which he presses into your numb hands.

      “Drink.”

      And somehow your alien muscles remember this command, though your mind is far away. You drink.

      The water is cold, but a different kind of cold than the one still freezing you from the inside out. It somehow cuts through that chill. You gasp, then drink again. When you can’t remember why you’re holding an empty glass, Otto carefully takes it from you and sets it on the coffee table.

      Weight sinks into the couch beside you. Your voice crackles in your throat as you finally remember where it comes from, and maybe even how to use it.

      “Otto?” you rasp. “Otto, I— I’m really cold.”

      And then it’s there again, that incredible warmth. Otto’s arm is heavy as he wraps it around your shoulders, but it’s a welcome weight. It’s grounding. He pulls you close, then reaches over and grabs a nearby blanket. In one smooth motion, he covers you with the soft fabric.

      He gently, tenderly takes one of your hands in his once more, and leans his cheek on the top of your head.

      “Are you okay like this?” he asks. You nod again. He sighs with what sounds like relief, rubbing your arm with his free hand.

      “You’re going to be fine, okay?” he whispers. “You’re going to be fine. I’m here, and you’re safe. You’re safe.”

      He takes a deep breath, and you find your lungs filling in response.

      “Please let me know if you’d prefer to not be touched,” he says after a moment. Your heart thumps oddly. The idea of him leaving is far worse than anything else right now.

      “Don’t go,” you manage to whisper. “Stay.”

      He pulls you even closer against him, his body beginning to bring the warmth back to yours.

      “I’ll stay, my dear, I promise. You’re going to be okay.”

      His fingers squeeze your hand gently, and it really is your hand now, isn’t it? You turn your face, pressing your nose into his collar, and breathe. He smells just like he always does, a comforting mix of scents that reminds you of home. You close your eyes.

      “Otto?” you mumble. Your voice is your own again, your throat, your body, they all belong to you once more.

      “Yes, my dear?” he replies. The sound of his voice is one you could never get tired of listening to.

      “I love you,” you tell him. You can almost feel him smile.

      “I love you too,” he says, and the warmth you feel from hearing those words is pure sunlight, chasing away the remaining cold in your chest until you glow from the inside out.

[keilemlucent]

shiggy is a comfort character for me so 🥺 lazy makeout sessions where u just explore eachother and bite and MUAH

i’ve never written shiggy before (how? not sure) but here’s a lil makeout session!!!!

r18+

warnings: folks kissing uwu

You’re sitting on his lap, just where you want to be. His grip feels a bit too light, almost like he’s afraid you’ll evaporate, despite the two-fingered gloves he wears religiously around you. 

Tomura’s kissing you a bit differently though, feeling you differently. His lips slot and play against yours lazily, but with enough force that you give him the tiniest gasps and moans every few moments. He eats them up, hungry and wanting. He’s greedy with you, he has to be, show you quietly that you’re his in all ways, especially physically.

Your hands worry the bottom hem of his shirt, debating pulling it off to get more of him. Greed and want ran through you, but you tried to display it more subtly, with the gentle roll of your hips. He choked off a moan, slipping his tongue into your mouth a moment later to take, and take, and take--

It leaves you gasping, desperately clutching at the front of his shirt as his own hands slide up and under your skirt. It’s slow, unintentionally teasing even though Tomura intends nothing but caution, all for you, just for you.

A shameless type of sound bubbles past your lips, high and crackling. Tomura chuckles at the sound, tugging you closer by the hips, giving you as much of him as you desire.

[theclaravoyant]

Sparks - Ch.4 - [Simmorse]

Jemma Anne Simmons is a renowned writer. When one of her book readings is attacked, she is assigned a bodyguard - none other than Bobbi Morse, a real life former secret agent. It's a reluctant partnership at first... but not for long.

AN ~ this chapter is much fluffier than the last, a bit of bonding between our two leading ladies. Enjoy!

Read on AO3

Sparks - Ch. 4

After that initial hitch, Bobbi found her new position to be, in fact, quite satisfying. She ate better, slept better, and started walking a few miles every morning before meeting Jemma at a local gym. There, she did her stretches under Jemma’s watchful eye, and then added a few extra drills of her own accord and eventually, decided to teach Jemma some basic defensive moves.

“No one’s going to attack you with a knife, Jemma,” Bobbi scoffed.

“You don’t know that.”

Which was true. She didn’t. It couldn’t hurt to be prepared - and to be honest, it gave her an excuse to get closer to Jemma than she otherwise would, and she wasn’t about to say no to that.

Jemma, too, found the arrangement beneficial. Holding a grudge was a waste of time, especially when it had introduced her to someone like Bobbi. Bright, strong, and undeniably attractive, she sensed chemistry as well as brilliance. She wasn’t usually one for consequentialism, but in these circumstances the outcome did certainly help her move past the act. That, in turn, allowed her to shift her focus to the real problem that needed solving: rampant negative news. Now that she was no longer mad at Coulson (not that she intended to let Coulson know just how un-mad she had become) she could leverage him more effectively, and argue for the chance to speak for herself. Now that she had protection, as promised, he would have to let her try, right?

Apparently not.

Jemma groaned out loud, and shut her phone off. Bobbi smirked a little over her water bottle, at Jemma’s aggressively exasperated expression.

“What?” Bobbi prodded, a little teasing. “Coulson!” Jemma cried. Bobbi made a pantomime show of feigning surprise and Jemma rolled her eyes.

“He’s set me up some interviews,” she conceded, “but they’re all with fan media.”

“That’s important, though, right?” Bobbi pointed out. “Your fans would probably be the ones most hurt by the possibility that you supported… something like that.”

“True, I suppose. But these sites already like me. Most of that fanbase is loyal. It’s always nice to reassure them, of course, but it’s not going to make this go away. I need to face the critics head-on. Call a press conference or something and just say what I have to say, and let the pieces fall.”

She made a sweeping gesture. Bobbi frowned in sympathy, and Jemma sighed.

“It wouldn’t normally be a problem,” she acknowledged. “With the 24 hour news cycle there’s always some other drama happening someplace. Usually we’d just wait it out, but with the book only just beginning its publicity cycle, we can’t afford to go dark. We just also can’t afford to have me questioned as a potential animal-torturing psychopath in every interview from now ‘til eternity. I know Coulson thinks he’s doing what’s best by me, with this whole Ten Point Plan and what have you, but I think he sometimes tends to see me as this bushy-tailed young author - not as a top-tier forensic analyst who started writing on the side of sticking my hands into dead peoples’ chests on a daily basis. I can take it, you know?”

Bobbi nodded, as if she understood, although she hadn’t been seen as a bushy-tailed anything by anyone in a long time. If people made the mistake of underestimating her, they didn’t usually last long.

“And,” Jemma continued emphatically, “I think, if I say my piece, frankly and in front of the critics, I’ll have the high ground after that. All other speculation will be unavoidably tabloid trash. I can work with that. But people who use their hearts and minds to really feel, really mean it – who really care - thinking I did those things? That, I can’t bear… professionally or personally.”

“I know what you mean,” Bobbi agreed stiffly. She’d been hunted down and almost killed over an admittedly contentious decision. Maybe understanding why she’d done what she’d done wouldn’t have healed many souls, but she liked to think she wouldn’t have had her knee shot out if she’d had a chance to explain herself a little earlier in the game. Fortunately though, Jemma and Coulson clearly had a lot of love between them. Nobody was going to be bamboo-splinting anybody anytime soon. So Bobbi decided to keep her nose out of the politics of it and instead, help where she could.

“You know what you need?” she offered. “You gotta learn how to hit stuff.”

Bobbi set down her water bottle and beckoned for Jemma to follow. Curious – and undeniably excited, for all she’d insist otherwise – Jemma obliged, and followed Bobbi to the boxing ring at the back of the gym. She looked up at it, suddenly finding it somewhat daunting.

“I really don’t know about this,” she said.

“Trust me,” Bobbi insisted. “Hold out your hands.”

She showed Jemma how to wrap her hands, and demonstrated a few basic moves. Jemma repeated them back to her.

“Fast learner,” Bobbi praised with a smirk. Jemma blushed, and blurted:

“I graduated summa cum laude twice.”

She blushed harder at that, and in her embarrassment, almost didn’t notice the amusement in Bobbi’s eyes.

“And how many summa cum laudes do you know who can break a jaw with their right hook?”

Bobbi raised an eyebrow, and Jemma guessed.

“One?”

“Soon to be two, I’m sure,” Bobbi promised. “Now come on up here and let’s go again. Practice makes perfect.”

And so they carried on. Bobbi did not want to risk sparring just yet, as she still had to mind her knee, but over the next few days, Jemma took to hand-to-hand combat like a fish to water. Bobbi was struggling to think of challenges she could teach and match properly with her knee as it was when one morning, late – as if that was not unusual enough – a tiny hurricane that vaguely resembled one Jemma Anne Simmons fumed into the ring.

Bobbi swung up after her, and though she gritted her teeth at the uncomfortable angle, she took a moment of pride in the fact that her knee held and she could raise herself to standing without reaching for the ropes. Then, she snapped her attention back to Jemma and raised the mitts. Jemma unleashed a flurry of fists at them, and even threw in a roundhouse kick – though admittedly not her neatest one – before finally settling to catch her breath.

“Rough morning?” Bobbi speculated. Jemma rolled her eyes.

“Apparently,” she explained, her voice crisp and over-enunciated, despite her heaving shoulders. “I’m ‘aloof’ and ‘out of touch’ for hiring a bodyguard. ‘Who does Jemma Simmons think she is?’ seems to be the trend. Started with one rag article and now Twitter’s got a hold of it.”

“Ouch.”

Jemma punched it out for a few more reps, and then added sardonically:

“At least book sales are up. It seems, amongst all this mudslinging, people are getting curious.”

Bobbi smirked, feeling a swell of pride.

“Yeah, well, I’m sure with all these new combat skills the amazing Agent Carter is picking up, the curiosity will only continue to rise,” she suggested, cajoling Jemma with a brag in her tone. She eyed Jemma’s gloves, and Jemma blushed and shrugged her off abashedly.

“Oh, no, she has Agent Bennet for that,” Jemma protested, unconvincing. “Skye is the muscle of the team. Carter is primarily the brains.”

Bobbi shrugged.

“Doesn’t mean she can’t pick up a few things.”

“That would make an interesting development arc,” Jemma admitted. Bobbi tried not to grin too much as she inched toward victory… and toward Jemma.

“Plus, I mean, somebody has to kick Aida’s robot ass into the nth dimension in the sequel, right?” Bobbi suggested. “And that somebody has got to be Carter. Surely.”

Jemma snorted. She was pressed up against the ropes now, both literally and figuratively, and her face was starting to feel hot. Bobbi was unflappable, and beaming with enthusiasm. Jemma’s heart leapt wildly in her chest, but she kept smiling.

“I take offense at your assumption that being primarily the brains means not kicking robot ass,” she objected, and both of them snickered a little at her vulgarity. “I’ll have you know I was planning a bomb or a trap or… something. I haven’t quite got to that part yet.”

“Oh, sure, that would be very exciting,” Bobbi agreed. “But wouldn’t it be satisfying to have Carter just sucker punch that bitch?”

Jemma scoffed, practicality and protectiveness of her story winning for a moment over the dizzying feeling of her pounding heart and the enchanting sparkle in Bobbi’s eyes.

“She’s an evil killer robot, Bobbi,” Jemma insisted. “She’s not going to bat an eyelid at a punch in the face.”

“Shoot her then!” Bobbi cried. “No, I’m serious, imagine it! Aida thinks she’s got them cornered, and so do we - like, the reader’s all ‘oh no, what are we going to do?’ – and Carter marches into the room all Cool Girls Don’t Look At Explosions and just BOOM BOOM BOOM. Shoots her. Straight in the stomach. Or the head, or wherever, you’re the writer.”

“But I’ve already established –“

“I know!” Bobbi pointed out, raising a finger. “I wasn’t done. Because by this point your crazy fans are probably thinking exactly the same thing like, what the hell is Carter doing? ‘We all know Aida’s bulletproof, it said so on page 12 of book 1!’ And so then Aida turns to her like ‘muah ha ha, puny mortal, I am an evil killer robot! Resistance is futile! Your very fast steel means nothing to me!’ and Carter’s already got her trap in motion, see, but Aida doesn’t know that, but Carter does – obviously - so then she gets to say something cool and one-liner-y like: I know, I just always wanted to do that.”

Jemma’s fingers tightened around the ropes as Bobbi acted out the theatrics going on inside her own head. Her confidence and bravado were alluring enough, let alone her pose; an imaginary gun on her hip and a smouldering glare in her eyes, biceps flexed. On top of that, the idea that someone as tall and smart and sexy as Bobbi was playing a character that Jemma had based on herself… well, that was just a dream come true. More than one type of dream, probably.

She blinked like a deer in the headlights, and Bobbi smiled at her. It was a soft, sincerely amused smile, and Jemma was sure she’d been caught out as Bobbi dropped her pose and stepped in closer.

Closer.  

Jemma’s breath hitched and her eyes fluttered closed and she imagined, just for a second, that Bobbi had closed the distance between them.

She hadn’t.

And the music in Jemma’s ears was her phone, buzzing away in her bag on the floor nearby. She bit her lip and hung her head, and she felt like saying of course that happens now, but instead she said;

“I should… get that.”